Greetings, fellow Sherlockians! First of all, I am here with another chapter! Now, be warned, if you are looking for a chapter filled with cupcakes and rainbows, then it's not too late to find a My Little Pony story, but if not, then please, continue scrolling down. I literally put in the sweat and tears to write it and I have no idea how I managed to come up with something so angsty.
Also, this will NOT be the final chapter as I previously stated, I actually have some more stuff to add before we put this story to rest.
SURPRISE!
Anyway, on we go to the tears and the...tears.
Coming home from our honeymoon was definitely going to be a rough transition, but at the same time, I was glad to be back on familiar grounds; Switzerland was everything I dreamed it would be, scenic, picturesque landscapes, mountaintops everywhere I turned, and the snow made it even more beautiful; Germany was the kind of place you would want to write a story about; despite being in the middle of a war, the people living there seemed happy, warm and friendly and I prayed that everyone would be safe; and France was one of the most romantic cities in the world and it was even more mysterious at night.
London had a certain little charm of its own; was dirty and filthy and filled with criminals and royalty alike, it was rich in both culture and history, and people from all walks of life flooded the streets. Parents with small children, boys and girls dressed in their uniforms going to school, and dogs walking obediently alongside their owners; it was home.
Eventually, the train lazily rolled into the station and I could hear the ear-splitting screech as it came to a complete stop. The rain was even harder than it had been before.
"I'm sort of missing the snow right now," I said to Sherlock who nodded.
"London is so bleak this time of year, but don't worry, you'll get used to it."
My boot prints splashed in the puddles on the sidewalk. I had to admit, that rain was easier to walk in and I didn't have to worry about slipping on ice; I shuddered as a cold winter breeze swept past me, causing a chill to run down my spine accompanied by an involuntary shivering sensation. I watched my breath coming out in front of my face in hot spurts through the air.
"We have a little bit of time before your mother and father arrive, there's an order of business we have to attend to."
He waved for a carriage, but I reached for his hand and brought it down.
"Darling, I've been sitting still for much too long, and if I'm not mistaken, I've put on four pounds since I was last here,"
"I blame it on the fudge you had in France."
"How dare you?!" I laughed, "That fudge was the most magical thing I'd ever tasted."
"I think I could persuade Mary to give me the recipe. All the time for her husband; and you remember she baked when we were snowed in; if she won't give it to me, I could ask Simza."
"Simza? How would she know? Does she bake?"
"When she was taking care of me, she told me that she is friends with one of the bakers at the restaurant we went to."
"How am I just finding this out now?"
Then we politely excused ourselves; There was another order of business that needed to be done, and that was to tell the good news to Inspector Lestrade and Constable Clark, one of the only people, actually the only person in Scotland Yard who Sherlock got along with.
"Where do you think he could have gone?" I asked as we walked around the streets; I still didn't feel completely safe wandering around London at night, but with Sherlock beside me, it did put me at ease a little bit.
"I know of only one place he goes to when he's in a bad mood," he said, picking up his pace.
In an underground tunnel, I allowed myself to let him guide me. If it weren't for the faint light caused by the streetlamps, we would never have found Lestrade's distinctive silhouette walking across the area searching his pockets as he went. We walked behind him, hearing a metallic click and seeing him lighting a cigar.
"Those things will kill you," I heard Sherlock say from beside me.
Lestrade froze, the flame not quite reaching the end of his cigar as he stared into the distance while his brain caught up with what – and who – he just heard. We started walking towards him.
"It's time to come back. You've been letting things slide, Inspector."
He stared at Sherlock and I for a long moment, his lips slowly lifting to reveal his teeth. Grimacing, he lunged towards him and wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him into a tight hug. Neither one of them were one for hugs, but today was an exception.
The same could be said for Constable Clark; it was quite the happy reunion. We watched him walk up the steps to his house, took out his keys and opened his front door. As the door swung open. He seemed to sense that someone was behind him and when he turned around and saw Sherlock standing a short distance away behind him, smiling slightly. He stood perfectly still and stared at him for several seconds, starting to smile.
As soon as we arrived back at the train station, my mother and father and John were waiting for us; She walked towards me as her heels clipped on the hard floor. Her large arms found their way around my small body as we were smothered with parental love.
"I see you two are more in love than ever," Mother smiled, looking between the two of us.
"We are," Sherlock smiled back, his hand traveled slowly up my back. I pressed myself against him, my head resting in his chest. I could hear his heart beating through his jacket, a small smile cracking on my face. His hand traveled slowly up my back.
"Just like your father and I were when we were young; we used to go walking along the lily pond, and they were all in bloom, it was magical."
"That was our first kiss," Father smiled fondly.
"Always good to see you, Holmes," said John, putting a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.
"Always good to see you, Watson," he replied, bringing his friend into a brotherly embrace.
I knew Sherlock was excited for John and Mary, but I could see the little glimmer of sadness and fondness in his gaze. Not only would he be losing his friend, but his partner. How long had they even been working together? Even though he seemed to be handling it well, I knew that he was good at hiding the inner turmoil he was feeling. John's place was going to be a hard one to fill and that left me to wonder if I would be able to live up to it.
"Mary would have loved to join us, but she needs to look after the baby."
"How is little Rosie?" I asked, perking up as soon as I heard the word 'baby' and seeing John's eyes light up while talking about her, warmed my heart.
"She's getting bigger everyday; we just started reading her nursery rhymes, and playing classical music."
"They say it makes babies smarter; You know, I know someone who can introduce her to the best of the best."
"She's right, Holmes," said John, "you should come by sometime, bring your violin and put on a little show for her."
"I don't know if she'd be able to understand it yet."
"Well," I said, "you're right about that, she might not be old enough to fully appreciate it until she's older, but she will be happy just to hear you play."
He smiled. "If that's what the princess wishes, then I will be glad to oblige."
"I hope the Germans didn't give you too much trouble," said Father, jokingly.
"They were very hospitable," I said, "it was just crossing over that was difficult."
I told them all about how we trekked through the blizzard across the snowy French countryside as we found our way out of the train station and just as we stepped off of the platform, my mother stopped me.
"Is your hair shorter, or do I need to get my eyesight checked?" she asked.
"Actually, your eyesight is as good as ever. I did get it trimmed a little."
"A little!" she exclaimed a little too loudly. "It's five inches shorter than it was when you left."
I frowned, bringing my hand up to touch my hair, it was shorter. I didn't want to disappoint my mother again, she was traditional and liked things done a certain way; but at the same time, I was a married woman, and was capable of making and taking responsibility for my own decisions.
"I love it," My father said, "did you do it yourself, or did you have help?"
"My husband is a surprisingly good stylist."
"Really, Holmes? You can't even do your own hair, how did you ever manage?"
"I'm not completely helpless when it comes to my hygiene, Watson," he replied, somewhat defensively.
"I think it looks beautiful," my mother said once we got to our carriages. "And it's softer, too."
I was slightly confused by her sudden change of attitude towards the new hairstyle.
She gently tugged on the sleeve of my coat and then took me to the side. "Sweetheart, I understand that you need to live your own life, make your own choices, it's just that you've always been our little girl and now you're grown up and married. It'll take some time for me to get used to it, but I love you and Sherlock is a good man."
"He is a great man," I said, smiling and embracing her. "And don't worry, Mother, I'll always be your little girl, no matter what."
Grey clouds hovered over the city like a heavy blanket, and a thick sheet of rain poured down onto the roads and sidewalks. It began building up, now it was more than a few inches that had come down from the darkened clouds. The only problem was, it was impossible for me to see more than five feet in front of me, thankfully, there were gas lamps lit throughout the station, so that we could make our way even in this heavy drizzle. I felt each splash that touched my skin, and my black coat became a shade deeper. This was typical London weather; clouds and rain.
"How is Grandfather?" I asked. Out of all the people, besides John, that I was most looking forward to talking about my trip with, it was him. I was sure he would love the hat that I bought for him while we were in Paris.
Mother took one of my hands in hers and her voice dropped to a whisper. "Your grandfather was really sick the day before you left for your honeymoon, but John took good care of him while the two of you were away."
Grandfather lived twice as long as any of the elderly friends that I had growing up, but his age was starting to show; his eyes were slowly becoming duller than they'd once been and more clouded, which didn't surprise me, really. "Can we go and see him? Maybe my gifts will help cheer him up."
My mother looked away and I thought I saw tears rolling down her cheeks. Father walked up beside Mother and placed his hand on her shoulder, "He is with your grandmother now."
At these words, I broke into a cold sweat; my heart pounded and nausea rose in the pit of my stomach and I involuntarily took a step backwards. There was a loud rumble of thunder which shook the ground.
"No, that can't be true, the doctors said that-"
"I'm sorry, Charlotte, I did everything I could to help him, but he didn't get any better," John said, his voice shaking a little. He was a doctor, and I knew that he would never sugar-coat things if they couldn't or didn't need to be.
"I didn't even get to say goodbye," I said, looking to the stormy clouds above me, which at the time seemed unforgiving. "I should have been there for him. Instead I was frolicking across Europe!"
"It wasn't your fault, dear," my mother said; I knew she was upset, too, losing the only parent she had left.
"I'm sorry," Sherlock muttered, I could feel his gloved fingers gently squeezing my hand reassuringly. "If I had known that your Grandfather was so sick, we could have rescheduled. Darling, I know what you must be going through."
"No!" I shouted seething, "You don't know what it's like! Irene came back to life! My grandfather is gone forever!"
"Listen to me, everything is going to be fine."
"What was the rush, Sherlock?!" I screamed at him, furious and all of my words were coming out at once. "Who were you so desperate to get away from? We didn't even have time to plan a proper wedding, or to properly plan our honeymoon! We could have done things the right way like my mother said we should, and I was foolish to rush into it!"
"Then why did you agree to it, then? I told you why I wanted to have the wedding sooner rather than later."
"Yeah, and then guess who showed up at our honeymoon? Irene Adler!"
"So did that Theodore Higgins, who treated you horribly, at least Irene wasn't like him!"
"If you care about her so much, then why don't you go marry her? I know you still have feelings for her."
He scoffed only making you even angrier. "You wouldn't understand! It's complicated! How could someone with such a simple mind understand-"
That shut me up, I blinked, trying to process what had happened.
"He's gone," I said in a deadly whisper before the waves of grief rolled over me, unrelenting, forcing me under without a single break for air; I did not give in, even when my vision clouded, my ears rang, my chest tightened, and I was consumed with a familiar ache that did not go away for several moments and no matter how hard I tried to break free from its suffocating embrace, I couldn't; finally, I gave myself over and closed my eyes, allowing myself to feel the pain.
I never expected that I would be attending a funeral today, but here we were.
All was quiet; we were all standing outside near the new grave, dressed in black, staring solemnly at the cross that my father had carved out of the leftover wood from the fence we had finished building just before the storm came. It was almost four o'clock in the afternoon, and the breeze played eerie tunes as it sang through the trees, a little piece of the sun peeked out from behind the clouds, shining down upon it, only to disappear a second later. I imagined that it was God coming to take my uncle's soul with him to Heaven. Everyone, including John, had said a few parting words, and now it was my turn.
This was it, this was the moment I had been both anticipating and dreading for the past few years. It was as if we had come to the end of a very long path and was standing at the end of the cliff; it was just like when Sherlock died, all of those feelings of anger and grief came back like a tidal wave.
"My grandfather always told me that he wasn't afraid of death, or dying, that it was just the natural order of things; not once did he allow that to stop him from living his life and going on adventures, like the time he and some of his old schoolmates took a trip to Egypt, or attending a celebration in India, and he would always tell me stories from the war, or how he and my grandmother met."
I stopped to dry some tears with the back of my sleeve like they were dirty marks on my face. Mother smiled and nodded, blinking away tears of her own. I looked down at the soil, soaked from this morning's heavy downpour. "What else do I say when you can't find the words? I will miss you, Grandfather, more than you'll ever know."
I looked up and squinted at the light of the sky, allowing the tears to fall this time, and then stepped away, pushing past the crowd and not wanting to talk to anyone. I heard footsteps coming from behind me and turned sharply, only to see John standing underneath an umbrella, he didn't say anything, and neither did I, I turned around to face the road and walked the rest of the way to the flat by myself.
Grandfather's spirit was still there, sitting on his favourite armchair in front of the fireplace, wearing the new pair of brown fuzzy slippers that I got him for Christmas. His head was still resting on his shoulder and he blinked his eyes as if adjusting to the little light in the room, a sign that he had dozed off at some point, but was now awake. A book was laid open on his chest.
I heard other voices joining in and I could tell that they were comrades that he'd lost in the war. My eyes followed him, unblinking, as Grandmother wrapped him in a blanket and he smiled an eye-crinkling smile and laughed as if he just finished telling a joke.
And he was at peace.
I'd returned safely to the flat directly after the funeral, seeing as how I really didn't have any other choice. I didn't want to go to my parent's house, though I wanted to comfort my mother, but Jane assured me that she would be going with her and Father, so that was one less thing to worry about.
Mrs. Hudson tried to talk to me, but like a child, I stormed off to one of the guest rooms and slammed the door, hard enough to rattle the place; and hours later, when it was dark outside, I had washed my face and put on my clothes by the light of a candle, whose warm, amber light was comforting. I felt myself calming down as he ran the brush over my soft brown locks and folded each piece over the other, gradually adding more into it until it looked like I weaved a basket. When it was all done, I looked into the mirror and laughed, but that happy feeling soon faded away and I was looking through a mist. My eyes were red and puffy from the endless crying.
Moments after, I heard a soft knock at the door.
"Come in!" I called, though with my stuffed nose, it sounded muffled and unintelligible.
Glancing behind me, I expected to see someone coming through the door; but frowned, deflated when I discovered it was Mrs Hudson. I had not spoken to Sherlock since our fight; no doubt he was conducting some sort of experiment, since he had been so deprived of it when we'd been together, not to mention the two years he spent hiding away. I wanted so badly to go down to him and apologize for losing my temper with him, but I wasn't sure if that was the best idea considering we weren't on the best of terms.
See, when people were angry or upset with me, I would hide myself away and avoid them until things calmed down. I listened for any sign that he was around, and sure enough, I heard the lulling sound of the violin, that meant he was home and that he was safe, that's all that mattered to me.
"I brought you some food," she said kindly, shutting the door behind her. "I know you may not have much of an appetite, but I thought that some soup would give you some nourishment."
Though my stomach refused to digest the soup, I forced it down, hoping it would help fill the emptiness left behind. "Thank you, I do appreciate it."
"Things will fall back into place soon, dear, even though it may not seem like it now." She stroked my hair and then started out the door.
"Wait!" I called out and when she did, I swallowed. "Please tell Sherlock that I'm sorry, will you? And make sure he's alright?"
She smiled a little. "Why don't you just tell him yourself?"
Soon enough, there he was, standing in the doorway beside her, and instantly, I rose from my spot at the end of the bed and ran up to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. There was so much that I wanted to say in that moment, but every time I opened my mouth, nothing came out. Sherlock moved his hands to stroke my hair and then engulfed me in his arms, pulling me so close that it was almost hard to breathe; I didn't care, I laid my head down on his shoulder, enjoying the comfort.
"Shh, I'm here, I'm right here; I understand why you're upset. There's just a lot to think about right now, you're entitled to feel this way."
I swiftly wiped my tears and tilted my head up to face him. "Still, it wasn't your fault and I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you and I'm sorry we got into a fight and said all of those horrible things. I have no regrets about marrying you and-"
"Neither do I; you are the only one I could ever love, and will ever love, and even though Irene and I were close in the past, you are my present and my future."
"And you are right about Theodore, he was a horrible, horrible man and you are twice the man that he'll ever be." I paused. "And Irene seems really nice, she just needs a turn in the right direction."
"Do you want to talk about it?" he tested.
"Theodore? Absolutely not," I said, shaking my head; I exhaled shakily. "It hurts; it's just like when I thought I lost you, or when you lost Irene, only this time, he's not ever coming back."
"I know; I wish there was something I could do." He placed his hands comfortingly on either side of my face and kissed me sweetly, swiping his thumb along and drying my tears.
"Just hold me," I said, softly, "Just remind me that there is still good in this cruel world."
"There will always be good in this world, my love," he whispered, bringing me over to the bed. "You just have to know where to look."
"I know exactly where," I said, laying down on the soft pillow and as he crawled in beside me, I sought him out like he was the only solace I had.
With each soft word, I felt my eyelids drooping and my tense muscles relaxing, betraying my senses, until I felt as if I were floating on a bed of clouds, with nothing to knock me down; and the last thing I saw before my eyes fluttered shut, were a pair of warm amber eyes.