Deducing Tragedy Part Two: Speak No Lies

John looked at the last page of Hanna’s medical records again. It was there, in black and white, but he couldn’t believe it. To think Hanna of all people suffered this fate; it made her behavior clear at least. He remembered, three years ago before she “died” the first time, Hanna shut down after Sherlock left the flat in a fit of anger. At the time John didn’t understand what had happened, that Sherlock had all but told her he blamed her for the deaths of those women, and when Hanna shut down he was even more lost.

“Hanna can’t handle grief or heartbreak,” he remembered Molly telling him. “So she doesn’t, she shuts down until someone forces her to confront those feelings.” Grief and heartbreak were two things Hanna couldn’t handle and she was suffering at the hands of both.

“John?” Mary yawned over the phone as she picked up. “It’s nearly two a.m., why are you calling?”

“I need you to come somewhere with me,” he said trying to keep his voice from shaking. “If I give you an address can you meet me there?”

“I-I suppose, but John, what is this about?”

“You said you wanted to help fix what’s broken between Hanna and Sherlock,” he choked out. “Well first we have to fix Hanna and I think I know what’s wrong.”

There was a pause, “What?”

He shook his head, “Do you have a pen?”

John rattled off the address and exited his room. Sherlock hadn’t come home yet and would probably be out all night. Mrs. Hudson was fast asleep in the flat below and wouldn’t rise till dawn. Hanna was still standing in that window; her blue eyes watched the falling snow. Her expression was unreadable as she followed the flakes till they hit the cement.

“I'm going out,” he said. She didn’t even twitch. “I- I'm going to Queens Road.” Her body tensed and he nodded slowly. “I just thought you should know.” He turned and walked out of the flat, down the stairs where his Jacket hung.

“John?” her voice echoed down to him and he look up to see her standing in the landing. “D-do you hate me?”

He shook his head, cocking it to the side. “No, Hanna, I don’t hate you. I'm just sad… and disappointed. You didn’t come to us, to him.”

She nodded, folding one arm across her abdomen as if to hold herself together. “I'm sorry, John.”

“Me too.”

He turned to leave but her voice stopped him again. “You will tell him, won’t you?”

He turned back to look at her, “You should, he deserves to know.”

“Sherlock deserves the moon the stars and everything in between,” she whispered as tears started to fall down her cheeks. “These are things I cannot give him so you must. John… tell him I'm sorry, I am so, so sorry-”and then before he could say something her hand clasped over her mouth and she ran back into the flat. He wanted to go after her, everything in him was telling him to go after her. But Mary would already be on her way to the address. He had to go; Hanna would have to wait a few more hours.

Half an hour later John stood on the street outside the Queen’s Road Cemetery. He was leaning against a lamppost waiting for Mary. His face was a mask of sorrow as he checked his watch again.

“John!” she called from behind him as she jogged up the block. “Hey! I'm here!”

He turned around and, without any words, he embraced her. Mary was confused; she didn’t know what was happening or why John had called her to a cemetery in the middle of the night. And now the man she loved was holding onto her like a life jacket. She wanted to say something but what? She didn’t even know what was going on let alone what to say.

“I-”he started as he let go of her. “I'm sorry for calling you out of bed so late, thank you for coming.”

“John,” she whispered meeting his gaze. “What is it? What is wrong with Hanna?”

John cocked his head to the side as a bitter laugh escaped his lips, “Hanna doesn’t grieve like normal people. She- well you saw her.”

Mary’s eyes went wide, “What happened to her then? What is she grieving?”

He looked at her for a moment before taking her hand in his, “I’ll show you.”

They walked the dark paths of the cemetery. John guiding her to the very heart of the place as he shined his flashlight on every family tomb he came across. It seemed like ages passed as they wandered further into the tomb stones. Mary, much to John’s surprise wasn’t nearly as shaky or frightened as he expected. But then again, he kept forgetting that she wasn’t like other girls.

“Here we are,” he said finally finding the right family tomb.

“Holmes?” Mary frowned, “I thought this had to do with Hanna.”

“It does,” he said giving her a half-smile. “Let’s go in.” He reached into his pocket and produced the large iron key Mycroft had given him that day in the hospitable. Sliding it into the slot and turning the handle the key turned into the door knob as he pushed the door open. Inside was even darker as he gave her a second flashlight and they began to look around.

“Um, John?” Marry frowned near the back of the tomb. “Do most of these things have basements?”

He walked over to her to see the hidden stair case descending further down into the earth. “Not typically, but I imagine if you have enough money it can be arranged. And from what I’ve gathered of Sherlock’s family, money is not an issue. Let’s have a look-”

Mary hesitated, “Down there?”

“Yeah.”

“Do we have too?” He met her gaze and for the first time saw a flicker of fear in her eyes. He’d forgotten for a moment that, though she continuously surprised, there was a limit to her bravery. Mary was human, with normal human fears and moments of doubt. She could break and if she, the strongest woman he knew, could then Hanna could too.

“If you don’t want to that’s fine,” he said tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll be back in just a bit.” He turned to leave but she grabbed his hand to stop him.

She gave him a short smile, “Safety in numbers?” He chuckled, wrapping and arm around her waist before leading her down into the dark.

The room was large, the walls covered in plaques with names of Holmes family members long gone. He looked closely at the names while Mary hung back by the stairs. He didn’t know what he was looking for; he didn’t even really know why he was here. Proof? He had that back at the house in Hanna’s medical records. But even then he knew that he still didn’t quite believe it. He could have read those words a thousand times and it still wouldn’t have been real.

He stopped at the last name, directly across from the stairs, and felt the wind vanish from his lungs. “Oh… oh Hanna.” He whispered as the room flickered to life and Mary walked over to him.

“I found a light switch on the wall over there,” she said. “I guess they put lights in… John? Are you okay?”

He shook his head, tipping it to the side as he pointed to the wall in front of him. Mary gasped, her fingers hovering over her mouth as her eyes raked over the plaque before them.

Molly Ann Holmes

Beloved daughter of

Hanna Hooper and Sherlock Holmes

~And miles to go before I sleep~

“Hanna had a baby…” Mary whispered leaning into John.

“A stillborn,” he nodded wrapping an arm around her. “It was all there in her records, I-I just didn’t want to believe it.”

He looked at him, tears forming in her eyes, “Do the doctors know what-”

He nodded looking down at his feet, “The poison that blinded her. What was in her system didn’t affect her but it was too much for the baby. She died in the third trimester and Hanna was forced to carry to term.”

“She’s grieving the loss of her child,” Mary said in a low tone. “That poor girl.”

“I prefer woman,” a new voice behind them spoke up. “But everyone insist on calling me girl, it’s really quite annoying.”

“Hanna-” John began.

“Ann, actually,” she smiled clasping her hands together as she took a few steps forward; her spiked black pumps clicking against the marble floor.

“John-”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, baffled. “How are you here?”

She shrugged, a mischievous smile gracing her fair features, “Let’s just say I'm a good actress.”

“John-”

“In a second,” he hushed Mary. “Actress, what do you mean?”

“Oh please,” she rolled her eyes, “you don’t honestly believe this whole grieving business do you? Something died, get over it.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“But you know I do,” she cocked her head to the side in a way strongly reminiscent of a snake.

He swallowed hard, “So this whole time, the losing your voice and standing by the window day and night… that was all an act?”

“Ding, ding someone get this man a prize,” she giggled walking across the floor to the wall of names adjacent to theirs.

“Why?”

“John-”

“Because I like games,” she said looking over the plaques. “And because I can. When you aim to tear apart the world’s only Consulting Detective you have to get creative.”

“No,” he shook his head, “this isn’t you Hanna. You wouldn’t do this!”

She spun around, her expression reminding him exactly how dangerous she had become, “Don’t presume to know anything about me John Watson.”

“John!” Mary shouted circling around to the front of him. “You need to listen to me-” her sentence cut short as her eyes went wide and she slumped forward into his arms.

“Mary?!” he shouted, “Mary?!”

“Don’t worry,” Ann smirked looking at the small blow dart in her hands. “I won’t harm a hair on her head provided you do exactly as I say.” She snapped her fingers and two large men came down the stairs. They moved to take Mary but John fought them. He tried to protect her, he tried to save her but they over powered him as one took away the woman he loved and the other held him.

“Hanna, stop this,” he pleaded with her, “stop it right now.”

“I can’t do that John,” she shrugged giving him an indifferent smile. “See… she saw something she shouldn’t, something you are too blind to see. But like I said I won’t harm a hair on her head if you do exactly as I say.”

“And what is that?” he demanded, his whole body shaking with anger.

“Go home and act like none of this happened,” she smirked walking across the room so they were eye to eye. “Don’t tell Sherlock. He can’t know about me, not when there is still so much to do.”

“What are you talking about?”

She ran her finger over his cheek as a cold and crazed smile crept across her lips, “I'm talking about the game, John Watson. I am in the midst of a game of chess and I have nearly finished the set up for check mate. Soon there will be nothing left of Sherlock Holmes because I… will have torn him the shreds.”

“You’ve gone mad,” he growled out.

She giggled, “In the best possible way. Something I picked up from an old friend, Tomas Mathers, before his untimely demise. See that really shook up the game, someone had to act. I was chosen.” She turned her back and started up the stairs. “Have a good night Doctor Watson, I’ll be in touch.” And then her and her henchman left.

Leaving John alone in the hollow tomb.