The detective and the nanny (Drabbles)

by PlutoCookie

Following Mary's death, John is also murdered. Sherlock is in mourning and in his grief, becomes determined to adopt Rosie, to honour John and Mary. He fights Mycroft on the subject and devises the plan to have a live-in nanny in 221B that will look after Rosamund while he works. After a series of nannies that leave because of Sherlock's quirks, Mycroft recruits a resilient one.

1. Chapter 1

"Mary!". A gunshot resounds in the aquarium, the second to be fired that night. Sherlock's jaw drops involuntarily, an agonising roar escapes him.

"John!". The doctor hits the floor as a warm scarlet patch begins to stain his shirt. He gasps from the impact, but his eyes never leave his wife's bleeding form, as tears stream from the corners of her eyes with anguish. She had protected Sherlock for the sake of her husband, but now it seemed that her husband was sealing his fate with hers.

"Sherlock" she sobbed, reaching her hand for John. Eyes darting between his best friend and his wife, Sherlock stumbled to his feet, and through some sort of daze, managed to drag the couple together, so that they could hold each other in their final moments. Mycroft could be heard shouting angrily down his receiver in the background, but it was all just noise to the detective's ears. His whole world was tilting before his very eyes. He had 'died' to protect John from Moriarty. He had murdered to protect John and Mary. But fate had decided that third time's the charm. He failed to protect those he cared the most about, and now all he could do was hold their hands and beg them to stay awake.

"Sh-hrungghh- Sherlock….you….look after Rosie….please" Mary huffed. Tears slipped out from John's eyes, as she turned her face to look lovingly at him. "John, I love you more than anything. I do not regret a second of our time together".

"Sherlock, you're my best friend and….I love you. Mary, I've only known true happiness with you". Eyelids drooping and whites rolling, Mary slipped from life. Her hand went limp in Sherlock's, and he felt the most agonising dread as she watched this information register in John's eyes. Paramedics rushed in and began to lift John Watson on a stretcher. They kept trying to engage him, asking him to stay conscious and placing pressure on his wound. Sherlock fell back on his rump and watched hopelessly as his best friend was whisked away. The medics would fight to save his friend, but the frustratingly brilliant side of his mind had deduced that there was a high probability his friend would not make it to the hospital alive. Mycroft had done the same and was unsure of how his brother would come out of this one without embarking on a fatal drug bender. Work would have to wait. The death of his brother's best friend meant that there was a high chance that repressed memories would resurface. His brother would need both his support and careful monitoring. He waited until his brother could stand up, then ushered him into a car, bound for St. Bartholomew's hospital.