Nick knew he was dead. One minute it had been a sunny morning and he was playing badminton, the next everyone was shouting and then it all went black. And then. After what seemed like very little time at all, he had woken up in a strange house, in a strange bed with a large black Labrador licking his face. The Labrador's collar tag said "Baskeville" and the dog seemed to answer to that. The dog seemed friendly, if a bit strange, like the rest of the house. Nick had looked in the mirror in the bathroom to see a stranger looking back at him. A man in his forties with thinning hair and green eyes. Nick ran a hand through his hair, mirror man did the same. Nick poked his soggy waistline. So did mirror man. Nick peered inside his boxer shorts. Mirror man and him both smiled.
He walked through the house. There was something strangely familiar about it. He wondered if he had been there before. A house that big ought to probably have a housekeeper or a cleaner or something. Only Nick was on his own. Except for the dog. It was strange because the house seemed to contain everything he had ever wanted. Everything he had ever promised himself as a child that he would have as an adult. All except one thing. The one thing he had wanted more than anything else. And he supposed as he began to realise the true nature of his situation, the one thing he wasn't going to get.
Mycroft.
Because Nick was dead. And Mycroft was still alive. Which was good. Mikey was all right. It was all fine. But if it was all fine why did that upset Nick far more than being dead? And surely if this was some kind of afterlife there ought to be some kind of representative of whatever all mighty power was running the show to explain it all to him. If there wasn't it was very badly organised.
Nick knew he was crying. He was surprised. Death was full of surprises it seemed. Like why was he suddenly forty four when his last memory had been of being sixteen? And what had happened to his hair? Baskeville sauntered over to him and licked his hand where the tears had dripped. The dog nudged him with his nose.
"Baskeville?" The dog looked up at Nick expectantly "What happens now?"
A large paw was placed on Nick's knee, as though the dog was trying to comfort him.
"Will I ever see him again? Or is this it?" Nick looked around the large room, which despite its furnishings and flickering fire, seemed cold and empty. "Do I have to wait? Until he dies?" And for a moment, just a very brief moment Nick wished Mycroft would be dead as well so he could join him. He shook the thought from his head. No. Not that, Anything but that. Mycroft had to live, to do all the things they had talked about.
"I guess I'll wait. For as long as it takes." He paused. And a terrible thought hit him. "But he'll forget me won't he? He'll find someone else?" The thought hurt him. But that was how it was supposed to be. He couldn't expect Mycroft to mourn him forever. Mycroft had a life to live. Without Nick. Mycroft would find someone else and carry on living.
It was fine. It was all fine. Nick put his arms around the dog's neck. Baskeville didn't seem to mind. And as Nick held on to his furry companion in eternity he wondered if this was supposed to be heaven or hell. It all looked very much the same.