A/N:

Hello!

First of all thank you all for reading this - it really means a lot to know people are enjoying what I write and reviews are greatly appreciated.

Second - There are mentions of suicide in this chapter. Nothing graphic or explicit, but I felt I should warn you all.

And third - I just wanted to say that I'm not at all sure about this chapter. There's a lot of mind-meld-ey switching perspective stuff going on, so it'd be great if you could drop a note saying whether you thought it worked or not. And I apologise for all the lines...

Thanks!

~HLotD~

Chapter 3

Spock wasn't sure how it happened. He had reached with his hands through reflex, unsure if the presence above him was friend or foe, eager to verify... He forgot how weakened his mental shielding was.

And suddenly, their minds were One.

"Holmes!"

A broken bellow, sounding out over the deafening cacophony of the Falls, the Falls which had claimed his friend to their watery depths. Lost forever...

"We shall need a codeword, Captain," he said. They were on the Bridge, and though the sight was familiar to Spock, Doctor John Watson was awestruck.

Amazing... the thought drifted across, a thought Spock knew was not his own. Absolutely amazing...

"A codeword?" McCoy was saying, skeptical as always, of the Vulcan's logic. "You expecting to run into trouble down there Spock?"

"Negative, Doctor," he responded, face carefully blank as befitted a Vulcan. That his cool mask served to enrage McCoy further was merely a fortunate side effect, of course... "I merely find it wise to be prepared for any eventuality."

"You know," Jim commented, regarding this exchange with a small smile, and laying the small, worn book aside with a smile. "There are times I think you two could pass for a married couple."

The wedding bells rang loud and Mary Morstan - Mary Watson - was radiant, her face alight with the joy of marriage. He leant in to kiss her and in that moment nothing else mattered.

"What ya reading, anyway Jim?" McCoy drawled, choosing to ignore the Captain's latest remark. "Agatha Christie?"

"Doctor, we have not yet resolved the issue of the-"

"The issue of the body, Dr Watson. We can hardly have a burial with no body!"

Blinding anger, worsened by grief, had him screaming at the vicar in tones he had not reproduced since his days in the army.

Less than a week later and a gravestone was laid into place, bearing the name of his dearest friend.

"Sherlock Holmes," said Jim, then redirected his attention back to his First Officer. "Yes, the codeword, of course Mr Spock. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Sherlock Holmes, huh?" McCoy chuckled. "You know Jim, I think I could see Spock here as a detective..."

Jim joined in McCoy's laughter. "I see what you mean Bones. Did you ever read the stories, Mr Spock?"

He read his stories to her. She could do nothing for herself so he read all of the published cases, then moved on to the unpublished ones. Old journals he had thought he would never look at again. At her insistence that it was "too good not to share" he even sent the Baskerville case to the publishers. He would have done anything for her. But still her condition worsened.

"So Mr Spock, when precisely will we use this codeword sequence?"

"Whenever we speak via communicator," he answered. "You will say the first word. I will return the second. You will then use the third and I will answer the fourth, to be sure. That way if I am captured by the F'lacha'tNel and they force me to employ the use of my communicator-"

"Force a Vulcan? Now that'll be the day..."

"Shh, Bones!" Jim smiled at him and grasped his shoulder - an act of physical contact which, from any other, would be unwelcome. "Good luck Mr Spock. Get back safe and sound."

"I will endeavour to do so, Captain."

He had tried. Tried so hard. The trauma of childbirth, they said, coupled with her recent illness. It had been too much, not only for mother, but child too. It had been a boy. Henry Sherlock Watson. Named for each of his brothers.

"Spock?"

The voice came from his communicator and he concentrated on it, used it to anchor himself to consciousness and to focus his thoughts.

"Spock are you still there?"

Still there? When had he been there before? Had he left?

"The- the sequence, Captain-"

"We've already done it Commander," Jim said, his tone gentle. "What's happening, where are you?" There was an underlying edge to Jim's voice. An emotion he couldn't quite grasp in his current state.

Fear supplied the part of his mind which was now Dr Watson's. He was fearful for your well-being.

Nothing left, but an empty home. He went to his study, to the writing desk. His old refuge. He laid a trembling hand on the drawer handle then pulled the revolver out, the smooth metal oddly comforting in his hand.

One bullet was all he needed.

"Spock don't do it! Do you hear me? Spock? SPOCK?"

The device was already whirring into life and Spock needed to clear his mind. He couldn't. Scotty, McCoy, Uhura and, of course, Jim, all sounded loudly across his communicator. Unable to concentrate, to focus, his mind began playing the sequence codewords Jim and McCoy had co-created.

Violin.

He raised the gun, his mind full of a haunting, melancholy tune Holmes had played on his very worst days. The sound rang in his ears, echoing like a waterfall... like the aftershock of a bullet...

Mr Sherlock Holmes.

I'm sorry Holmes. You would be disappointed, but try to understand old fellow. There's nothing left for me now.

Revolver.

The same gun that had seen him through so many adventures would now end them. His finger tensed on the trigger. He thought of Holmes and of Mary, making sure they were his last thoughts.

Thought was instrumental in the plotting of his course through time. It was a telepathic instrument for a telepathic race. That was why he was chosen for this mission. He was Vulcan.

But his mental control was in tatters. And his final thought, the final word in their sequence-

Dr John H Watson.

The device whirred Spock away.

And with a fright Watson dropped the gun, a noise from downstairs making him jump. He went to investigate, but the revolver remained on the floor.

Dr Watson - for now Spock realised that was who this must be - wrenched his face from Spock's hand, gasping and trembling. Spock wanted to apologise, to explain that he would never have done such a thing were his health not so compromised - but he was slipping away from consciousness again, his mind faltering.