The Autobiography of Mycroft Holmes

Chapter 40: The End?

I have long ago reconciled with the fact that my story will always be tied to Sherlock's, and that hers will always probably outstrip mine in terms of excitement and mystery.

But mine is a story of much more than detecting and intelligent thinking.

Mine is a story of perseverance, destiny, love and love lost, as well as opportunity and opportunity lost. Mine is a sometimes-painful story, marked with the betrayal of a friend and the unreturned love for me of another. All those who know me know this.

Or at least that's what I'd like to think.

As such, I am shocked some people stayed with me as long as they did, and still do.

Sherlock will always be with me. She's not going anywhere; she'll always be the Consulting Detective of the ages, and I guess I'll always be an interpretive sort of figure.

Am I heartless? Am I a genius? Am I insane?

I am not the one to say any of these things. How can a person decide their own sanity or their own intelligence or their own love? Everything is relative. If nothing else, I've learned that.

Now, I have to clear up some questions of interest that I may have avoided or made too vague in this book before I can get to the true ending:

Who is the third Holmes?

I'm sure you know this after reading the last chapter. She is cunning, that I can say for her...

Whatever happened to Moriarty at Reichenbach Falls?

I will never know. I am under the impression that he is dead, as are Moran and Sherlock both to this day. He never made his re-appearance, and this is something I would have thought he'd do if he'd lived.

Am I, Mycroft Holmes, really smarter than the legendary Sherlock?

I can't really say. Sherlock is obviously a genius, but I did teach her almost everything she knows. We have different strengths and weaknesses; her lab skills are better than mine, but my time in the government cannot have been done by her, or any other. It is up to you, the reader to decide which of us is truly superior, or if we are actually equals.

Since these things are cleared up, I can get to the ending of this book.

Whatever happened to you, Mycroft Holmes?

This ending will tell you much more than just that. I will endeavor to tell you, the reader, what happened to all of the dramatis personae in this book, no matter where they are or if they are alive or dead currently. I do have access to all this information through the government's servers and so I will use this to my advantage.

Let's begin with Sherlock. Obviously, Sherlock is a retired Consulting Detective. She is, as you probably know, a beekeeper in her old age. Well, not really. She's only thirty-three years old. But she had made so much money as a consulting detective that she retired many years before she planned to. She's a multi-millionaire; if she had worked for a few more years, she'd be just as wealthy as I am. But she does not wish to live that kind of lifestyle, so she is a modest beekeeper living on two-hundred euros a week in the English countryside outside London.

My sister still keeps in touch with Watson, who is now also in a suburb of London where all of his children likely also have their own homes. Sherlock still solves cases sometimes, and once in a while she will call Watson to assist her. I have not assisted her since her retirement, nor have I given her a case since then to solve; this was on par with the agreement we'd made years ago to stop our joint-case involvement, just in case Watson got his hands on some records. A government official of my caliber can't even risk that...

Detective Inspector Gina Lestrade died in a tragic accident by gunfire three years ago. I never talked to her again after that last conversation we had on the first day of the Bruce-Partington Plans. She didn't die on a case; in fact she was engaged in illegal activity at the time. It turns out that to properly support her family, this was necessary on the side. She was, for about five years, simultaneously a member of the London underground and New Scotland Yard. I wasn't entirely surprised. I haven't visited her grave.

Inspector Gregson is now a Detective Chief Inspector, a D.C.I. of all the Detective Inspectors of New Scotland Yard. She may have been the only intelligent one in the whole lot. I am glad that she has achieved this success; I am glad that her inferiors have someone to look up to who is a legend in her own right.

I am absolutely positive that Chris Rogers still lives. I've never seen him again, but I know he is alive. He is still a professor at Oxford University, my alma mater. Chris is forty-three years old, and as I am concerned, unmarried. He will remain single as long as I do. Because I or he would only marry the other, and obviously we can't do that.

From what I've seen of Chris's medical records, though, he is not well. He is not expected to live much longer due to heavy smoking and drinking in his early life. I could deduce more if I wanted to, but I don't. He's miserable enough as is.

Finally, we arrive at Tom Saylor, my closest friend throughout all my experiences for the past two decades of my life. He and I are still members of the Diogenes, and we attend the Club together every weekend. We still live near each other, but we live in more expensive and expansive homes. We are both rich, and we are both legends in the Diogenes. His name is on a plaque of Honorary Founders of the Club next to mine, now.

He told me a few years ago that he did indeed love me. And I had nothing to say to him. But this didn't bother him; he expected it well enough. Needless to say, he is understandably still a bit sore about the subject.

Tom is still working, and at multiple law firms. He is a consultant for one, and he does cases for the other. I would say his job sounds like Lestrade's old double-life-esque one, but it sounds too much like Sherlock's.

And finally, whatever happened to me, Mycroft Holmes. The question that began all this strenuous research.

I am forty years old. I still find it hard to believe sometimes, and I certainly don't think I act or talk or think like I'm forty yet.

I'm not retired. I still work for the government at my desk in their top-secret office building somewhere in London. I still go to the Diogenes, as I mentioned. And I am still the same Mycroft you know from this story.

I see Sherlock often. I visit her outside London when I'm in the area, which is about once a month. When I see her, we usually go out to a nice restaurant located in the small town that she lives in, and we talk for hours. Sherlock and I are still very close to one another, despite all of the arguments and disagreements that we may have had in the past.

And as for what I may have said earlier about not publishing this until my death, I may have been wrong. I want to publish this while I am still alive. I have a long way to go; modern medicine in this time is really fantastic. I don't want my autobiography to be one of those passed-down family stories, or for Watson to get his hands on it and publish it as a Sherlock Holmes story.

I want the world to know who I really am.

I think it's time you heard my story from my own voice. I think it's time for me to break my silence, indeed.

*800 READS!!! What a great way to end the day :) I still can't believe I'm done! It has been a phenomenal month and I really learned a lot and had a great time. I'll write an authors endnote and publish it tomorrow morning, but for now, THANK YOU to all those who have supported me throughout the process of my publishing this book.

Until tomorrow,
Delta April.