A Gift and A Curse

Chapter 14

Week 8 (2 months)

25.

25 years.

25-fucking-years.

She could recite it a million times but she still couldn't comprehend the numbers. Where had all those years gone? It felt as if they had passed within the blink of an eye, she could picture it as if it were yesterday. Yes, they were both clichés but undeniably true.

She remembered the CNO gentleman coming to the house, she remembered the immaculately pressed uniform he wore, the pain in his eyes behind the supposed mask of indifference and the unmistakable sadness in his voice when he told them her father was gone.

She remembered the way her mother had wailed and collapsed onto the carpet and that the CNO officer and her aunt had to carry her mother into the living room.

She remembered the way Harry had run out of the house with tears in his eyes and the way she had stood there, paralysed with fear. Easily forgotten by the adults around her because of her silence.

Time been suspended and motion ceased to function around her. She was lost, pulled so deeply into her mind that the only thing she could concentrate on was the blaze in her chest that was building into a furnace with every second that passed.

And in particular, she remembered the way her world had been shattered in seconds with just a few simple words but they were simple words with an agonising impact.

She woke up that morning, the morning of the 25th anniversary of her father's death, with an uneasy calmness setting over her and a heavy heart settling in her chest. For once, since the morning sickness had begun, she wasn't ill. Perhaps the baby was sympathetic to her for a change.

Sherlock wasn't there when she woke up, and in all honesty, it didn't really bother her. She didn't feel like eating just yet, she decided that breakfast could wait until after the visiting was over.

Jane had initially intended to wear a black suit that was older than she cared to admit but a closer examination of her size and in particular her stomach meant that the suit wasn't an option.

She rummaged around her wardrobe and pulled out a black dress with a respectable length. She pulled out a pair of black tights and settled for pumps due to the fact that her feet had already begun to swell.

She had just finished putting on her favourite pearl earrings and fumbled with the annoyingly small clip on the necklace when hands gently slipped around her, taking the clip from her fingers.

Jane patiently waited for him to finish, his finger tips grazed against her skin gently and she found herself unconsciously leaning into his touch. His touch always calmed her. She closed her eyes but only for a brief moment.

She wished she didn't have to go through with it and all the memories that went with it. A cruel and constant reminder of a man she would never see again.

Sherlock caressed her neck, a surprising gentleness which brought her back into the world. Jane swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry and spoke.

"Come with me?"

"Of course." He said no more but when Jane turned to face him she saw he was already wearing a black suit (hardly unusual) but the major difference was the crisp white shirt underneath and the silk paisley patterned tie around his neck.

Of course he would've known before she'd even have asked. Even if she'd have said no he still probably would've followed her.

"Flowers?" Sherlock asked.

Jane shook her head. "No. He had hay fever." Her mouth twisted into a grim smile. "Bit of an irony don't you think?"

Sherlock took her best black coat (a gift from {believe it or not} Mycroft one Christmas) from behind the bedroom door and helped her to put it on.

"How are you feeling today?" He asked as they headed down the stairs. Jane stopped on the landing so Sherlock could grab his Belstaff coat from behind the living room door.

"Alright, actually. I don't feel sick."

"Back pain?" He asked, pulling the scarf around his neck.

"Slight twinge but nothing too bad. My ankles are starting to swell but it's to be expected."

"Okay…cab?"

"Preferably."

They both made their way down the stairs. Jane called a goodbye to Mrs. Hudson and the two stepped out onto the street. Sherlock hailed a taxi and Jane said the address of the cemetery.

They stayed in companionable silence throughout the entire journey. Their hands brushed against each other but didn't touch. The only part of their bodies that did touch was their shoulders.

Sherlock brushed his hand against her knee lightly once when he saw a melancholy had settled over her. He said nothing but remained close to her, a constant reminder that she wasn't alone.

He felt the muscles in Jane's shoulder tense when they pulled up to the gates at the cemetery. Jane stepped out, looking dazed. Sherlock gave her a curious glance before paying the taxi driver.

By the time he had stepped out and closed the door behind him, Jane was already walking halfway through the cemetery. Then, in the distance, he saw her abruptly stop. He watched, transfixed, as the silhouette of Jane knelt down to the grave. She needed time, time alone and then, when she was ready, he'd be by her side.

The white marble was so smooth against her finger tips. It was still as unblemished as the day it was made; an immortal memoriam to a mortal man. She traced the name engraved into the stone lightly.

Maj. John Hamish Watson

4th Battalion Duke of Lancaster's Regiment

22 Nov. 1949 – 6 Jun. 1983

"I still miss you." She whispered. "It's been so long and it still hurts…what-what should I say? Hm? What can I say? Well, I hate you for leaving me and I hate that we weren't there when you died but I love you. So much…and…I am so proud to call you my dad."

She could feel the lump in her throat as she talked, threatening to change her words into sobs. But, she was determined to carry on.

"Nine years wasn't enough but I wouldn't have missed it for the world. I wish you would've stayed longer…I wish we had more time. I always wanted to make you proud –"

Her voice finally broke and she let out a choked sob, she buried her head in her hands and let the tears fall. The pain in her chest felt as if it was threatening to tear her in half, so, she allowed herself to sob.

Once she allowed her tears to fall she wiped them away with the back of her hand.

"Last time I was here was the day before I was deployed, 'member? Yeah, well…I got shot." Jane laughed slightly, her mood lightened. "Yeah, bit much to deal with I know but wait until you get your head around this. So, they sent me back here and shoved me in sessions with a shrink. Didn't like them and I didn't like her either."

She could picture her father rolling his eyes, which made her smile.

"Anyway, I ran into Mike Stamford. Have I told you about him? No? Well I went to Barts with him, yeah, so, Mike and I started to chat and he suggested I get a flat share and he introduced me to this man. His name's Sherlock Holmes. He…is…remarkable, Dad. Really, genuinely, brilliant…not as brilliant as you, obviously but it comes close. And…he helped me, he really did, not that I'd ever tell him because trust me, that man does not need anything to boost his confidence any more. I swear he was born strutting out of his mother and deducing that the midwife was an alcoholic or some nonsense. Oh, yeah, I should explain that Sherlock Holmes is the World's Only Consulting Detective. This apparently means that when the police are out of the depths they consult him."

Jane looked in Sherlock's direction; a familiar warmth bubbling inside her chest when she saw him, waiting for her at the gates of the cemetery. She turned her head back to the grave.

"We saw things, Dad. He solved mysteries that the world couldn't comprehend and I blogged about them. It worked…for a time. Just him and I. Then he died. Not in your case but I thought he was never coming back. I saw…I saw him jump off a building and die but he didn't. Three years I lived without him and…when he came back I knew I couldn't live without him again. God help me, but I was in love."

She smiled to herself as she thought of the moment that she saw Sherlock standing in her consulting room. She grinned even more when she thought of the moment her fist connected with his face and then seconds later when their lips met. He was hesitant first but his arms slowly wrapped around Jane.

Then she had kneed him in the bollocks.

"Yeah," Jane nodded. "Yeah I kicked the shit out of him for that but funnily enough that didn't go in the blog. Anyway, we started to…you know…and we're together. He hasn't proposed. So, yes, final big news…brace yourself, Dad. I'm pregnant. Sherlock's the father and you are going to be a grandpa."

Jane smiled brightly and ran her fingers over the grave once again.

"I'll tell it all about you. I'll tell them how you would've loved it just as you loved me."

She leant forward and pressed her lips gently against the grave and whispered. "Miss you, Dad. Rest well and do me a favour, if you're going to look over someone look after the little one."

Jane stood up; she rose a little slower than she normally would have and felt a hand on her elbow. She looked up and Sherlock smiled sadly down at her. She turned back to the grave.

"Dad. Sherlock. Sherlock. Dad."

"We should name the child after him…if it's a boy."

Jane looked up at Sherlock in confusion. "Pardon?"

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably, he'd normally insult her but even he was wary of insulting a pregnant woman in front of her father's grave.

"If our child is a boy, we should name it after your father."

Jane blinked. "Really?"

Sherlock nodded. "You're obviously proud of your father and were quite fond of him. I'm sure that if he were alive today he would prove to be an excellent role model for the child."

"Is that your way of saying you want to honour his memory?"

"Well…yes."

Jane looked down at the name on the gravestone. "John Watson-Holmes. Hm…no. It doesn't sound right…Jonathan. Jonathan Watson-Holmes. What do you think?"

"It sounds…good. Right for him if it's a boy."

"What about your father?"

"What about him?" It was Sherlock's turn to look confused.

"What was his name?" Jane pressed.

"Why do you need to know that?" Sherlock said a little too sharply but thankfully Jane either didn't notice or didn't care.

"He needs a middle name doesn't he? And before you say anything it's not going to be Hamish."

Sherlock looked down awkwardly at his feet. "I would rather we didn't bring my father into this. Your father was a good man. Mine…hm. I wasn't particularly fond of him."

Jane slipped her hand into his gloved one and smiled supportively. "Alright, I understand."

The two stared at the grave in silence…until a thought dawned on Jane. "Hold on. What if it's a girl?"

Sherlock remained still. The only part of his body that moved was his eyes, which darted to Jane's direction.

"I…uh…Violet?"

"Violet? Violet Watson-Holmes…hm…no. I grew up with a Violet and I never liked her. She ruined the name for me."

"Oh. It was my mother's."

The words sank slowly into Jane's conscience. "Oh…"

An awkward silence passed between them until Jane said; "It's still a no."

Surprisingly, there was a husky laugh that echoed in her ear. "It was worth a try. Since my suggestion was turned down, why don't you make some suggestions?"

"Alright then…Florence?"

"No. Too medical."

"Amelia."

"Doctor Who."

"Elizabeth!"

"God save the queen."

Jane slapped him on the arm and Sherlock laughed. "What about your mother?"

Jane sighed. "Mary Watson nee Morstan. I don't particularly want Mary as a name. Practically every other woman in my family is called Mary. I want something that is unique to –"

Sherlock's mobile dinged.

He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled it out, glancing at the message on the screen. Jane looked at him expectantly. Sherlock bit his lip before he spoke.

"Lestrade. Looks…interesting."

"Rating?"

"Eight…possibly a nine."

"Really? What happened?"

Sherlock frowned. "Should we be talking about this now?" He nodded towards the gravestone.

"Hm…maybe not." Jane turned her attention back to the gravestone and ran her hand over it one last time. "I promise I'll visit soon, Dad. Love you."

Jane sighed sadly. "It's not fair. I just wanted more time. I didn't get long with him but he said something once and I swear I'll never forget it for as long as I live. He said, 'you know you are lost, not when you don't have the strength to carry on but when you don't have the dreams to sustain you'."

She tilted her head to look at him. "What about you? What was your defining quotation?"

Sherlock offered his arm to Jane who accepted it. They walked away from the grave and towards the gates. About halfway through the cemetery she heard Sherlock murmur;

"Veritas est universalis. Perceptio veritatis est non."

Jane had no concept of Latin and Sherlock didn't elaborate further but a word in the quote stuck in her head.

'Veritas…'

'Veritas…'

'Veritas…'

Jane stopped. She remained stock still. Sherlock turned to her, alarmed. Jane looked at him, a smile slowly spreading across her face.

"I know what the girl's name is going to be. Verity. Verity Watson-Holmes."