Chapter Text
“We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. So medicine, law, business, engineering... these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love... these are what we stay alive for.”
― Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass
1.28.1994
Will -
You are the writer, the artist out of us, the one who will do the great BIG things. I wish I had the poetry, the words in me, to tell you everything I want to tell you.
If I could, if it were allowed, I'd marry you, tomorrow, tonight, next week. Donovan would be our best, well, best mate, we'd grab a couple witnesses off the street, you'd be nervous, playing with your hair, your perfectly insane hair, and you'd bite your lip, but your eyes would start to well up as I slid the ring on your finger. You - I am the luckiest bloke, Will, to have spent most of my speaking life by your side, and I hope to spend the next half century, at least, driving you crazy.
I love you, my beautiful, brilliant, amazing man -
- Trev.
P.S. Consider the enclosed as a promise ring, for the day will come when the world gets its collective head out of its arse and we will do the deed at a moment's notice.
William shook the ring out into his hand, a plain gold band, save for the one word engraved on the inside, "Always".
“There is a fearful splendor in absolute desolation.”
― James Baldwin
1. 29. 1994
Trev -
Yes. Yes, of course, yes.
Yours, always,
Will
1. 29. 1995
Trev -
Almost made it out of bed. Sal managed to go out and get some take-away, she made me eat a couple of bites, think it was a lo mein. We put on the telly, and Robin Hood was on, the one you love, Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland, somehow we made it through to the end, I could almost feel your head against my chest, I wish I could believe in ghosts, so I could pretend… I miss you, so much,
-Will
2. 3. 1996
He honestly thought it was a joke, when she presented him with the tiny pug puppy, with the crazy eyes and the ever-smiling mouth, with the pink tongue, so he laughed for the first time in two years. Laughed until he couldn't stop, laughed until the laughter turned into hiccups, and then he looked at the leash in his hand and knew she was serious.
"She needs a walk."
"Donovan."
"You need a walk."
He looked into the pug's eyes, then nodded. "Name?"
"Doesn't have one, thought you should have the honours, as she belongs to you."
"No one -"
"You are responsible for her."
"I was responsible for him."
"No, love. You weren't. You loved him, didn't make you responsible for him."
"Viola."
Donovan nodded. "Good enough. I put two bowls in the kitchen, one for food, one for water, and there's a bag of dog food in the cabinet. I will take care of the shopping and vet visits, but you are going to walk her at least twice a day. Got it? I have things to do - I will see both of you tonight, Bond night, yeah?" She placed a kiss on his cheek, then rubbed the evidence away, gently scratched between Viola’s ears, and blew them both a kiss before she closed the door.
"So, Viola," Sherlock muttered to the dog who grinned at him, and he couldn't help but smile. "I'm guessing you need a walk already. Dirty, dirty trick Sally Donovan. Alright, shoes. Where are my shoes? Door, by the door, right. Coat. What time of year is it anyway, think, what was Donovan wearing... coat and gloves. That silly hat I gave her five years ago. Sentiment. Coat. Scarf. Gloves. Leash. Dog. Probably should carry you down. Right. Outside. Good. Don't think about it. Just a walk. Right, Vi?”
He checked his pockets for his keys and phone, though he wondered why, as he locked the door, there was no one he wanted to hear from, except for… no. Turn around and go down the stairs, one, two… seriously? Breathe, just breathe… seven, eight, did you eat breakfast today, yes, toast with your tea, breathe, what else did you do, today? Twelve… thought about painting, picked up a book, read a couple of pages of Rilke, not sure what the point was… fifteen…
“Sherlock?” Martha Hudson opened the door to her flat and shook her head at him. “Sal told me what she was planning, didn’t think she’d actually do it, but I should know better by now. What’s her name, then?”
“Viola.”
“Ah… ‘Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions and spirit
Do give thee five-fold blazon. Not too fast! Soft,
soft!
Unless the master were the man. How now…’”*
“1970. Your Olivia has never been matched. Could have given me a bit of warning?”
Ms. Hudson winked at him, then scratched Viola’s head and whispered to her, “you are a love, aren’t you, Vi. What? And spoil the surprise? Gonna be alright on yer own? I could walk with you, it’s still early yet.”
Sherlock leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Nah, Martha, need to do this on my own first go ‘round. It’s Bond night, if you could send up an order of your fish and chips around eightish?”
“Of course. Knock on my door when you get back and we’ll have tea.”
“Ta, Ms. H.” He bowed lightly in her direction, then put Viola down, and gave her time to get her bearings before he opened the door. He closed his eyes and took a breath in, letting London wash over him for the first time since… oh, Sally… He blinked back tears, starting when he felt his phone go off in his pocket.
“Make it outside, yet?”
“Nearly. I’m at the front door, didn’t remember what day it was, Sal, until just now. How? How did I forget?”
“You didn’t, sweetie, just a bit of distraction refocused your mind for a few minutes, that’s all. Just take her around the block, let her do her business, then go back home. He -”
“Yeah, I know, Sal. He’d be - he’d be telling me to get a move on, and drag me into a tea shop and make me eat a scone before I even realised it… why, Sally? Why him?”
“Dunno. Even if we knew the answer, it wouldn’t make it any better, I don’t think. Now, go on, before Myc realises you’ve left the flat and sends out those silent men in black after you.”
“Hell. Right. See you tonight, Martha’s going to send up some dinner -”
“Fish and chips?”
“Of course.”
“Love you.”
“Love you back.” He sighed as he returned the phone to his pocket and noted the two men doing the best they could to blend in with the scenery, but he knew them by sight and they nodded nearly imperceptibly in his direction as he finally took the final step over the threshold and closed the door behind him.
“He found something that he wanted, had always wanted and always would want -- not to be admired, as he had feared; not to be loved, as he had made himself believe; but to be necessary to people, to be indispensable...'very few things matter and nothing matters very much”
― F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise
1.29.2004
“Doc?”
“Yeah, Cap?”
“We’re bloody well screwed, aren’t we?”
“You want me to be honest, or blow sunshine up yer arse?”
Captain Gregory Lestrade glanced skyward at a brilliant blue sky, even as they shivered in two day old snow and managed to chuckle. “Think I’ve had enough sunshine to last me three lifetimes, mate. Radio’s dead, we have enough water for a day and a half and no ammo left…”
“We’re bloody well screwed.” His lieutenant grinned back at him.
“Ta fer that.”
“Nah, we’ll be fine. It’s the 29th, ain’t it Robbie’s due date?”
Lestrade looked down at his watch and nodded. “Yeah, so it is, Doc, so it is.” He smiled at his friend, then took off his sunglasses. “If fer some reason -”
“Cap.”
“Just promise me, Doc. If something happens, you’ll keep an eye out for him?”
“Course, Cap. You and Angie are family. But yer gonna make it home. Understood?” John H. Watson growled back at his friend and pushed a bottle of water into his hand. “I promised her I’d get you home, Cap, we’ll get out of this mess somehow.”
1.29.2006
“Doc - sorry, John.”
“No, it’s okay, Sir. I miss -”
Lestrade met his friend’s eyes and nodded. “Yeah, me too. So, Doc, ready for your first crime scene?”
“Yeah, Cap. I’m ready.
3.31.2007
“Molly Annabeth Christina Hooper, what did you do?”
“John Hamish Three Continents Watson, this is what is called a ‘surprise party.’ You know, something a friend does for their best friend who has managed to turn thirty-seven in spite of all of the times he has done his best not to. And now, you say thank you, and blow out the bloody candles before my lovely flat bursts into flames.”
“Thank you? You got all thirty-seven candles on that cake?”
“Thirty-eight, one for luck.”
John swore under his breath, then blew out each and every candle without setting off the smoke alarm to thunderous applause and whistles.
“Yay, Unca Doc!” Robbie Lestrade shrieked as he wrapped his arms around John’s knees and held on tight. “Cake!!!”
John lifted him in the air and hugged him tightly. “Yeah, cake and ice cream?”
“Yeah!!!!”
“Of course, yeah. Go grab a seat at the table next to your dad and I’ll bring it over, yeah?”
“Ta, Unca Doc.” Robbie scrambled out of his arms carefully, and ran over to the table.
“You don’t really mind, do you, John?” Molly whispered at him, as she started to remove the candles. “I just thought, since the last two have been kinda shitty, I thought, this year…”
“No, I don’t mind, Molly. I don’t mind at all.” He helped her take out the last candles, then pulled her into a hug. “Sorry, Mol. Sorry, I’ve been -”
“Don’t you dare apologise to me of all people. I just, I’m just glad, I’m just glad you are here, that’s all.”
“The beginning is perhaps more difficult than anything else, but keep heart, it will turn out all right.”
― Vincent van Gogh
1.29.1994
“We gotta clear the - sorry, what’s your name?”
“Will - Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes.” He was still sitting by the side of the road, staring at his hands, as if he expected them to be covered in blood.
“Uhm, Sherlock, you - your friend, Ms. Donovan, I got her a taxi over to Speedy’s - they seem to know her there.”
“Will you be able to determine who did it? Who hit him, who killed Trev?”
DC Lestrade sat down next to him and removed his hat, then ran his fingers through his hair. “Honestly, I dunno. Visibility… and the witnesses, sorry, hell, this is my first day.”
“Congratulations, DC -”
“Lestrade, Gregory Lestrade. No one ever remembers my first name.”
“DC Gregory Lestrade, I will remember. Thank you for your honesty. We, Trev and I own - well, it’s just me now, I suppose, Speedy’s.”
“But -”
“I’m older than I look. I just turned twenty-one this month. When you get done here, stop by for a pint, just ask for Ms. Hudson and tell her I told you your first two are on the house. I’m in your way. Thanks again, Gregory -”
“Call me Greg.”
“Greg. Very well.” Lestrade watched as he got to his feet and somehow made it to a taxi. He bit his lip as Sherlock looked out the window and realised he had never seen anyone really mourn until now, even though he hadn’t shed a single tear.