Chapter 11: Meeting at the Diogenes Club

The day flows by uneventfully. Mary has sent me the occasional texts of 'Any ideas on who/what that was this morning?' and 'Tell John; you two should look into it' but I choose to ignore them. I'm not in the mood to deal with my delusions right now, let alone tell John about it. If I told him what I saw, he would want to take me to his next therapy session with him. He went back into therapy after Sherlock's death and it has done him good. He has asked me before if I would like to sit in with him on an appointment, you know, just if I needed to talk to anyone. I told him that it wouldn't be necessary and that if I really needed to talk with someone, I'd let him know.

As of right now, though, my mental health is the least of problems. I want to know who or what that figure was, but I can't get involved. I'm a mother now and the last thing I need is to open up a mystery. I just need to focus on work.

Goodness, I sound like Sherlock.

My normal shift goes by at a dull pace. I sit at my desk: typing away at my computer, answering emails, prepping the newest exhibits' lectures. Occasionally, I will walk around and readjust the books and historical artifacts I have decorated about my office. When I reach the shelf it is safely displayed on, I always take hold of my 1892 diary of Joseph Bruce Ismay and gently examine it. It's my favorite piece of my eclectic collection because he gave it to me.

He. My Sherlock.

A small smile grows across my face as I trace my fingers along the binding of the book. A memory stirs in my mind:

"Is…is this really?"

"The 1892 diary of Joseph Bruce Ismay, yes. You seem to have a keen interest the Titanic tragedy so I thought it would be a suitable gift. I acquired it from a source in the British government. It was a tough argument, but I eventually convinced him that it would be safe in your hands."

"Oh my God, this…this is amazing! Thank you so much!"

I remember exactly how he looked that day; so handsome, so sweet, so nervous about giving me a present. He never was confident about his romantic efforts, but surprising that's what made them even more romantic. A small tear rolls down my cheek; it's been three years since his death and it still feels like it was only yesterday I kissed him good-bye at the lab. I miss him so much. I wonder what he would say about the figure in the window; Probably would figure it out in a matter of seconds, my genius. God, I miss him.

When noon rolls around, I poke my head out of my office to see if I'm in the clear to lock my door for an hour so I can catch up on sleep. Hamish had a rough night and thus so did I. A few minutes of rest, that's all I need. Maybe then I'll stop thinking about that figure this morning. To my surprise, but not my displeasure, I see a familiar face coming toward me: "Hello stranger." I say, opening my arms out to my guest.

"Hello Elfie," Doctor John Watson greets, wrapping me up in a tight embrace.

I hold him in return and place a friendly peck on his cheek: "What brings you to my neck of the woods, Doctor?" I say, facing him properly but keeping my hands on his biceps, "I thought you were stuck at the clinic all day."

"Eh well, I was in the neighborhood, finishing up a house call, then I thought 'Wonder if Elfie would mind me dropping in for a bit?'" John replies with a smirk, "That is, if your not tired of seeing my face."

"Of course I'm not tired of it. We're flat mates remember? If I was tired of you, I'd have kicked you out long ago." I tease, "Come on in."

John nods and follows me back into my office. Every chance he gets, John joins me for my lunch break. It's sort of an alone time for us…strictly as friends of course; what with me always chasing after Hamish around the flat and he going out with Mary all the time, John and I rarely ever have time to ourselves. It is kind of a shame really; He is my best friend after all. I need to spend more time with him.

"Have you ever thought about re-decorating?" he asks, taking a seat in the chair in front of my desk.

"Huh?" I reply, returning to focus on my computer work.

"Don't get me wrong, Fee, all these artifacts are great. It's just, your office seems so bland, very professional." He goes on, "You should put up some pictures of you and Hamish, a vase with flowers, you know."

"Since when did you become an interior decorator John?" I tease, "Did you grow a passion for design along with that moustache?"

"Okay, I don't see why you and Mary insist on make fun of my moustache," he says, getting a tad defensive, "I like it."

"It makes you look like an old man," I go on, typing away at my computer, "A Hobbit-sized, attractive old man, but still. Not your fault though, John. I mean, lets be honest; you've certainly started to go into a sort of a mid-life crisis."

"I have not." He says with a chuckle.

"The facial hair, the change of wardrobe-I must say I do miss the jumpers."

"Oh, shut up." he says, "Just because I've made a few personal changes, it doesn't mean I'm going through a mid-life crisis."

"Sure your not." I tease and we both start to laugh.

"Actually, um, Fee," John goes on, leaning forward a bit, "I've got to be honest, about the real reason I stopped by. I…I got off work early. Well, pulled off work, actually."

"How do you mean?" I ask, "Did someone just stop by the clinic and bring you over here?"

"Well…" John then looks at me with a comforting smile and it clicks in my brain: Ah, now I see what he means. We've been discussing it all week and I guess I need to face the music now. God, I had hoped we were going to drop this subject. I take in a deep breath and become very stern with him.

"John," I say, "I…I know what you're going to say and my answer is no."

"Fee, he's your brother-in-law. It's only right that you and Mycroft speak with each other." he sighs, "Besides, if I know Mycroft, he wouldn't just pull me out of work for no reason. He's got a car waiting out front to take us too…"

"I don't want to get a car of his John, believe me. I just can't, not today."

"Why?"
"Because I don't want to spend my husband's birthday with his backstabbing brother." I snap, "No, John, I want nothing to do with him; I let him visit Hamish on holidays, he has been more than generous when it comes to finances, and has graciously helped out with the matter of Sherlock's affects. But, John, part of me can't forgive him."

"I know," John sighs, looking down in his lap, "and you know that I completely understand why. But hear me out, okay?" I roll my eyes and begin to twiddle with the silver ring on my necklace: Sherlock's ring, of course. "Elfie, no one will ever understand how you feel about the loss of your husband and the events that lead to that day." John goes on, taking my free hand into his own, "Mycroft, unfortunately, was apart of that, but I truly believe that he feels remorse over the part he played."

"So you forgive him?" I ask with a twinge of disbelief in my voice.

"No, but I've decided to be civil around him and so should you." He says, "Mycroft, like I've always told you, is your family now. No family is perfect and no family ever truly gets along. Look at Harry and I; we are all that's left of the Watson clan and we barely speak."

"Harry didn't tell your life story to a criminal mastermind." I quip in.

"…True but that's not my point." John says with a sigh, "Elfie, you are a Holmes and so is your son. You are all that Mycroft has left. Remember: He lost his baby brother that day."

I sigh heavily and close my eyes for a moment. He's right. Of course he's right, he's John Watson: always has the right thing to say at the right time. I can never forgive Mycroft for what he did to Sherlock, but I can't shut him out of his own family. I am his sister: only by marriage, but a sister nonetheless.

Slowly, I let go of John's hand and rise up from my chair: "Let's get this over with." I mumble, grabbing Sherlock's coat off the back of my chair. John gives me a reassuring smile and follows me out the door. "Mary, can you tell Janice that I had to leave?" I ask when we pass the front desk, "Something…came up."
"Oh! Of course," Mary replies, giving John a flirtatious smirk, "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, just…I'll fill you in tonight, love." John answers for me, giving her a small peck on the cheek. "I'll call you."

"Please do," She replies, "And Fee, tell John. He should know."
"Tell me what?" John asks, giving me a questioning look, "Everything alright?"
"It's fine." I quickly say, "Lets just go." I head toward the door while John and Mary exchange a quick glance and another kiss. I begin to wonder if this is how John used to feel around Sherlock and I: Happy but slightly saddened by the absence of having a significant other. It's a self-pitying thought, I know, but…still.

Moments later, John and I enter a slick, black car that is waiting for us out front. The silent drive only lasts for about 20 minutes then we pull up in front of a large, white building. "Diogenes Club." John informs me when we get out of the car, "He's had me meet him here before."

"Will we be long?" I ask, impatiently looking at my phone, "Mrs. Hudson is watching Hamish and I don't want to come home late."

John looks at me then chuckles to himself: "Look at you," he says with a small smile, "That coat, the phone, the dryness in your voice: You're acting like…no, never mind."
"Like what, John?" I ask, stuffing my hands in the coat pockets, "Go on, then."

"Like Sherlock." he says, sheepishly. I suck on my lower lip and let his answer sink in; he does have a point. I've become a machine to those around me, rarely showing emotion except to those who really matter. I've delved into my work and solely focused on being a mom instead of having a social life. I don't have friends, really, just John.

God, I have become Sherlock.

Once inside the Diogenes Club, we are lead to a private office. To both John and my surprise, there is another person already there and looking over some painting on the walls. Although the figure is turned away from us, I can clearly tell that this is not Mycroft Holmes.

"Greg?" I ask, a bit unsure of the buzzed haired individual in front of us is indeed the Detective Inspector.

"Ah, Elfie! John!" he says, turning around to face us, "How are you guys? I like the 'stache, John."

"Ah, finally a complement toward it. Thanks mate." John says, shaking Lestrade's outstretched hand, "How are things at the Yard?"

"Eh, busy." he replies, "You know John that chief medical examiner job is still open if your interested." I look at John a tad surprised; John was offered the chief medical examiner job at the Yard? Why didn't he tell me about this? That would be great for him. He'll never say it, but he misses going to crime scenes and feeling the thrill of a case. I can tell.

"I have a feeling that given my history with the police chief, I wouldn't be given the job." John jokes. I chuckle slightly at the memory of John punching that man in the face; you know, I don't think he's ever apologized for that.

"How's the little one?" Greg asks addressing me now

"Um, he's great." I reply, "Walking, now, and talking. He seems to be a nonstop, bundle of energy."

"Ah, they always are at that age." He says with a smile, "But you look good, Elfie. Not worn out at all."

"Thanks." I say, blushing slight, "But, um, Greg, do you know why we're here?"
"I was going to ask you two the same thing," he says, folding his arms across his chest, "I was at a crime scene then I get a call from Mycroft about an hour ago asking if I could come down here and look into an important matter for him. He mentioned that it was urgent and you two would be here as well, so I assumed that it had something to with…well, you know…Sherlock."

John nods and I look down at my feet. "We're in the dark as much as you," John says, "but I wouldn't be surprised if this meeting is about Sherlock."

"As long as it doesn't take too long." I quietly add, "I don't want to spend my whole day here. I have things to do."

"I can assure you, Mrs. Holmes. This won't take long at all."

Both John and I turn our heads to see Mycroft Holmes entering the office, twirling his umbrella in his right hand. I take in a sharp breath and roll my shoulders back slightly; "Mycroft," I say with a hint of coldness in my voice, "always a pleasure." I hold out a cordial hand to him and he gladly takes it.

"As it is to see you, my dear," he replies with that half mouth smile of his. We shake and I quickly stuff my hand back in my pocket. A lump develops in my throat; God, I already want to leave. "Nice to see you two as well," Mycroft goes on shaking John and Greg's hands, "Please have a seat. I'll ring for tea."

"I thought you said this wouldn't take long." I quip, "Why would we need to have tea?" John elbows me in the side to be polite; I use to do that when Sherlock was being rude. God, I am turning into him.

"Well, shall we?" Mycroft says, motioning toward the large oak desk. The three of us take a seat in the leather chairs set up in front of the desk while Mycroft takes the chair behind it: "I will cut the point," he goes on in his very professional voice, "there has been some information given to me by a reliable source that I believe you three should be aware of." He then takes out a manila folder from one of the desk drawers and hands it to Lestrade. "This is the file on one Sebastian Moran: former member of the British armed forces, a colonel in fact but was mainly trained as a sniper for some of the most top secret of missions."

Lestrade takes a look at the paperwork Mycroft's handed him and looks it over: "Says here that he was discharged for…unruly conduct." Greg says, "Didn't think you could get discharged for that."

"Depends on how unruly you are." John says, "Um, may I?" Greg hands him the folder and John looks over the pages carefully; See I knew he wanted to be back in the flow of a case. Me, however, I don't want any part of a case. I can't be; I'm a mom now, I can't go running off chasing criminals. I promised Hamish the day he was born that I was never going to leave him and I have no intention on breaking that promise. However, as I glance at the papers out of the corner of my eye, this Sebastian Moran's face sparks something in my brain.

"I…I've seen him before." I say, leaning toward John a bit so that I can get a better look at the picture, "Yes, yes I have. I have definitely seen that face before."

"Where?" John asks, giving me a confused look.

"He was helping Mrs. Hudson that day you and I had rushed back to the flat from St. Barts." I say, "You remember; you received that phone call saying she was shot and then we…" I stop myself and suck on my lower lip. It was the day Sherlock had passed away. The day John and I were fooled so that he would be left alone to Moriarty's whim. The day I lost my husband. John sees the pain in my eyes and takes my hand into his for comfort. I give him an understanding nod then look down into my lap to hide my tear-filled eyes.

I'll never be done crying over that day.

"Wait a minute, I've seen him too." Lestrade says, taking back the picture of Moran, "This is the man we were investigating this morning."
"Investigating?" John asks, "I thought you said you were at a crime scene this morning."
"Yeah and this was the body that was found." Greg explains, "He had quite a few bruises and cuts all over as if he had been in one hell of a fight before a single bullet wound to the chest ended it for him."

"And where is it exactly you found the body?" Mycroft asks Greg, but I can tell that he already knew the answer.

"Well, in an alley way near Melcombe Street." Greg replies

"Melcombe, but that's near Baker Street." I quip in, suddenly becoming worried, "Are you telling me that there was a murder a few streets away from where…Oh God, Hamish. I need to call Mrs. Hudson." Drying my eyes, I quickly stand up to leave, but Mycroft says something to stop me:

"He wasn't killed there, I can assure you."

I turn to him in and stare at him in disbelief: "Can you?" I challenge, "Do enlighten me, Mycroft, because I swear if my son is in any danger…"

"There's no need to panic, Elfie. My nephew, as well as the other residents of Baker Street, is perfectly safe." Mycroft says, motioning for me to take a seat again.

"And how can you assure me of that?" I ask, not returning to the chair, "Did your 'reliable source' fill you in on that as well?"

"They did, in fact, yes." Mycroft replies, "They also informed me as of why Moran would be in that area at all."

"Which is what exactly?" Lestrade asks, "To me, this is sounding like his death is connected to a much bigger issue."

"It is indeed." Mycroft replies, "one that has been under private investigation for quite some time. My own brother was even suppose to head the whole thing, but…"

"We all know how that worked out, don't we?" I quip in rather coldly causing all three men to give me distressful looks.

"Fee," John whispers in warning to me, but it's already to late.

"Why did you bring me here, Mycroft?" I ask, glaring down my brother-in-law, "I have far more important things to deal with then to sit here and listen to you speak about how my husband was suppose to lead a private investigation toward this Moran character."

"As I stated, Moran is just an element of a greater issue." Mycroft says, rather calmly, "I brought you, as well as John and Detective Inspector Lestrade, here because what my source found along with Moran's affects is rather intriguing and I believe that the three of you should know about it."

"You have this man's personal affects?" Greg asks, snapping into police mode, "That's considered evidence in his death. I'm going to have to ask you to hand them over to me so that I can take them to the Yard."

"Gladly," Mycroft says and within seconds, he pulls out a large black gym bag from under his desk and plops it down on top of the desk.

"Where the hell did that come from?" John asks in whisper.

"My source brought it to me as soon as they had found it," Mycroft explains, "Rest assured, Detective Inspector, none of the items in this bag have been tampered with. You will find, however, these items are quiet surprising."

Lestrade quickly stands up and open the bag to examine it's contents, bringing them out of the bag one by one and laying them out on the desk: "Okay, we've got one sniper rifle, a tripod, container of extra bullets, change of clothes…"

"Was he on the run?" John asks, standing up beside Greg.

"Seems like it," Greg replies, "And lastly…hang on." He then slowly pulls out a small, black, cell phone. The screen is cracked and it looks worn down from the years of use, but when Lestrade taps the power button the screen surprisingly lights. "Is this Moran's?" he asks Mycroft.

"No, we have reason to believe that he was using a disposable phone," Mycroft replies, "We charged that phone to see if we could get…"

"Hang on, I thought you said your people didn't tamper with the evidence?" Lestrade asks sounding rather annoyed.

"I lied," Mycroft replies with that half-mouth, Holmes smirk, "but we only touched that phone, nothing else."

"Why just the phone?" John asks

"Because we knew it wasn't Moran's, but we also knew who it's rightful owner is…or rather was."

"How can you tell that?"

"I personally unlocked the screen which immediately opened up a message alert. I didn't listen to it because, well, I feel that the remaining contents are for someone else's eyes." Mycroft then looks at me and I let out a shaky breath. I can see in his eyes the real meaning behind that statement. Now I understand why he brought me here.

"Give it too me," I say, holding my hand out to Greg. He gives me a confused look, but gives me the device anyways. John gives me a questioning look as he watched me gently rub my fingers over the phone. We lock eyes for a split second and he quickly understands.

"Sherlock's?" he asks me and I nod.

"How did you know the code, Mycroft?" I ask, quickly looking up at him.

"I knew my brother better than you think, Mrs. Holmes." He says with that same arrogant tone Sherlock use to get, "His password would have to be something that only a select few he trusted would be able figure out."

"What is it?" John asks.

"My birthday," I reply, looking at him, "When Sherlock got this phone, we were still dating. He knew that no one would guess I had anything to do with the password because so few people knew that I was his girlfriend." My eyes start to get watery again and I quickly look back down at the small device in my hands. My hands start to shake; this is the closest I've been to my Sherlock since his death. It's surreal.

"But…how?" Lestrade asks, "How could Moran get a hold of Sherlock's cell phone? That went into evidence the day he died."

"And yet my sister-in-law is wearing my baby brother's coat which is also suppose to be in evidence which shows things can easily be removed from there." Mycroft replies, "Moran could have broken in and stolen the phone for reasons still unclear."

"I don't care." I breathe out, my eyes still glued to the screen, "If there's a message for me, then there's only one way to find it." I gently hit the power button. The black lock screen pops up and I take a deep breath before I type in the code:

0107

The lock screen then fades away giving access to all of the phones contents. A smile grows across my face and tears return to my eyes. Yes, this is definitely my Sherlock's phone. I then notice the little alert pop up:

'One saved audio message.'

Curious, I click the alert. The screen suddenly goes blank and a voice fills the silent room. A voice none of us have heard in three years. An all too familiar, comforting, baritone voice that causes my heart to skip a beat:

"Hello Elfie Marie. It's…me."

"Sherlock," I breathe out as if he could hear me. I place a hand over my mouth and listen intently as the message goes on:

"If you are listening to this, I'm most likely not there. In fact, I probably haven't been there for quite some time. I…I don't have much time so I'll get straight to the point. Firstly, I should let you know the time in which I've recorded this: You've just left, you and John. I need you to know that that is because of me; I had one of my sources fake the call to John. Mrs. Hudson is fine, but of course you know that now if you are listening to this.

Secondly is the reason I'm not there to tell you these things in person. I'm in the stairwell on the way to the roof of St. Barts, right now Elfie. I'm…I'm going to die up here, Elfie. Moriarty has made this inevitable and there is no running for it this time. This was not an easy decision on my part, but it so that I can protect you and John and…and Mrs. Hudson and…our baby."

His voice breaks away for a moment but then returns, sounding a tad shaky and almost like he's on the verge of tears:

"You must understand this, Elfie, that I don't want to die. I don't want to leave you and our child. God, I'm a horrible husband to leave you like this. I only hope that one day you will understand why I had to do this; it's not to save my reputation, it's to save you.

My darling, I love you so much. The day you entered my life is one that I have never forgotten and the day you told me you love me made me feel that…that words cannot describe how happy you have made me. You have completed my life in ways that I never thought were possible. I use to believe that I was married to my work and that there was no room for a relationship; then you came along and-Dare I say it, love, you proved me wrong. I know that you will raise our baby to be a strong, intelligent young man-because I promise you it will be a boy. He will look up to you and see you as I always have: the strongest woman in the world.

You know I am not a sentimental man, Elfie, but know this: My heart will always belong to you and I will always love you. You are my darling, darling girl and I can't say thank you enough for bringing me light into my life. Stay strong for me and-dear God please-never, ever forget me. I promised you once that I would never leave you and I intend on keeping that promise. We're an 'us' remember? One will always be with the other. Always.

I love you, my darling Elfie Marie Holmes. Please never forget that."

And as soon as it had entered the room, Sherlock's voice is gone once again.

Hello again,

So I meant to put this up yesterday but there was this 26 seconds long teaser trailer that side-tracked me (hence the addition of the moustache and the buzzed hair: RIP silver fox locks)

ANY WAYS, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Thank you to Yoshinator for pointing out my error in the last chapter so I went back and fixed it. Points for Guest on picking up on the fact that January 6th is Sherlock's birthday. It will come into play, don't worry So then I also want to mention that I have made Elfie's birthday January 7th. I didn't purposely make their birthdays so close; January 7th is my birthday and I just wanted to give a personal touch to my character. Selfish? Maybe.

Thanks as always for the support and comments.

I do not own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon

Much love and many thanks.