The Past, The Present, and Perhaps a Future
Chapter Two: A Promise in Sickness and in Health
Thoughts

"Are you planning on inviting all my friends over for dinner?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow at Talis as they exited the lab.

"At some point, yes." She grinned broadly at the fact that he used the word friends, even if he had made a face while doing so, "But I'd like to get to know John and Molly first, they're obviously the most important to you aside from Mrs. Hudson who already knows me." She paused, "I suppose the only other person I really have to meet is DI Lestrade, and he seems more like a night at the pub kind of guy."

Sherlock nodded, absently, clearly distracted by his thoughts. Stopping before the main hospital doors, Talis took hold of his elbow, "Sherlock," the concerned tone in her voice drew his attention, "If you want me to meet with your parents as well, just say so. You don't even need to go with me if you want me to meet them, but don't want to see them. If you don't want me to meet them well, then that's fine too."

It really shouldn't have surprised him that she could read his thoughts, she had been doing it since the day they met, and it had been wishful thinking on his part that she would have lost that particular ability in her absence.

Sherlock searched her eyes, seeing the truth in them; she was honestly ok with whatever he decided. Nodding he graced her with the slightest quirk of the lips, "I'll text Lestrade about possibly meeting sometime later this week, and as for my parents, let me think it over."

"I'll support whatever you decide." She squeezed his arm before stepping out into the late afternoon sun.

Sherlock watched her as she talked jovially with John, he didn't want to believe her diagnosis, she certainly didn't look like a woman with only a year left. She had always been insufferably cheerful, wittily sarcastic and incredibly intelligent, traits she hadn't lost in the years she'd been away.

He watched as she charmed John, her ability to get on with anyone was one of the reasons his "Lost Days" had lasted as long as they did. She was the buffer between his aloof, antisocial ways and the rest of the world. She had prevented him from getting his ass kicked on more than one occasion during their time together, and had managed to reign him in, in a way that no one aside from perhaps Mrs. Hudson had been able to do since.

Sherlock felt something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a really really long time clawing at him. Guilt and several other pesky emotions were threatening to break free from their carefully guarded room in his mind palace, a room that along with Talis had been sealed many years ago and labeled DO NOT OPEN, EVER.

His brilliant mind turned against him as it allowed the guilt to shove him deeper into himself, tumbling head first into a convoluted pool of emotions, until he came to the inevitable (however illogical) conclusion, that her terminal condition was his fault, he had been the one to introduce her to drugs, he had been the one to corrupt her.

The still functioning analytical side of his mind tried to argue that it couldn't possibly be his fault, he hadn't physically been the one to weaken her heart, he had nothing to do with the genetic flaw that made her life sustaining muscle so susceptible to the damaging drug use; but it was too late.

The memory hit him like a freight train, he could remember her hesitancy over the milky like substance. Up until then, they had only ever smoked pot, however he was finding that the cannabis was slowly becoming less affective. It seemed like he needed stronger hits more often in order to maintain that blissful nothingness his usually racing mind craved.

They had been "on the lamb" for nearly 2 months when he had come back to their New York hotel, after a meeting with their dealer, with the fascinating and much stronger new product. Opium. That cruel mistress would be their downfall, leading them down such a turbulent and tumultuous path, it was a miracle they had come out of it alive. Yes, but she won't be alive for much longer will she? Sherlock's inner voice reminded him cruelly.

In his mind's eye, he could still see the hesitation in her face, the concern as he quickly began searching his arm for a vein in which to inject the alluring opiate. She had tried to talk him out of it, not fond of sticking herself (or him) with a needle. It was one thing to smoke pot or indulge in the occasional pot brownie, quite another to inject something directly into your blood stream.

He had simply laughed at her, questioning her sense of adventure, after all it would just be a onetime thing. They were both smart enough and mentally strong enough to not get addicted. Addiction to drugs was for those weak-minded folk, the sort who weren't smart enough to know when to stop.

God he had been so arrogant back then, so sure of his own genius.

He had rolled the dice with not only his life that night, but Talis' as well, and she was the one that was paying the price. It wasn't fair, but if there was one thing Sherlock Holmes was absolutely sure of, it was that life wasn't fair.

Had he the ability he would've gone back in time, he might not have stopped himself from using, but he damn sure wouldn't have goaded Talis in to partaking. Guilt once again slammed into him as she smiled brightly at him, waving cheerfully through the glass doors.

She was going to die and it was all his fault.

Stepping out of Bart's he nodded to her as she stepped into the cab John hailed for her, she simply winked in reply.

Watching as the cab disappeared down the street, he made a promise, whatever it took, he would try his very best to make her as comfortable and as happy as possible, he owed her at least that much. After all, hadn't that been a line in their wedding vows? In sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, until death do you part?

He hadn't been the most idyllic of spouses in their short tenure of husband and wife, a lapse he could make up for now.

"So, she's making dinner for us tonight?" John asked as he hailed another cab.

"It would appear so." Sherlock pulled out his mobile and fired off a quick text, "And she's invited Molly." Sherlock entered the cab, John following mildly surprised at the inclusion of the shy pathologist.

"So," John stared at Sherlock, who was busy staring out into the city passing by. "Are we going to talk about this at all?"

Sherlock spared him a glance out of the corner of his eye, and sighed, clearly John wasn't going to be satisfied until her knew more about the recently uncovered Mrs. Sherlock Holmes.

"What do you want to know?" The tone of Sherlock's drawl indicated that John could ask all he wanted, but Sherlock was only going to part with information he felt comfortable with, and odds were John wasn't going to get the whole story.

"Alright, let's start with an easy one," John turned a bit to face his best friend. "Are you guys really married? Like legitimately, love, honor, till death do you part?"

Sherlock never took his eyes from the scenery passing by, but nodded once.

"Properly married, as in you planned on spending the rest of your life with her?" John's voice was a tad higher than usual, indicating his trouble believing what he was being told.

Expelling an exaggerated sigh Sherlock looked to John, "It should be no mystery to you that I was a completely different person during my "Lost Days", all of the drug use was bound to make me act out of character."

"So, you guys got married because you were on a drug binge?" John frowned, not being able to picture Sherlock so strung out he would agree to getting married.

"We were in Vegas, coming down from our last case and one of our highest highs. The chapel was there, she happened to be wearing white." He shrugged casually as if he had been talking about the weather, and not his bloody nuptials, however the tick in his jaw led John to believe that there had been more to it than that.

Figuring Sherlock was done answering any more questions regarding the events leading up to and including the wedding, he asked a new question, "We've known each other for over 5 years, when were you going to tell me you were married?"

"Never." The response was quick and clinical, no hesitation behind it at all.

John gaped at him, sputtering a bit before finally finding his voice, "Never?! You were never going to tell me you're married?!"

Sherlock exhaled another breath of annoyance, "There was no point. Up until a couple of hours ago I thought she was dead." The detective was clearly annoyed that someone had been able to get the better of him, "There was no need to tell you about a wife that you were never going to meet."

John stared at his friend, assessing the answer before relenting, he supposed that Sherlock had a point. "Second, how did she manage to fool you into thinking she was dead?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he glared at the world passing by and John knew he wasn't going to get an answer to that, because Sherlock himself didn't know the answer… although he suspected that even if the consulting detective had known he wouldn't have shared the information anyway.

"Why did she come back?" John had been dying to ask Talis herself, but hadn't quite known how to bring it up, "Why come back after all this time only to die again?"

Sherlock's face cringed at the mention of her dying again and it struck John, just how much Talis meant to him and how close the two of them were, which brought him to his next question, since Sherlock seemed to ignore the previous one.

"Okay…" John swallowed thickly, not wanting to ask, but he had a morbid fascination to know. "So, the nickname Moriarty gave you…"

This time, the glare turned on him and John wisely knew when to shut up.

Talis sat in the cab, making a mental list of things she needed to gather for dinner, cooking had always been a passion of hers, she supposed it was true what they said, that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Both her parents had been Michelin rated chefs, and while they had died when she was young, she cherished those moments in their home kitchen, when they would bestow upon her all of their culinary genius.

Watching the once familiar streets of London go by, she smiled to herself, knowing that she was finally home. In the years since her disappearance, she had traveled all over the world, always wanting to return, but knowing she couldn't. If she had allowed herself to be near Sherlock, there's no way she would have been able to keep her distance.

She was the moth to his flame. And she would have gladly incinerated herself just to be in his presence.

Soon, even being on the same continent was too much temptation and she knew she had to make a more drastic move, so after faking her death, she went to Korea, home of her mother's ancestors, where she had managed to track down some distant relatives, and they took her in no questions asked. She had stayed in that small farming village for a few months before making a more permanent move to the Vancouver.

She instantly fell in love with the Pacific Northwest. It's weather was akin to that of London's but less dreary, where London could be cold and gray, Vancouver was cool and bright.

While she had adored her time in British Columbia, she knew once she was diagnosed that she could no longer stay away. A week ago she had made the decision to come home and confront Sherlock and had bought the tickets to do so before she could change her mind. So far his initial acceptance of her had gone over far better than she could have ever expected, furthering her belief that doctors Watson and Hooper were a good influence on him.

Talis was looking forward to getting to know both of them, for she knew that Sherlock would need them, rely on them in the months to come. She was not naïve enough to think that her death wouldn't affect him, she had witnessed from afar the impact her fake death had on him and it hadn't been pretty.

He had dived head first back into drugs, and it had taken a lot of called in favors and no small amount of manipulation on her part to get him to give them up again. It hadn't been easy to pull it off while remaining undetected, and she had to cash in nearly every favor she had ever earned, but it was worth it, he was worth it.

She lifted her head to the heavens, sending out a silent prayer that she had made the right choice in coming back, after all, perhaps it had been selfish of her, but she had been born in London, it was only fitting she die here as well.

Talis was pulled from her thoughts when her mobile rang, smiling at the contact photo that appeared on the screen she answered the call, "Hello baby."

Alright, that seems like a good place to stop it for now. There's still one more bombshell that has yet to be revealed, although I think I've alluded to it enough that you might be able to figure it out.

Thanks to those who reviewed and welcomed me to the Sherlolly/Sherlock fandom, I must say I am rather enjoying it here, even more so now that we have a season 3 premier date!

This chapter was once again unbeta'd so please let me know if there are any mistakes!

Getting2KnowL
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Also, I don't own any of the characters associated with Sherlock, they belong to Sir Doyle, Mr. Moffat and Mr. Gatiss... I do however own Talis.