Hello, dear reader. Here is a new chapter for you to read and enjoy. Please forgive my absence, as I am currently altering between fanfiction and a novel of my own. Again, I do not own Sherlock, Watson, or any of their original adventures. Cheers!

Chapter 21

"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard." ~ A. A. Milne

"Sherlock, everything will be fine, I promise."

The detective watched his wife move about the room packing her things, and removing an article from her bag each time she turned her back to him. "You are out of practice," he said, replacing her hairbrush on the vanity.

"So you think," she smiled, snatching the brush up and putting it back in her bag. "I still have plenty of contacts, especially in France," she said, going back to the closet to fetch a shall. "Considering that was the last place he was seen, it is only logical that I go."

Whirling on her heel, Holmes hastily threw her nightgown onto the bed and gave her an innocent look. She sighed and rolled her eyes, repacking it for the third time and folding up the shall as well. She closed the bag with a snap. "This is what I do, Sherlock. I want to help John and this is the best way I know how. I won't be gone long. Two weeks at the most. I'll let you know if I find anything, and if you suspect danger, I promise to come home straightaway. Don't I always come back to you?"

She reached out a hand to softly stroke his cheek. He captured it in his own, pressing a kiss to her smooth palm and murmuring, "You nearly didn't once, and it was because of that man. And Hamish..."

Irene's dark eyes flashed. "All the more reason I want to stop him."

Holmes leaned forward and kissed her alabaster brow, resting his head against hers for the briefest of moments. When they parted, he handed her a slip of paper. Unfolding it, she frowned in confusion at the address printed there.

"Mycroft's safe house in the Alps, should you have need of it. Only he and I know of its existence. And Stanley, of course."

"Thank you," she smiled, kissing his cheek.

"You remember the cipher I taught you?"

"Yes. Do you remember the one I taught you?"

"Indeed, Mrs. Holmes."

A light rapping at the door alerted them to Mrs. Hudson's presence. "Your carriage is here, my dear."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

"It's better this way," she reassured him. "You would draw too much attention, even with one of your disguises. I have a much better chance of going it alone. Besides, Mary needs you here."

Holmes nodded. While their niece had taken the arrival of Simza rather well, combined with her father's illness, and now her aunt's looming departure, Mary had grown rather, shall we say, clingy of late. She rarely left Holmes' side.

As if on cue, the blonde angel scooted around Mrs. Hudson's skirts and raced toward her uncle and aunt. "There you are, my darling," Irene cooed, kneeling so she was at Mary's level. She opened her arms and Mary all but leapt into her embrace. "You be a good girl while I'm gone, alright?" she whispered, kissing her curls and holding her close.

Mary nodded.

"Your papa will need you to be especially brave, and you must look after Uncle Holmes. Keep him away from trouble."

Mary nodded again, but when Irene pulled back she saw the little girl's eyes were filled to the brim with tears.

"What is it, Princess?" she asked, wiping away a stray tear or two with her thumb. "Please don't cry."

"Do you have to leave?" Mary whimpered.

"Yes, I'm afraid I do. But not for very long."

"Will you come back?" As hard as she tried to be brave, her lower lip trembled.

Irene smiled, holding her as tight as she could and kissing her cheeks. "Aunties always come back," she promised.

Mary managed to smile back at her then.

"There's my girl."

With one final kiss, Irene stood, following Holmes as he carried her luggage downstairs, leaving Mary with Mrs. Hudson for the moment. Holmes helped his wife into the carriage, closing the door behind her. She leaned out the window, and he stepped up to kiss her soundly one last time. "Be careful, my love."

"I will," she promised, holding his hand in hers. "You too Sherlock. I love you."

"As I you, my dear."

As the carriage drove away, Holmes held his wife's hand until the very last moment, her gloved fingers slipping just beyond his reach.

"You don't have to stay with me, Sim."

Simza glared at him from over the rim of her teacup before setting it down on the bedside table. "And you do not have to stay in this room."

Watson frowned. "Until I know what he's done, yes, I do."

"Then I will stay too. Holmes has Mary. He's looking after her. It's all settled. Don't worry so much."

"I won't win this, will I?" he sighed.

"No."

"Then, thank you, Sim. But you must promise me something. Will you?"

Simza shook her head slightly. "I never promise a thing without first knowing what it is I am promising."

"Very well. I can understand that," he sighed, shifting to try and find a more comfortable position, but his muscles ached something fierce, so he settled back against the headboard with a groan. Instinctively, Simza reached out and moved a tad closer to help, but Watson shook his head. "Simza, I want you to promise me that you won't let any harm come to you. Let Sherlock handle it if I have another fit, alright? I'm not myself when it happens, and I don't want to hurt you." He felt sick when he thought of hurting her as Moran had, her bruised eye and the gash along her cheek was a fresh reminder of all she'd already endured. "I will not cause you more pain. Doing so would be unforgivable."

She took his hand in both her own. "You would not hurt me."

He looked down at their entwined hands. "You don't know that."

Simza moved to sit on the edge of the bed, running her thumb along the back of his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "But I know you."

A shuddering sigh passed his lips and he closed his eyes. "I don't want to hurt her. If anything happens to Mary…"

"We won't let it. She will be alright."

After a moment, allowing himself to believe the words, he nodded. He'd barely begun to relax again when he lurched forward with a fit of choking coughs. Simza held him until he caught his breath, pulling a trembling fist from his lips. His hand was covered in blood. "Damn."

Simza reached for a handkerchief and Watson was silenced with a stern look when he began to protest. Instead, he stayed quiet as she gently wiped away the blood. "How are you feeling?" she asked when she'd finished.

"Not very well, I'm afraid."

"You must tell me. Holmes will want to know for his research."

"Research?"

"He's trying to find a cure."

"I see," he nodded. "Well, you've just seen the worst of it." He all of a sudden deflated, shoulders dropping as he ran a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Everything just… aches, Sim. As though every nerve is on fire. I suppose my head is the worst, though nothing like it was on the first day."

"That's good to hear."

"Small blessings, I suppose," he hummed. "I'm so very sorry about what happened to you, Sim. Truly. But it is good to see you again. I'm glad you are here."

"As am I. And I promise, I will not leave."

"Well my dear, what do you say?" Holmes asked his niece after she had changed into her night dress and snuggled down into his bed. She seemed so much smaller in comparison to the large bed, and his heart gave a painful tug as he tucked her in beside him for the night. "It's just you and I again, it seems. And Nanny, of course. Gladstone, I suppose," he added, eyeing the snoring animal curled up by the window.

"Is Papa alright?" she asked, her pale little eyebrows knitting together in concern.

"He- He's very ill, darling," Holmes sighed, still finding it hard to accept himself. He'd thought about lying for the briefest of moments, but he had never lied to Mary and did not plan on starting any time soon. "I certainly hope he will be alright very soon. However, in the mean time, I'm not such a bad substitute, am I?"

Mary frowned, her petite nose scrunching up in confusion. "What's sub-suit?"

Holmes chuckled. Leave it to his dear Mary to make him laugh even in the darkest of times. "Substitute, my dear," he explained, reaching out to brush a curl from her cheek. "It means, well... a temporary Papa. Until yours is well again, I mean."

Mary seemed to turn this thought about in her mind for a moment. Holmes watched as the wheels turned in her head, fascinated at first, but at last deciding to put an end to her dilemma. "Do you love me, dear one?"

At this, Mary grinned, snuggling closer to his familiar scent and comforting warmth. She knew the answer to that. It had always been the same. "Oh yes, Uncle Holmes. I love you most after Papa."

"Can you keep a secret?" he asked, his voice quite the excited whisper indeed.

Her blue eyes grew wide. "What?"

"I love you most before anyone else in all of London," he said, punctuating it with a kiss on her nose. "Probably most of anyone in the whole world."

Mary giggled and wrapped her little arms around him as far as she could reach. "Goodnight, Uncle Holmes."

"Goodnight, sweetest Mary. May the fairies watch over your dreams."

Once Holmes was sure Mary was asleep, he eased himself out of bed and crept to Watson's office. He wouldn't be needing for a while.

Opening a box that had been left to collect dust behind the bookshelf, he pulled out a too familiar photograph that set his teeth on edge and pinned it to the wall. Then, he unrolled the red string.