Who: Emma Swan and John Watson What: It's been a month...all the feels! When: Backdated to midday Friday Where: Why, the local cemetery of course. Because we're terrible people. Warnings: It's Emma and John. Loads of angst, some swearing, possibly references to violence or alcohol or...don't even know
She didn't want to be there.
It was Emma's first thought when she realized where she was standing. She was working a case on a drug dealer who basically refused to be found. The man had last been seen at a hospital nearby and she'd been frequenting the area often. But this was the first time she'd made that turn, ended up by those gates, and felt her breath catch.
The only reason she knew he was buried there at all was because of one of the last notices she'd received from his colleagues before Loki's spell had taken shape and removed nearly all memory of her from their minds. She hadn't wanted anything to do with the arrangements. Let someone else deal with it, someone else whose life hadn't been turned upside down by James Moriarty. At the time, she'd only wanted to forget. She couldn't drink her memories away like some, so she'd avoided.
He was always there, though. Always lingering on the edges of her memory. There were times when she could almost forget. Where she could pretend that she hadn't all but moved mountains for him. It was almost like being normal. But someone would always remind her. She'd never fully be accepted because of the choices she'd made. Felicia Hardy would always bring it back up as a matter of trust, or John Watson would still be mourning his friend.
And then there was the constant reminder. The tiny life growing inside of her. A doctor's appointment that heard a small heart beating strongly or newspaper fliers that reminded her she needed typical baby supplies. Names running through her head and worries about raising two children in the middle of an Apocalypse by herself.
Of course she wouldn't be forgetting him anytime soon. This child wouldn't be Aurora Moriarty. Her phone call to Watson had already seen to that. But if she looked anything like the daughter from that future, she knew she'd always see him around. The child had Jim's coloring, his skin and dark hair and his smile. Only her eyes had looked back at her from the daughter she'd promised herself would never exist. She was her father through and through, right down to the gleam in her eyes and the almost wicked tilt of her smirk.
It really was a beautiful cemetery. Not that it mattered. Why did people care so much about where someone was buried? It was only their body. The remains of a life lived. The soul was long gone. If it was at all possible for a person to hear you from beyond the grave, they could do so from anywhere.
So why was she fighting that nagging sensation to go in?
Maybe because Emma so desperately needed closure. She didn't know if she'd find it beyond those gates, but god, couldn't anything be worth a try by that point? Despite knowing the monster he'd been, she couldn't deny how badly she missed him. Maybe if she could just let him go...maybe she could move on. Maybe she'd be able to raise their child in peace.