Chapter 3: Till Dark Sky Day~
It seemed like a long flight ,regardless of technicalities, so eager was Sherlock to have the case started.
They sat in one of Mycroft's private jets, and the Holmes brothers were discussing how Sherlock believed this to be a threat of national security.
"It bears the marks of Loki's Gauntlet, as well as Moriarty's style." he was saying, John heard, as he began to doze, snoring and accidentally sucking a page of the morning newspaper into his nostrils.
"Breathing deeply of the times are we, Watson?" asked Sholto, reaching up and pealing the paper off John's twitching mouth and nose.
"Not intentionally ,no. Stinking rubbish is all the media is anymore. It's what sent Sherlock to an early Grave, you know."
The Major grunted his agreement, and the two fell silent, watching the Holmes brothers' conversation, spell bound. Their young client had fallen asleep, the static of the head phone's to the iPod Sherlock lended him audible to them, even from this many seats away. The morning sky was darkened ,the sun coming up behind thick clouds ,as if foreboding, and the two brothers had seated themselves closer to the cockpit window, whilst the Major and John enjoyed their breakfast. But breakfast was eaten now, and food often refreshes the mind to thought. Thought of another adventure's beginning. Thought about the course their lives had taken, all their paths intersecting here and today, when by rights none of them should be alive to see this dark skied morning.
"Remarkable, aren't they?" asked the Major breaking the silence.
John felt his breath catch, watching them, Sherlock in particular.
The morning sun was shining off of his dark hair, and despite his always-palor, he looked healthy, a glint of renewed confidence in his silver green eyes. He was smiling at his brother, always a good sign, as the two didn't always get along. It had come out recently though,that actually they adored each other, and were glad to be working together again.
He was young, and today there was youthfulness that trouble had long concealed behind the grey mist it hangs about an individual. He was healthy. And alive.
Alive.
John felt his chest aching,because it was absolutely impossible. Medical phenomenon. He'd been dead for 34 hours...yet there he sat, he and his brother discussing this case, John not hearing a word of what was being said, lost in so much thought...
"How...did it happen?" Sholto's voice said into the swirl of John's thoughts.
"What?" John asked, feeling as if he were underwater. This very moment, a dream, surreal, impossible,...yet happening.
"How on earth did he awaken?" Sholto wondered aloud, a dark smile on his stern face. "Not that I'm complaining..."
John's breath caught again, and continued to feel like breathing through one of the coffee straws on his breakfast tray, trying to stay awake under the water...
"I don't...know...Must have been a miracle."
Sholto nodded, and Sherlock stood up ,grabbing at his hair.
"Of course! Of course, my first conversation with Moran- he talked about the Blood Trade, the business of murder! This woman, this mistress, a spurned lover...and this Not-So-Good Samaritan...They must be leaders in another Network...An artistic guild, the art being specifically murder."
Mycroft smiled, " I'm glad you are alive,brother mine. You have a much more active imagination than I do, it would have been dreadfully tedious to come to that conclusion on my own."
"All the evidence makes it evidently the truth!" Sherlock cries, overjoyed, and almost breathless. "We could be on the trail of a whole Pandora's box of crime-spree!"
"Well, now that we've got the scent ,Sherlock, I say we have breakfast...I hope the others didn't eat it all."
"Oh come, Mycroft. You're practically the Queen of England. If you want more breakfast you can get more."
John's high pitched giggling from across the plane brought Sherlock's attention back to him.
Mycroft made some snarky remark, to which Sherlock replied again snarkily, and John was taken down again by another wave of emotions ,and thoughts, and hopes, and vague fears, that it startled him like being plucked from the water by a Viking's oar, when Sherlock sat down next to him, unwrapping one of the cherry filled doughnuts from a wax paper sleeve.
Alive, the morning sun in his eyes, the dawn more like twilight in the wake of this dark day. Alive, breathing, actually for once about to eat something on a case. John's jaw dropped.
Sherlock looked at him side long: "I have plenty of time to digest this before I work out any more problems... We've only barely begun this flight! "he said, almost indignantly, taking a bite of the doughnut.
John laughed, "I've nothing against your eating a proper breakfast! There are bananas too, if you want..."
"Mmm...this will be alright."
John sighed. At least he was eating something. Was alive to be eating...
John must have had an odd look on his face, because Sherlock's brows twisted. Major sensed that maybe the two of them might be about to talk about something they'd rather talk about alone, and so he went to sit next to Mycroft, wanting to be more fully informed about the "nature of their mission".
"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked,after a long silent moment.
"Haven't had much sleep..."John muttered ,looking out the window.
Sherlock laid a hand on his knee, and John turned to look at him slowly,noticing the searching expression in his eyes.
You can't hide from your best mate, when your best mate happens to be the world's only consulting detective. John sighed.
"Blood Trade, huh? So it's a real thing, and they're like Moriarty...which puts you in danger, doesn't it?"
"This won't be the same as last time. Is that why you're worried, John?"
John swallowed a lump that felt like trying to swallow Sherlock's grave stone...
"Sherlock..."John took his friend's hand firmly in his own. How to make him understand this.
"You died last time...For...me..."
Silence. Sherlock held his breath.
"How am I supposed to ...take that...? How do I process that? You were dead. A corpse in a morgue. A dead body ,covered in blood, cold and in an ugly black bag. Dead and gone. I took your pulse, or lack thereof...I cried for hours ,and my tears mixed up your blood like paint. I ...buried you. How was I to know the box was empty when it went in the hole? I don't know how you woke up, but I don't see it happening more than once..."
"It won't be like last time..."
"How do you know?"
Sherlock smiled. "Because last time I had a reason to die. This time I have a reason to live..."
"What's that?"
Sherlock was suddenly very grave.
"You."