Chapter Text
The ride home from Musgrave Hall was a long and quiet drive, and the rise and fall of his best friend's breathing was the only sound that could be heard in the backseat of their taxi.
John sat next to him in the back of the cabbie, facing towards the window with his head laying against the back of the seat and his eyes closed - probably dreaming about his late wife and his daughter, Rosie. He's definitely tired, and rightfully so, he was stuck in a well for most of the night. But it's comforting to hear his breathing in the silence – to show signs of life because just about a few hours ago, there was a possibility he wouldn't even be alive.
But even with the silence, it was anything but quiet to Sherlock.
No matter how exhausted he felt – he can feel it in his bones, how tired he actually was - his brain was on overdrive. The amount of data he's learned in the past 24hrs, it's been a lot to process; he is having a hard time coping with all that's he's learned about himself. He's figured the only way to understand it all is to think about everything he's learned – one at a time – in his mind palace, like a list.
First, it was the secret of his not-so-secret sister, Eurus. He didn't understand at first why Mycroft kept all this from him; reprogram his mind and his memories, but he understands now, and well, it wasn't all just Mycroft, was it? He did rewrite his memories as a coping mechanism, which makes sense since he was a child when this tragedy happened. But regardless of all that, Eurus is a Holmes.
She might have certain qualities that make her not suitable to live as a functional person in society, but she's still his sister. Maybe if he had known about her sooner, he could have prevented all of this. He could have given her what she wanted – someone to play with. To keep her mind entertained, and maybe – just maybe – she would be a little bit happier and not so psychotic.
Well, there's no time like the present, mummy always said. He decided that the best way to prevent this from happening again was by building a relationship with Eurus. He will set up a plan with Mycroft to regain access to Sherrinford for monthly visits with her. It's not a lot, but it's a start.
And speaking of tragedy – Redbeard. He was so convinced that he had a dog – Irish Settler to be exact – but it was just a false representation of who it actually was. It's been tough for him to come to terms with the fact that Redbeard wasn't a dog at all but a real person who was very close to him - Victor.
But why did he always remember Redbeard as a dog and not as a boy? Well, it's simple; to protect himself. He rewrote his memories to forget Eurus and to believe that Redbeard was a dog because the truth was far too terrible for him to stand.
"The truth is never pure and rarely simple."
The truth of the matter is that Eurus killed Victor, out of spite and out of pure jealously - by dumping him in a well, letting him die of starvation, dehydration, and the list goes on.
As Sherlock sat in the back of the cabbie, thinking about Victor, he started to feel wetness build on the rim of his eyes before blinking out some tears that slowly rolled down his cheeks. Sherlock let out a shuddered breath, trying to will himself to keep it together so he didn't wake up his friend. But if John were to see him right now, he would know exactly how Sherlock felt because John has felt this before, many times. Grief.
Victor's family must have been grieving all their lives, never knowing what truly happened to their son, never finding his body. Of course, over time, the hope of finding him must have diminished, and they accepted the fact that he was missing and, more than likely, dead. But they never got to say goodbye to him fully, to bury him. He was never brought back to his family, so they never really had proper closure.
He's not saying that he's a fault for what happened to Victor, but in a way, he is, so he realizes that he needs to be the one to do this for them. So he decided that he'd be the one to tell them, help them with any expenses they need for a proper funeral for Victor and if Mycroft has any ounce of compassion in him, maybe set them up for life any way he can. They deserve to have that closure – to know that their son is not lost anymore.
Sherlock quickly wiped away the tears that fell down his cheeks and sniffed. Then, he pulled out his phone and opened up to his recent dialled-out calls.
Recent Outgoing calls – Molly (2)
Sherlock just sat there, staring at his phone screen, the brightness of his phone screen eliminating light in the back of the cabbie. He couldn't stop looking at her name. Molly. But the brightness of his phone caused his friend to stir in his sleep. Seeing that John was waking up, Sherlock relocked his phone with a click and shoved it back into his coat pocket.
John let out a heavy sigh before sitting up straight. He cleared his throat and rubbed his forehead a few times before finally looking over at Sherlock.
"How far along?" John croaked out.
"A couple of more hours, at most."
"Good, good."
John then repositioned himself in his seat to face Sherlock a bit more.
"Did you sleep?" He asked, finally.
"Uh, no," Sherlock replied.
"Sherlock, you've been up for the past three days; you need to sleep." John chastised.
"I can't," Sherlock admitted easily.
"I know, but try."
He tried, and for once, it wasn't that hard. But, as he said before, he could really feel how exhausted he was. He actually slept for the last few hours of the drive. Once they got into the heart of London, the cabbie asked for an address, and John must have answered because they pulled up to John's house instead of 221B since it was out of commission at the moment, so John's house was the best choice.
"Sherlock? Wake up. We're back."
"Hmm? 5 more minutes, John."
"No, now, Sherlock. I'm sure this cab driver is tired of driving and wants to go home."
It took all the strength Sherlock had to lift his head off the seat and wake himself up. John then grabbed all of his things – phone and coat, pulled out his wallet from his coat pocket, and pulled out some money.
"Keep it; it's been paid for already, sir."
"Mycroft," Sherlock mumbled, rubbing his eyes awake.
"Oh, right. Cheers then." John replied, opening his side door and climbing out.
It didn't take long for Sherlock to follow suit and walk with John towards the front door to John's house.
"Rosie?" Sherlock asked, noticing how quiet it was in the house.
"She at my sisters at the moment," John replied, dropping his things on the kitchen island.
"Harry's?" Sherlock grimaced.
"I wasn't too keen on the idea either, but I had no one else available to watch her when went off to play pirates in Sherrinford."
Sherlock nodded, understanding.
"And I wasn't going to ask Mrs. Hudson to watch my daughter after part of her flat blew up because of us, so Harry's it was."
"Indeed."
"Hungry?" John asked suddenly.
"Starving, really," Sherlock admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I'll make up some sandwiches." John decided, walking over to the fridge and pulling out all the supplies.
Sherlock then let out a sigh and parked his butt on one of John's kitchen stools. The sound of silverware hitting plates was all that was heard, in John's quite flat. It had to be early in the morning, around two, Sherlock confirmed, looking at John's digital clock on his microwave.
"Here."
"Thank you."
They both ate in silence, enjoying the feeling of filling their empty stomachs.
"God." John sighed happily. "This is bloody delicious."
Sherlock smirked, taking another bite.
"It is. You know how great it is just to sit and eat a sandwich after almost dying?" John chuckled, finishing his first half.
"I can't say that I do." Sherlock lied, knowing very well how it felt. Taking down Moriarty's web didn't leave much time for sustenance – So, Sherlock's first meal back was the best food he's ever eaten, even though it was just from Speedy's.
"It's like… I'm still able to enjoy the little things like this; enjoy a damn sandwich…but most of all, I still have a life to enjoy with my daughter; it's a great feeling." John explained with a small smile. "Thank you, Sherlock."
"You're thanking me?" Sherlock asked, confused.
"Yeah, you saved my life."
"But I was the one who put your life in danger."
"No, no, it wasn't you. It was – her. Your sister, not you."
"But she wouldn't have –"
"But nothing! We're going to stop this right now, stop this self-blaming act that you're so fond of doing. It wasn't your fault." John finalized. "Any of it."
Sherlock looked down at his half-eaten sandwich sitting on his plate. He didn't really know what to say, but he knew that John was right. He needs to stop blaming himself for things he has no control over – no matter how much he wishes he had control over everything and everyone in his life – he's doesn't. He is human – a conclusion he came to accept fully - and sometimes things just…happen to no fault of your own.
"Anyway, why don't I get you some blankets for the couch?" John suggested, placing his empty plate in the sink, snapping Sherlock out of his daze.
"Yes, uh, thank you, John."
"No problem, mate. Tomorrow is a new day."
They shared a small smile before John left Sherlock to finish his sandwich. Once John gave him some blankets and a pair of spare pj's, John announced that he was finally going off to bed. They bid each other goodnight, and Sherlock was once again left alone with all his thoughts.
Sherlock let out a small sigh before climbing onto John's couch and finally throwing the blankets over him. By the time Sherlock washed his face, brushed his teeth with the spare toothbrush he had left that one time and got settled for bed, it was past three in the morning. As Sherlock laid there in the dark, he couldn't help but hear the echo of his friends' words in his mind palace.
"Tomorrow is a new day."
His words rang true, tomorrow is, in fact, a new day, and Sherlock knows he has a lot to start tomorrow. First things first, figure out a plan to meet with Eurus monthly, then contact Victor's family to tell them that the mystery of their missing son has been finally solved, possibly get the renovations on 221B started.
But he realizes most of all... he needs to figure out precisely what happened between him and Molly and see where they stand.
Tomorrow is a new day, indeed.