Magpie: One for Sorrow

Epilogue

"Nice place to take a breather!"

Diane was still a little puffed, and the stiff breeze pulled the words away from her mouth, but she knew that Sherlock would hear her anyway. He was sitting next to her on the iron bench, those grey green eyes devouring the scene in front of them.

They'd left the Mole River near its source at Capel, crossing fields for one and half kilometres to Rusper Road before dropping down from a bridge to the start of what Sherlock called Fylles Brook. She didn't know the area at all, so let him lead the way. What seemed little more than a drainage ditch meandered quietly south westwards until they went under a rail bridge, when Sherlock announced "behold Bolding's Brook".

Following the informal path along the stream that skirted the town of Wareham, Diane had been surprised at how quiet the roads were, and when they passed under the A264, it was empty of traffic.

Sherlock noticed her surprise, and smiled. "Christmas morning- the only good thing about it is that it's quiet. Best time of the season to be out on the land. Tomorrow the footpaths will be full of people trying to walk off the excesses of too much food and the strain of playing happy families."

She insisted they stop for some hot coffee and take in the pleasures of the pond. Diane had made it for the flask before they'd set out from Hartswood at first light. She broke off a piece of 70% dark chocolate and handed it over. He took it and smirked. "Caffeine and dark chocolate? You do like to feed my need for stimulation."

Her laugh was genuine. "This one's legal, Sherlock." She was glad Sherlock had agreed to her accompanying him; she had wanted to know how he was dealing with the revelations of his conversation with John and Mary. His mood seemed much calmer, and positive. Thank you, John Watson.

He certainly looked different. He'd put away the suit and donned his casual clothes: a dark green sweater over a plain white shirt, and navy mole-skin trousers, with a well-worn pair of hiking boots. He'd left his posh coat behind, and stepped out of the door, shouldering on an aged Barbour jacket. The waxed cotton flat cap completed the picture of Sherlock in his country plumage. Interestingly, she realised that it suited him as much as suit did his city persona. But, then Sherlock had walked away southwards from Hartswood Manor, and she was surprised. Diane had assumed that he would head north, towards the Thames and London. She knew that Watson and Mary were heading back there by mid-morning, driven by George Hayter, who had decided to spend Christmas Day with an old Army buddy in west London.

He'd reached the bottom of the garden where she and he had sat watching the magpies when she asked, "Why this direction? Where are we going?"

He stopped and looked back at her with a slightly puzzled look. "Isn't it obvious?"

She shook her head.

He pointed upstream. "That way- another seven miles or so we reach the source of the River Mole; then up and over a hill, we pick up one of the tributaries of the River Arun. Another twenty or so miles downstream, and it will pass the western border of Parham."

Oh! She wasn't sure why, but that thought gave her immense pleasure. "You're going home!"

His brow furrowed. "I'm not sure I would call it that…over the past decade my visits have been few and far between, and very fleeting- it's Mycroft's territory, not mine. I haven't thought of it as 'home' for at least twenty years."

"So, why are we going there?"

"I've never walked in this direction before. Before today, it's always been away from Parham". He looked upstream. "Sometimes seeing the same things from a completely different perspective can be revealing."

oOo

Now sitting on a bench overlooking Warnham Mill Pond, she had hunkered into her down jacket and pulled the woollen hat down over her ears. Only the gloved hand holding the coffee was warm enough to be comfortable. All that said, she was enjoying the fact that they seemed to be the only people watching the ducks. Through the leafless trees behind them, she could see the back end of semi-detached houses. "Have you stopped here before?"

He frowned. "Why would I?"

She gestured at the idyllic scene in front of them. "It's beautiful?"

Sherlock sniffed. "Not from the other direction. The path on the other side of the pond is shorter and I've always used it going northward. It gives a horrid view of too many boring suburban backyards. Behind us, if you can bear to look, is Littlehaven- commuter belt blot on the landscape."

Diane laughed. "As the Buddha said, 'few cross the river of time and are able to reach peace. Most run up and down only on this side of the river.'"

"Exactly my point about this journey; going in the opposite direction yields new insight. Still, I can't ignore the brooding presence of suburbia; I know it's there. Once we get around Horsham, it will improve. When we meet the Arun, perversely, we have to head north again as well as west to get around Broadbridge Heath. At Buck's Green we turn south at last- but at least it's proper countryside."

"Buck's Green-that's where the Fox Inn is; I'll call ahead."

He grimaced. "No way. Pub Christmas lunches are my version of hell. Even worse than a family meal."

"Relax. I'll ask them to pack us up some turkey sandwiches and hot soup for the flask". She swiped her phone. A moment later she said, "According to FourSquare, there is a picnic spot with benches by the river so you can avoid the crowds."

He sniffed. "Stopping will mean getting to Parham well after dark. You should take up Mycroft's offer and get one of his drivers to pick you up at the Fox."

Diane had to admit that the idea of the walk was turning out to be much longer than she had anticipated. When she thought he was heading north, her plan was to stop at Box Hill and then walk home. "Will the dark cause you any problems?"

He smirked. "No. It's a moonlit night, and the weather report says there will be no cloud cover."

"Cold then."

"If I keep moving, it won't matter."

She assessed his mood. "You want to walk the last part alone?"

"Yes."

She nodded. "I agree- with one caveat- you have to eat something with me at Buck's Green before you head off. You've got lots to think about, I expect. Low blood sugar is not good for the brain."

He shook his head. "Walking is a way of not thinking." He looked across the pond. "There will be time to think later. Right now, I just need to clear out some…debris."

She saw that as an opening. "Now is as good a time as any to apologise. I was worried yesterday, and I am sorry that I let that interfere. It's not easy knowing what the right thing to do is, when a client is struggling. And when someone as…incendiary as John Watson shows up suddenly, I wasn't sure it would help matters."

"It worked out."

Diane nodded, in part to make sure he knew that she agreed. She had learned that with Sherlock, sometimes things that would have been obvious to most people eluded him. Laser like insights about other people sat quite comfortably alongside his own blindness to the way people thought of him- an extraordinary contradiction, yet it made him more human, and just a tad vulnerable. Not that he'd ever admit it.

"I should tell you something. You know I asked people for things…items to help you with the guided imagery." He was watching one spot on the water, so she followed his gaze, but didn't see anything in particular. After a moment, a duck bobbed up into view. He sees things under the surface. That brought a smirk- as long as they aren't relating to him. She continued, "The skull, the box and the violin were, I suppose, the obvious ones. But I guess I should have listened to the Detective Inspector. He said what you needed more was John Watson."

Almost instantly there was a firm "Yes," followed by a pause. "You will help him with the EMDR, won't you? I should have asked you first, but it seemed…well, the right time to get him to promise."

"Of course. So long as you also keep to the schedule, too. You can't ask him to attend therapy sessions if you don't."

He shrugged. "Fair enough."

She thought about his apparent change of heart, wondering for a moment whether this was just him jumping through hoops again. "What's changed?"

This got a wry smile. "Everything."

"You can do better than that." She put enough tease in her voice to make the point.

"I'm not sure I can explain it. Not easily. I suppose it comes down to believing that I can hope again. That things will get better. Or, maybe it's realising that the best thing in my life survived somehow, despite the last two years. I never expected that. It won't be the same. It can't be- not with everything that's happened. But, it could be good again. I might still make a mess of it, but…it's worth a try."

There was enough stumbling honesty in that, and she appreciated his willingness to be open with her. She didn't know him well enough to decide whether she was being played. The trouble was, most people would not take Sherlock at face value. She considered that, and decided that she would. He just might find that…refreshing.

Diane decided he'd be okay to finish the journey on his own; it seemed important for him to do that. She pulled out her phone, and tapped in the number Mycroft had given her before he'd left last night. She'd bail out at Bucks Green.

oOo

Sherlock took a shortcut through Pullborough, and used the road bridge to get onto the left bank of the River Arun. He'd spent the past eight hours enjoying the river and cleaning up his Mind Palace. The walking became a rhythm for his mental processes, and the hard exercise cleared his head of the last vestiges of the detox. He felt good- cold, but alive. When the lights of the town became visible, he left the river, cut straight through the quiet streets and started across the fields south of the town, keeping the RSPB sanctuary to his left. The moon gave him just enough light to see, but even so the soft ground of the water meadows meant he was going to end up with mud up to his knees. Despite the mess, it was exhilarating to be out in the wild. Swans sleeping on the higher ground were luminous pools of white in the fading moonlight, and he gave them a wide berth.

As he came up to the tree-lined Greatham Lane, he could see on the south side the high stone wall encircling Parham. He waited. The moon was just about to set, and he wanted to use that to his advantage. He stayed in the brush, just far enough from the road to avoid being seen by the cameras that he knew would be there, guarding the perimeter. By the time full darkness descended he had found the drainage ditch. Now for the dirty work. He smirked. Sherlock wanted to see if he could get into the Park without Mycroft's security team being any the wiser.

He pulled out his torch, dropped to the ground and wiggled into the concrete conduit under the road. It was just over a meter in diameter, and the bottom was full of mud. As he slithered along he could see that other animals had taken the same path- most recently a badger. It had been put there years ago for just that purpose. He knew that the exit of the conduit, under the stone wall and into the park, just at the bank of the pond would be part of the security system- sensors were there for a reason. The key would be to avoid the camera that would be triggered by the sensor to swing from its usual position on the wall looking over the street to take a closer look in the opposite direction. If it saw nothing, then the staff watching would just assume that it was a small mammal, perhaps a fox. All this was realised through deduction and knowing how his brother's mind worked. He wouldn't waste the resources to have a camera permanently facing away from the outside wall and road, the more likely entry point of a threat.

Sherlock was through and into the bulrushes just before the camera had time to move. He waited, counting the minutes. When his bones started to ache from the cold and damp, he finally heard the camera return to its normal position, so he got to his feet and moved off. Another twenty minutes and he would reach the house. He wanted to be there before ten p.m.

Delighting in the sounds of the resident tawny owls, he moved through the park, avoiding the tarmacked roads and well-worn tracks. He kept to the trees, and used the deer trails. He knew these would not be monitored- too many animal movements made that impractical. He knew, too, that he wouldn't be able to avoid the camera and security net around the house itself, but by then his point would have been made. So, he walked straight in the main gate onto the circular drive between the main house and the Georgian block. The gravel crunched beneath his feet.

The windows of the house were still lit; curtains drawn. He had not seen the house like this in years, but it was still such a familiar, welcoming sight. He closed his eyes and waited for the high intensity security lights to snap on, bracing himself for the assault on his retinas.

Nothing happened.

Warily, he opened his eyes again and looked about, rather perplexed.

"I told them to turn them off."

Sherlock whirled around, and peered into the darkness in front of the clock tower that faced the house. Then he spotted the single red ember at exactly the same time as his nose registered the scent of tobacco- a cigarette.

"When did you start smoking again?" He walked toward the disembodied voice.

"While you were gone."

"Why?"

There was a snort. "The stimulant effects of nicotine are all too familiar to you. I needn't explain."

"But, you quit years ago, all superior- 'mind over matter, brother mine', you sneered."

"Call it sentiment then." This was delivered in a slightly mocking tone. "It reminded me of you."

By now, Sherlock was within a few feet of where Mycroft was sitting on one of the wooden benches that ornamented the front façade. He was bundled up in a great coat, wearing what Sherlock recognised as a Serbian officer's hat, holding the cigarette in gloved hands. He stood up as Sherlock approached. "Good lord, Sherlock- you're covered in mud."

Sherlock chuckled. "Offends your OCD sensibilities, does it?"

"More like my nose- you smell of…" there was another sniff, "… badger shit." After a brief pause, "Oh, I see. The conduit under Greatham Lane. Hmm, I shall have to warn the security team- getting a bit lax." He sniffed, "They're rather understaffed tonight. Well, it is the holidays, after all."

Sherlock extended his right hand, first two fingers splayed into a vee. "Let me have the rest of that cigarette. They wouldn't let me smoke at Hartswood and I've been dying for one."

"I do hope that is a figure of speech, Sherlock."

He chuckled. "You'll be stuck with me for a while longer."

Mycroft took another quick puff, then handed it over. "Made your peace with Watson, then?"

Sherlock glowered, knowing his brother would deduce the reaction without having to see it. He took a ferociously deep drag at the cigarette, which burned brighter from the oxygen being pulled through it. He expelled the plume of smoke, watching it join his breath vaporising in the cold. "You should know; you were listening." He sniffed. "Is your presence here a sign that the wretched GPS thing is still at work?"

"No. I calculated the probability of your likely destination and approximate time of arrival. You were quicker than I thought. You've made a good recovery then from withdrawal." Mycroft rubbed his gloved hands together for warmth. "It's freezing out here, so I am grateful for your speed. By the way, I sent the GPS laptop back to London. You have an appointment on the 27th, 11.30 at the Worthing hospital, where the tracker will be removed. I've told them to do it under local anaesthetic- just so you can stay awake and therefore be sure that it is really gone….I trust you've made other arrangements to continue with therapy?"

"Yes. Apparently, I have 'issues' that need to be worked on."

Mycroft snorted. "Yes, you could say that. Anyway, welcome home, Sherlock. Shall we go in?"

Sherlock took another deep drag – the last that the cigarette could offer- and held it deep in his lungs. As he expelled the smoke, he dropped the butt and ground it out with his shoe. He smirked at the look of disapproval from his brother. "Yes, let's- I can't wait to see the look on Mrs Walters' face when I track mud onto the hall carpet."

Mycroft fell into stride alongside him, and they both headed for the front door. "Whatever else has happened, Sherlock, it's nice to know that some things never change."

Author's note: Give me a week or two of breathing space, and then I will start posting again. I am addicted... are you?