As a doctor, of course.
He knew she was taking the news of Finch's health poorly. Foolishly blaming herself for it. He also knew that her legs were going at a more rapid pace, and it wouldn't be long (possibly even in the next six months or so) before she was in a wheelchair once more. She hadn't spoken, hadn't moved. It was like she was trying to cease existing.
And John found that very concerning indeed.
Sherlock came up from behind John, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"All right?" he murmured, nodding slightly at Mary.
When John spoke, he made sure his voice was low, even though she could probably hear him anyway. "Not sure. Been a bit too quiet for my taste."
Jim was outside. The sky was a gloomy grey, but the trees were bright even as the garden was waning. Sherlock had tried starting a small green house.
More importantly - Jim was outside.
"You have your days, too," Sherlock reminded John. "Has she eaten or had anything to drink?"
"No. She's not moved at all," John whispered, pushing himself up. "I'll put together a tray. Maybe she can be conned into tea. Are you eating?"
"Mn," Sherlock agreed.
Jim turned around in the lawn. He grinned, waving at Mary. He looked out of place in his navy suit, leaves flurrying around his head. She gulped, and let her eyes shift back to something else, trying to block him out. She knew he wasn't real. She knew. But- But it was easy to see him.
Sherlock sat in John's chair - easier to observe Mary from it. His chair faced away from the window. He understood the need for deep silences, long moments in one's mind. His mind palace - or memory study as it was - took time, effort, and a good deal of internal concentration.
Jim flickered, appearing at the window. His dark eyes were wide as he stared right up at Mary.
Her lips pressed together into a white-edged line. She curled her legs tighter to her chest. Useless legs that wouldn't help her run. He wasn't there, he wasn't there, he wasn't there. Go away. Stop. Leave me alone.
Jim breathed on the cold glass, tracing a finger over the fog.
Did you miss me?
"Stop staring, Sherlock, I can feel it," Mary said, trying her best not to flinch. Jim was dead. Jim was dead. Jim was dead.
"I'm observing," Sherlock countered.
He's bloody awful at it. All old, poor Sherly. The mind goes.
Jim was in the house.
Mary's teeth were clenched so hard she could have made charcoal into diamonds. Her nostrils flared and she forced her eyes not to track the movement of her own personal ghost. "Stop observing. I'm just sitting here. Which is all I can do anymore."
Sherlock caught her eyes. She wasn't looking at him.
"No you aren't," he replied.
Oh he's gooood, Jim sang.
"Where are you, Mary?" Sherlock asked, steepling his fingers.
"Shut up," Mary snapped, not sure which of them she was talking to. She leaned her head against the glass, knuckles tightening on her legs. "I'm in the cottage. You're being stupid and John is being nosy." Go away. Please. Not now.
"I'm being concerned. Another stroke, or stroke-like event, could cause memory loss, loss of motor function," Sherlock muttered softly.
Or he just thinks you're crazy, Jim cackled, sidling up to her. Flickering. Like a bad television reception. He appeared back outside the window. My mad princess. Jim's voice was muffled by the glass. Mary shrugged and gave into the impulse to look at Jim, briefly.
"I'm not having a stroke. I'm becoming paralyzed. There is a difference, and I do know what both of them feel like, enough to recognize..." she trailed off, eyes lingering on Jim's face again. No. James, go. You're dead.
Jim frowned, giving her a puppy dog face. Come play, he said, grin flashing. It's so much fun.. BEING DEAD. Jim's face warped, teeth growing pointed, eyes glowing and his body stretching as he flickered and disappeared.
"You promised, Sherlock," Mary whispered, touching the glass. "Don't forget your promise."
Sherlock got up, moving to sit beside her. "When it's time," he said softly. "Don't forget your promises to me."
"It is time. I'm- I'm broken. Breaking. They'll take the phone again, it's only a matter of time. I think it's time," Mary murmured. She looked out the mirror, watching for movement that wasn't there. Jimmy.
"There's supposed to be life after Moriarty, Mary," Sherlock said, reaching to pull her in for a hug.
I'll never let you go, Jim said from nowhere. Bound in blood, princess. Delicious blood, he repeated before appearing in John's chair, bullet hole through his head, neck at a strange angle.
"There isn't," Mary said, her hand reaching up to stroked the nape of Sherlock's neck. Her eyes watched Jim over his shoulder. "There's not life after Moriarty, Sherlock. My legs won't work. I'm not young, neither are you. I can't go back to that prison-" No, James. No, please. I'm not yours-
Jim's body twitched violently, blood seeping down his face.
Sherlock picked Mary up.
"We're not so old as all that," he said, carrying her past the dining room, and into the breakfast nook. "Finch is going to need you, love. And Brandon and Spencer. And Vance. Only you," he laughed. "Three children and you still manage to adopt another. I thought I was bad about picking up strays."
"I didn't adopt him, he followed Finch home," Mary said, breathing in Sherlock. Almost tasting him on her tongue.
"Ah, someone's back to talking. Here, I've made tea," John said, setting three mugs down on the table, He went back to the counter, picking up a plate of biscuits, bringing it back to them. "Everything alright?"
Sherlock sat Mary in a chair, scooting her up. "Fine," he replied, shaking his head in the negative behind Mary's back. "Tea sounds good. I bet you've forgotten your medicine today, Mare."
Mary leveled him with a good solid glare, standing. "I have not, don't patronize me. That- that sort of attitude is what I hate the most." It's why I left in the first place.
"Auditory or Visual?" Sherlock asked, crossing his arms at her.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Mary said, and she started to leave but John put himself in her way. With her leg, she wasn't fast enough. "Move, John."
"I'm not one of your lackeys, Mary," John said evenly, sucking on his cheek.
"The hallucinations," Sherlock intoned. "You respond to them occasionally. When you think one of us isn't around. Which is it, auditory or visual?"
"I'm not crazy," Mary said, not liking the implication. She looked back at Sherlock, eyes hard. "I'm not seeing things. You're wrong, but you usually are."
"It's not insanity," Sherlock replied. "It's chemistry." He poked her forehead. "Biology. Portions of your brain are being affected. You do recognize them as unreal, so you aren't crazy. You're ill."
"No. I'm not talking about this with you," Mary said, and this time she was quick enough to get around Sherlock, heading for Seb's bedroom, hoping that at least they wouldn't follow her there. She knew one person that would. Because he was always there. He'd always been there.
Jim laid out on the bed, in jeans and a hoodie. He had a lolly in his mouth.
Bothersome meddlers, he said, taking the sucker from his mouth to blow a raspberry.
I'm going to die soon, Mary thought to herself, the realization of that fact actually more a comfort than a threat. It was just a fact. Just something that was going to happen, something that should've happened a long time ago. She sighed.
Jim snapped into Mary's space, back in his suit.
Yes, he breathed. I've been waiting, princess. Time for happily ever after, my naughty girl.
"No, you haven't," Mary whispered, flinching from him. "Because you aren't real. You've never been real." To prove it, she pushed through him, throwing herself down on the soft quilt. Her mind began to whir with plans. Specifically, how to keep them there when she was... elsewhere. A numb spot was forming in the small of her back. A reminder of her legs and other things.
Real enough, Jim said. Real enough for Sherlock Holmes to notice me. I have missed this.
Mary didn't answer. She didn't want to encourage her mind to respond to him. She'd trained herself to ignore him for the most part. Decades of random hallucinations, probably from trauma and constantly changing medications, had taught her he wasn't there. He could never hurt her. She could only hurt the people she cared about, and so she suffered alone. The bad guy. The villainess. All alone with just Jim for a conscience. Jimmy. "I'm going home."
Goodgirl.
***
Sherlock sighed onto John's shoulder as they both sat on the edge of their bed.
"What do you imagine she's seeing?" he murmured to his lover.
"I dunno. Whatever it is, she doesn't seem to care for it much. Or maybe she does, I hardly know," John answered with a boyish shrug. "It's not like I've been close to her all these years. You'd know before I would."
"It was always Sherrinford," Sherlock said, reaching down to pull off his socks. "For me. On the drugs. Somehow my subconscious thought he was the voice of reason."
"It makes sense, I suppose. Although he's not any more reasonable than you are," John muttered darkly, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Both of you are arrogant tossers with a narcissistic streak a mile wide."
Sherlock laughed, leaning in to kiss John on the cheek. "You love one of us, at least," he said. "She looks concerned a lot. Do you think she might be seeing the children?"
"I wouldn't think so. She knows they're safe enough. Unless she's that far gone," John mused, ruffling Sherlock's hair. "Her mother? I know she's never quite forgiven your family for her death, maybe seeing you regularly has triggered some response?"
Sherlock paused in unbuttoning his shirt. "Or what if it's someone from her past," he said, his Deduction Face clicking on.
"Why would you say that?" John asked, frowning. "She'd tell us, wouldn't she?" Immediately, he saw the stupidity in the question. "Sorry, sorry. She didn't tell us when she had our child, why would she tell us she was hallucinating. Stupid question."
"John, I wouldn't tell you if I was hallucinating him," Sherlock said, swapping his trousers for pyjamas.
"Spencer?" John asked.
Sherlock turned, locking eyes with John. "Jim."
John shook his head, lips turning up but not really smiling. "No. She wouldn't be seeing him. He's dead-"
"Precisely," Sherlock interrupted. "There has always been a strict division of Jim and myself for her. He's the only thing she's ever tried to hide from me."
"We should tell the others," John said, after a long quiet moment. His gaze held Sherlock's, blue eyes solemn and concerned. "She needs help. Help I don't think we can give her."
Sherlock nodded, pulling on his tee shirt. "I think I'm going to see if she's willing to let me stay with her tonight. Sebastian is usually alright sharing," he said. "I'd rather keep an eye on her."
"Be careful. She's been known to sleep with guns under her pillow," John said, pulling Sherlock in for a messy kiss. To John, Sherlock looked like a child begging to spend the night with an old pet that was going to be put down in the morning. "I love you."
Sherlock was breathless as he laid his forehead against John's. "I love you, too," he breathed. His heart still raced - after all these years.
He stroked John's grey hair once more and headed back through the house. It was dark and quiet. He heard murmuring from Freya's room as she and Jack spoke about some changes to the garden in the spring to include actual edible foods. He passed Sebastian in the dining room.
"Mind a bit of company tonight?" Sherlock asked, poking his head around the corner.
"Hmm?" Seb said, breaking away from his laptop. "I suppose not. She's had a bit of an off day. I'll be in about an hour."
"And John says I never sleep," Sherlock barked out a laugh. He'd grown to enjoy their rag-tag group. Even though he and Jack tried to keep their sparring to verbal alone, Sebastian was actually a very intelligent man underneath the hard exterior. He was extremely loyal and loved Mary more than anyone Sherlock knew. He was including himself.
He knocked lightly on the bedroom.
"Mary?" he said. "Mary? Come on, don't be cross with me."
The room was empty..
Sherlock ran back through the house, tearing across the den. "JOHN!" he shouted. "JOHN!"
The door to their room opened, John already on alert. "What is it? What's the matter?"
"She's gone," Sherlock said.
"She's gone?" Sebastian said, having abandoned his computer. "Where wou- damn it, I thought I heard something earlier.."
"She's hallucinating and she's GONE!" Sherlock shouted at the tall ex-soldier. "You're all bloody meant to help watch her!"
"Hallucinating?" Freya's voice piped up.
"She can't have gotten far, Sherlock. She was just bloody here," John said, snatching his mobile and keys, heading outside. "Where would she go?"
"She's seeing Jim Moriarty for God's sake," Sherlock said, following in his pyjamas. "Sebastian, where the hell would she go?"
"How the hell would I know?" Seb replied. "She's seeing Jim?"
"Hallucinating," Sherlock corrected as they all went outside.
"I'm going to check the woods," Jack shouted. "She can't have gone off, not with her legs."
"London," Sebastian said. "Jim was always in London. Mary was always in London."
Sherlock turned. "Moriarty isn't in London," he said, running towards the cars. "John, she's gone for London. He must be trying to convince her to go back to the work."
"It's no good," John replied, his own legs and lips going numb. He'd already gotten to the cars, and was staring down with disbelieving eyes. "She's gone. We're not going to catch her, Sherlock." He turned back to the others. "She's slashed the tires."
"I'll call Finch," Sebastian said. "And Vance. He should be getting back in town tonight."
"When we find her, something shall have to be done about this," John was saying. "We obviously can't keep her here. Perhaps we should look into an institution-"
"Absolutely not," Sherlock snapped. "I'll minimize my experiments, and focus on keeping her engaged-"
"Sherlock's right, Watson, but not for the same reasons," Sebastian sighed. "She's been trained by me, you, Jim. She's learned from the best of the best. She'd have to be restrained constantly, or sedated permanently."
"You mean kill her-" Sherlock snapped.
"She's engaging in visual hallucinations!" John said, throwing his hands up. "We cannot keep her here. She's a danger- Look, I love her, too, but she might kill someone. Once people have lost their minds-"
"Then I'll take her somewhere, myself!" Sherlock shouted.
"You aren't taking my wife anywhere," Sebastian growled.
"Guys, can we stop arguing and fi- Finch?" Freya said over the phone pressed to her ear. "Darling, your Mum's pulled a runner. Her brain's on the magic mushrooms without the shrooms."
"Mum? What are you talking about?" Finch asked, sounding a little bit sleepy. "She's taken off?"
"Yes, sweetheart. Her conditions gotten a bit worse. She's seeing someone who isn't there, and unfortunately seems to have taken to whatever he's been telling her," Freya said. "She's likely going to try and go to familiar places, but it's going to take us time to get back to the city. She's left us stranded."
"Oh, that's concerning. I thought she'd stopped seeing her friend ages ago," Finch hummed, and it sounded like she was opening her closet, pulling out clothes. "I'll see what I can do. Should I drive out and get you? Or stay here?"
"I think Sebastian is contacting a car and some repairmen," Freya said. "Stay there in case she's in the mindset to go home, at least her last home. Sweetheart, I've no idea how she is. Your Mum is very ill, love. Be careful."
"Okay, Aunt Free. I'll call the brats and let them know," Finch said, making a kissy noise on the phone. "Don't worry about Mum. She'll come 'round, she always does." And the call ended.
"Wait-wait- Finch!" Freya stammered. Her large eyes were round as she turned towards the group. "She said she thought Mary had stopped seeing her 'friend' ages ago."
"For GOD'S sake!" Sherlock shouted, starting off down their driveway.
"Where are you going to go on foot?" John asked, grabbing Freya's hand and tugging her along as he stormed after the idiot. "You're more likely to get hit by a ruddy car than to actually find her. Finch- she knows?"
"Apparently," Freya said, clutching her phone.
"I'll bloody well walk to town to find the nearest car!" Sherlock said. "Come on!"
"I dunno. Whatever it is, she doesn't seem to care for it much. Or maybe she does, I hardly know," John answered with a boyish shrug. "It's not like I've been close to her all these years. You'd know before I would."
"It was always Sherrinford," Sherlock said, reaching down to pull off his socks. "For me. On the drugs. Somehow my subconscious thought he was the voice of reason."
"It makes sense, I suppose. Although he's not any more reasonable than you are," John muttered darkly, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Both of you are arrogant tossers with a narcissistic streak a mile wide."
Sherlock laughed, leaning in to kiss John on the cheek. "You love one of us, at least," he said. "She looks concerned a lot. Do you think she might be seeing the children?"
"I wouldn't think so. She knows they're safe enough. Unless she's that far gone," John mused, ruffling Sherlock's hair. "Her mother? I know she's never quite forgiven your family for her death, maybe seeing you regularly has triggered some response?"
Sherlock paused in unbuttoning his shirt. "Or what if it's someone from her past," he said, his Deduction Face clicking on.
"Why would you say that?" John asked, frowning. "She'd tell us, wouldn't she?" Immediately, he saw the stupidity in the question. "Sorry, sorry. She didn't tell us when she had our child, why would she tell us she was hallucinating. Stupid question."
"John, I wouldn't tell you if I was hallucinating him," Sherlock said, swapping his trousers for pyjamas.
"Spencer?" John asked.
Sherlock turned, locking eyes with John. "Jim."
John shook his head, lips turning up but not really smiling. "No. She wouldn't be seeing him. He's dead-"
"Precisely," Sherlock interrupted. "There has always been a strict division of Jim and myself for her. He's the only thing she's ever tried to hide from me."
"We should tell the others," John said, after a long quiet moment. His gaze held Sherlock's, blue eyes solemn and concerned. "She needs help. Help I don't think we can give her."
Sherlock nodded, pulling on his tee shirt. "I think I'm going to see if she's willing to let me stay with her tonight. Sebastian is usually alright sharing," he said. "I'd rather keep an eye on her."
"Be careful. She's been known to sleep with guns under her pillow," John said, pulling Sherlock in for a messy kiss. To John, Sherlock looked like a child begging to spend the night with an old pet that was going to be put down in the morning. "I love you."
Sherlock was breathless as he laid his forehead against John's. "I love you, too," he breathed. His heart still raced - after all these years.
He stroked John's grey hair once more and headed back through the house. It was dark and quiet. He heard murmuring from Freya's room as she and Jack spoke about some changes to the garden in the spring to include actual edible foods. He passed Sebastian in the dining room.
"Mind a bit of company tonight?" Sherlock asked, poking his head around the corner.
"Hmm?" Seb said, breaking away from his laptop. "I suppose not. She's had a bit of an off day. I'll be in about an hour."
"And John says I never sleep," Sherlock barked out a laugh. He'd grown to enjoy their rag-tag group. Even though he and Jack tried to keep their sparring to verbal alone, Sebastian was actually a very intelligent man underneath the hard exterior. He was extremely loyal and loved Mary more than anyone Sherlock knew. He was including himself.
He knocked lightly on the bedroom.
"Mary?" he said. "Mary? Come on, don't be cross with me."
The room was empty..
Sherlock ran back through the house, tearing across the den. "JOHN!" he shouted. "JOHN!"
The door to their room opened, John already on alert. "What is it? What's the matter?"
"She's gone," Sherlock said.
"She's gone?" Sebastian said, having abandoned his computer. "Where wou- damn it, I thought I heard something earlier.."
"She's hallucinating and she's GONE!" Sherlock shouted at the tall ex-soldier. "You're all bloody meant to help watch her!"
"Hallucinating?" Freya's voice piped up.
"She can't have gotten far, Sherlock. She was just bloody here," John said, snatching his mobile and keys, heading outside. "Where would she go?"
"She's seeing Jim Moriarty for God's sake," Sherlock said, following in his pyjamas. "Sebastian, where the hell would she go?"
"How the hell would I know?" Seb replied. "She's seeing Jim?"
"Hallucinating," Sherlock corrected as they all went outside.
"I'm going to check the woods," Jack shouted. "She can't have gone off, not with her legs."
"London," Sebastian said. "Jim was always in London. Mary was always in London."
Sherlock turned. "Moriarty isn't in London," he said, running towards the cars. "John, she's gone for London. He must be trying to convince her to go back to the work."
"It's no good," John replied, his own legs and lips going numb. He'd already gotten to the cars, and was staring down with disbelieving eyes. "She's gone. We're not going to catch her, Sherlock." He turned back to the others. "She's slashed the tires."
"I'll call Finch," Sebastian said. "And Vance. He should be getting back in town tonight."
"When we find her, something shall have to be done about this," John was saying. "We obviously can't keep her here. Perhaps we should look into an institution-"
"Absolutely not," Sherlock snapped. "I'll minimize my experiments, and focus on keeping her engaged-"
"Sherlock's right, Watson, but not for the same reasons," Sebastian sighed. "She's been trained by me, you, Jim. She's learned from the best of the best. She'd have to be restrained constantly, or sedated permanently."
"You mean kill her-" Sherlock snapped.
"She's engaging in visual hallucinations!" John said, throwing his hands up. "We cannot keep her here. She's a danger- Look, I love her, too, but she might kill someone. Once people have lost their minds-"
"Then I'll take her somewhere, myself!" Sherlock shouted.
"You aren't taking my wife anywhere," Sebastian growled.
"Guys, can we stop arguing and fi- Finch?" Freya said over the phone pressed to her ear. "Darling, your Mum's pulled a runner. Her brain's on the magic mushrooms without the shrooms."
"Mum? What are you talking about?" Finch asked, sounding a little bit sleepy. "She's taken off?"
"Yes, sweetheart. Her conditions gotten a bit worse. She's seeing someone who isn't there, and unfortunately seems to have taken to whatever he's been telling her," Freya said. "She's likely going to try and go to familiar places, but it's going to take us time to get back to the city. She's left us stranded."
"Oh, that's concerning. I thought she'd stopped seeing her friend ages ago," Finch hummed, and it sounded like she was opening her closet, pulling out clothes. "I'll see what I can do. Should I drive out and get you? Or stay here?"
"I think Sebastian is contacting a car and some repairmen," Freya said. "Stay there in case she's in the mindset to go home, at least her last home. Sweetheart, I've no idea how she is. Your Mum is very ill, love. Be careful."
"Okay, Aunt Free. I'll call the brats and let them know," Finch said, making a kissy noise on the phone. "Don't worry about Mum. She'll come 'round, she always does." And the call ended.
"Wait-wait- Finch!" Freya stammered. Her large eyes were round as she turned towards the group. "She said she thought Mary had stopped seeing her 'friend' ages ago."
"For GOD'S sake!" Sherlock shouted, starting off down their driveway.
"Where are you going to go on foot?" John asked, grabbing Freya's hand and tugging her along as he stormed after the idiot. "You're more likely to get hit by a ruddy car than to actually find her. Finch- she knows?"
"Apparently," Freya said, clutching her phone.
"I'll bloody well walk to town to find the nearest car!" Sherlock said. "Come on!"
***
"Shut up. You aren't to be talking."
Finch put her crayons down, and skipped quietly to the kitchen, peering around the door frame to watch her mother. She knew somethings Mummy talked on the phone or on the computer to people, but she was... alone right now. Her things were in the living room with Finch. She was just standing there, all alone, in the kitchen.
Talking.
"Stop it. Stop torturing me like this," Mary whispered and Finch bit her lip. Whoever was hurting her mum, it wasn't someone Finch could see.
"Mummy?" Finch asked in a small whisper, and Mary's hands tightened on the counter. "Is Papa home?"
"No, darling, he's not home yet. Come along, we'll go color," Mary said, bending to scoop the small child up. Finch curled a pudgy fist in her mother's hair, sucking on the thumb of her free hand. She was afraid.
"But you were talking," Finch said solemnly, in that wise way that children sometimes have. Mary tried to smile at the little girl in her arms.
"You know how your friend Beth has an imaginary friend?" Mary asked. Finch nodded. She didn't like when Beth talked to her imaginary friend, it made the other kids in class look at them funny. But Mum had explained that Beth's mummy and daddy had a divorce and Beth had 'trauma' and that meant she needed an invisible friend to talk to. "Well, sometimes, I have an imaginary friend."
"Is your imaginary friend nice?" Finch asked after about twenty minutes of quiet coloring with her mother. Mary had thought the conversation was dropped. Again, she smiled at her daughter.
"Sometimes he's very nice," Mary lied. She patted her daughter on the head, feeling the soft curls there. "Just- perhaps not mention it to Papa. You know how jealous he can be! Just keep it between the two of us, baby."
Finch nodded. Like her mother before her, she was very, very good at keeping secrets.
Finch shook her head at the memory, tapping her nails on the same kitchen counter where many years ago she'd heard her mother talking. There was a stress-induced tightness in her chest that had her worried. The phone kept ringing, and she muttered to herself, "C'mon, Spence, answer the phone."
"Sis?" Spencer said, sounding like he'd just woken up. "All right?"
"Hey, um, just wanted to let you know Mum's gone off the deep end and stranded everyone in the cabin. No one knows where she's gone to," Finch said softly, reaching into the refrigerator for a soda. "Didn't think anyone would have thought to call you."
"Fuckin' hell," Spencer swore. "I knew she wasn't feeling well at Bran's get together. She always wears that 'I'm lying' face. Let me pull up my laptop, maybe get a trace on her." There was a flurry of fingers over keys in the background. "How bad?"
"She's hallucinating," Finch half-whispered into the phone. "The parents think it's pretty bad. Spence, I'm worried that they'll hurt her if they find her. We can't let that happen, you know Mum isn't crazy."
"Course she isn't. I can find her," he said. He flicked through CCTV cameras. He actually used an old source of code that once belonged to Mycroft Holmes, only he'd improved it. "Ah, ah, shots of Mum entering London. Hallucinating what, Finch? Did they say anything? If she's imaging she's back in some fucked up country being Moriarty, then it's different if she thinks she's going back home to my dads. Is she hallucinating or regressing?"
"Well, I think she might be actually hallucinating. I don't know, you know they never tell me anything," Finch said, chewing her lip. She took a sip of soda. "I do know that she's got this person she talks to sometimes. I don't know, I think it's a bloke, but I used to hear her, when she thought I wasn't listening. Begging him to go away."
Spencer hissed. "Finch," he said. "Bloke? For fuck's sake, are you kidding me? The only person who'd get under Mum's skin that much is you-know-who."
"But- but that's- Alright, I'm through speaking to you, because I'm starting to become convinced she's nuts. Him? She'd been talking to him?" Finch shivered, wishing Vance were home already so she could- could- well, she didn't know, but she missed him all the same. "Spencer, tell me she's not nuts."
"She isn't," Spencer said, hopping off the bed to start rummaging through his things. "She's just.. She loved him, once. Really loved him, Finch. Enough that she left an engagement and Father, and everything. She didn't leave for your dad, no offense."
Finch sat on the floor, her can of soda next to her, back against the cabinets. She just wanted her Mum back. She'd been so miserable at the cottage. "She's feeling guilty, too. I know she has, about the whole, erm, heart thing. And because the parents keep trying to control her instead of leaving her alone. She didn't tell me, but I watched. Everytime Papa or Sherlock spoke to her, she nearly flinched. I think she's upset, about her legs. Like she can't fight anymore."
"You don't think she's gone to do something mad, do you?" Spencer said, standing back up. His laptop dinged. "She's checked into a hotel, used her card. I'll go get her, Finch. She's probably just feeling smothered."
"Be careful, Spence. I have a bad feeling," Finch said, using her knuckle to push her lips into her teeth. "As soon as Vance gets in, I'll follow. Text me the address."
Spencer hung up, reaching for one of his suits. Moriarty. Jim Moriarty. He'd always wondered if he could've been- or if Finch could've been his. Records of his death were greatly hidden, and the years had been hard to pin down. If Spencer hadn't been graced with such pale eyes, he'd have thought the man his sperm donor. But those soul-sucking dark black eyes made Spencer crave to know the madness of the man.
And how his mother could've loved him.
He picked a suit, Westwood, thinking of his mother's possible hallucination. He pulled up an old mug shot of Moriarty. The man's hair slicked back and a crazed smile on his Irish face. He'd been Spencer's inspiration.
He strode out through the flat, catching Bran in the kitchen. "Mum's escaped her gilded cage. I'm sent to tame the tiger," he said.
"Need help?" Bran asked, thumbing through a cookbook while a sauce simmered on the stove. He was trying to avoid Spencer's eyes.
Spencer reached up to stroke Brandon's hair. "No, just don't fight with my bird," he murmured. "I can handle Mum. She's probably just bored and causing havoc. You know how she is."
"It was a mistake to take her out in the godforsaken countryside," Brandon agreed, nudging his head into the petting. "Careful, have fun, don't kill anyone, I can't bail you out, ect, ect."
"Bullshite. As if I'd get caught," Spencer snorted. "Love you. Abs?" he said, starting towards the living room. He hung back, smiling softly. She was asleep on the sofa.
"I'll put her in the bedroom if she doesn't manage to get there on her own," Brandon muttered sourly from his position at the table.
"Thanks, pet," Spencer said, looking back over his shoulder. "I'll be back, not sure when. I'm taking the car. Later."
"Mummy?" Finch asked in a small whisper, and Mary's hands tightened on the counter. "Is Papa home?"
"No, darling, he's not home yet. Come along, we'll go color," Mary said, bending to scoop the small child up. Finch curled a pudgy fist in her mother's hair, sucking on the thumb of her free hand. She was afraid.
"But you were talking," Finch said solemnly, in that wise way that children sometimes have. Mary tried to smile at the little girl in her arms.
"You know how your friend Beth has an imaginary friend?" Mary asked. Finch nodded. She didn't like when Beth talked to her imaginary friend, it made the other kids in class look at them funny. But Mum had explained that Beth's mummy and daddy had a divorce and Beth had 'trauma' and that meant she needed an invisible friend to talk to. "Well, sometimes, I have an imaginary friend."
"Is your imaginary friend nice?" Finch asked after about twenty minutes of quiet coloring with her mother. Mary had thought the conversation was dropped. Again, she smiled at her daughter.
"Sometimes he's very nice," Mary lied. She patted her daughter on the head, feeling the soft curls there. "Just- perhaps not mention it to Papa. You know how jealous he can be! Just keep it between the two of us, baby."
Finch nodded. Like her mother before her, she was very, very good at keeping secrets.
Finch shook her head at the memory, tapping her nails on the same kitchen counter where many years ago she'd heard her mother talking. There was a stress-induced tightness in her chest that had her worried. The phone kept ringing, and she muttered to herself, "C'mon, Spence, answer the phone."
"Sis?" Spencer said, sounding like he'd just woken up. "All right?"
"Hey, um, just wanted to let you know Mum's gone off the deep end and stranded everyone in the cabin. No one knows where she's gone to," Finch said softly, reaching into the refrigerator for a soda. "Didn't think anyone would have thought to call you."
"Fuckin' hell," Spencer swore. "I knew she wasn't feeling well at Bran's get together. She always wears that 'I'm lying' face. Let me pull up my laptop, maybe get a trace on her." There was a flurry of fingers over keys in the background. "How bad?"
"She's hallucinating," Finch half-whispered into the phone. "The parents think it's pretty bad. Spence, I'm worried that they'll hurt her if they find her. We can't let that happen, you know Mum isn't crazy."
"Course she isn't. I can find her," he said. He flicked through CCTV cameras. He actually used an old source of code that once belonged to Mycroft Holmes, only he'd improved it. "Ah, ah, shots of Mum entering London. Hallucinating what, Finch? Did they say anything? If she's imaging she's back in some fucked up country being Moriarty, then it's different if she thinks she's going back home to my dads. Is she hallucinating or regressing?"
"Well, I think she might be actually hallucinating. I don't know, you know they never tell me anything," Finch said, chewing her lip. She took a sip of soda. "I do know that she's got this person she talks to sometimes. I don't know, I think it's a bloke, but I used to hear her, when she thought I wasn't listening. Begging him to go away."
Spencer hissed. "Finch," he said. "Bloke? For fuck's sake, are you kidding me? The only person who'd get under Mum's skin that much is you-know-who."
"But- but that's- Alright, I'm through speaking to you, because I'm starting to become convinced she's nuts. Him? She'd been talking to him?" Finch shivered, wishing Vance were home already so she could- could- well, she didn't know, but she missed him all the same. "Spencer, tell me she's not nuts."
"She isn't," Spencer said, hopping off the bed to start rummaging through his things. "She's just.. She loved him, once. Really loved him, Finch. Enough that she left an engagement and Father, and everything. She didn't leave for your dad, no offense."
Finch sat on the floor, her can of soda next to her, back against the cabinets. She just wanted her Mum back. She'd been so miserable at the cottage. "She's feeling guilty, too. I know she has, about the whole, erm, heart thing. And because the parents keep trying to control her instead of leaving her alone. She didn't tell me, but I watched. Everytime Papa or Sherlock spoke to her, she nearly flinched. I think she's upset, about her legs. Like she can't fight anymore."
"You don't think she's gone to do something mad, do you?" Spencer said, standing back up. His laptop dinged. "She's checked into a hotel, used her card. I'll go get her, Finch. She's probably just feeling smothered."
"Be careful, Spence. I have a bad feeling," Finch said, using her knuckle to push her lips into her teeth. "As soon as Vance gets in, I'll follow. Text me the address."
Spencer hung up, reaching for one of his suits. Moriarty. Jim Moriarty. He'd always wondered if he could've been- or if Finch could've been his. Records of his death were greatly hidden, and the years had been hard to pin down. If Spencer hadn't been graced with such pale eyes, he'd have thought the man his sperm donor. But those soul-sucking dark black eyes made Spencer crave to know the madness of the man.
And how his mother could've loved him.
He picked a suit, Westwood, thinking of his mother's possible hallucination. He pulled up an old mug shot of Moriarty. The man's hair slicked back and a crazed smile on his Irish face. He'd been Spencer's inspiration.
He strode out through the flat, catching Bran in the kitchen. "Mum's escaped her gilded cage. I'm sent to tame the tiger," he said.
"Need help?" Bran asked, thumbing through a cookbook while a sauce simmered on the stove. He was trying to avoid Spencer's eyes.
Spencer reached up to stroke Brandon's hair. "No, just don't fight with my bird," he murmured. "I can handle Mum. She's probably just bored and causing havoc. You know how she is."
"It was a mistake to take her out in the godforsaken countryside," Brandon agreed, nudging his head into the petting. "Careful, have fun, don't kill anyone, I can't bail you out, ect, ect."
"Bullshite. As if I'd get caught," Spencer snorted. "Love you. Abs?" he said, starting towards the living room. He hung back, smiling softly. She was asleep on the sofa.
"I'll put her in the bedroom if she doesn't manage to get there on her own," Brandon muttered sourly from his position at the table.
"Thanks, pet," Spencer said, looking back over his shoulder. "I'll be back, not sure when. I'm taking the car. Later."
***
Mary had the curtains open, looking down at the glittering London lights from her position on the bed. Her back was to the door. A bottle of expensive pills rolled in her palms. She could do this, couldn't she? She could end it. Anything to get the voice to stop-
It's sooo boring, Mary, Jim said from the hotel chair. He was supporting his bullet-hole to the head look again. Only sitting and moving normally. The disturbing part was the brain matter and chunk of skull missing from the back of his head. Playing domestic. Being the wife. You should be causing mayhem, princess. Where's the flash, where's the fashion? Where's the good old fashioned villain?
"I killed him," Mary whispered, letting her eyes tear up. She took a capsule out. One. One was all it would take. She'd always had this as a back up plan. Maybe she'd take two. "I killed him, and he's not let me forget it since."
Spencer used the keycard alleviated from the staff to open the hotel door. It had taken a little extra work. His mum had used cash. The door opened with a click.
Oh no, trouble's coming. Someone is definitely in daaanger, Jim sang.
"Sherlock's coming. He promised," Mary said to Jim, "He promised he would end it." Her fingers were shaking.
"Mum?" Spencer said, letting the door close behind him.
Oh darling, lies! Lies! They all lie. Jim got up, flickering to lean on the window. I never lied to you, love. I fixed your legs, I gave you adventure. You're failing me, it's time for my princess to come home.
"What's sad is I know you're not even real. I wish I were crazy, so I could believe in you," Mary said, sniffing. "But you're not. You're nothing but a guilty conscience. Sherlock," Mary looked at Spencer's reflection in the hotel mirror. "I'm not insane. You'll believe that, won't you?"
Spencer had to stifle a choked sound. His mother thought he was his father. Of course, he'd neglected to tame his wild hair.
"Of course not, Mary," Spencer said. "I've never thought you were insane. Bit not good, leaving us stranded."
Mary nodded, blinking away her tears, feeling a sort of dread slip over her. She had to do it. Before Sherlock stopped her. "You weren't going to keep your promise. You told me, when it was bad, you'd end it. And I could tell. You help them keep me prisoner, and you say you love me, but you don't. Not enough, anyway." Mary's eyes found his in the reflection. "I killed the one person who wanted me, just me, and no one else, to keep him from killing you. To keep you safe. You matter more to me than anyone, and all I asked you in return was to do this for me. You just couldn't kill me, Sherlock?"
Spencer closed his eyes, raising his chin to hold back tears. He let his mask fall into place.
"No," he said, trying to lower his voice to match his father's. "The promise was a deflection. I'm greedy."
Greedy, greedy bastard, taking lovers, using you, Jim growled. Kill him.
"Keeping secrets, Mary?" Spencer said. "We could've beaten him together."
"No. You couldn't have. I'm not even sure how I managed it," Mary replied, shaking her head. She gave a funny little laugh. "You'll take care of Spencer, won't you? He needs someone to look after him. My baby."
Spencer crossed the room. "He doesn't need anyone to take care of him, Mary," he said, taking his mother's hands. "He can take care of himself. He's taking care of others now. He's an adult."
"He's still my child and I still worry," Mary said, cupping Spencer's cheek. She bent to kiss his forehead, pills still clasped in the other hand. "I love you, Sherlock. I told that to Jim, when I killed him, that I loved him, but I've always loved you best. You're my favorite."
A tear rolled over Mary's hand, hot and wet. Spencer pulled the pill from Mary's hand, twisting it around. "Then let's take our medicine," he said, popping a pill into his mouth, swallowing it dry.
"Alright, Sherlock," Mary agreed, reaching for the bottle, and taking one out. "Together." Jim?
Wrong, Jim said as the door burst open.
Sherlock, Sebastian, John and Freya poured into the room.
"Dad," Spencer said, looking up. He was starting to sweat, feeling weird.
Mary, Mary, Jim tsked. Too late, now. You should've been quicker. But you were always a bit slow. She didn't hear him, her body already falling to the floor, limbs twitching.
"No!" John shouted, rushing forward to their son. He felt for Spencer's pulse. "What happened? Quickly, now." Spencer's skin was taking on a deathly pallor.
"Sh-sh-" Spencer shivered. He was so cold. "Take h-her med-d-d-"
Sherlock snatched up the pill bottle. "Idiot child!" he shouted. He reached over to Mary, shoving two fingers down her throat and hanging her head over the side of the bed. "John, he needs to throw up, NOW!"
John was two steps ahead of him, thick fingers down Spencer's throat, forcing the kid to vomit. "Freya, call 9-9-9. There, that's a good lad. C'mon, get it out."
Spencer coughed and spat, bile spewing out with a foamy sort of liquid.
Freya's high pitched voice was squeaking over the line.
"We can get them downstairs," Sebastian said, moving to help Sherlock with Mary, who had fallen unconcious.
"No time," Sherlock said, pressing on her chest. "She's not breathing right."
Spencer was trying to suck down air around his tears. He was leaning hard, shaking. "Dad?" he said, voice small. "Wh-what?" He couldn't keep his eyes open and his limbs kept twitching.
"Did she make you take it? Shh, shh, never mind," John said, thumping Spencer on the back. "Get it all out. Get it out."
Spencer threw up again, just because of the smell - right before he passed out.
It's sooo boring, Mary, Jim said from the hotel chair. He was supporting his bullet-hole to the head look again. Only sitting and moving normally. The disturbing part was the brain matter and chunk of skull missing from the back of his head. Playing domestic. Being the wife. You should be causing mayhem, princess. Where's the flash, where's the fashion? Where's the good old fashioned villain?
"I killed him," Mary whispered, letting her eyes tear up. She took a capsule out. One. One was all it would take. She'd always had this as a back up plan. Maybe she'd take two. "I killed him, and he's not let me forget it since."
Spencer used the keycard alleviated from the staff to open the hotel door. It had taken a little extra work. His mum had used cash. The door opened with a click.
Oh no, trouble's coming. Someone is definitely in daaanger, Jim sang.
"Sherlock's coming. He promised," Mary said to Jim, "He promised he would end it." Her fingers were shaking.
"Mum?" Spencer said, letting the door close behind him.
Oh darling, lies! Lies! They all lie. Jim got up, flickering to lean on the window. I never lied to you, love. I fixed your legs, I gave you adventure. You're failing me, it's time for my princess to come home.
"What's sad is I know you're not even real. I wish I were crazy, so I could believe in you," Mary said, sniffing. "But you're not. You're nothing but a guilty conscience. Sherlock," Mary looked at Spencer's reflection in the hotel mirror. "I'm not insane. You'll believe that, won't you?"
Spencer had to stifle a choked sound. His mother thought he was his father. Of course, he'd neglected to tame his wild hair.
"Of course not, Mary," Spencer said. "I've never thought you were insane. Bit not good, leaving us stranded."
Mary nodded, blinking away her tears, feeling a sort of dread slip over her. She had to do it. Before Sherlock stopped her. "You weren't going to keep your promise. You told me, when it was bad, you'd end it. And I could tell. You help them keep me prisoner, and you say you love me, but you don't. Not enough, anyway." Mary's eyes found his in the reflection. "I killed the one person who wanted me, just me, and no one else, to keep him from killing you. To keep you safe. You matter more to me than anyone, and all I asked you in return was to do this for me. You just couldn't kill me, Sherlock?"
Spencer closed his eyes, raising his chin to hold back tears. He let his mask fall into place.
"No," he said, trying to lower his voice to match his father's. "The promise was a deflection. I'm greedy."
Greedy, greedy bastard, taking lovers, using you, Jim growled. Kill him.
"Keeping secrets, Mary?" Spencer said. "We could've beaten him together."
"No. You couldn't have. I'm not even sure how I managed it," Mary replied, shaking her head. She gave a funny little laugh. "You'll take care of Spencer, won't you? He needs someone to look after him. My baby."
Spencer crossed the room. "He doesn't need anyone to take care of him, Mary," he said, taking his mother's hands. "He can take care of himself. He's taking care of others now. He's an adult."
"He's still my child and I still worry," Mary said, cupping Spencer's cheek. She bent to kiss his forehead, pills still clasped in the other hand. "I love you, Sherlock. I told that to Jim, when I killed him, that I loved him, but I've always loved you best. You're my favorite."
A tear rolled over Mary's hand, hot and wet. Spencer pulled the pill from Mary's hand, twisting it around. "Then let's take our medicine," he said, popping a pill into his mouth, swallowing it dry.
"Alright, Sherlock," Mary agreed, reaching for the bottle, and taking one out. "Together." Jim?
Wrong, Jim said as the door burst open.
Sherlock, Sebastian, John and Freya poured into the room.
"Dad," Spencer said, looking up. He was starting to sweat, feeling weird.
Mary, Mary, Jim tsked. Too late, now. You should've been quicker. But you were always a bit slow. She didn't hear him, her body already falling to the floor, limbs twitching.
"No!" John shouted, rushing forward to their son. He felt for Spencer's pulse. "What happened? Quickly, now." Spencer's skin was taking on a deathly pallor.
"Sh-sh-" Spencer shivered. He was so cold. "Take h-her med-d-d-"
Sherlock snatched up the pill bottle. "Idiot child!" he shouted. He reached over to Mary, shoving two fingers down her throat and hanging her head over the side of the bed. "John, he needs to throw up, NOW!"
John was two steps ahead of him, thick fingers down Spencer's throat, forcing the kid to vomit. "Freya, call 9-9-9. There, that's a good lad. C'mon, get it out."
Spencer coughed and spat, bile spewing out with a foamy sort of liquid.
Freya's high pitched voice was squeaking over the line.
"We can get them downstairs," Sebastian said, moving to help Sherlock with Mary, who had fallen unconcious.
"No time," Sherlock said, pressing on her chest. "She's not breathing right."
Spencer was trying to suck down air around his tears. He was leaning hard, shaking. "Dad?" he said, voice small. "Wh-what?" He couldn't keep his eyes open and his limbs kept twitching.
"Did she make you take it? Shh, shh, never mind," John said, thumping Spencer on the back. "Get it all out. Get it out."
Spencer threw up again, just because of the smell - right before he passed out.
***
Sherlock and Sebastian sat like sentries on either side of Mary's hospital bed.
"I promised her," Sherlock said.
"Promised her what?" Sebastian sighed.
"To end it," Sherlock replied. "When it got too bad. When her illness was more debilitating than life was worth living for."
"You're a monster," Seb replied. He squeezed Mary's hand. "No wonder she loves you."
"We could've managed differently if I'd known about the hallucinations."
"No, she likely thought she deserved to see Jim. It was my fault for not shooting him myself. There were too many times - but she loved him."
"No she didn't," Sherlock said.
"She did," Seb insisted. "As a lover, and a sibling, in some strange way. She wanted to protect him from his madness. He was more.. with her. It hurt to see them together. It was like a fairy tale. A fair maiden taming the beast." He reached to stroke Mary's hair.
Freya poked her head in, bringing a tray of teas.
"She could be brain damaged," Sherlock said. "I'm not sure the cottage is safe for her any longer."
"A facility-," Freya said.
"Would be hell for her," Sherlock snapped.
"Spencer's stable," John said, pushing in behind Freya. "He's- I'm not staying long, but he's stable. Thought you'd like to know."
"Here, take a coffee," Freya said, handing one to John. "Jack and the children are supposed to be coming soon. Sherlock, you should see your son."
"Is he awake?" Sherlock asked, eyes not leaving Mary. John shook his head.
"Not yet. I'll send someone to fetch you when he wakes up. In the mean time, get used to the idea that if Mary is even remotely aware when she comes back, if she comes back, we're sticking her in a looney bin and throwing away the key," John shouted, eyes blazing.
Freya left the coffees, following John to Spencer's room. "John," she said, voice soft.
"Don't. Don't start. Look what she's done," John said, sliding his chair closer to his son. He picked up Spencer's hand, holding it tightly. "This is supposed to be her child, too. Not just ours, but all of ours. She damn near killed him."
"We don't know what happened," Freya said, stroking his back. She was mad that Sherlock wasn't here to support John, to be with his son. "It - we don't know, John."
Spencer's face mask hissed. A machine bleeped loudly as his blood oxygen dropped and rose again. His eyes moved beneath puffy lids. The machine hissed again as he tried to speak..
"Dad."
"Shh, rest, Spencer. You've been quite ill," John said, gripping Spencer's hand. He used his free hand to brush the damp curls from Spencer's forehead. "You'll be alright. We'll take care of it."
"Mum?" Spencer choked out. " 'Live?"
"She's- She's been admitted. We'll take care of her. Just rest, now," John tried to sooth, but if any of them was a terrible liar, it was John. Spencer scowled, trying to sit up. Machines blared.
"Spencer," Freya said, reaching out. Spencer weakly flailed at her as he panted into his mask.
"You're very sick, Spencer, please," John begged, his voice cracking, helping Freya to push his son back into the bed. "Please, son, rest."
"Fuck you," Spencer swore. "Where's fa-ah-ther?"
"I'll get him, love," Freya promised. "Just a moment."
Spencer panted, still holding onto his Dad's hand with a firm grip. "Di' you know?"
Bleep!
Talking made the machines blare.
"Did I know what?" John asked, continuing to try and press Spencer back into the bed.
"E was gonna kill 'er," Spencer said, bleary eyes full of rage. John's hands stilled, eyes wide.
"Moriarty was going to kill her? What did she tell you?" John asked firmly, knowing he was wrong, but hoping. Oh, God, hoping.
"No, Dad. Father- promised," Spencer hissed. "Mum. Promised Mum." He swallowed. His throat hurt. "He'd kill her."
"She wasn't well, Spencer," John said, shaking his head. "You've no idea if what she said was true. She's sick-"
"She had killer pills!" Spencer shouted as best he could, sitting back up. "She though' I was 'im!"
"Proving my point a little," John muttered. "Spencer, stop!"
"Spencer?" Sherlock said, coming into the room. Spencer shoved himself off the opposite side of the bed from John. His mask ripped away, and his IV pulled out, leaving a trail of blood down his arm. He rushed his Father, throwing the hardest punches he could manage.
"Fuck you, fuck you!" Spencer shouted before collapsing. John hefted the man-child back into the hospital bed.
"You stop it and settle down. If you don't, I'll have you restrained. So help me, Spencer, I almost lost you," John ground out. He turned to Sherlock. "You offered to kill his mother, in case you were wondering."
Spencer grasped for the oxygen mask, inhaling quickly as his vision went spotty.
"Yes, yes I did," Sherlock admitted. "When she was wheelchair bound, and ready to die, I promised her I'd never let her live through the pain and suffering her mother went through. That she wouldn't die in a hospital."
"Bastard!" Spencer said, bleeding onto his hospital gown. It hurt, but not nearly as bad as the truth.
"You promised to kill her?" John asked, his voice going high and nervous. He blinked at his partner. "How could you promise that?"
"Because I would've promised her anything to keep her from doing it herself!" Sherlock said defensively."Do you have any idea how close she came? If I had known about the hallucinations, I never would've taken her to the country, and I never would've let her suffer them alone. She promised honesty, completely. And I swore I'd be there for her in the end. Would you not do the same for me?"
"No. No, she wasn't that bad," John said, shaking his head. "And we're not talking about what I'd do for you, we're talking about you promising our ex-fiancee you'd aid her in killing herself!"
"When it was time!" Sherlock countered. "To give her the hope to hold on. And look how long she's lived! She's begged, and I've told her time and again, it's not time, John. I made her promise that her life, the end of it, was mine. It was a desperate move."
"Maybe you should have ended it. She's gone off the bloody deep end-"
"Don't you talk about my mother like that," Finch said from the doorway, her eyes large in her pale face. "You don't know anything."
"Finch," Spencer panted in relief. "Make them leave."
Vance was right behind her. He nodded at both the older men. "I think it's best you both left."
"No," John said staunchly, shaking his head. He looked back at Spencer, eyes imploring. "Please. Don't do that to me tonight. Not today."
"Then get him out of 'ere," Spencer said, eyes flashing. "An' stop yellin'." He flailed his arm. "An' fix this." John tucked his blankets around him, fixing the IV in his arm, fussing like a mama cat.
"Sherlock, you should go," Finch said quietly. She offered him a tight grimace. "Besides, I heard voices." She tilted her head to the side, towards Mary's room. Sherlock looked torn, but nodded and left.
Spencer gestured for Finch with his good arm. The other hurt too much now with the IV in his upper arm instead of the crook. He shivered as John wiped up the blood and bound up the self-caused injury. He pulled the mask away.
"She's alive?" he asked, before putting it back to his
"Yes, she's alive. Damage is unknown, but her eyes opened a few moments ago. She's not speaking," Finch told him, smoothing his hair like John had. "Thank you. For finding her."
Spencer leaned into the petting. He truly loved his sister, for all that he was jealous of her. Mostly he wanted her affection and attention. "She was scared, Finch," he said. "I didn' know the pill was deadly. Thought it was just her meds. Thought she was just overwhelmed." He was breathless by the end of the sentence. He put the mask back on, even though it was harder to talk through it.
"It's okay, Spence. Just rest, or you'll give Dr. John a heart attack," Finch said, pulling the chair up so she could sit close next to him. "You're sick. You won't be able to take care of Bran if you're sick. So rest and feel better."
Spencer sighed, reaching for her. "Text them, please," he said, before letting his eyes drop closed again. He was so tired. Anger and adrenaline had dropped him fast.
"Kid's out like a light," Vance laughed softly. "Always thought he was a powder pouf underneath those suits."
Finch had already called Brandon, leaving a detailed message on his voice mail, and Abby's phone was switched off. "He's a baby. He's the baby, really. Just a big, old, spoiled softy." There was a hitch in her voice, and she sniffed. "He's my brother and I love him."
John smiled at her from across the bed. "He's going to be alright."
"I'm not worried about him," Finch answered softly.
"Your Mum will pull through," Vance said, squeezing her shoulder. "She's a tough old bird."
"She did," Seb insisted. "As a lover, and a sibling, in some strange way. She wanted to protect him from his madness. He was more.. with her. It hurt to see them together. It was like a fairy tale. A fair maiden taming the beast." He reached to stroke Mary's hair.
Freya poked her head in, bringing a tray of teas.
"She could be brain damaged," Sherlock said. "I'm not sure the cottage is safe for her any longer."
"A facility-," Freya said.
"Would be hell for her," Sherlock snapped.
"Spencer's stable," John said, pushing in behind Freya. "He's- I'm not staying long, but he's stable. Thought you'd like to know."
"Here, take a coffee," Freya said, handing one to John. "Jack and the children are supposed to be coming soon. Sherlock, you should see your son."
"Is he awake?" Sherlock asked, eyes not leaving Mary. John shook his head.
"Not yet. I'll send someone to fetch you when he wakes up. In the mean time, get used to the idea that if Mary is even remotely aware when she comes back, if she comes back, we're sticking her in a looney bin and throwing away the key," John shouted, eyes blazing.
Freya left the coffees, following John to Spencer's room. "John," she said, voice soft.
"Don't. Don't start. Look what she's done," John said, sliding his chair closer to his son. He picked up Spencer's hand, holding it tightly. "This is supposed to be her child, too. Not just ours, but all of ours. She damn near killed him."
"We don't know what happened," Freya said, stroking his back. She was mad that Sherlock wasn't here to support John, to be with his son. "It - we don't know, John."
Spencer's face mask hissed. A machine bleeped loudly as his blood oxygen dropped and rose again. His eyes moved beneath puffy lids. The machine hissed again as he tried to speak..
"Dad."
"Shh, rest, Spencer. You've been quite ill," John said, gripping Spencer's hand. He used his free hand to brush the damp curls from Spencer's forehead. "You'll be alright. We'll take care of it."
"Mum?" Spencer choked out. " 'Live?"
"She's- She's been admitted. We'll take care of her. Just rest, now," John tried to sooth, but if any of them was a terrible liar, it was John. Spencer scowled, trying to sit up. Machines blared.
"Spencer," Freya said, reaching out. Spencer weakly flailed at her as he panted into his mask.
"You're very sick, Spencer, please," John begged, his voice cracking, helping Freya to push his son back into the bed. "Please, son, rest."
"Fuck you," Spencer swore. "Where's fa-ah-ther?"
"I'll get him, love," Freya promised. "Just a moment."
Spencer panted, still holding onto his Dad's hand with a firm grip. "Di' you know?"
Bleep!
Talking made the machines blare.
"Did I know what?" John asked, continuing to try and press Spencer back into the bed.
"E was gonna kill 'er," Spencer said, bleary eyes full of rage. John's hands stilled, eyes wide.
"Moriarty was going to kill her? What did she tell you?" John asked firmly, knowing he was wrong, but hoping. Oh, God, hoping.
"No, Dad. Father- promised," Spencer hissed. "Mum. Promised Mum." He swallowed. His throat hurt. "He'd kill her."
"She wasn't well, Spencer," John said, shaking his head. "You've no idea if what she said was true. She's sick-"
"She had killer pills!" Spencer shouted as best he could, sitting back up. "She though' I was 'im!"
"Proving my point a little," John muttered. "Spencer, stop!"
"Spencer?" Sherlock said, coming into the room. Spencer shoved himself off the opposite side of the bed from John. His mask ripped away, and his IV pulled out, leaving a trail of blood down his arm. He rushed his Father, throwing the hardest punches he could manage.
"Fuck you, fuck you!" Spencer shouted before collapsing. John hefted the man-child back into the hospital bed.
"You stop it and settle down. If you don't, I'll have you restrained. So help me, Spencer, I almost lost you," John ground out. He turned to Sherlock. "You offered to kill his mother, in case you were wondering."
Spencer grasped for the oxygen mask, inhaling quickly as his vision went spotty.
"Yes, yes I did," Sherlock admitted. "When she was wheelchair bound, and ready to die, I promised her I'd never let her live through the pain and suffering her mother went through. That she wouldn't die in a hospital."
"Bastard!" Spencer said, bleeding onto his hospital gown. It hurt, but not nearly as bad as the truth.
"You promised to kill her?" John asked, his voice going high and nervous. He blinked at his partner. "How could you promise that?"
"Because I would've promised her anything to keep her from doing it herself!" Sherlock said defensively."Do you have any idea how close she came? If I had known about the hallucinations, I never would've taken her to the country, and I never would've let her suffer them alone. She promised honesty, completely. And I swore I'd be there for her in the end. Would you not do the same for me?"
"No. No, she wasn't that bad," John said, shaking his head. "And we're not talking about what I'd do for you, we're talking about you promising our ex-fiancee you'd aid her in killing herself!"
"When it was time!" Sherlock countered. "To give her the hope to hold on. And look how long she's lived! She's begged, and I've told her time and again, it's not time, John. I made her promise that her life, the end of it, was mine. It was a desperate move."
"Maybe you should have ended it. She's gone off the bloody deep end-"
"Don't you talk about my mother like that," Finch said from the doorway, her eyes large in her pale face. "You don't know anything."
"Finch," Spencer panted in relief. "Make them leave."
Vance was right behind her. He nodded at both the older men. "I think it's best you both left."
"No," John said staunchly, shaking his head. He looked back at Spencer, eyes imploring. "Please. Don't do that to me tonight. Not today."
"Then get him out of 'ere," Spencer said, eyes flashing. "An' stop yellin'." He flailed his arm. "An' fix this." John tucked his blankets around him, fixing the IV in his arm, fussing like a mama cat.
"Sherlock, you should go," Finch said quietly. She offered him a tight grimace. "Besides, I heard voices." She tilted her head to the side, towards Mary's room. Sherlock looked torn, but nodded and left.
Spencer gestured for Finch with his good arm. The other hurt too much now with the IV in his upper arm instead of the crook. He shivered as John wiped up the blood and bound up the self-caused injury. He pulled the mask away.
"She's alive?" he asked, before putting it back to his
"Yes, she's alive. Damage is unknown, but her eyes opened a few moments ago. She's not speaking," Finch told him, smoothing his hair like John had. "Thank you. For finding her."
Spencer leaned into the petting. He truly loved his sister, for all that he was jealous of her. Mostly he wanted her affection and attention. "She was scared, Finch," he said. "I didn' know the pill was deadly. Thought it was just her meds. Thought she was just overwhelmed." He was breathless by the end of the sentence. He put the mask back on, even though it was harder to talk through it.
"It's okay, Spence. Just rest, or you'll give Dr. John a heart attack," Finch said, pulling the chair up so she could sit close next to him. "You're sick. You won't be able to take care of Bran if you're sick. So rest and feel better."
Spencer sighed, reaching for her. "Text them, please," he said, before letting his eyes drop closed again. He was so tired. Anger and adrenaline had dropped him fast.
"Kid's out like a light," Vance laughed softly. "Always thought he was a powder pouf underneath those suits."
Finch had already called Brandon, leaving a detailed message on his voice mail, and Abby's phone was switched off. "He's a baby. He's the baby, really. Just a big, old, spoiled softy." There was a hitch in her voice, and she sniffed. "He's my brother and I love him."
John smiled at her from across the bed. "He's going to be alright."
"I'm not worried about him," Finch answered softly.
"Your Mum will pull through," Vance said, squeezing her shoulder. "She's a tough old bird."
***
Mary was staring at the ceiling. Refusing to speak to any of them.
Seb squeezed her hand as Sherlock walked in. "Mary," he rumbled.
"We know you're in there," Sherlock said, stalking straight up to the bed. He loomed over her, forcing her to look at him. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
She swallowed, looking very tired. "Yes, I expect I know exactly what I've done. Except the last bit. That bit got fuzzy."
"Spencer took your medicine," Sherlock said. "Did you ask him to?"
"That was-" Mary stopped herself, not willing to give them anything they could use against her. She shook her head. "He took it before I could stop him."
"You took one," Sherlock said. "You promised. You promised me. You never once told me about the hallucinations."
"Finch said you'd been seein' him for years," Freya said. "You could've at least told me."
"What's the point? I know he's not there," Mary whispered, closing her eyes. Maybe if she closed her eyes, they'd think she was asleep and go away.
"But that doesn't mean your brain isn't upset or distressed by the visions," Sherlock said, laying his hand over her forehead. "Do you see him now?"
"My eyes are closed," Mary pointed out. "I could be asleep."
"You aren't asleep, and apparently aren't brain damaged," Sherlock snarked back. "Open your eyes. You hear him, see him. Are you experiencing hallucinations?"
"Sherlock, leave her be," Freya said. "It doesn't matter."
"It does," Sherlock said, standing up straight. "If she is, we can get her brain scanned and find the activity."
"For fuck's sake, Sherlock," Mary muttered, opening her eyes to look at him. "I'm not- it's not consistent, I've been tested, I've been on medications, he doesn't go away. I'm tired. I'm tired of being told who I am and what I can and can't do by a troupe of men who honestly do love me but seriously need to stop picking on me. I'm tired of my legs not functioning. You know what it was like being in that chair, it was hell. I'm tired of waiting to die on someone else's terms, and more importantly, I'm tired of not knowing who I am anymore. And I'm tired of seeing him. That was my brother. I protected him since we were children, and I shot him in the head because he threatened you, Sebastian and Finch." Mary clenched her teeth together, trying to stop the sudden outpouring of emotional drivel that had spewed from her mouth. Mycroft had taught her better than this. Holmes didn't do emotions.
She turned her face away from him. "Nothing matters, anyway. I'm unfortunately still alive, and likely about to be sectioned, unless you decide to commit me first. Another instance where a group of people who aren't me will gladly make choices about my life, and this time, they can prove I'm not capable of making my own."
Sherlock reached down to stroke her wrist. "We aren't going to let-"
"Shut up," Sebastian said. Sherlock looked startled.
"A flat in London and a therapy nurse," Seb said. "You and me."
"Not on!" Sherlock said.
"No. I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to be in a chair," Mary whispered, curling up tighter, messing up her IV. She ignored it. Everything hurt, so it didn't matter.
Freya got off her chair and climbed onto the hospital bed. Her petite frame fitting with Mary's just so. She fixed the squished IV, and wedged a hand up Mary's torso as she curled around her. "Is your pride worth your life?" she asked.
Mary sniffed, hugging Freya's arms against her. "You remember. You have to remember. It was awful, those first years. And then, even when he came back, being forgotten, like a doll on a shelf. I don't want to be shelved anymore."
"I do, love," Freya sniffled. "But I never left you."
"No, I know. I'm the one that's good at leaving. This time excepted," Mary said, hating this. She squeezed her eyes closed. "I swear to God if you put me in a nuthouse I will hang myself with my bedsheets, see if I don't."
"For fuck's sake, Mary, you aren't crazy," Freya said, shoving away Seb's questing hand to get back to his wife. "We'll handle this like you want to. But you aren't leaving us. You ain't dying yet, sugar, because if you do I'll drag you back from the gates of hell myself."
Mary sighed, like she didn't believe her friend, but she just cuddled Freya closer, letting her eyes slip closed again. "I just couldn't tell anyone. That's all."
"Go to sleep," Freya said, kissing the back of Mary's neck. Mary had held her like this many, many times, when she was escaping the life of Moriarty. It always seemed to be Freya the one in need of being held. "You're in no state to make decisions anyway. You'll make them when you're less under pressure. No regrets, Mary. It doesn't mean do anything, it means think your shit through."
Seb squeezed her hand as Sherlock walked in. "Mary," he rumbled.
"We know you're in there," Sherlock said, stalking straight up to the bed. He loomed over her, forcing her to look at him. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
She swallowed, looking very tired. "Yes, I expect I know exactly what I've done. Except the last bit. That bit got fuzzy."
"Spencer took your medicine," Sherlock said. "Did you ask him to?"
"That was-" Mary stopped herself, not willing to give them anything they could use against her. She shook her head. "He took it before I could stop him."
"You took one," Sherlock said. "You promised. You promised me. You never once told me about the hallucinations."
"Finch said you'd been seein' him for years," Freya said. "You could've at least told me."
"What's the point? I know he's not there," Mary whispered, closing her eyes. Maybe if she closed her eyes, they'd think she was asleep and go away.
"But that doesn't mean your brain isn't upset or distressed by the visions," Sherlock said, laying his hand over her forehead. "Do you see him now?"
"My eyes are closed," Mary pointed out. "I could be asleep."
"You aren't asleep, and apparently aren't brain damaged," Sherlock snarked back. "Open your eyes. You hear him, see him. Are you experiencing hallucinations?"
"Sherlock, leave her be," Freya said. "It doesn't matter."
"It does," Sherlock said, standing up straight. "If she is, we can get her brain scanned and find the activity."
"For fuck's sake, Sherlock," Mary muttered, opening her eyes to look at him. "I'm not- it's not consistent, I've been tested, I've been on medications, he doesn't go away. I'm tired. I'm tired of being told who I am and what I can and can't do by a troupe of men who honestly do love me but seriously need to stop picking on me. I'm tired of my legs not functioning. You know what it was like being in that chair, it was hell. I'm tired of waiting to die on someone else's terms, and more importantly, I'm tired of not knowing who I am anymore. And I'm tired of seeing him. That was my brother. I protected him since we were children, and I shot him in the head because he threatened you, Sebastian and Finch." Mary clenched her teeth together, trying to stop the sudden outpouring of emotional drivel that had spewed from her mouth. Mycroft had taught her better than this. Holmes didn't do emotions.
She turned her face away from him. "Nothing matters, anyway. I'm unfortunately still alive, and likely about to be sectioned, unless you decide to commit me first. Another instance where a group of people who aren't me will gladly make choices about my life, and this time, they can prove I'm not capable of making my own."
Sherlock reached down to stroke her wrist. "We aren't going to let-"
"Shut up," Sebastian said. Sherlock looked startled.
"A flat in London and a therapy nurse," Seb said. "You and me."
"Not on!" Sherlock said.
"No. I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to be in a chair," Mary whispered, curling up tighter, messing up her IV. She ignored it. Everything hurt, so it didn't matter.
Freya got off her chair and climbed onto the hospital bed. Her petite frame fitting with Mary's just so. She fixed the squished IV, and wedged a hand up Mary's torso as she curled around her. "Is your pride worth your life?" she asked.
Mary sniffed, hugging Freya's arms against her. "You remember. You have to remember. It was awful, those first years. And then, even when he came back, being forgotten, like a doll on a shelf. I don't want to be shelved anymore."
"I do, love," Freya sniffled. "But I never left you."
"No, I know. I'm the one that's good at leaving. This time excepted," Mary said, hating this. She squeezed her eyes closed. "I swear to God if you put me in a nuthouse I will hang myself with my bedsheets, see if I don't."
"For fuck's sake, Mary, you aren't crazy," Freya said, shoving away Seb's questing hand to get back to his wife. "We'll handle this like you want to. But you aren't leaving us. You ain't dying yet, sugar, because if you do I'll drag you back from the gates of hell myself."
Mary sighed, like she didn't believe her friend, but she just cuddled Freya closer, letting her eyes slip closed again. "I just couldn't tell anyone. That's all."
"Go to sleep," Freya said, kissing the back of Mary's neck. Mary had held her like this many, many times, when she was escaping the life of Moriarty. It always seemed to be Freya the one in need of being held. "You're in no state to make decisions anyway. You'll make them when you're less under pressure. No regrets, Mary. It doesn't mean do anything, it means think your shit through."
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