Work Text:
The pool. Midnight.
The message arrived during the service. A sensible man would not have gone, but John had left sensible back in Switzerland and for the first time since then was more than numb.
He was furious.
He arrived on time, still wearing his black weddings-and-funerals suit. The pool was empty, the reconstruction incomplete, but enough to take him back fourteen months. The jacket, the bomb, Moriarty. Sherlock. Fresh pangs of anger hit him.
Something moved behind him and he gripped his gun. A voice spoke.
An impossible voice.
A wonderful voice.
“Can you keep a secret?”