/* Sorry for not posting earlier. I really am. Life is difficult with a baby/toddler. I promise to try posting more. Please enjoy this chapter! */
Chapter 15 - South
"Okay, so you fell pregnant back then in Baskerville?"John asked, scratching his chin, looking at the fireplace. He and Kate spent the rest of the evening at Mrs Hudson's place, drinking tea and indulging in some biscuits.
"Mhm… John? I might want to spend my weekend down south, maybe somewhere by the sea. I was thinking about Brighton, maybe visiting the Seven Sisters." Katrina replied, staring right towards the warm fire.
"Are you sure? I mean, all alone, only Ciri by your side?" he asked.
"I will manage just well. And I have a place to stay. My parents own a small townhouse just by the sea shore. I will spend my weekend there. Let me write down the address, so you wouldn't have to worry about me. And if something, just call me anytime.", she replied, sipping on her Earl Gray. She was looking forward to some time to get her head free.
—-
London Bridge train station was busy as usual, especially so early in the morning. Katrina bought her ticket right at the service counter, her necessities for the weekend stored in a small backpack, Ciri on the leash and her can in one hand. She went straight up to the station and sat down to wait for her train. She felt the warm morning sun on her back and took a deep breath. Just five minutes later her train arrived and she hopped right in. As the train started to move, she tried to remember all the buildings, trees, bushes and fields she used to see when going this way with her parents. She always loved spending weekends in Brighton. Who wouldn't anyway, thinking about the Brighton Pier, where she often spent hours playing games or trying to catch some stuffed animal at the crane machines.
—-
The room was quiet, too quiet for London. The muffled hum of the city outside seemed far away, as if the walls had decided to shield them both from the noise of the world. Sherlock stood by the window, his figure bathed in the pale morning light, coat draped over one arm. Katrina sat on the edge of the couch, her hand resting softly on Ciri's head. She didn't speak — she didn't need to. She could feel it in the air, something was off. His silence wasn't the kind she was used to. Not thoughtful, not irritated, not calculating.
It was heavy. Grieving. Final.
"You know," she started, her voice low and hesitant, "when people are quiet for too long, it usually means they're about to say goodbye."
Sherlock turned his head slightly toward her, a faint smile at the edge of his lips. He said nothing.
"You're not going to tell me, are you?" she asked. Her voice didn't tremble, but her fingers tightened slightly on Ciri's harness.
He took a step toward her, then another. When he reached her, he crouched down in front of her and reached out — not for her hands, but to place something in them.
Her fingers closed around it instinctively. A small, smooth object. Her pale blue eyes stared at him.
It was his scarf.
She traced the familiar shape with her fingers, her brows knitting together.
"You're giving this to me?" she asked, now with a noticeable shake in her voice.
He nodded, then gently took one of her hands in his and pressed it against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat — quick, steady, alive. He held it there for a long moment, then lifted her hand and brushed her knuckles with his lips.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. She heard it — not in the sound, but in the breath, the trembling air that passed between them.
And then: "Take care of yourself, Katrina."
Her throat tightened. She reached for his coat, gripped it. "Don't— please don't disappear on me."
He didn't answer. His fingers slipped away.
She didn't know then that it would be the last time she touched him while knowing he was alive.
—-
The train gave a gentle jolt as it pulled into Brighton Station. The brakes hissed, and a soft voice crackled over the speaker, announcing the arrival. Katrina stood slowly, reaching for the handle of Ciri's harness.
The Labrador's body tensed with anticipation, then relaxed as her human gave the gentle forward signal.
"Let's go, girl," Katrina murmured.
Outside, the wind met her first — sharp and salty, tugging at the ends of her coat and sweeping her dark hair across her face. The sun was warm, but the wind gave it a bite. The kind of breeze that made your eyes water if you could still see. She tilted her face up toward the sky, allowing herself to simply breathe.
Ciri guided her down Queen's Road, tail swishing, paws firm on the pavement. Katrina's cane clicked gently beside her. With every step, the town's familiar smells returned — fresh fish from an open stall, the chalky salt from the sea spray, lavender drifting from a flower shop they passed every time.
The townhouse appeared as a memory before it became touch. White-painted brick, a creaking gate, and the sound of her mother's wind chimes gently dancing above the porch.
She reached for the handle and let herself in.
The hallway smelled like polished wood and lemon soap. She let her fingers trail the wall as she made her way to the sitting room, Ciri walking close beside her now, careful, quiet.
The moment the door clicked shut behind them, Katrina let the weight fall from her shoulders. She dropped the overnight bag, pulled off her coat, and let it slump to the floor beside her. She didn't need order right now.
She needed silence.
She made her way to the bay window, where a warm patch of sun fell across the couch. She sat slowly, hands resting on her lap. Ciri, sensing the shift in her, laid her head gently across Katrina's knee.
With trembling fingers, Katrina pulled something from her coat pocket — the scarf. Sherlock's scarf. She held it to her face, breathing him in.
"Why did you have to go?" she whispered. "Why didn't you just let me help?"
The scarf trembled slightly in her hands as her fingers clenched around it. Her voice cracked, barely audible over the soft whoosh of waves in the distance.
"I wasn't ready to lose you."
Ciri made a soft noise, nuzzling against her.
Katrina leaned back into the couch, letting the sun fall across her face, wrapping herself in the scarf like a memory. Outside, the wind danced in the gulls' wings. Inside, she grieved.
—-
The morning light in London had been soft, golden, almost too kind for the kind of day it would become. Katrina stood barefoot in the bathroom, her hand resting lightly on the sink as the pregnancy test lay behind her on the marble counter.
She couldn't see it.
Of course she couldn't see it.
She knew the timing, had counted the days, felt the quiet shift in her body — the small flutter of nausea, the fatigue that refused to leave, the heaviness in her chest that wasn't grief for once.
She had read the instructions last night with her fingers — the way the braille labeled the results. One line, not pregnant. Two, pregnant. But reading it was another thing entirely.
Her hand hovered over the counter, fingers trembling.
"Ciri," she whispered into the quiet, as if the dog could offer her confirmation. But of course, it wasn't the dog she needed.
She sighed and picked up her phone, navigating the screen with a practiced swipe. She dialed the voice assistant.
"Nora," she said. Her comrade from the British Army. Her voice barely above a whisper.
Two rings.
"Katrina! What's up?"
"I… I need your help. I need you to look at something for me."
There was a pause. Nora understood immediately.
"Do you want me to come over?"
"Please."
It took less than twenty minutes.
Nora found the test still sitting on the counter, just where Katrina had left it. Her footsteps faltered as she stepped into the room.
Katrina didn't need her to say it. She heard the sharp intake of breath, the silence that followed. The weight of truth.
"It's positive," Nora whispered.
Katrina placed her hand against her stomach, gently, as if touching something sacred.
"Oh my God." she breathed.
Then her phone rang.
She flinched at the sound, fumbling slightly before answering.
"John?"
"Katrina," his voice was rushed, tight with panic. "You need to come to St. Bart's. Now. It's Sherlock. He's on the roof."
The world tilted.
"W–what?"
"Moriarty's got him cornered. He's going to— I think he's going to jump."
"No," Katrina said. "No, I— I need to talk to him. I need to tell him—"
"Katrina, please, just hurry."
She was already grabbing her coat. She hugged Nora, promising her to call her later. Now she had to run, run as fast as she could. This couldn't be true, this couldn't be happening.