"Nothing will ever be the same again, will it?" Mrs. Hudson sniffed as she clutched her handkerchief to her mouth.
"I'm afraid it won't." Sherlock replied grimly from where he sat in his armchair. Mrs. Hudson was seated across from him, in John's chair, and beside her – on the small side table – lay the book with the red balloon that John had called a 'me-substitute' not even days ago. The balloon had lost quite a bit of air by now, and hung limply off the side, but neither Sherlock nor Marie had been able to bear getting rid of it.
"We'll have to rally round, I expect." Mrs. Hudson murmured. "Do our bit. Look after little Rosie."
She broke into tears again, sniffling into her handkerchief, while Sherlock stood up as he said uncomfortably: "I'm just going to, um..."
He looked around uncertainly, before noticing the pile of letters next to his open laptop on the dining-table-turned-desk.
"Look through these things. There might be a case." Sherlock mumbled as he settled down before his laptop, and Mrs. Hudson murmured: "A case?"
Sherlock didn't respond, just staring at his laptop and Mrs. Hudson moaned: "Oh. You're not up to it, are you?"
Sherlock lowered his head, his hand clenching slightly as it hovered over his keyboard.
"Work is the best antidote to sorrow, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock said firmly, and Mrs. Hudson shifted as she looked around.
"Where's Rose-Marie?" The elderly lady asked carefully at last, and Sherlock sighed again, his shoulders dropping.
"She's sleeping in the bedroom with the twins." He answered softly, not looking up and Mrs. Hudson gave him a sympathetic look.
They were all taking Mary's death hard, but dealing with it in their own ways. John… wasn't coping, and neither Sherlock nor Marie had heard from him since that terrible night at the aquarium. Mrs. Hudson was constantly crying, while Molly stoically helped John out as best as she could. Marie, it seemed, had drowned herself in her children, and Sherlock… Well, it seemed he was intent on drowning himself in his work once more.
"I see." Mrs. Hudson said at last, wiping her tears once more. "Well, the dearie needs to rest. Must keep strong."
She sniffed, while Sherlock just nodded tightly.
"I'll make some tea, shall I?" Mrs. Hudson offered, but Sherlock shook his head.
Mrs. Hudson sighed, and turned to leave him instead – sensing he wanted to be alone – when Sherlock called: "Mrs. Hudson?"
"Yes, Sherlock?" She questioned, and Sherlock blinked a few times as though he were trying to figure out how to say something.
He lowered his gaze as he began rather hesitantly: "If you ever think I'm becoming a bit..." He paused, swallowing hard. "…Full of myself, cocky or... over-confident…"
"Yes?" She asked, waiting, and Sherlock turned to face her fully at last.
"Would you just say the word 'Norbury' to me, would you?" He requested in a bit of a rush, and Mrs. Hudson repeated in confusion: "Norbury?"
"Just that." Sherlock nodded, before he looked down sorrowfully as he added softly: "I'd be very grateful."
Mrs. Hudson nodded pityingly, while Sherlock turned to rifle through the things on his desk just to avoid looking at Mrs. Hudson. Sensing he needed to be alone, Mrs. Hudson started to leave before she remembered something.
"Oh." She turned, reaching into her apron pocket and handed Sherlock a padded envelope. "This is for you. It was mixed up with my things. "
"Oh, um… if you could just leave it here." Sherlock said vaguely, gesturing at the pile of letters on his desk, and Mrs. Hudson nodded.
Gently placing it down, she patted Sherlock's shoulder before turning and leaving. As soon as her footsteps faded down the stairs, Sherlock stopped pretending to be busy, leaning back with a sigh.
Ignoring the packet Mrs. Hudson had given him, Sherlock moved to the window instead, picking up his violin as he went.
Almost absently, he placed his bow to the strings and started to play the haunting melody he'd composed almost four years ago on a dreary New Year's Day. He'd made adjustments to it since then, altering the tune to reflect his lighter moods since the song's first composition, but today, today he played it as it had originally been written. Sorrowful, a little regretful… and heartbreaking in its beauty.
"Sherlock."
He glanced back at Marie's voice, meeting her eyes briefly where she stood in the doorway watching him play.
She'd clearly just woken up, and fallen asleep crying again, judging by the slight red that still rimmed her sorrowful green eyes. His eyes held hers for a moment before he glanced away, unable to bear her shared grief.
He hit the wrong note as he did so, the music ending abruptly with a sharp screech, and Sherlock lowered his bow as silence fell in their flat.
Sherlock was vaguely aware of Marie's soft footsteps as she padded over to him, and then she was wrapping her arms around him, holding him tightly as she buried her face against his back. Sherlock lowered his violin, holding his bow and the instrument in one hand as he lowered his other to clutch Marie's tightly.
"I… I…" Sherlock began, but his voice finally failed him as he could not hide his true feelings and the agonizing pain in his heart, from the one person who knew and loved him most.
"I know." Was all she said in reply.
They stood for a long time, simply seeking and finding comfort in the other as they remained silent.
At last, Sherlock placed the violin down, before turning to face Marie. He held her gaze for the first time since Mary's death as he leant in close, and Marie kept her eyes fixed on his as Sherlock leaned down and pressed a soft, chaste kiss on her lips.
"I'm sorry." He sighed, and Marie replied as softly: "I am, too. We should have been helping each other, and finding a way to help John…"
She trailed off, while Sherlock bowed his head in glum acknowledgement.
"At least I have you safe." Sherlock murmured. "For just that… I am grateful."
"So am I." Marie answered quietly. "It's the only thing I have to be grateful for after that night, but…"
She trailed off, and Sherlock knew what she didn't have to say. Despite losing Mary, despite that incredible pain that brought to all of them, it was not the worst alternative for Sherlock and Marie.
Marie sighed before glancing down, and her brows pulled together in a frown as her eyes landed on something on Sherlock's desk.
"What is this?" She asked, pointing at the envelope Mrs. Hudson had left for Sherlock, and Sherlock finally looked at it as he began: "Mrs. Hudson brought it… up…"
He trailed off as he also saw something strange, something wrong with the envelope. For one, it was unmarked – highly unlikely if it had been posted – and seemed to have been prepared a little too carefully, all the edges lined perfectly.
Sherlock also frowned as he reached for the envelope, Marie turning with him to look as he opened the envelope and pulled out a single DVD disc from inside.
But Sherlock's jaw locked while Marie's eyes widened as they read the single line written in black letters across the disc label: 'MISS ME?'
"That's-" Marie began, and Sherlock agreed: "Must be."
"But why now?" Marie asked urgently, and Sherlock answered grimly: "I don't know. But we'll find out."
He sat back down at his desk, quickly placing the disc into his laptop as he muttered: "I knew it wouldn't end like this. I knew Moriarty made plans. Vivian Norbury even said 'M' told her that we were coming for her.
"'M'?" Marie repeated sharply, and Sherlock nodded absently as he stared at his screen, waiting for the disc to load.
"She said it was one of her well-paying clients from when she was selling state secrets." Sherlock explained before he glanced at Marie.
"Why? Does it… mean something to you?" Sherlock questioned as he saw Marie's tight-lipped, thoughtful expression.
"It might." Marie admitted, but at that moment, the disc finished loading and began to play automatically.
And both Marie and Sherlock frowned in confusion as Mary's face appeared, the woman smiling into the camera at them and she said as she rolled her eyes a little: "Thought that would get your attention."
Sherlock sat back in shock, while Marie leaned in closer. Their hands intertwined automatically, the couple grounding each other once more as – onscreen - Mary began: "So, this is in case..."
She trailed off, smiling awkwardly at the camera before she went on bravely: "In case 'the day' comes. If you are watching this, I'm... probably dead."
Sherlock just stared silently, while Marie swallowed hard, as Mary continued: "I hope I can have an ordinary life, but who knows? Right Marie?"
She smiled a little, trying to be teasing, and Marie just shook her head at the crazy blonde's attempt at lightheartedness while Mary continued softly: "I know I tried to talk you out of doubt, but we all know I agree with you."
Mary took a deep breath before going on determinedly: "Nothing's certain; nothing's written. My old life… Our old lives," she corrected with a wry smile, "they were full of consequences."
Marie's hand twitched as Mary continued: "The danger was the fun part, but you can't outrun that forever."
She gestured to the camera as she added: "And you need to remember that, Sherlock. Remember and keep Marie safe for me as well."
Marie blinked back tears, as Mary took a deep breath before going on: "And… I'm sorry."
Sherlock squeezed Marie's hand, but Marie frowned slightly in confusion as Mary said almost pleadingly: "Marie, I'm so sorry to ask this of you, and Sherlock."
They both frowned slightly as Mary stated grimly: "I'm giving you a case, Sherlock."
Sherlock leaned forward listening intently, while Marie's eyes widened as Mary said slowly: "Might be the hardest case of your career. When I'm ... gone, if I'm gone… I need you to do something for me."
Sherlock swallowed, while Marie closed her eyes, and a tear shed down the side of her face as Mary made her final request.
"Save John Watson." Mary whispered at the end. "Save him, Sherlock."
Marie looked at Sherlock, different emotions warring across her face as Sherlock sat, his hands clasped before him, while Mary's last pleas echoed in their minds.
"Save him."
Sherlock walked alone along the south bank of the Thames. He needed to make his decision, and he needed to do it alone this time.
As Sherlock stared out into the river, he thought to himself: 'When does the path we walk on lock around our feet? When does the road become a river with only one destination?'
Sherlock turned away from the river, walking on as he made his decision while he thought to himself: 'Death waits for us all in Samarra. But can Samarra be avoided?'
As Sherlock walked away grimly, he remembered Mary on camera, staring right at him as she said with utmost seriousness:
"Go to Hell, Sherlock."
