Chapter Text
2011
John didn't think Sherlock had ever asked why he didn't have much of an extended family, or even why he was willing to look at a flatshare with a man he only barely met. He wonders if the reason would surprise Sherlock now.
****
John knows that Mycroft is going to arrange the funeral, and under the numbing anger and pain, he is grateful. He knows that he would crumple like a tower of dominoes, accelerating its own inevitable chaos at the slightest touch.
The hospital keeps him overnight, at first mistaking his silence and almost catatonic visage for more severe brain damage. But it isn't John's brain that is damaged.
****
John's steps up to the flat are slow. He remembers Sherlock bantering as he stepped inside after chasing the cabbie. Already he can feel the cramping in his leg, signaling the limp's return.
It isn't until John gets back to Baker St that he thinks about his clothes. In the hospital he simply put on what he had been wearing when, well, when they admitted him. As Mrs. Hudson fusses over him, he realizes the cyclist did more damage than the bump on his head, his jumper and shirt are torn.
"I can't believe it. I simply can't John. Why? Why would he..?"
"I don't know, Mrs. Hudson. I just don't know."
"Well, let's get you cleaned up then. Look at you, all torn. I would have brought you better clothes if you'd rung me."
"I didn't notice."
"Well, go get a shower, I'll lay something out for you. Just this once."
His gaze gets caught in the mirror over the mantle. It had been a long time, but he remembered that expression. Not even when he had been invalided had his face worn that look. In fact, it wasn't his face that he remembered the look from. It was Granny Eva's face that bore that look. The day they buried Granddad Hamish.
****
1981
John had spent every summer since he could remember in the countryside with his Granny Eva and Granddad Hamish. He was really looking forward to this year, because Granddad had said there was a litter of sheepdog puppies at the neighbor's, and Granddad said he could have one!
The next two weeks were going to take forever, John thought, but then he would have the whole summer with Granny and Granddad. John skipped up the front walk, happy another day of school was behind him.
"Mum, I'm home! Just two more weeks! Mum?"
John approached his mum. He knew she hadn't been feeling well, the new baby brother or sister kept making her sick, making her laugh all funny or cry for no reason. But this seemed different. Instead of the loud sobs or high, squeaky laughter, there was just silence and muffled sniffing.
"John, come here and sit down." John's mother Mags gestured to the sofa at her side. "Granddad --"
"What? Mum, what's happened? Is Granddad alright?"
"Oh, John. I'm so sorry. Your Granddad, well, they think he, he had an aneurysm. He just, keeled over." Mags voice hitched as she spoke. "The doctors say, he didn't feel anything. It, it was quick."
"I, I don't... What, what are you saying? He's going to be fine, Mum. He--" John gasped, his throat feeling like it was closing up.
"I'm so sorry, John."
"No. No! I, I was supposed to spend the summer with him. What about Granny? What is she going to do? I was supposed to get a puppy!" John flushed as he heard himself. He wasn't a baby to be crying, but it seemed like he couldn't help it.
"Well, Granny Eva said for you to come. In fact she wants you there as soon as you can be. She wants you there for the funeral on Monday. She said you needed to be there." Mags reached out an uncomfortable hand, awkwardly patting John's shoulder.
"What about you, Mum? Are you coming too?"
"No, dear. I'm, well, it's not a good idea for me to travel in this condition. Maybe once the baby's born."
-*-*-
John doesn't remember the train ride to Ulgham. He knows his mum put him on the train that afternoon, that he arrived so late that the station office was closed, and his Granny's neighbors were waiting on the platform for him to arrive.
"Don't worry about your bags, lad. We'll fetch them in the morning." He remembers the neighbor putting his arm around him, guiding him down the steps from the platform out to the waiting car. “Here now lad, we'll get you home.”
He remembers his Granny meeting him at the door, thanking the neighbor, and ushering him inside.
“Oh, Granny!” John buried his face in her dress.
“There now, lovey. Don't get all worked up. I know, dear one, you love your Granddad. I love him too. For tonight, it's time for bed. Come along now.”
“Yes, Granny.” John was far too tired and sick at heart to argue.
****
2011
The air in the flat was unaccountably heavy, John's breath rattling in his lungs and throat. Yet at the same time, the space was emptier than he had ever imagined it could be considering how much of their lives was scattered about. He stared blearily at himself in the mirror over the mantle. His expression shocked him, the lines and bruising leaving him almost unrecognizable, even to himself.
Blasted open by the rawness of the expression, John crumpled to the floor. His hands shook as he retrieved his phone from his pocket and dialed a number from memory.
“Hello?”
“Granny? Gran; I know you hate London. I know it's hard for you to travel, but... I need you, Granny.”
“My dearest boy, what's wrong? What happened? I thought you were happy in London, helping your detective.”
“Oh, Gran. He's, he's, gone.” Just saying the words made John gasp.
"Oh, my boy. My dearest boy. Of course I'll come. How soon?"
"Oh, not for a couple of days, I believe. Mycroft is handling all of the details. I'm not, not family."
"Pfft. You are more that boy's family than his brother, from what you've said, but I understand. Ours is not to question. I'll take the train down tomorrow. You remember when the London train leaves, yes? What station is closest to you?"
"We're right around the corner from Marylebone, or you can come in to St Pancras or King's Cross if it's easier."
"Meet me at King's Cross."
"Yes, Granny. Thank you. I love you."
"I love you too, my dearest boy."