23 September 2016

Sherlock has always been good at remembering dates and at marking the passage of time. Even back in the cocaine days he always knew exactly what day it was once he came to. The missing days just rushed back to him once he was able to use his brain properly again. When he finds himself standing on a crowded street with cars and people passing through him however he is understandably confused and disoriented. He runs away from the people and the cars (he runs through them, his mind tells him, right bloody through them) until he flies up some stairs and sits up on top of a fire escape on a side street.

He waits for everything to catch up with him. When it finally does he knows his eyes must be as wide as they can go.

Firstly he has lost three months. That is a first for him but that revelation is nothing compared to the second thing.

That second thing is that he's dead. Probably has been for the last three months. Where has he been?

He remembers the car. He remembers being hit and the blinding white pain turning into the blissfully painless dark. That must have been been losing consciousness. Had he been unconscious this whole time then? Comatose most likely, he had to assume comatose.

Then again, he reconsiders, assumptions really mean nothing here. He holds his hand in front of his mouth, he can sigh or breathe if he wants to but it isn't reflexive and he really doesn't feel the need to do it. He presses two fingers to his carotid artery and feels no pulse of blood there. Upon examination of his hands they seem solid enough but when he tries to pick up a squashed coffee cup his fingers drift through it like he isn't really there.

A few people walk by underneath him. He shouts 'hello!' at them but none of them even break stride. He shouts again when a small child trying to escape from their elder brother rushes by. No reaction from them either.

6 January 1976 – 23 September 2016. Forty years; he'd lived as long as John had.

John.

Sherlock's head swims as his head is bombarded with noise. Monitors, footsteps, voices, chairs scrapping on in floors, pens writing on clipboards...it's an assault and Sherlock actually blocks his ears with his hands in a vain effort to silence them. Some voices he doesn't recognize, the ones that he does loop through his head.

Sally Donovan giving him cases. I expect some answers once you're back with us.

Mrs. Hudson urging him onward. There's nothing for you here. You'll go mad in there.

Mycroft, blasted Mycroft, couldn't be more sentimental if he tried. Anyone else would find him as inhumanely cold as they found him but if half the things he was hearing were actually said Mycroft deserved a good mocking. Sherlock made a note to do just that once he figured out how to make noise that could be heard in his current state.

Lestrade is there too (I am going to miss you, you know that? ). What he hears there actually makes him pause, the rest is all whispers, but he feels both sadness and pride when it comes to Lestrade.

Then there is John. He is overwhelmed with John's voice. (I got Ryder for you...You're getting through this...You either pull off a miracle or you need to come with me...). John, John, John, and more John.

John is dead too, his confused brain reminds him. John has been dead for years and had clearly been haunting whatever hospital he was at for months so where was he now? Had he gone on without him?

He looks down in the alley, no one there. He stands and walks to the edge of the walkway and looks out into the busy street. No sign of him. Perhaps, Sherlock thinks, John is still at that hospital. Perhaps he is still there waiting for him to appear. He glances at the street signs, quickly picks out three likely candidates and is deciding which one is the best one to start with when John appears.

At first there is no one at that corner and then John sort of walks his way into existence. Shoes appear first, then the jeans, then the jumper, and then John is there. He searches out the corner and then steps into the street, paying no mind to the people and the vehicles that pass through him. "Sherlock!" he bellows. "Sherlock!" John moves to almost the centre of the intersection, where Sherlock thinks the actual impact had taken place, and looks around again.

Sherlock wants to scream out at him from the fire escape but he's fairly sure John won't hear him over the traffic and his mouth won't open. He wants to rush down the fire escape and run to him, but he can't move. He only makes it to the spot on the walkway where he had been originally sitting before he has to sit back down again. John always figures things out eventually though and soon spies the side street. He looks around the alley first, of course, but eventually looks up and lets out an almost laugh – more of a sigh and a laugh and an 'oh' all at once – when he finds him.

"What on Earth are you doing up there?" Is the first thing out of John's mouth and the tone – it sounds so much like they are on a case. Like they are both still alive – makes Sherlock's queasy. He wants to answer but he can't. His hands start to shake almost as badly as John's left hand used to and he draws his knees up under his chin.

John is dead. He himself is now dead. He has no idea what is going on and he has no idea what is going to happen next. No deductions, no hints, no hunches.

It is terrifying.

John is up the stairs in less than five seconds and he's down beside Sherlock with his hands firmly on his shoulders. "Look at me mate," he's ordering. "Look at me. It's okay. We're both going to be just fine. For good or ill nothing can touch us now."

Sherlock isn't sure what it is about that last sentence but that seems to calm him. It then crosses his mind that when this had happened to John, John had been alone. He shifts so they're facing each other, and then pulls John to him. He presses John to his chest so his head is tucked under his chin, hugs him tight and dares whatever is out there to take John away from him a second time. He will be damned, thrice damned, if any Michael Grays or any Emmett Ryders come between them again.

John does nothing but hug him back, not quite as tight due to the position of his arms in relation to fact that he's kneeling. Finally Sherlock lets him go, or rather lets him off of his chest, and instead allows John to sit and palms his face. John doesn't pull back, just smiles happily at him. "Good to see you too." He leans forward and gives Sherlock a kiss. When Sherlock allows his hands to circle John's neck instead he turns it into a proper one. Now Sherlock knows without a single doubt exactly how happy John is to see him.

He's found his feet again and it is oh so nice to be absolutely sure of something. Simply kissing, turns to fondling, which leads to clothes being removed and things being done that neither of them had ever considered possible before. Sherlock knows that he and John are breathing hard and he can feel John's heart beating and that feeling nearly brings him to tears. John's heart has been silent for years but it's here with him, and his is here with John, despite biology and he can think of no more amazing thing in all creation.

The only other thing that could top that is the fact that they are engaging in carnal acts while dead in broad daylight on a fire escape. It is now how Sherlock had imagined how their first time would go but if Sherlock has learned anything in life it is that life never goes according to plan. It has taken death to teach him that that is not always a bad thing.

Once they're done and presentable, not that it matters, they end up taking a walk through the city. The city both of them love as much if not more than they love each other. Most couples indulge in post coital cuddling Sherlock knows but his afterlife thus far has involved far less lying down and resting than most would expect and he is just fine to carry on with that trend. They walk and talk and take in the city from Sherlock's new perspective, John pointing out some finer details and differences between then and now, and Sherlock finds himself loathe to leave this world. There's still so much here that he never did or never saw. He is certainly curious about what lies beyond but he doesn't feel rushed to do so. How can he after all? If there is an abundance of anything he has it is time.

"Do we have to?" he asks eventually, knowing that John will understand.

"I don't think so," John answers, half certain, after a moment. "I think it's up to us when and if we go anywhere...though I did promise Mrs. Hudson that we'd stop by when we caught up with her. She seems convinced that there's going to be a her and an us and a place for us to meet there."

Mrs. Hudson may be right and she may be wrong but in any case Sherlock isn't quite ready to meet up with her (or not) yet. John says he's more than willing to stay with Sherlock in London as long as he wants to. "Even if it's forever?" Sherlock asks.

"We'll I hope you would at least want to see the world or something in that case but, yes. I'll go wherever you want with you, Sherlock."

That being said John does say there is one event that he feels they must attend.

19 January 2017

"Courthouse wedding my arse," Lestrade grumbles as Louise, his eldest daughter, tries to get his tie to stay straight. "Should have known Mycroft's mother would have other ideas."

"I think it's nice," Louise informs him. She pins the tie, steps back, and marvels her handiwork. "Much better," she announces. "Now you look presentable."

Lestrade thinks he'd look more presentable if he was a little drunk but Louise had only allowed him a few fingers of brandy and that was that. She reminds him about the need for actual clear consent and all that as he looks around for more. He allows the argument, grudgingly, and takes the white rose that she hands him. He slides it into his lapel and then Louise is off. Tess, Lestrade's middle daughter, is off trying to find Karen (youngest daughter) to see if she has enough film in the camera. Karen is a talented photographer and is taking the wedding photos and is more than prepared for everything. Karen has never been taken by surprise in her young life and she certainly has extra stuff with her just in case.

Tess, being much more Anne's daughter than Lestrade's, is having a bit of a meltdown anyway about not having enough of anything and Karen is probably in hiding somewhere stealing a smoke.

Lestrade wonders how Mycroft really feels about being a step father to three teenage girls. He has assured him that it is all fine but Lestrade really isn't sure. Then again, he had to admit, Sherlock had been a handful as a brother and he'd done just fine.

Sherlock. Sherlock who was originally going to double as both of their best men and had died a few months ago. Had he lived, or had things gone differently, he'd be hiding out with Karen smoking and giving her pointers on how to get the smell out of her clothes. He'd probably be providing her the cigarettes too. John, if things had gone really differently, would be exasperated and would be doing his best to get Tess off his back. Tess's last boyfriend, some idiot named Mark, had actually looked quite a bit like John and Lestrade knew she would have been smitten with John the second she saw him. Poor bloke.

A knock on the door, it's Sally Donovan. "You're on." He shoos Sally away in order to have one extra moment for himself. He's wishing for another brandy (Christ, he hadn't been this nervous when he'd married Anne, had he?) and then suddenly there is one sitting on the side board. He is quite sure he hadn't poured himself and he knows that Louise certainly hadn't done it.

Lestrade has never been one to question an offered drink, except while on duty of course. He downs it, thanks no one and steps out to marry Mycroft Holmes.

He doesn't find it strange when he hears John Watson wish him luck.

And just like that he's married. Mycroft, of course, had looked as unflappable as ever but Lestrade knows him better. He had been just as nervous, perhaps more so, than he himself had. He also had been horribly confused by the scenes in the front row but he'd have to ask him about that later. It was quite impossible to have dead men as wedding guests wasn't it?

He has never forgotten what Mycroft had told him while Sherlock had been in hospital the last time (I think John is still with us, Gregory. I think he has been with my brother this whole time) and also has not forgotten that chair moving across the room by itself. That should have been impossible as well but, really, what was impossible to men like Sherlock and John?

He'll have to ask Mycroft later about the guests trying to sit in those two seats leaping out of the chairs as if bit. Also about the distinct, at least partly, flashes of Sherlock and John sitting there. For the time being he's busy being surrounded by well wishers. In fact it's rather ridiculous how little time he's had with his new husband thus far. Eventually, though, the speeches are over and the party properly starts. Mycroft and him get their first dance and then his next dances are with his daughters. It's during the dance with Tess that he catches sight of them. Sherlock is wearing some designer suit that Lestrade remembers seeing him wear at the Yard's Christmas Gala the last Christmas he'd been alive. That can simply be a hallucination on Lestrade's part but he knows this has to be real when he sees John.

John is in what must be full dress uniform and Lestrade had never seen John wear it while he'd been alive. Neither has Sherlock apparently because he is as close to drooling as Lestrade could ever conceive him being. That is another reason that Lestrade is convinced this is real.

"Dad?" Tess asks. Lestrade shakes his head, now he can't see them, and goes about his dance with Tess. The next time he's dancing with Mycroft, finally managing to steal him away from his PA, he feels his husband stiffen ever so slightly. He spins them slightly so he can look where Mycroft is looking and he tenses as well.

Karen has somehow managed to take over the DJ's duties and is blasting a song he doesn't know or particularly like. It's something about staying young and going dancing but it serves as a perfect soundtrack to what he's witnessing.

Sherlock and John are waltzing. Sherlock is leading, him being the taller, and John is following along beautifully for a man who has probably never waltzed properly before. They each look precisely the same as they had back when John had still been alive. They also look deliriously happy and alive enough now that they're with each other.

And of course they are arguing.

"Would you slow down?" John gripes. "Not all of us got ballroom dancing lessons as children."

Sherlock give some sort of backhanded praise about John's deductive abilities having improved in his absence and spins him. John only slightly protests.

"Are you seeing this?" Lestrade whispers to Mycroft, making no effort to disguise the wonder or the emotion from his voice.

Mycroft very tightly nods.

Sherlock casually glances over and catches their eyes. He nudges John and he turns his head so he can smile that strange, satisfied Sherlock smile. John turns and smiles his own brand of smile then waves with his free hand. It takes a monumental effort for Lestrade to not wave back.

Sherlock nods at him. Lestrade nods back. John and Sherlock aren't the only people who don't need words to say the things that matter. Then he nods at his brother. Lestrade holds onto Mycroft a bit tighter as Sherlock says two words that threaten to undo him.

"Thank you."

It's a thank you for so many things. Everything from before Lestrade met them to fighting and hoping for him even in the face of death. It's also a thank you for letting him go. Mycroft nods back, he's beyond speech, and they watch the two resume dancing. They vanish from view as soon as the dance ends.

When they're alone in the limo, heading off to whatever private island Mycroft managed to secure for their honeymoon, Lestrade tries to broach the topic. "They looked well." He knows Mycroft will know what he's speaking of.

Mycroft nods, his expression almost the softest it has been all day. "They did, didn't they?"

"Think we'll see them again?"

Mycroft does not have an answer but Lestrade knows he's satisfied either way. As he said, John and Sherlock aren't the only people who can communicate without words.

It is many, many, long happy years before either of them sees Sherlock and John again.