AN: HUGE apologies for the big delay- in fact, I shouldn't be writing since I have finals next week… but I felt bad for not finishing. Thanks again to snowwolf (my faithful!), pinkpanther, littletiger, finley, kenta divina, calbee, jake, and fowl-star for reviewing. This is for you! Oh, and I put the first part of the sequel up- it takes place about three months after the end of this story. Ok, enough blabbing from me. Hope you enjoy!
Epilogue
I followed Holmes out of the hospital to his car, which was covered with a layer of dust so thick that you could barely make out the black paint. The inside was completely littered with bizarre contraptions of all sorts, and the world's biggest stash of what looked like scrap paper.
"Just toss that in the backseat," Holmes gestured to the manila folders on the passenger side. I did as he asked, and slipped into seat, still a bit unsure about the whole thing.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"You'll see." He began fiddling with the radio, finally settling on a relatively static-y station.
I opened my mouth to ask him what the hell type of music did he listen to, but before I could say anything, I realized that his radio wasn't just any old car radio, but it had attached to it a police radio, complete with mouthpiece. So Holmes was listening to the police blotter. Sheesh.
Holmes continued to drive for what seemed like a really long time. We were heading up towards the mountains, I figured that. Everything was getting more sparse, until he suddenly jerked the car to a halt in front of a park.
He motioned for me to get out, and I did so, a bit curious. I followed him across the road, and then I noticed the neatly cut granite stones embedded in perfectly aligned rows across the grass. We weren't at any park; Holmes had brought me to a graveyard.
I shivered involuntarily. Holmes must have noticed, for he tossed his trench coat across my shoulders. I continued to follow him until we had reached a group of mourners in black. They had seemed to just finish the ceremony, most of them filing past us silently.
When they had passed by, Holmes motioned for me to follow him as he approached an old couple, standing silently by the newly covered grave.
"Mr. and Mrs. Lee?" Holmes voice cut through the silence.
The couple looked at Holmes oddly. "Hello," the old man addressed Holmes politely.
"My name is Jake Holmes, I work for the police department." He pulled me closer so I was standing next to him. "This is Dr. Laura Watson. We were both on your daughter's case."
The old lady gasped when she saw me. "You…"
The old man patted her arm. "Honey, that's not Christina."
I swallowed uncomfortably. "I'm sorry," I managed to mumble, throwing a sideways glance at Holmes. His face was unreadable. "I'm sorry about your- daughter," I gushed, fumbling for words. What was I apologizing for? Wasn't I glad that deep down, it wasn't me who was lying in the grave? And wasn't it my fault for this in the first place? It was my infidelity that started this whole thing. The significance of recent events began to dawn on me, and I felt a heavy weight pressing down on me.
I collapsed onto my knees. "I'm so sorry," I cried, burying my face in my hands, as I felt hot tears slide down my cheeks. "It's entirely my fault." The lives I ruined… Christina's, Austin's, James'…
I felt a comforting hand on my shoulder. I looked up, and found myself staring into the wrinkled faces of the old couple. They had bent down next to me in the grass.
"Dr. Watson," the old man began feebly.
I looked at him, apprehensively.
"It's okay," he said sincerely. I glanced at him disbelievingly.
His wife nodded. "We know it wasn't your fault." Did they really know the extent of my involvement?
The old man wiped away the last of my tears with a tissue. "Whatever it is, we understand. And thank you, for stopping him before he… before it happened again."
"You're welcome," I stuttered, as I felt a strange lightness in my heart. It was as if my burden was alleviated.
They nodded back, before getting up and lumbering off towards the other mourners.
I got up from my knees, searching the area for Holmes. While I was talking to the old couple, he had left, and was now leaning by an upright headstone.
I walked towards where he was, and we shared a brief moment of silence.
"Did you get what you needed?" His words seemed piercing in the air.
I nodded. "How did you know?" I whispered.
He shrugged, but I detected some melancholy in his voice. "We all need a little forgiveness sometime." He began to walk back towards the car.
I was about to turn and head after him until the name on the tombstone we had been standing next to caught my eye. Jason Holmes. His brother's keeper. I filed the tidbit of information away for some other time, and hurried after Holmes. The sun was beginning to set, and it was looking like just one of those nights.