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“Sherlock…”
Someone was calling to him. He jerked at every lash upon his back and groaned at the sting of air that followed. His arms were suspended and he hung from the shackles holding his wrists, slumped slightly to the floor.
“Sherlock…”
He knew that voice.
He needed to find that voice.
He barreled through his mind palace. The long corridors that seemed to go on forever seemed to shift under his feet the further he went. With every hit he would stumble and crash into a wall or a door.
“Sherlock…”
He needed to find her. He needed to get to her. Why had he put her so far back in his mind? She should be everywhere. She should be in every room and wall. That’s where she used to be. Where was she?
“Sherlock,” her voice whispered softly. “Open your eyes.”
He did and found her sitting on a bed. Her red hair was loose and she looked like she was ready to spend her day at home. Sherlock stumbles to her and fell to his knees at her feet, burying his face into her stomach as he grasped for her. He shuddered as she began to run her fingers through his hair and stroke his back.
“Oh, Sherlock, what have they done to you.” Her lips pressed to the top of his head. “They’re hurting you, dear heart.”
“Emily…”
She smiled down at him as he looked up into her big, brown eyes. He surged forward and kissed her. Sherlock wrapped her in his arms and pressed her to the bed and kissed her. She smiled against his lips, pulling back and peppering his face with kisses. He slumped against her and buried his face into her collar.
“Where is she?” He asked, his voice hoarse.
“She’s fine. Don’t worry.” Emily sat up and then helped Sherlock stand. She brushed his coat and straightened his collar. “I’m more worried about you right now. Are you okay? And don’t just say you are.”
“I’m fine.”
“No. No, you’re not.” She pressed a hand to his face and rubbed her thumb along his cheekbone. “Sherlock, do you know where you are?”
“Yes.”
She hadn’t aged a day. She was forever twenty-four and smiling. She was wearing that stupid hoodie she had bought for him that he had always refused to wear. Why hadn’t he ever worn it? It would have made her happy. It swallowed her, wrapped her up in warmth when he was unable to. That’s probably why she was wearing it now.
“Sherlock? Do you know where you are?”
“In my mind palace.”
She should’ve have stayed home. The meeting wasn’t a required thing. She could have stayed home. She could have stayed home with him. She shouldn’t have gotten into that car. He should have known something was wrong.
‘Say it. Say it like you mean it.’ Her voice echoed off of hospital walls and he almost couldn’t stand anymore.
‘I love you.’ The beeping turned into a flat note as he said it. ‘I love you! Emily please!’
“Do you know where you are?” She asked again.
“Is she safe?”
Emily smiled. “Of course she’s safe. You made sure no one could touch her. You made sure no one could link her to you like he could with me.”
Moriarty.
He hadn’t known who the psychopath was back then. But he had taken away the one thing that made him normal and killed it. He hadn’t learned the truth until a few days before the Fall.
Moriarty had killed her or, at least, orchestrated her murder.
Moriarty had killed Emily Holmes.
Moriarty has killed Sherlock’s wife.
“Sherlock, do you know where you are?”
He looked at her and gripped her arms tightly. Her clothes had changed. They were the ones she wore the second to last time he saw her. She was in her work uniform, ready to go to work at the hospital. She was smiling at him brightly as though nothing was wrong.
“I’m in my mind palace.”
She sighed and shook her head. “You can’t lie to me, Sherlock Holmes. Do you know where you are?”
He heard laughter just beyond the door. It was a sound he didn’t hear very often. It was beautiful and pure and everything he wasn’t. He didn’t deserve her. He didn’t deserve either of them. He didn’t deserve any of them.
“She’s grown a lot, hasn’t she?” Emily asked, wistfully. “I wish I could have met her.”
“You have met her.”
Emily chuckled. “I wish I could have really met her. You know what I mean, Sherlock.” She looked at him and tilted her head. “Do you know where you are, Sherlock?”
The door opened and a little girl, barely two, burst into the room. Her curly red hair bounced as she toppled towards them and grabbed onto Sherlock’s leg. She looked at him with his own blue-green eyes. She smiled proudly as she gripped his trousers.
Emily giggled. “You really need to stop seeing her as a two-year-old, Sherlock. I understand why I’m still twenty-four, but really.” She glanced at him. “Do you know where you are?”
Sherlock looked down again and the little girl—his little girl, his Annie—was seven now. Her beautiful hair was gone and her head was covered in a red scarf she would say made her look like a pirate. She was thin and pale, but she was smiling. She buried her face into the side of his leg and giggled when his fingers brushed against the fabric of the scarf.
“Sherlock?”
“My heart,” he answered.
“That’s not what I was asking, Sherlock.”
Emily knelt down and kissed the top of her daughter’s head. He should have begged her to stay. He should have been selfish like he always was and ordered her to stay with him in their flat with their daughter. Annie should have had better than him. She should have had her mother. She should have had Emily.
His wife looked up at him, her cheek pressed against her daughter’s head. “Do you know where you are?”
“Molly’s flat.”
“Sorry, I wanted to give you some alone time!” The pathologist, his pathologist, came in. “Annie, you know better than to disturb your Mummy’s and Da’s private time.”
Annie began to pout. She was nine now. Her hair was short. She looked a little stronger. She was wearing the ridiculous jumper she had been wearing in the picture from her birthday Mycroft had sent to Sherlock’s secure cell phone half a year ago. His brother had informed him that the adoption process was complete and Annie was officially Anne Begonia Emily Hooper.
“But Mum, he’s being so stupid. How could he not know where we were?” Annie rolled her eyes at her mum’s glare. “Fine. But in my defense he thought I was two.”
“Molly—”
“It’s almost time for you to come home soon.” She said, happily. Annie wrapped her arms around Molly’s hips. “We miss you. John misses you too.”
“Why isn’t he here?”
Emily snorts. “Because you know John is going to hit you the second you go home.”
He looked at Emily and she looked sad.
‘You look sad when you think he can’t see you.’
“Emily, I—”
“I can’t be there, Sherlock.” She nodded to Molly. “She can. She counts. She’s always counted and you’ve always trusted her. That’s why when you found out she had met Annie you didn’t stop her from seeing our baby girl.” Emily smiled at the other woman. “She’s a good woman. She’s a good mum. That’s why you left Annie to her.”
“I don’t deserve her.”
“It’s not about deserving, Sherlock.”
“I didn’t deserve you.”
“Silly.” Emily shook her head. “You deserve so much more than you’ll ever know.” She looked up. “It’s time to go out now.”
“Uncle Myc is sitting to your right,” Annie chirped happily. “That means you’re coming home soon.”
“Come home, Sherlock,” Molly whispered. She pressed a hand to his cheek. “Come home.”
Sherlock opened his eyes. He was going home.