Chapter Text
Chapter 1: At the cemetery
John sat at the grave again, a stiff crick in his neck from where he fell asleep against it.
“Oh Sherlock. I miss you more than you know.”
Tears started to flow swiftly down his face, getting caught in the stubble of a day old beard.
“It has been over two years and John still showsd no signs of moving on. He rarely sleeps, only eats when it was required of him, and is very rarely social. He never spends any time with any of your old friends.”
“Shut up Mycroft. What are you doing here?”
“I come to visit my little brothers grave every once in a while. Mostly though I come to get John and take him home.”
“How often do you have to do this?” Sherlock glanced sideways at his brother, irritation obvious on his gaunt face.
“About three times a week.”
Judgment was strong in Mycroft’s voice. It made Sherlock want to punch him.
“Well what would you have me do? Let him die just for being my one and only friend?” Sherlock asked acidly. “You know I can’t let him know yet. You know just as well as I do that there are still two agents still out there that would kill him on sight if it became common knowledge that I was still alive.”
Mycroft let out a deep sigh. “Yes I know, you also know that my offer still stands. Around the clock protection for both of you. I promise that nothing will happen to either of you.”
“And you can guarantee with your life that nothing bad will happen? That nothing will happen to him?”
Sherlock looked to his brother, who hung his head.
“That’s what I thought. Your people haven’t found a thing yet have they?”
“Nothing that you don’t already know about. The woman has been following John around, she’s smart and quick, and it appears that we have a leak on my side of the fence. Every time we move to take her down she slips off at the last second. “
Sherlock smirked, “Of course there’s a leak on your side. I have three people who it might be but so far I have no solid evidence on which it is.”
Mycroft let out a deep sigh and eyed his brother, “Are you going to tell me who you think it is? Of course you’re not.”
“No. Not yet.”
“Are you going to go back to the flat?”
“Yes, I have to set up base and besides it’s our home.” Sadness crept into Sherlock’s voice, etching in with longing for the past.
“What about Mrs. Hudson?”
“I’m shocked Mycroft, you haven’t done your homework. She is in America, visiting friends. She will be gone for a month but I was able to work my connections to get a new lease on the place before she left. She thinks a Mr. Hamish Brooke is living there.”
Mycroft let out a Chuckle. “Named for the one you’re protecting and the one you’re protecting him from huh?”
Sherlock nodded.
“Well brother dear, as much as I love our little chats, it is time for our dear doctor to go home. I will see you very soon.”
Mycroft strode off out of the trees and to Sherlock’s grave. Sherlock could just hear the sound of a greeting being called out and John looking towards its source.
‘I’m going to have to thank him when this is all over’, thought Sherlock. ‘He’s done a fine job of keeping John alive at least.’
Sherlock watched as his brother walked to John, offering a handkerchief and a mug of coffee. John accepted both. A few words were said between the two before they turned and walked out of the cemetery together. Sherlock stood there for a few minutes just thinking of all the ways he could have hurt John worse. Nothing came to mind.
Pulling his cap down over his face and turning his jacket collar up to shield him from any prying eyes he walked over to his grave intent on feeling the residual warmth of John, but what he found was a small box.
Picking it up, Sherlock noted that it was heavy, for its small size. It was lock on the front of the box was insultingly easy to pick. Opening the box he found it stuffed full of letters, all hand written by John. There had to be hundreds of letters sitting in there. The pain that pulled at Sherlock’s chest at the sight of them was almost unbearable.
He emptied the box and relocked it, depositing it back on the ground and pocketing the letters before striding out of the cemetery himself and going home to read his letters from John.