(8) ... Of Loch Lomond
It was a long silent day, sitting by the phone waiting for that final call. Sherlock seemed lost in his Mind Palace, folded hands & touching finger tips to chin, slightly hidden by his greying goatee, but Irene knew him better. He was wide awake. Waiting. Simply waiting for him to call. Lunch time came & went, but neither bothered to eat. They sat in silence for another hour.
Sherlock lowered his hands to his lap. "He's not calling."
"Sherlock?"
"No," Sherlock stood up. "I've hurt him enough. It's the Moriarty case all over again. He won't call."
"But Sher—"
"It's over, Irene," Sherlock sighed. "I brought it on myself. I am now paying for what I did to him. Again." He looked out the window. "I'm going to walk around the loch."
Irene watched him go. She stood in the window as he crossed the lawns to the trail leading down into the hills, down to the water. She had never seen a more broken man than the one heading for water now. Heart broken. "Damn you, John!" Irene muttered to herself.
She made herself a light lunch & went to sit on the veranda to watch the trail for his return. She knew it would be a long time before he got back. A walk around the loch was nearly four hours. They had often done it together, sometimes with Nero. But this round, Sherlock needed to be alone. So she sat on the loveseat swing by herself to wait for him to come back. Irene eventually dosed off.
"Hey," some voice sounded through in the fog of dreams. "Wake up."
Irene stirred & glanced around. A woman was standing over her. "Uh, hi?"
"Hello, Mistress."
Irene stared at her. "KATE?"
"Yes."
"Oh my! What are you doing here?" Irene jumped up & pulled Kate into a hug. Kate grabbed Irene's face & kissed her after such a long time of being separated.
"What do you think we're doing here?" sounded a man's voice. "Irene. I should have known you would take off with Sherlock."
Irene looked around. "Greg?"
"We've missed you both," Lestrade pulled her from Kate's arms into his. "You already know my wife from years ago."
"Long time ago & then, you ended up marrying her!" Irene laughed.
"Yeah, I did," Lestrade sent her a sheepish grin.
"Move over!" Another woman said. "Save some for us."
Irene was next approached by two more women. "Molly & Enola ... wait. Did you ALL come here?"
"We're here," Sherrinford was next to step up onto the covered porch. He lifted an old woman up in his arms while Molly pulled the wheel chair up the few steps, then placed Mrs. Hudson back in her chair & took control of it as another woman came up.
"So you're the Woman who finally stole Sherlock away from us," Harry said, grabbing hold of Irene's hand.
Behind Harry, another man stepped up onto the patio. "I've heard all about you," said Mike Stamford.
"I can't believe you all came!"
"My nephew rounded us up."
"Sorry Mom," Nero ducked under Sherrinford's arm, followed by another young woman. "This is John's daughter, by the way."
"His daughter?" Irene gasped. "I didn't expect ... I mean ..." She cast around for words. "Oh! Sherlock! He's—"
"Where the fuck is Sherlock Holmes?"
Everyone went silent & stood aside at that voice. A cane landed on the wooden boards & then someone stepped up after it. Irene felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Saying the man looked mad would be an understatement. "Doct—"
"Don't!" John shook his head. "Where is that man?"
"John," Irene gasped. "You didn't call."
"I know I didn't!" John snapped.
"He went for a walk," Irene pointed. "Gone around the loch."
"Mhm," John spun around & marched across the grass.
"John? John!" Irene called to him but he neither looked back or replied. She turned to Sherrinford. "Ohh he looks mad."
"He is," Sherrinford replied grimly. "He has not spoken a single word until just now."
"Wouldn't be the first time that bastard put us through all this," Lestrade muttered. "John always takes it harder than the rest of us."
"I should go with him," Nero said.
"Nero, you stay away from that man & your father!" Irene sternly ordered.
"He's new," Nero tried. "He could get lost out there."
"He's a soldier, Nero," said Irene. "He'll be fine. Do not go near them. Your father needs to deal with him. Why don't we all go inside & grab something to eat?" She opened the door & let them file in.
John made it to the edge of the ravine & after a quick look over the ground, he could easily pick out the well-worn trails. He went down to the shore. It had been years since he had slipped into soldier mode but now all his training came back to haunt him & he was once more stalking the enemy.
Only this time, the enemy happened to be his long lost friend.
He found the prints he was looking for & followed. Sherlock seemed to be walking at a slow gait & even making stops. John quickened his pace, no longer using the cane & marched forward. He knew he would catch up sooner or later. He followed the trail for almost an hour, keeping in the shadows of the trees as often as possible. He glanced ahead but did not see his prey just yet. Like a panther on the hunt, he moved easily onward. Rounding the bend, John finally laid eyes on Sherlock for the first time in nearly twenty years.
Sherlock was standing on the sandy shore of the loch, staring over the water into the past. He had been motionless for some time. He rolled his shoulders slightly & John could here the crack of the spine straightening out. Sherlock suddenly turned as if to go back the way he had come. There was a thud & a sharp pain shot up Sherlock's left side. His eyes went wide.
"J-John?" Sherlock gasped as he felt himself start to keel over.
"You!"
Sherlock went to one knee, clutching the left side of his chest. Something was sticking out of it. He finally realized, John had just stabbed him with a dagger. Sherlock moved only his eyes upwards. "I know you're angry, old friend, but do you really want to kill me?"
John just shook his head, actually his whole body was shaking in a rage & like a cobra, he struck again, punching Sherlock so hard he flipped over onto his back. Sherlock kept his hand over the knife in his chest & rolled away as best possible as John jumped for him. Both got to their feet at the same time. Using his cane as a weapon now, John took another swing. Sherlock ducked & then with his right hand, he plowed upwards, striking John in the jaw. The war doctor stumbled back.
"I take it ... this is one ... of your ... bad days?" Sherlock panted. His eyes fluttered at the stabbing pain in his chest.
"Don't even joke about it!" John growled, tucking his head down to barrel into Sherlock. Both went tipping backwards.
Sherlock yelled in pain as the wavy S-shaped blade shifted in his chest from the blow. John landed beside him, head first in the water. Sherlock put the pain aside in his mind. This was his only chance to subdue the highly trained war machine. He rolled over onto John & held his face under water until he struggled for breath. Sherlock let him come up for air before promptly shoving John's head under water again. John slowly went still. Sherlock released him once more & it was all John could do to hold his own head up to breathe.
Sherlock pushed himself away. John rolled over onto his right side & winced in pain. He put a hand over his left hip for a moment. Sherlock's brow twitched, noting the weak spot. They locked eyes on each other & in a moment, both were scrambling to their feet. Sherlock was able to stand first, having better breath at the moment. He gritted his teeth & pulled the kris out of his own flesh & then slammed John backwards into the rock face behind him. He pressed the jagged blade to John's throat.
"ENOUGH JOHN!" Sherlock panted, feeling lightheaded. "Do you really want to end it this way?"
"Do it!" John snarled through gritted teeth. "DO IT! Either way, one of us is not getting off this beach alive! Ohh! Mmm! Mhm!" Sherlock had pressed the blade closer & it was starting to cut in. "Just do it & end it now, you bloody sod! End this pain, already!"
"Ok," Sherlock whispered, a rare tear slipping down his cheek. "Ok, I will." They gazed into each other's eyes, John glaring with all the hate in the world. Suddenly, it was John's turn to yell. Sherlock had twisted the blade up & slashed across John's jaw. Sherlock held the bloody mess up. "Blood for blood," he said softly. "Now both mingled on this blade, together." Sherlock turned to the lake & with his better arm, he threw the dagger hard. It skimmed across the water for a moment & then sunk out of sight.
John collapsed against the rock, half sunk to the ground. "I hate you," He whispered angrily. "You did it to me again! You expect us to be friends once more? I can't trust you, Sherlock! All I have left is hate. My God! Do you have any idea how much I hate you? Huh? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA AT ALL?"
"John," Sherlock hung his head for a moment. "Probably about as much as I love you."
"Sherlock! Don't!"
"Don't what, John? Hmm? Why the hell are you here? Have you really come to murder me?" Sherlock watched as John covered his face with both hands & slid down to sit on the ground. "Are we to use our last moments together to destroy each other?" Sherlock moved closer as John shoved his hands through his hair before looking up at him. "John, I am ... so s—"
"SHUT UP!" John ordered. "You don't get to say sorry to me again! Never again! It didn't work the last time! You went off & left me again, didn't you? What's the point of an apology? You're not allowed to say that to me ever again!"
"But I am, John."
"I don't care!"
"Liar."
John glared at him. "Sherlock!"
"If you didn't care, you wouldn't be here, now."
"Keep making me hate you, Sherlock! Just keep making me hate you ever more!" John stood up but didn't know what else to do so he leaned back against the rock.
"Ok fine, you came here to kill me but it didn't work," Sherlock began. "You want it to end. Fine. You came here to say goodbye. Didn't you? This is our last day together. Let's not waste it on the past."
"Waste it?" John was still glowering.
"We have wasted decades together," Sherlock put one hand on John's cheek while still clutching his stab wound with his left hand.
"Sherlock," John warned.
"We have been denying ourselves ... & all England, for too long," Sherlock ignored him.
"Sherlock."
"Let's not waste another moment."
"Sh—" John was silenced by the kiss of his lifetime. Finally, after all these years, he was lip-locked with Sherlock. After almost a minute, they broke apart ever so slightly, pressing their foreheads together, savouring the moment.
"That was long over-due," Sherlock whispered.
"Mhm," John clasped his hands behind Sherlock's back, holding the retired Detective close to his own body. They were kissing again. Sherlock held John close as best possible with one hand.
Sherlock pulled away. "... John ... I ..." He closed his eyes for a moment as if shaking off a dizzy spell. He went down to one knee.
"No," John knelt beside him. "Oh, what have I done?" He held Sherlock up & ripped away the shirt to inspect the wound. "You've lost a lot of blood. But it's a flesh wound. I can fix this. Lie down."
"Mmm, perhaps you will get your wish after all," Sherlock sighed as he lay back.
"No, no! I don't want you dead any more," John pulled out a small box from his pocket. "I always carry this." He held it up so Sherlock could see the small medical kit. "This will sting a bit." John opened it, took out an alcoholic pad & quickly wiped down the cut. Sherlock gritted his teeth against the sting. "Now I'll suture that. Just hold on!" He pulled out a strip of something that looked like tape & placed it over the wound, then closed the small box & put it back in his pocket.
"Haven't forgotten any of your training, have you?" Sherlock teased, pulling himself to the water's edge & began rinsing off his own blood from his left hand.
"Perks of being a combat medic back in the day," John shrugged, joining him by the water to wash his hands before sitting back against the rock again. He looked at the bandage. "That's going to leave quite the mark."
"Most jagged blades do that," Sherlock pressed a hand over the gash & winced. "The kris is made for torture."
"I am quite mad at you," John muttered.
"I know," Sherlock pushed himself over & lay back in John's arms. "Well, that's one way to get my shirt off." Both started crying in laughter at that comment; though, Sherlock was quickly subdued by a dull pain in his chest.
"I guess so," John managed to say.
Sherlock turned over & reached up & stroked his fingertips across John's lips before kissing him again. He moved himself a little higher to straddle John's legs. "It's your turn now."
"For what?"
Sherlock's answer was another long kiss but this time, there was a tugging at the front of John's shirt. Then it was pushed off completely. John gasped in surprise as he felt Sherlock's hands on his chest. They shared a long silent look. John understood that they were about to take it well beyond a kiss.
"... Sherlock."
"Private beach & we only have the rest of the day," Sherlock's hand lingered at the clasp of John's belt for a moment.
In a few minutes, both could feel the warm sand against their bare skin. Sherlock pushed John down & cast a cursory glance over his body. In that instant, Sherlock understood everything. Why John had come here & what that weak spot he had noted earlier really was.
"Oh John," Sherlock put a hand on the lump just above the doctor's left hip. "This really is our last day together, isn't it?"
"Yeah," John blinked back a few tears. "It is."
"We're not even all that old, barely in our sixties," Sherlock said. "I know there are fewer years ahead than behind but I expected a lot more for both of us, still."
"I know," John passed his fingers through those greying curls. "But it's not meant to be. Let's just make today a good one, ok?"
Sherlock could only nod silently, not trusting his voice. He pulled John under him at last, the first of several times. They stayed on that shore all afternoon. The sun set, casting its last few rays on the dark water. John lay back on the sand, holding Sherlock in his arms as they watched the light slowly leave the water.
"We've been at it all day," John murmured. "Didn't think you had it in you."
"Well, when you've been married to the Woman for almost two decades, you learn things," Sherlock replied. Both started shaking from laughter; though, Sherlock was soon cowed by a searing pain so he had to force himself to stop, before settling down for a while longer, just holding on to each other.
"I saw her," John said, feeling Sherlock's fingers trace over his old war scar a few times. "Irene Adler. After all this time, you've been hiding her all along!"
"You think I'd let Mycroft win?"
"You stood there! Let me tell you she's off in America!" John declared. "Yet all that time, you had her all to yourself!"
"It was so hard not to laugh, while you stood there like an idiot, spouting Mycroft's story!" Sherlock snickered right then until John smacked him upside the head to shut him up. After a moment, Sherlock went back to caressing the mark left by a bullet.
"You wanted to tell me about her, didn't you?" John went on. "That last night I saw you before you disappeared. You were going to see her, right?"
"Yes, I kept her in Balloch," Sherlock said.
"No wonder you got all excited on that last case," said John. "You were sneaking off to be with her that night. She's your handler!"
"That was the plan," Sherlock stopped tracing John's scar. "I walked in on ... on him. But he was not a client. It was not consensual. So I saved her again & well, you know what happened."
"I know now," John stated. "I read your letter on the plane." The pair fell silent for several minutes. John felt something tugging at the hairs on his right arm. Sherlock was now gently petting at one spot, attempting to get something off. "What is that?" John asked.
"Do not move," Sherlock continued to coax something onto his finger. "She will not harm you." He eventually sat up. "My bees like you, I think."
"That's a bee?"
"A honeybee, in fact. I have almost three thousand automated hives," Sherlock said, as he watched the bee sit on his finger nail. "This one is a female. Male bees do not have stingers."
"Three thousand hives?" John gaped at the tiny bee now washing her antennae.
"All mechanic," Sherlock said. "Press one button & the the whole wall will squeeze out the honey without hurting or disturbing the bees. The hives are based on an Australian invention. I just found a way to make a Flow hive automatic," Sherlock replied, still watching his tiny pet. "My honey is quite popular here on the east coast." He turned his hand around so the bee was looking at him while cleaning. John could see the child-like manner Sherlock once had come out as they waited for the bee to finish cleaning & take off. "She must be on her way to a hive for the night," Sherlock said after the bee left.
"You keeping bees," John shook his head.
"I try," Sherlock shrugged. "Honeybees are my favourite animal. But they listen better to Irene than me."
"Aw, you became a keeper because you love bees, only to find out they hate you!" John laughed.
"Pretty much," Sherlock scowled for a moment. He lay next to John once more with his head back on John's chest, running his hand over the doctor's breast bone while John stroked his bare back. He rolled back, pulling John onto him for yet another round.
The early night found them still together. John reached over & felt around in the dark. He found some part of Sherlock & gave him a soft stroke before going further to find his own shirt. Finally, he managed to dig out his mobile & turned the light on. "My flight's in four hours." He put the mobile aside. "I really wish I could stay."
"This is one battle you can't win."
"I know," John sighed.
Sherlock sat up to look at John. He reached out & touched the cut he had done along the side of John's lower jaw. "Sorry about this." He put his hand under John's chin. "I am truly sorry, for everything."
"It's alright," John said. "I'm just glad I didn't succeed in what I had planned to do. Sherlock, if you hadn't have moved when you did ..."
"You were aiming for my heart," said Sherlock. "You still struck it, just in a different way. A double hit!"
"I suppose you're right," John laughed before going serious. "I should not have stabbed you."
"I bloody deserved it."
"Damn right, you did!" John smiled.
Both helped each other up, taking great care not to aggravate Sherlock's stab wound or John's condition by his hip. By now, a half moon lit up the area & both finally got dressed. Sherlock folded up his ripped shirt & merely used his coat to cover himself. Once both were dressed, Sherlock took John's hand & led him through the dark trails.
As they walked along, Sherlock asked, "So what's this I hear about you not being nice to Greg? Molly told me all about that."
"He labelled you a murderer."
"I am a murderer," Sherlock replied. "Serial killer would be more appropriate. I did kill fifteen people, after all. Donovan would be so proud of me. I ended up doing what she predicted I would do in the beginning."
"I haven't spoken to or seen her in years," said John. "I don't think the first fourteen count, by the way. Just terrorists. You were protecting Irene," he went on. "I get it. Now. Anyway, Greg & I are fine. We fixed things up, yesterday. I know he was just doing his job, but I needed somebody to lash out at & you weren't around. We're ok now."
"That's good to hear," said Sherlock as they came out into a clearing at the top of the ravine. Sherlock held John in his arms. "When last I saw you so many years ago, we were standing on the banks of Loch Lomond. Now, here we are, again."
"It's similar, but not Lomond."
"Actually John," Sherlock glanced at the water, then looked into the doctor's eyes. "It is. Loch Lomond, Nova Scotia, Canada. It is named for the one back in Scotland. Kind of ironic how our final moments are here on this bank."
"Sherlock," John pressed his forehead against the retired Detective's chest for a moment. "I really wish we had more time."
"So do I," Sherlock held John close. "All this time apart & now this is all we get. It is most unfair & it is my fault."
"At least we found each other, again," said John.
Sherlock sang softly, "On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond." He kissed John before saying, "I envy you."
"What? Why?"
"You are going home," Sherlock said. "Back to our beloved England. I can never return. You will be buried in England's soil but I do not even have that luxury. I am forever a fugitive."
"There's a lot of your blood on my shirt," John said. "I will have it buried with me. Some part of you will be home."
"That is ... acceptable," Sherlock agreed. Never letting go of John's hand, he turned to the dark paths & led through to the house. Away from this Loch Lomond. They ended up in the driveway. "Your cabbie should be here, soon."
"Sherrinford took care of our flights in but I booked an immediate return on a different airline," said John. "I had come here for one thing."
"You ended up getting another thing, instead," Sherlock smiled at him. Then his hyper-active brain caught up. Sherrinford. Flights. Plural. He glanced at the house. "John, is my brother here?"
"We're all here. Even Mrs. Hudson."
"Mrs. Hudson?! She is very old!"
"Ninety-six," John said. "Sherrinford is taking very good care of her. He got first class round trip tickets for everyone. Except me. I was one way. I didn't plan on staying. But everyone else is here for three days."
Sherlock had both hands on his face in shock. "Sherry. Mrs. Hudson." He thought hard. "Enola?"
John nodded. "Molly also & Greg. Kate, too. Mike & Harry. Also my daughter."
"Your daughter?" Sherlock gasped. "She would be a young woman now."
"Yes & I think Nero might like her."
"Let's hope they don't screw up like what we did," Sherlock said.
"Great. Mixing Holmes & Watson," John said with a hint of mock worry in his voice.
"Imagine the grandchildren we will get!" Sherlock laughed.
"Nightmarish, since you also went & mixed Holmes with Adler blood," John said before both doubled over in laughter with Sherlock taking extra care as he pressed one hand to his stab wound.
"We're screwed," Sherlock finally managed to say through a wince of pain.
"Yep," John agreed. "They're all in the house, right now."
"I have been unable to be much of a Godfather for Rosie, but I do have something for her I will give her for Christmas. She will be well taken care of," Sherlock glanced at the house behind them but then headlights appeared around the corner in the road. "Your cab is almost here."
"Sherlock," John put his arms around him one last time.
For one last time, Sherlock & John were wrapped in each other's arms, kissing furiously. When they separated, there was a sense of finality. It was suddenly over & they would never meet again. "I never deleted a single moment of our time back then but now, I think I have apparently deleted how to say goodbye," Sherlock said softly, holding John's hands up between their chests.
"Turn around & walk away," said John.
"There is little proof of such things, but I do hope there is another life," Sherlock said.
"If there is, I'll be waiting for you," said John. "Only time will tell." He pulled Sherlock's hand to his lips.
"John, do me a favour & wait a moment before getting into that cabbie," Sherlock slowly stepped away.
"Just a moment," said John.
Sherlock lingered for another second & then released John's hands. They would not touch again in this life. He ran up the outer stairs leading to the upper balcony where the master bedroom was & went inside. He grabbed two things & went back to the railing to look down at John. He saw the cab just coming into the driveway.
"John?" Sherlock called out. "Careful. It is glass." He let something drop & John caught it. "A gift from my bees," Sherlock went on. "They seem to approve of you."
John laughed. "Thank you, Sherlock." He held the jar of honey labelled 'Sweet Lomond' close & then, he heard it.
Sherlock had his violin & he began playing Loch Lomond. The cab came to a stop at last at the end of the long driveway just as Sherlock was starting the last chords. John opened the door & waited for the tune to finish before getting in. The cab moved away. Sherlock restarted the song & watched the car until it was well away on the road & suddenly, it disappeared around the bend.
John was gone.
Everyone in the living room had gone quiet as the sound of a violin drifted down the stairs & through the hall to them.
"Sherlock has not played that violin since we moved here," Irene said after the song finished.
"Dad plays the violin?"
"Oh Nero," Irene put a hand on her son's shoulder as the violin started up once more. "He used to write his own music."
"Loch Lomond," Sherrinford said before softly humming along.
"I never thought I'd get to hear him play again," said Mrs. Hudson.
"If Dad is home, why isn't he & Doctor Watson here with us?"
"Just wait," Irene said. "Your father needs to this his way. He'll come down when he's ready."
The music suddenly vanished. Sherlock fell to his knees on the hardwood boards, his violin laid aside. John was gone forever & Sherlock had no idea how to process that. He clasped his hands to his wounded chest, wounded in more ways than one by John, & bowed his head in sorrow. He stayed there for several minutes, crying, trying to get himself under control.
Irene kept her eyes on the hall towards the stairs. Sherlock had yet to come down with John. "Something's wrong." She put a hand on Nero to stop him from getting up.
After a few more minutes, Irene herself almost gave up her resolve to go & fetch him, but at long last, Sherlock wandered into the living room. He had his coat off so the first thing anyone saw was the dressed injury in his chest, near his heart.
"What happened to you?" Everyone asked together in one breath.
Sherlock put a hand up to silence them. "I am grateful to see you all, again." He moved to the nearest arm chair & eased himself down into it. "John tried to kill me."
"WHAT?" Everyone crowded around him.
"Came up behind me. Stabbed me with a kris blade," Sherlock said. Several of the women gasped & had their hands to their mouths. "Fortunately, I had decided to turn around at the moment he struck so he missed my heart. Had I not moved, I would be dead now."
"That mad, huh?" Lestrade exclaimed.
"When we all met up with him," Sherrinford began. "John said 'I'm going to kill him!' I thought he was just saying it. I never realized he actually bloody meant it!"
"So I guess it's all over between you two, then?" Irene asked.
"Oh it is, but not because of that," Sherlock answered. "I took hold of the blade & cut his face with it. Blood for blood."
"Is that what ended it?" Enola asked.
"Nope," Sherlock shook his head.
"Well, then what happened?" Kate asked.
"After we cut each other," Sherlock paused. "John & I decided to make all of England happy."
A long moment of silence followed that one. "... No ..." Mike half-smiled. "You're making that up."
"John & I made up & made out," Sherlock replied. "Then ... beyond that."
"How many times?" Lestrade demanded, not believing.
"I don't know," Sherlock shrugged. "We were out there all day. It's all a bit of a blur, Detective Inspector. I lost count."
Lestrade stared at him, recognizing the repeated words. "Oh my God, he's telling the truth!"
"Seriously?" Harry scoffed.
"Yes, Harry," Lestrade continued to stare at Sherlock. "John & Sherlock are finally a couple!"
"What do you mean by that?" Nero asked.
"I mean as of today,". Sherlock had the nerve to wink at his son. "John has been upgraded from friend to lover."
"Upgraded," Lestrade snorted, setting aside his drink so he wouldn't choke.
"Dad?" Nero looked at his mother.
"Oh hush! It was her idea," Sherlock said.
"John was friends with your Dad long before I came into the picture," Irene said. "I could see what was going on. All of England could, except those two. Took you both long enough to sort it out."
"I know!" Sherlock suddenly snapped. "Believe me, I know! It took decades for John & I to figure out what all England knew from the first day. It is mostly my fault & now it is too late. All we get now is this one day ... & it is over."
"Sherlock," Irene came to stand beside him. "You & John fixed up the past, did you not? Surely, you can see him whenever you wish. I certainly won't mind."
"I will never see John again," Sherlock disagreed. "He's gone & he's not coming back."
"What do you mean he's gone?" Mike asked.
"He's flying back to England right now & he can't come back," replied Sherlock. "I can not go to England again for I am a fugitive there." He stood up & took Rosie's hand. "I think you understand why?" Rosie closed her eyes but Sherlock saw the tears. He wiped them away with one hand. "Yes, you do."
"Sherlock, your brother can clear up this mess you made," Lestrade said. "For both of you," He glanced at Irene. "He still works in the Secret Service, just like Mycroft had once done. He can get you & John back together. Right, Shane?" Lestrade looked at him but Sherrinford turned away & stood beside Molly.
"John is dying," Sherlock silenced the whole room with those words. He noticed Molly & Sherrinford however, didn't seem surprised. "He has cancer. He's going back to England to die & be buried. I reckon he has little more than a week left to live."
"A ... week?" Enola stared at Sherlock.
Lestrade tried to speak, though his voice didn't sound right. "R-Rosie? Harry? Is this ...?"
"Yes sir, it is," said Harry while Rosie silently nodded.
"No," Lestrade shook his head & turned away. "No! It can't be. We lost Mycroft," he looked at Sherlock. "We've basically lost you since you took off & now you're telling us that John is next?"
"I'm supposed to be next," Mrs. Hudson said. "It doesn't seem right I will outlive John!"
"I am sorry," Sherlock said. "No one will ever understand how sorry I am for all the mistakes I made in my life concerning John & now, it's too late. When you all return, be prepared for the funeral. He's out of time."
Lestrade collapsed into the nearest empty chair, head in his hands. A stunned silence fell on the room. John was dying? It did not seem real. Mrs. Hudson was the first to speak several minutes later, reminiscing about the day Sherlock had brought John home to 221B Baker Street. Others mentioned their own encounters with the war doctor. Though the hour was late, no one went to bed. It was as if they were having their own farewell for John now since they were almost all together.
Both Sherlock & Irene insisted everyone stayed at the house for the duration of their stay in Canada. The mansion had six bedrooms, plus two large parlours, so there was room to spare. Sherlock introduced his bees to the others the next day (much to his amusement at Sherrinford's displeasure, knowing his brother was allergic to stings) & Irene made sure everyone got a jar of honey. When it came time to leave, everyone made promises of coming back to visit.
"Except me, of course," Mrs. Hudson said. "I don't know how much time I have left."
"We'll all come back soon, probably for next Christmas," Sherrinford came to stand next to her. "You'll live that long, won't you, Marie?"
"I'm sure I'll still be around for then," Mrs. Hudson simpered, putting a hand up to her hair to push some loose locks back into place.
Sherlock watched the strange interaction, then stared at Sherrinford, mouthing the name 'Marie'. His brother just glared back, mouthing the word 'What?' Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"In the meantime, we can Skype each other," said Enola, missing the silent conversation between her brothers.
"You can set that up with Irene, right now," Sherlock said as he marched straight for Sherrinford & hauled him into the kitchen by his ear.
"Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow!" Sherrinford clutched his ear the moment Sherlock let go. "The hell is wrong with you?"
"Marie?" Sherlock raised a brow.
"That's her name!" Sherrinford defended.
"Since when were any of us so informal with the great Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock pressed.
"What are you talking about?"
"Not to mention all that not so subtle flirting," Sherlock went on.
"Wha—we—Sherlock!"
"Are you sleeping with Mrs. Hudson?"
"WHA—WHAT? Is that what you think?!" Sherrinford yelped. Both glanced around before returning to a whisper. "Your deduction skills are rusted right through! Don't be stupid, Sherlock!" He ignored the glare as he moved in closer & added, "We're close friends. Two old people looking out for each other so we don't flip into the grave, prematurely. I am in my seventies, you know!"
"Of course, I know!" Sherlock snapped. "I never even knew her first name until you just said it."
"Sounds like a you problem," Sherrinford mocked right back. Sherlock groaned & went back to the group with his stupid old brother (who didn't actually confirm or deny anything) following close behind. "Stupid idiot!" Sherrinford grumbled under breath but Sherlock heard just fine & the next moment, the remaining Holmes 'boys' got physical with each other.
"Enough!" Irene turned on the hose & doused them. The soaked 'boys' pulled apart, looking absolutely miserable. "That's quite enough!" She put the hose away while others stood around, snickering.
"All these years later & some things never change," Mrs. Hudson glared disapprovingly at Sherrinford's fat, split upper lip & Sherlock's darkening eye.
Sherrinford patted her shoulder. "She always said you'd come back," he looked at Sherlock. "She never gave up hope."
"Fool me once, shame on you," Mrs. Hudson said. "Fool me twice, though." Sherlock finally managed a smile, but shot another dark look at his brother the moment Mrs. Hudson's wheel chair was turned around.
As they were leaving, Nero ran after Rosie & gave her his personal number. Sherlock & Irene shared a knowing look. They waited for the limo Sherrinford had hired to disappear around the corner before going inside. Nero showed up a few minutes later, looking a bit disoriented.
"Perhaps the Holmes & Watson families will be united after all," Sherlock teased while pressing a towel to his hair & last, Nero's face went red.
Two days after everyone had left, a Skype call sounded in the Scott Holmes living room. Sherlock turned it on. "Hello, Molly." He looked around at the background. "You're in the mortuary, still."
"Y-Yes," Molly's voice was shaky & she could barely raise a whisper.
"You said you would quit once you had someone," He put some emphasis on the word. "Wheeled in. I assume your job is almost over now." Molly could only nod. Sherlock stood next to Irene, hands clasped behind him. "John is on your slab, isn't he?" Molly turned away burst into tears & Irene went to collapse onto the sofa next to Nero. Sherlock knelt on the floor. John was truly was gone now. He knew it was coming but he did not expect the shock of it. John was too young but was no longer with them. Not even Sherlock could stop cancer.
When Sherlock looked up at the screen again, he saw everyone else had come in. Sherrinford, Enola, Harry, Rosie with Mrs. Hudson in her wheel chair, Kate, Lestrade & Mike had all appeared in Molly's office.
"I'm just supposed to fix him up a bit," said Molly. "Remove any marks of the cancer & get him ready for the funeral."
"Is there a bloodstained shirt?" Sherlock asked.
"I know of it," Molly said. "He added it to his will when he got back. It's your blood, isn't it? When he stabbed you?"
Sherlock laughed in spite of it, then grabbed his wound. "Ooo, oh kay. Do not make me laugh. It still hurts."
At that, everyone else laughed & cried at the same time.
"Well, I better get started," Molly finally said. She shared a look with Sherlock who nodded. Molly picked up her laptop & brought it down with her. She placed it so just the side of John's face could be seen once she unzipped the bag. The cut Sherlock had done to John's face was still visible.
At the sight, Sherlock pressed both hands through his hair until he could interlock his fingers under the curls. He had to force himself to breathe long & steady, partly focusing on the wound John had done to him just mere days before. He felt the stab with every breath. John looked like he was sleeping, only just sleeping. But he would never wake up from it.
When it was over & Molly had returned to the office with the laptop, Sherrinford came into view. "We'll broadcast the funeral so you can see it from home. Should be a week from now."
"Don't forget the time difference," Sherlock warned.
Sherrinford glared at him & forced a smile, reminding everyone of Mycroft. "Of course not. How silly of me." Sherlock managed another laugh, though he was more careful this time. "Just wait until Christmas, little one. I'll wring your neck with your scarf!"
On the day of the funeral, even Sherlock was able to take part due to Skype. It was a bright summer day, with flowers in full bloom in both countries. Bees buzzed from one bloom to another on the path to the grave. Sherrinford & Enola took turns between Mrs. Hudson's chair & the laptop connecting them across the Atlantic. John was put down next to Mary who had died a long time ago from an accident.
Sherlock didn't eat & barely moved for several days after that. When he did get around, he focused more than ever on his honeybees as he still tried to process the loss of John. When the bees were put down for the winter, he stayed close to Irene for she was all the heart he had left, the other half lying in a grave in England.
When Christmas came, everyone went back to Canada, even Mrs. Hudson. Sherrinford had taken care of everything once more. Sherlock was back to playing his violin for the entire season. This time, they stayed two weeks & it was quite clear that Nero & Rosie would become an item. They had been caught more than once in the large heated pool getting rather close with each other. Sherlock was also finally able to give Rosie an inheritance of three million, something he himself had once started out with.
"Detective Holmes!" Rosie gasped as she pulled out the legal papers for the transfer. "How am I supposed to accept this?!"
"I don't know if anyone told you," Sherlock began. "But John made me your Godfather when you were born."
"Molly told me on the way over when we came here the first time," Rosie said.
"I wasn't able to see you grow up," Sherlock said. "So I've put that aside for you some day to make up for everything I missed."
"Thank you!" Rosie finally breathed, pulling Sherlock into a hug which made him go all stiff as usual.
Eventually, everyone left with a promise to come back in summer; although, Nero returned to England in spring to see Rosie &, as he said he would, Sherrinford took care of that trip as well.
With the return of spring, the bees appeared again. There was a new set of young ones that had hatched & Sherlock eventually had to set new hives. All the bees buzzed around him for an hour, as if greeting him after the long winter break. But when they finally took off in search for flowers, one lone bee stayed & landed on his shoulder. No matter what he did, he could not get rid of it. He went into the house, looking for help with it.
Irene just laughed. "It likes you."
"He is one of the new ones," Sherlock said, opening the window. He picked the bee up & puffed on it. The bee buzzed around to his other shoulder. "Go out! OUT I SAY! I give up."
Irene wiped away tears. "Go stand under the lilacs & see if he takes an interest in the flowers."
Sherlock rolled his eyes & marched out to the row of lilacs. He picked the bee up again & placed it on one of the large flower heads. It wiped an antennae, then flew onto his shoulder for the umpteenth time. Rinse, lather, repeat for the next five minutes. Sherlock had even tried to run but when he stopped at a distance, the bee was right back on his shoulder.
"You're following me around everywhere," Sherlock complained. "I'm going to name you John if you keep this up!"
The bee lifted off & went up in front of his face. It flew forward, tapping Sherlock's nose before taking off at last. Sherlock suddenly remembered his last conversation with John.
"There is little proof of such things, but I do hope there is another life," Sherlock said.
"If there is, I'll be waiting for you," said John. "Only time will tell."
Sherlock watched the sky where that bee had disappeared into for a long time before turning towards the house. He smiled softly to himself & soon started laughing. The double scar, one in his flesh & one on the heart, that John had given him no longer hurt.
-Finish