I want to thank each one of you for your reviews and comments. This is by far, my best and most fun fanfiction I've ever written. Even though sometimes I look back on it sometimes and wonder what I've done wrong and trying to pick it apart, when really, I should be celebrating how far it has come. I've never written any fanfiction that was almost long enough to be a novella, but here I am!
Speaking of which, I think it's time that I upload another chapter, don't you?
Roughly five days later, a Saturday, I stood in front of the mirror in a black dress I never thought I would have to wear, and some earrings that Mother had lent me; she helped me comb my hair so it looked somewhat presentable, then I took a deep breath, looking in the mirror and realized that I had changed a lot appearance wise, thanks to all the running we had to do, I was in good shape. I remembered standing in front of the mirror before the ball and seeing how bright my eyes were and how flushed my cheeks had become, but in those three weeks, my face had become dull.
"Charlotte?" I turned to hear a voice coming from the open door and I smiled when I saw that it was Jane. Mother looked up at her and smiled sadly, briefly leaving my side to embrace her and to talk to her, then she glanced at the both of us. "William proposed!"
"Fancy that!" Mother exclaimed. "I knew that a wedding wasn't too far behind! Oh! I'm so happy for you, Jane! Do you hear that, Charlotte? Jane is getting married."
"It really is wonderful," I said, trying very hard to smile through my tears. It wasn't fair that Jane got to live happily ever after with the man she loved while I had to see mine be buried into the ground. But at the same time, she was my sister and I loved her and I wanted what was best for her.
She stepped over to me and took me into her arms. "I don't know what to say. I know you've probably heard this a hundred times and that you're probably sick of hearing it, but I truly am sorry for what happened. I had really hoped that it would have ended differently."
"How? With us being married and living happily ever after?" I snapped. "Life isn't a fairy tale, Jane. Well, maybe for you it is, but then again, things always come so easily for you, don't they? You're pretty and talented and creative. All things that I wish I could be, but I'm not. I make mistakes, I snort when I laugh, I run wild with the wind and I don't want to be married for money, I want to be married to someone who I love. But he's gone! So what's the point."
Jane stood there, looking guilty. "I know it's not a fairy tale. Love isn't patient and kind and humble. Love is messy and horrible and selfish and bold. It's not about finding your perfect half. It's the trying and the reaching and the failing. Love is about ruining your perfect painting, for the chance of a great one."
Mother watched the whole interaction with a proud look, then she stood up and frowned a little. "It's time to go now."
Nodding, the two of us separated. I really didn't want to go. Even though there was no sign of the bodies - Watson and the rest of the party had searched high and low for any remains - an empty hearse would still be made and lowered into the ground; I didn't want to see his best friend sink to his knees in the wet, wintry grass and moan in pain, and I didn't want to cry in front of a bunch of people, I didn't want my parents to have to stand there beneath the clear blue sky with its certain slant of afternoon light, watching their daughter say goodbye to the one man she could and would only ever love.
But then I imagined Watson and Mrs Hudson, who were going through the same thing, and since they knew him longer, it would be much harder on them, that's what made me decide that I should go. I needed to be there for them.
Mary and Gladstone would be going also, I had no doubt that they both missed him, despite the fact that their relationship was as we say rocky. Gladstone probably didn't know what was going on, all he knew was that his human companion was sad and he wanted to stay by his side and curl up in his lap.
Waiting at the bottom of the steps was Grandfather, standing in front of us with his tux and his hair combed down, and Father was standing beside him. He had not been to a funeral since my grandmother, his wife, died; and although it was a long time ago, the scars were still too deep and the pain too fresh. I remember the day she died like it was yesterday.
On a lazy summer morning in the middle of June, I was sitting in the window seat, curled up in an old grey blanket and holding a book. The cover was a little girl with pigtails, standing on top of a grassy hill and petting a little white goat. I wondered what it would be like to be surrounded by green hills and tall mountains. It was much better than the smoky clouds and the dusty streets of London just out the window. In this part of the book, this little girl, the main character of the story, was being taken up the hill by an older girl to visit the old man who lived at the top of it.
As I was about to find out more about this man, there was a quiet knock at the door and I ran to see who it was. It was my grandfather. He didn't say anything, but he looked worried. My eyes followed him until he sat down in the big armchair. I slowly walked over to him and glanced at him worriedly.
I could tell that something was wrong because Father always smiled, or at least tried to, but there was no fooling me and also because I had heard Mother say to Aunt Daisy that "it could be tomorrow." She was talking about my grandmother who had gotten very sick and might not make it. When I had asked if I could see her, Father frowned and told me that we should let her rest, but Grandfather insisted that Jane and I talk to her, to bring her some comfort.
Grandfather sat in the chair and placed me down on his knee and looked me right in the eyes.
"How is Grandmother?" I asked. She had been staying with us the past few weeks and instead of getting better, her health only started declining, more rapidly than any of us could have predicted.
"She's resting now," he replied, and he was blinking back tears. It filled me with a sense of dread, like when I had went swimming near the lake and somehow ended up in the deep end. "She is with God now, he's taking very good care of her." It took me a moment to process what he meant by that, and then it hit me square in the chest. She had died in the early hours of the morning, when I was asleep.
"You can say goodbye to her if you wish. Jane and Aunt Lucy are already in there, so is Mother and Grandfather and Aunt Daisy and Uncle Charlie." He took my hand as he gently put me down on the ground and then stood up. He straightened up my dress and then nodded.
"Is she at peace now?" He didn't say anything, so I figured that the answer was yes, I had to say goodbye to her. I didn't want to, I wanted her to get well again and things to go back to the way they used to be. "Look at you, my girl. Have you been staying up all night reading again?" I shrugged my shoulders modestly. He chuckled softly and then stroked the top of my head.
The next thing I knew we were in the room where Grandmother lay in bed. She looked like herself, but didn't at the same time, it was confusing to me because from afar, it looked like she was just sleeping, but as I began to approach her, I noticed how pale her skin was and how her chest failed to rise and fall as it should. Grandfather urged me forward and I took her hand in mine, telling her things that I hadn't told anyone else.
Now Grandfather stood up straight, and brave and strong, like the soldier he had been trained to be. I gave him a nod and we all went out the door and into the hansom that was waiting for us.
When we first got there, I sat in the back of the visitation room, a little room of exposed stone walls off to the side of the sanctuary. There were maybe eighty chairs set up in the room, and it was two-thirds full but felt one-third empty. For a while, I just watched people walk up to the empty coffin. All these people I'd never seen before would kneel down next to it or stand over it and look at him for a while, maybe crying, maybe saying something, and then all of them would touch the coffin. Mother held onto my hand and rubbed her thumb against the back of it. Mary, Mrs Hudson and Doctor Watson were standing next to the coffin, greeting everybody as they passed by, but when they noticed me, they smiled and shuffled over. I got up and hugged first Watson, and then Mrs Hudson, who held on to me too tight, like Mother always did, squeezing my shoulder blades, but again, this was just what I needed.
"You should have heard him play the violin," he said, like he knew that I was there, but didn't at the same time. "It would annoy me to no end when he would play in the middle of the night, but in the waking hours, it was more beautiful than birds singing."
I tried to picture that. I had to agree that the violin was a beautiful instrument. Mother paid Mrs Perkins to give me lessons when I was seven years old and well into my teenage years. I did indeed have a performance in March, which I was looking forward to with great anticipation. Life would go on; the sun would rise and set everyday and the moon would come out each night; I would try to be happy, but it would be impossible for me to ever forget the man I loved, and will go on loving until we are reunited once again, whether in the afterlife, or some other universe.
"He loved you so much, Charlotte," Mrs Hudson said. "He really did. It wasn't-it wasn't puppy love or anything," she added.
"I'm sorry," I said. And then they were talking to my parents-the conversation all nodding and tight lips.
Mary and I talked for a while and it was the first real conversation we had since that night on the train.
"Charlie's nine now," she said as we went somewhere quieter to talk. Charlie was her charge, or her student as she liked to say. "Soon he'll be ten and then he'll be too old to have a governess and he'll start having tutors instead." She paused briefly. "He was right about the ink, it's impossible to wash off." She laughed a little and pointed to her right ear where the boy had flicked ink at her.
"Actually they're hardly noticeable if you're not looking for them," I replied. "It's almost completely faded."
"Well that's good to hear." As she continued, I looked up at the coffin and saw it unattended, so I turned to Mary. She understood what I was trying to say. "I'm going to go find John, I'll be around if you need me."
I decided to walk up there. I grabbed my little clutch and walked up the makeshift aisle between the rows of chairs.
As I knelt, I almost wished that it wasn't empty, that he was in there, and that I knew that would never again see his brown eyes or his crooked smile. "I guess my sister was right. I do love you, I always have and I always will." I had-and have-absolutely no confidence that he could hear me. I felt something bump into my leg. It was Gladstone, he started pawing at it, his claws made a little mark, but I was sure that no one would care, nonetheless, I picked him up in my arms and held him, crying into his fur. He made a soft whining noise and that made me cry harder.
Most people here didn't know this man like I did. Maybe he had solved one of their cases or they had come across him on the street, or at a social event; everyone saw him as a genius with an above average intelligence. Some would have even gone as far as to say that he was a national hero and did I agree with them? Perhaps I did, he had certainly saved more lives than I could ever count, but I knew that he would never have called himself that. In fact, he probably would have laughed right in their faces.
But I also saw the flaws and imperfections, the faults and insecurities. I saw the human side of him which he rarely let slip or revealed to anyone other than those he trusted completely. I was glad and fortunate to have met such an honorable and perfectly imperfect man.
But one thing still haunted me. "Why didn't you tell me you were planning this? On killing yourself? Did you even think about what the consequences would be? Did you think about how many people would miss you? Watson, Simza, Jane, myself, Mrs Hudson, even the lads at Scotland Yard, we all miss you." I didn't know whether he could hear me or not, but I at least wanted to think he did because there was no other way that I could tell him how I felt. "Maybe you were trying to protect us from Moriarty, from a fate that was inevitable, but I didn't mind the risk. We told each other everything, and I would think that your death would be important."
I sighed. "Do you remember when you were at the factory and I heard your screams as you swung on that hook. I can't get them out of my head." I leaned against the hearse and dabbed my eyes with my handkerchief. "I still have nightmares about it. Even though Watson, Jane and I found you and you were safe. I wish we could have done the same this time. I wish we found you and brought you home safe."
I was crying again, but I needed to get out all that I needed to say before it was too late.
"I should never have let you face him alone," I sobbed. "I should have followed you, been there for you." Gladstone was still beside me, pawing at the hearse and trying to dig at it as if he was really in there and not just some clothes that Mrs Hudson washed. They must have still smelt like him. I kind of wish that he was, though, then I could open it and hold his hand as I memorized him by heart.
"I love you," I whispered and for two full minutes, I just knelt there, crying, until I sensed someone else's presence. Jane was kneeling beside me now, she was watching me as I was saying my goodbyes.
"We need to go and sit down now," I heard her say and she helped me to stand.
I sat in the church between Watson and Simza, who was holding my hand the entire time and I laid my head on her shoulder as one by one, everyone gave a speech, telling me things about him that I didn't even know. Watson nearly laughed when Mrs Hudson mentioned the jungle in the apartment, and what just living with him did to her nerves and the many, many, many times that Gladstone played a part in his experiments. Watson leaned over to me and said that it was a miracle the dog had even survived this long, which made me smile. Someone else said that he kept his sense of humor till the end, did not for a moment waiver in his courage and his spirit soared like an eagle to the sky.
My mother was weeping not too far away. She seemed especially upset and I saw this - my mother, standing in the place of another mother mourning her child. Father reached out to her and held her hand. They held on tight as a minister stood to address the mourners.
Doctor Watson went up to the lectern. "You told me once that you weren't a hero. There were times I didn't even think you were human, but let me tell you this: you were the best man, and the most human human being that I've ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, and so-" He blew out a breath, whimpering slightly. "I was so alone, and I owe you so much." He took another tearful breath. "There's just one more thing, mate, one more thing: one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't be dead. Just stop it. Stop this."
When it was my turn to give a speech, I looked around at everyone here, I doubted half of them even knew him, but maybe he and Watson solved their case, so they felt that they owed it to him to come. The room was dead silent for a while until I stood up and read from the card. I had to look up a few times to blink away some tears, just when I thought I couldn't possibly cry anymore.
"Sherlock Holmes was the great star-crossed love of my life. Ours was an epic love story, and I won't be able to get more than a sentence into it without disappearing into a puddle of tears. Like all real love stories - ours will die with us, as it should. I'd hoped that he'd be eulogizing me, because there's no one I'd rather have..." And that was all I could get out before falling apart. I let it out for a couple seconds, then I pulled myself together.
"I can't talk about our love story so instead I will talk about math. I am not a mathematician, but I know this: there are infinite numbers between 0 and 1. There's .1 And .12 And .112 And an infinite collection of others. Of course, there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. An author my mother used to like taught us that. I want more numbers than I'm likely to get, and I want more numbers for Sherlock than he got. But, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and for that I am eternally grateful. I love you." I looked to Watson who nodded, a small smile on his face and tears rolling down his cheeks.
"Now, a few words may suffice to tell the little that remains, any attempt at finding the bodies was absolutely hopeless. John and I are still there...deep down in that dreadful cauldron of swirling water and seething foam, alive for all time...the most dangerous criminal and foremost champion of the law of their generation. He and I shall ever regard him as the best and wisest man, whom we've ever known."
*Sniff sniff* That was a really hard chapter to write, I was crying the whole time and my chest aches now. And yes, part of the eulogy was stolen from The Fault In Our Stars, because that book owns part of my heart and soul. Anyway, I promise you the coming chapters will get better. (wink)
After his brother spoke, we went outside and stood as the hearse was lowered into the ground and it was at that moment that I was convinced that we would never be together again. And the strange part of it all, was that his body wasn't in there, just some clothes that Watson had found. We listened to the lament that the bagpipers were playing and the minister said a prayer about his union with God, and though Sherlock was not a particularly religious person, that didn't mean that he didn't believe in capital-S Something, and so I tried to imagine him capital-S Somewhere as we prayed.
Above us, the wind blew and the branching shadows rearranged themselves on our skin. Watson squeezed my hand. After the song was over, everyone had to come up to us and tell us that I'd spoken beautifully, and that it was a lovely service, which was a lie: It was a funeral. It looked like any other funeral. Then people began to disperse, and Simza embraced me, she needed to catch the next train. Mycroft would go with her to make sure she got home safely, and she told me that I was strong, I told her she was strong, too and that I was sorry about Rene. She closed her eyes and nodded, then she reached to the back of her neck and held up a necklace.
"It's got a protection charm on it, it will keep you safe," she said tearfully as she helped me with the chain. "I'll miss you. I promise I'll write to you as often as I can."
"Me, too," I dried my eyes and watched as she left, then I turned to Watson and saw that he was speaking with a constable and Inspector Lestrade.
"How's your book coming along?" He asked once he joined me again.
"I'm almost finished the epilogue. I would have finished it earlier, but I was just so tired and I wasn't feeling up to it."
"I understand. What's it about?"
"I'm writing a memoir. A memoir would be just the thing to keep him in the hearts and memories of his adoring public."
"Oh, I would love to read it once you're done." He smiled.
"Only if you lend me yours to read." I replied with a small smile of my own and he nodded, going to talk to Mrs Hudson.
"Are you ready to go home, love?" Mother asked, and I nodded. She linked my arm through hers and we walked to the carriage and once we got in, I cried some more.