Carrying your love
with me
By: Thegirlwiththeringonfirewholived
Quantico Virginia
12:30 A.M
July 17th 2014
"JJ what are you still doing here?" Hotch asked and saw her clutching one of Reid's sweaters.
"I have to go back," she hissed and turned around to show her bloodshot, tear filled eyes.
"Sherlock and John-
"I don't want Sherlock and John to be the first people he sees when he wakes up," she cried and leaned her head against her knees.
"I know when we left London, it was hard but-
"Hard," she snapped and threw the piece of clothing down on the ground. "Hard, leaving my best friend in a coma in another country hard."
"I'm sorry," he frowned and looked down towards his feet. "I know leaving London was devastating, but the killer was dormant, we couldn't sacrifice other lives and our jobs for an agent whose a vegetable."
"How could you say that?" She screamed and stormed out of the office.
"I'm sorry JJ," Hotch reminded her, "the doctor's said that if he didn't wake up after two weeks-
"I don't care," she growled, "I don't care what the doctor said. Spencer is still in there somewhere and we abandoned him."
"He coded JJ," Hotch shouted and slammed some papers down on the desk. "He coded when you and Gideon were in there, he coded before we left. Sherlock said he coded this morning. His heart is exhausted, if this keeps up, his heart will be seared beyond repair."
"You may come to terms with your vegtable," she huffed and slid her badge across to him, "but I'm still holding on to my friend."
"Jennifer," Hotch scolded, following her out to the elevator, "once those doors, close," he said tauntingly and held up her badge, "you don't get this back."
"Then I don't want to work for someone who turns their backs on thier agents like this," she seethed and bared her teeth, "goodbye Aaron."
London England
7:30 A.M
July 18th 2014
"Alright Isabelle," Sherlock said kindly, with his patience wearing thin. "Let me change-
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" The Seven month old wailed and pulled out a chunk of the detectives hair.
"Clearly not," he sighed and pulled a nappie out from under the changing table. "Why will you only be changed on my lap hug? I've lost for suits this way. "
"I guess she just loves you," John groaned and walked out of his bedroom, causing a look of terror on the baby's face.
"Wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" She screamed and attempted climb Sherlock's chest, with a dirty bum trailing behind.
"Don't worry," John rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen. "I won't take you away from your precious Sherlock. Even though he didn't make you, I did. It's my blood running through your veins, not his."
"I don't know what's happening with her," Sherlock frowned and wiped her bottom, from her pulling up position.
"I know," John shouted and slammed the fridge door.
"Then please enlighten me," the detective asked rocked the newly changed baby against him.
"You're trying to steal her," Watson announced, not even able to look at his best friend.
"Why would I be trying to steal her?" Sherlock defended, as Isabelle clung tightly to him.
"You want to be her favorite," he said angrily, as Isabelle hid her face from her father.
"John," Holmes scolded and winced as the baby pulled another handful of hair out. "Do you honestly believe I like keeping her bumbo in the bathroom while I shower, because she screams if I'm not in sight. I've tried letting her scream," Sherlock hissed softly and tried to keep a calm demeanor. "Nobody else can get near her. Do you honestly want her bursting a lung because she can't see you."
"Yes," John screamed and stormed across the flat.
"Why?" Sherlock gasped, not expecting that answer.
"Because," John shouted before suddenly bursting into tears. "Because she likes you better than me."
"No John," his best friend told him. "That's not it, your her father, I'm just her Sherlock."
"Try telling her that," Watson cried, as Isabelle eyed him defensively.
"Why are you crying?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, as Isabelle dug her face into his chest.
"Because," John sobbed and grabbed a tissue. "I don't think I've slept since she's been born."
"I told you it was sleep deprivation," Sherlock cheered, "imagine how I feel. I've had to sleep with her on my chest for the last month. She's so small, that I fear I'll catapult her if I move an inch."
"No, Sherlock," John shouted, "it's not that."
"Then why are you crying?" Sherlock whispered in a hissed tone, while Isabelle pulled out a chunk of his hair.
"Because," he sighed, "you're her favorite."
"Her favorite what?" Sherlock asked hurriedly.
"Oh don't pretend you don't know," Watson scolded and attempted to take a step near his baby, causing her to scream bloody murder. "I can't even go near her."
"I am not her favorite," Holmes assured him, as Isabelle planted her slobbery mouth on his cheek, reminding him that she had learned how to kiss. "Thank you Isabelle," Sherlock sighed and wiped the spit away from his face. "I know that looked bad, but let me show you."
"No Sherlock," John rolled his eyes and walked to kitchen.
"Come on John," the detective insisted and followed the baby's father.
"No," he grunted and pushed him away, "I don't need the two of you's pity."
"John Hamish Watson you hold your baby this instant," Sherlock demanded.
"Ummm!" A familiar voice said awkwardly from the doorway.
"JJ," John gasped.