This is the last chapter. I know it doesn't exactly satisfy but to be blatant, it isn't supposed to (That wasn't meant to come out as demeaning what so ever), but I will be adding my new addition to the series sometime this week. It will be called C'est La Mort. It will pretty much be my own cover of The Empty Hearse, and I will do my best to set it apart from the original episode but still give it the same feeling as the episode did. I won't be changing everything either. Thank you so much for reading, following and leaving a favorite or review. They all mean so much to me and helped me continue on writing.
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It truly was like any other day, except today instead of coffee she had tried to drink a cup of tea. Though it didn't exactly sit with her, much to her disdain, and she ended up dumping the tea down the drain of her sink. She fiddles with the hems of her sleeves and goes to her couch. She was expecting two people today.
One being Martin, he was taking her out tonight. Nine months of being together, nine months of healing and helping. She never thought she'd be able to feel right about this, about them, not with a dead man watching. But he made her…happy. Comfortable, joyous to the life around her.
He had fixed her. Helped pick up the pieces no one else could seem to find. He was there when she needed to cry, soothing her hair and rubbing her back all the while whispering comfort between her ears.
He was there to make her feel right, keep her in place and help her stay up. It was like he as her prince in shining armor. As much as she hated the trope, for she was far from a damsel in distress, it fit all too well to ignore.
He had saved her when she couldn't even save herself. He had come into her life with a smile and hopeful care, tender to the touch. Careful about what he spoke of, how he asked her of things, and she found later on in their relationship, after pointing out the endless perfections about the man that had chosen her rose up.
He had a wonderful smile, one that lit up her world, one that reminded her of a brighter tomorrow. And the way he stood, the way he smelt of pine and what she thought might by gun powder, but she never got a distinct smell out of it and let the pine rule over it. It was the smallest things that got her to turn.
The way he rolled up his sleeves when stressed, or how he would subconsciously touch her when she was near. Delicately sliding his shoulder passed her, or their hands somehow come into contact when exchanging reports.
And the way he'd say I love you. It was generous, emotional, caring in every single possible way. Devotion was in his DNA and she couldn't help but bathe in it. It was like a shower, basking on her hours upon hours a day. And it never stopped, never came to a screeching halt like it should have.
Like she had expected it to. She'd never expected, considered the possibility of someone being able to stand where he stood. Of course…he didn't take his spot, exactly. More as in Martin stood to her right while his shadow took up her left.
In fact, she was so certain she might never find a friend, or even a lover she had separated herself from life, from her friends and family. Not that she and her family were close by any means, but she had ignored calls from her sister or mother. Deciding that it wasn't worth the time when all it did was cause drama.
But she should have, regardless. They were her family and it was her duty to at least try as it seemed they were now as well. And then came in her 'friends'. Like Molly, Lestrade, Ms. Hudson…didn't answer one call of theirs. Though she had seen Molly the other day while she and Martin were out, and though Molly hadn't seen her she had seen Molly.
She was with a man, though she couldn't exactly figure him out, he was behind an isle and all she could see was some light curls and a bundled scarf. For a moment she had thought it was Sherlock, out of desperation she had twisted her thoughts into a formality deemed inappropriate at this point.
He was gone and she had excepted that…no…that was a large word to take up. She was dealing with it, that label seemed to fit much better already. She was dealing with the fact that he was gone, dealing that he would never come back and she had to get over it.
But no matter how much time had passed it seemed to never pass, much to her digression. Especially to Martin's Disdain. But he was supportive, he cared for her, he was here for her and that's all she wanted. That's all she needed.
And after being with him for so long, she believed that with him taking her to a nice and fancy restaurant, keeping her relatively close and always talking about her opinions on marriage…well she had every reason to believe he would be asking her to marry him tonight.
And she had no excuse to say no, she didn't want to say no, she'd be drowned in ebullience, thrilled to spend the rest of her life with him. To set up a little domestic family and live a long and happy life, with him. With Martin.
What she didn't like was that she had been constantly trying to convince herself of this. She was certain she wanted this, but in the back of her mind, considerably relatable to picking an old wound, she wasn't sure.
Moving on from the depressing topic she realizes Lestrade would be here any minute. He wanted to give her something, she didn't know what it was, but he had said it was important. It had been nearly a year since she'd actually seen him.
Of course she'd seen him on the T.V and newspapers but that was about it. As if on queue a knock was brought to her door. June leaves her kitchen and grates to the door, opening it to find the man she'd been waiting for the last twenty minutes.
There stood Lestarde. He looked the same, grey hair, dark eyes full exhaustion and a smile on his lips. Though it was a bit awkward, that smile, almost seemed forced but at the same time natural.
He's holding a small white shoe box, and slowly he hands it over to her. Taking it in hand she steps to the side, letting him in. Following after him shortly she shuts the door, placing the small box on her counter.
"It's nice to see you again, Greg." She puts on a warming smile, but to him it feels weak. Almost out of life, forced upon recognition that there was someone besides herself seeing her today, but he doesn't say anything.
"And you." Greg nearly pushed out, and feels an overflowing amount of discomfort in how subtle everything was in her flat. Nothing out place, neat and tidy, and he has to remember it wasn't June who made 221b the mess it had been. But it was in fact Sherlock, with all his experiments and disorganized way of life.
June rubs her hands on her the backs of her jeans before speaking up once more, just to break the seemingly never ending silence. "Take a seat." June offers, sitting down herself. With a hefty groan he does, settling into one of her chairs. It's comfy, soft and nothing like the one back at Baker street.
"So, how've you been?" June feels a pause jarring her throat, swallowing it down swiftly she gives him a fake smile. She didn't understand why it had been so hard for her to answer that, why it hurt her, but it had. But right now she'd rather not dwell on it.
"Uh…yeah, good…" She crosses her legs, leaning her back up against the couch comfortably. "Much better…" She wanted to change the subject, and in doing so she points out the shoe box. "So, what's in the box?"
"Oh, that's some stuff from my office, Sherlock's actually." He coughs a bit, June staring at him blankly before looking back at the box. "Probably should've thrown it out but I didn't know if you, uh…"
"Right." June includes quickly, leaning over as her legs flew unhatched, folding her arms. Lestrade stands.
"Yeah. There's something here…" He goes to the box, uncapping it of its lid. "I wasn't sure if I should've kept it." He reaches in and June can't stop the churning in her gut. "Remember the video message we made for your birthday?" He turns holding a disk in hand. "This is the, uh, uncut version. Bit funny actually. Thought…thought maybe you'd like to see it."
"Right." She takes it, almost glaring at the object as if it were Sherlock himself. Lestrade feels an embodiment of worry crawl over him, regret spiking.
"I probably shouldn't have brought that, I'm sorry." She glances up at the man, shaking her head.
"No its fine."
"You going to watch it?" She shrugs.
"Maybe…"
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It isn't any day you find a dress, such as this, for a low price as it had been handled. The deep crimson flattered the silk eloquently, a drift along the shoulder played about with a soft graze of lace in the back, showing skin. Maybe more than she was comfortable with, being her scar had all but taken place on her shoulder. But the thing that troubled her most was that she'd likely get cold, considering the gusts that played about outside the store. But it was utterly breath taking, the rouge comparable to a mid-summer evening, yet was somehow compatible with a blushing rose. Taking it by the hanger she pits at the front desk lays it out for the cashier to see.
"Good choice." She comments briefly, checking it out with a glimmer in her eye.
June nods in agreement. It was a good choice, not only was it fifty percent off, it fit her perfectly, shaping her hips the way she had hoped and kept her chest a reasonable size. Pouching what was left of her cleavage out. It really had been luck, she wasn't one to believe in something such as that, but there was no denying it. She had found earlier that she had nothing to wear for tonight and had ran out to find something...better than what she had.
"Would you like a paper bag or plastic?"
"Paper, please." June adds swiftly. The young woman folds the dress carefully and gently slides it into the paper sack, tying two white ribbons at the top, she hands it over to June.
"ninety quid." Pulling out her wallet she hands it over the money, snatching the dresses container with patience. "Thank you for shopping." June sighs, but nonetheless gives her a smile with a nod. June's quick to leave, exiting the store just as fast as she had entered it with a heave. The clothes there were nice but for some reason the place smelt rancid.
Looking down at her watch it came to her that she only had about thirty minutes to get ready. Now she wasn't one to take a long time, but tonight was special and she still needed to take a shower. In a hurry she waves her arm out, an attempt to call a cabby but none come to a stop for her. She becomes increasingly irritated by the time the clock hits five minutes, considering her time limit. Of course she could begin walking, but that was a twenty minute walk. But looking down at her situation it comes to light that the walk might be better.
And she wonders how in the hell Sherlock had gotten a cabby just by holding his arm up for a second. At the time it had impressed her, made him seem important somehow. And he was. But looking back on it now and she's more confused and agitated than impressed. Because when she needs the damn car the most they all skip out on her.
She just needed to get back to her flat, and fast, otherwise she'd be scratching at her hair the entire time wondering whether if it looked nice or not. Like she said, not one to dawn on stupid things as this, but it really coiled her up like a spring, the situation. All she wanted was to look a tad bit better than earlier. And a shower would help with that. But with the length of her hair, that shower would take longer than five minutes.
Dammit.
She gives up after twelve minutes, being as impatient as she is and begins to walk down the sidewalk towards her flat. Her slow paced stalking rises to a spirited speed walk. She'd jog, but lately her leg had been getting worse. In fact, the other day she could hardly walk without a limp. Of course it went away after a bit, repeatedly reminding herself that she had to be careful and with that sat around most of the day.
She makes a turn when a black vehicle catches her eye and she comes to a stop. Teetering to the side she finds the slick black car pulled up to the side of her, and almost simultaneously she knows who it is as the window rolls down. Anthea is there to answer her face of annoyance, and for a second she looks up from her phone. "Get in." It's all she says, with a dull nonchalant tone.
She must have been having a bad day given her flat voice and the lack of care in her eyes. On a regular basis she's usually...excited, thrilled to get June into the car. She guessed those weren't the best words to use. She was, in a sense, more enthusiastic about it. Knowing she'd never win the debate, the one she had started in her head, she nods slowly and paces to the car.
Anthea slides to the right as June enters and she pauses half way in. Mycroft? eight months of silence and now he want's to speak again? she wasn't exactly irritated as she was befuddled at the abrupt showing. They hadn't exactly ever really spoken, it's not like they met in the afternoon for tea. But there were times where he'd offer her a job. The last time had been eight months ago. Of course she had denied, as always, and he had accepted her faulty answer every time. though, there were the awkward meetings he'd entice, they'd be the same, but there were those rare moments when he'd ask how she was doing.
If she were feeling better, had enough money, and if she felt safe, of all things. They were never framed with the right words either, always negative, making himself sound the bad guy. But she understood what he meant after a while. It was hard to except the fact that this cold, hard man actually might 'care' for her. She uses the word lightly, obviously, but it was completely out of character for London's Queen.
In fact, she still hasn't fully wrapped her head around the warped conversations between the two of them. She had grown to ignore them, increasingly so, and after a while he just stopped. Like a switch turned off, any or all surveillance was turned away from her. She hadn't put in any effort in her care for the sudden change, but she put plenty in her query into it all.
He snaps his pad shut once she fully envelopes herself inside the car, glancing her up and down with a scrutinizing brow, measuring her as he has always done. She waits for him to say something, and he does, but not to her. He tells the driver to take them to her flat and they pull away from the curve. She does in fact want to ask why'd he picked her up. But at the moment she's all too focused on her plans tonight.
She only had twenty minutes to get ready now, a pain if you asked her, but she'd take the time where she could get it. The silence doesn't last long when he finally speaks. Voice caustic, rigid and almost cold.
"Planning something?" She brings her eyes up to the insouciant tones. Why play stupid? He should have everything down at this point. Where she was going, why, when, etc...
She figures she might as well entertain the man. "A date." She pips, settling the paper bag on the cars floor next to her feet. Mycroft gives her false smile, the curls of his lips dipping into his cheeks unnaturally.
"He's going to propose." He says a matter of fact, his tone near ice and she doesn't know if she likes where this is heading, but does her best in attempt to brace herself.
"I think so." She answers quietly, folding her arms. She squares her shoulders, his eyes narrowing, and she doesn't understand the look. Doesn't know how to react, how to respond, so she sits there in the defensive. How'd she know she was in the defensive? By the way he was looking at her. The features of his face inflexible. He doesn't look all that too happy, but when ever is the the British Government happy? It would be fascinating news if it were to ever truly happen.
He pulls the steno pad back up and the overwhelming silence welcomes itself back in between the rest of them. In all honesty she preferred the quiet tendency of the car currently, less threatening if she were to be truthful. June invites herself to look out the window, gawking at the blurring shades of yellows, blues and reds. Just a big mush of life and hovering death ready to pounce.
It's when she hears something skitter across from her she brings herself back to the attention of whats going on inside the car. Mycroft is looking at the dress, a sour look of incredulity compensates his features before he folds it back up again and places it back in the bag. She can't help but query his expression with a dallier agitation.
She can already tell there's something wrong and she has to answer it with one of her many questions. "Whats wrong with the dress?" She folds her arms back onto her lap and he looks up at her, Anthea somehow elevated her head from her phone, watching with interest.
"It is going to waste, is it not?" She tilts her head at the question. What did he mean by that? The dress was nice, she knew that much, but she got a grave sense that he wasn't speaking about the dress. By the way he held himself, store at her, it gave off a demeaning style of a somewhat accusatory hatred pointed towards her. But at the same time, not directed at her personally, but towards something else.
She reaches over and takes the sack back, shuffling it next to her in the empty slot, next to Anthea. She just waits, she had gotten over trying to guess or figure out what a Holmes meant when they'd speak in riddles.
"I suppose you wouldn't consider leaving this Martin, would you?" Her eyes widen, a compact intervole of light ire wraps around her spine and holds her shoulders host within a straining adamantine. "The affairs of your personal life are matters that I would rather keep my distance with, the considerable amount of the men you go through is astonishing." She wants to stop him there, fury entangles her heart, but she strains her jaw and holds the splinter in her spin. "But I'd keep in tonight if you are prepared to spend your life with the man."
At this point she's ready to ask the driver to pull over and let her out. "Listen, I don't know why you're telling me this, but it needs to stop." She warns after a string of a beat.
"Your relations, whether romantic or platonic, have been less than stellar." She bites her cheek, thumbing her sleeves. "Knowing that tonight may be a shift for the worse, I suggest the two of you stay in the flat." She curls her brows in, a hard lump makes an unpleasant occurrence within her stomach. Did he know something she didn't? It was there, right in front of her, she could see it in his eyes, but couldn't get anything out of them.
"I'm quiet sure we'll be fine." June clips, hardening her hues in chagrin.
"You mistake me." His regal composure shifts easily. "I do not care for your affairs, as I have just previously stated, I am simply warning you of what might become of tonight-"
"Isn't that caring, warning me of what? A surprise." she adds before she can stop and he seems unsettled by this. He straightens his shoulders, cursing his umbrella between his legs with a stiff alignment. The car comes to a stop and she's at her flat. She looks out and sighs, thinking she had, for once, won against a Holmes brother. His silence a virtuous winner. She about opens the car door, which is locked before she can leave. She stares over at Mycroft, who's eyes are livid in a dark winsome shade even as the rest of him remains unfazed, placid and still.
"Trust issues are pesky little things aren't they, taking everyone down with them, including the source?" Where was he planning on going with this? Had he been reading her private therapy sessions again? The man had no boundaries, at times he'd be worse than Sherlock, and currently still is. "This time Doctor Watson, I'd let those issue resonate with your partner." his tone is warning, dangerous and sharp. Cut to a thin strip of ice, gelid and ready to freeze the world over.
She grits her teeth, the door unlocking with a snap. A force that she had been waiting for. She hops out, before shutting it his umbrella sticks out, keeping her at a halt. June has to close her eyes to put a handle on her temper.
"Morstan is not your only problem tonight, be wary Ms. Watson." His warning abides, taking her by the arm and twists it with a stinging grip. She slams the door shut and allows the man to drive off, her eyes leaving his immediately. She shrugs the words off, or tries to, does her best to in the least. She didn't like what he had said, but she wasn't childish enough to ignore them completely.
Those all sounded like warnings, ringing bells of concern. Mycroft wasn't one to hand that out freely, she'd only ever seen him warn Sherlock of something, anything. Depending on the stature of a problem or case. But warning her? It was unheard of.
Why warn her of Martin? He was a good man but Mycroft had made him out to less than that. Someone she should steal her trust from. She doesn't know whether to listen or not, her head telling her that she should put his words to good use but her gut was yelling to ignore it. She'd take more time to dwell on these questions, she really would, but she'd do that later.
If an east wind were blowing her way, she'd bare the strong winds as she always has.
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Thank you guys so much for reading! It means a lot and I'm glad that you all enjoyed. Watch out for the third installment of the series! The title is named at the beginning notes! Thank you again!