HOSPITAL ROOM...
"How did you get in?" Sherlock asked, in a whisper.
Smith stands and walks closer to the bed, pointing towards the door. He keeps his voice low.
"Policeman outside, you mean? Come on. Can't you guess?" Smith asked.
Sherlock's gaze turns to the wooden panel opposite the bed.
"Secret door." Sherlock said, softly.
"I built this whole wing. Kept firing the architect and builders so no-one knew quite h-how it all fitted together. I can slip in and out anywhere I like, you know ... when I get the urge." Smith said, looking up and twirling a finger to indicate their surroundings.
"H. H. Holmes." Sherlock said.
"Murder castle, but done right. I have a question for you. Why are you here? It's like you walked into my den and laid down in front of me." Smith said, and Sherlock lowers his eyes. "Why?"
"You know why I'm here." Sherlock said, meeting Smith's gaze briefly, then lowering his eyes again.
"I'd like to hear you say it." Smith said, smiling briefly. "Say it for me, please."
Sherlock fixes his gaze on Smith, "I want you to kill me."
BAKER STREET...
The door to 221B opens and John and Jared hurried out into the street, with the army doctor looking down at his phone. John hasn't stopped to put on his jacket. As John and Jared walk to the kerb and looks down the road, probably looking for a taxi, Mrs Hudson hurries onto the doorstep.
"John! Jared!" Mrs Hudson yelled, and John and Jared turned to her and she held up a key fob with one or two keys on it and tossed it to Jared.
"Okay." Jared said, catching the key fob with the pair of keys attached to it.
Mrs Hudson points to her left, "My car."
John holds up a hand in acknowledgement and heads briskly down the road with Jared, looking down to his phone. Raising it to his ear, he breaks into a run.
HOSPITAL ROOM...
Smith has moved to the side of the bed and is resting his gloved left hand on the bed very close to the end of Sherlock's left hand as it rests on the blanket.
"If you increase the dosage four or five times ..." Sherlock said, softly, as Smith looks across to the drip stand. "... toxic shock should shut me down within about an hour."
"Then I restore the settings. Everyone assumes it was a fault, or you just gave up the ghost." Smith said, straightening up and starting to walk around the foot of the bed before smiling.
"Yes."
"You're rather good at this." Smith said, taking off his jacket. "Before we start ..." He drops his jacket onto the chair near the drip stand. "... tell me how you feel."
Smith reaches to the shirt cuff on his left hand and takes out the cufflink.
"I feel scared." Sherlock said, softly.
Smith scoffs quietly.
"Be more specific." Smith said, chuckling. "You only get to do this the once."
"I'm ... scared of dying." Sherlock said.
Smith has now removed his right cufflink and puts both of them onto the seat of the chair.
"You wanted this, though." Smith said, starting to roll up his shirtsleeves.
"I have ... reasons." Sherlock said, sadly.
"But you don't actually want to die."
"No."
Smith smiles.
"Good." Smith said, still smiling, he continues rolling up his sleeves. "Say that for me. Say it."
"I don't want to die." Sherlock said, frowning slightly.
"And again." Smith said, looking at his left sleeve as he rolls it up.
"I don't want to die." Sherlock said, a little louder and more firmly.
"Once more for luck." Smith said, softly, looking at him as he rolls his right sleeve even higher.
"I don't want to die. I don't ..." Sherlock said, his voice tearful, pausing as Smith steps closer to bed and leans over him, before the consultant detective spoke tearfully. "... don't want to die."
Smith leans closer until his face is only a few inches above Sherlock's.
"Lovely." Smith said, softly, intensely, twitching a smile, he straightens up. "Here it comes."
Sherlock stares at him with an anguished look on his face. Smith reaches a finger to the control panel next to the drip stand. He presses a button twice. It beeps noisily each time. He reaches to another button and starts to press it repeatedly. The read-out on the screen, initially reading 3.2, starts to rise.
London...
Out on the streets, the Aston Martin is speeding along Victoria Embankment beside the river.
"Please, I don't think he's safe." John said.
"No, he's fine. I've got a man on the door. What-what do you think's happened?" Lestrade asked, his voice over the phone.
In the driver's seat, Jared is driving the car and John is shotgun with his phone to his left ear.
"I don't know! Something! Mary left a message." John said, talking into his phone.
"What message?" Lestrade asked, frowning wherever he is, into his phone.
221B's living room...
"John Watson never accepts help, not from anyone. Not ever." Mary said, on her DVD recording.
It is daytime and John's chair is empty.
"But here's the thing: he never refuses it. So, here's what you are going to do, Sherlock, Jared. Jared, keep John Watson safe as he saves Sherlock Holmes." Mary said, on the DVD.
Hospital room...
A drop of liquid drips down from the bag on the stand. Smith is slowly walking around the foot of the bed.
"So tell me: why are we doing this? To what do I owe the pleasure?" Smith asked.
"I wanted to hear your confession; needed to know I was right." Sherlock said, quietly.
"But why do you need to die?"
"The mortuary; your favourite room." Sherlock said, while Smith smiles slightly. "You talk to the dead. You make your confession to them."
Smith sniffs, straightens up, rubs his nose and turns away towards the chair, shaking his head.
Outside the room...
The police officer is talking into his phone.
"Sorry, sir, what?" The police officer asked, still listening, he turns to the door. "What do you mean?"
The police officer takes hold of the door handle and turns it and pushes but the door doesn't open.
"I think the door's jammed." The police officer said, talking into the phone.
The police officer rams his shoulder against it as Nurse Cornish approaches along the corridor behind him.
"Oh, has that door locked itself again? Yeah, it's always doing that." Nurse Cornish said.
221B's living room...
"Sherlock, you and Jared can't save John because he won't let either of you. He won't allow himself to be saved. The only way to save John ... is to make him save you, Sherlock. It's impossible with Jared since he's immortal, but it isn't for you." Mary said, on the DVD.
Hospital room...
"Why do you do it?" Sherlock asked.
"Why do I kill?" Smith asked, sitting in the chair and he has his hands together and gently rubs his fingers against each other. "It's-It's not about hatred or-or revenge. I'm not a dark person. It's ... Killing human beings ..." He lowers his head and chuckles almost silently for several seconds, putting the back of one hand to his mouth. "... it just makes me ..." Smith lets out a long contented sigh. "... incredibly happy."
Sherlock gives him a tiny smile. Smith's smile slowly fades and he breathes out a hard breath through his nose and stands up, walking to the bed.
"You know i-i-in films when-when you see dead people pretending to be dead and it's just living people lying down?" Smith asked, leaning his hands on the blanket and he shook his head. "That's not what dead people look like." His voice and gaze become more intense. "Dead people look like things. I like to make people into things. Then you can own them." Smith huffs out a laugh and straightens up. "You know what? I'm getting a little impatient."
Smith bends to the foot of the bed and presses a button on the side. The top of the bed lowers down to the horizontal position. Sherlock looks anxious, his eyes turning to the door. Once the bed is flat, Smith straightens up and bares his teeth as he looks at Sherlock, running his tongue along his bottom lip before walking around to the other side of the bed. He straightens the glove on his right hand and leans down towards Sherlock.
"Take a big breath if you want." Smith said, in a whisper.
Sherlock, looking afraid, lowers his gaze to Smith's hands.
221B's living room...
"Go to Hell, Sherlock and Jared." Mary said, on the DVD.
Hospital room...
Sherlock gasps in a breath as Smith lays his right palm over his mouth and presses down hard, then covers Sherlock's nose with his left hand.
221B's living room...
"Go right into Hell, and make it look like you mean it." Mary said, on the DVD.
Sherlock's chair is empty in the living room.
Hospital room...
"Murder is a very difficult addiction to manage." Smith said, pushing his hands down while Sherlock writhes under him. "People don't realise how much work goes into it. You have to be careful." Sherlock's eyes are wide and he grabs at Smith's lower right arm and flails weakly with his other hand, trying to dislodge him. "... but if-if you're rich or famous and loved, it's amazing what people are prepared to ignore." Smith's voice shakes with effort as he resists Sherlock's struggles. "There's always someone desperate, about to go missing ..." John's cane is leaning against the chair near the door. "... and no-one wants to suspect murder if it's easier to suspect something else!" Sherlock continues to struggle under him, his face covered with sweat. "I just have to ration myself; choose the right heart to stop."
221B's living room...
"Sherlock, go and pick a fight with a bad guy. Put yourself in harm's way. And Jared, let yourself be broken by knowing too much. I know how broken you get after you lose people you love and care about like Donna Noble, the Ponds, and well, me. So, please, Jared, make it happen, let yourself be broken." Mary said, on the DVD.
Hospital room...
Sherlock struggles, his eyes full of panic.
"Please, maintain eye contact. Maintain eye contact." Smith said, in an intense whisper.
Sherlock stares up at Smith, writhing.
"Maintain eye contact. Please. I like to watch it ... happen." Smith said, even quieter but just as intense, staring down at Sherlock.
221B's living room...
"If he thinks either of you need him, I swear ..." Mary said, on the DVD.
Hospital...
John comes through the door at the end of the hospital corridor and hurries along it with Jared. They reach the door to Sherlock's room. The police officer isn't there but his cap still lies on the chair beside the door. John lowers the door handle and pushes forward but the door doesn't open. He rattles the handle a couple of times, then urgently looks along the corridor.
Hospital room...
Inside, Smith leans down closer to Sherlock, his teeth bared and his gaze ecstatic as he speaks.
"And off we ... pop." Smith said, savagely, slowly.
Sherlock's eyes glaze and begin to close.
221B's living room...
"... he will be there." Mary said, on the DVD.
Hospital room...
Sherlock stops moving and the heart monitor goes into a long single tone. The door smashes open revealing John holding a fire extinguisher and Jared holding his sonic screwdriver. Clearly John just rammed the fire extinguisher into the door to break the lock because the sonic screwdriver would have taken too long to unlock it. Smith turns to look, straightening up and releasing Sherlock, who noisily hauls in a long painful breath. As the heart monitor starts to blip again, John drops the fire extinguisher and storms into the room with Jared, followed by the police officer.
"Sherlock! Are you okay?" Jared asked, his sonic screwdriver in his hand.
John surges across the room and wraps his arm around Smith's neck, bundling him away from the bed, "What were you doing to him?"
Smith whimpers plaintively. Sherlock moves weakly on the bed.
"What were you doing?!" John exclaimed, yelling and dragging Smith across the room.
Smith flails in the direction of the bed, "He's in distress! I-I'm helping him!"
"Smith was trying to kill Sherlock." Jared said, placing his sonic screwdriver inside his pocket.
John hurls Smith into the confused police officer's hands, "Restrain him, now. Do it."
The officer takes hold of Smith's arms from behind.
Smith gestures towards the bed, "I was trying to help him!"
"Since Jared said Culverton Smith was trying to kill you. Sherlock, what was he doing to you?" John asked.
"Suffocating me, overdosing me." Sherlock said, breathlessly pointing weakly towards the drug stand.
"Overdosing you on what?" Jared asked, looking at Sherlock.
"Saline."
"Saline?" John asked, frowning at Sherlock.
"Yeah, saline." Sherlock said, propping himself up onto his right elbow, still breathing hard.
With his left hand, Sherlock reaches to the panel at the side of the bed and holds down the button which begins to raise the head of the bed.
"What d'you mean, saline?" John asked, going over to look at the drip bag.
Sherlock groans and breathes out shakily. Smith looks worriedly towards John's back.
"Well obviously I got Nurse Cornish to switch the bags. She's a big fan, you know? Loves my blog." Sherlock said, happily.
John frowns down at Sherlock, "You're okay?"
"No-no, of course I'm not okay." Sherlock said, having now caught his breath. "Malnourished, double kidney failure, and frankly I've been off my tits for weeks." He squints up at John. "What kind of a doctor are you?" Groaning, Sherlock releases the button and settles down on the pillows. "I got my confession, though, didn't I?"
Sherlock looks across to Smith, who pulls himself free of the police officer.
"Huh! I don't recall making any confession." Smith said, walking forward.
John holds out a hand towards Smith, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa."
"What would I be confessing to?" Smith asked, stopping and looking indignantly at John.
"For being a serial killer." Jared said, sadly.
"Jared's right, that is what you would be confessing to. You can listen to it later." Sherlock said, looking at Smith.
"But there is no confession to listen to!" Smith yelled, stopping and gasps, holding up his hands. "Oh, Mr Holmes. I-I don't know if this is relevant, but we found three potential recording devices in the pockets of your coat." Sherlock looks across to Smith. "Um, all your possessions were searched." Smith looks at John and Jared. "Sorry."
Sherlock lowers his eyes, looking shocked. John, Jared, and Smith look at him.
"Must be something comforting about the number three. People always give up after three." Sherlock said, softly, raising his eyes to Smith, who stares back at him in horror.
Sherlock's gaze moves across to John and Jared.
"What? What is it? What?" John asked, as Sherlock stays silent, a slight smile forming on his face while he waits and Jared started laughing a lot. "Jared, you knew this entire time."
"Well, yeah. Mary said it to you in the recording." Jared said, still laughing. "She wanted me to act broken while Sherlock wanted someone to kill him."
After a moment, John sighs in exasperation, "You cocks."
"Yeah." Sherlock said, smiling.
"Yup!" Jared said, excitedly.
"Utter, utter cocks." John said, looking between Sherlock and Jared.
"Heard you the first time." Sherlock said, turning his head away and settles more comfortably onto the bed.
John steps across to the chair by the door and picks up his walking cane. Turning back to the bed, he holds it up.
"So how-how does it open?" John asked.
"Oh, you just unscrew the top of your cane. Like you would do with a faucet." Jared said, and John takes hold of the handle and starts to turn it, while Smith watches with a grim expression on his face.
John pulls the handle off the cane, revealing a small device inside the stick which is glowing bright red. John pulls the recording device out and the bulb goes out.
John looks across to Sherlock and Jared, "Two weeks ago?"
"Three." Sherlock said.
"I'm that predictable?" John asked.
"No." Sherlock said, smiling.
"You're never predictable, John." Jared said, while John held his gaze and sighs through his nose, then looks down.
Sherlock turns to look at Smith, "I'm just a cock."
"And so am I." Jared said, happily.
Smith stumbles on the spot, staring at the recording device, his face full of despair.
POLICE INTERVIEW ROOM...
Greg reaches across to the side of the table and switches off the recorder. Smith sits on the other side of the table beside a woman who is presumably his lawyer. Greg rests his elbow on the table and lowers his head into his hand, then rubs his eyes with his fingers and thumb.
"It's funny, I ... I never realised confessing would be so enjoyable." Smith said, his usually neat hair in disarray.
Greg lifts his head, looking at him tiredly.
"I sh-should have done it sooner." Smith said, as Greg looks away.
"We'll carry on tomorrow." Lestrade said, reaching for his jacket on the back of his chair.
"Well, w-w-we could carry on now. I'm-I'm not tired. There's loads more."
"Tomorrow." Lestrade said, putting on his jacket.
"You know, I am gonna be so famous now."
"You're already famous." Lestrade said, grimly drinking from a polystyrene cup.
"Yeah, but with this ..." Smith said, looking down thoughtfully, his eyes wide. "... I can break America. I heard it was Jared's home."
Looking disgusted, Greg stands up and walks away. Smith gazes into the distance, smiling delightedly.
(Jared's POV)
221B's living room...
"I had, of course, several other backup plans. Trouble is, I couldn't remember what they were." Sherlock said, sitting in his chair holding a mug in both hands.
Sherlock has his dark blue dressing gown over his clothes. Although he still has a few days of beard growth, his hair looks cleaner than it has been recently, though it's still not at the full standard. The room is much tidier, all evidence of Culverton Smith removed, and the fire is lit.
"And, of course, I hadn't really anticipated that I'd hallucinated meeting his daughter." Sherlock said.
Sitting opposite Sherlock and also holding a mug, John nods. I am holding a mug while sitting on a couch.
"Basically he trashed himself on drugs so that you'd help him ..." Mary said, nearby.
John's eyes have lifted to where Mary turns around from where she's standing in front of the window, now wearing the same top she wore when recording her DVD to Sherlock. Throughout most of the rest of the scene she intermittently disappears and then reappears by the window behind Sherlock's chair.
"... so that you'd have something to do, something doctory. You get that now, though?" Mary asked.
"Why do you think that happened?" I asked, as Sherlock has taken a drink from his mug in front of Mary, gazing towards the floor, and now he sighs. "You hallucinating his daughter. Was it the Watson Concoctions?"
"Possibly." Sherlock said, softly. "Still a bit troubled by the daughter. Did seem very real, and she gave me information I couldn't have acquired elsewhere."
Sherlock raises his eyes to John's and mine. His left eye is still very bloodshot, though not as badly as it was in the hospital, and the skin underneath is swollen.
"But she wasn't ever here?" John asked.
"Interesting, isn't it? I have theorised before that if one could attenuate to every available data stream in the world simultaneously, it would be possible to anticipate and deduce almost anything." Sherlock said, sniffing and looks down pensively.
"Hm. So you dreamed up a magic woman who told you things you didn't know." John said, nodding.
"Well, it sounds about right to me." Mary said, looking up thoughtfully. "Possibly I'm biased."
"That is possible." I said, and Mary smiles down at John.
"Perhaps the drugs opened certain doors in my mind." Sherlock said, looking away again, thinking about it. "I'm intrigued."
"Intrigued?" I asked, while Sherlock takes another drink from his mug. "Of course you are."
"Oh, we know you are ..." John said, tilting his head towards the door. "... which is why we're all taking it in turns to keep you off the sweeties."
"I thought we were just hanging out." Sherlock said, lowering his mug and looking at John and I.
"Maybe." I said, as Sherlock smiles slightly. "I don't know to be honest. But Molly will be here soon."
John looks at his watch, then looks up again, "Fair point. Molly'll be here in twenty minutes."
"Oh, I do think I can last twenty minutes without supervision." Sherlock said, smiling again.
John looks down, thinking for a moment, "Well, if you're sure."
John lifts his mug to drink from it. Sherlock turns his head, looking hurt.
"Christ, John, stay. Talk!" Mary yelled, exasperated.
John puts his mug on the tray which is on top of the table beside him, then puts his hands on the chair arms and shifts forward, "Uh, sorry, it's just, um, you know, Rosie."
"Yes, of course, Rosie." Sherlock said.
"Jared, do you mind?" John asked, looking at me.
"Taking care of Rosie? Sure." I said, lifting my mug to drink out of it.
"Go and solve a crime together with Sherlock and Jared. Make Sherlock wear the hat and make Jared travel!" Mary said, angrily.
"You'll be okay for twenty minutes?" John asked, looking at Sherlock.
Mary narrows her eyes and glares at John.
"Yes. Yes! Sorry, I-I wasn't thinking of Rosie." Sherlock said, sadly.
"No problem." John said, standing up.
"I should, uh, come and see her soon." Sherlock said, looking down initially.
"Maybe after my turn babysitting her." I said, while Sherlock looked up hopefully at John. "Just say yes, John."
"Yes." John said, flatly.
"Actually, Sherlock should wear the hat and Jared should travel across all of time and space as a special tribute to me. I'm dead. I would really appreciate it." Mary said, as John turns and walks towards the door as she speaks.
Behind John and I, Sherlock lowers his head, looking very lonely.
Sherlock looks at his mug, and then raises his head, "Oh, by the way, the recordings will probably be inadmissible."
John turns on the landing and walks back into the room a little way, "Sorry, what?"
"Well, technically, it's entrapment so it might get thrown out as evidence. Not that that matters; apparently he can't stop confessing." Sherlock said, chuckling.
"That's good." John said, happily.
"Yeah." Sherlock said, looking away.
"It is." I said, and John nodded, flexing the fingers of his left hand for a moment, then turned towards the door.
Mary watches John, a hopeful and expectant look on her face.
Sherlock looks down at his mug again, then raises his head, "Are you okay?"
Laughing sarcastically, John comes back into the room.
"Uh, what, am I ... no, no, I'm not okay. I'm never gonna be okay." John said.
"I know." I said, sadly. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop it."
"It's okay, Jared. It's not your fault." John said, while Mary is standing behind Sherlock and her hands are linked in front of her and her head is tilted to one side but now she tilts it to the other side. "... but we'll, the three of us, just have to accept that. It is what it is; and what it is is ... shit."
"John, do better." Mary said.
Sherlock lowers his eyes and nods understandingly. I looked down at the floor and clutched the strap of my sling bag. John pulls in a breath through his nose and lowers his own head.
"Hm." John said, almost silently, lifting his head as he spoke. "Sherlock, you didn't kill Mary." I looked up at John, still clutching the strap of my sling bag as Sherlock's eyes snapped up to look at him. "Jared, Mary died saving your life. It was her choice. No-one made her do it. No-one could ever make her do anything ..." Mary smiles at John. "... but the point is: Sherlock, you did not kill her."
Mary lowers her head and looks towards Sherlock and I. Sherlock turns his eyes to the carpet, his gaze distant and I looked back down at the carpet.
"With Mary saving my life, she didn't save Sherlock's." I said, quietly, hesitating for a moment. "I couldn't have predicted Mary would save me. God, this hurts so much. I'm still not after Manhattan and Atlas, John."
Mary smiles affectionately at me, then raises her eyes to John.
"Having foreknowledge on things does hurt." John said, looking at me for a while, looks away and then turns back to me. "It is what it is."
John gives a brief tight smile. Sherlock nodded and lowered his head. I nodded and lowered my head, still clutching the strap of my sling bag.
"Uh, Sherlock, Jared and I are tomorrow, six 'til ten. We'll see you then." John said, pulling in a breath.
"Yup. Tomorrow is going to be good." I said, looking up from the ground.
"Looking forward to it." Sherlock said, raising his mug to him in a toast and smiling.
"Yeah." John said, unconvincingly, turning to leave with me.
Just then, Sherlock's phone, face down on the table beside him, lights up and a very familiar female orgasmic voice sighs from the speaker. John stops dead on the landing with me. Mary, smiling towards John's back and my back, looks down in surprise. Sherlock, raising his mug to his lips, glances across at the phone.
"That noise: that's a text alert noise." Mary said, her eyes widening.
"What was that?" John asked, looking at Sherlock, turning round and coming in again with me.
"It's nothing." I said, as Sherlock lowers his mug, looking around the room as if confused.
"Mm?" Sherlock asked, swallowing his mouthful. "What was what?"
"That's the text alert of Irene Adler. She's the scary mad one, right?" Mary asked.
"That noise." John said, looking at Sherlock and I.
"What noise?" Sherlock asked, raising his mug to his mouth again.
"I didn't hear a noise." I said, and Mary walks around to Sherlock's side and looks down at him.
"But she's dead." Mary said, sucking in a long gasp and looks at John. "Ooh, I bet she isn't dead!" John walks slowly closer with me while Mary bends down to look at Sherlock, smiling at him. "I bet he saved her! I bet he asked for Jared's help! And the fanboy brought along the Railgun and Shirai Kuroko to help the posh boy!" She's laughing. "Oh my God!"
Sherlock tries to look as if he doesn't understand the fuss as John walks closer to him with me, frowning.
"Oh, the posh boy loves the dominatrix!" Mary said, raising her eyes to John as she speaks. "He's never knowingly under-clichéd, is he?"
John stops in front of his chair, looking thoughtful.
Sherlock looks up at John, "John?"
"I'm gonna make a deduction." John said.
"Oh, okay. That's good." Sherlock said.
"And if my deduction is right, you're gonna be honest and tell me, okay?"
"Okay. Though I should mention that it is possible for any given text alert to become randomly attached to a ..."
"Happy birthday." John said, interrupting Sherlock.
"Yeah. Happy birthday, Sherlock!" I said, excitedly.
Mary, now standing up straight, smiles down at Sherlock as he looks up at John and I silently for a moment, then nods his head.
"Thank you, John, Jared. That's ... very kind of the two of you." Sherlock said, looking down to his mug.
"Never knew when your birthday was." John said, sadly.
"Well, now you do." Sherlock said, quietly, lifting the mug to his lips before drinking.
"Sherlock's birthday is on January 6th." I said, holding my mug in my hand.
"Thank you, Jared." John said, frowning. "Seriously, we're not gonna talk about this?"
"Talk about what?" Sherlock asked, keeping his eyes lowered.
"I mean, how does it work?" John asked.
"How does what work?" Sherlock asked, precisely, still not meeting John's eyes.
"You and The Woman." John said, smiling briefly, as Sherlock closes his eyes and sighs in exasperation as the army doctor continues. "D'you go to a discreet Harvester sometimes? Is there a ... night of passion in High Wycombe?"
"Sherlock, it's been four years. You had to have texted her back." I said, letting out a sigh.
"Oh, for God's sakes, John, Jared. I don't text her back." Sherlock said, looking at me.
"Why not?!" John exclaimed, chuckling as he moved a few steps across the room, before stopping and looking at Sherlock and I, and his voice became louder. "You bloody morons!"
Sherlock and I stared up at John.
"Sherlock, she's out there ..." John said, loudly, pointing towards the stairs. "... she likes you, and she's alive." He then turned to look at me. "And Jared, that applies to you with your Impossible Girl. She's out there, she likes you, and she's alive." His voice starts to get angry. "... and do either of you have the first idea how lucky you are?"
Beside Sherlock, Mary smiles down at Sherlock and I as we look up at John, with the consulting detective's left hand upturned on the arm of the chair as if still pretending he doesn't know what John's talking about.
"Yes, Irene Adler's a lunatic, she's a criminal, she's insanely dangerous – trust you to fall for a sociopath ..." John said, looking at Sherlock, before turning to me. "And yes, Clara Oswald's bossy, she's a teacher, she's incredibly reckless - trust you to fall in love with a control freak."
As he was speaking, Mary has walked across the room towards the kitchen. Now she turns her head towards John as she loops around his chair.
"Oh, married an assassin! Now I know why Jared compared us to the Doctor and River Song!" Mary yelled, exasperated.
Mary heads off across the room and ends up in front of the dining table. She turns and leans against the back of one of the dining chairs while John talks loudly to Sherlock and I, his hands on his hips.
"... but, Sherlock, she's ... you know ..." John said, stopping, unable to find the words.
"What?" Sherlock asked.
"Just text her back."
"Why?"
"Because High Wycombe is better than you are currently equipped to understand."
"And Jared, she's... you know..." John said, stopping, unable to find the words.
"What's up?" I asked, holding my mug.
"Just see her after your final case with us."
"Do I have to?"
"Oh, for God's sake. Yes. You do."
"Fine..."
Sherlock looks down, pouting a little, "I once caught a triple poisoner in High Wycombe."
"That's only the beginning, mate." John said, quieter.
"As I think I have explained to you many times before, romantic entanglement, while fulfilling for other people ..." Sherlock said, sighing.
"... would complete you as a human being." John said, interrupting Sherlock.
"That doesn't even mean anything."
"Just text her. Phone her." John said, leaning closer to Sherlock and I. "Sherlock, get in contact with Irene Adler. And Jared, get in contact with Clara Oswald. Do something while there's still a chance, because that chance doesn't last forever. Trust me, Sherlock, Jared: it's gone before you know it." John spoke firmly, emphasising each word. "Before you know it."
Mary lowers her head, her face sad.
"You're not wrong, John. The adventure where Clara faces the Raven. That is happening someday." I said, while Sherlock flicks a couple of nervous glances up at John. "And I'm not ready."
"I know you aren't." John said, tilting his head towards where Mary is standing after a moment. "She was wrong about me."
Mary raises her head.
Sherlock looks up at John, "Mary? How so?"
John looks towards the fireplace, then pulls in a breath and walks a little closer.
"She thought that if you put yourself in harm's way, Sherlock, I'd ... I'd rescue you or something. But I didn't – not 'til she told me to." John said, briefly glances towards Mary as he says 'she.' "And that's how this works. That's what you're missing." He points towards Mary. "She taught me to be the man she already thought I was. Get yourself a piece of that."
"Forgive me, but you are doing yourself a disservice. I have known many people in this world but made few friends, and I can safely say ..." Sherlock said.
"I cheated on her." John said, as Sherlock stops.
Mary straightens up from where she was leaning on the back of the chair, looking shocked. John gestures towards Sherlock.
"No clever comeback?" John asked, and he immediately turns to directly face the ghost of his wife. "I cheated on you, Mary."
Sherlock blinks, perhaps realising what's happening, but he stays silent as he turns his head towards where John is looking.
"There was a woman on the bus, and I had a plastic daisy in my hair. I'd been playing with Rosie." John said, pausing for a moment then raises his eyes. "And this girl just smiled at me." Mary gazes back at him and there is no condemnation on her face. "That's all it was; it was a smile."
Sherlock's eyes turn back to John.
"We texted constantly." John said, looking at Mary. "You wanna know when? Every time you left the room, that's when. When you were feeding our daughter; when you were stopping her from crying – that's when."
Mary lowers her eyes and gives a small smile. John swallows, his eyes starting to fill with tears.
"That's all it was, just texting." John said, while Sherlock has lowered his eyes and is gazing into the distance. "But I wanted more."
Sherlock lifts his head and his eyes to John again. Mary is smiling tearfully at her man.
"And d'you know something? I still do. I'm not the man you thought I was; I'm not that guy. I never could be. But that's the point." John said, sniffing, then looks at Mary as his eyes fill with more tears before biting his lip and speaking tearfully. "That's the whole point."
Again, John bites his lip. Mary looks back at him, her own eyes filled with tears. She smiles at him as he speaks again.
"Who you thought I was ..." John said, as Mary nods at him. "... is the man who I want to be."
John swallows, fighting off his tears. Mary smiles gently back at him.
"Well, then ... John Watson ..." Mary said, softly, raising her head and smiling widely and fondly at him.
John stares back at Mary. She looks at him for a long moment.
"Get the hell on with it." Mary said, nodding at John and smiling through her tears.
I know that Mary is gone for John and the army doctor stares ahead of himself for a long moment, then gradually lowers his head into his left hand and starts to cry.
Sherlock and I quietly put our mugs onto the table beside us, then we stood up. John sobs, tears pouring from his face and falling to the floor. Slowly Sherlock and I walked across to John.
"It's okay." Sherlock said, softly, tentatively raising his arms, perhaps hesitating momentarily for fear of being rejected again, then slowly puts his left hand onto John's arm and his right hand onto his back before sliding it upwards to gently cradle his neck
"Everything's going to be okay." I said, getting into the hug to make it a group hug when Sherlock moves closer, sliding his left arm up to hold John's shoulder. "I promise it will, John. It'll take time."
"It's not okay." John said, tearfully.
"No." Sherlock said, softly, lowering his cheek onto the top of John's head. "But it is what it is."
Blinking against his own tears, Sherlock continues to hold one of his sobbing best friends as I start crying too.
"John, are you sure I should see Clara again?" I asked, looking at John.
"You should." John said, still crying, before he lets go of Sherlock and I. "Clara Oswald is your girl."
"So Molly's going to meet us at this 'cake place.'" Sherlock said.
"Well, it's your birthday. Cake is obligatory." John said, walking to the place he left his jacket to put it on.
Sherlock is putting on his coat, "Oh, well. Suppose a sugar high's some sort of substitute."
"Behave." John said, walking across the room towards the door with me.
"Yup. Behave, Sherlock." I said, wearing my hoodie and jeans.
"Right then. You know ..." Sherlock said, while John and I stopped and turns to him. "... it's not my place to say but ... it was just texting." John and I looked away. "People text." John heaves an unhappy sigh while I did a facepalm as Sherlock continues. "Even I text. Her, I mean. Woman. Bad idea; try not to, but, you know, sometimes." Sherlock pulls in a breath. "It's not a pleasant thought, John, Jared, but I have this terrible feeling, from time to time, that we might all just be human."
"Even you?" John asked.
"No." Sherlock said, as John blinks at him. "Even you and Jared."
John looks at Sherlock silently for a long moment while he takes that in, then turns towards the door, "Cake?"
"Cake." Sherlock said, nodding.
"I was thinking of getting a nice chocolate cake." I said, and John starts to walk out the door but stops when Sherlock speaks again.
"Oh, um ..." Sherlock said, walking across the room to the cabinet to the right of the dining table.
It's the same cabinet Sherlock put Irene's phone into at the end of 'A Scandal in Belgravia'.
"What? What is it?" John asked, while Sherlock pulls open a drawer and starts rummaging in it. "What's wrong?"
Sherlock straightens up and turns, simultaneously putting on his deerstalker.
John laughs, "Seriously?!"
"I can't believe you like the hat now." I said, smiling.
"I'm Sherlock Holmes. I wear the damn hat." Sherlock said, lifting one leg behind him and kicking the drawer closed, he walked across the room and out of the door with me, with the two of us not slowing down or turning around. "Isn't that right, Mary?"
"Mary, isn't it wonderful that he likes the hat?" I asked, looking back for a moment to see Mary there. "Absolutely wonderful."
Startled, John stops and turns back into the room and looks around before blinking and then turning to follow Sherlock and I. There's nobody there.
(Open POV)
Therapist's room...
John is again sitting in the chair in the back room, his legs crossed in front of him.
"You seem so much better, John." The therapist said.
"Yeah, I ... I am. I think I am. Not all day; not every day, but, uh, you know." John said, nodding.
"It is what it is?"
"Yeah."
"And Rosie?"
"Oh, beautiful, perfect, unprecedented in the history of children." John said, smiling and nodding. "That's not my bias; that's scientific fact."
"Good." The therapist said, while John smiled again. "And Sherlock Holmes?"
"Back to normal."
221B's living room...
"Get out!" Sherlock said, angrily, now clean-shaven, with his hair back into curly and wearing his usual suit – grabs the door handle and angrily pulls it open.
"She's possessed by the Devil!" The male client yelled, middle aged, and beyond him, the horns of the skull on the wall above the dining table look as if they're coming out of either side of his head. "I swear my wife is channeling Satan!"
"Yes, boring." Sherlock said, crossly, gesturing towards the landing. "Go away!"
Making an exasperated sound, the man storms out of the room. His wife follows, turning to Sherlock as she passes him.
"I'm not channelling Satan!" The male client's life said, exasperated.
"Why not, given your immediate alternative?" Sherlock asked, slamming the door shut, then turns and walks towards the kitchen but stops when he sees a piece of paper lying on the floor in front of the small table in the corner.
It had been blocked from his view by a cabinet behind John's chair. Frowning, he goes down onto one knee to pick it up. His eyes widen when he realises that it's Faith's note.
Therapist's room...
"What about his brother?" The therapist asked.
"Mycroft? He's fine." John said.
Mycroft's office...
"So, you're off now?" Mycroft asked, as he and Lady Smallwood were putting on their coats. "I won't see you for a week?"
"Just spending it at home ... unless she calls." Lady Smallwood said, looking into the mirror on the wall as she adjusts her coat around her before turning away from the mirror.
"The P.M."
"Here." Lady Smallwood said, holding out a business card to Mycroft.
"What's this?" Mycroft asked, taking the business card.
"My number."
"I already have your number."
"My private number."
"Why would I need that?"
"I don't know. Maybe you'd like a drink some time." Lady Smallwood said, blinking innocently.
"Of what?" Mycroft asked, frowning.
"Up to you." Lady Smallwood said, smiling at Mycroft. "Call me."
Lady Smallwood turns and leaves the room. Mycroft turns to follow, looking at the card, then chuckles, turns back and drops the card onto an open notebook on his desk. A close-up shows that the card reads LADY ALICIA SMALLWOOD. Under her name, are her email address and a telephone number. Mycroft turns and starts to walk away, then he stops, looking thoughtful, and turns back.
Therapist's room...
"I mean, obviously 'normal' and 'fine' are both relative terms when it comes to Sherlock and Mycroft." John said.
"Obviously." The therapist said, smiling.
Mycroft's office...
Mycroft walks back to the desk and reaches out a hand towards the card. He hesitates for a long moment, tapping his fingers on the edge of the desk, then turns away again.
221B Baker Street...
Sherlock has gone into the kitchen and holds the piece of paper up to the light suspended over the table, looking at the writing on it. He turns it over and continues looking at it.
"She was real." Sherlock said, frowning at the paper.
Mycroft's office...
Mycroft pulls open his office door and starts to walk out, but then pauses, looking thoughtful. Eventually he turns back. A few moments later he picks up the card.
Handwritten on the left page of the notebook on which the card had been lying are the words:
Monitor —
Baker Street.
Blind Greenhouse.
Leaning Tomb.
Clock Face —
Elizabeth
Tower?
On the right hand page is handwritten:
CALL
SHERRINFORD
2 pm
Therapist's room...
"I didn't mean Mycroft." The therapist said, smiling across to John. "I meant the other one."
"Wh-which other one?" John asked.
"You know – the secret one." The therapist said.
"Oh, that was just something I ..." John said, smiling and takes a breath. "... I said. I'm sure there's ..." He stops, looking at the therapist for a long moment. "How did you know about that? I didn't tell you that."
"You must have done."
"I really didn't."
"Well, maybe Sherlock told me."
"No, you've met Sherlock exactly once. In this room. He was off his head." John said, shifting forward in his seat.
"Oh, no, no. I-I-I met him before that." The therapist said, sadly.
"When?"
"We spent a night together." The therapist said, smiling, causing John to blink. "It was lovely. We had chips."
The therapist thought back to Faith sitting at the bus stop beside Sherlock, eating from the carton on her lap. She then thought about that version of Faith as she sits on the client chair in 221B's living room. The therapist finally thought about Faith walking briskly alone across one of the Golden Jubilee Bridges holding her walking cane in front of her, clearly having no need for it.
"You're not what I expected, Mr Holmes." The therapist said, speaking with Faith's northern English accented voice, over-emphasizing the accent. "You're ... nicer."
John frowns. The woman takes off her glasses, blinking as her vision adjusts. When she next speaks, her German accent is back but is slipping slightly.
"Culverton gave me Faith's original note." The therapist said, standing up. "A mutual friend put us in touch." She walks across to the French windows and turns the key in the lock of the door, removing the key afterwards before turning back and as she continues talking, her accent slips even more, sometimes sounding German and sometimes veering more towards an English accent. "Did Sherlock ever tell you about the note?"
221B's kitchen...
Sherlock – still holding Faith's note in one hand – frantically pulls open the top drawer under the work surface, glances quickly in, slams it shut again and pulls open the next drawer down and starts rummaging inside it.
Therapist's room...
"I added some deductions for Sherlock." The therapist said, putting the door key onto the side table, then drops her glasses onto the table. "He was ... quite good."
221B's kitchen...
Sherlock reaches up to the overhead light and adjusts the bulb until it goes out, plunging the kitchen into near-darkness.
Therapist's room...
"But ..." The therapist said, turning towards John.
221B's kitchen...
Sherlock stares downwards, his face illuminated by a dark blue light.
Therapist's room...
"... he didn't get the big one." The therapist said.
221B's kitchen...
Sherlock shines an ultraviolet torch down onto the note. Illuminated by its blue glow, written on the paper in something like linseed oil, two large words glow brightly, overlaying the handwriting. They read
MISS
ME?
Sherlock's eyes lift from the note in shock.
Therapist's room...
The therapist is bent forward, gasping sharply as she holds her right eye open with her left index finger and thumb. Lowering that hand she straightens up and looks down to her right hand. A contact lens is resting on the tip of her index finger. The lens has brown colouring around the centre. Tossing her hair back a little, she turns to look at John, revealing that her right eye is now a grey-blue colour while her left eye is still brown. John stares up at her. When she speaks, all trace of the German accent is gone. She's now talking with a well-educated southern English accent.
"In fairness, though, he does have excellent taste in chips." The therapist said, reaching with her left hand and brushes her hair back to reveal a white plastic daisy-like flower behind her ear.
"What's that?" John asked.
"What's what?"
"The flower in your hair: it's like I had on the bus."
"You looked very sweet." The therapist said, taking the flower from her ear as she walks towards John before looking down at the flower. "But then ..." She bends down and looks into his eyes and when she speaks, it's with the Scottish voice of the girl on the bus. "... you have such nice eyes."
The therapist thought about the redhead on the bus smiling towards John. In the house, John sinks back in his chair, stunned by the revelation.
"Amazing the times a man doesn't really look at your face." The therapist said, back in her English accent, turning and walks across the room. "Oh, you can hide behind a sexy smile, or a walking cane ..." She turns and looks at him with her mis-matched eyes "... or just be a therapist, talking about you ..." The therapist looks bored. " ... all the time."
John finally catches up to the fact that he's in trouble and stands up. Instantly, the therapist reaches to a nearby table and turns back and aims a pistol at him. He raises his hands and backs away a little.
"Oh, please don't go anywhere. I'm sure the therapist who actually lives here wouldn't want blood on the carpet." The therapist said, pausing briefly as if thinking. "Oh, hang on, it's fine. She's in a sack in the airing cupboard."
"Who are you?" John asked.
"Isn't it obvious?" The therapist asked, lowering the gun to her side and she steps forward a few paces, smiling. "Haven't you guessed?" Her smile drops. "I'm Eurus."
"Eurus?" John asked, shaking his head.
"Silly name, isn't it? Greek. Means the East Wind." The therapist/Eurus said.
John stares at Eurus.
"My parents loved silly names, like Eurus ... or Mycroft ... or Sherlock." Eurus said, as John's mouth drops open a little. "Oh, look at him. Didn't it ever occur to you – not even once – that Sherlock's secret brother might just be Sherlock's secret sister?" John blinks, frowning. "Huh. He's making a funny face." Eurus raises her gun and points it at him. "I think I'll put a hole in it."
John raises his hands again, his eyes wide. Eurus pulls the trigger.