A/N: Sorry it took so long for me to write this! Final Exams are kicking my ass! If anyone can guess why the Social Services lady's last name in this is "Smith" then props to you! Here's a hint: OO-WEE-OO! OO-WEE-OO! :) Yeah, not too difficult. Please review and tell me what you think!
And Then There Were Three
Chapter 1: The Inspection
John awoke that Friday morning completely happy and content. The early rays of the sun streamed through the window blinds and little birds chirped soft songs. He was ready to start the day, but realized his alarm hadn't gone off. Oh, that's right. He had the day off today. He had taken off for-
Shit.
John jumped out of bed so fast the room spun around him. He went to walk forward to turn the light on, but he was tangled in sheets. He took one step forward, tripped, and fell flat on his face on the wooden floor. The sheets followed John's path to the ground leaving Sherlock without blankets. The Consulting Detective mumbled something in his sleep, and rolled over, shivering. John spent a few minutes untangling himself from the assortment of quilts and, once free, turned to wake his still sleeping husband. He placed a hand on the tall man's shoulder and shook him gently, but urgently.
"Sherlock…" Sherlock groaned in response.
"Go away John, I'm trying to sleep…" Sherlock rolled over and shoved his head into a pillow. John sighed, feeling like a mother waking her lazy five-year-old.
"Sherlock, you have to get up. We have-" Sherlock cut him off.
"Is the house on fire?" Sherlock spoke into his pillow, so John had to strain to hear him.
"What?"
"Is. The. House. On. Fire?" He said, lifting his head slightly out of the cotton, only to let it fall back down on the mattress when he was finished being rude.
"Wha- No! Sherlock-"
"Then why are you waking me up? We've discussed this; unless my wellbeing is in danger, you shouldn't keep me from sleep. Despite the fact that this is simply transport for something far more important, you have told me many times that I need to 'start taking care of it'. So that's what I am trying to do, and what you are currently keeping me from doing." John just blinked.
"Sherlock, today the woman from social services is coming over! Today is our inspection!" Sherlock appeared not to have heard John, but in the time it took to blink, he was jumping out of the bed and heading towards their closet to get changed. However, all did not go as planned. He strode forward confidently, only to step on the blankets John had just shed. They slid across the floor, sending the world's only Consulting Detective to the ground, limbs sprawled out in all directions. John instinctively jumped back to avoid damage to himself, but just as quickly reached forward to peel his husband off the floor.
"Are you alright?" He asked, checking Sherlock for damage.
"Transport, John." Sherlock reminded him, brushing himself off with as much dignity as he could muster after becoming one with the floor. "It doesn't matter." He walked forward purposely to the closet to change, this time making it without any casualties. He quickly disrobed and pulled his purple button-up off of its hanger.
"What's going to happen during this… inspection?" Sherlock spit out the word like it was an expletive. John sighed and pulled on a pair of dress trousers.
"This is just the first inspection-"
"You mean there's more?!" Sherlock asked loudly, buttoning up his shirt. John rolled his eyes.
"We've been through this before Sherlock. There are two inspections-" Sherlock cut him off.
"When's the next one?" John sighed.
"I'm not sure. We'll find out after today." Sherlock looked at is reflection in the mirror and straightened his collar.
"What's going to happen today?" If John hadn't known better, he would've said Sherlock was worried. John walked out of the closet and grabbed the hairbrush, pulling it through his tangled sandy colored hair.
"Just general stuff. Inspections of the rooms to make sure it's fit to have a child in the house. Oh, and we're going to be asked some questions from the packet we filled out a while ago." Sherlock followed his husband around the room as he spoke and shook his head.
"There's no reason to ask us those questions twice." Sherlock moaned. John just looked at him, and Sherlock plopped down on their bed. "Alright, I know it's so they can tell if we're lying, but still! We're us! Why would we lie about anything?" Sherlock fell back against his pillow; John moved him strategically around the mattress as he made the bed around the lump of Consulting Detective. He knew it wouldn't be worth it to ask him to get up.
Bring!
The doorbell.
Sherlock watched as John froze for a half a second, then straightened up, his hands griping tight to the bed sheets.
"That will be them. The social service." John said, breathing deeply through his nose to calm himself. Sherlock stood up, careful not to wrinkle the blankets, and offered his hand to his husband.
"Ready?" Sherlock asked, giving John's hand a squeeze.
"Ready."
John and Sherlock opened the door to 221b Baker Street, Sherlock holding tight to John's left hand. A short and rather plump woman greeted them. She was wearing a neatly pressed white blouse, with a matching black skirt and blazer. Sherlock looked her over once, and John watched his facial expression closely. The woman smiled at them.
"Is this the Watson-Holmes residence?" John looked at Sherlock for a moment longer, and when Sherlock didn't react badly to the woman in front of him, he smiled back at her.
"Yes, hello. Yes it is." The social worker stepped through the doorway into their living room and held out her hand.
"I'm Alexandra Smith, from Social Services." John shook her hand, then Sherlock.
"I'm John, and this is Sherlock." Sherlock nodded at Ms. Smith and gestured to the chair beside them.
"Please, have a seat Ms. Smith." She sat down in the chair and Sherlock and John sat side by side on the couch opposite her. They held hands and looked expectantly at the social worker. Alexandra Smith fumbled around in a large bag for a moment, before pulling out a manila folder. She pulled a few pages out of the folder along with a pencil then faced the nervous couple.
"There's no need to be anxious." Ms. Smith said, smiling. "I'm just asking you a few questions. You've already answered them at any rate." She looked down at her paper and adjusted her glasses.
"Now, have either of you been married before this?"
"No." John said.
"John is the only one for me." Sherlock said confidently. John's face reddened a little but he squeezed his husband's hand affectionately. Ms. Smith shuffled her papers in her lap again.
"Okay, and neither of you have a history of substance abuse…" She mumbled to herself and marked something down.
"Sorry?" John asked, looking at Sherlock and frowning. Ms. Smith looked up and smiled reassuringly at them.
"Oh don't worry. We have it written down that Mr. Holmes-Watson smoked cigarettes at one time, but that doesn't make you ineligible to adopt." Sherlock and John shared a quick glance, but had the sensibility not to press the issue. Sherlock had, at one point in his life, been addicted to illegal substances. It wasn't a secret. John had found out about it almost as soon as he met Sherlock when Greg had searched the flat under the pretense of a drugs bust. How could Social Services not know anything about it?
The questions continued for about an hour more with no problems, until:
"Alright, now I just need to know what your childhood was like. How did your parents treat you? How do you think that will affect your parenting?" Ms. Smith wrote something down on the paper than looked at John and Sherlock expectantly. Sherlock shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. John noticed and started speaking first.
"Uh, my childhood wasn't bad…"
"Please Mr. Watson-Holmes; don't feel like there is any right or wrong answer. I just need to know." John nodded and cleared his throat.
"Dad drank a lot, and though he wasn't abusive in the sense that he beat any of us, it did affect his… I guess, his ability to love us. We could never really be perfect in his eyes. This caused my sister, Harry, to start drinking around the age of, I'd say 16. She just always saw Dad do it, so I guess that became her way out too. Mom was always busy with her job at the local emergency center-"
"She was a doctor too?" Ms. Smith interjected. John shook his head.
"No, she never made it that far. She was a nurse. Anyway, she was never home, so it was normally Harry and I on our own." Ms. Smith nodded, then turned to Sherlock. Sherlock didn't give any outward signs of being uncomfortable, but John knew that this was a touchy subject for him. He squeezed his thigh comfortingly and held tightly to his hand.
"My story isn't that different from John's. I was an inquisitive child, and that wasn't a good thing in my family. My older brother Mycroft was always the same, but he knew how to 'hold it in' as Mother would say, during social situations. My parents were very active in public affairs and we always had people coming to call at our home."
"Holmes Mansion, yes?" Ms. Smith asked, looking up from her papers.
"Yes. You could say my parents were inattentive and I wouldn't dispute." Ms. Smith looked up again at Sherlock's sudden declaration, then marked something down on her papers.
"How do think this will affect how you raise a child?" She adjusted her glasses and looked at the men before her. John and Sherlock looked at each other; they had discussed this. John answered.
"We'll make sure to pay more attention to our child and never punish them for asking questions." Ms. Smith nodded, content with their answer.
"Now, I do have to ask about your jobs. Mr. Watson-Holmes, our research shows you to be employed as a surgeon at the London Clinic?" John nodded and she continued. "However, I am a little confused as to your job Mr. Holmes-Watson." Sherlock stiffened, indignant.
"I am a Consulting Detective." Ms. Smith nodded.
"Yes, that is what it says. But what does a Consulting Detective do, exactly?" Sherlock sighed.
"When the police are out of their depth, which is-" John nudged him gently in the side, urging him not to complete that thought. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but nevertheless, complied.
"When the police are out of their depth, they consult me." Ms. Smith frowned.
"I'm afraid I don't understand." Sherlock rolled his eyes again, exasperated with the woman in front of him.
"I investigate crimes. I go to crime scenes, see what the police overlook, point it out to them, put the pieces of the puzzle together faster than the police can, and solve the case." Ms. Smith paused for a moment, but regained herself fairly quickly. She didn't ask any more questions about Sherlock's occupation. When the questions were over, John and Sherlock took Ms. Smith on a tour of the house. She went from room to room, inspecting the window locks and the nails keeping the shelves to the walls. She smiled brightly when she saw the upstairs bedroom that John and Sherlock were going to turn into the nursery. The only time things got a little rough was when she saw Sherlock's chemistry supplies in the kitchen. John had made him clean everything up and place it on top of the fridge, but Ms. Smith wrote a few things down on her clipboard.
A few hours later, Ms. Smith took her leave, and John and Sherlock collapsed on their couch, exhausted. Sherlock turned his head towards John.
"How do you think we did?" Sherlock asked. John shrugged.
"She said she didn't need to come back a second time, but I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing." John rubbed his eyes. "You're the observant one. What did you get from her?" Sherlock shook her head.
"Nothing of importance. Though she does love Japanese food." John raised his eyebrows. "Frequent customer's coupons in her bag." John chuckled, but soon the two were laughing hysterically, sliding around on the couch, and clutching each other, struggling to quite their howls of laughter. Once they had calmed down, John sighed.
"We'll just have to wait and see what happens. Whether or not we can be fathers, it's in their hands now." Sherlock sat up quickly at John's words and John jumped.
"The drugs." He said quickly. John nodded slowly.
"Yeah, how did they not know about that? There must be records all over the place. It would take a god to make all that information disappear." Sherlock sat still for a moment, hands folded under his chin in his classic 'thinking pose'. Suddenly he stood up and grabbed his phone. He dialed quickly and John raised his eyebrows. Sherlock covered the mouth piece with his hand and answered John's unspoken question.
"A god? I doubt it. But the British Government? Now that's more likely. Hello Brother Dear!"
"Yes Sherlock, what is it I am supposed to have done wrong now?" An annoyed voice answered on the other end.
"We've just had our home inspection." Sherlock said into his cell phone.
"Oh? How did it go?"
"Interesting. It seemed that no one knows I've… experimented with brain stimulators." John scoffed at the term, but Sherlock didn't react.
"Did you say anything to them?" Mycroft asked.
"No, I didn't. I was however wondering how this is possible. Files like that just don't disappear." Mycroft chuckled into the phone.
"I would leave this case alone, Sherlock. You've been given a clean slate. Let's try and keep it this way, shall we?" With that, the British Government hung up the phone. Sherlock shook his head and John smiled broadly.
"Say what you will about Mycroft, when push comes to shove, he's got your back."
"Yes." Sherlock said smiling. "Yes he does."
It seemed to take ages for their adoption application to go through. Sherlock felt helpless.
"John…" He moaned as he lay on the sofa one evening. John looked up from his patient files and frowned.
"What is it Sherlock?" Sherlock rolled over onto his side to face his husband.
"How long will this take? I can't stand the suspense!" John shook his head.
"I don't know how long it will take. We just have to give it time. It's only been three weeks." At this, Sherlock smashed his head into the lounge pillow beside him. John winced, sure that the force must have hurt Sherlock's nose, but the consulting detective didn't move.
"It feels like I'm sinking in molasses!" He complained; his voice muffled thanks to the wads of cotton. John frowned.
"How do you mean?"
"I'm moving excruciatingly slow and each time I think I'm starting to get closer to what I want, I get stuck." John blinked at Sherlock's bizarre comparison and Sherlock looked at him expectantly.
"What?" He asked, rubbing at his nose.
"I think you'd better leave the similes to us writers." John said raising an eyebrow.
"Oh, for Pete's sake John! You're a blogger! That hardly counts as fine literature!" John just shook his head.
"Sherlock, thanks to my 'not-so-fine-literature' people know who you are!"
"People knew me!" Sherlock said indignantly sitting up and staring at his husband.
"The day I met you, what were you doing?" John asked, placing his folder beside him and folding his hands in his lap. Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"An experiment." Sherlock said. John looked at him.
"Sherlock, you were beating a corpse with a riding crop! Not working for anyone willing to pay you, not making any money…" Sherlock's eyes narrowed.
"Are you insinuating something?" He said slowly. John shrugged.
"You're the observant one; you tell me!" Just as their dispute was getting rather heated, a timid knock on the door distracted them. Mrs. Hudson leaned around the open door and waved at them with an envelope.
"Yoo-hoo! Having a little domestic?" She asked, walking forward, her arm outstretched. "I hate to interrupt, but this just arrived in the post for you. It says 'one day shipping' on it, so I thought I should get it up to you right away."
John and Sherlock were out of their seats in an instant, both standing in front of Mrs. Hudson expectantly. Sherlock cocked a head at John.
"Do you think-"
"I don't know!" Mrs. Hudson stared at them, confused, but handed the letter over to the pair and walked back downstairs. Sherlock took the letter and placed it on the table, flicking on the light to read the small print.
"London Adoption Agency." He read. John's eyes widened and he gestured widely for Sherlock to open it. He pulled the stiff paper out of the envelope but kept it folded.
"Do you want to read it first, John?" John hesitated, and then shook his head.
"No, you read it. I can't look." Sherlock's hands shook uncharacteristically as he unfolded the pale stationary.
"'Mr. Watson-Holmes and Mr. Holmes-Watson,'" He read slowly. "'We are writing this letter to inform you that your request to adopt a child has been-" Sherlock looked up at John, tears springing in his eyes.
"Denied." He finished. "John, we aren't allowed to adopt a child."