Chapter Text
The human condition often demands that we choose the lesser of two evils. Sooner or later, every one of us faces such a choice. And once made, those choices return to us in the dead of night - haunting us and making us grieve for what can't be undone. They make us wish to turn back time and rewrite the path that led us there.
But deep down, we always know the truth - the alternative was never truly an option. To live with the knowledge that your suffering is the desired outcome - that's cruel. But it is life.
In the end, we can only play the hand we're dealt. And mine was the sort that makes seasoned players cut their losses and walk away.
But I had to keep playing.
My judgment was too clouded to come up with a sensible answer once I heard Sherlock's words. Feeling the sudden urge to intervene, I took his free hand in mine, searching for his eyes.
"Let's do this later," my voice cracked. I knew postponing the inevitable was futile and would only buy me a few hours, but it was still a few hours more I would have. I was a drowning man so desperate that I believed a straw could save me. Yet my demand seemed to confuse and irritate him.
"I cannot make sense of it - why would we wait? It is the truth - and the very reason we came to Cordona," he protested, waving the brown folder before my eyes, but even if I hated being so intrusive with him, I did not let go of his hand.
"Because I can't do this now." The trembling in my voice had spread to my entire body, and my grip tightened. "I can't. Please. Let's go home and handle this matter when we've rested."
It was coming - I felt it. And he wasn't ready. I'd been a part of his soul for too long not to know he would handle it badly. There was a hollowness in him that was starving for an extreme. A tragedy was about to unfold and I was feeling helpless. He'd been too devastated by her death and too heartbroken by the last year of her life. He'd been shattered into pieces by the torment she'd had him undergo and by the great love he had for her still.
His irritation did not seem to ease, but after a moment of silence, he nodded. "Very well. Perhaps it's unwise to confront whatever lies ahead without resting first. Our night was too long already."
Only then did I let go of his hand, empty smile on my lips, but the desired relief didn't come. He didn't comment on my visible distress, likely too afraid to ask a question whose answer he didn't want to hear. In retrospect, I think he must have been aware - or at least suspected - that I knew. It was likely his love for me that made his suspicion too bitter to face. Yet.
Without another word, we left the archives; he led the way, and I followed. The police station had indeed become more peaceful after Manchios' guests had gone home, and the rays of a new dawn painted its rooms in a warm orange colour. It was as tranquil as the calm before the storm.
Still, I was grateful for every moment of calm I got, for it was not meant to last. In fact, it was cut short by a much-hated sound.
"Mr Holmes! Still working at this hour?" The unpleasantly silky voice was again loaded with disproportionate amusement - it made my skin crawl and my stomach drop. Out of all the people in our vast world, Verner Vogel was the last one I wanted to see in a moment like this. But as luck would have it, my day was meant to keep getting worse, and I couldn't suppress the irritated groan. "And Mr Jonson is right behind you, although he doesn't seem all that happy to see me."
"Don't mind him, it's been a long night, and our spirits are low," Sherlock replied, eager to change the topic before the conversation derailed and became too unpleasant. Much to my regret, he seemed interested in conversing with Vogel - he walked up to the man and asked how he felt after spending the night in the station.
I, for my part, did not deign to reply to Vogel, nor was I interested in what they had to discuss. Instead of forcing myself through that charade again and having to pretend I didn't want him gone from Sherlock's life, I walked past them, glancing at my friend. "I will be waiting outside in the fresh air. It reeks here."
I hated it there. This treacherous man bought me more time - something that I knew I should be grateful for, even if he hadn't done it intentionally. But it stung nevertheless - to know he'd invited Sherlock to that appalling gathering only to mess with us both. And that, despite all, Sherlock still enjoyed having him around.
The square by the police station had filled up with people and chatter. On any other day, I would have enjoyed the commotion, which made the small island feel alive and busy. Young couples strolled past me hand in hand, while newspaper boys shouted sensational headlines, hoping to sell a paper or two. Even a street promoter was there, calling out for participants to join a scavenger hunt. Yet, I could only head to the next bench and once there, rest my face in my palms to blend it all out.
The past sleepless night caught up to me again, this time hitting me tenfold and drowning my senses in the muddy waters of exhaustion. Yet, my mind still raced like a horse with unsteady legs. Even more than the night before, I heard the clock ticking.
He wasn't ready.
If he'd been... I'd likely not lived long enough to be there still. Both the cause and the circumstances surrounding her death - they were too much for him to bear. I knew it, knew it, knew it without a doubt! Panic was overtaking me - I raised my head in a single abrupt motion, eyes scanning the area before me, seeing he'd not come out yet, and cursing Vogel once again. I knew his world would crumble - and I might not be able to pick up the pieces anymore. But my desperation and my prayers didn't seem of matter - Cordona kept on moving through its day.There was no help coming, no advice from a wise mind, no shoulder to cry on. Yet, then, in my darkest hours - a sparkle of hope...
There was a well-clad man standing a few feet away from me. Young, with a scar on the neck, smoking a cigarette and reading a newspaper, body angled perfectly toward the police station's entrance. All benches were free, but he'd rather stand by the street lamp.
And I knew what this meant - I'd seen them around every corner, wordlessly following each of our steps and disappearing once we'd approach them.
This man was not interested in me. Or rather, he was much more interested in somebody else - in Sherry, who was still wasting time with his favourite degenerate. But that didn't stop me. Shooting up from the bench, I crossed the distance between us without wasting time.
"Tell Mycroft that Sherlock has Violet's file. He needs to know. Please, go to him immediately," I urged, my heart racing like mad in my chest. I glanced at the door again, knowing Sherlock ought never to see me talk to an agent, knowing that what I was doing would be seen as betrayal of the worst kind.
"I beg your pardon, but do I know you?" The man asked, drawing my attention back to himself. My brows furrowed, and the pit in my stomach threatened to make me throw up at any moment - preferably on his polished shoes. I couldn't believe I had to deal with these games of pretend on top of everything that was happening!
"Name's Jon, glad to meet you. Your boss won't be happy if you fail to warn him on time that his brother is about to make the greatest mistake of his life. But if you'd rather pretend not to be a spy for the British government, I'm willing to turn around and pretend this conversation never happened."
And with this, I turned my back on him and walked back to my bench, all while taking deep breaths and holding them in to soothe the harrowing fear that had taken me into its grip. I squeezed my eyes shut, counted to ten, let the air leave my mouth slowly on the exhale, but all these methods did nothing to make me feel better.
Once I opened my eyes again, the man was gone, and I hoped and prayed to God I'd been right about him. But before I could consider my remaining options, I saw Sherlock heading in my direction from across the plaza. The sight of his quickened pace made me feel dizzy.
"Shall we?" His eyes studied me briefly once he'd reached me. To my relief, he'd not seen me with the agent. "You look awful. I merely let Vogel know of the case's outcome. In return, I was forced to endure a lecture I'd not requested about my own stubbornness in pursuing the truth." He frowned - Vogel had managed to sour his mood. Under other circumstances, I'd have leapt with joy and prayed his mood towards the man stayed sour for eternity. But Vogel had a point this time.
"I told you he was an irritating fellow," I forced a smile and got up on my tired feet again.
"Perhaps I shall listen to you more often."
"Perhaps."
But those were empty words - they rubbed salt into the gaping wound. When it came to what mattered most, he'd never listen. Yet saying this out loud was pointless, for we both knew it already.
And so I followed him in silence, watched him pace through Cordona's streets and occasionally turn to check on me. After the first time, he stopped asking why I didn't walk beside him but slacked behind. I suppose he must have known that it wasn't mere exhaustion that tormented me, but once again, he chose not to question my dishonesty openly. He simply nodded and walked on.
Dread, anticipation, curiosity, hope, relief - these things blended in together into an expression that made him look almost frantic, like a madman. But whenever his eyes fell on me, whenever he looked back at me, I liked to tell myself that there was also love I saw, buried underneath the disappointment that kept growing. And even though my heart broke each time, I smiled - couldn't help but smile when I saw his lovely face illuminated by the autumn sun.
"Can we walk through Miner's End?" I asked after some time. A sinister idea had been born from my weary mind the moment we'd set into motion. The lesser of two evils - a sacrifice of all I loved so he wouldn't have to suffer more than needed. Wordlessly, he obliged - kept following the street instead of turning left. The silence weighed heavily, threatening to crush me, but it wasn't until we reached Caesar's Bridge that I allowed myself to cave under its burden. At its highest point, I stopped.
It didn't take him long to notice and turn to look at me - it was likely my shadow that revealed I'd ceased walking.
"Have you at last decided to be truthful?" He sounded hurt - he wasn't a man who was easily deceived, and I was a terrible actor who'd put no effort into his deception.
I shook my head - it was my last attempt, but even if I knew the outcome already, I had to try to change it. A drowning man, indeed.
"Please, don't look into her file." My voice cracked terribly - I put everything into these simple words, all while knowing they would fall on deaf ears.
He sighed, eyes downcast - I supposed he couldn't look at me any longer. "You are asking the impossible. Worse still, you would never have requested this, had you not been aware of the contents of that file." He looked at the brown folder, which was still resting in his hand, and my heart prepared for the worst.
But instead of opening it, he continued. "I forgot everything. You never did. But I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you've been deceiving me all these years because you were trying to protect me."
"Of course!" I exclaimed, walking up to him, opening my mouth to speak again, to explain myself, but not getting the chance to.
"Whatever is inside must be truly devastating."
My heart ceased beating - the entire world ceased moving for a second, because I could no longer imagine coming back from this. "Yes..." My eyes burned with tears that ran down my face a moment later. "I'm the living proof, Sherry. This truth will break you into pieces." An involuntary sob shook my chest, and I wiped away the tears. The gesture was in vain - more followed. Desperate to feel him close, knowing he was the only one who could make the pain in my soul go away, I pulled him into my arms. If only I could hold him forever, but I could feel him slipping even as my grip around him tightened.
A hand touched my upper arm, making me lean back and look into his eyes. They were full of sorrow, but a comforting smile adorned his lips, and he cupped my face. Despite everything, he loved me. Despite the lies, he was willing to forgive me.
But it was not enough.
"I have to know regardless," he whispered. Five fateful words sealed the bitter deal. I knew he'd never back away - that his heart would always choose the truth. Mycroft wasn't coming - he was too late. And I knew what had to be done.
Taking a step back and letting go off him, I recalled our last kiss at the station - how sweet and gentle it had been. With the back of my hand, I wiped away the tears one last time and let my lids fall shut. There, in my mind's eye, I saw our memories play like a theatre piece - a childhood filled with games and an adolescence filled with mystery and the attempts to rebel against Mycroft's rule. I saw all the nights we'd fallen asleep in each other's arms and the future we'd never get to have, filled with passion, love, and adventure.
"I love you. Never forget that," I whispered at last.
I loved him way too much to let it happen - too much to choose his love over his well-being. I'd rather be his villain.
"I hope you forgive me one day". Before he could react, I tore the folder out of his hand. He always let his guard down around me - mine was a betrayal of the cruellest kind. With one swift move, I sent it flying down into the water, never to be seen again.
And for the first time, I truly understood what it meant to lose him.