Chapter 1. Sweetpeas and Surveillance
John stared in growing disbelief at the figure in the long dark coat, kneeling in front of the headstone, brushing away the fallen leaves and scattered debris.
In the dim light of the early autumnal morning, the little bouquet of purple and pink flowers provided a bright counterpoint to the sepia grave and its surroundings. The flowers were tenderly inserted into the empty grey urn and a pale thin hand reached into the bag resting on the ground to pull out a bottle of water to fill the container of flowers.
"Efficient" Sherlock drawled, from the comfort of his chair, one eyebrow elevated.
"Shut up Sherlock" John hissed automatically as he tried to hear what was being said on the screen
"Sorry I couldn't get here last week, there was a bit of a. ….. um…., well they took me to see "her" again. They got worried and…." the soft voice paused as its owner took a deep shuddering breath and then abruptly changed the subject.
"Do you like the flowers? I made a deal with Mr Mukerjee, to help him sort the newspapers for the paper rounds, and then I can pick any of the flowers in the shop for you. He was telling Layla off when I was there for tea one day, because she won't do it any more and so I offered. Mrs M told him it was a good idea and that Layla could help her make the evening meals instead. Layla wasn't too happy, but you know what she's like she's such a lazy moo…" There was a soft watery chuckle, then a strained attempt at reassurance.
"This new foster family seem nice and it's not far from Layla's house so they let me go to tea there quite often, as long as I have done my homework, and not had detention that day. This place is just short term though, until the new social worker finds me somewhere I can stay longer"
There was a sort of desperate fake cheerfulness in the young voice which was heartbreaking and then the figure paused in the one sided conversation, whilst a slender finger gently brushed a colourful vibrant petal.
"I picked these Sweetpeas because they reminded me of you, delicate and so pretty." There was another longer pause as if the figure was struggling with some internal monologue
"I know I promised to be good Mum"
John flinched and paled, not noticing the way the two other men watched him. One with confusion, and the other with grim foreknowledge.
"And I am trying, but I couldn't let that lad….."
The voice stopped and swallowed, and they could hear the unshed tears trying to break through "let him.." another pause as if the voice could not say the words even alone at her mothers grave, and then she just blurted out with unhidden satisfaction
"So I punched him, hard, and made his nose bleed, but Mrs Jones saw me and thought it was my fault, well I suppose I did black his eye as well, and she did have to pull me off him, because I wouldn't let go of his hair when I was smacking his head on the ground, and kneeing him in his…. but I didn't start it Mum I swear"
The short strawberry blonde curls bounced as the head was moved desperately from side to side, satisfaction changing to entreaty, and then there was another deep shuddering breath.
"She was so cross Mum, and she started to shout, I hate it when they shout, its like my brain freezes, I got so scared I just couldn't say anything, " the blonde head dropped into shaking hands "but Layla stood up to her and told her what happened."
Another watery chuckle "She got detention for shouting at her and calling her an unobservant old cow" She hummed in amusement for a second. "I think it was the "old" bit that Mrs Jones really objected to"
An almost identical smirk crossed the faces of the Holmes brothers upon hearing the word unobservant, but Dr Watson didn't notice, he was too invested in watching and listening, a terrible premonition gripping him.
Another shuddering breath, a shrug and the lilting voice continued, sounding so young and lost
"Anyway now I have to talk to "her" about that as well as about you. And I hate it Mum, I hate it. I can't talk to her, I want you Mum, we could always talk about everything but I look at "her" and it's like there's this great big rock in my throat, and she sits there all smug, waiting for me to say something…. .Or telling me 'write your thoughts down Jocelyn you will feel so much better'… How does writing down I'm miserable make me less miserable?"
The baffled anger in that voice resonated in John Watson's chest and a wry sympathetic smile crossed his lips.
"I swear Mum this counselling thing is only to make them feel better. Give the crying little orphan some attention, make her write some pointless crap, then we've done our duty and we can pass her onto the next department in the queue"
The angry young voice spat bitterly, but then the fight and the fury seemed to drain away leaving just a world of aching sadness as she continued in muffled tones.
"I do know it's supposed to help me Mum, and I promised you I would try, but it just doesn't help, truly it doesn't"
One hand moved up to her face and wiped quickly at her eyes, although the angle of the surveillance camera could not pick out her features.
The figure straightened up, thin shoulders pulling back as if gathering courage in an oddly familiar gesture. A stance that was repeated by one of the three men in the silent room.
She rubbed her hands down the side of her coat.
"Sorry I've been whinging Mum, but I do have some good news. Got some good results for my mocks, mostly A's and B's, see, all that time in detention paid off in the end!"
The figure glanced down at a wrist watch and gasped
"Shi ... oops I'm late, I've got to go Mum or I will be in detention again"
One hand went to up to her lips and then she blew a kiss at the name on the headstone "Catch and keep Mum" She whispered, the sob in her voice all too audible again after the determined cheer.
Then she whirled, coat flying, grabbed the school bag and raced towards the graveyard exit.
Leaving the bouquet of sweetpeas on the grave of Mary Morstan
John turned to face Mycroft, his face pale "What, when, How" he stuttered with confusion, then the expression tightened "Tell me!" he demanded.
Sherlock watched the teenager move out of view on the screen and stated with irritation
"Mary Morstan's daughter obviously John, but what has this got to do with us Mycroft",
he asked with growing irritation. Lestrade had texted ten minutes before Mycroft's arrival with a very interesting case and they were wasting time. But Mycroft had been insufferably insistent upon them watching the DVD he had brought with him.
"Sherlock" John growled in warning and Sherlock turned to stare at him, confusion on his face as he took in John's obvious anger and distress. This was more that the good Doctor's irritating facility to feel sympathy for everyone and his dog. This was personal. His eyes flickered from the screen back to the Doctor and comprehension hit just as Mycroft opened his mouth to respond
"But not just Mary's daughter Sherlock" drawled Mycroft blandly as he turned towards John' drawn features. Sherlock stiffened at the implication and his elder brother's barely concealed satisfaction that he knew something Sherlock didn't.
"There is more film John if you want to see it "he offered with spurious kindness.
"Mycroft" John growled dangerously, "Who is that young girl"
There was an impatient sigh before he deigned to answer
"As my dear brother so accurately pointed out, she is Mary Morstan's only child, Jocelyn Jayne Morstan, born prematurely seven and a half months after you and Miss Morstan parted company, you to join the army and continue your medical training, Miss Mary Morstan to leave her primary school teaching position and disappear into the wilds of Wales, falling off the radar for nearly thirteen years until her extended NHS stays and hospice care for terminal cancer which regrettably resulted in her demise 3 months ago."
The information was offered with typical Mycroft Holmes bland precision.
"She told me the baby had died and that she didn't want to see me again,"
John slumped into the seat, unaware that he had uttered the words aloud, unaware of the differing reaction from the two Holmes brother's. Sherlock's furious confusion and jealousy, and Mycroft's measured monitoring of his brother and partner.
Mycroft's calm unemotional yet oddly empathic voice continued
"Miss Morstan did lose a baby John, she was carrying twins and unfortunately one was still born. Apparently the Doctors were unaware that there was a second child, until some months after the still birth.
Jocelyn Jayne has been the prime carer for her mother since the illness was diagnosed three and a half years ago when she was 11 years old. She is now in the looked after children system, in temporary foster care accommodation undergoing bereavement counselling whilst her chances at a long term foster home are assessed.
Her grades are better than average considering the difficulties of her role looking after her mother, and the regrettable fact that most children in the care system do not do well in education. Her penchant for mathematics is unusually strong.
Her educational career has had a chequered history; she tends to have a temper and is rather too familiar with the detention room at her school. She is not bullied, her temper sees to that, she has few real friends, mainly because of her previous caring duties and the Morstans relative poverty, however she is liked well enough and the friends she has made have remained constant during her unfortunate trials.
I am sorry John, I would have had more information for you but I only became aware of this situation two days ago,"
John stared at Mycroft without really seeing him. "One died" he repeated sadly. Sherlock went to stand behind him and put a tentative comforting hand on his shoulder, but then it was quickly removed. He wasn't comfortable with emotional displays in front of his brother, unless it was anger, or irritation.
Mycroft refrained from one of his civil but devastingly sarcastic retorts because he could see the impact his words had created.
Sherlock asked the question before John could
"How did you find out about her Mycroft".
Mycroft looked at the tips of his finger nails and spoke with deliberation.
"Dr Watson's security surveillance has increased since your return Sherlock, as the threat level was exponentially enhanced due to current risk factors associated with a certain ex Colonel Moran, more in depth monitoring of names of acquaintances has taken place and correlations have been made. Suffice it to say, the incident at Jocelyn's school last week was reported to the police and social services, this crossed the desk of a diligent duty officer, the name Morstan being rather rare, the officer subsequently gathered information regarding the death of Miss Mary Morstan, the connection was made, and more investigation was recommended"
John's head came up and he regarded Mycroft with a dangerous gleam in his eye.
"What happened at the school Mycroft?"
"It has been taken care of John"
Mycroft tried to deflect the question but John just repeated it, the danger now evident in his tone of voice.
"An ex-pupil tried to assault her in the school grounds but the young lady managed to defend herself, there was some indication that she could be charged with an offence due to the rather vigorous nature of her defence, however this has been dealt with, on the proviso that she attends further counselling session."
John's hands had clenched into fists as he listened to Mycroft
"What happened to the ex-pupil?" He almost growled, his unblinking eyes not moving from Mycroft's face.
There was a slight pause as Mycroft studied him,
"There was not enough evidence to keep the youth in custody after his assault on the young Miss Morstan, fortunately however he was apprehended a few days ago, when unconscious at the scene of a house burglary, he appears to have fallen down the stairs, and is now in the hospital wing of a secure facility waiting for his trial where he faces a rather lengthy term of imprisonment if found guilty."
"Hospital wing?" John queried puzzled.
"Unfortunately it appears the youth was rather clumsy on the stairs, two broken legs, dislocated shoulder, and fractured wrist."
John couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw the merest twitch of Mycroft's lips as he answered.
Sherlock laughed sardonically, "Really Mycroft, rather obvious"
"Sometimes, brother dear, obvious is the best policy"
Mycroft responded without removing his eyes from the good Doctor standing in front of him.
"Now my dear John, we come to the difficult question, what do you want to do with this knowledge",
He continued to study John Watson, even though Mycroft could feel his brother's tension rise. Mycroft's concern for his brother was legendary, which included removing obstacles to his health and happiness, although the brat wouldn't acknowledge it.
In all honesty although he liked the Doctor at times, he wouldn't have involved himself in his affairs, if not for his brother's inconceivable and unbreakable attachment to him.
The introduction of a bereaved teenage girl into this scenario caused him as much concern as amusement.
They hadn't really had long enough to completely deal with the fallout from Sherlock's recent imitation of Lazarus and now they had John Watson's baby blast from the past to risk assess and contain.
This situation would have to be monitored; the potential for escalation was enormous.
"Her safety takes priority Mycroft" John the ex soldier said sternly "The rest we can deal with later"
Sherlock had been quiet, very quiet, too quiet, fingers working frantically on his mobile phone
Mycroft responded to John, while not taking his eyes off his brother, a frown beginning to form on his impassive face
"Then Cardiff it is, until this situation with Moran is resolved"
There was an uncharacteristic hesitation in John's demeanour.
"Does she know about me?"
Sherlock's stiffened but he still wouldn't look up from his mobile, Mycroft's anxiety levels were steadily getting higher as he watched his brother, but he still responded to John's question as courteously as he could.
"I have no idea if her mother told her about you. There was no effort by social services to find her father although your name is on her birth certificate which indicates that she either believes you are dead or it hadn't even occurred to her that you exist"
John swallowed once, and then his "military" expression descended, his mouth firmed and his chin jutted as he straightened his shoulders again.
He turned his head and looked at Sherlock, who was still engrossed in his mobile phone. "Sherlock?" he queried as it began to dawn on him how quiet his partner had actually become.
Sherlock finally raised his head and his icy stare was directed at the pair of them.
"The latest sighting of Moran is at the Hilton Hotel… in Cardiff"