CHAPTER 61. CONFESSIONS

Sherlock didn't knock when he entered father's room; the nurse was adjusting one of the machines. The sound of beeping and pinging was almost distracting, almost.

"My son. Agnes go bring me my son. Tell him his father wishes a word." The nurse looked down sadly on the older Mr. Holmes then back at Sherlock, the youngest son waved her away dismissively.

"Father. I am no child to have some nurse fetch from the gardens." Sherlock had meant for his voice to sound biting and harsh but instead it was unsteady and hushed.

The old eyes so much like Mycroft's swiveled over to hold Sherlock frozen in his place. A weathered hand slowly reached for the younger Holmes, and Sherlock refused to move any closer. He was already at his father's bedside what more did the man want? Sherlock wasn't one for touching they weren't that kind of a family.

"Oh how the mighty have fallen." Sherlock murmured coolly, he flinched slightly when a cold bony hand found his wrist.

"You can judge me son. It's how I raised you. I wont apologize." The older man wheezed.

"What is it father? Why do you want to see me so badly? It's actually quite irksome." Sherlock didn't try to pull his arm away, instead he studied the paper thin skin.

"It wasn't your fault. She was broken long before you were born." The older voice was gravelly now and breathing shallow. "Your mother was a beautiful woman, but fragile. Her brother was my only real friend-next to Royce. I see that now. Royce is a loyal employee and friend. Don't be cross with him. He did what I asked. We thought it was for good."

"You manipulated John's life. I don't think he would agree with you."

"Did we? Or did we give a boy an opportunity?"

"Opportunity? Father you essentially bought me a friend! This whole time-"

"No." the old man growled squeezing Sherlock's wrist. "No. I tried to think of it as a business deal but it wasn't that in the end. He's one of us, isn't he?" The gray eyes misted over, and there was another attempt at a deep breath, halted by a fit of coughing. Still the hand didn't leave Sherlock's wrist, "He is like another son. He was family because Mycroft and I couldn't-or didn't know how to be."

"What do you want father?"

"I want to know you understand. I have to know I was right. I need to hear you say it." Sherlock flinched hearing his own words fall from his father's mouth.

"Why? So your conscious can be appeased? Tell me father who was it that cut Nathan Watson's breaks?"

"He had to die Sherlock; the man was going to ruin everything. You saw what he was capable of. Are you aware of the damage before you two crossed paths? I read the medical reports from Doctor Bales, I saw the pictures. I am a business man Sherlock. I was raised just as you and Mycroft have been. We are cold creatures of logic, but not of violence. Not like that. I know it's hard to believe.

It was just- Lawrence, your mother's brother. Lawrence, you look so much like him. But he was more like John. He and I went to school together and we were going to go into business. I had a plan he would be my partner, we would dominate the business world. Control whole financial markets, but instead he went off to war as a pilot.

He promised to return. He was easy going and happy. He made me forget my father's ideas about friends and sentiment. Then he died. He was gone.

There was no chance at goodbye or final words of gratitude. He was all I knew as a friend. I never understood his drive to join the royal air force. He was like that, he saw he could be useful. I told him he was a damn fool. I tried to convince him otherwise. Then I tried to pull strings to have him grounded and assigned somewhere far from enemy lines. He knew some how. He knew, and refused it. He refused anything he didn't earn. We argued again, and that was the last I saw of him. I told my only friend that I hated him, and thought him a sentimental fool. I had no time or patience for such things. I told him he slowed me down with his ethics, and his way of thinking. That he would end up dead, because of all the sentiment he allowed cloud his vision, that such things were defects of the losing side."

Sherlock winced hearing his own words to John, but he let his father go on with his confession.

"He died. They didn't even have a body for the coffin. I had someone commissioned to find him, but the damn Royal Air force locked the files away as top secret. I had to know. Wouldn't you?" And Sherlock only nodded, yes, he too would not have rested until he knew the truth if it were John. His father smiled sadly and continued on in a remarkably steadier tone.

"The official story was his plane went down over the Balkans, and he died on impact. So I laid my friends memory to rest and swore off that part of me he affected. Then, here you were running around the gardens with this insignificant kid. One with the same grin on his face as Lawrence, the same stiff upper lip, no matter how much he was knocked around he remained unmoved. It was your chance. How could I not want that for you? I remembered having it for myself. I tried to toughen you up Son. I did. I wanted you prepared for the cold of the world, but this-this common unimportant child with his blue eyes and easy grin. This kid kept that part of you warm. He was unfazed by your eccentricities. Suddenly you were so manageable."

"Sentiment? I hardly believe you capable-" Sherlock scowled.

"I know. I was just as thrown. I wanted to believe I was doing it for selfish reasons. But it felt like a second chance. Then you and Mycroft do exactly as I had. Why was I surprised? You two were so much like I was. So ready to believe the worst in people to place blame so readily on anyone but yourselves. I knew then it was best to let him go. I could have secured his scholarships; I could have had him moved to a prestigious hospital. But he had already joined the army, do you know the kind of wounds that opened?" Another labored breath.

"However I refused to make the same mistakes. I let him be; he was climbing up and proving himself. Just as recklessly as Lawrence. I wont lie, I had hoped Mycroft's interference would have convinced the boy to take a safer commission, but I knew it was no use. And it wasn't. Then I heard he was killed. Just as quickly I learned he was alive. When Royce told me you and Mycroft had gone to the hospital, I thought you would have the second chance I never had. And you did. " Sherlock didn't know what to say at this point.

"Father-"

"You did." His father nodded his head so sure that this was the correct answer.

"We are all broken Sherlock. All of us, but sometimes we find that person to put us back together and remind us we are still flesh and bone. As illogical as it sounds. I was jealous of this chance you were presented with." The older man released his son's wrist. His body relaxing, his eyes started to mist once more, "I cut the breaks." He smiled with his blue lips, "I cut them and I'd do it again. I cut his breaks and I called him for a quick meeting said I would give him money if he met me out on that road. Then it was all too easy to run him off the road. All too easy. And everyone thought I was away on business. Clever me."

Sherlock for a moment almost didn't recognize the man as his father, the gray eyes found his, "What would you have done? If you knew your friend was going to die? What would you have done?"

Sherlock didn't hesitate, he put the oxygen mask over his fathers face, "I would have done more than cut his breaks." His father patted his sons hand and nodded.

~0~

John found Sherlock leaving the older Holmes' room, "He's resting." The Doctor nodded.

"Good." Then John studied his friends face. "You alright Sherlock? Want to-"

"Fine. John. I'm just fine. Have you eaten?"

The young Doctor shook his head. "I was actually going to speak to Royce."

"John, my father is old and senile. You understand how the brain deteriorates. I 've spoken to Royce and he only confirmed what I already deduced. My father has lost his mind and is a rambling confused old man." John frowned and to no surprise the Doctor didn't continue to question his friend.

"Yeah. Well. Have you eaten?" Sherlock made a face. "I'll take that as a no." John sighed disapprovingly "Well, I'm going to adjust your father's medication levels. I don't know what kind of quack Mycroft hired but the man knows nothing about hospice. Then we are getting something to eat."

Sherlock didn't argue, he only decided to remain outside his father's room. He could hear John's muffled voice through the door, it was comforting and warm. Sherlock wondered if his father understood it. If he were still lucid to recognize John as a Doctor, as someone he knew. The consulting detective shuttered at thought of being locked in his own brain, confused and lost. To lose one's mind would be the worst hell imaginable.

"Take care of him John. You know he gets up to trouble on his own." John nodded replacing the oxygen mask the older Holmes insisted on removing.

"Of course sir."

"John. A father should be proud of his son's accomplishments." John frowned briefly then quickly offered a tight smile.

"Rest now sir."

"Goodbye Lawrence." The older man wheezed and John allowed the older man to continue patting his hand until, the older Holmes finally fell into a deep medicated sleep.