AU. John never met Mike that day in the park. Instead he runs into Mary, a scientist at a military base. The two marry and have a son, and Mary convince John to continue working for the army and John is recruited for a special commando section that soon catches the attention of the british government.
Disclaimer: I don't claim to own it.
Warnings: None that the rating shouldn't cover. But I'm sure there will be.
October 19th. 2011 ATFC Winchester, Hampshire.
Sherlock scoots a few inches forward on his knees, keeping his head ducked behind the sofa and finally settles in this new position. With his back against the red fabric he has a decent view of the living room in the reflection of the tall windows that line the one side of the room.
With out a sound the door to the hall slides up the tiniest bit, just little enough that anyone else could easily have missed it. Sherlock ducks his head further down and holds his breath, listening for any sounds; The room is completely silent until Sherlock catch the soft sound of breathing, just above him. He turns his face upwards and looks straight into a pair of wide, blue eyes.
Face to face with the toddler, both upside-down to the other, the two of them crack into wide smiles.
"You tried to trick me!" the boy accuses and tumbles over the back of the sofa, landing as a bundle of grabby limbs in Sherlock's lap. "You opened all the doors, but closed to the loo. I almost fell for it."
"You'll be a master detective one day, Ben." Sherlock announces, lifting the boy up and watching him wiggle his toes in search of floor-contact. "You have great instincts."
"I wanna be a commando, like my dad." The boy says, once he's back on his feet.
Sherlock frowns, looking slightly disappointed for just the shortest moment. "Well I suppose that's not a bad dream. You got the same bravery as your father." Sherlock gets to his feet and allow Ben to slip his little hand into his. "But you've got your mother's intellect, and you should use it."
Ben smiles. He likes it when Sherlock says nice things about his parents. He's in a phase where his mom and dad makes him so very proud. Mary and John, out there saving the world on a daily basis like a couple of superheroes. Sherlock allows Ben to live that lie.
"You want to help me make dinner or do you want to go play in your room?" Sherlock asks, already knowing the answer.
"Mom said I can wash the greenies." Ben announces proudly and runs ahead of Sherlock into the kitchen.
August 1st. 2011. ATFC Winchester, Hampshire
John sits down on the sofa and gestures for Sherlock to take the seat in the chair opposite. Mary comes in carrying coffee and biscuits on a tray and Sherlock accepts his cup with a polite smile.
"Ben'll be awake soon, we'd like you to meet him before we decide anything." John says, comfortably leaning back into the sofa with his own cup of coffee, crossing his legs at the knees.
"I must admit Mr. Baker, most of the people who applied for this job was a great deal more experienced than you." Mary says and opens Sherlock's folder, eyes scanning down the pages. "However, your age and gender gives you an advantage. What we really want is for Ben to have a male role model while John is away." She reaches out and takes John's hands as she says this. "Perks of living on a military base is that there's always someone available to step in and babysit, but at some point you just get tired of trusting your kid to the soldier of the day. And Ben needs stability."
"Well, Mrs. Watson. I can assure you. I'm as stable as it gets." Sherlock says, keeping his voice comforting and deep, eyes taking in the way Mary clings to John's hand and the neat folds on John's trousers; The way John drink down his coffee and the dark rings beneath his eyes; That Mary isn't wearing any jewelry, not even their wedding ring; That the couple in front of him are polite and smiling and still acting as if Sherlock were currently holding a gun to their heads.
October 19th. 2011 ATFC Winchester, Hampshire.
Sherlock has Ben tugged in bed and is putting the last of the dirty dishes into the dishwasher when Mary comes home. She's exhausted and smells of alkaline and gunpowder, her hair is neat, but her shoulders are stiff. Sherlock never comments, but he notices anyway.
"I'll make tea." Sherlock says and Mary nods as she walks through the kitchen and down the hall to Ben's room. She usually sits there for twenty minutes after she comes home, looking at him sleeping. Sherlock has enough empathy to appreciate how hard it must be for a mother to be away from her young child all day, to only have him while he's asleep. Or even worse, to leave your son behind for months at a time, like John. To come home and realize that your kid has learned to talk while you were away, to walk while you weren't there. Has learned to say dad and daddy, but you weren't home to hear it, it was spoken about you, not to you. Sherlock doesn't envy John and Mary Watson. But they made their choice. And that's why Sherlock is here.
"Sherlock, thank you." Mary says as he hands her a steaming cup of tea. "You always know what I need."
"That's why I'm here." Sherlock counters and collects an amused look from Mary. "You may have hired me to take care of Ben, but John hired me to take care of your peace of mind."
Mary laughs. It's a pleasant sound, warm and genuine and Sherlock can't help but feel a tug at the corner of his mouth.
"I suppose you're right." She says, smile on her lips and a gleam in her eyes. Sherlock is not sure he has seen her happy since John left.
August 4th. 2011. ATFC Winchester, Hampshire
John and Mary are in the kitchen talking when Sherlock comes running in, Ben stumbling along at his heals. Sherlock senses the mood and moves the chase through the living room, out through the terrace door and back out into the garden. Sherlock notice that John's eyes follow him as they go. His boots are new even though the old weren't in bad shape. There are neat folds in his pale, new cargo-pants, but it's the pres folds you get from the laundromat on base, not the kind Mary makes. And the SIG Sauer has been replaced with a semi-automatic Browning. As always Sherlock sees and catalogues.
Mary's been home during the day ever since Sherlock moved in, letting the other scientists run her project, in exchange for her comming in at night to make up for her lost work. She told Sherlock that she usually gets some time off when ever John is home from missions, but this time it's been difficult. Her project is in an important phase and she's needed in the lab.
Sherlock allows her lie. She's home to watch her new babysitter, not John. In fact she's never alone with John for any longer periods of time, she's nervous around him, her eyes sad and her posture tense. Sherlock doesn't know her well enough to know if it's common behaviour for her, but he knows it's not normal behaviour.
Mary teaches Sherlock to cook oatmeal for Ben, John's sitting in a chair in the kitchen watching. Sometimes his eyes meet Mary's and she looks away quickly. Sherlock asks when to add salt, Mary goes to wake Ben up from his nap.
"So when are you shipping out?" Sherlock asks when Mary's out of earshot. John raises his eyes and they bore into Sherlock's. It's intense, warm and non threatening, but Sherlock still feels like John is trying to unravel him.
"How did you know?" John just asks and takes a sip of coffee. He doesn't break eye contact. It's as if the man needs some level of intimacy and he's starving for it when Mary is shutting him out.
"You don't have to answer." Sherlock deflects and turns away to get Ben's bowl, the one with the tiger.
"Tonight." John say after a pregnant pause, getting up to put his now empty cup in the washing maschine. "We're shipping out tonight"
"She doesn't think you're coming back." Sherlock dares. This time he looks up to catch John's eyes. He's already given far too much away. It's too late to play the ignorant babysitter. John isn't stupid.
John watches Sherlock for a long moment, face serious and wide, blue eyes wary. "She doesn't think she'll see me again." John says and Sherlock isn't sure his own assumption is being confirmed or corrected.
Mary is walking down the hall with Ben on her arm; Sherlock can hear Ben's voice is leveled with Mary's head as he tells his mother about his dreams. Behind John there's a fly dying in the window, it's buzzing getting weaker and weaker. Sherlock catalogues and sort out the information he needs to keep; John's eyes are wet at the corners and his jaw is clenched, but his hands are lose, soft and searching as he wraps his arms around himself in a very surrendering way. Sherlock wish he knew what John was searching for.
October 19th. 2011 ATFC Winchester, Hampshire
Sherlock and Mary have already fallen into a routine. Sherlock reheats dinner while Mary leans against the low wall surrounding the kitchen counter, elbows resting on the wooden surface, chin in her hands.
She's tiny next to Sherlock, but standing this far apart Sherlock doesn't have to lower his eyes to look at her's. They're brown and always kind, even though some nights they are warm and other nights scared. Sherlock hasn't found a factor that determines the mood of Mary's eyes, so he assumes it has to do with her work,which they cannot talk about. Instead they talk about Ben or how Mary and John moved here from Catterick, North Yorkshire so that John could train medical personal. That's the only time Mary utters the spiteful comment "But of cause he couldn't just teach. John has to do everything himself."
Sherlock doesn't know what to make of that comment. But he'll find out later. It's catalogued as well, right next to the wetness in John's eyes and the searching hands.
Mary is getting comfortable around Sherlock fast, faster than anyone else Sherlock has ever met. He knows that John and Mary assumes he's gay. Sherlock never confirmed this or denied it. It doesn't make a difference to him, but he knows it was one of the deciding factors to him getting the job. John isn't stupid. He wouldn't just let any man live in his house, live with his wife. Sherlock draws the curtains shut and joins Mary in the sofa as they watch the news.
Mary is an intelligent woman, and Sherlock enjoys talking to her. She has an opinion about everything, but she doesn't feel the need to impose her thoughts on others. Sherlock likes that about her.
One of the British ministers has withheld information, a young boy died in a solo-accident on the highway. Prices on fuel has gone up. Sherlock doesn't pay much attention. An unknown man broke into a house near Russel square, but didn't steal anything. The house across the street from the chief of police's mistress. Sherlock makes a mental note to call Mycroft.
A storm will be moving in during the night. Mary drops the remote in Sherlock's lap and takes her teacup to the sink in the kitchen.
"I'm going to bed." She pokes her head in through the door. "And Sherlock. Thank you. You've been great at taking care of my peace of mind."
Sherlock nods. A minute later he hears the door to her and John's bedroom close. Sherlock turns off the telly and the house is dark.
Back in London Sherlock is usually out cold when he finally allows his brain to rest after keeping up for days at a time, but now, here in this house, there is nothing to do at night except to force himself to sleep. The sounds of the storm outside making it even harder to drift off and as a consequence his sleep is restless and light. The sharp sound wakes him easily. Even through the daze of some dream, Sherlock manages to recall the exact sound and categorises it as small stone against a window. His feet hit the carpet at the exact same time that his brain register and process the smell of accelerant and smoke.
He grapes his coat and the backpack behind the door, and shoves his laptop into it next to the gun. Ben's room is across the hall from Sherlock and he picks up the sleeping boy, not bothering to wake him. It's better if he's spared anyway.
Sherlock knocks on Mary's door once before opening it. The room is filled with flames and smoke and Sherlock has to fight himself to not just run in; Ben is still asleep in his arms. Mary is in her bed and Sherlock calls out her name, but she doesn't stir and Sherlock makes his decision. He lowers Ben to the floor, where the smoke won't hurt him, and runs to Mary's side, shakes her, trying to wake her up. His hands catch something wet and for a moment Sherlock forgets the flames and smoke filling the room, as he pushes Mary to her stomach to find an exit wound near her spine.
With out wasting more time, Sherlock turns to pick up Ben and runs to safety in the garden. He won't bother calling for help; The base is already awake and soldiers are running to help him, the alarm blaring out across the grounds. Sherlock holds Ben tight. The boy is breathing normally, skin colour fine: no sighs of carbon monoxide poisoning. The soldiers are running out the fire-hoses, trying in vain to put out the fire, but the storm raging in the night isn't helping their effort. Sherlock tries to wipe the blood off his hands and wonders if he's the only one who smells the gasoline.
The RMP's are there taking statements, and medical personal puts a blanket over Sherlock's shoulders. He tries not to snap at them. Ben is awake and crying, crying his lungs out and hitting Sherlock with his tiny hands in all the places he can reach. Sherlock knows he should be calling Mycroft, but he doesn't want to. If the RMP's end up blaming the fire on Sherlock, he'll might reconsider, but for now he just cannot deal with his brother's concern.
Sherlock still hasn't told anyone that Mary was shot, that the fire was set in her room; he simply doesn't know who to trust. He's in a closed military base, surrounded by highly trained soldiers, canine-patrols doing sweeping rounds and armed personal at every entrance. It would take a special kind of training to get past all of that to - what? Shoot the research leader of a top secret project? But for what reason? Sherlock has no way of guessing, but he assumes he can get the files from Mycroft.
The other option is of course that no one forced their way into the base, that the killer is to be found here amongst the soldiers putting out the embers and flames. The less Sherlock disclose of his knowledge the safer he is for now. No one here would dream of killing Mycroft Holmes brother, but to protect their secret, no one would blink twice at the thought of killing Sherlock Baker, civilian babysitter, and not even Mycroft can recall a bullet once it's been fired. So Sherlock keeps his mouth shut, holding on to Ben. Once in a while a medic comes over and puts the oxygen mask back on his face, but other than that he's left mostly alone to comfort the crying boy. Except Sherlock doesn't know how to comfort, so he just holds the boy tight, telling him soothing lies.
John arrives past noon the next day. Sherlock calculates the travel time somewhere in his busy brain; he never heard a helicopter land, but there isn't enough time for John to have arrived by car from the airport. The storm had died down during the night, and instead there's a steady pour of rain. One of the nurses have taken Ben away from Sherlock and he wonders at the sudden anxiety he feels without the boy in his arms; He feels naked in the rain as he watches John cross the parking lot to the infirmary. John's in his uniform, boots dirty from the mud he's splashing through as he walks across the base, but his cargo pants are clean. A woman in a white lab coat comes over and asks if he's okay, standing there in the rain. She smells of alkaline and Sherlock closes his eyes, suddenly unwilling to catalogue any more information.
It's not until the darkness have fallen over the base that John finds Sherlock sitting alone in a chair, knees drawn up to his chest, head tipped back against the wall, baring his throat. John doesn't speak. He just stand there, feet spread apart and hands behind his back. Sherlock doesn't open his eyes.
"I didn't know what to tell him." Sherlock says, voice dipping deeper than usual. "He asked for her, and I didn't know what to tell him."
"Neither did I." John answers and his voice is broken. Sherlock can't say he knows John Watson well, but he's never heard a voice that broken before. He lifts his head and opens his eyes.
John's eyes are dry, but there's wet stains at his sleeve. He's still in the same clothes he arrived in, pants wet, boots muddy, but drying, short hair damp. Sherlock wonders if John slept on the plane here, unlikely. Still he seems alert, almost hyper-aware. There's a scratch behind his ear, starting to heal, two days old. There's a tan-line at his neck and wrists, but it's not as dark as you would expect after two and a half months in Afghanistan. He isn't waring his wedding ring, he didn't bring it when he left. Mary had it in her hand once, when she was sitting by Ben's bed, watching him sleep, so perhaps it's still in the house. The gun at his hip is freshly polished.
"One of the nurses took him, auburn hair, green eyes, I think her name is Louise. I haven't seen her before, but you know, they train new nurses every month and I don't really have time to mingle." Sherlock rambles fast. Too fast, but John allows the word-stream, seems to hold on to Sherlock's voice as an anchor. "But then you arrived, so I suppose he doesn't need me now." Sherlock concludes, but he isn't finished. He's just been warming up, getting John ready for what he actually want to tell him. "Mary did die. But she didn't die in the fire. She was shot John."
John's eyes snap back into focus, his whole posture changing and straightening. It's instant and calculated. "And you didn't tell the RMP's?"
"No John. Think!"Sherlock gets to his feet and John takes a step back, not because he objects to being close to Sherlock, but because the height difference seem bigger the closer they are, and right now John clearly needs to feel in control.
"I never heard the shot, so clearly they used a silencer. Now, who breaks in, shoot one person, doesn't steal anything and stages a fire?" Sherlock asks "Professionals. That's who. I don't know what Mary was working on. But there could easily have been some one in the government who didn't like what she was doing."
"She was killed inside a top guarded military base?"
Sherlock just looks at John, lets the man reach the conclusion in his own time.
"So you think the army had her killed?" John's voice is sceptical, but his body language screams alert.
"That's certainly an option. But I can't know for sure, too many pieces of the puzzle are missing."
John moves closer, eyes fixed somewhere around Sherlock's collarbone. Two sergeants walk past, Sherlock recognise one of them from last night, they're both recently in from service in the sun, tanned and hair sun bleached. They keep walking , but stop further down the hall, sending John and Sherlock stolen glances. John leans in. "I'm army, Sherlock. If you think it's an inside job, then why tell me?"
Sherlock considers what to answer. He's been working on a few different options since the fire, and chooses the story he likes best at that moment. "I had to tell someone. Someone important enough, someone who cared about her. Just in case they would try to pin it on me. If it comes back that she was shot and it wasn't the government, I would be the number one suspect."
"But if you told someone you would be less suspicious."
"Yes, obviously."
John takes a step back, eyes searching Sherlock's face. "Well in that case, we need to get out of here. I'll get Ben."
"Can we do that? Just leave?"
The ghost of a smile flicker across John's face. "You're not a suspect, and this isn't a prison, Sherlock." John turns to walk away and Sherlock follows. When they reach the two sergeants waiting at the end of the hall they follow behind John and Sherlock out of the building.
"Don't worry. They're mine." John says, eyes finding Sherlock's in the light from the lamp posts lining the road to the infirmary. Sherlock nods and John continues to lead the way.
John has a jeep brought out for them while Sherlock waits with Ben by the door to the infirmary. Ben clings to Sherlock's leg until Sherlock bends down and picks up the boy, pressing him close to his chest. "It's alright, Ben, It's all going to be okay."
John drives through the night, mostly smaller roads and at least one hour on a small, bumpy back road, ending in a dirt track. John grabs a torch from his bag and throws it to Sherlock, unsurprised when Sherlock catches it in one hand, even in the awkward angle and holding Ben with the other arm. John disappears into the darkness, Sherlock follows him.
The house is well kept and solid, something taken right out of the Canadian woods. John turns on the lights and throws his duffel bag in the sofa, then strips off his coat and the gun holster. There's a fireplace and a modern kitchen, even a flat screen TV.
"You come here often?" Sherlock asks, dropping his own bag next to the door, lifting Ben higher on his hip.
"No." John admits, but doesn't elaborate. "There's no food in the fridge, but I'll make some tea. I need some at least."
Sherlock follows John out into the kitchen and watches John as he digs out some tea from the cupboard and pour water in the electric kettle. He clearly knows his way around the kitchen here.
"Where should I put Ben?" He asks and goes to pick up his bag.
"Umm, first door on the left. The light in the ceiling is broken but there's a lamp by the bed." John answers and his eyes follow Sherlock as he disappears down the hall.
Sherlock doesn't bother turning on the lights. He just put Ben down in the bed and takes off his shoes and jacket. His clothes aren't tight or uncomfortable and Sherlock decides the boy can sleep in them, this one night. Better than waking him up. Sherlock puts his bag down and open it. His computer and the gun are the only two things in it. Sherlock brush a finger over the handle of the SIG Sauer before he pushes the bag under the bed without zipping it closed. The window is slightly ajar, but the room is warm. Sherlock closes it anyway, so Ben won't get cold from the draft. There's a news paper on the desk, date 18th. Oct. Sherlock picks up the paper and turns it so the date is hidden. Then he returns to the kitchen.
"Sugar?" John asks and Sherlock settles in the sofa.
"Two please." Sherlock watches as John cross the room with the cups, setting one in front of Sherlock. "You're used to coping with loss."
John raises an eyebrow, hand going up to his forehead, sliding over his face. He looks tired all of a sudden. "Yeah, I suppose. Or well actually. You don't really learn to deal with loss, you learn to ignore it." His voice is bitter and Sherlock wonders, wonders how long he will last before he starts cracking. "I've lost good men, close friends. But Mary wasn't a fighter. You don't expect..." John stops talking and reaches for his cup instead. Sherlock follows his example and holds the cup to his lips.
For a while they sit in silence, Sherlock counting the seconds. After about three minutes he blinks, covering his eyes with his hand. He shakes his head and gets up, swaying. "Umm, I feel dizzy." He says, and supports himself against the walls as he walks out into the hall. "Think I'm just gonna throw some water in my face." John watches as he goes, listen as the water starts running before he gets to his feet and takes the Browning from it's holster lying across the back of the sofa. He walks to the bathroom pausing outside the door, before he returns to the kitchen, resting the hand holding the gun against his forehead, eyes closed. He takes in a deep breath and goes back to the bathroom door, knocks. "You know this isn't my idea, right Sherlock? I'm just a soldier, taking orders." He says, pushing the door handle down.
"I know about your orders, John." Sherlock says, from behind John, stepping out from the dark bedroom holding a his own gun. "Of cause I know them, that's why I'm still here. It would be so easy for you. To stage my suicide and pin the whole thing on me. But I'll take that risk."
"When the order came up on Mary."John's voice is calm, but Sherlock can see a slight quiver in his lower lip, a gathering wetness in the corner of his eyes. "I told them I'd take the job myself. I know some of those guys. Considering they're professionals, they really aren't that professional."
John has to do everything himself. "Mary knew." Sherlock mentally kicks himself. If he'd known more about human behaviour he might have guessed, would have clued together the pieces.
"Yes, we talked about it." John confirms. "We picked you to be the best new parent for Ben. You were supposed to get out of there, nice and easy, and then stay to take care of Ben."
"You threw a pebble on my window, making sure I would wake up in time to get Ben out. You didn't plan that I would try to wake up Mary?"
"I didn't expect that you would would be the hero. Obviously I've underestimated you."
"In more ways that one." Sherlock smirks "John. I told you for a reason. I let you know what I knew, and as you can see, it's not because I thought you were innocent. But I trusted you anyway. Or at least, I trusted you not to kill me. My name is Sherlock Holmes, John. And I can promise you. I'm worth much more to you alive than dead."
John watches Sherlock, both of them statues in the darkness. "What do you want, Sherlock Holmes?"
"I need the name. I need to know who you work for, or rather who you think you work for." Sherlock clarifies, voice deep and soft.
John tilts his head. "You seem to know more than what's good for you. But you cannot simply pull down a file? Look up a name?"
"Of cause I can, John, don't be silly. I can get to any information I want, perks of being me."
John raises his eyebrows and squares his shoulders. "So?"
"So what information do you think someone like me cannot get a hold of, John?"
"Enlighten me."
"The kind that doesn't exist in any file." Sherlock says with an amused smile. "By the way, we can put these down now, right?" Sherlock gestures with the gun in his hand. "I assume by now you have realised that the weight of your gun is off, I removed the bullets while you were in the kitchen. And I have no intention of shooting you." Sherlock lowers his gun and tugs it away in his pants. John mirrors him, lowering his gun, but doesn't make any other moves.
"Come on Dr. Watson," Sherlock smirks. "Let's sit down, get to know one another. I'll make the tea this time."
Sherlock walks past John and returns to the sofa in the living room. After a minute John sits down next to Sherlock, awkwardly. "So who are you working for?" John asks, voice suddenly softer, much closer to the broken sting Sherlock heard back at the base.
"Me?" Sherlock smiles again, getting out his phone and pressing speed dial. "I don't work for anyone. But that doesn't mean I work alone."
Note: This can be considered a part one, or a complete story if you want. I assume I will add a second part to it, I like this verse.