A teddy bear never, ever forgets a voice. I've been listening; I know who is behind the door before it's opened. As light floods into my eighteen year prison, my eyes naturally take a moment to adjust. My old friend is even taller and broader now than he was before. He swims into sharp focus as he bends down to pick me up. He holds me up to the light; his eyes have dark circles under them and they're sad. He looks sad as he polishes my nose with his sleeve. He breaks out of his little trance and says loudly, "Anthea, I've got something. Let's go."

Mycroft holds me tightly around my waist as he exits his old bedroom. A brunette woman is waiting for him; if she is shocked by the sight of a grown man practically hugging an old bear she doesn't show it. At his nod she starts to descend the grand stairs. Except they're not so grand anymore; they're dusty and the banister has lots of little holes from a woodworm infestation. There're patches of damp on the ceiling. Each step creaks under the weight of two people and a bear.

The garden resembles a meadow. There is a car waiting for us outside, black and shiny and streamlined. It looks expensive, and I realise that's because Mycroft must have finally become a government-person, just like he wanted to be when he was smaller. The thought makes me proud.

Anthea is carrying a cardboard box and she holds it awkwardly as Mycroft locks the doors to his childhood home. "We won't need that," says Mycroft. She nods and puts the box in the boot. Mycroft gets into the car first and then Anthea. She gives her boss an odd look when he places me on his lap, facing him. She pulls out a very small black thing with tiny buttons, like something out of those James Bond films Mycroft used to watch. She prods at it with her thumbs.

Mycroft spends the car journey in a bubble of fuzzy nostalgia. He keeps fiddling with the exposed stuffing where my ear used to be subconsciously. His gaze is out of the window but in reality it's far away, in the past with school and books and Sherlock. I wonder what Sherlock looks like now. He was quite a skinny child – maybe he'll be a skinny adult. Mycroft hasn't really changed that much, actually, so maybe Sherlock won't have changed much either.

Out of the corner of my eye I can watch Anthea and her black thing. It has a light on the front so maybe it's some sort of torch. She keeps casting glances in Mycroft's direction and she looks worried. Why she looks worried, I have no idea.

The car smoothly stops but Mycroft doesn't seem to notice, his eyes still far away in his thoughts. "We're here, sir," says Anthea gently.

Blinking, Mycroft turns to her. "Hmm, it appears so."

"Would you like me to accompany you?" she questions.

"And hold him back should it turn nasty?" he says with a mock chuckle. "No need. I won't be long."

He appears to steel himself before leaving the car smoothly. The rain of before has left the pavements damp and slippery. He doesn't bother putting up his umbrella though and approaches a door. It's black and has a golden '221B' on it. He rings the doorbell. No response. He tries again and even though his finger is on the button for the same length of time it somehow seems harsher.

This time there is a response. "I've got it, Mrs Hudson!" a man shouts as he walks down the stairs. The door opens a crack to reveal a short but toughly built man, with sandy hair and eyes which are just as sad as Mycroft's. "Oh, for God's sake – can't you leave me alone?" he says, glaring at my friend. I take an instant dislike to him. He spots me then in Mycroft's hand and the doctor gives Mycroft an odd look but otherwise does not acknowledge my presence.

Mycroft smiles tightly back, "Good afternoon to you, too, Doctor Watson. But I am not here for my own reasons. May I come in?"

Dr Watson's brown eyes flash with anger for a moment. He takes a deep breath and replies sternly, "You're not welcome – never will be. Bye, Mycroft..." He starts to nudge the door closed but Mycroft is too fast for him and sticks his foot in the gap between the door and the doorframe. Dr Watson sighs. "Move your foot."

"Can I come in... please?" Mycroft tries again, though the 'please' is a forced one but it works.

Suddenly, the fight drains out of out of Dr Watson and his shoulders slump and he looks very tired. "Fine. Fine. Come in..." He stands aside and Mycroft nods to him. Dr Watson follows Mycroft and I up the stairs to a flat. It's cluttered and messy, with a pile of newspapers upon the coffee table which are overflowing onto the floor. It smells funny in here too. There is a sofa and two chairs in the living room, and there is some striking wallpaper on the wall. "Tea?" asks Dr Watson.

"Please."

"Get it yourself then," says Dr Watson, and he picks his way over to a red and comfortable-looking chair. He pointedly doesn't look at the black one. He sits down. "I'll take one too while you're at it."

"Very well, John," nods Mycroft and he moves over to set me down on the coffee table, facing John. Mycroft wanders into the kitchen and flicks on the kettle. The newspapers tell me that the month is July. I'm half-sitting on a picture of someone in a tan deerstalker hat. I can't read the headline, it's been scribbled out.

John leans over from his chair and picks me up. He turns me over in his hands, inspecting every inch of me. As he does this I catch a glimpse of the whole picture. The man in the funny hat has a very familiar face. It can't be... can it? The picture is out of my sight again as John inspects my ear and then the place where one used to be. He turns me again and that's when I see the name in the picture's caption: Sherlock Holmes. Not a deer hunter but a – another spin – consulting detective. Good for him. It's better than being a pirate. I wonder where he is. "What's this?" asks John, seemingly referring to me; setting me down on the coffee table again, inspection apparently over. It's then that I see another picture – it's one of John standing beside Sherlock.

"In his will," Mycroft explains, his voice slightly louder so he can be heard from the kitchen, "Sherlock left almost everything of value to you." The words startle me and I strain my ear to hear more clearly over the kettle's hissing. "I know you haven't read it for yourself yet but that is what it says. I'm not dumping everything onto you." The clinking of a spoon hitting a cup and Mycroft carries the two cups of tea into the living room. He hands one to John and sits down on the sofa with the other. "Anyway, our childhood home contained a few of Sherlock's older possessions, though unfortunately most of them had to be thrown out. This was the last remaining item... what's so funny?"

John is chuckling softly. "Nothing. Just... Sherlock with a teddy bear. It doesn't sit with my mental picture of Sherlock as a child. Give me a minute." He screws his eyes shut and seems to concentrate. "Fixed it," he chuckles. He shakes his head, sobering. "And he kept it, all of this time."

Mycroft casts a guilty look towards his tea. "Not necessarily, no." He takes a sip. "I kept Teddy. I've kept him since Sherlock was eight or so. I knew that he would have destroyed him sooner or later." I want to tell him, because I understand what's happened now. I know why everyone that I meet has a haunted expression. And I want to tell Mycroft that it's okay; I forgive him. Sherlock would forgive him too. The Sherlock I once knew would have forgiven him. I wish so much that I could see him now, at least once.

John says with a calculating gaze on Mycroft, "You sound awfully sentimental, Mycroft."

This shakes Mycroft out of his reverie, and he sits up on the sofa, smiling tightly. "Apologies," he says. "...I must go. Busy day," he stands and buttons his jacket up, "Look after Teddy, for Sherlock's sake. Can you do that for me?"

John tilts his head to one side. "I... I suppose I can. Yeah." With not so much as another word, Mycroft leaves me with John. John stares at the open door for a while, appearing lost for words. Eventually, he breathes, "...That was weird." He turns to face me. "So..." he begins, a little awkwardly. Clasps his hands together and puts them on his lap. "You're Teddy, are you?" There is little I can do to respond, so I just sit there on top of the newspapers. He narrows his eyes at me. "Mmm. Why do you familiar to me, Teddy?" He thinks on this, and suddenly his face brightens. "Oh, I know."

It turns out that Doctor John Watson is very good at doctoring. He spent half an hour searching the flat and muttering to himself. The mess is just the same, except it's moved. I had an excellent vantage point from the coffee table. Eventually he pulled out a drawer in the desk and pulled something small and brown out; a semi-circle in shape with a lighter brown on one side. There was broken stitching on the flattest end. It was my ear. I was ever so happy to see it again.

Now he's finished sewing it back on, I'm back in one piece.

I only wish I could say the same for John.

The headstones we pass are usually grey with some form of moss growing on them. Most of them are old and weather-beaten. But there's one, the one John is taking me to, that is shiny and black and new. 'SHERLOCK HOLMES' it reads in gold letters.

John stands for a moment on the grass in front of it, breathes deeply before holding me up to the gravestone and saying, "You really were a sentimental sod." He chuckles but there is no humour in it. "You kept your childhood toy's ear. Yeah, well..." His voice breaks. "Here, have him back." And he sets me down on the grass, leaning against the gravestone. Eternally keeping watch over my old friend's grave. That's how John leaves me; with a murmur of "See you next week," before walking off with a slight limp.

I'm surrounded by death here and I don't like it. But I don't want to leave Sherlock either. So I stay here anyway, waiting. Sherlock would have wanted me to.

A/N: Here's some pointless trivia for you, readers: this final image, of a teddy bear sitting on someone's grave, was the thing that inspired this story. It was the scene I was most looking forward to writing (I guess I started at the end). There's an epilogue to follow this chapter and then it's all over, I'm sorry to say. Thanks for all our your reviews so far! :)