All Hope Abandoned

by Ankha

I once asked myself what could Holmes do to drive Watson away. This is what came out: Hidden away in the wall of a cottage a set of journals were found. The secrets they held were nothing short of tragic. Slash H/W.

4. The Rescue

A/N: Thank you guys for all your lovely reviews. It's definitely what keeps me motivated! And now we have chapter 4 and we are once more back to Watson. Let's just see what Mycroft and Lestrade have to say about this whole business. And just what secrets are the doctor hiding?

Disclaimer: Does this truly need a disclaimer I wonder? Can anyone truthfully claim these wonderful characters?

Chapter 4-The Rescue

July 30, 1894

Today was my last day in England. I boarded my ship and turned my back on the only true home that I have ever known. While I know that it is best for all those involved my heart still weeps. Now that I am aboard, I find myself in dire straits with nothing whatsoever to distract me. It is for that reason alone that I have decided to continue this when my first impulse was to throw it overboard. Still, if it will keep my mind from contemplating those darker roads that it has so often traveled in the past, I will welcome it.

I must confess that I recall very little of the ride across London, for I had given myself wholly over to the shock that had descended down upon me. I fear that I must have worried Lestrade a great deal because when we finally stopped, he kneeled in front of me, taking my face between two chilled palms. "Don't wonder off, eh Doctor? You just stay right here and I will be back so quick you'll barely notice I'm gone."

I nodded slightly in acknowledgement and he eased me back against the cab seat. I must have drifted off, or away considering my state, but it was just as the police inspector promised. I had hardly noted his absence when our carriage rocked under the entrance of another who possessed considerably more weight than the lean Lestrade. Roused, if only momentarily, from my stupor, I found myself captured under the grey gaze of Mr. Mycroft Holmes. I opened my mouth to speak, what I do not know, but the elder Holmes held up his hand.

"Rest for now, Doctor. There will be plenty enough to speak on when we reach Pall Mall." And with that he dismissed me, turning to engage Lestrade in quiet conversation. Having been released from this obligation, I sank back once more and allowed the sway of the cab as well as the low murmurs of my two companions to lead me away from reality, if only for a time.

All too soon we reached our destination. Mycroft descended first to pay the driver before standing aside to allow Lestrade to help me from the cab. With Lestrade at one elbow and a surprisingly gentle Mycroft at the other I was practically carried inside. There was a blur of activity around me, too much for my overwrought brain to process. When I dared to allow reality to intrude once more I found that I had been wrapped in an overly large dressing gown and a thick rug was tucked tightly around me from my shoulders to my feet. There was a large fire blazing in the hearth and though the chair I was in had been placed quite close I felt none of its warmth. I continued to shiver and began to wonder, if I could not stop, would I simply not shake apart?

"Ah, I see you are back with us, Doctor. Lestrade was beginning to become a bit frantic." That cultured bass drew me from my contemplations of the fire to see Mycroft just across from me. A bit of rustling to my left identified Lestrade even though he did not speak.

"There is no need to worry on my account," I returned, though it would have taken keen ears to hear it over the crackle and pop of the burning logs.

Mycroft's eyebrow ascended that great forehead slowly. "I believe that you should allow us to be the judge of that, Doctor, for you are in no fit state to do so."

Silence reigned for a moment as Mrs. Jenkins, Mycroft's housekeeper, entered with a well-laid tea tray. Cups were delivered into our hands though when she came to me she found that mine were shaking so badly I could not doubt she feared that I would burn myself. Instead, she placed a sweet biscuit in my grasp and encouraged me to take a bite even as she placed my tea within easy reach. Nodding in satisfaction as I began to nibble, she retreated as quietly as she entered.

Even as she left, the silence lingered and I was grateful for that, for I dreaded its end. They would ask me what had transpired at Baker Street and I knew with absolute certainty that I could not relate that yet. The mere contemplation sent an extra violent shiver down my spine and caused my breath to quicken within my breast.

"No, Doctor, we will not ask you the details." Mycroft's accurate interpretation of my thoughts was of little surprise to me, but I saw Lestrade start rather badly. He must have been unfamiliar with this aspect of the Holmes's traits or just unaware that it was shared between the two brothers. Given the number of times that Lestrade had spent evenings at Baker Street, he could not have been wholly unaware. Despite all the other thoughts that were rattling through my scattered mind, I could not help but wonder how these two had come to know one another. Mycroft was a man of singular, but regular, habits that for the most part were confined to certain circles. Lestrade, as far as I was aware, was far outside those circles. His sphere more easily fell in with the younger Holmes brother than the older.

"My brother has done something incredible stupid." Those resonating tones once more drew me to the present and I lifted my head from my breast to stare at the elder Holmes brother. "Your condition, along with the words spoken to Lestrade, confirm that." He sat his cup aside and steepled his fingers in a way that was so reminiscent of his brother that my breath caught in my throat and I had to turn away. Astute as always, Mycroft immediately deduced his error and rose slightly to reposition himself.

Lestrade grasped my shoulder. "All right there, old boy?" I could not answer, for the police inspector had inadvertently squeezed the shoulder that Holmes had struck. A cry of agony burst from my lips as angry lines of pain scorched down my entire arm and across half my chest. My hand twitched and the cup that I had only just grabbed slipped from my weakened grip and shattered upon the carpet at my feet. Both men were at my side in an instant and amid my continual protests and moans, the two succeeded in baring me from the waist up.

"Sweet Mary, Mother of God," Lestrade whispered and Mycroft suddenly moved off, ringing the bell.

"It can't be all that bad," I panted, but I was unsure of who I was trying to convince more, myself or the inspector.

Lestrade's reply was to lift the silver serving tray and hand it to me. With the aid of its polished surface and the flickering firelight, I was finally able to view the damage that had been wrought upon my person. I could hardly believe my eyes. A great black bruise spread from my shoulder joint half across my chest and part way toward my elbow. But how? Just how long had I been wondering the streets after The Incident? I hadn't believed that Holmes had struck so vicious a blow as this but it was very possible that the shock of what occurred in that sitting room prevented me from feeling the extent of the damage at the time. Not any longer, as I discovered when I tried to make a fist. New agony washed over me and some small part me wondered if Holmes had not done some nerve damage.

"It looks like someone laid into you with a club, Doctor," the little man commented as his eyes remain riveted to my arm.

"Not a club but a well-shod shoe," Mycroft corrected as he returned to us bearing a cloth filled ice and a new tea cup. Setting the cup aside, his finger traced the mark. "This is the heel here. No doubt if we were to compare it to Sherlock's it would be a match." As he spoke, he gently laid the cloth bag across the bruise. A sharp intake of breath at the pressure and then an elongated hiss as the cold began to seep in followed. Both men were silent once more as they continued to gaze upon the damage inflicted by the unofficial consulting detective. Finally, restraint failed Lestrade and he sprang to his feet, marching for the door.

"Where are you going, Inspector?" Mycroft demanded, halting the other in his track.

"I am going to arrest Mr. Sherlock Holmes for assaulting the doctor. Perhaps some time behind bars will remove his head from his ass!"

"That would be most unwise, Inspector, so I would suggest that you return to your seat." The inherent command in Mycroft's tone could hardly be ignored but Lestrade remained stubbornly in place.

"Unwise or not it should be done. But if you will not give me leave to do so, sir, perhaps you will give me leave to give your brother the sound thrashing that he deserves!"

Mycroft pointed to the chair. "Sit, Inspector, and calm yourself. My brother will receive his just desserts in due time, but for now our energies would be better focused on Dr. Watson."

For a moment I feared that Lestrade would ignore Mycroft and do as he promised, whether that was to arrest Holmes or thrash him within an inch of his life, or perhaps even both, I could not be sure. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and blew a great breath through his nose before stalking back and throwing himself into his seat. "So then what are we going to do?" he demanded, his narrowed gaze fixed upon the elder Holmes. Mycroft did not answer but instead focused his attention upon me.

"How much did you manage to save, Doctor?"

"A little over a thousand pounds."

Again Mycroft's eyebrow climbed upwards. "Much more than I expected you could manage. Nevertheless, I will triple that. It will be a good start for you."

Lestrade watched this exchange with puzzlement-clouded features. "What the devil are you two on about? Thousand pounds? Triple that? Good start? What does it all mean?"

Mycroft once more seated himself across from me and turned that penetrating, hawk-like gaze on the Scotland Yarder. "Do not think for one instant, Lestrade, that Dr. Watson portrayed himself accurately in his stories. He is much more intelligent and has a rather realistic gift of foresight. I sought him out not long after my brother mentioned him to me, admittedly some two years after they had established themselves in Baker Street. Naturally I made some inquires into his history and general character." A twitch of smile. "I am afraid that I can be somewhat protective of my younger brother and when he spoke of the doctor, there was decided admiration in his voice. Not two days after I had completed my own line of investigation did I read the astonishing tale titled A Study in Scarlet." He paused, seeing the blush rise in my cheeks. "I speak only the truth, Doctor. Imagine my amazement when I discovered the story and that very afternoon everyone at Whitehall was enquiring as to whether or not that was my brother." His lips twitched again. "Everyone was quite atwitter for some time after. But it was not the case of Sherlock's that interested me, but, rather, the one who wrote it. You, Doctor."

"I hardly understand why you found me so interesting," I murmured, once more nibbling on the sweet biscuit.

Mycroft let out a short laugh. "There, you see, Inspector? He is still attempting to hide. No doubt it has become second nature to him." Seeing Lestrade's confusion, the elder leaned forward. "It is just mere trifles, but so important when you put them together. The doctor is very much the man you know, minus a few pertinent details: his intelligence, his foresight, his own deductive reasoning and his love for my brother." He paused to take a drink from his tea, waiting, no doubt, for some reaction to his proclamation. My breath froze in my chest at his last words, hardly able to comprehend this betrayal on top of the last. Would I forever be abused by those who bore the name Holmes? Seeing my stricken expression, Mycroft hastened on. "The love for my brother you had already guessed for yourself, Lestrade, but the rest could conceivably be a bit of a shock."

My breath exploded from my and I twisted, though it was painful, towards the inspector. "You knew? But-but how?"

Now the inspector appeared to be somewhat embarrassed as he shifted about before he finally met my gaze. "I have seen all sorts in my line of work, Doctor, as you no doubt have as well considering who you lived with. I once investigated a murder down on Brixton Road. Not really the sort of thing I would have consulted Mr. Holmes on, but he wasn't very well known then. You see, the young son of Lady Bywater had been stabbed through the neck." He mimed the move. "A hat pin as we later found. It was a young maid who found him in the sitting room when she went to light the fire in the morning. He had been stabbed the night before and bled out rather quickly. The alarm was raised and we were called in." Here he paused to take a long drink from his tea.

"We were met by the lady of the house and I can say with absolute truth that I have never met a more stone-hearted woman. She seemed to care not one wit that her son had met such a ghastly end in her own sitting room. The servants were showing more remorse! After questioning each of them, I learned that the young Lord Bywater had a good friend he called upon often and whom called upon him. The Honorable Randall Heartly. Apparently he had been out with Heartly the evening of his death and returned quite late. I, of course, went to question Heartly at once. By all accounts, the gentleman in question was a lively fellow that took great pains to entertain Bywater. He was kind, well-mannered and full of energy that he chose to share with his much shyer friend."

"That was not the gentleman I found. When I called upon Heartly it was to find someone so broken in spirit that they might no longer be called a man. The poor wretch was in front of the fire, wrapped and bundled so tight I doubt he could move. He answered my questions readily enough, but it was that dull, flat tone that sent chills down my spine. And when I saw his eyes, I knew some truth of the matter. Bywater and Heartly had been lovers." Here he paused again and met my gaze steadily.

"I knew at once that this poor devil could have no more lifted a finger against Bywater than I know you could have against Mr. Holmes. I sent the constable out, telling him that I wanted him to do a thorough check around both houses for if it was an outside source it was very well possible that Heartly was the next victim. The poor chap bought it and I dare say I didn't see him for some time. Once I was sure he was gone, I confronted Heartly about the true nature of his relationship with the victim. Any color that he'd had in his face vanished in an instant and he was lucky he did not faint right then and there. Still, it took some brandy to revive him enough to tell me the truth and what little more he knew of the matter. Apparently young Bywater feared that his mother had discovered the truth about Heartly and him. He told Heartly that his mother had wished to speak with him upon his return from his outing. That was why there were out so late. Normally, he assured me, they returned to their respective residences by eleven unless they, uh, decided to spend the entire evening together."

Here Lestrade colored a bit. I could feel my lips wanting to turn up into a smile, but I did my best to repress it. I wondered if Lestrade had ever given any thought on what two men could get up to when alone.

"They had always spent those evenings at Heartly's who had no relatives close at hand and kept very few servants. Bywater's mother was an unforgiving creature with a will of iron and would do her utmost to destroy Heartly if she should ever find out about them. I asked him if he thought she would do the same to her son." Lestrade leaned forward. "He looked me straight in the eye and said 'She would do worse,'" He frowned and shook his head.

"I left him, but gave strict instructions to his butler to make certain that he was never left alone at any time. I was very afraid that he would do himself harm. With what he had given me and a closer look at the body, I was able to obtain a warrant. It was a hat pin, like I said earlier, only the lady was still wearing it, even with her son's blood on it." He took another drink to fortify himself for what came next. "When I asked her why, she told me that she could not abide by living with such unnaturalness, nor could she allow it to continue. Never in my life, sir, have I wanted to strike a woman until that very moment. She spoke about her son as if he had been an unwanted dog!" There was a growl in his voice that I had only heard once before and that was when he'd wanted to strike Holmes for what he had done to me.

"We had barely gotten her loaded up when a maid came running down the lane towards us. I recognized her and I knew, even before she opened her mouth, what she was going to tell me. I took off before she could reach us and when I arrived I found…" He paused and leaned back, covering his eyes as if to block the image. "I found that poor sod had scattered his brains all over his bedroom."

Lestrade fell silent and neither Mycroft, nor myself, were immediately inclined to disrupt it. It was the inspector who finally did so, clearing his throat to bring our attention back to him. "After that day, I've made it my business to keep an eye out on those who shared similar interests, so to speak." He turned to me. "I'd say it was the third case we worked together when I knew something was amiss. I recognized that look in your eye and the way you watched Mr. Holmes when he wasn't looking. My gut told me right then and there that you would be the one that needed looking after should something go wrong."

"And you were correct," I assured. "Quite the Cupid's instinct you have." I lifted my head from its reclining position. "But how did you two come together on this matter? I wasn't even aware that you knew each other."

"Our partnership is quite recent in comparison to yours and mine, Doctor." It was Mycroft who answered. "I was on my way to meet with you when I found the inspector lurking outside your home."

"I was hardly lurking!" Lestrade protested. "Merely keeping watch over the good doctor."

Mycroft kept a straight face but I thought I detected a twinkle in his eye. "I found him lurking and immediately deduced the reason for it. That is why I dispatched a note to you, Doctor, to inform you I would not be present for our lunch engagement. Instead, I believed that the time might be better spent questioning the inspector."

"Questioning my ass," Lestrade muttered almost too quietly for me to hear. "More like the bloody Inquisition if you ask me."

"Not anymore rigorous than you with your suspects, I am sure, Inspector." Mycroft's comment caught us both by surprise—there was little doubt that those keen senses were inherited!—and Lestrade had the decency to blush at having been heard. I could not suppress a breathy chuckle before turning back to the elder, silently willing him to continue.

"As the matter was and is an extremely delicate one, I had to make absolutely certain of the inspector. When, at length, we were speaking on the subject, we devised what Lestrade should do."

It took only a moment for even my slowed brain to make the connection. "You asked for me to become a police surgeon." I had not meant for it to be an accusation, but Lestrade took it as such.

"A job you are uniquely qualified to fill. I've seen your work, Doctor. You speak for the dead when they can no longer speak for themselves. A body is not just a body to you, but a person still even if it no longer draws breath. You tend to the lads with a gentle hand and a stern voice, warning them to be more careful." He offered a small grin. "You always had a different way of looking at a situation." He blinked then frowned. "Now that I think about it, that was really you, wasn't it?"

"I let myself out a bit more when I thought he was dead, yes," I admitted.

"But what was Mr. Holmes speaking of earlier, Doctor? Seems you two had a plan of your own."

"I believe that I should start," Mycroft interjected. "Once the upheaval at Whitehall quieted, I contacted the doctor discreetly in the guise of a new patient. When he was sufficiently lured from Sherlock's side, I was able to make my own judgment on if what I believed that I had garnered from my reading to be true. I must admit, however, that it took the entire dinner for me to be able to do so." He cast an admiring glance in my direction and Lestrade sent an astonished one. I was mortified to sense the burning in my cheeks again, but some part of me felt that it was justified. It was quite difficult to earn the admiration of Mycroft Holmes, any Holmes for that matter, but it seemed I had managed to do just that.

"I was put on my guard," I reminded him and Mycroft nodded.

"With good reason, for why should the brother of your good friend and roommate draw you into a meeting under false pretenses? No doubt you smelled a rat at the time, but you seemed willing to humor me in order to find out what it was that I wanted. I was rather surprised that you accepted my invitation of an after-dinner brandy."

"It was because you are his brother."

"I had thought as much, thank you for settling that one point of uncertainty for me, Doctor." Mycroft paused to take a sip of his tea. "Once I had managed to convey to the doctor that I knew just how deep his affection for my brother ran, it seemed as though a veil had lifted from him and I was allowed to see the doctor as he truly was. He was a very weary man. A man who was beyond burdened with his secret," he paused, hesitant, almost, in his next choice of words. "But the man I see before me now is beyond that. He is broken."

I did not deign it necessary to confirm or deny, for to deny would be to lie and the truth was plain enough. I had had enough of lying to last me an age and before I could halt my tongue, a confession spilled from lips.

"Yes, you are right, on all accounts. Then I was merely weary of concealing my secret from him and it weighed heavily upon me at all times. I relieved the pressure somewhat by my writing up his cases. You wonder why I am not the same man as the one I present to my readers. Simple enough. I am not the hero, he is. Within those words I could allow some of my love to shine through! When that was not enough, I would do my very best to take care of him, keep him safe, even if that meant from himself! But I had to be careful, always careful, for he could not know. I lived in nearly constant fear that he would find out. It finally built to the point that I could stand it no more and I set out to remove myself from his presence. The only way I could foresee in doing so was to get married." I stared at the fire, unwilling to see what expressions I had engendered in my audience.

"No man has sinned more than I, for I stood before God and Church and pledged my love to a woman I was only passingly fond of. Oh, in time I grew to love her, but there was never any passion behind it and if he had ever given any indication that he returned my affection, I would have gladly and easily left her behind.

"While I grieved at her death in that terrible carriage accident, a part of me was secretly very relieved. Diana was not overly fond of Holmes. In fact, it seemed that at times she resented him and I know made it very uncomfortable for him to visit. I wondered, after her death, if she sensed more in my friendship with Holmes than I had intended. She certainly made it her goal to keep us apart as often as possible!

"My return to Baker Street was both a delight and a catastrophe. I was once more in his presence and I no longer had a wife's skirts to hide behind. That added with the grief, though mainly the former, sent me into a very dark place. But he," I swallowed, my trembling hands kneading the rug clutched in them, "he pulled me from it as neatly as if it were something he had to do often. I was once more under his spell and this time I was determined that I would win over it.

"For a time I managed but I felt that pressure building once more. My chronicling of his cases reached its height and even my continued practice, although somewhat reduced, was not sufficient enough to distract me." I closed my eyes. "And then came Mary."

"You met her during that Sholto business, eh?"

"I did. To her, at least, I was truthful when I stood before the alter. I did love her, but if my love for her was like a single candle in a dark room, then my love for Holmes blazed like a forest on fire. Still, she was my hope and the savior of my sanity. She was even fond of Holmes and secured a promise from him to visit our home once a month for tea. How she managed to do such a thing, I know not, but whatever promised she secured, he never broke it. At least, not until he went after Moriarty." I spat the name with such venom that both men shifted uncomfortably.

"He should have known that going after that Master of Crime would bring about far-reaching consequences to himself and those around him. Perhaps that is what he wanted, I cannot be certain any more. All I know is that the result was nearly an end to me as it was to the professor." Now my voice was barely above a whisper and the other two leaned forward in order to hear.

"I stood upon that ledge with his note clutched in my fist, his alpine stock at my feet, and nearly let myself fall. I was already dead, what difference would it make?" I fingered my tea cup, tipping it perilously to the side. "Just lean a bit more and…" My tea cup crashed on its side, spilling the remaining contents and dregs out. "I could have joined him at the bottom. I wonder what he thought as a voyeur to my grief. Did he know how close I came? Did he wonder, in the following years, how often I held my service revolver to my temple and fired, imagining a bullet was in that chamber and that I had scattered my brains across my study or consulting room?" I tried not to notice the police inspector shiver at my hollow laugh. No doubt he was disturbed by the resemblance to his own tale. "I imagined him inspecting the scene of my death and coming swiftly to the conclusion before looking upon my corpse and shaking his head. 'Passion, Watson, like grit in a finely tuned machine. You let them rule you and see what has happened? Cause and effect, my dear fellow, cause and effect.'"

Now it seemed that neither was willing to utter a sound and it was only the crackling of the still merrily burning fire that pervaded the room. 'Do I frighten them?' I wondered. They now had a clear idea of exactly what my love for the consulting detective would drive me to do. They had a solid case of not letting me from their sight, but I had learned a few things from the detective and I would escape if it was necessary. For the time being, however, I was content to remain where I was, for I could not summon the energy to move.

"Well then," Lestrade eventually interrupted the silence though I thought I detected a distinct strain to his voice. "What exactly was it that you two decided?"

"Dr. Watson already had two plans in place when we met," Mycroft explained when it seemed I had run out of words. "The first he has already mentioned: marriage. The second was an escape."

"An escape?"

"He would save his money and should all else fail or it come to this," he gestured to me, "then he would flee from my brother."

"But where would you go?" The inspector looked at me.

"I have not given it much thought to be honest. Part of me believed that if I did so, I would commit some act that would necessitate leaving." I closed my eyes. "I do know that I cannot stay in England, or anywhere that he is likely to find me. The farther away, the better."

"Though I don't like the thought of you leaving, Doctor, I will help you in any way that I can," Lestrade pledged, laying a hand on my uninjured shoulder.

"You can help, Lestrade, by heading to Kensington and packing the doctor's things." Mycroft commented.

The inspector glanced down at me and I nodded in conformation. "There is not much that needs to be done, Lestrade. In my wardrobe you will find a bag and at the foot of my bed, a trunk. Both are sufficiently packed for the purpose, you need not worry about gathering more. The rest in the house is entirely superfluous and you may do with it as you wish."

Lestrade nodded and, after a quick squeeze to that same shoulder, gathered up his coat and hat. "Consider it done. Where would like them delivered?"

"To the train station. I still have time to catch the last one."

Those thin brows furrowed over dark eyes. "You sure it wise to leave so soon?"

I offered him a bitter smile. "The sooner the better."

The other man nodded reluctantly and left.

"Where do you intend to go, Doctor? You need not hide your thoughts."

Those last words drew a harsh laugh from me. "Hide my thoughts from a Holmes? I believed that to be entirely impossible."

"I have little doubt that the only reason my brother was ever able to deduce any of your thoughts is because you allowed it. Perhaps to maintain his false image of you? I never did understand why you wish to hide. That is a very hard life."

"It is and I do not think I shall ever be able to explain it to you. But, forgive me, Mycroft, I spoke out of turn. I have no quarrel with you."

"Despite how I hid the fact that Sherlock was alive these last three years?"

My lips twitched towards a parody of a smile. "You did so on his request and I could never expect you to break the confidence of a brother. Even in regards to myself." I glanced in his direction. "I trust my secrets, as does your brother and so many others, to your discretion. The whole of the Empire would likely collapse if even a fraction of those came to light."

"While I do believe you exaggerate, my good doctor," Mycroft shifted ever so slightly at my compliments, "it is not on the state of the Empire that my concern now lies."

"Do not worry yourself, sir, for I am unworthy of it."

"A debate, Doctor, for another time, for now I am feeling somewhat stirred to do as Lestrade wished earlier and deliver a sound thrashing to my brother!"

I shut my eyes to block out the conjured picture of Holmes in all his glorious fury as he stood over me. So much anger, as though he were possessed by the devil himself. My unnatural desires had done this and ever after would I serve penance for them.

"Please, Mycroft, I beg of you. Do not trouble yourself any more over this matter. You have already gone above and beyond the duties of a friend and I would not have you put yourself out any more."

My pleas were met with narrowed eyes and I knew that, without a doubt, if there was one person in all of England, if not the world, that could make trouble for Sherlock Holmes, it was his brother.

"I will grant your request, if you will grant me one in return."

"If it is within my power."

"It is. I believe that you have packed your service revolver among the items that you had Lestrade retrieve. I would like you to turn it over to me."

For a long time I allowed the silence to hang between us. Though for the most part I lingered in an apathetic state, the request sparked a flicker of anger deep within my breast. Even that spark, however, could not survive the overwhelming apathy that rolled through me, snuffing all else in its wake. What did it matter that I gave him my revolver? If need be I could easily obtain another. Mycroft no doubt knew this so this request was double-edged. He was asking me not to end my life.

"I will turn it over to you, but that is all I can promise you, Mycroft. It will have to be enough."

End Ch. 4

A/N: Wow, that was a looooong one. And I wouldn't let myself start on it till I finished the chapter on Holmes. I am trying to stay three chapters ahead to keep myself motivated, but nothing motivates me like the reviews you guys give me, you're the best!

Side note: A Study in Scarlet was originally published in 1887 not 1883, but since this is obviously an AU I get to screw with the time line all I want. Yeah!

Reviews are appreciated! Coming up next, we are back to Holmes!