My feet hit the platform before the train fully stopped, and I skipped a cab to sprint through the crowds. I would be a more difficult target on foot, and the press would not slow me down as it would a cab. Less than ten minutes passed before I stood in the alley behind my old rooms.
"Mrs. Hudson!" I called, key already in place. The lock clicked just after my warning, and I swung open the door to look down the barrel of Mrs. Hudson's revolver. She immediately aimed at the ceiling.
"Doctor! What is going on?!"
"Later," I said shortly, breathless from my sprint. She showed no sign of injury. "Is Mary here?"
"No." Worry flashed in her gaze. "She was supposed to join me for luncheon, but your note arrived shortly before I expected her. I thought she stayed home."
Fear shot through me, trying to heighten the grief I studiously ignored. She was not dead yet, and I would not believe her gone until I saw a body.
"Come."
I had left most of our things at the train station, and I only leaned the Alpine-stock against one wall to take my sword cane in one hand and her bag in the other. She followed me out the door, reclaiming her bag just before I hustled her into a run.
"Doctor, what is happening?"
My leg protested our speed, but the throbbing ache was nothing compared to the stabbing grief trying to take over. I shook my head, refusing to give details.
"Moriarty," I panted. "Lieutenant. Targeting you both. Probably me, too. Turn here."
My own safety hardly mattered, but theirs did. We turned up one alley and down another, taking a somewhat winding path that was still shorter than main streets. Mrs. Hudson stopped asking questions, though I did notice her revolver remained gripped in her hand just as I clutched mine. We ran until I was sure we did not have a tail, then I flagged down the third covered hansom I saw.
"An extra sovereign to get us there in twenty minutes," I promised. We lurched into motion almost before I took my seat.
"Doctor?"
No. I could not voice this, and I shook my head again. She remained quiet over the uncomfortably fast ride to Kensington. I spent the time desperately refusing to think, and the cabbie trotted off, a sovereign richer, as I led Mrs. Hudson around back.
"Mary!" I called with my key in the lock. As with Mrs. Hudson, I opened the door to face the barrel of a weapon—which promptly aimed at the ceiling.
"John?"
Quickly nudging Mrs. Hudson inside, I closed the door behind us and wrapped my arms around my wife. She was alive. They were alive. I had not failed completely.
Yet.
"Are you alright?"
She nodded into my chest, pulling away after a moment. "I'm fine, John. What is wrong? What happened?" She studied me, then her eyes widened as grief appeared. "Sherlock?"
Murderer!
I smothered a flinch by turning to peer out the corner of a window. I could not voice it without losing myself in it, and I could not mourn him until they were secure. I would see them to Mycroft's safe house, wait for darkness, then return to the falls. If I still could not find Holmes, I would find some place to live out the rest of my days. They would not want me when they discovered what I had done, and I would not burden them with my presence. A murderer was better off alone.
Sorrow bloomed on Mary's face, and Mrs. Hudson quickly followed suit, but they said nothing as I checked the area.
It was clear. I saw no sign of anyone paying the house undue attention.
"Ready?"
Mary had shouldered a small valise when I looked back, and she and Mrs. Hudson both nodded in answer. I barely took the time to lock the door behind us before we rushed into the closest alley.
"Where are we going?" Mary asked.
"Whitehall," I replied shortly. "I will wave down a cab soon enough."
A few minutes' run revealed no one following us, but again I skipped the first few hansoms I saw. Holmes had hinted a reason I should not take a convenient cab, and I had no way of knowing if the Yard had captured those men in the raids. I would not risk Moran's notice.
Mycroft answered my nearly frantic knock, and I gave him barely a second to recognize us before I herded Mary and Mrs. Hudson inside. He remained quiet until we reached a back hallway.
"Yes, Doctor," he said first, noting my worry though he walked in front of us. "Sherlock warned me what might happen. He prepared a safe house for you in Beauvais."
I forced my shoulders to relax, glad I did not have to find the words. He would be within his rights to berate me and throw me out of his house for killing his brother, but he would put aside the obvious to focus on getting Mary and Mrs. Hudson to safety. Beauvais was a smaller city some thirty miles from Paris. Mary's school French was nearly as good as mine, and Mrs. Hudson's would suffice. They would be fine there.
"What happened to Sherlock?" Mary asked, looking to me for answer. The sorrow in her gaze announced she had guessed the basics, but she obviously wanted something more specific.
I doubted I could give anything more specific, however. Silence reigned as I fought for words.
"He's dead," I finally managed in a voice just as empty as that trail. She already knew that, but I could say nothing else. He was dead, and I had killed him. I had abandoned him, left him to die at the top of a waterfall.
Perhaps it was good that I could not find the words. I needed to get them to Beauvais before they shunned me.
"Doctor Watson would not have brought you here if Sherlock had not disappeared at Reichenbach Falls," Mycroft added, glancing strangely at me. "Sherlock had four different back-up plans, and your presence announces he initiated the newest one."
Mary took my hand, deep grief in her face. "It's not your fault, John."
She was wrong. It was my fault, but she did not have the full story. I would not enlighten her. Not yet. I looked at Mycroft.
"When—" The word broke, and I swallowed and tried again. "When do we leave?"
"Now," he answered as we reached a door. "Sherlock requested a special on standby. It will take you to the Beauvais station. The safe house is under a small, abandoned hut a half mile southwest of the station. The key is under the left bush. Take it inside with you. Beneath one corner is the entrance to an underground bunker, and Sherlock said he stocked it with enough food to last a fortnight. You will stay there until Moran is in custody."
He waved us into the alley, and the same hansom I had ridden from Lowther Arcade to the train station a fortnight prior waited behind Mycroft's rooms. The streetlamp illuminated a patiently waiting horse as I moved to claim the second spot on the bench. Sitting next to Mycroft would both spare the others my presence and give Mycroft a chance to speak his mind, but he directed me into the carriage. I obeyed without argument. There was no use delaying us now, when they were in danger. It was bad enough I had killed Holmes.
Grief tried to overwhelm me again, and I firmly shoved it away. I would address that later. Their safety was more important.
"John, can you hear me?"
Mary's whisper broke into my thoughts. I pulled myself to the present to find both her and Mrs. Hudson staring at me. A hand tightly gripped my own, but worry competed with the grief I still battled when a squeezed acknowledgement produced a faint sigh.
"Alright?" I murmured. She quickly nodded, and the rest of the ride passed in silence.
Poor Watson. The hardest kind of broken is when you must be strong for another. What do my readers think so far? Are you enjoying? Only one chapter left! Don't forget to review :)
Thanks to MHC1987, Jean-Moddalle, and Corynutz for the reviews on the last chapter. They're greatly appreciated!
Corynutz, I'm not entirely convinced Holmes has yet gotten rid of the headache gained by watching Watson at the falls. Because we all know he watched Watson fall apart.