Let The Shadows Win

Leave Her In The Dirt

"Alright, you get her feet, I'll get her head." John decided, looking around so as to make sure there was no traffic anywhere before grabbing what must be Mary's shoulders underneath the tarp and dragging her out the best he could. Sherlock helped in making sure the shovels or the suitcase didn't go falling out, and when it was his turn to lift he grabbed the body around the stiff ankles, rearranging the tarp so that it wouldn't fall off during the trip, and following John in some sort of awkward stutter steps up the steep hill towards the side of the road. At some points it felt almost treacherous, for the hill was sloped dangerously and Sherlock knew that should his feet slip he would have no hands available to catch his fall. Taking all of this into consideration, plus the fact that his useless leg could hardly lift to save his life, well Sherlock really was in for an adventure. It was a miracle that John didn't have to bury two bodies tonight. Somehow the two of them were able to get the body up the hill, lugging it up into the grassy overgrown fields. Mycroft had suggested before that Sherlock choose a place that was very obviously untended, and if ever a wild field did exist, this would be the one. Sherlock was sure theirs were the first footsteps to cross this field in a very long time, and as they climbed Sherlock was beginning to feel even more secluded from the rest of the world. A perfect place to hide a body! When finally John deemed it a good spot they could not see the road or a house as far as they cared to look. Even the Holmes house was absent from the picture which was sort of curious considering there shouldn't be anything blocking their view. Unless it was so far away that it appeared to be a mere speck and therefore blended in with the very distant trees and mountains in the back.
"This should be good." John decided, dropping the body carelessly and starting back to the car without a word. Sherlock hesitated, yet followed him back down the slope quickly, unsure if there was anything he could say to ease whatever anxieties were going through John's head. Was he purposely being distant, was he mad about something? Sherlock was too apprehensive to ask, and so he merely followed suit, carrying the shovels from the car while John heaved the heavy suitcase up the hill. Sherlock was happy for the shovels, for he could use them sort of as walking canes, and the trek now up the hill was a lot more manageable. They let the car open, so as to help air it out a little bit, before first making sure there was nothing in the trunk they couldn't afford to lose. Yet there were no valuables in there, nor was there any condemning evidence as to what they were doing in the middle of nowhere, so Sherlock deemed it appropriate to leave the trunk open and unattended.
"Well then, start digging I guess." John decided, letting the suitcase fall carelessly next to the body and grabbing a shovel out of Sherlock's hands.
"I'm not too good at manual labor." Sherlock warned, holding his shovel without really knowing what to do with it.
"I know." John assured. "But you're going to have to help me anyway. I don't want to be here when it gets dark." Sherlock nodded, watching now as John dug his shovel into the ground, deeming a spot worthy to dig and starting his way through the preliminary layers of weeds. Sherlock followed suit, a couple of feet down from where John was so that they could join together and make a hole that was appropriately Mary sized. This would have to be quite a big hole, but thankfully the soil was soft and workable, and the stones didn't provide too much of an issue. Every once in a while Sherlock's arms would begin to tire, yet the more he gave them breaks the more he found them even more tired, and so in the end he chose to ignore his aching muscles and just get on with what he had to do. He was only about three feet down in a hole that was roughly two feet wide on either end, not at all appropriate for a corpse just yet. There was no conversations since they needed their breath for more important things, yet as Sherlock worked he kept thinking of what could possibly be disturbing John so much that he couldn't even smile. This was of course something of a somber moment, for they were burying his childhood crush turned wife, but it was meant to be! John had asked to get Mary killed, so what was he suddenly getting all choked up over? Sherlock's hands were beginning to callus, however they were not about five feet down and such was not an issue any longer. John had dug deeper faster, and so he was now working to get rid of the pile of dirt that separated the two holes. When finally he was visible above the mass Sherlock found that their hole really was a work of art, and all that manual labor was very much worth it. It was a worthy grave, however unworthy of a woman she was. It only took another twenty minutes or so for the grave to be completed, and when finally Sherlock and John were able to crawl out back onto the earth they were rejuvenated with optimism. They thought now, as they looked down at their hand dug grave, that there was no possible way they would ever be caught. They were too clever for that, weren't they? They knew how to kill a person, they knew how to hide the body, they knew how to lie. And now with six feet opened up in the earth for them to hide the evidence, well how could anyone possibly catch on? How even could Greg discover such a thing? It was a false sense of invulnerability, for of course no criminal was uncatchable, no matter how clever they believed they were. And Sherlock and John were no different. Yet all the same they wrapped Mary once more in the tarp, John handling her with something of a harsh carelessness, yanking the tarp and pressing Mary's head so as to contort her into the most convenient position. He treated the body in an almost desecrating manner, as if he could care less what happened to it, so long as it was out of his sight forever. His actions and his attitude seemed to contradict each other, for at one point Sherlock could have sworn John actually cared for his deceased wife, while now he seemed to be going about as if he couldn't wait to rid her and her body from his life forever. Together they heaved the body into the pit, in which it twisted and bumped into the walls, dislodging the tarp enough for Mary's broken, dead face to once more resurface from the depths. It was an unnerving sight, for her eyes were still open, and they were looking straight up. She was wrapped as if in a toga, lying there as if she was merely napping six feet under. Yet she was dead, Sherlock knew she was dead because he had been the one to take her life. So why did such a sight send shivers down his back, as if he was expecting her to crawl from her grave a kill him!
"She's watching us." Sherlock commented timidly, looking down towards the woman's face with a frown.
"Good, let her watch. Let her see us burying her like a dead cat." John growled. "Let her see that I had something to do with this all along."
"That's...well John, aren't you a little bit upset?" Sherlock commented.
"About what?" John growled, heaving the suitcase into the hole as well, almost as if he intended to hit the body right on the skull. However the suitcase instead landed on Mary's chest, leaving her face completely undaunted once more.
"About her death? I mean, you're awfully quiet." Sherlock commented.
"I'm not quiet. I'm just angry. I'm angry about her, about my marriage, and I'm angry that we even had to do all of this! She's been a burden this whole way through, and I hate myself for even thinking that I could marry her and get on with my life." John growled. "I'm glad she's dead."
"I'm happy to hear that. For a moment I had thought that maybe you regretted it." Sherlock admitted quietly.
"Regretted it? Why on earth would you think I regretted it? My God, this was the biggest weight off of my shoulders! I just want to bury her and leave her here forever; I could care less what happens now." John admitted with a grumble, shaking his head and beginning to shovel dirt over top of their makeshift grave. Sherlock followed suit, a little bit unnerved by John's constant mood swings, but deciding in the end that it was much better that he was rejoicing in Mary's death rather than mourning it. For Sherlock knew that his entire life was a constant battle between himself and every other slightly pleasurable thing in John's life, and Sherlock had once more overcome yet another obstacle. Mary Morstan, quite possibly his biggest competition, was now just left in the dirt. Shoveled over until her horrible face was hidden as it should be, hidden so that no one had to look upon such a thing ever again. And with that, when the hole was properly filled in and replaced with whatever underbrush they could scavenge to cover the freshly dug earth, they picked up their shovels and started back for home. Mrs. Hudson was paid (she seemed to find the two men's unkempt appearances amusing) and together all three of them headed for home. Now there were only three residents to that house, for their fourth, most recently inactive member, had been properly disposed of. Never to walk those halls, or even taint that garage, ever again. As it should be, evidently.