Deleted Memories, Alternate #3
*Warning: Tissue warning, anything goes.
This alternate occurs after chapter 165
"Courage is the first of human qualities because it is the quality that guarantees all the others."
~ Winston Churchill
Moments in time, linked together by the decisions that are made. A series of choices. That is all that life really was. Forty–eight hours; or two thousand- eight hundred and eighty minutes; or one hundred and seventy two thousand, eight hundred seconds if it is preferred. That is all that it took to bring him to this moment, this impossible moment and this impossible and painful choice.
42 minutes ago
John has been unaccounted for eleven hours. They arrived at the remote abandoned weapons factory. Several other buildings on the same site surrounded the building. For over ten minutes, they searched and fought their way up to where they were now. They did not have time to wait for backup.
The small group moved through the building with guns drawn. They had separated into groups of two but Sherlock had disappeared. He was more concern with finding John than proper protocol. Two agents were killed and five of the general's men. This was the very last of Ayyad's generals. Broken and with nothing to lose, he had sworn his revenge against Holmes. He stood in the middle of a room now waiting. A gun was in one hand and phone with entered codes in another.
He heard them approaching and smiled as he saw him enter the room with a gun in hand. Random gunshots were still heard in the background. He knew that Holmes was not alone and soldiers were engaging whoever it was close by. The soldier's smile widened as he saw him.
Sherlock slowly entered with gun drawn. The great Sherlock Holmes, he thought as he glanced at him. The general then glanced at the man handcuffed to the chair. His smile faded when he saw another man come into the room. He had seen him before. He believed he was the DI. He was suddenly outnumbered something he had not counted on.
John locked eyes with Sherlock and nodded discreetly. Sherlock quickly turned his attention back to the general.
"Let him go, if I don't shoot you I'm sure Mr. Holmes here will be all too happy to, and he's a pretty decent shot." Lestrade looked the general in the eyes without flinching.
The general shifted the gun quickly from Holmes to John's head then said. "Private conversation. Do shut up and lower your gun." He turned his attention back to Holmes. "Mr. Holmes I know you're trying to get closer so stop or you'll have to pick up Doctor Watson's brain from the floor." Sherlock and Lestrade instantly stopped moving. Anger flashed on DI Lestrade's face, but he did not say another word. He however did not lower his gun.
"So here we are, Mr. Holmes."
"Let him go," Sherlock said simply with an unreadable face.
"If I let him go, you'll never know the truth Mr. Holmes."
"And that would be?" The Consultant Detective's eyes traveled pass the soldier as he cataloged the general layout of the room.
"That you're just like the rest of us. That when it comes to your life and the life of another you would choose your own."
The soldier paused for dramatic effect before continuing.
"The concept of dying a heroic death Mr. Holmes is romantic. The reality is terrifying. If given a choice you will choose yourself just like the rest of us." The general patted John on the head. Anger flashed in John's eyes but he said nothing.
"I actually do not plan to die today and I will not allow John to die either." Sherlock said casually.
"Mr. Holmes, it's amusing to see you try to win a hand when you're holding no cards." He smiled as he held up the phone for the Consultant Detective to see. He then pushed the send button. Lestrade's eyes became wide as he glanced at Holmes for a reaction but the consultant's eyes were unreadable, his face was blank.
Sherlock looked the soldier up and down silently as he came to a conclusion. "You have a way out of here. You pushed the button. You want me to live with the horror of my cowardly decision so you have some other quicker way out. Opposite the way we came. You clearly do not want or plan to die today." Sherlock paused looking at him dangerously now, "You must know that plans can change."
Sherlock's tone was mocking.
"Clearly your loyalty has limits. Do not think we are the same." There was a brief pause, "What now?"
Anger flashed on the general's face as he quickly and un-expectantly injected a drug in John's upper arm straight through his shirt. A surprised yelp came from John.
"Uh… Uh… Uh." The general's voice stopped both men that chose to run a few steps when they heard John cry out. The general smirked at the look on Holmes' face. The cool almost bored exterior cracked and he was casting worried glances at John while anger burned in his eyes. John tried to reassure Sherlock with his eyes but he was starting to blink a little more rapidly than normal and his tongue repeatedly came out and licked his suddenly dry lips without John realizing it.
"Well, look at the time. I'd better be off. My work here is about done," the general said mockingly. "One more thing then I'll allow you to choose, Mr. Holmes."
He took out another syringe. "Do you remember this, Mr. Holmes?" Holmes looked at the dark liquid contemplatively then paled. "Do you remember the unbearable pain it caused you when she had you in the lab? We improved it. It has two steps now. The first injection shall we say… prepares you. This one causes unimaginable pain and hypersensitivity to all things unpleasant."
The general smirked satisfied when he saw a brief flash of fear when Holmes looked at the doctor. Holmes quickly covered the emotion. "It's been perfected. I can tell by your pale expression that you remember it well. You'll be able to hear the good Doctor Watson screaming as you walk away."
"Well," he looked at his watch again, "Maybe running would be better."
"One more thing and this really is the last thing." The general's smile suddenly widened. Sherlock saw his face.
Everything happened at once.
He heard footsteps behind him. He heard John slurring a warning at Lestrade the same time that a click was heard. Sherlock reacted by pushing Lestrade down. The sound of a bullets impacting flesh was heard. He heard Lestrade's gun discharge and the popping sound returned in their direction. As Sherlock lay on his side, he saw the general's hand coming downward in a swing with the syringe.
25 minutes to go
"… S-Sherlock w-wake up." John said kneeling beside him. He wiped away the blood from his hands on his jeans. He had just finished tying a ripped piece of shirt to Sherlock's leg. Lestrade was already helping him sit up. The action caused him to grimace. He felt a headache coming on.
Disjointed images slowly knitted together to form coherent thought. The first sensation was pain. Sherlock felt immediate sharp and stabling pain. It slammed into him like a train. It radiated from his left leg.
Sherlock looked at both men. John was starting to waver on his feet. It was obvious that John was trying to fight the drug in his system but was losing.
Sherlock glanced around. The general was dead and Lestrade managed to shoot the soldier who tried to kill him.
"How long was I out?" Sherlock asked. He was already helped into a sitting position. He now attempted to get up with Lestrade's help. Lestrade and John looked at each other.
"Just a few minutes." Lestrade said.
"Exactly," Sherlock looked him in the eyes.
"I don't know five minutes," Sherlock raised and eyebrow. Lestrade sighed, "Ten." Sherlock closed his eyes and made a decision then opened them.
"Lestrade John needs your help. Go on ahead. I'm right behind I promise."
"H-Hell no! Take Sherlock I'm likely to become a babbling idiot soon anyway! Leave me. I w-will not leave S-Sherlock!" John was angry.
"Shut up, BOTH of you!" Lestrade said with irritation. Both men became quiet and looked at Lestrade, shocked by his outburst. "I'm not leaving either one of you. Now do we waste time arguing or move?"
"Move!" Both men said at the same time. This caused everyone to smile despite the situation.
"Sherlock, you take this shoulder. John, take the other and let's go." Both men quickly followed Greg Lestrade's instructions and they were off. Sherlock had a pained expression with every step but simply grimaced. He did not say a word.
Sherlock took out his phone to make a call without slowing his movements.
The line was instantly picked up. "I'm on my way, Sherlock."
Sherlock did not bother to ask how the elder Holmes knew that he was in trouble. "Better hurry brother dear."
He heard Mycroft breathing heavily as if he was moving.
Both brothers knew it was probably best to hang up their mobile phones. Neither did. They held it in their hands as they both moved just listening to the other breath. Finally, Sherlock felt his strength fading, he was starting to breathe heavier, and sweat was forming on his face and neck. He knew he had to concentrate on moving.
He glanced at John. John was not looking good.
"Well Mycroft… time… to go… I'll see you… soon." Sherlock said breathing a little heavier now. His brother's voice stopped him from disconnecting.
"Sherlock," Mycroft hesitated, "Keep your word."
"Don't… understand," Sherlock said confused as they passed through the second thick metal door.
"You said you'll see me soon you sod, do keep up," Mycroft said with a rare display of humor. Sherlock knew it was for his benefit. It worked he noticed as he chuckled.
"I'll do my utmost… Mycroft." With regret Sherlock hung up the phone as the three men moved quickly disappearing through another heavy metal door.
"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."
~ Lao Tzu
15 minutes ago
Sherlock and Lestrade limped along. John was becoming increasingly lethargic but his speed was good as long as he was held. Sherlock, not for the first time, asked Lestrade to take John and leave him.
"I'm right behind you… we tried, there isn't enough… time." Sherlock tried again as he now limped along. He was starting to shake slightly.
"Then we need to hurry." Lestrade struggled and was heaving heavily as he tried to help the two men. Sweat plaster Lestrade's shirt to his body.
Sherlock bit his lower lip now. He did not say it but he himself was becoming dizzy and knew that if he passed out, Lestrade would not leave either one of them.
They would all die.
Sherlock's mind tried to come up with a way, an angle he had not considered but found none. If he had known where the alternate escape was located in the building, they could use that escape route. It was probably under some kind of bomb shelter. However, he did not know its location and the one person who knew where it was was dead.
He would not ask Lestrade to leave him again.
Sherlock had known Lestrade even longer than John. Back when Mycroft helped him to get clean from his pass drug problem and Lestrade helped him by promising him access to cases if he stayed clean. Lestrade would not leave him. At least not if he had a choice.
That was when Sherlock saw it. His mind calculated the possibilities that it would work, against the time that was left before the explosion. Sherlock looked grim.
"I'm sorry Lestrade… give me just… a second." He looked quickly and sat John on the desk. Sherlock sat beside John.
"Just for a few seconds," Lestrade said sternly. The DI walked close by and tried to catch his breath.
"John…" Sherlock put his hands on John's face and turned it toward him. "… You with me?" Sherlock breathed in heavily filling his lungs with air. Since he was not moving; his breathing started to even out and speaking became much easier.
"S… ok… Sher…," John slurred. He tried to smile as he fought to stay awake. John was swaying slightly even though he was seated on the metal desk.
Sherlock bit his lip concerned. "You're going to be alright John." There was a slight pause. " John…, thank you for…" Sherlock cleared his throat. There was too much to say. There was not enough time.
"Hum," John smiled sleepily. "My Sher-ok," John said as he smiled.
"I suppose you're right, John." He smiled as he looked intently at his friend, the person who first somehow climbed around his self-constructed barricade and defenses.
"Your Sherlock… Always"
Sherlock squeezed John's hand and almost chuckled. Even though John occasionally drank, he realized that he had never witnessed him drunk. He wondered if this was what John would be like drunk.
"Lestrade I saw something in the corner. If you get it for me, I could use it as a crutch so that we could go faster." Lestrade nodded and moved quickly to the dimly lit corner.
"Sherlock I don't see what you're talking about?" Lestrade looked around the dimly lit room to the opposite corner. His back was turned to the two men.
A loud thud followed by a click was heard.
Lestrade turned around quickly and felt his body move toward the door.
He ran up to the locked door and pounded through the glass. He was able to only see Sherlock's face through the filthy glass.
"Sherlock," He pounded on the door, "How do I open it?" Lestrade was frantic. He yelled so that Sherlock would be able to hear through the thick glass and metal.
"You can't. Go take John. Now." Sherlock yelled back.
Lestrade froze. "You did this on purpose," He whispered. Sherlock could not hear, but he saw in Lestrade's eyes the moment that realization came to the DI.
"Damn you," Lestrade whispered to himself as he fought back tears.
"Sherlock," he said loudly.
"Leave now… you should make it with only the two of you," Sherlock yelled.
Lestrade looked Sherlock in the eyes and did not hide his tears.
"No sentimental gestures Lestrade… you know how I detest them. Go now." Sherlock hesitated, "Take care of John."
Lestrade was frozen to the spot.
Sherlock yelled, "Go! Now Man!" He used his best-annoyed voice.
Sherlock's voice shook Lestrade out of his haze. Lestrade nodded once and went to John. He was reclining on the desk. He slapped John's face hard enough to get his attention. He picked him up and put his arm around his shoulder.
John looked at Lestrade then frowned. "Where… Sherl?" He slurred.
Lestrade bit his lower lip, "John I need you to listen," John stuck out his tongue wetting his lips as he concentrated. He looked like a five year old.
"Sherlock wants you to run very fast." Lestrade hesitated hating himself for the lie. "He'll meet you outside."
"Hum, K," John said concentrating.
Lestrade looked back at the glass Sherlock was not there; he apparently did not want John to see him.
Lestrade took John under the arms and yelled, "Go!"
John took it as a challenge. They ran for their lives, Lestrade did not look back again. He did not have the strength to. If he had, he would have seen a face looking at them through a small dirty window with one hand pressed to the glass.
Mycroft sat in the passenger seat with his hands on his umbrella, his grip was so tight on his umbrella that his knuckles were white. "Faster," he said through gritted teeth.
"Sir, it's to maximum speed already," The driver glanced nervously at Mr. Holmes as he willed the Mercedes to go faster. A fisted hand came to Mycroft's closed mouth as his thoughts went to his brother.
He watched them disappear through a set of doors. Sherlock slide down the wall. He sat against the wall as he used it for support. He no longer tried to hide the pain in his leg and allowed a groan. He started to feel dizzier now.
He thought of his two friends running for their lives. Sherlock grimaced from the pain as he glanced at his watch.
"They're going to make it," he whispered weakly.
They are going to make it, his mind repeated.
"If patience is worth anything, it must endure to the end of time. And a living faith
will last in the midst of the blackest storm." ~ Mahatma Gandhi
Current day and time.
Choices. He had just made his impossible choice. In the end, there was no choice. They would live. John would live. If this was the last gift he gave him, so be it.
He was trembling slightly now all over, his lips suddenly became dry. He licked his lips to wet them. He thought of those he cared about one by one. It was a short list, he noted with some amusement. There was Irene, and Molly. There was Lestrade. Lestrade would feel guilty, Sherlock was regretful of that but it was unavoidable. John would take care of Mrs. Hudson.
His thoughts lingered on Mycroft. His lips started to tremble.
He laughed sadly, as he thought about how cross Mycroft was going to be. Not only was he showing emotion he was about to die. "Sorry Mycroft," Sherlock whispered as the throbbing pain became worse. Sherlock closed his eyes and grit his teeth as a wave of pain washed over him. In a few minutes, the pain subsided and he opened his eyes as he tried to regulate his breathing.
He shakily looked around. He never noticed how empty the space was.
He choked back a sob.
"I thought I was ready," Sherlock whispered breathlessly, "I don't want to die… I need more time…" He swallowed hard as he noticed his limbs shaking more.
"I need more time." He laughed weakly as tears rolled down his eyes. He did not try to stop them. What did it matter? No one was around to witness him falling apart. He kept nervously biting his trembling lower lip.
"Dying is not quite as dull as you thought, is it Mr. Holmes?" He whispered while smirking to himself. He fought to stay awake.
Lestrade was covered with sweat as he ran and half-dragged John along. John was running fast but a bit off balance. Lestrade had to concentrate on keeping them balance and upright but at least he did not have to worry about speed.
A few minutes passed.
Sherlock was lying on the cold concrete floor now. He blinked more often. He would take longer to open his eyes. He was also becoming more drowsy.
Mycroft could see the building in the distance now. Other police units, agents, and ambulances should be arriving soon. He had managed to beat them there. His heart was racing impossible fast.
He had a grim look on his face as he glanced at his watch.
Sherlock was going in and out of consciousness. The scientist in him was curious about the process of death and cataloged his symptom during his more lucent periods. The man in him was terrified. He no longer felt pain and was starting to hallucinate. "Visual and auditory hallucinations," Sherlock slurred with what was supposed to be a smirk.
He thought he heard footsteps and voices. John's voice?
He tried to keep his mind off his situation. "Well," he thought, "There are more pleasant places to be." He could no longer keep his eyes open anyway.
His eyes rolled under his lids and he barely moved weaken fingers. He entered his mind palace, and closed the doors for the last time. This time it wasn't to retrieve information or catalog data he was on a mission.
He heard the familiar soft violin music that played constantly in the background. He smiled at the familiarity and comfort of it. Sherlock's shoes tapped as he walked briskly through the marbled halls. He let his hands stroke the beautiful oak doors but he did not slow down his quick pace. It was three doors down. He had to get there.
Paintings on the walls of this palace were painted with the quality of the master artists. He looked at each one.
Each canvas passed was the painting of someone of significance in Sherlock's life. His hand stroked each picture without slowing his pace.
One painting was of his mother. There were paintings of Molly, of Irene, and one was of Lestrade. The next painting passed was of Mrs. Hudson. The last seemed to be specially framed and slightly apart from the rest. It was of Mycroft. Sherlock's left hand touched and lingered on his brother's painting.
There was no painting of John on the walls.
Sherlock delayed leaving Mycroft's painting. The palace seemed to shake in a gentle rhythm. He glanced up. He was not afraid but he had to hurry. He smiled at Mycroft's painting and chuckled sadly. He stood at Mycroft's painting, hesitating again for the briefest of a moment. He took a deep breath and walked away.
Lestrade and John made it out the building but Lestrade did not slow his pace down. He knew that he had to get a safe distance away. He grunted from the effort, he could feel John pulling heavier on him now. John would collapse soon.
In the back of his mind, Lestrade heard the wail of sirens coming from a distance. He saw a black car in front of them by at least a mile. None of that mattered now.
There was no time!
Mycroft barely allowed the car to stop before opening the door and running out. He saw collapsed bodies on the ground a good distance from the building. They were heaving heavily. He was relieved that they had made it out in time. His relief was short lived as he got closer and realized that there were two bodies not three.
John was on the ground with his eyes closed. Mycroft got close and asked one word, "Sherlock?" Lestrade had tear-stained eyes. Lestrade looked wordlessly toward the building.
Mycroft stiffen, he had never seen Lestrade cry. Mycroft twirled in a half circle his coat spreading like a cape as he deduced. "No," he whispered as his eyes widen and he looked toward the building.
Cars were pulling up as Anthea and Thomas and several agents were getting out. The ambulance was pulling up as well. The police was close.
Mycroft dropped his umbrella and ran toward the building.
Thomas noticed Holmes out of the corner of his eye. Thomas heart dropped, as he instantly knew what happened. Whether it costs him his job or not, he had to stop him. Thomas did not notice when he started to run. Thomas heard the tapping of heels and realized that Anthea was also running in an attempt to stop their boss.
Thomas noticed as he ran gaining, that this was the second time he had ever seen the normally composed Mycroft Holmes run, both times it was to save his brother.
The mind palace swaying was getting worse. He ignored it. It did not matter he had made it. Sherlock was where he wanted to be. He was safe.
Sherlock turned the handle and allowed tears to silently roll down his eyes freely now. As he entered the beautiful room he smiled, he was there.
He was always there.
Sherlock looked at his smiling face and his own smile widened.
Mycroft was still a distance from the door. He ignored the multiple shout from several agents behind him to stop. One word drove him forward. "Sherlock."
In both worlds, Sherlock extended a hand.
In both worlds, one word was spoken from Sherlock's lips.
The force of rapidly expanding air drove Mycroft backward. He felt pain in his shoulder and side as his body connected with concrete and air was forcefully expelled from his lungs.
The ground trembled. A deafening thunderous sound pierced the air as the building disintegrated. The building collapsed in and on itself, as bellows of gray and black smoke rose and broke away from the building. People ran, taking shelter as wreckage, soot, and fragments rained to the ground.
A brother. He is my most beloved friend and my bitterest rival, my confidant and my betrayer, my sustainer
and my dependent, and scariest of all, my equal. ~ Gregg Levoy
Mycroft was dazed for a moment and lay down on the ground blinking until realization came to him. Several hands pulled at him. He did not help or offer resistance. Dust from the building was blowing in the wind and had managed to blow on him, covering him completely from head to toe.
Thomas held one hand to his back to steady him. Anthea was already gone running for emergency personnel. He heard the sound of blood pounding in his ears, and blinked away the grit from his eyes. He felt warm, thick liquid slowly drip down one side of his head.
He looked over and saw Lestrade with emergency personnel around him. Lestrade stared straight ahead not looking at anything. Tears were silently running down his cheeks.
John had finally passed out and was being transported to a trolley. Good, Mycroft thought. Let John sleep a little longer. The nightmare does not come when you dream. The nightmare comes when you wake.
Words were spoken; they were trying to get his attention. Someone asked if he was hurt, he almost smiled as tears began to roll down his eyes. He ignored them. It seemed that at least for today, he had joined the ranks of the emotional masses. Sherlock would have appreciated his hypocrisy.
The tears flowed faster now. His eyes swam as images became distorted and noises started to disconnect.
He grabbed Thomas sleeve and weakly spoke. "Search… Building… Sherlock." His eyes became more blurry. Consciousness was overrated, he thought.
The world faded to black.
Mycroft woke in the hospital bed. He deduced looking at John who was sitting in the chair that he had been unconscious for over twenty-four hour. He winced as he turned his head. John looked at him as he gave a sad smile. He knew John would be there. They were all that they had left of Sherlock.
John patted Mycroft's hand before saying, "I'm here."
"I know, John." A tear rolled down his eyes as he looked at John. The pull of sleep took him. He did not resist.
"There is no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friends."~ John 15:13 NLT
Two Days Later
Mycroft stood at the door. He had a wound dressing on his head. He held the picture from Sherlock 's bedroom in his hand. It was a picture of a skinny and lanky pale-skinned boy with dark curly hair with one arm around his older slightly overweight brother's shoulders. What is striking is the smile on both of their faces. Mycroft smiled at the thought that no matter had bad things got between them, wherever Sherlock went the picture went with him. During his faked suicide, the picture had mysteriously disappeared and reappeared when he revealed himself to John months later.
"Are you sure that's all that you want Mycroft."
"Quite," Mycroft turned to leave, "I'll let you know the time of the memorial." He looked at the door that he had crossed so many times knowing this might be the last time that he crossed it and the room melted away.
"… Mycroft can you hear me?"
"What happened," He looked around making a deduction. He was sitting in a chair with no memory of how he got there. John was close with his mobile phone in hand. "Oh… Sorry John."
"Quite falling apart I'm afraid, my apologies," Mycroft tried to rise up when John pushed him down in the chair. Most men were afraid to touch Mycroft Holmes much less try give him orders. Mycroft was amused. John disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with two cups of tea, cream and sugar.
He placed one cup in front of Mycroft. "Your brother …" John tried again after he cleared his throat, "Your brother would kick my arse if I let you out of here until I am sure that you are ok." John's hand paused for a moment on the teacup handle at the mention of Sherlock.
John finally did sit across from Mycroft.
Mycroft took a sip and smiled. John noticed and was curious.
"Did I tell you about the first time that Sherlock did a proper deduction?"
"I was fourteen and home on holiday. Sherlock was only seven but even then, he was a handful. The servants were always kept busy. Apparently, he had some sort of an experiment going. He was warned that he was not to do anymore experiment outside of second kitchen, and then only when supervised. I came into the dining room and sat close to Sherlock. I refused to leave until he confessed what he had done. He refused to get up and sat down with a look of discomfort on his face. I knew immediately what he had done so I sat there with the paper reading casual as I spoke to him. Sweat was starting to form on his face. Yet, he sat there determined. You know how stubborn he can be." Mycroft paused slightly as he forced his emotions under control. "Suddenly, he looked me up and down; you know the look he gives when he is deducing you?"
"Yes, I know the one." John chuckled.
"He was livid. Sherlock had deduced that I had known all along that he was sitting on a failed experiment. One that was still warm by the way. He was outraged and stomped away after informing me of what I had done in the last hour. He was spot on by the way. Anyone else could not possibly have known."
"There he was walking away with a hole in his bloomer the heat had burned through. A patch of his pale bum was showing." Mycroft chuckled along with John. "I have never laughed so hard before," there was a longer pause, "… or since."
"He is," Mycroft cleared his throat again, "I mean was a pure terror, even when grown."
John spoke now. He did not try to hide his emotions. "Did you know about the time he slipped on ice chasing a suspect and bruise his back side so badly, he could not make it up or down the stair for three days. He somehow still apprehended the suspect by the way. He was insufferable for those three days. I understand fully what you mean about him sometimes being a pure terror…"
John and Mycroft talked into the night and Mycroft fell asleep on the couch. As John covered him with a blanket, he came to a decision. John, Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock and lately Lestrade had made themselves into a family. Their family was not one made of blood but of something else. Sherlock, in one of what he would have considered a weaker moment, described it as one made of something just as strong or stronger. He said it was made up by something of the heart.
John clearly remembered Sherlock definition of family. John had almost fallen out his chair when he heard it coming from the mouth of Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock later excused himself saying that it was the pain medication talking, not him.
John smiled at the memory.
As John looked over the sleeping form of the man who looked over a nation, he came to a decision. He would look over Mycroft.
John Watson at that moment expanded his makeshift family by the number of… one.
A/N: if you happy with a good cry stop here.
***Optional preview to Forgotten Memory by Zacha on the next page. ***
*Warning: Reading the next page changes the story. (Spoilers)
It is your choice. Make yourself content.
I hope that you enjoyed. Later today both thanks and a new story will be posted.
"I don't want to die, I want more time is taken from Third star. Warning : Don't watch without tissue. Benedict Cumberbatch is brilliant in it. Lots and Lots of tissue.
Love to all and please comment on your experiences.
Preview to Forgotten Memories.
… Later in his room as John lay in bed staring at the ceiling he spoke. "I can still…feel you. You do not feel dead. It's almost as if you have taken up a room in my heart and taken it over. You probably redecorated the place without me knowing you git. I know what you would say right now, and no I am not in denial."
John swallowed hard, "Maybe I am smart arse… always had to have the last word don't you." John cleared his throat as he blinked back the tears. Giving in to the tears would mean he accepted what everyone was saying. He did not.
He turned to look at the picture. In it, everyone was smiling but Sherlock who looked slightly annoyed.
"Night." John whispered.
When John fell asleep, he spoke a name he had not spoken once since that explosion while awake.
While dreaming, John mumbled a whisper, a prayer, a wish, "Sherlock…"
Half a world away, in a mansion, a pale-skinned man with dark hair in sleep spoke a name. He called out for help as he wrestles and twisting on silk sheets in his beautifully caged prison. He wrestled against an evil that he would not remember in the morning.
A whispered name escapes his lips, "John…"
**Up tomorrow, I had to change a few things, thanks.