Author's Note: Thanks to the lovely librarianmum for being my beta! And to all the readers and reviewers, your comments were very encouraging!

There is going to be a sequel! It should be up very, very, very soon! As I'm not going to tell you the title (surprise!), I'll post an author's note letting you when it is online, or you can add me to your author alerts.

Thanks for reading and please if you have the time, review!

Lots of love,

A.

CHAPTER IV:

THE FINAL ACT

The broken object is on the table, rolling from one side to the other. The sun is filtering through the dirty glass of the windows. And the kaleidoscope still reflects the colors hidden inside it. But even broken, it's making funny, undefined and colorful shapes in the opposite wall. A pale hand takes the object and it dies when it is smashed against the floor, showing the different beads and gems that used to give the object its psychedelic effect.

Sherlock let's his eyes meet with the mantelpiece and he sees them all. All the pictures and souvenirs John had been looking for the day before to say (good) bye. He doesn't need to be a graduate from Cambridge to count the three pictures and recall all the moments they represent. The first one had been taken after solving a strange and peculiar case at the local theater in London, wearing hats. Both of them. The next one has the two of them writing on their laptops almost smiling, a picture surprisingly taken by their landlady when she used to live there. The last one is the biggest. Taken the day of their wedding as John calls- correction - used to called it. But it was only a civil partnership. A contract which both of them signed to be responsible for the other in case of accidents. Sherlock always believed it was not necessary, but John insisted and god, he insisted a lot. And the detective agreed. But now, the document saved in the deepest of their desk drawer is no longer useful if his brother is the one taking care of all of his husband's things.

Even his own body.

Sherlock smashes all the frames against the floor and his bare feet bleed when they meet the broken glass. He doesn't care. Because not being satisfied with the damage on their carpet or the damage imposed on John's work, Sherlock takes them with his hands and rips them. And all the pictures die in uncountable numbers of little pieces. Especially John's face.

Because the hatred Sherlock Holmes has been sowing against John Watson explodes today. And as it explodes, it also dies. The game Sherlock's brain has been playing dies today, no one wins, and the only loser here is Sherlock. However, John is not the only damaged man here; the fact that he is the only one dead doesn't mean that Sherlock isn't damaged. His heart is aching inside his chest and nothing and no one will fix it.

A deerstalker hat also meets its own death when it's burnt with acid in the sink.

The violinist takes his musical instrument again and looks for his scores. He will play again that song and he will not mind about his bleeding feet or his bleeding fingers. He will not mind about the hurt and damaged strings, no. He will play and play, all over and over again. But Sherlock's greyish eyes find John's mobile over the sofa. He has a text, an unread text.

Message from Mycroft Holmes - 10.23 P.M

Everything has been settled. MH

The tall man frowns when he reads the unread text on John's mobile phone. John had mentioned Mycroft in the letter he addressed to him, but he is not aware of all the things John Watson had asked. Things Sherlock Holmes will not be part of. Because John Watson did not want him to. But he plays. Sherlock plays a long and dark song he composed long time ago, and he plays for his little audience. A dead man lying on his bed,everything is a mess. John's tee is ripped after he had hit him with the bow of his violin. His back is full of purple marks and they produce an awful spectacle. John's tired and sad expression remains there, and it's haunting Sherlock. John died being sad and tired, and despite the fact Sherlock can't see his husband's blue eyes, he bets they would be as sad as his facial expression is.

Sherlock would give everything only to see those blue eyes again. He would also give everything to kiss and taste John's sweet lips again. They are bitter and cold. He would give everything only to feel John's blood running again inside his body, so he could touch him and feel him warm, and alive. Sherlock would give everything to bring John back to life. He would give his own life.

The detective opens the window and lets all the residents at Baker Street hear his composition. The sun shines incredibly, stronger than usual and soon he hears three cars at their door and people on the stairs.

He stops.

The first person to come inside is him, and that is so predictable. Mycroft and his men, plus his black suit with a matching tie and a dark umbrella as well. Mourn. Mycroft Holmes is mourning John Watson. Predictable. A man well dressed, not speaking at all, gestures the group of forensics to remove the body, but with a cold glare, the British Government man closes the door to the room.

And there is only him, his brother and John.

Sherlock does not care about his appearance, he does not care about the fact he is still wearing his pajamas, nor the fact his eyes are red and there are traces of tears on his face. Last time Mycroft saw him crying, it was more than thirty five years ago, when Sherlock was only a little boy. Mycroft, as John once said, had broken his action man. But Mycroft only did it because Sherlock had done the same to his own toys before. Now Sherlock has broken his own action man and Mycroft is not here just to see him crying. He is here to pick up the pieces and help John. He will give John the help he was supposed to give him before. Mycroft knows the second life Sherlock has been leading, he knows all about his little brother's adventures and he also knows all about John's sadness. He also knew John was going to die soon. It was only a matter of time. Mycroft saw it first, but Sherlock ignored it. And it was textbook.

"What do we know about this man?" Sherlock Holmes asks, while he places his violin on the other side of the bed, his side, and with the bow in his right hand he uses it to point at his dead husband. His older brother is just following his movements with his green eyes. Mycroft's green eyes look so tired and sad. Receiving John's will and his letter was the last thing he ever wanted. Even when he knew this was about to happen.

This was bound to happen.

"What do we know about this dead man on the bed?" Sherlock emphasizes the word dead and continues speaking while he touches and observes John's body, as if he were just another corpse at a crime scene.

John is now a new case.

"What do we know about this dead man over my bed? If I did not know him, I would say late forties, early fifties. Looks older judging by the wrinkles in his face and the white hairs on his head. Stress. This man had been under a lot of stress and through a strong depression recently. Marks on his neck. He carries a heavy and big stethoscope, the ones used for children, Doctor, pediatrician more likely. Army Doctor in fact. Could be Afghanistan or Iraq. He has a big scar on his shoulder. A shot, invalided back to London. Not only that, he used to have a limp years ago, but it came back,"

Sherlock removes the blue socks on John's feet and looks at them carefully.

"It came back a year ago judging by the light bruises in the arch of his feet. His hair is neatly combed and the pillow is slightly damp. He took a shower before going to sleep. He used a lot of soap, he still has the residue of it under his arms and legs and -"

This time, Sherlock touches his hair, closing his eyes when his fingertips met the softness of his deceased husband's hair. He smells like him. John had used his shampoo.

"- And the fact his hair and his pajamas are perfectly conserved, they indicate he died soon after he fell asleep. He never moved once he lay in this bed-"

"Why, Sherlock?"

Mycroft interrupts him and with a very dry throat. It is the first time he has managed to say something to his brother since he has put a foot in Baker Street. He feels the need to slap him hard across his face. Mycroft wants to disinherit Sherlock. He wants to stop giving his brother the fortune he had been managing since both of their parents died. He wants Sherlock to beg to him. But that's something Sherlock did to John. Because he is Mycroft Holmes and he is older than Sherlock, he is cleverer than him and he is intelligent enough to see that Sherlock has only begged for mercy twice, and only to John. And that has happened today.

"He's left handed. He has a callosity in the middle finger of his left hand where he supports the pen when he writes. He had several bruises and scars over his body. Three types of scars, some of them are from his childhood. A very clumsy kid. Some others are from knives. This man does not look like the drinker type who has fights after pints in a pub. He was used to fighting at pubs for someone else, not for himself. A close relative, a sibling more likely. The last type of scars are more recent. In the inner part of his arms and under his ribs. He must have fallen over the pavement of a street or over the cement floor of a public pool trying to push someone to the water. He tried to save someone, he tried to keep someone alive -"

"Sherlock -"

Mycroft can't stand this anymore. He just can't. He can't just stand there, while Sherlock does and undoes clothes, moves from one side of John's lifeless body to the other only to show how clever he is and how well he can deduce his own husband's dead body. But Sherlock continues, he continues because he knows Mycroft can't stand it and because he also needs answers. Sherlock needs the answers.

"Oh, but there's more! His ring. He has a ring, he is married but he removed it before going to sleep. The white line in the ring finger of his left hand? Too strong, without looking at the ring I would say he has been married for years,"

The detective takes the ring, the very same one which was resting on the bedside table and looks at it carefully. His grey eyes move from one place to another, scanning it and making his own conclusions.

"Despite the fact that this ring looks brand new, it is not. The owner of this ring, this man here, had been polishing it through the years and before, probably yesterday afternoon. Strong sentiments, this man was deeply in love with his partner. The engraving. The engraving says a lot since it doesn't have this dead man's name but his partner's. 'Sherlock Holmes'."

A long silence invades the room. Mycroft Holmes, the British Government himself stays in his place, standing in front of the large bed where John's dead body is lying motionless. His green eyes scan the room and he sees all the things John had warned him about beforehand in his letter. The flags, the medals and the ring are beside him, as he said. He also warned him about his brother's actions. His tee shirt is torn. He can see his body has been moved. He can also see purple marks all over John's back and arms. He has been hit with something and that something is in his brother's long hands. He also knows Sherlock has been shaking John's shoulders, just trying to bring him back.

But now it's time to take John away from Sherlock and do as he was asked to. Mycroft must do it, because John made him promise he would. Mycroft is a man who keeps his promises, so was John.

And Mycroft Holmes remembers John's letter by heart.

APRIL 15TH, 2012. LETTER ADDRESSED TO MYCROFT HOLMES.

TO BE READ BY HIM ONLY IN THE CASE OF MY DEATH.

Dear Mycroft Holmes,

As it says above, if you are reading this, it means I am going to die.

I am leaving you my Will because I do not want to disturb your brother with things he can't do and he will not mind at all. I do not want to impose anything on him or you, but my parents are both dead, my sister left years ago when she drank herself to death. I do not have anyone. You, Mycroft, my brother-in-law, are the last family left and I am proud and happy you are the only one.

There is no need to explain the reasons of my departure though I bet my life (my life) that you already know why. After all this time, I do not really want to think of how long exactly I have been fighting against this moment and I have decided I must finally surrender.

You are aware of how many times I tried to convince Sherlock to talk to you, to be the brother you do deserve, after all, you are the only Holmes left after your mother's death and I am aware of your love for your little brother, of your concern about him. So in exchange, let's put it this way, I am only asking you to take care of my body and the police. I feel so embarrassed, asking you for this, like an exchange of favors, because believe me, Mycroft, I never wanted anything in exchange for being your brother's partner.

Sherlock can't be charged with my death, even when I am supposed to die naturally. I do trust, and I am aware of all the power you have in your hands. Tomorrow, I need you to arrive early in the morning, before eight. I must be lying in Sherlock's bed. You will need to create a show for the neighbors. Actors, or if you have a special forensic team, it will help. Remove my body from Baker Street as soon as you can. I need to be away from here because I know what will happen to me. Your brother has strange tendencies, Mycroft. Take me away as soon as you can and then burn my body. I do trust Sherlock will hand you my flags, my medals and my wedding ring. They should be on my bedside table. Burn them with my body and throw my ashes in the Thames and please, do not tell anyone my location, where you threw my ashes. I have good and bad memories there, but the Thames hides so many things that the ashes of a dead man will not cause any trouble at all.

Please, do not let anyone investigate my death, or my body. I do not need to be taken to a mortuary. Believe me, my heart will stop beating. That is all. A painless death. Arrange everything so it looks like an instant heart attack. I need you to keep this from Scotland Yard. Lestrade needs to believe I died that way, or they will not give Sherlock any more cases and we both know what happens to him when he is not using his magnificent brain.

My savings are in that bank account you already know about and I want you to give that money to the Pediatric wing at the hospital. There is not too much, but enough to buy new toys and a few things for the kids there. They do deserve something, after giving me all the happiness and love they gave me. And believe me they did a great job. They made my dark days a bit brighter.

A last request, my dear brother-in-law, do take care of your brother. Sherlock is fully capable of it, but keep an eye on him. I have the feeling you will have to hire a housekeeper or a maid tomorrow. Make sure he keeps working, that he keeps his mind working, that the person who owns him now does not harm him or break his heart. Make sure he is happy. Make sure he lives. Make sure Sherlock lives a long and prosperous life.

Make sure Sherlock forgets me.

I am truly sorry for leaving you in charge of these things and I do not want to impose on you for anything. But as I said, you are the only one left. You, my brother-in-law, you were and you are like the brother I never had. I regret with all my heart telling you this by letter, and there are so many things I always wanted to tell you. I regret not being able to talk and even giving you a last handshake. I am sorry. I am sorry for not letting you know this before. One of my biggest regrets is this. I really wish I could give you a hug, like the one you gave me when I got married to your brother. You are a very clever man, I do not really have enough adjectives to describe someone like you, but I will miss you a lot. You were like a brother to me, and you always have been there when we needed you. And I am leaving relieved, knowing the British Government and this world are in good hands, Mycroft Holmes.

Have a long life.

Yours truthfully,

Captain John H. Watson. M.D.

Mycroft tells Sherlock about the letter without reading it, because he knows it by heart and he repeats every word, every one. Even the commas, the points. Everything.

"Why, Sherlock?"

Mycroft asks again. The young man looks at his brother and runs a hand over his dark curls. He looks down at his left hand, where his wedding ring is. It is dirty, unpolished for years now. Sherlock does not want to do it, he wants to glue that ring to his finger. He does not want to be without that ring. But he removes it. Sherlock removes it from his finger and compares his with the other one.

"The owner of this ring has not been polishing it for years, but it shines inside. The owner of this ring was used to removing it to claim his singleness, because something about his partner made him. His name is engraved inside. His partner's name shines. John Watson. The dead man had strong feelings towards his partner, even when he thought that that person did not love him anymore,"

"Why, Sherlock?"

The older Holmes asks for the last time. He repeats the question because he wants to hear the answer. He knows the answer, but he needs Sherlock Holmes to say it. Because Sherlock Holmes knows.

And he is finally going to reply.

"I know he died after closing his eyes last night because I saw him. He said goodnight, I replied and I saw him dying. I heard him, I heard his last breath and I also heard his last beat, the last beat of his heart. I saw John dying."

That is all Mycroft wants to know. That is all everyone needs to know.

Sherlock had to say it to understand it.

The forensic team hired by Mycroft Holmes removes the body of the deceased Army Doctor, John Hamish Watson, shortly after eight in the morning in a black bag. Many neighbors show their condolences to the widower who is standing in the doorway, watching the police and forensic cars leaving, following his brother's dark car.

It was not supposed to be like this. John was not supposed to end up like this, dead at a very young age, inside a black bag, being carried by a fake forensic team to somewhere Mycroft refused to reveal. He did not deserve to die alone, heartbroken and sad.

John deserved to die old, with the love of his life, with Sherlock beside him. John deserved children, birthday parties, kisses, touches and love. He also deserved to be buried with full military rights, he had fought for the Queen and for his country, and for Sherlock Holmes. He had fought for him and for their love. John deserved a grave where people could go and leave him flowers.

In silence, the detective returns to his flat. Two hundred and twenty one B of Baker Street is so silent today. The tea he made for himself is cold now. There is such a mess! Broken glass from the kaleidoscope John built years ago. Broken glass from the pictures and frames smashed against the floor. The smell, that characteristic smell from a mortuary had gone from Baker Street. Sherlock takes John's perfume and tries to impregnate the whole flat with his scent. He wants John to be there.

His feet ignore all the traces of broken glasses and he lays in his bed. On his side of the bed and he lets his bleeding fingers trace imaginary patterns on John's side. The pillow is still damp from his wet hair, from his shower yesterday. The sheets, the duvet, all the room smells like John.

Sherlock Holmes closes his eyes and remembers all the moments he had lived in that bed.

.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm over you in my bed"

"I know, Sherlock. But you -"

The dark haired man kissed his Doctor for the first time, that night after returning from a long hiatus of three years. And John kissed him back.

.

"I want you,"

"You say it so easily."

"You don't want me?"

John smiled at him and let a hand ran over Sherlock's soft and wild curls "I want you. I love you with all my heart, Sherlock."

"I love you too, John." Sherlock said and then he proceeded to kiss his partner.

.

"Would you marry me?" John was lying on him. His blue eyes were shining. He was waiting expectantly for an answer.

"Why bother getting married? We are fine this way. Papers and ceremonies are rubbish,"

"I want to be with you, and-"

"You are already with me. Actually, you're on top of me."

"I just want you- in case, just in case something happens to me, I want you to have power over things."

.

John kissed Sherlock, he touched him. But Sherlock was not there. Sherlock's body was there, but his mind was somewhere else. And John could feel it.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?"

"Why do you ask me questions when you already know the answer?"

John frowned "I don't know what's happening to you!"

"You." Sherlock replied back coldly and turned to his side. Turning his back to John, he turned off the lights and closed his eyes, ignoring his husband's sad expression.

.

John was reading a fat book. For some reason John had been reading a lot of medical journals and books lately.

"Sherlock, I need you to come with me to Bart's, tomorrow early -"

"I'm working."

"I know. But this is kind of... important to me,"

"And I have work tomorrow."

After that day, John started buying bags of lollipops he religiously took to his work. Sherlock never asked why.

.

John was reading the reports of Sherlock's latest case while they were having another silent breakfast.

"I love you, Sherlock"

He never got an answer and finally, John spoke to him for what would turn out to be the last time.

"Do you still care about us?"

The dark haired man made sure that his intentions were very clear in his husband's mind. And with a cold stare, he answered John's question.

"No."

The night after that silent breakfast, John got under the duvet without saying a word. Sherlock had admitted what John had been suspecting for a long time. The detective had lost interest in them. In their relationship. In their love.

Sherlock waited while he heard John's silent crying. Because he knew John was crying. But for some reason, Sherlock did not say a word.

And that was where everything started.

Sherlock knows he can't go back in time and change what he did. He just can't.

Sherlock's mobile phone rings. He hasn't moved from his place on the bed. He is still there, crying in silence while feelings crash against his chest. The real feelings, the moments, the memories, John, all of them crash against Sherlock's heart. And his chest aches. He talks alone because he knows John is there, listening to him. Sherlock asks John how he knew he was going to die. Who told him. Why he never said a word. Why John had to go and break his promise. Why John left him alone in his own hell, because he can't find a way to escape.

Sherlock asks him why he left. He says he never stopped loving him. And rage, that strange and hurtful feeling invades him. Because he does not even know where John will be, because John did not want him to know. And Sherlock knows why, but he can't deduce where John wanted to be hidden, where he wanted to finally rest. Sherlock erased so many things, folder and facts about his John that now, it is impossible for him to deduce and work out something as easy as the location of a grave. He also realises he knows nothing about the man who was lying dead. Sherlock only remembers the past and some moments, random moments: a pool, John jumping on him to save him from a bomb. John killing a cabbie less than twenty four hours after their first meeting. John watching him die. John visiting his fake grave. John running after criminals. John putting himself at stake for him. John saved him. John had put his own life at stake for him, to keep him alive.

Sinking in his own despair, Sherlock cries. He hugs John's still wet pillow and cries alone. He begs John to come back and stop this, he begs to the god he never believed in to bring his John back. He makes promises and asks for forgiveness. He also says out loud he regrets everything. Sherlock begs John to come back and be the couple they once were.

The consulting detective cries and he regrets it all. He regrets having that clever mind he has because he knows his own mind played a trick on him and he just accepted it. He forgot John and he convinced himself John was nothing. Sherlock told John he was already dead to him. Sherlock will regret for the rest of his life.

Sherlock sobs against John's pillow and tells him he was not boring, he tells him he was the most brilliant human being he had ever met. He also tells him he misses his touches, his kisses and his voice. Sherlock admits he can't live without him.

The detective looks so absent. He looks like nothing. And finally someone had reduced Sherlock to nothing, to being an ordinary man crying after the death of his husband. Sherlock Holmes is crying and he is feeling that bereavement, that heavy weight on his chest, the very same one John had been carrying for months until today. Sherlock is feeling forgotten by John.

Sherlock admits his mistake. He also admits that feeling alone hurts. Now he understands John and his tears.

John managed to escape, and he did it in the best way he could. He did it in the only way he knew his heart could possibly handle it, because he was not able to walk out of Sherlock's life just like that, John was not able to say 'Enough' and he was not able to start a new life. Because Sherlock Holmes was his life. Sherlock was his air, his heart, his everything. And he disappeared. Sherlock disappeared from his life and John could not see, could not imagine a life without him. John Watson could not conceive of a life without Sherlock Holmes.

Because John Watson had to die to make Sherlock Holmes understand what he had lost. And now he knows it. Sherlock knows what he has lost and he is also aware he can't go back in time. Sherlock would give anything only to see those blue eyes again. He would also give anything to kiss and taste John's sweet lips again. They are bitter and cold. He would give anything only to feel John's blood running again inside his body, so he would touch him and he would feel him warm, and alive. Sherlock would give anything to bring John back to life. He would give his own life.

Sherlock looks at the unpolished ring on his finger ring and he finally remembers something. And that moment it is clear like water.

On their wedding day, John was on tiptoes kissing him. And he promised Sherlock something.

"I'll love you, always. For ever. Even after death do us part."

Sherlock wonders if John is still keeping that promise alive.

Fin.