Sherlock stared as Mycroft stepped out of the trunk. "Brother, mine…" The young man greeted tearfully.
"Mycroft," Sherlock gasped.
"How I have missed you my dear brother…" Mycroft sighed, "But, please, hand me the razor."
Mycroft took the silver handle and slipped it out of his brother's hand.
"What the hell is going on!?" Moriarty demanded.
"You see, Sir, my brother wanted revenge for what you have done to our family," Mycroft spat.
"And you stopped him, my dear," Moriarty sat up and went to touch Mycroft's cheek, but the young man staggered backwards.
"Don't touch me! I know you watched me; enjoying your perverse fantasies; and imagining me in place of one of your drawings!" Mycroft yelled before surging forward, pushing Moriarty against the chair, "NO MORE!"
With tens of messy stabs, Mycroft hacked away at the judge's throat; spraying both he and Sherlock with blood. "Mycroft, you've killed him! Stop!" Sherlock shouted, bringing Mycroft out of his frenzy.
"Jesus!" They heard a swear from the doorway. The beggar stood there, taking in the scene, "Benedict… Mycroft…"
Sherlock knew he recognised the voice, but could not place it… Deduce. It's ok now.
It was John. But that was impossible! He was dead! Buried! Six feet under! "John…?" he gasped.
"Oh, Benedict!" John cried, running forward and sweeping Sherlock into an embrace, "Dear God, I missed you."
"I… I missed you too…"
There was a thump. The two men turned to see Mycroft lying on the floor, shaking, eyes wide. "Benedict, help me."
Sherlock and John steadied the youngest Baker. "It will be fine, brother…" Sherlock hardly noticed a tear run over his cheek-bone, "It will be fine."
"He kept watching me… When I bathed, when I dressed," Mycroft sobbed.
John stroked the young man's head, "It's alright, Mycroft; that will never happen again."
Molly stormed into the room. "What on earth is all this noise? I –"
She stopped dead. "John…?"
"You knew he lived. From the moment that I came into your shop you knew my John lived!" Sherlock yelled.
"Benedict… It's alright…" John tried to soothe.
"I was only thinking of you!" Molly pleaded.
Sherlock looked to John questioningly, "John…?"
"Your John! A crazy coot picking bones and rotten spuds out of alley ashcans! Would you have wanted to know he ended up like that?"
"You lied to me…" Sherlock growled, "And John's fine!"
"It was all an act, Molly. I was sick for a long while after Benedict left, but I got better. It was to stop Moriarty from coming after me. But I was selfish, I let him take Mycroft away…" John continued to stroke his fingers through the ginger's hair as he cried.
No, no, not lied at all.
No, I never lied.
Johnny…
Said he took the bullet –
Never said that she died —
Poor thing,
He lived–
Sherlock leaned further into John's protective, comforting imbrace.
I've come home again…
But it left him weak in the head,
All he did for months was just lie there in bed–
John glared at her as she continued to reason desperately.
Johnny…
"Shh…" John whispered against Sherlock's hair.
Should've been in hospital,
Wound up in Bedlam instead,
Poor thing!
"Oh, my God…" Sherlock gasped, his hold on John got even tighter.
Better you should think he was dead.
John gaped at her, brow furrowed, angry and shocked.
Yes, I lied 'cos I love you!
Johnny…
I'd be twice the love he was!
I love you!
Could that thing have cared for you
Like me?
WHAT HAVE I DONE?!
Sherlock's eyes suddenly snapped up to Molly.
Mrs. Lovett,
You're a bloody wonder,
Eminently practical and yet
Appropriate as always,
As you've said repeatedly,
There's little point in dwelling on the past.
He stepped toward her; she stepped back, unsure, as they sing simultaneously:
No, come here, my love…
Not a thing to fear,
My love…
What's dead
Is dead.
Do you mean it?
Everything I did I swear I thought
Was only for the best,
Believe me!
Can we still be
Married?
Sherlock steps toward her darkly.
By the sea, Mr. Todd,
We'll be comfy-cozy,
By the sea, Mr. Todd,
Where there's no one nosy…
"Get out," Sherlock growled, "You have done me harm in these last months; I must be taken care of by my doctor. Leave now; pack your things, your horrific shop; and never return."
Molly ran out of the door with tears in her eyes.
"Benedict… Settle down. You should rest," John smiled comfortingly. Mycroft had fallen into an uneasy sleep.
"Do you… wish to keep me? I have killed many and sold their bodies as meat."
"Molly sold the 'meat'; and you were sick, I can't blame you. I love you, Benedict; no matter what you do."
Sherlock lowered himself to the floor and sank into John's warm embrace. "Molly said you shot yourself…"
"Yes," John admitted, "The nerves got to me – I ended up with a bullet wound in my shoulder."
The door creaked open; Archie and Greg stood in the doorway, a look of horror on their faces at the Baker brothers covered in blood.
A soft snoring sound came from Sherlock and John smiled. The new-comers' attention was drawn to the body of Moriarty. "D-did… They…?" Archie stuttered.
"Don't worry, boys," John said softly, "They hurt a man that deserved it, who wronged many people, who was evil. I lost a lot of friends, good people, in the war when I was a soldier, lost a lot of sleep over it… I'll sleep fine tonight."