221B Baker Street
John walked up into the flat he'd avoided since… since Mary's passing. His old home; it hurt even to think about it. To remember it.
Shaking off the dark feelings, John instead focused on his annoyance as he stepped up the stairs, a task made infinitely easier as Mycroft demanded from inside: "Where is she?"
John could see the man through the open flat door, sitting in Sherlock's armchair, his umbrella leaning against the right arm of the chair while all around him, his men were starting the cleanup of Sherlock's flat, taking down posters upon posters and lines of pictures of Culverton Smith.
"Where's Mrs. Holmes?" Mycroft asked, and one of his men answered: "We're trying to trace her now."
"You lost her?" Mycroft demanded, and the man explained uncomfortably: "She was here when we left your office sir; we will find her soon."
"And Mrs. Hudson?" Mycroft demanded instead, looking annoyed, and the man replied quickly: "She'll be up in a moment."
"Uh, what are you doing?" John demanded as he stepped into the flat, sidestepping Mycroft's men to avoid the strings of posters they were taking down.
"Have you noticed the kitchen?" Mycroft inquired instead, and John glanced over to see the mess of equipment, somewhat tidied in a very familiar way.
He realized a beat later that Marie must have been in, and that she'd cleaned up a bit before Mycroft arrived – the equipment was cleaned but replaced exactly as she'd likely found it. Mycroft would have neatly ordered Sherlock's things, but Marie left things where she found them because she knew that was what Sherlock liked. And somehow, realizing this made John's heart ache once more.
John shook his head as Mycroft, apparently not noticing his preoccupation, stood up whilst continuing: "It's practically a meth lab. I can see Marie's cleaned up a bit, but we can still salvage some things. I'm trying to establish exactly what drove Sherlock off the rails."
John looked around again, pausing as he saw a suited man currently examining a picture of Smith on the kitchen table, while Mycroft turned to him and asked: "Any ideas?"
John stared around, before asking: "Are these spooks?"
John looked back at Mycroft incredulously as he asked: "Are you using spooks now to look after your family?"
"Sherlock is a security concern." Mycroft answered firmly. "The fact that I'm his brother changes nothing."
"Yeah, you said that before." John muttered as he remembered the phone call he'd received from Mycroft three weeks earlier.
Suddenly, his vision of Mary piped up from where she stood just behind Mycroft's shoulder: "Ask him."
She was giving John a stern stare, and John tried to ignore her as Mycroft – unaware of this fact – asked John pointedly: "Why fixate on Culverton Smith? He's had his obsessions before, of course, but this goes a bit further than setting a mantrap for Father Christmas."
He looked at John, who glanced at Mary as she insisted: "Do it. Ask him."
She nodded at Mycroft, who was saying of Sherlock: "Spending all night talking to a woman who wasn't even there."
"Oh, shut up, you." Mary scowled at Mycroft, frowning at him, and John finally decided he'd had enough. 'Mary' was right – it was time for questions.
"Mycroft," John began as he crossed his arms, "last time when we were on the phone..."
"No-no-no-no, stop." Mycroft interjected swiftly, raising a hand and turning away as he said with disinterest: "I detest conversation in the past tense."
"You said the fact that you were his brother made no difference." John noted, ignoring Mycroft's protests as he stepped right up before the taller man and stared at him dead on.
"It doesn't." Mycroft answered swiftly and calmly, looking for all the world innocent.
Of course there was no way John was going to buy that, and the blond man noted: "You said it didn't the last time and it wouldn't with Sherlock; so who was it the last time? Who were you talking about?"
"Attaboy." Mary smiled as she watched him proudly from where she now sat in Sherlock's armchair, while Mycroft answered instantly: "Nobody. I... misspoke."
"He's lying." Mary said firmly, and John agreed as he said to Mycroft: "You're lying."
"I assure you I'm not." Mycroft insisted, giving John a look, but Mary piped up: "He really is lying."
John didn't need to be told that as he stared at Mycroft, and slowly understanding dawned.
"Sherlock's not your only brother." John breathed, a small smile of disbelief appearing on his face. "There's another one, isn't there?"
Mycroft stared at John, his face neutral but his eyes were cold as he replied flatly and emotionlessly: "No."
"Jesus!" John laughed, though it wasn't from amusement. "A secret brother! What, is he locked up in a tower or something?"
Mycroft raised his head just slightly, staring down disdainfully at John, but they were interrupted as Mrs. Hudson arrived at last.
"Mycroft Holmes!" Mrs. Hudson gasped as she stared at first him and then around at all the men swarming the flat. "What are all these dreadful people doing in my house?!"
Her voice had risen sharply and indignantly, and Mycroft raised a hand as he stated firmly: "Mrs. Hudson, I apologise for the interruption. As you know, my brother has embarked on a programme of self-destruction remarkable even by his standards, and I am endeavouring to find out what triggered it."
He nodded around, and Mrs. Hudson stared at him.
"And that's what you're all looking for?" She asked incredulously, and Mycroft nodded as he answered firmly: "Quite so."
"What's on his mind?" Mrs. Hudson queried skeptically, and Mycroft shrugged: "So to speak."
"And you've had all this time?" Mrs. Hudson asked, a brow raised, and Mycroft answered loudly: "Time being something of which we don't have an infinite supply, so if we could be about our business?"
He nodded to include John slightly while smiling falsely at Mrs. Hudson… who started to laugh.
Mycroft frowned in confusion and his usual disdain, glancing at John for answers as Mrs. Hudson got out between giggles: "You are... you're-you're so funny, you are!"
"Mrs. Hudson?" Mycroft questioned, genuinely confused and disliking the feeling.
Mrs. Hudson chuckled as she stared at Mycroft, musing: "He thinks you're clever. Poor old Sherlock; always going on about you. I mean," she touched John's arm as she added, "he knows you're an idiot, but that's okay 'cause you're a lovely doctor."
She turned back to Mycroft while John glanced at her, processing her remark too late to interrupt as she continued to Mycroft: "But he has no idea what an idiot you are!"
"Is this merely stream-of-consciousness abuse," Mycroft asked irritably, "or are you attempting to make a point?"
"Both."
All three people turned to the doorway in surprise as Marie appeared, leaning against the door with her arms folded.
"Rose-Marie, darling!" Mrs. Hudson greeted in relief, while Mycroft sniffed: "How kind of you to join us at last. Now, if you-"
"What are these people doing in my flat, Mycroft?" Marie interrupted flatly, not even needing to gesture around to show who she meant. "Just because I'm on speaking terms with you again, does not mean I will condone you breaking into my home."
"As I have said countless times," Mycroft sighed irascibly, "Sherlock is a legitimate-"
"You're an idiot."
Mycroft paused, eyes narrowing irritably at Marie as she stalked into the flat, continuing angrily: "I've said it before, and I'll say it again. And you should really listen to Mrs. Hudson – she's not a goldfish, like you seem content to believe."
Mycroft frowned, while Marie nodded at the landlady as she said: "Mrs. Hudson; if you'd do the honors of dumbing it down for the idiot in the room."
Mycroft's scowl deepened, especially as Mrs. Hudson nodded before looking at him as she said: "You want to know what's bothering Sherlock? Easiest thing in the world; anyone could do it."
Mycroft sighed as he said impatiently: "I know his thought processes better than any other human being, so please try to understand-"
Mrs. Hudson interrupted him as she laughed again, blurting out: "He's not about thinking, not Sherlock."
"Of course he is." Mycroft almost snapped back, his eyes narrowing, but Mrs. Hudson shook her head as she dismissed: "No, no. He's more ... emotional, isn't he?"
"If you mean his marriage-" Mycroft began, glancing at Marie irritably, but Mrs. Hudson sniffed: "Of course not. And if you really knew Sherlock, you would know it came to no surprise he and dear Rose-Marie married."
"What-?" Mycroft began, looking impatient, and Marie interjected: "If Sherlock was truly the cold robot you'd claim him to be, I'd never have fallen in love with him nor could he with me. After all, emotionless people don't feel, do they?"
"But Sherlock isn't like that." Mrs. Hudson added as Mycroft's frown deepened. "He never was."
The landlady turned to face the wall behind the sofa as she said: "Unsolved case: shoot the wall."
She pointed her fingers like a gun at said wall, mimicking Sherlock's habit of firing at said wall. "Pew! Pew!"
She then turned to the kitchen as she continued: "Unmade breakfast: karate the fridge! Discontent Rose-Marie: play the violin."
Mrs. Hudson nodded at said instrument, carefully packed and tucked away under the desk and away from potential harm. John nodded, his arms folded with a thoughtful expression on his face, while Mycroft frowned.
"And finally," Marie interjected. "Unanswered question. John?" She looked at the man pointedly. "What does Sherlock do with anything he can't answer?"
John's head had automatically turned to look at the fireplace, or rather specifically the mantelpiece as he answered slowly: "He stabs it."
His forehead creased and he unfolded his arms while making his way to the mantelpiece, while Mrs. Hudson nodded as she agreed wholeheartedly: "Anything he can't find the answer for: bang!"
She pointed at said mantelpiece, just as John noted the knife stabbed into a plain, white padded envelope. He reached for it, ignoring Mary's watchful stare as he pulled the envelope from its pinned state, frowning as he opened it in confusion.
Marie was watching him intently, same as 'Mary', while Mrs. Hudson told Mycroft: "I keep telling him: if he was any good as a detective, I wouldn't need a new mantel."
Marie was no longer listening, and neither was Mycroft – both were watching John as he pulled out the white DVD with the message written on it: 'MISS ME?'
John's eyes widened, and he looked up in complete surprise to see a similar expression of shock on Mycroft's face while Marie… looked straight back at him with steely but desperate green eyes.
The whole room watched silently as the DVD whirred before playing on the TV, and John flinched instantly as Mary's face popped up onscreen while she said: "If you're watching this, I'm... probably dead."
John instantly backed away, raising a hand as if to physically remove himself from the situation as he said: "Okay, no. S-stop that now, please."
He turned away from the screen, biting his lip while his hand fisted tightly, and Marie paused the video immediately. She looked to Mrs. Hudson, her gaze pleading, and the good landlady understood immediately.
She stood up, looking around at the others in the room as she ordered sternly: "Everybody out, now. All of you."
No-one moved, while Marie watched John as he stood by the window, staring in absolute grief at the space blankly, and Mrs. Hudson ordered loudly and sharply: "This is my house, these are my friends," she gestured to Marie and John before pointing to the screen, "that's his departed wife, and her husband is currently hospitalized because they were all good friends."
John's throat clogged up, while Marie looked away at last, looking down at the floor as Mrs. Hudson finished sternly: "Anyone who stays here a minute longer is admitting to me personally they do not have a single spark of human decency."
John finally turned back to the room, gazing at Mrs. Hudson and Marie while Mrs. Hudson watched firmly as slowly, every single one of Mycroft's men turned and left the flat. Only Mycroft remained, arms folded as he stared at the TV screen.
Mrs. Hudson turned to him when at last he was the only one remaining, and her eyes narrowed. Stalking up to the man, she leaned up close as she hissed: "Get out of my house, you reptile."
Mycroft looked at her, startled and completely taken aback, but Mrs. Hudson was firm as she continued to stare at him while she gestured to the front door. Mycroft stared back incredulously, before glancing to Marie for help but she was staring once more at the TV as well, with such a forlorn expression that it made Mycroft pause.
Finally, slowly, Mycroft reached for his umbrella, taking it from Sherlock's chair before leaving the flat, taking his men with him as he walked downstairs and left in his car.
Room at St. Caedwalla's Hospital
Sherlock slowly regained consciousness, opening his eyes and blinking a few times. His left eye felt wrong, blurred and it hurt to blink suggesting it was likely bruised if not bloodshot from broken blood vessels around the eye.
A noise – the sound of someone letting out a deep breath – caused Sherlock to flick his eyes over to the corner of his room where he saw Culverton Smith sitting comfortably in one of the visitor's chairs. He looked relatively normal and unassuming, if it weren't for the fact that he was most likely unexpected and undetected in the hospital room… and the fact that he was wearing medical gloves.
"You've been ages waking up." Smith murmured as he stared at Sherlock. "I watched you. It's quite lovely in its way.""
Sherlock parted his mouth, before he swallowed, his mouth parched, and Smith said softly: "Take it easy. It's okay. Don't want to rush this. You're Sherlock Holmes."
221B Baker Street
"I'm sorry. Marie, I'm so sorry to ask this of you, and Sherlock." Mary said onscreen as John watched while Marie had turned her head away. Mrs. Hudson had left to give them privacy, closing the door as she waited downstairs for them to work things out.
"I'm giving you a case, Sherlock. Might be the hardest case of your career."
Onscreen, Mary took a deep breath before she stated: "When I'm... gone, if I'm gone… I need you to do something for me. Save John Watson."
John grimaced, and he shook his head slightly as tears welled while Mary whispered, begged: "Save him, Sherlock. Save him."
John swallowed hard as onscreen Mary stated as she stared at the camera: "Don't think anyone else is going to save him, because there isn't anyone. It's up to you... and Marie, if you're willing."
Mary smiled a little as she added: "But I do think we all know that, if… when I'm gone, there is only one way to save John Watson."
John licked his suddenly dry lips as he stared at the screen, the unshed tears still bright in his eyes while understanding finally dawned on him. Why Sherlock had done what he'd done, why Marie had reacted as she had… why Marie was here, why she'd shown this to him, why she was still here.
And why Sherlock was lying in a hospital of a serial killer.
