What hurts the most

by ThegirlwithRingonfirewholived

This is the sequel to, "How do I go on," so spoiler alert to anyone didn't read the prequel. Six months after the death of his wife, Watson still struggles with day to day life, while he and Sherlock try to survive with the impending threat, of a mobile Isabelle. An old enemy reemerges and old faces are called in to help. JJ seeks comfort, from a sympathetic friend.

1. Chapter 1

What hurts the most

By: Thegirlwiththeringonfirewholived

London England

4:30 A.M

July 10th 2014

"I'm coming Isabelle," John called out to his crying daughter. "I know you're hungry, it was supposed to be Uncle Sherlock's turn, but he's dead to the world," he said softly and reached into her crib.

His hands grasped only air. There was no trace of his daughter, anywhere. Immediately his heart escaped it's usual home and bounded off of every corner, in the flat.

"Isabelle," John screamed and heard the usual chatter of his baby, echoing off of the walls. "Sherlock, please tell me, you have her."

His feet were swept from under him, in his haste to reach his child.

"Isabelle," he shouted, but his legs seemed to be only stone.

He drug himself across the floor, with his hands growing heavier by the minute. His voice stopped turned into a high squeak, unable to call out to her. Sweat drizzled down his forehead, while his nails dug into the carpet.

"There you are," he smiled happily, but quickly frowned when he saw what she was grasping.

Sherlock's handgun, was being banged against the floor and the cabinets. Her finger stayed on the trigger, as if she was struggling to push it down.

"Isabelle, give it to daddy," he squeaked out, as she smiled towards him and placed it into her mouth. "Isabelle, put it down."

As were the fears of any parent, he sunk into the carpet, unable to move, unable to take this weapon from his daughter, before the bullet went through her skull and her blood splattered the fridge.

"Isabelle," he screamed.

London England

5:00 A.M

July 10th 2014

"John," Sherlock screamed and shook him awake.

"Sherlock," his best friend gasped for air and gripped his shoulders, furiously. "Sherlock, where's Isabelle?"

"In her portable," he reminded him. "You wanted me to stay up with her."

"Oh yes," John cried and ran to the living room. "How is she feeling?"

"She's been coughing, but other than that, she's okay," Sherlock shrugged. "What are you on about?"

"You need to get rid your gun," John said bluntly.

"No, no, not happening," Sherlock argued.

"Look, I just had a dream that Isabelle blew her brains out chewing on your gun," John hissed.

"Come on John, she can't crawl," his best friend reminded him.

"She will," Watson snapped and gazed down at his daughter. "She will be very soon."

"I don't understand John," Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"We need to baby proof," he announced.

"John," Sherlock snickered, "you can't be serious."

"Oh Sherlock," he huffed. "I am dead serious."

"Look John," the detective frowned, "I will bounce her on my knee for three hours straight, rub her tummy when she gas and sing endless hours of the itsy bitsy spider. I even let her suck on my finger, because someone dropped her pacifier in my as you call, green goop. I have allowed some many good suits to be ruined, because she's teething. I will do almost anything in the world," he huffed and placed his arms across his chest," but I refuse to bolt down, every cabinet and crevice in this flat."

"We're baby proofing," John hissed and picked up his daughter.

"We are not," Sherlock shouted, as Watson walked from the room.

"Nine sharp," John called back.

"No John," Sherlock returned John's previous hiss. "I forbid it."

London England

9:30 A.M

July 10th 2014

"I cannot believe we are doing this," Sherlock growled.

"Tell me something," John asked, "what Isabelle fell into the toilet?"

"Well excuse for not being informed, that the bathroom door doesn't close," Sherlock rolled his eyes and rocked the sleeping baby against his chest, "and on top of everything else, we can't leave her with Mrs. Hudson because she's experiencing separation anxiety and I can't keep her, in the car seat, in the cart, because she screams bloody murder."

"She's a baby Sherlock," Watson reminded him. "You can't expect her to cry."

"She's a baby John, it's what they do," his best friend sighed.

"Well I think letting her cry is mean," her father replied and threw something into the cart.

"Well I disagree," Holmes argued.

"Well how is letting her cry, alright?" John asked, feeling rather frustrated, "especially when she's crying for us."

"She needs to learn how to self soothe," Sherlock rolled his eyes, as Isabelle opened one, causing him to bounce furiously to close it again.

"She's a baby Sherlock," he repeated himself. "You said yourself, she's helpless.

"Yes and she always will be, if you don't let her do anything for herself," his best friend shook his head and continued to bounce.

"Well I'm sorry Sherlock," Watson raised his voice, to make his point. "I don't like hearing her upset."

"I can't deal with this," Sherlock shouted and turned the corner.

"Where are you going?" John called out.

"Isabelle and I have some errands to run," Sherlock snapped, "I'm stopping by the flat, to get her stroller."

"Fine," John sighed in relief, "shopping will be much more enjoyable without you," he screamed, but Sherlock had already left the store.

Quantico Virginia

4:30 P.M

July 10th 2014

"Although, the London killer has been dormant for six months, she's back," JJ sighed and rubbed the bruises on her shoulder.

"We're going back to London?" Garcia asked, raising her pink pencil in the air, like a child in school.

"Yes Garcia," JJ replied, "once again the victims all went missing from hotels, so Mrs. Hudson has offered to let us stay again."

"How many more bodies, have they found?" Garcia cringed.

"One hundred this time," JJ frowned.

"Wheels up in thirty," Hotch announced.