White Rose / Sherlock Holmes x Reader Fanfiction

Chapter Two: The Truth

Holmes smiled dreamily. "(Y/n) as you saw. But to me, she's always my Daisy." He chuckled. He looked up at Watson's mystified expression. "Well, you're probably confused."

"For heaven's sake Holmes! Of course I'm confused!" Watson sputtered out. "I get these mysterious letters from your brother who never corresponds with me to go visit a woman that you seem to care about! I mean, you actually caring about someone! No less a woman!"

Holmes chuckled. "Yes, I know. It's a big surprise. I was afraid you would suffer a stroke or faint so I didn't want to tell you." His eyes sparkled mischievously before they turned back to their dull look. "And, well, she's the only woman I've ever cared about."

"So what happened? Did she care about you too? Or was it just you?" Watson pressed. Holmes shook his head.

"Oh no, it was both of us. But it wasn't meant to be. We both always knew that. I was always working and she was ill." He stared at the book for a little longer. When he looked up, Watson felt his gut twist at the saddest look in his friends eyes. "She left this book behind for me when she left. And I've never had and never will have the heart to go see her again which my brother knows very well." He snapped making Watson jump. Holmes sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Forgive me my good man. I didn't mean to. It's just...I really don't wish to talk about it anymore. If you'll excuse me." Holmes got out of his seat and went to his room, not uttering another word.

Watson stared after him before getting out of his seat. He went directly to his room and proceeded to dress. He picked up his cane and looking at the address and time on the letters one last time, he went downstairs and exited the door of 221B on Baker Street.

A coach came up the street and he waved it down. After telling the man to take him to the station, he got up but not before looking up at the stony gray building where he was sure he had seen the curtain flutter in Holmes's window. He recontemplated the thought of going, one foot in and the other foot still dangling.

"Oi mister! You gon git in or not?! I got places to be and thins to do!" The man shouted making people stare. Watson quickly got in, shutting the door. The coach lurched as the horses started off, taking him to King's Cross and he watched as London blurred past him, wondering if he was doing the right thing.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Watson stared at the small gate in between the greenery. He had taken a three hour train out of the busy dirty streets of London to only arrive in a quiet village with barely any people in sight. He had heard the church bells toll and as he walked past a school he had heard the chatter of children. An old man had stopped and glared at him in which Watson could only tip his hat and walk on. He had asked directions from a motherly woman carrying a large laundry basket with a giggling child sitting among the clothes. She had looked at him strangely before speaking in her thick accent.

"Ye go lift at the pub and then 'ead straigh'. There'll be a small corner in between the school and the white 'ouse. Go through ther and ye'll see the walls on both sides. Ye go pas' four gates in the left and then ye'll reach the one yer lookin fer. It's differint from the others. Ye'll know."

When he had got there he could tell that behind the wall were houses because he could see the wooden gates in the walls and neatly trimmed hedges outside of them. But the gate he stood in front of now was an acception.

It was so covered in vines that he had barely spotted the gate hiding in between the brick walls. He had walked past it several times, trying to find the entrance in the barrier. He reached his hand out, unsure, giving it a small push. It moved slightly before stopping abruptly with a clang. He reached his hand in and pulled the catch up. He pushed and it gave with a heavy creak. The vines were pushed out of his face and he walked up a long forgotten gravel footpath. Tall grass brushed his torso and he cut some out of his way with long sweeping swings with the cane.

He followed the path and stopped when he looked up to see it ended at a small stone cottage. The old shingles on the roof was green with moss and wild roses seemed to be flowing down to ground, reminding him of the houses in children's storybooks. In astonishment, he walked forward, reaching out to touch the climbing white roses that dangled down over the door. He took out his army knife and cut one large soon to bloom bud off and put it into his coat's inside pocket. With his cane, he pushed the other buds out of the way before rapping his knuckles on the door.

"Come in Doctor."

Watson sighed, knowing the muffled voice that came from within. He pressed into the door and it gave at his shove. Watson looked around the small house before seeing the large figure of Mycroft Holmes sitting at a table in what Watson presumed to be the kitchen. He could tell from the strong smell in the room that the elder Holmes was sipping at coffee. Mycroft looked up and smiled his usual cold smile.

"I must say I was not expecting you Doctor Watson. This means you disobeyed Sherly and read the letters. And I deduce that he told you about (y/n)." Mycroft said, his smile falling slightly. Watson nodded making Mycroft sigh. "I suppose he was going to tell you about her some day. You are his best friend after all."

"He didn't tell me much. He got upset and stormed away." Watson said, sitting down opposite to his friend's brother.

"Of course. He always gets emotional just at the slight mention of her." Mycroft patted his lips with a napkin. "Shall we?" He groaned, getting out of the seat with difficulty.

"You've lose weight." The doctor said conversationally. Mycroft glared at him.

"And yet I still have difficulty getting out of a chair. (Y/n) will be disappointed. I was much thinner when we first met."

"How did you meet?"

They went out the door and walked down the lane back to the gate. "(Y/n) and I met in the library of the Diogenes Club. As I said I was much younger and healthier than I am now. It was unusual, seeing a female there so I helped her take some books down from a shelf. She was very weak, couldn't reach up to get them herself. And so we became friends. She didn't mind my harsh honesty and deductions and I didn't mind her  smart remarks when she wasn't silently listening to me. And she was nice to talk to. Quiet as a mouse but knowing when to speak and what to say. Being in the same room with her was always soothing."

Watson closed the gate and a hansom came up. Mycroft got in with some difficulty and Watson followed. The horses began to trot and Mycroft went on, Watson listening attentively

"It wasn't long before we did everything together. We were great friends. It may sound unusual but we were. In fact, we didn't have any other friends. She was quite poor, an orphan, and had not many relations so eventually, she moved in to my house and three months later we were engaged. Yes, doctor. I was engaged." Mycroft smiled at Watson's astonishment. "I wanted a wife and she needed someone to look after her. Especially that no one wanted a poorly wife and I didn't mind her so we thought why not marry each other?"

"Did you?" Watson gasped. Mycroft laughed, surprising Watson. Mycroft Holmes, the British government, actually laughing.

"No. Because Sherlock fell in love with her."

Watson stared at him before whispering. "What?"

Mycroft's face fell. "He didn't tell you?"

"He said he cared about her."

"Oh no. I cared about her. But Sherlock? No, he fell in love with her the moment he saw her. I was there. I witnessed it as he instantly became a hopelessly in love man. All of his training and cold-bloodedness simply melted away as he gazed at her." Mycroft laughed. "And she had no idea! It was the only moment I really know that she was clueless."

Watson looked at the huge man, now silent in thought. "Did she love him?" He finally asked. He received no reply because the hansom stopped. Mycroft got out one side while Watson jumped down from the other door. And froze.

He stared at the trees with their empty branches, they're orange leaves littering all over the ground. He felt his throat constrict.