The Burning Heart of Sherlock Holmes
Chapter One: It's Always Sunny in Baker Street
Something about his mood seemed off. Not that this was a one off; there had been multiple times when Sherlock had been erratic with his behaviour. During a case, if he was bored, or if he had his craving of cigarettes and nobody humoured him. Today, however, there was something different. A sort of nervous aura around him. Of course, John couldn't exactly pin point it, he's not Sherlock Holmes after all, but after living with him all these years, and moving back with him after a fall out with Mary, he had begun to recognize some recurring pattern behaviour, and he had been pretty pleasant around him, and a lot many other people. Something was bothering him today, and it wasn't anything ordinary in any sense. Perhaps he had heard something from Mycroft concerning Moriarty.
Moriarty. Thinking about him made John's heart beat erratically and his skin to break out in cold sweat. After his stint of capturing every single screen in all of London and projecting his face, he had been unusually quiet, even though Mycroft, Sherlock, and everyone else were on high alert. Molly Hooper had called Lestrade and Sherlock a week after that broadcast, saying that someone had broken into her apartment while she was in Barts and had left a red rose with the words 'I hope you missed me' printed on a sheet of paper and tacked onto the rose.
"He knows that I helped him, and he's back for revenge. I cannot go back there...my building has really good security and the guard specified that no one had entered the building from the main entrance anyway." Molly had said, shaking with fear and possibilities clouding her head. Greg had accompanied her to his home and had offered to let her stay there for the time being, while he arranged for alternate accommodation. John hadn't been around 221 Baker Street much, what with Mary heavily pregnant and expecting the baby soon. Two weeks after that frightening incident, Baby Shirley was born. Looking at her small frame and wispy golden hair, John had felt his heart squeeze out of his chest. And some dread settled itself onto his heart too.
I need to protect my daughter at all costs. With that lunatic loose, and all of us targets, she needs to stay under the radar for a while.
There was no baby shower, no welcoming party for the precious bundle of joy. Sherlock had visited them in the hospital a day after she was born, even though he had wanted to be there with John for her birth; but the water had broken without any specific prior warning, and he had been away on a case to Dublin. He caught the first flight possible and came back, to hold Shirley in his arms and say nothing, just stare at her with a sheen in his eyes. John did not notice the singular tear that escaped Sherlock's eye as he put Shirley in her mother's arms and turned to swiftly walk away from the room. Nor did he notice the self satisfying smile on Mary's face. He couldn't stop looking at his daughter, the lovely little angel, who would have to be protected at all costs. And who would maybe bring some happiness back in his life.
They hadn't applied for a divorce yet; Mary implored him to give her another chance, to let her in, and that she would not break his trust again. But there was a lot unsaid, and only for Mary's sake had he stayed to help her during those final stages of her pregnancy. With Shirley in the picture it had been much more difficult to try and reconcile with Mary; they were both occupied with the baby, and many times John had to give up a good night's sleep to attend to Shirley in the middle of the night. Mary had been occupied with Shirley, and had taken leave from work at the clinic tot end to her. John would be busy with work [although sometimes he would have to abandon his workplace to rush to 221 B; those instances had been greatly reduced, lately], he would come home to find Mary preparing dinner for them while tending to Shirley. Although their life seemed blissfully complete from an outsider's point of view, there was imminent tension and the huge Elephant in the room, whenever they got together. John would steer from the awkwardness by tending to Shirley, and he found Mary doing the same. They didn't talk about the pen drive; Mary assumed the matter was closed, and John simply did not wish to talk about it. Sherlock had convinced him to take Mary back, after the whole affair regarding her past.
"You've got to take her back, John, if not for your sake then for the child's." Sherlock had said to him, after everything about her had come to the forefront.
"She shot you, Sherlock. You almost died. How can you convince me to take her back after what she's done to you?"
"Because this is beyond me and her, beyond your relation with her. It can improve, it will improve, I'm certain of it. You love her, don't you? While love is merely a disadvantage, yet it seems like you have utmost to believe that you have loved Mary Morstan, and you married her. She is your wife and you're going to be a father soon. There's simply no reason why you shouldn't trust her now. It seems unlikely that she is going to do anything that will inflict any hurt upon her child, and the husband she professes to love." Sherlock had been calm and resolute throughout his reply, almost as though he had practised saying it before. John had said nothing, but he knew there was something beyond just concern for the baby, because of which Sherlock had asked him to do that. He asked, but Sherlock would not relent. John simply decided to not ask anymore, no matter how much it pained him. Sherlock was keeping information from him, but there was nothing he could do to get it out. If Sherlock wanted to keep things from him, so be it.
John sighed and looked up from his blog entry. Sherlock was sitting on the couch, staring off into space, thinking whatever it is that went through his head. It had been almost three hours since Sherlock had gotten a phone call and had been sitting on that couch ever since.
"Sherlock?"
No reply.
"Hey, Sherlock?"
No reply.
John sighed and went back to his laptop, when he heard Sherlock get up and go to the coat hanger.
"Sherlock? What happened, where are you going?"
He looked at John as he put on his gloves and coat. "There's someone I have to meet."
"Well I'm coming with you."
"No, you're not."
John looked at Sherlock sharply. "What do you mean?"
Sherlock sighed and looked at the doctor warily. "It means that you're going to stay here and wait for Arlene to drop Shirley over while I go and deal with this." Arlene was Shirley's baby sitter who took care of her in the afternoons whenever Mary had to go out, and would drop Shirley over to Baker Street in the evenings if Mary wasn't at home, and during the weekend.
John sighed and looked at his friend and partner, getting ready quickly before he briskly walked out of the apartment. John looked down from the windows, half expecting it to be Mycroft who had summoned Sherlock and was getting into a black car. However, he saw Sherlock get into a cab and drive off.
There had been a few instances when Sherlock had not informed John about who he was meeting and what he was going to do, but lately such instances had been reduced. John was his confidante, no matter what the circumstances had been, and he had been willing to share not only information, but to implore John to join him in the chase. Sherlock had a point in making him stay, so that Shirley wouldn't be in any trouble. But John couldn't shake an uncanny gut feeling, something akin to what he had felt when he had accompanied Sherlock on the first case John had ever been to with the detective, and he had gone out into the cab driver's location. Sherlock had been willing to give up his own life to prove that he was more clever, and he had almost lost him then. It had been two times since that Sherlock had been on the verge of death. The fall, an incident which John had pushed to the extreme corners of his consciousness, came floating back as image after image of the 'suicide call', the fall, the funeral, had flashed before him as he willed those images again to the deep recesses of his mind. Then there was the time he was shot in Magnusson's office. John had very nearly lost him again, this time for real. It had been one of the most harrowing days of his life as he sat there, inquiring about Sherlock's condition to anyone willing to listen. The whole affair with Magnusson had been dealt with, but John had nightmares at night sometimes, when he thought about what could have been. Sherlock was under constant surveillance now, due to his publicly shooting Magnusson in front of a whole lot of British officials. Mycroft had been able to convince the government officials to let Sherlock stay under constant surveillance, because of the Moriarty threat and after reports of the blackmailing Magnusson did amongst not only government officials but also many other important people in the country. Everyone hated Magnusson with a passion, but couldn't do anything about the man. Sherlock had committed a crime, but the country needed Sherlock, in more ways than one. John sat down on the couch with a huff and felt an imminent headache lurking in the corner of his temple. There had been a lot going on these days, things that sometimes compelled him to simply sit down and down a drink, before clutching his head in his hands and wishing for better times. The doorbell rang and he heard Mrs. Hudson climbing the stairs, before she opened the door. Behind her stood the young and lively Arlene, and in her arms, sleeping, was Shirley.
"Hello Dr. Watson!" Arlene said in her usual sunny way, depositing the sleeping baby girl in the crib John had bought and put in the living room. Sherlock had actually been able to clear some clutter to make place for the crib, although John usually took her with him upstairs during the nights, it was convenient to set up the crib in the living room, where they could keep an eye on her at all times. Shirley slept blissfully, as Arlene kept her diaper bag and a cloth bag containing a pair of clothes.
"She is extremely tired, so expect her to sleep for some time." She smiled and gave him an envelope, with the words John written on it in cursive.
"Mrs. Watson wanted me to give this to you. Well, I'll be off, I have to get to Uni. See you tomorrow Dr. Watson!" Arlene left and ran down the stairs, breezing past Mrs. Hudson who whelped softly, balancing the tray she was carrying, before starting to climb upstairs again.
"She's a lively one, isn't she? Oh, look at the little darling, she's so lovely!" Mrs. Hudson cooed as she put the tray containing two cups of tea and biscuits on the table. John, however, was staring, puzzled, at the envelope. Is this a bloody letter? he thought to himself, as he located a spare blade lying around and opened the envelope.
Inside, on a plain sheet of paper, was Mary's handwriting.
Going out of town for a few days, don't know when I'll return. Take care of Shirley. I've paid Arlene her fee for this week so don't bother. I love you. –Mary.
"Why didn't she just send me a text?" John wondered out loud.
"What is it, dear?"
"Oh? Oh, nothing Mrs. Hudson. Thank you for the tea." He smiled briefly, taking his cup and sipping on it. Why hadn't Mary called him up, or sent him a text message? What was the need to send him a letter, that too through Arlene? And, not for the first time, John wondered whether Mary was in danger of any sort. She had applied for resignation from her job as a nurse, right after her maternity leave was over. She and John had fought and not made up, but she hadn't applied for another job ever since she quit the one in his clinic. And ever since he had moved out of their suburban house, he hadn't heard anything regarding a job. Yet, Mary had been travelling a lot recently. He had mentioned it to Sherlock, wondering if it would pique the detective's interest, but all he had gotten was a 'Hmm' before Sherlock had busied himself in some case or another. John rarely talked to Mary now, unless it was something concerning Shirley. His daughter was nearly a year old now, and as John looked at the baby's little form sleeping peacefully in the crib, his heart swelled with love, pride, and a roller coaster of emotions he could not effectively categorize. It didn't matter that he couldn't work it out with Mary, that he always went for the worst choice, that Moriarty was alive; meeting Mary had given him Shirley, eventually; when he looked at his daughter, he felt some panic and some trepidation, but mostly love and tranquillity seep inside of him. Looking at her sleeping form he smiled and touched her hair softly, watching her chest rise and fall quickly.
The door banged open as Sherlock entered the flat, discarding his scarf and coat in a hurry.
"John, have you seen my laptop and that pen drive that I gave you..." Sherlock stopped as Shirley began to cry loudly, disturbed and irritated at the loud noise. John looked at Sherlock irritatingly, before taking Shirley in his arms.
"There, there sweetheart, go off to sleep now." He rocked her and tried to lull her to sleep, but to no avail. Shirley had been woken up from her deep sleep and was imminently awake, in all sense of the word. Sherlock had the decency to look sheepish, before he began to rummage through the piles of random stuff scattered on the table. Shirley kept crying louder and louder, even when John walked around with her in an effort to get her to sleep, but she wouldn't go back to sleep. After ten minutes of Sherlock looking for the aforementioned pen drive in vain, and John attempting to lull Shirley back ro sleep, Sherlock let out a loud groan of exasperation as he walked towards John.
"Give her to me." He said, as John looked at Sherlock, surprised.
"What the bloody hell do you want her for?"
"Look for the pen drive Mycroft gave me last night, the one with the Shatner case files. You can do that better than I can."
"And what, you can put Shirley back to sleep?" John looked incredulous as Sherlock sighed. He took Shirley gingerly in his arms and stepped away from John.
"Just look for the drive, John, I remember keeping it on this desk."
John went through the clutter on the desk and the apartment floor, before finding the pen drive lodged between a magazine and an old file filled with papers from an old case.
"Sherlock, I've found your..." John stopped as he saw Sherlock holding Shirley in his arms, slowly moving it right and left. Shirley hadn't fallen asleep, although she was staring at the dark haired detective intensely, just as Sherlock was staring at her. John sat down on the couch and watched from afar as the detective and his daughter had a silent conversation. Eventually, Shirley drifted off to sleep and her eyelids closed. Sherlock put her in her crib, before straightening and looking over ti where John was sitting. Unbeknownst to him, John had been smiling softly all the while Sherlock had been with Shirley. He still couldn't stop smiling as Sherlock sat down on the couch opposite to him, rubbing his temple.
"Did you find the drive?"
John gave the drive to Sherlock, looking at him intently. The detective hadn't looked at him but was observing the drive in his hand intensely. After a while, John cleared his throat.
"You're good with her, you know."
For an instant, John could have sworn he saw something akin to pure affection flash through Sherlock's face; a hint of a smile, his eyes lighting up, before the detective assumed his normally non-chalant face.
"I'm better at this." He said, plugging the pen drive in his laptop.
A/N: This was intended as a one-shot, but developed into something much more. Reviews are appreciated; do leave a word about the fic. I will update it every Friday. Thank you for reading!
