Author's Note:
Merry Christmas Eve! One more chapter to go!
==Chapter 5: Alone==
The cemetery was blessedly quiet. He vaulted over the low brick wall and ran to the section he'd visited twice before with his supervising officer. Time slowed as he took in the grave that he hadn't seen before, slowed 'til he was wading through it like quicksand, sucking at him and imprisoning him. But he reached the grave marker.
Took in the name and the dates.
Collapsed to his knees in the snow, unable to stand.
Elizabeth Anne Lestrade
April 2nd, 2078—July 4th, 2103
Patriot
His vision went blurry as he shoved one hand into his mouth, reached out with the other to trace the inscription. Just one word for an epitaph. Patriot. So very apt. A lump formed in his throat and rose, and, when he coughed, the tears fell. He clutched at the tombstone for support as he released a storm of grief he had not thought he would have to endure again.
He thought of her fierceness, her independence, her loyalty, her devil-may-care smile, her laugh, her bright blue eyes…
He would never see them again. They were dead.
She was dead.
She was dead, and he had never told her just what she meant to him. Now he would never have that chance.
"Beth, I'm sorry," he choked out, tasting the inadequacy of the words as they left his mouth. "I'm so sorry. I love you. Beth, I loved you."
Because he hadn't been here to stop Moriarty, she had died trying to stop him herself. He knew it. That was why there was one word only inscribed below the dates of birth and death. On America's Independence Day, she had died a patriot, fighting for independence in a world fallen under a tyrant's reign.
No!
He surged to his feet. This is a dream, is it not? Only a vision of what might have been, like Scrooge and the Ghost of Christmas Future. With that in mind, he broke into a run once more, desperation fueling him as he returned home.
221B looked dark and old as he approached. The door was unlocked, and he burst inside. "Lestrade!" He rushed up the stairs. "Wiggins! Deidre, Tennyson, Amanda! Watson!" He ran from room to room, too frantic to think clearly. "Wiggins, Deidre, Tennyson, Amanda! Watson! Lestrade! Beth! Elizabeth!"
Running half-blind through the deserted house, he did not see the compudroid until he had smacked right into him. Unlike Dr. Culverton Smith, Holmes managed to rebound. "Watson?"
The robot seemed to be standard compudroid issue, and it answered tonelessly. "Citizen, do you require assistance?"
Holmes stepped away from the robot, hanging his head. "No." Quieter: "No, I don't."
"Please vacate these abandoned premises immediately."
"Very well." Holmes began to walk past the 'bot but froze when he took in an engraving on the machine's right arm plate.
The name WATSON stared back at him, and he did a double take at the robot, searching for some sign of recognition. "Watson! You're Watson, the compudroid assigned to Inspector B. Lestrade of New Scotland Yard!"
"Negative, citizen. I am assigned to Inspector M. Gregson of New Scotland Yard; my designation is 4260-A134."
As with Deidre and Tennyson, there was no spark of recognition whatsoever. The robot—the man—Holmes had shared rooms, cases, joys, and fears with for the past two and a half years… didn't… know… him. Holmes gave him—it—one brief look of heartbreak before turning to leave.
He returned to the cold, not caring where his weary feet took him. John was no longer with him, and there was not a soul in this world that knew him. Neither the Irregulars nor Watson knew him, and Beth was dead, perhaps even mercifully so. Just thinking about the tempestuous poster-child of New Scotland Yard made him want to break down.
When the dark wood fell before me
And all the paths were overgrown
When the priests of pride say there is no other way
I tilled the sorrows of stone
Beth had loved that song, an "oldie" from the 1990s by one of her favorite Celtic singers.
I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars
She'd once told him of a music video about Jeremy Brett's Sherlock Holmes, using that song.
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me
She'd said that it made her cry every time she watched it, and there was no zedding way she was showing it to him.
Then the mountain rose before me
By the deep well of desire
From the fountain of forgiveness
Beyond the ice and the fire
So he'd found it online and watched it on his own.
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me
It had brought tears to his eyes, recalling to memory both the tragic story of Jeremy Brett's manic depression and his own final year on earth.
Though we share this humble path, alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars
It had made him think of John, his John, the man who'd lived with him for nearly two decades on Baker Street.
Breathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We'll rise above these earthly cares
Now it made him think of Beth.
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me
Please remember me
His feeble barriers broke beneath the strain, and he let his grief wash over him as he collapsed against the railing of a bridge crossing the Thames. "John," he choked out. "John, you have to help me, please. I need you. I want to go back. Please take me back.
"I want to live again," he sobbed. "I want to live again. Please, God, let me live again. Please. Just let me live again. I want to live again."
Author's Note:
"Dante's Prayer," the song quoted above, is the property of Loreena McKennit. I thought it very appropriate. The music video in question does exist; just look up "Jeremy Brett Please Remember Me" on YouTube. And have Kleenex nearby.
Next up, the finale and Holmes's happy ending! Stay tuned!
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