This story is un-beta'd and I post them only after quickly proofreading so forgive mistakes for the moment, but read the note at the bottom. It conveys a message I want to address and it should provide at least one giggle. I'm sorry for the short chapter, but I plan on updating by Monday. I still own nothing—oh my goodness but I do own Adelaide the character. She is pretty baller and her own woman so I don't think she would take kindly to being owned but she is fictional so she really has no choice. Sorry….Back to the story…QUE THE MUSIC, DAVID AND MICHAEL! Da dum da dum dum dummmmm da dum dum…
The two men exited the cab and Sherlock paid for the cabbie to stay. He wasn't planning on lingering here. John looked anxiously in the direction of the place he had come to as futile questions many times over. Sherlock came alongside him and they started walking towards his plot.
It was in a very nice green space, near a tree that put a bit of shade over the black marble. Sherlock didn't start looking for clues just yet, he noticed that John was clenching his fists and had an overtly stoic look on his face. He remembered seeing John that day, begging for his friend to not be dead. It had lit a fire in Sherlock to break down the network, so that he could maybe return. He had contemplated just staying away, making Mycroft send him on covert missions, maybe even with Adelaide. There's always a bright spot in the gloom. Oh god, when did he turn into an optimist? Cold reason. That was his comfort—or it had been. Things had been annoyingly changing since he left and Sherlock didn't know whether to resist it or accept it as it came. Some of the changes were easier to accept, Mary (despite all her secrecy) was good for John and he wouldn't admit this out loud, but she was one of the most intelligent people outside of his family. She was smart enough to protect John and give him what he needs. He was glad she was the last of his string of girlfriends that trooped though Baker Street. She was defiantly the only one he actually liked. Yes, change could be positive.
John blinked to clear his mind. He had been remembering every time he had come to this spot. To seek something; answers, hope, peace? He didn't know. Those visits were filled with so much misery and confusion, and they felt lonely. His last visit though, he hadn't been alone. Mary had come with him, he could tell she understood loss (and now he got the picture that she had more experience than he previously thought). That day was the day he didn't feel alone standing at the foot of his best friend's grave. It felt like maybe the world could go on without Sherlock Holmes, his world could have gone on. He would never be completely whole, but he could fill his heart up enough to get by. Then, John had a thought bramble up to the front of his mind.
"Tuesday's pork special."
Sherlock shook out of his contemplations and took a few seconds to process what John had said. He scrunched up his face, trying to decide how to react.
"Tuesday's pork special. Bloody lunch leftovers." John turned to look at Sherlock, the man who defied death and whose memorial stood over the ashes of someone's lunch.
And after two heartbeats they both smiled and started laughing. They couldn't stop, all that pent up tension just released in laughter. It was far from an appropriate reaction while one was in a cemetery, and other visitors looked at them shamefully, but they didn't care. The friends needed that relief from the emotions from the past two years. All the unspoken hurt that they suffered because of the circumstances of their lives.
Sherlock put a hand on John's shoulder to steady himself. John wiped away some moisture that appeared during their fit. "So, Sherlock Holmes, we should look for some clues, right?"
Sherlock straightened up and righted himself, "Suppose so, I do hope that we don't have to go digging. I like the fact that my place is held by rejected meals."
"Do you think we should take it down? The stone?" John asked curiously. "I hadn't been back here since you returned, but it seems garish to have a headstone for a person who is alive."
Sherlock thought for a moment, "For all practical reasons, I should keep it. I will die eventually and it's nice to see everything laid out already. Now you just have to pop me in. No fuss there."
"Very unlike you, "no fuss", if you're anything, it is a fuss. It's still morbid though. Try and stay out of there for a long time. You have filled up your dying quota for this half-century." John pseudo-scolded.
"I'll try to live up to your demands, John." Sherlock looked away from John and his eyes landed on a brand new headstone about 70 yards away that read 'Richard Brook'. Couldn't be a coincidence. He rushed over to the gray marble and knelt to observe it. There was only the name; no dates or inscriptions. Sherlock swiveled on his knee to see the back, and there it was. The last bit of cypher in yellow paint, it was similar to the other two, Greek letters, but this time there was a set of initials at the bottom. 'SM'
John looked at the stone, "He wouldn't be buried here. Moriarty became a cadaver for dissections in classes at Bart's. I remember, about a month after, Molly was teaching a class on trauma to the human brain and his head was one of the examples. She was so shaken after, that they let her take the week off. I called up Mike to give him a piece of my mind, letting that happen." John shook his head in disapproval. "But anyway, unclaimed bodies get cremated and put into the state cemetery. This place is private."
Sherlock took a few pictures of the message, "Obviously a planted stone. Seems sentimental though, not to just paint an existing one. Someone has a respect for the dead."
"Someone? Like this Moran person? 'SM'? Those would be his initials. Seems a bit dramatic though, putting a stone up with that name." John kicked the base of the headstone with his toe.
"It's someone who wants to at least seem like Moran, from my experience he did like dramatics." Sherlock stood up and made way for the cab. John followed and gave a last glance at the stone that had troubled him so much. He made a promise to never come back until Sherlock was really in the ground. John shook the feeling off and checked his watch, "Forty-five minutes."
Sherlock had been in thought, "Hmm?" John replied, "Forty-five minutes until your sister gets to Baker Street if she's on time. Has Mycroft said anything?" Sherlock's phone chimed, "Speak of the devil and he doth appear." Sherlock gave a scowl at his brother being annoyingly present, even when he wasn't physically there. "He says the car should arrive in forty-three minutes." Sherlock pocketed his phone and opened the back of the cab.
"Should take about twenty to get to the flat." John suggested. "Nope, traffic at this time of the day? Twenty-eight and thirty-six seconds." Sherlock settled into the back of the cab with John flopping down in an exasperated way. "Twenty-eight and thirty-six seconds?! Confident cock, you are." Sherlock grinned, "221 Baker Street." The cab took off and John checked his watch as stealthily as he could.
Twenty-eight minutes and thirty-six seconds later, the cab stopped in front of Speedy's Café. "You cocky bastard," John sputtered out while opening the car door. Sherlock was so pleased with himself, he pulled out some cash and paid the cabbie himself. John gave him an irritated look laced with a bit of pride and turned to the door with Sherlock still grinning when they started up the stairs to 221B.
Long, but hopefully entertaining A/N: So howdy. I'm from Texas. Yes, I do have horses. No, I do not ride them to school/work. (That is what the school owned mule wagon that comes by every morning is for) Yes, I do say howdy, but that is because I am a Fightin Texas Aggie from Texas A&M University and that is our official greeting, (and it's just so gosh darn friendly to say howdy. so I say it like the good, redass Ag I am) Yes, I do wear cowboy boots all the time. They are comfortable and appropriate for 9 out of 10 occasions here, it's brilliant. No, these things I do and have are not indicative of the majority. This place is crawling with every which personality: hipsters and metro folks and supernerds like you and me who keep sonic screwdrivers in their purse to fix the wayward crack in the time vortex that might appear at the grocery store. But all and all I wanted you to know that I come from not England, but a very special place that has its own unique culture and dialect. So writing a fic about a place I have never been to can have its difficulties. This is a story about English people, from a show written and produced by English folks. So I intend to nix American phrases and terms and use English ones instead. However, I do not know them all, and there are little nuances that we don't notice that are different between our cultures. Like recently, I learned that a 'washcloth/washrag' was a 'flannel' in British English and that is weird. Flannel is what lumberjacks wear because they get cold, it's just a fabric type like linen, cotton or silk. I recall my first British vocabulary error when as an eight year old, I did not understand that Harry Potter lived in a closet under the stairs and but instead a cupboard where Americans keep crazy things like cups on shelves made from boards (it also did not help that I've never lived in a house with stairs or a basement). I assumed that he was much more uncomfortable than he was, so when I saw the luxurious space of his closet compared to the china cabinet I thought he lived in, I did not feel so bad for his predicament.
This is my task unto you British Citizen or Anglophile: if I forget and put a 'z' where a 's' should go, please let me know. (Y'all should get over your animosity for the letter "ZEE" It is already feeling neglected from disuse and always being last) Or on the opposite end of the spectrum, if you catch John saying something as corny as "cor blimey!" I might be over compensating, so let me know then too. I'd like for this to have as much fluidity as possible and not have an obvious Americanism or Texism popping up and ruining your experience in my little AU where Sherlock has a kickass awesome sister because it wouldn't hurt to have more people love him unconditionally. Over and out on this long note. Tune in next time for more adventures! Happy trails! Thanks and Gig 'Em.