Author's note: WARNING WARNING WARNING
Evil things are mentioned in this chapter. If you don't want to be spoiled, just read on. If you'd preferred to be properly warned, read the notes at the end of the chapter first. There are detailed warnings. (I shamelessly copied this idea from another fic I've read recently. I will include the author's name here as soon as I find it again.)
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The next few days (or weeks? No, days) are a wild mixture of spending time alone and Mary playing her games. John does his best to get over not knowing if Harry is truly dead or not. I do my best to get over not knowing if John forgave me or not.
(He told me he did but has been lying when he said so. I never raised the topic again.)
Sometimes we can see each other, sometimes not. John gets punished for my blunders three more times, including the one when I told him that I don't know if Harry is dead or not.
After a while, I cannot help but detect a problem: I am no longer sure that we will make it out of here alive. Not good, that notion. When John asks me about it, I deny it. I don't dare to deduce if he believes me or not.
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Then one day Mary storms into our cell, clearly angry. Big Boy follows her, which is never a good sign.
"It was supposed to be perfect," she rants, angrily kicking me into my side. "It was supposed to be a highlight." Her foot hits my side once more. It hurts like hell. I press my lips together as hard as possible to prevent myself from crying out and that only makes her angrier.
"I planned it. So carefully. And yet, it went wrong!" she still fumes. "You just can't make proper plans when children are involved! They always ruin everything."
John's head snaps up and I see his eyes grow wide with fear. It matches the ice cold fist that suddenly has a hold on my stomach.
Mary sits down on the floor next to John, who is tied to a chair once more. She absently pets his leg, when she explains, "Really, it started so perfectly. Finding out where Mummy and Daddy Holmes were hiding with Evelyn was easy."
Evelyn. She completely ignored the fact that we didn't name Emilia Grace according to her wishes. Please let that mean that she cares for Emmi. Please!
"I had the plan of the cottage, knew when there was a shortage of body guards … It should have worked."
She is dancing around telling us what happened, most likely to make us suffer with uncertainty. It works. The ice cold feeling that started in my stomach spreads through my entire body now. Is that what John felt when Mary told us about Harry?
"I wanted to sneak inside, surprise your parents in their sleep, play a little game with them and then kill one of them in front of the other. But NO!" she shouts, stretching out her leg to kick me once more. I barely notice the pain. Obviously there is no hope left for my parents' lives but please please tell us that you took Emmi with you, instead of ...
My eyes are burning and stealing a look at John, I can tell he is as devastated as me.
"I only had a thirty minute window but that baby never stopped crying."
That baby. Not "Evelyn" but "that baby". Emotional distance. Oh God please not.
"So instead of surprising your parents in their sleep I found them in the nursery. And that wailing …" Mary is furious, nearly shrieking now. "I couldn't think clearly any more. And your parents were so pathetic and I couldn't ..."
She draws in a deep breath, and I cannot tell if she tells us the truth or not but it doesn't look like a lie but it has to be it has to.
"God, in the end it was mess, with all the blood and the brain mass and all and the baby was still screaming like crazy." She is looking directly at me now, when she goes on, "I HAD to silence her, hadn't I?"
Funny how you can simply stop feeling anything at all.
"How?" John asks, voice shaking. He doesn't want to know but has to know anyway. He is still feeling something and it's nothing good.
"Pillow," Mary explains with a shrug and pets John's leg once more before pulling herself up again.
I can see it all on John's face, the pain, the hatred, the revulsion, the horror. Then the mourning that sweeps all other emotions away. If I still felt something myself, that look in his eyes would hurt me endlessly.
When she is already standing on the doorstep, she turns around and says airily, "Oh, as I am not in the mood for games with you boys today, I promised Big Boy that he could finally have some fun with Sherlock!"
With that she leaves.
Then Big Boy is looming over me and I am kind of grateful for the absence of feelings right now, because I am sure that I would be frightened like hell and sorry for John who will be forced to watch.
Instead, I don't really register his hands that are trailing down my legs when he opens the ties around my ankles. I am not disgusted when he touches me, roughly and grunting. I am not embarrassed when my body reacts to his touch. I am not hurt when he starts to push so hard it feels like tearing me apart from within.
When the grunting goes on, I tune it out and when he doesn't stop pushing, I hide inside my mind palace, press my face into Redbeard's fur and wait for it all to be over.
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John's voice is the first thing I register afterwards. (How long after? No idea. Doesn't matter.) I can't understand him but there is distress in it and pleading and pain.
So much pain. More than enough for one lifetime. The only consolation right now is the fact that there will be no more pain soon. Maybe one more time but then there will finally be oblivion. Because there is only one thing left Mary could do to us that would be worse than killing Emmi. And that is killing one of us. Me, that is.
And John afterwards, when she realises that he will not love her anyway.
I am torn between being happy because I will not see John die and being horrified because John will watch me die.
John's voice gets more and more distracting. When ignoring it becomes more exhausting than reacting, I slowly open my eyes. He is facing me, tied to the chair again, his eyes red, marks of tears on his cheeks. His voice is raw. Has been talking to me for a long time, apparently.
"... please, Sherlock, listen to me, please."
He stops when our eyes meet and (for some reason I cannot understand) there is relief written all over his face now.
"You are with me now, right?" he asks and I nod. "I need you to promise me something," he goes on, and it is Captain Watson talking to me now. Determined, controlled, convinced. Where does he find the strength for that kind of talk?
I nod again because I am in no condition to disobey him anyway.
"I want you," he starts, stops, thinks about it again, then starts again, "I want you to hold on." When I don't react instantly, he explains, "I want you to promise me that you won't give up. No matter what Mary will do to us next, no matter what will ..." His voice breaks and he needs a moment to regain control.
"No matter what, I want you to promise that you will hold on as long as possible."
Which is exactly what I don't want to do. I have to avert my eyes, consider his request. All I want is for this ordeal to be over. What good is it to prolong our suffering? What good would it do to John if watching me die lasts longer than necessary? If he loves me, how can he ask that of me?
But he loves me, of that I am sure. And I owe him more than I can say. If this is really what he wants, if this is what he needs …
If it is for him, I will hold on.
I look up again and nod, slowly but steady.
"No," John says, "I need to hear it."
The panic in my eyes must be visible, for he flinches a bit but says again, "I need to hear it from you, Sherlock. I need you to promise me."
It's been a while since I last talked and I need to start several times before I manage to whisper, "I promise you to hold on as long as I can."
There is grim satisfaction on his face now. "Good," he says, and after a while, he opens his mouth again to tell me something, but then decides against it.
I deduce that he wanted to say "I love you", but that makes no sense. Why would he hold that back?
We spend the following hours in silence, anticipating the disaster that lies ahead. I would love to be able to embrace him but that seems not likely. It is strange to think that I will never kiss him again in my life.
Author's note: Warning. Mentioning of (even more) character deaths, including Baby Watson. There is a short paragraph about male rape and mentioning of suicidal thoughts. Please do not read if any of this triggers anything for you.
Eternal thanks to the best three betas in the world, and thanks to all who are reading, commenting, subscribing and / or leaving kudos. Hope you've had a wonderful Christmas time.