Alone On The Water

Chapter 10

He seems better in the morning. A temporary reprieve, but well-timed. We don't rush. Today is the day. His last day.

"What do you want to do?" I ask. The idea of choosing how to spend one's last day on earth is so horrifyingly complex that I'm sure it would paralyze me, but I'm equally sure that he has a plan.

He is looking out the window, fully dressed, and for just a moment, it's as if nothing's happened. All is well.

I hate everything.

"I'd like to go out," he says.

"Out? Where?" I feel that jealous pull again. I need this time, damn it all. Where does he want to go?

"Out. Into the city."

Oh. That might be all right. "Take a tour around? Your favorite spots?"

"Just so." He turns from the window. "There are three things in the world I really care about, so I'd like to use this time to say goodbye to each. The first is my work. I took care of that last night. The second is this city. So let's do that now."

I know the answer but I have to ask. Damn my insecurity. "What's the third?"

He looks at me, vaguely scolding. "John. Surely you don't need me to tell you that."

We head out. We take cabs so as not to tire him. We go to Trafalgar Square. Hyde Park. We walk in silence. Sherlock's balance is tolerable, but he holds onto my arm. He looks around, taking everything in.

We stop to rest on a bench by the river. I go to the railing and look down at the water. "Are we going to talk about it?" I finally say.

"About what?"

I laugh, derisive. As if there's another topic on hand. "The fact that you're going to die tonight."

"What's to say?"

"A great deal! Sherlock – I'm…I don't…"

He grabs my sleeve and pulls me back to sit on the bench. "I've made my peace with it." He meets my eyes. "I never expected to live a long life, John. Always thought I'd meet my end at an early age. Never thought it'd be like this, though. Thought I'd be shot, or blown up. Thought at the very least I'd take someone with me, someone the world needed gone. The idea never troubled me. It's only of late that the idea of leaving this life began to be – distressing."

"Why?"

"I never had anyone to leave behind. Anyone who'd miss me." He looks at me again and there is something raw behind his eyes. "Will you miss me, John?"

My throat feels pinhole-thin. I swallow hard. "Till the end of my days, Sherlock."