CHAPTER 67. Observation from afar

Doctor Bales was leaving for the day, she'd spent enough time playing school with the new medical students. She rubbed her temples, the endless questions and nervous answers made her fear for the next wave of doctors about to enter the work force. Still they were all so young, maybe they would improve in time, although she had four fainters today. Really these kids needed to be ready for the realities of medicine; a cadaver wasn't as bad as a groaning or sobbing accident victim. She'd been harsh with some of the students today but it was for their own good, they need to toughen up.

When she heard the code for an incoming trauma she shook her head, her shift ended five minutes ago and Barts was well staffed. Then one of the nurses was saying it was jumper, that someone had jumped from the building. The old Doctor winced, hating the idea of a young person taking their life. She automatically assumed it was a young person without knowing for sure. Several paramedics were rushing past her and she followed with a morbid curiosity, knowing that if someone had indeed jumped from the roof that there would be no CPR, or life saving measures.

A tall blond man shoved past her nearly knocking her over, she could see his shoe prints leaving blood marks, turning back to the doors she recognized the pale face, belonging to a distraught young man. Someone was holding the young doctor back.

"Please, let me through I'm his friend. I'm a doctor-" Doctor Watson.

Doctor John Watson's voice sounded faint and breathless. Agnus Bales felt a tightness in her chest and a sudden rush of blood to her ears. She turned her head to follow John's line of sight and her own legs threatened.

~0~

"Please let me through!" John was trying to push past the many hands holding him back. He felt sick this had to be a dream, this was a horrible dream a nightmare. If only Sherlock would just wake him up. Someone firmly took his shoulders, urged him to sit on the sidewalk. The others were all faceless strangers just hands, that's all John really registered were their hands lifting his friend onto a gurney.

John strained to hear the beckoning vibrations of a violin, something that interrupted his worst dreams, calmed the raging panic in him so he could shift into something less distressing.

But the melody never came, it never would and he was lost in this nightmare.

~0~

Sherlock waited in the dark of his brother's office, he'd fled the scene dressed in a pair of jeans, a cap with the union jack color scheme and a baggy black hoody. Really he would have to ask Molly where she came by these hideous clothes. Sherlock had expected his brother to be at the Diogenes club and was surprised by the fact he wasn't, he made his way across the empty room and sank down tiredly into his brother's chair.

Rubbing his eyes he tried not to think of John's face, the sound of his friend's voice. There was no coming back from this, and John would hate him this time.

It was for the best, Sherlock realized now he didn't have a choice, Moriarty's people would kill him by cutting out those closest to him. His heart, his lungs and his conscience.

He felt a fool for not seeing this hand, how could he have allowed himself to be pushed into such a tricky move.

Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and John were all safe for now, and those in Moriarty's web would never see him coming. And he would be coming at them, they'd cross a line and it would be their turn to burn. Oh how he would burn them.

Let me through I'm a doctor! I'm his friend-please let me through!

John's words were still fresh in his mind, they would echo through the halls of his mind palace, those words cut him and he had to put a hand over his chest for fear his heart was bleeding out. What a ridiculous idea, that words could physically cause such pain.

John had always been this to him, Sherlock was transport he was a head and a brain. All observations and tactlessness, John-his friend had been a heart and a reminder that Sherlock had one.

It hurt to breathe, seeing John's face, the look in his eyes. Shock, John had gone into a state of shock and Sherlock could only watch from a few feet away. He could see that wretched woman, Doctor Bales holding John's head down between his knees. His PTSD, Sherlock winced as another pain spread through his chest, John would be unable to sleep tonight. The blood would trigger him, and Sherlock took a deep breath trying to push the panic down. All this worry would only hold him back he needed to get started. Dammit! Where was Mycroft?

Sherlock couldn't help but glare at his image in his brother's darkened computer screen. Well might as well have some fun, he decided to change Mycroft's passwords easily hacking his brother's computer. It would give him something to do while he waited.

Glancing at Mycroft's files he found a group of video files marked JW. Clicking on the first one Sherlock listened to a man in military fatigues.

"He said 'It's ok Bill. I wouldn't order someone to do something I wouldn't do. Besides it's no big loss if it's me.'"

~0~

Mycroft had a driver pick up John and he'd met the blond man back at the flat, the place felt so empty without his brother.

The British Government had left the Diogenes club the second he received the call. No matter how fast his driver drove Mycroft Holmes was too late. It was like the garden wall all over again except John had been unable to pull Sherlock down.

And it wasn't John's fault, no the older Holmes would never blame the good doctor. Especially not after seeing the complete look of loss in the young ex soldier's eyes. No, this was Mycroft's fault all of it, he knew how dangerous Moriarty was. He knew when the psychopath had shifted his attention from the older Holmes to the younger and he'd done nothing to stop it.

Now, now Sherlock was dead and it was his fault all of it. He cursed himself, falling back into familiar mistakes.

He'd thought John would keep Sherlock from doing anything to dangerous. Just as he'd trusted the younger man to keep his little brother occupied and out of trouble as a kid.

Mycroft should have been watching more closely, and now his little brother was dead. There would be no apologies between them nothing but unresolved anger and once again Sherlock Holmes had managed to get in the last word.

All Mycroft could think of now was that young boy with the mess of curls glaring up at him refusing to come down for dinner or come in from his tree climbing and treasure hunting.

It was over, no more arguing or video surveillance, Sherlock was gone. And once John regained his footing he would most likely want nothing to do with Mycroft as well.

The British Government entered his darkened office so lost in thought he didn't catch the shifting shadow near the drawn curtains.

"I take it John is resting?"

Mycroft had been pouring himself a glass of expensive scotch when these words broke through his grief. Turning he found a ghost glaring irritably in his direction and the older Holmes dropped the crystal tumbler he held in his hand.

~0~

"Sir." Lestrade slammed the phone on his desk down, glaring up at the pale constable standing in his office doorway.

"Kelly?" Lestrade rubbed the back of his eyes leaning back in his chair. Damn Sherlock and this grief he was putting him through, when he found the bastard he was definitely going to put the handcuffs on rather tight.

He frowned when Kelly removed his hat holding it in his hands, something was wrong. "Kelly? Is everything alright? The kids-"

"Fine. They are all-" The young man cleared his throat. "It's Mr. Holmes sir-" the constable ran a hand through his hair, his other hand clinching his officer's cap.

"Oh, great what's the idiot done now? Have they caught him?" Lestrade ground out not hiding the anger and exasperation in his gravely voice.

"They found him sir." Kelly nodded, but there was a quiver to his chin.

Lestrade was on his feet and the constable cut any movement off with these next words. "He jumped. Jumped off St. Barts-he's dead sir."

"What?" Lestrade thought he'd misheard the other man, the DI couldn't really hear much with the infernal pounding in his ears. Perhaps all that coffee was a bad idea.

"He jumped. Killed himself. He's dead." Kelly replied through clenched teeth.

"It's true the nutter jumped." Anderson's nasally voice interrupted. "I have the report. So I guess the world finding out he was an absolute fraud was enough to push him over the edge. Well it wont keep his little lap dog Watson out of Jail-"

Before the forensics officer could go any further a hard fist caught him square in the nose propelling his unprepared form back out of Lestrade's office.

Several others had to restrain the constable who was yelling angrily "Shut it! You jealous wanker! You don't know a thing! Sherlock Holmes was a good man! Better than the likes of you! And so is his friend Doctor Watson!"

Lestrade just stood rooted to the spot next to his desk, unable to process the fact that his friend was gone.

~0~

The funeral was rather boring by Sherlock's standards. Mycroft was sure to make it simple, and he guarded the location from the press and would be fans or critics. So it had been a small gathering, to Sherlock's surprise more than two people had shown up. He watched as John held a sobbing Mrs. Hudson, the woman was gripping a bouquet of flowers, she was playing the part of a mourning mother.

It wasn't something Sherlock had ever given thought to, but there she was crying into a stoic John's shoulder. The elderly woman was dressed in traditional black, and Sherlock was glad he couldn't hear her words from where he stood.

There was Mycroft off to the side gripping his umbrella, eyes cold and expressionless. He glanced over to John and Mrs. Hudson occasionally and Sherlock wondered if his brother was capable of guilt. And if so, did Mycroft feel it now?

Pretending to mourn the loss of his brother's life, while knowing that the casket was empty and the autopsy report was falsified.

Molly stood away from the crowd her shoulders hunched in defeat, and face pale, from the glances she sent Mrs. Hudson and John she did feel guilty. But Molly Hooper would take Sherlock's secret to the grave. Molly was a true friend and that's what friends did they protect each other.

It was vital that no one knew the secret, and when Sherlock returned Mycroft had promised to clear his name and restore his life.

He glanced at John once more, the bags under his eyes spoke volumes, the slight tremor to his hand as it reached over to pat the landlady's trembling shoulders. John kept a brave face but Sherlock knew there was so much more chaos going on under the mask of strength.

Sherlock was a bit surprised that DI Lestrade and Mike Stamford had gone to the burial ceremony. Even more so was the fact that Constable Clarke and his wife were there. The man was in his uniform as well as Constable Kelly and his wife, their two sons stood just to the left of Mrs. Kelly. Ian clung to his mother's hand and the red haired Matthew held to his little brother's hand.

The younger Kelly looked on confused whereas Matthew just kept his eyes on his shoes. Several others that Sherlock recognized had come, there was Angelo and his three nephews, a very mournful looking Henry Knight. Why was Henry there? He hardly knew the young man. A blond woman stood just to the right of John, she reached out and took his arm. Sherlock wondered how he hadn't noticed her until now. Mrs. Hudson had gone to place her flowers over the empty casket, while it was lowered into the shallow grave.

Several other clients from Sherlock's past were there as well it was odd seeing them drop a handful of dirt down into the hole and give their condolences to John and Mrs. Hudson but never Mycroft. Perhaps they'd all assumed John was his brother for all the work they'd done together and the dealings that the clients had with the man.

John had always been the more sympathetic one of the duo, it was strange watching each person try to console Sherlock's landlady and best friend. From where Sherlock stood he could deduce that whatever they said they meant it, they really meant it. Henry Knight had even embraced the short ex soldier, that was unexpected.

The last to leave was John, Mrs. Hudson promised to wait in the car and the ex soldier moved to the fresh grave placing a hand on the black stone.