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“Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.”

Chapter Text

Sherlock was busy typing away at a blistering pace as the plot of his first attempt at writing a book was coming to an epic denouement.

As dramatic on paper and ink as he had been in real life, Sherlock’s protagonist was a truly badass young woman, half Vulcan, half human, whip smart and sharp tongued whenever she did deign to talk to the ‘plebs’ who seemed to flood her city, the great Megapolis of Highhollow, somewhere around 2500 AD, where she lived for half the year.

The other half she spent on the colony on the Moon, because after all, where there were humans there was crime.

She wore a dramatic deep red coat and swash-buckled her way through crime scenes. Being followed by a short humanoid robot ‘assistant’ of the K9 model. She often called him ‘pet’ when she was in a rare good mood.

Of course she had to deal with the Guardian of the Galaxy rather often. She was very fond of him really but she would never let him know. Emotions were a defect on the losing side. It would do her no good if her threats to leave him and the Work couldn’t be made with a straight face.

If Anthea had caught hold of the manuscript she may have smirked at the thinly veiled mashup of herself and Sherlock that Verity Marshall was.

On a regular basis Verity the Private Investigator ( Vera to close friends and to her fussy but loving housekeeper), would brush off the Guardian’s objections to her rude behaviour by explaining to him that she was a Misanthrope and if he didn’t understand what that meant, he needed to find a dictionary and deal with it and stop bothering her!!

Sherlock was busy doing a thesaurus search for word alternatives to ‘annoying’ when his phone rang.

The noise was suddenly very loud in the quiet flat.

Oscar and Wild had been dozing in the living room and were startled by the alien sound. The flat erupted in a cacophony of mews and sharp barks as Sherlock searched for the phone on his desk.

Unknown number said the screen.

Ugh. He pressed ignore.

He decidedly did NOT want a pre-approved credit card, or a loan or any interference with the flow of his creativity….

The phone rang again.

Suddenly he realized that it was almost noon and that Mycroft hadn’t messaged him with a reminder for breakfast. He hadn’t noticed because he had been writing furiously from the moment he kissed Mycie goodbye that morning.

He had a brief moment of panic and he answered the phone.

“Mr. Ross Willis?” A voice asked.

“Yes. This is he.” Sherlock answered, fighting to keep the dread away from his voice.

No one called him! Ever. Even Mycroft didn’t usually because he knew he preferred texting.

So why….

“This is New York General Hospital.”

Sherlock thought he was going to pass out when he heard those words. There was a ringing in his ears and he barely understood what the woman was trying to tell him.



Mycroft had had an accident!!

He had been crossing the street outside some odd station (Why had he gone there? Sherlock thought fleetingly) and had been knocked down by a speeding taxi. He had been unconscious when he was taken to the hospital and was taken into the operation theatre right away to fix the femur fracture.

She was calling to inform him because they had checked his wallet and the Social Security number and the records showed him listed as next-of- kin.

Sherlock never remembered afterwards what he did next and what he did after that and what he did once that was done…….but somehow he managed to keep food and water out for the children and took a taxi to go to the hospital.

As the taxi sped through Manhattan his brain was full of white noise and screams and chants of Mycie please please please please please …..please……. I can’t do this without you. Please be ok. Please please please please please please

When he finally reached Mycroft’s bedside and saw him there…..why had he never noticed how much weight Mycie had lost over the last year?? Mycie suddenly looked so frail and Sherlock’s heart almost stopped.

What would he do if Mycie…no…must not think such thoughts.

He looked up at the nurse who was talking to him.

“Mr. Willis?”

Yes he nodded, wiping away a tear that had trickled unbidden down his cheek.

“Oh don’t worry Mr. Willis!” the older woman said cheerfully, her thick Jamaican accent making him feel illogically reassured. “He is going to be jus fiiine. It’s the anaesthesia. Hasn’t worn out yet. He signed his own consent papers before we took him in. There was no time for him to talk to you because he was losing blood.”

“Thank you!! Sherlock said, suddenly grateful for people who were considerate and thoughtful and wincing inside himself for all the times he had been rough with witnesses and victims of crime.

He sent up a heartfelt apology to them all as he sat next to Mycroft and held his hand tenderly.

Caring is not an advantage he thought.

Mycroft was right. It had made him weak now. That was true….But he would take this over the way things had been earlier. Every time.

He rubbed his thumb over Mycie’s hand, delicately, wanting to crawl into the bed with him and never leave him again, even for a second.

He decided fiercely that he was going to make Mycie also work from home now. They would just live inside the flat and order takeaway and never step out into the big bad dangerous world again…ever….

He would keep Mycie safe from murderous cabbies and manholes and traffic signals and oh whatever it was that killed people in Manhattan.

He had been sitting for half an hour when Mycroft stirred and mumbled.

“Lockie? Lock…..where are you?”

Sherlock panicked. Mycroft was obviously still under sedation and had forgotten that it was two and a half years since they had used those names in public!

“Mark?” Sherlock asked him. “How are you love?”

Mycroft frowned at his voice. “Lock?” He said again.

“Ross here sweetheart. Mark? How are you feeling Mark?” Sherlock tried again.

“Please call Sherlock.” Mycroft whispered. “He will be so worried.”

Sherlock gripped his hand tight and whispered.

“Mycie? I am here but remember that you are Mark now and I am Ross!”

At this Mycroft opened his eyes. “What? Why? Is it for a case?”

Sherlock just stared at him in terror.

Mycroft didn’t remember?? What the hell was he supposed to do now??