I'll just apologize now for any spelling errors this may have. My computer is dying a slow painful death, and I don' have spell check. It's knda a miracle I can post this story in the first place.
Also going to say now that a lot of the dialogue in these early chapters will come right from the game, however later I will be taking stuff from Sherlock and putting in my own diaogue. So uh, there's that.
Sherlock and To the Moon to not belong to me! Please leave a review, that'd be lovely. Thanks :)
The rabbit brought them to the downstairs area of Sherlock's house. He was seated at the piano, the floor surrounding him covered in paper rabbits. And perched on the piano, was the strange toy platypus that Dr. Watts had grabbed earlier.
Sherlock was playing the song the two children had been playing earlier, only the key was different and the arrangement was much more difficult. The detective stopped playing very suddenly, his eyes misting, before he slammed his hands down on the piano keys angrily and began to weep.
Creeped out by all the rabbits, Dr. Watts and Dr. Rosalene tiptoed their way around them, searching for a memento to use in order to travel further back into his memory. They found it in the form of a battered black umbrella, which sent them flying back in time.
The umbrella was being held by a very sad Sherlock, who stood in front of a freshly made grave. He was also holding the toy platypus, which Neil didn't think had a right to exist. Dr. Watts immediately recognized where they were, however Dr. Rosalene had never seen the place before. It was at the base of the abandoned lighthouse, from the looks of it just after John Watson had died.
After looking around and not finding a mememto, Dr. Watts went into the lighthouse. Dr. Rosalene was about to follow him when suddenly Sherlock began speaking. "It's finished, John. Like you, I'll be able to watch over her everyday. She won't be alone anymore. I might never understand why, but I stayed true to your wish. I'm sure Anya is grateful to you, too. But when I'm gone, who is going to watch over us?"
Dr. Rosalene heard enough, and went up into the lighthouse after her partner. By the time she got up there, Dr. Watts had already gotten the memento and was heading back in time. It didn't take her very long to follow him. The stuffed platypus was what they needed.
It took them back to when John Watson was still alive, although he was abviously dying. He lay in bed, surrounded by paper rabbits on the floor with the platypus propped up beside him on the bed. There was also a book, open face face beside the toy. Sherlock was sitting in a chair at John's side, speaking to him.
"Just enough," he said, "After we pay for your operation, we'll have just enough left for it. So don't you worry."
John looked up at him, a knowing expression on his face. "White lie," he said, his voice so soft it was barely audible. "That's what you call it right?"
Sherlock shook his head, grey curls bouncing, "No, I'm sure we can jus-"
"Stop it now. I don't like it when you lie. I calculated our finances, I know how it's like. Why do you try to convince me against my will?"
Sherlock grabbed John's hand, his eyes pleading, "We need the money for your medical bills, John!" he exclaimed. He paused, before lowering his voice and continuing, "I understand that Anya means a lot to you, but this... This is just too much. I mean she... she isn't even..." it was clear it didn't want to hurt John, however what he needed to say no matter how he worded it surely would.
John closed his eyes for a moment, before reopening them and looking up at Sherlock, "Do you know what makes me happy, Sherlock?"
"What?" Sherlock asked, confused for a moment by the sudden question.
"Do you?" John asked, more insistently.
When Sherlock made it clear he didn't know, John looked away from him, staring at the ceiling instead as though the answer were written there. "Well, I do. I just, hope you can help me with it."
"John..." Sherlock moaned, not liking the conversation one bit.
His partner didn't look at him, keeping his gaze on the ceiling. "When the papers for my treatments get here, I won't sign them. What you do with our money is up to you, but if you would grant my wish, I want you to use it to finish building that house." John paused, taking a deep breath and smiling wistfully, "And then, for every day that you live there, I want you to watch over her. Visit her, speak to her, comfort her. I don't want her to be alone anymore."
"And what about you?" Sherlock asked, squeezing John's hand. John looked over at him, before closing his eyes, "Happy. I'll be happy, Sherlock." John was silent for a moment, and Sherlock thought he had fallen asleep when suddenly he opened his eyes and asked, "Sherlock?"
"Yes?" he immediately replied.
John reached under the blankets, pulling out a paper rabbit, "I made this." Sherlock took the paper rabbit, and Dr. Watts knew it was the one that was two different colors. "Tell me what it is," John said.
Once again, Sherlock was confused, "What?"
"Just tell me what it is," John repeated.
Baffled, Sherlock stared down at the rabbit in his hands, trying to deduce something out of it, anything. "It's a rabbit, like all the others you made," he said slowly, looking at John for approval. The army doctor closed his eyes and hummed in approval, "What else?" he prodded.
Sherlock stared at it for a long while, looking at it from all angles. "Um, it's made of paper," he said, he could tell where the paper was made and where John had gotten it from but he didn't think that was what the dying doctor was looking for in his answer.
"What else?" John asked again, Sherlock seemed to be getting annoyed with whatever game his husband seemed to be playing.
"Its body is yellow, and the rest is blue."
John seemed to really like that, for he smiled, "Good. What else?"
For the final time, Sherlock examined the rabbit. What was John looking for? What was he supposed to say? "Look, John," he finally said, putting the rabbit down off to the side with all the others, "I wrote a song. It's for you."
John opened his eyes and looked at Sherlock, before finally saying, "Okay."
The lack of enthusiasm put Sherlock off for a moment, and he awkwardly asked, "Well, do you want to hear it?"
"Yes," came John's soft and simple reply. Sherlock walked over to the piano that he'd brought upstairs to their room, John's voice called out to him, "You didn't have to bring the piano in here for this. I can hear you just fine with the door open."
Sherlock didn't acknowledge that, he wanted to play this song for John in the bedroom, and so he would. He sat down on the bench and looked over the piano at where his husband lay, "It's called, 'For John'."
John chuckled at this, "Why so chiche?" he asked.
The detective shrugged, "It's, just a placeholder," he replied. He didn't really want to admit to John that in his old age it was getting difficult to come up with the witty sayings he once had. He began playing then, the same song he had been playing in the earlier memory. Dr. Watts looked over at his partner, "I got the memento, want to go back with me?"
She nodded and the two of them were again zooming back in time, both a little disheartened by what they'd seen. Eva hoped that the next memory would be at least slightly better than the last. It wasn't.
They found themselves at the house overlooking the lighthouse, however it had only been partially built. It was just a frame at this point. They walked around to the front, Sherlock sat against the building looking worn. A girl approached, who looked to be about the same age as him. "Greg called and said I should come," she said.
She walked over and sat down next to him, "I brought you pickled olives. They're your favourite, right?" she asked, handing him the jar. Sherlock set it aside and continued to ignore her, she continued talking, "I heart about John," she said. "Will he be okay?"
Finally Sherlock decided to speak, he glanced over at the girl, "His illness was just diagnosed in its late stage. Fortunately, it's treatable. But the medical bills..." he trailed off. Looking down and taking a deep breath, he forced himself to keep going, "We can't afford to finish building this house, Molly. We can barely afford to pay for his treatment. I'm just relieved that he'll be okay, but..." once again he trailed off.
"You don't know how much this place means to him. He's going to be heartbroken."
Molly looked sadly at him, "I'd help, but my husband and I have been barely getting by," she paused, looking as though she wanted to comfort him but not exactly sure how. "What are you going to do now?" she finally asked.
Sherlock looked conflicted, "I'm... I'm going to tell him we can make it. I'm going to tell him we can afford everything. I don't want him to do anything crazy."
"You shouldn't lie to him," Molly told him.
At this Sherlock suddenly got angry, and he narrowed his eyes at her, "You don't understand, Molly! If he foudn out, I'm not sure which he'd choose!"
"So what?" Molly asked gently, "If he chooses not to save himself for the sake of this place, then so be it. It's what he really wants."
"Do you think it's all about her?" Sherlock demanded, "What about me, Molly? After all these years helping other people, am I not allowed to be selfish even once?" He took a deep breath to steady himself, though it didn't help much. "I don't want to be alone, Molly," he said brokenly.
He stood up suddenly, "I'm not going to let him die!"
"That's arrogant," Molly chided, as though scolding a child.
Sherlock shot back an equally childish, "I don't care," before beginning to walk away.
"Where are you going?" she asked, standing up herself.
He didn't look back at her as he answered, "I'm going to pick something from this cliff to bring back to him. It'll at least give him some comfort."
Molly frowned, crossing her arms over her chest, "That doesn't make what you're doing any less wrong!" She reached into her bag and pulled out a music box, setting it on the ground in his direction, "Greg wanted me to give you this," she said, winding it. A pretty little tinkering melody began to play. "He said it's called 'Everything's Alright'."
Sherlock turned and looked at the music box in disgust before turning away again, "It isn't." With that, he walked away from her, up behind the house to the cliff that overlooked the lighthouse. Molly watched him go sadly, but there was nothing she could do. The two doctors were tempted to follow him, but decided against it. Instead they used the pickled olives to leap further back into his memories.
They arrived in a cafe, with four people sitting at a booth together. Sherlock and John sat together on one side, Molly and a grey haired man sat on the other side. He was speaking just as the doctors sat themselves at a table just within hearing distance.
"So you guys are really going for it, eh?" the grey haired man asked.
John Watson smiled cheerfully, "Yeah! The constructions starting in just a few months! It's a bit of a squeeze, we had to use all the money from doing cases and split the payment. But with financing, we'll make do."
Molly smiled, leaning her cheek on her hand, "How wonderful, having your dream house built at such a pretty site."
"You guys had your wedding at that lighthosue near there all those years ago, didn't you?" the grey haired man asked, smiling fondly at the memory.
John turned to look at Sherlock, nudging him affectionately "That's not all that's special about it, Lestrade. We have a long history with that place. Right?" Sherlock merely nodded his head in response, he seemed to have something on his mind.
The grey haired man, now identified as Lestrade, laughed and said, "Well, it's good to have some good news at a get-together for once! Cheers and congratulations you two!"
John held up his drink, "Hey, cheers mate!"
Everyone took a drink before Molly stood up, "I'll be right back, I'm going to go get some fresh air."
John immediately stood up, "You feeling ok? You want me to go with you?" he asked. When Molly nodded the two of them left, leaving Sherlock and Lestrade sitting alone at the table.
Lestrade cleared his throat, in order to get Sherlock's attention. "Well Sherlock, it's sure been a while." he said, trying to start a conversation. Ever since they had all retired from working at Scotland Yard, they hadn't spoken to each other much.
Sherlock merely nodded, Lestrade tried harder, "John certainly hasn't changed much. He's hasn't aged a day. Unlike you Sherlock, your hair's goin' grey, mate," he chuckled. He grew more somber after a moment, "Oh hey, so did you tell John that thing from back then?"
"I did," Sherlock merely replied, his words heavy.
Immediately Lestrade picked up that something was wrong, and became more serious, "How did he take it?" he asked.
Sherlock swallowed uneasily, "For the most part, he took it well." He looked up at Lestrade, and the older man was shocked to see how aged he looked. Sherlock had once been so vibrant, and full of energy. Now he looked completely drained, and his eyes lacked the sharpness they once had.
"Something changed though, something weird. Ever since the incident, he's been making these strange rabbits out of paper," Sherlock confessed.
Lestrade raised an eyebrow, "Oragami rabbits?" he asked. Sherlock nodded and Lestrade smiled reassuringly, "Hah, I used to fold oragami animals for my daughter all the time. What's wrong with that?"
Sherlock shook his head, "I don't think this is the same thing. He's been doing nothing but making the same rabbits, day in and day out. Our flat is literally filled with them now..."
Lestrade seemed as puzzled as Sherlock. That was rather, odd. Perhaps John's PTSD was kicking in and he was using it as a coping tactic. When he pointed this out Sherlock shook his head, "No, something is wrong with this picture. When I ask him about it, he never answers. Instead, he gets this distant look in his eyes. It's as though he expects something from me, and oddly enough, I feel as though there's something I'm supposed to say too."
"Have you asked Molly about it?" he asked.
Sherlock nodded, "Yes. She said she talked to him about it, but got nothing."
Taking another sip of his drink, Lestrade shrugged, "Well, I'm certainly not one to inquire. But I'll tell you this: I've known you since you were just a teen, and you're notorious for overthinking. That's what got you in trouble with Moriarty isn't it? You're probably just looking too deeply into it, seeing things that don't mean anything. There's no point in getting worked up about it."
"Usually when someone says that, something's always wrong," Sherlock replied quickly. After another moment to think about it, he sighed, "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt Lestrade, perhaps for once in your life you're right."
Lestrade looked insulted, "Once in my life? I've been right about a lot of things Sherlock!"
Dr. Watts and Dr. Rosalene had heard about enough, and decided to jump back farther. Freezing everything in place, they searched Sherlock for a momento, finding a piece of paper folded in his coat pocket. They quickly jumped into the next memory, Dr. Watts hoped they would find out what the deal was with those rabbits soon. They were so very bizarre.