Chapter 2: Straight On Till Morning~

John held his breath. 221 C was lit with a dim candle, and the Major had fallen asleep with a bottle of brandy under his arm.

Right, so he had expected an evening at home. Unless Baker Street uprooted at the foundation, and set sail with Noah, then how could these torrents send them out the door again, or how would he have need to awaken? John felt almost sorry to be waking the Major now.

"Attention, sir." John cried, standing at a clipped attention, and saluting. Best be in a soldier's form when his commanding officer did wake.

The Major snorted and sat up, and the brandy spilled all over the floor of the cruddy old room.

"Eyhuh what?...Watson...what are you doing here, son? Go... back to sleep."

"There's to be a case, Sir!" John said, voice high, never dropping his salute.

"A...case? John...God is out doing Himself with the downpour outside...Certainly the London low-life are too busy keeping afloat to need the assistance of Sherlock Holmes? Tell the boy to go to bed himself...or to play more Mozart...that stuff sets me right off..."

"Not London low life sir. We're off to Finland in the morning. Thought it would be best to inform you,...well, as soon as I'd heard it myself, sir."

The room grew quiet. John braced himself for whatever came next. The Major blinked, stern face twitching ever so slightly with his consternation...

"How in God's name can he arrange for a flight to Finland, at 3 am ,when the Deluge is tearing the wall paper off our walls, just from the pressure of the outward drenching?"

"Well, I'd say having an omnipresent British government incarnate for a big brother might help? Either way we're headed to Finland...terribly sorry to wake you,sir."

"At ease,Watson, and don't apologize. Your protection is my duty. I shall be ready within the next 2 minutes."

"But...sir,we leave in the morning?"

" Then straight on till morning, I will watch. For the love of God and Sherlock Holmes!" And with that the Major bounded out of his bed, and went to the little wardrobe he and the boys had set up to hold his uniforms.

With a fond smile, and shaking his head, John turned to go.

"And for the love of John Watson..." the Major was muttering, though one soldier never says that to the face of the other, when they are in their form. John laughed, and closed the door behind him.

" You still haven't said why you were hospitalized?"Sherlock's voice practically purred into the room, startling both client and Doctor Watson. Sometimes his friend could almost be terrifying ,one never knowing the full content of his mind. John held his breath, when he could see Sherlock. He was standing by the fire now, and there was a look of concern on his face that John remembered being the exact expression that painted it in the Dark Days that had lead up to his Fall...when Moriarty still steered their life like a crazy train, bound to crash and burn. He had been dressed more for bed, they were after all being shut in by a torrential downpour tonight. But now he was fully dressed, long dark coat, scarf and gloves and all, as if he were ready to spring out the door at that very moment. John conceded to the fact that he should go get ready too, (it was probably a bit not good for one to go traipsing about the forests of Finland in their shower robe and underwear, he had forgotten how he was dressed until right this moment, and made self-consciously sure that his robe was tied more tightly in the presence of their guest).

"I didn't say ,sir, because I didn't know why. My escape from Finland was difficult; I smuggled myself on board a cattle delivery truck. When I leaped out of it later,to smuggle aboard a fishing boat setting course round trip for the English Channel, I hit my head on the landing. I was helped by a man who somehow knew my alias; without asking what I went by,he hospitalized me under the name of Hansel. It troubled me greatly; I never spoke to him directly, I only heard him say he'd found me on the road, and that jumping out of trucks is a bit stupid...But he knew my name, spoke to me,...as if he knew me personally...And then I thought I may have dreamed it all..."

"Yes, but obviously you didn't, or you would not have a plastic bracelet attached to your wrist. I've taken your case, and if I'm to solve it, I will need all the details, to form the result. So Mr. Yeats...this will be the last time you withhold information from me, no matter how troubling, am I understood?"

"You are indeed ,sir."

Sherlock smiled. Usually people were offended by his commands and his general lack of social know-how. And then his jaw set , puzzled.

"To be helped seemingly at random, by a wandering Good Samaritan? It is as my old grandfather used to say, "Coincidence is not a kosher word". There is no such thing as coincidence in the Universe...everything happens for a reason, everything is part of a code, as if our lives were nothing more than some enormous puzzle, some elusive calculation. If you observe the variables...the details...you can solve the mystery of it all... No, it wasn't at random at all, the man sought you out. You have physical evidence ,so this was no dream man,no hallucination, or man from a spiritual experience world, none like my Teacher..."

"Your Teacher?" Yeats asked.

John smiled, as he recalled the story silently to himself. When Sherlock had jumped from St. Bart's roof top, he had fallen on the sidewalk, and he truthfully died, for 34 hours, after an hours worth of failed resuscitation. Miraculously he had awakened in the mortuary,and when Molly Hooper had come to do his autopsy, she had found him sleeping. This extreme case of "Lazarus syndrome" (Lazarus Syndrome= when a clinically dead person is awakened after attempts at resuscitation have been stopped) had earned the mission to disband Moriarty's network the name "Operation Lazarus", the story of which was their last case, one that John had been affectionately referring to as "The Major's Asylum". During the 34 hours Sherlock was dead, he had gone to the mind palace of a mysterious man, that he and John had been referring to as "the Teacher" because of the wisdom he shared whenever Sherlock re-accessed this mind palace. One that they believed may even be God Himself...

Sherlock waved his hand, "I met him whilst I was dead. You were not dead, you were alive, you couldn't have met a man from a death-experience if you were alive! He knew you...how could he have known you?You've had no contact with the world outside your Mistress' synthesis fairytale for 17 years, and you were little children when you were taken from your parents. Had it been your father, whatever his reasons for appearing to you in such a vague manner, or had it been a relative or even a colleague of his, they would have called you by your given name. He used your alias, the one your mistress gave you, hospitalized you under it. Conclusion, he is a colleague of your mistress, and he's on to you, so he's on to us. He let you live, because he wanted your plan to work. Either he hates her...or wanted to get to me...or maybe a little bit of both. So we destroy her,of course, but our real target is him."

"When you were dead?..." Yeats repeated, the entire conclusion the Detective had just made passing over his head, to think he may be talking to a man that has resurrected.

Sherlock wheeled about on his heel, clapping his hands together, and eyed John curiously,

"John, I don't think Mrs. Hudson's alarming pink faux fur slippers will be adequate footwear for the forest floor of Finland, especially this time of year. What about those boots you bought shortly after we returned from Denmark?"

John looked down at his feet. He was wearing Mrs. Hudson's slippers, why he didn't know. He was groggy, and wanted to curl up next to the fire and sleep for the next 10 days. But the light in Sherlock's eyes was screaming at him to wake up, seize the day, to be alert straight on till morning. He nodded, twisting his lips in affectionate irritation.

"Alright ,you git, thanks for pointing that out, but they are rather warm, and I thought they were my red ones in the dark! I will go and change, but I swear, there better be a good breakfast on this plane for getting us up this early!"

"You never went to bed!"

"Shut up!" John called over his shoulder, only to realize Sherlock had followed him to the door of his room.

"Oi! You are a complete and total git, what?" John gasped, startled.

Sherlock texted Mycroft, and showed John the message.

" Coffee and doughnuts would be greatly appreciated, the Captain's orders for insisting he get up so early,never mind he never went to bed."

A message came back, " Breakfast provided, see you in 2 hours, brother mine."

Sherlock smiled,as if trying to make peace, never mind they hadn't been fighting.

John laughed..."Ah yeah...right...on the road again."he said good-naturedly.

"Mycroft's excellent when it comes to buying pastries...(especially when they're for himself...). Breakfast will make up for your lack of sleep, and it's a long flight to Finland."

John smiled, and Sherlock reached and clutched his shoulders, with an intense look in his eyes, and a childlike grin on his face.

"Ah it's good to be back, John! It's Christmas!" he laughed, and bounded for his own room.

John watched him go...It was very good indeed to have him back from the dead.