Chapter 15: I Will Always Choose You~
And so it was, that, the journey from the Grave and back came to an end, with a visit to a slim black stone.
"Seems sort of strange...you know...leaving it up. Since you aren't lying under it..."John said, as the winter wind brushed its fingers affectionately over white-roses Molly laid there for Christmas, to keep the ruse convincing.
Sherlock's face was expressionless, as he studied his name, printed gold on black.
SHERLOCK HOLMES.
It said nothing else. No testament to his brilliance, his legacy as a warrior against crime. Certainly no "Detective Consulting" or "Sir." Those titles had come to him to late, rewards of his After Life.
"In a sense, I am there." he pointed down. "Or ,at least, the man before the Fall is."
John breathed a sigh. The journey to recovery,and coming back to Life was far from over. PTSD is no easy beast to live with, and after the rather alarming encounter with Sally Donovan (who was happily ever after shut away in prison by this time) his symptoms had fully materialized to proving he had the disorder indeed, startled into a fit on one occasion by something as domestic as a trolley horn...
" In a sense, I am there with you. Followed you into the Dark..." said John ,clearing his throat.
Sherlock turned to him, and said nothing. Shed no tears, showed no remorse for all the evil that had transpired, nor sorrow for what could have been, nor fear for days to come. It was as if the world was over now, and he smiled, a grateful smile, only half-way on his face, and he met John's gaze for a long time, and neither looked away, or spoke.
"Do you know...what today is?" John ventured after a while.
"Saturday, the Sabbath, the end of the week? "
John laughed. "January 6th. The Epiphany, by Catholic reckoning. And your birthday..."
Sherlock looked back at his stone awkwardly. "Do...dead people,...still have birthdays?"
John laughed. "Well, for you, I think, I shall make an exception. Which is why I bought you something."
One of Sherlock's brows curled. A present? For him? He could not calculate this. John laughed at his friend, that's brain never stopped scrolling out digits.
John pulled it out of his shirt pocket, and placed it in Sherlock's hand. At first his eyes grew wide with horror ,as he felt the cool ,round metal shape, and thought back to watches...
"I wouldn't do that to you..."John says softly,with a sad smile.
Sherlock opened his hand, and there was a tiny compass on a chain.
"Why do I need this?"
"Consider it sentiment if you like, but in a practical sense, I am very tired of you getting lost."
Sherlock shook his head, not understanding.
John smiled, ever patient saint he was.
"When you have an episode, it might help to look at it,and see the directions it points when you're walking. The sense of direction might give you a sense of control again, and then you just might be able to master it."
Sherlock laughed, "Brilliant, John. Wizard,even, really , if I'm to say it."
John shrugged. A silence fell, and Sherlock slipped the chain around his neck,and let the little gold pendant -shaped compass fall in place, like a button, on top of his silky blue scarf.
"Thank you..."
John was studying Sherlock ,intently.
A wind blew over them, like the breath of God. The breath of Epiphany, promising something After.
"You...you're really here. It's not an illusion, some sentimental dream I had in my grief. You are REALLY here! God Himself gave you back to me, as if you were driven by the Wind, steered my way. You are here, it is a FACT proven by its sheer impossibility, - as true as the existence of God and His angels, unbelievable though it may seem! And if so, if you really...really are here, really ARE here to be a whole year older...You could live again. You will live again. I promise."
"So you still choose me, really?"
John laughed, realizing that for both of them, this was an utterly impossible situation.
"I always choose you."
Sherlock's half smile was made whole.
And as if signaling the start of something new, his phone rang.
"Detective Consulting?..." There was silence then, and a smirk of mischief.
"Ah, a murder for my birthday, Gavin? How thoughtful! I'll be right on my way, to have a look!"
He hung up, and suddenly looked at John excitedly, as if he were ready to live again.
"Well, come on. The game's afoot."
And ,in that moment, John remembered what it was like, running with the Wind...
~The End~