TITLE: What Do the Lonely Do at Christmas?

CHAPTER/TITLE: Chapter Seven/I Won't Let Go

RATING: T (language, content)

A/N: Final chapter guys! *Tears up* Thank you all for the follows, favorites, and reviews! You are the best! *Cries* This chapter starts during the party Sherlock has planned. It's paced and feels a bit different than the other chapters possibly. I wanted to give the other characters a little screen time, plus provide a little resolution to the Harry problem, because John deserves it! (Oh, and I sprinkled in some Greg/Molly...irrelevant to the story...but I couldn't help myself) This chapter might seem odd, but I really wanted to get John back with his friends a bit because he is just a people person sometimes. And he has been so alone and isolating himself. And then I threw Clara in there because...well..because I can! So there. Sorry for the inclusion of another whole song. Rascal Flatts' songs break my heart and the 2 songs I used for this story fit just too PERFECTLY not use use in full.

Please read and review, many thanks.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock.

Chapter Seven: I Won't Let Go

It's like a storm that cuts a path
It's breaks your will, it feels like that
You think you're lost, but you're not lost
On your own, you're not alone

I will stand by you
I will help you through
When you've done all you can do
And you can't cope

I will dry your eyes
I will fight your fight
I will hold you tight
And I won't let go

It hurts my heart to see you cry
I know it's dark, this part of life
Oh, it finds us all
And we're too small to stop the rain
Oh, but when it rains

I will stand by you
I will help you through
When you've done all you can do
And you can't cope

I will dry your eyes
I will fight your fight
I will hold you tight
And I won't let you fall

Don't be afraid to fall
I'm right here to catch you
I won't let you down

It won't get you down
You're gonna make it
Yeah, I know you can make it

'Cause I will stand by you
I will help you through
When you've done all you can do
And you can't cope

And I will dry your eyes
I will fight your fight
I will hold you tight
And I won't let go

Oh, I'm gonna hold you
And I won't let go
Won't let you go
No, I won't

- I Won't Let Go by Rascal Flatts

The party had lasted nearly the entire day, with no end even remotely in sigh. More secrets were revealed and stories exchanged. Memories of those lost were told with smiles instead of tears. And John swore he saw Greg place his hand more than twice on Molly's waist.

Mycroft and Sherlock were in a heated discussion about some perceived childhood Christmas wrong doing and Mrs. Hudson was bringing out a third tray of sweeties when there came a knock at the door.

John glanced at Sherlock, whose expression was attempting to conceal something undetectable to the doctor.

Everyone else had simply let themselves inside, as their sign said to do so. Knitting his brow together, John approached the door, hesitantly pulling it open.

"Hey, Johnny."

John's posture stiffened, his back taking on the form from his former life as a soldier while his fists curled and uncurled at his sides.

No. Not today. Not here.

He had actually been having a good time. He wasn't going to let her ruin it.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was as hard as his stare.

"Sherlock invited me."

John cast a glaring glance back at his flatmate, who was currently doing his best not to appear to be listening in.

"I thought we weren't speaking," John swallowed.

"Neither were we."

John peered over his sister's shoulder to watch as a caramel colored woman with tight curls ascended the stairs.

"Clara," John breathed the name slowly.

Clara Jackson had been John's best female mate growing up. They were in the same grade together and it was through him that she met Harry. John not only had always held onto hurt over Harry's drinking, but he also could never quite let go of hos his sister had betrayed his childhood friend.

"We're not back together," Harry clarified quickly, "but -"

"We're working on it," Clara finished.

"Right now," Harry twisted her hands together, "Clara, she's - she's my -"

"Sponsor," Clara again stepped in.

"Sponsor?" John echoed.

"Not officially," Harry amended anxiously. "They'd never really allow that. But going to those meetings never helped me. And you 'n me, we're too different. We don't get on, and that's okay. We're still family 'n I love you. I know this is your family now," she gestured at the flat's occupants that were all doing a good impression of a room full of people not eavesdropping, "but I didn't want to keep disappointing my baby brother."

Whatever anger or resentment John had been harboring when he first opened the door was now somehow suddenly nowhere to be found. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and wrapped strong arms around his sister's slightly shaking shoulders.

"Harry, you'll always be my sister, my family. No matter what." John leaned back and cleared his throat. "Maybe I could've been there for you more."

"No, I shoulda' been there for you," Harry swallowed a sad smile.

"Yes, yes, well, now you'll both be there for each other. How nice."

John folded his arms and fixed his flatmate, who had somehow silently slunk over to stand behind them, with a firm look.

"Considering the two of you will be seeing more of each other now," the detective finished.

"Wait, what?" John glanced from his sister to Sherlock.

"Clara - isn't my only - sponsor," Harry released each word slowly, her eyes trailing over to Sherlock.

"What?" John couldn't quite tell if he was gasping or laughing. "Him?"

"Well I do have some previous - experience - with certain - addictions."

John didn't miss how Mycroft frowned and Lestrade purposefully pretended not to be hearing any conversation about illegal activity.

"And, you what? Volunteered? You? You don't help people, Sherlock."

"What do you call what I do for a living?" Sherlock pouted.

"Uh, ego boosting? Shameless showing off? Keeping yourself from boredom? Risking your life just to -"

"Yes, yes. Thank you." Sherlock waved his hand. "I simply - had words - with your sister recently regarding her - habits."

"Had words?" John bristled and then barked. "You threatened her? He threatened you?"

"As much as I intended to do so," Sherlock signed, "Harriet was already seeking help from Clara here before I paid her a visit. Knowing personally the effects of such a – situation, taking into consideration her previous relapses and factoring in her physical wellbeing tying into your emotional wellbeing – which I have a vested interest in seeing as you are my flatmate and blogger – I thought it would be beneficial to offer my services. Harriet will come here on a regular basis, thus, as they say, killing two birds with one stone. You will see your sister more and I will be able to provide my unique and unfailing support and guidance. She will also be unable to lie to me or conceal any relapse from me. It was logical."

John stood, stunned into silence. Self-proclaimed sociopath Sherlock Holmes was going to be his sister's sponsor. Somehow he felt he had stepped into some alternate world.

"Now, before someone gets weepy, can we move onto a less sentimentally stimulated conversation or are you not planning on even inviting your sister and her guest inside?"

John had forgotten that Harry and Clara were both still in the hallway and ushered them inside, taking their coats, still a bit dumbfounded.

The topic was politely, yet promptly, dropped and the party continued without problem. Clara had plenty of ear-reddening stories to add about John from their youth. Mycroft excused himself to attend a meeting and Sherlock interrupted Greg asking Molly something about dinner with questions on the newest case. Mrs. Hudson drained Molly dry with inquiries of if she had a boyfriend, when she was going to get a boyfriend – "or girlfriend, it doesn't matter, dear" – and why she had yet to get a boyfriend. Greg seemed to be suddenly interested in the wall during this conversation, but John could almost see his ears reaching out to hear every word.

It was during their gift exchange that John had reenacted their childhood, crunching up the packing paper and chucking them like baseballs at his sister's head. Harry readily responded in kind, accidentally hitting Clara in the eye in the process. When Clara joined in and one of her misfires landed in Molly's drink, causing some to splash on Greg's tie – they were standing awfully close – it seemed everyone became entangled in the excitement.

It was during this little battle and bout of boisterous laughter that John felt himself being tugged up off the ground and into the hallway.

Sherlock stood across from him, both of their coats draped over his arms.

"Sherlock? What – what's going on?"

"Put this on, and quickly. It's getting dark."

"What? We can't just leave our own party." John protested.

"Oh, please," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I used to sneak away whenever Mummy threw me a birthday party."

"Bit different," John argued.

"I informed Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock thrust John's coat into the man's chest. "We'll be back before Lestrade asks Molly out and just in time to see Clara sneak your dear sister a kiss. Now, come along."

John huffed as he pulled on his jacket and descended the steps after his practically sprinting friend. Sherlock hailed a cab and had given the stranger directions before John even got in.

"And where are we going?" John sighed, knowing his question was most likely futile.

"It's called a surprise for a reason, John," Sherlock reminded him impatiently.

There were several staggering moments of silence before John cleared his throat. Except it was Sherlock who spoke first.

"What I said before," the detective danced around his words carefully, "back in the flat. When Harriet – when I sad you are my flatmate and blogger."

"And your nanny," John chuckled.

"Assistant," Sherlock corrected.

"Partner," John revised readily.

"More like, personal assistant then," Sherlock snubbed.

"I'll give you something personal in a minute, Sherlock," John threatened playfully.

Another hesitant hush.

"There –" Sherlock started and stopped. "You are something else, too, John. You are my – friend."

Both men dutifully avoided eye contact then.

"Thanks, Sherlock," John nodded with a swallow. "You – you too. Of course, you too."

Nothing else was spoken until nearly twenty minutes later and John began recognizing their route.

"Sherlock –"

"John, you are my friend," Sherlock cut him off. "Everyone at the flat is your friend. She was your wife. You went too long without seeing your friends. Now you have seen them. You've gone too long without seeing her. You should see her today."

On Christmas. Her favorite day of the year, apart from your anniversary.

Sherlock didn't say those things though. His statement had been factual, logical. The rest was sentiment. Yet somehow he thought John still heard them.

The cab pulled up to the cemetery and neither man made to exit the car.

"I – am here," Sherlock stated unsurely, wondering if it was the correct words to comfort his heavily breathing best friend.

They seemed to work as John nodded resolutely, releasing a punch of air as he did so. With a small sound in his throat and a squaring of his shoulders, John opened his door and began the old familiar walk.

Sherlock handed the driver money and ordered him to wait here for them before following his friend.

Mary had been buried in the plot previously occupied by Sherlock's empty grave. There was no family for her to be placed next to. A new headstone had been erected, all at Mycroft's insistence and expense. It was a beautiful black marble, simple, yet beautiful, like Mary.

John stood stiffly in front of his wife's name for quite some time without words or movement. Sherlock lingered behind, granting the man his moment.

"Would you like to see her, John?"

Sherlock's quiet question was answered with a short nod from the silent soldier. The detective delivered a detailed description of Mary's appearance to begin as John let his eyelids fall closed. Sherlock then cataloged her scent, her varying laughs and their meanings, her way of speaking volumes with just her eyes, just like John. He carried on about her childhood and the wedding. He listed her habits, both good and bad. Her likes, dislikes, hobbies, passions, dreams, the way her voice changed when talking about John. How she preferred the modest to the grandiose. The way her nose crinkled when she smiled or was up to something, or both. The colorful language that only ever spilled past her lips when she was driving. Her partiality to sour, over sweet.

Sherlock made it a point to go far beyond any of the deductions he had previously made for his friend since his wife's passing. He was looking at Mary not only through his own observant eyes, but through John's.

It wasn't long before John could see Mary standing in front of him. Could feel her. Smell her.

He hadn't allowed himself to do this in so long. Sherlock was right. Too long.

John extended his arm, as if to touch her. His hand fell upon the slab of rock and the man was pulled back to reality.

Again, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Merry Christmas, Mary," Sherlock's voice sounded softly behind him. "Merry Christmas, John."

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock."