The Return "I thought this would get your attention," John's words were like a blade driving itself into Sherlock's heart. John should have been able to just move on after Sherlock's death, right? Sherlock froze in place as he ran through his mind palace searching for why, why would John do this? He would never turn to this, where were the signs? How did he not know? "Everyone said you were dead, but I didn't believe it. I knew you were alive. I just had to get you to come back. I figured the best way to do that was to give you a case," He cast his eyes to the woman on the ground in front of him, "Figures it had to be her to bring you back."
Molly Hooper. Sherlock stared at the mangled body laying broken at John's feet. A cold knife glinted in his hand, warm blood dripping off of it. Molly's blood. "What, no response? Pity, I was rather hoping we could pick up where we left off."
"You...killed her." Sherlock's voice cracked pathetically.
"I didn't have to, you could have came back." His voice was empty, just stating the obvious.
"I...couldn't." "Still in shock. Ridiculous. You never felt the other cases." John's, no the man's voice was frigid and sharp. How could this happen.
"No. It can't." "Sherlock!" This tone was familiar.
"What. Not good?" Another painful sentence, the tone came out pathetic and weak.
"Oh Sherlock, very not good." Cold again, not John.
"Molly..." Stop. This wasn't supposed to happen. "Oh, you remember her don't you?" He kicked the body playfully, "Molly Hooper."
"Don't touch her." Sharp this time, good.
"Finally! There's the Sherlock I wanted to see." He kicked her again.
"Don't." It was almost a growl.
"You left. I can do what I want." Sherlock could almost hear pain in John's voice.
"I didn't want to leave." Sherlock pleaded pathetically.
"You don't get to do that!" John snarled, his face full of fury and pain.
Sherlock flinched away, eyes burning.
"You left! You left me alone, and you didn't come back!"
What happened to you? My Watson. You were always kind and gentle, no matter the situation. Who are you? Where's John?
"John, please." "Begging already? Pathetic."
Sherlock took a step towards the man reaching out with his arms, eyes pleading for this to be ok. John stepped forwards as well.
"John..."
John's face softened, "Sherlock." "What do you want?" Sherlock tried to make his tone cold, but it came out broken.
"I wanted you to come back. Now you did."
"Why Molly?" Tears again.
"You cared about her enough to come back."
"I was coming back when I could, John."
"No. You weren't. You let me grieve. You didn't come back."
"I'm sorry. Forgive me John, please forgive me for all the hurt I have caused you."
John's face was soft now, there were tears in his eyes.
"Please, John." Sherlock's voice cracked again.
John looked down at Molly, at the blood on his hands.
"Forgive me, John." Sherlock pleaded.
"What have I done?" John dropped the knife and stared at his hands in shock.
"You brought me back." Sherlock tried to look John in the eyes.
"I...I killed her."
"Yes. You did." They both looked at Molly's corpse.
"Christ, Sherlock. What have I done."
"John it's-"
"Okay? It's not okay." He was crying now. Covering his face with his hands he began to sob. "No," Sherlock wrapped his arms around the smaller man, "But it is what it is."
They stayed like that for a while, the two of them tucked in a desperate embrace beside the one person who had seen through both of their lies.
"John, I..."
"Mmmhm." His voice came out muffled from beneath Sherlock's coat.
"John, look at me." Sherlock made his tone come out calm and gentle, despite the desperation he was feeling.
John didn't move, his face still mushed against Sherlock's coat. Sherlock gently moved one arm away from the mans back and gently tilted John's face up towards his.
"Sherlock?" His eyes were puffy from crying and his voice cracked painfully with just one word.
Sherlock looked John in the eyes despite the discomfort eye contact caused him.
When John pushed his face up towards Sherlock's he grinned smugly and leaned down into the kiss. John's mouth pushed roughly against his in a desperate attempt to get all he could in the time he had. Sherlock pulled away with a groan when he heard the sirens getting closer. "What do we do?" John glanced around in a panic, looking for a way out.
"Mycroft, if his men can make it in time." Sherlock pulled out his cell and hurriedly punched in his brother's number.
"Hello brother mine," Mycroft's voice crackled over the phone, "I'm already on my way with a handful of my most trusted men, your pet has made quite a mess this time, Sherlock."
"Oh shut up. Where do we go?"
Sherlock paced back and forth while John followed his movements with an anxious expression.
"You'll stay there. My men will lock the street down. Best not to be seen by anyone else."
Sherlock stopped pacing and stood by John's side.
"What about John? Can you clear him?"
"Of course," Mycroft jeered, "It's not the first murder he's committed since you've been gone."
Sherlock glanced at John sadly, and John looked at his feet.
"Goodbye, Mycroft." He snapped his phone shut and moved closer to John.
"Sherlock I-" John was still staring at the ground.
"No John. You did what you did, and it's my fault anyways."
"Oi! No it's n-" John panicked again before Sherlock interrupted.
"Yes. It is. I'm sorry John."
"No. I did it not y-" Sherlock silenced him by pushing his lips against John's.
John reached up and ran his hands through Sherlock's hair, his fingers getting caught in all of the curls. He gave up and just held on to his hair instead.
Sherlock pulled away and John tilted his face back down to his and kissed him again.
Sherlock grinned through the kiss and made John chuckle.
"Now really isn't the time." Sherlock said quietly.
"It was never the right time before, deal with it." John replied before kissing him roughly.
"John, this is a crime scene!" Sherlock pulled away again.
"Yes. I'm the case, so solve me." John reached up for another kiss, but Sherlock stopped him.
"Not now John." Sherlock looked down at Molly, "It's not fair to her."
John looked away guiltily.
"Right. Sorry."
Just then a sleek black car pulled into the area. Mycroft Holmes stepped out slowly, umbrella at his side.
As Mycroft stepped forwards John reached down towards the ground. Sherlock was hardly paying attention, to concerned with what Mycroft had to say to worry about what John was doing. Suddenly a knife was by his throat and John was there breathing in his ear.
"Mycroft, put the gun down!" John commanded.
Sherlock's breathing quickened, "John wh-"
"Shhhhh... I don't want to hurt you." John's voice was gentle and calmed Sherlock instantly.
Mycroft pulled a tranquilizer gun out of his coat and slowly, methodically, he set it down on the ground in front of him. He kicked his right foot out, sending the gun sprawling towards John's feet.
"Apologies, brother mine. It appears my plan was too simple for this delicate situation."
John pressed the knife closer against Sherlock's skin, ignoring the terrified whimper this pulled from the man. A few drops of his blood trickled over the knife and onto John's hand. Sherlock knew better than to attempt to pull away, but Mycroft was visibly worried at the sight of his brother's blood running freely from the cut on his neck.
"Now John, is that really the safest move?" Mycroft tutted, trying to calm his agitation.
"I'm a Doctor. I know what will and will not kill my patient." John's voice was barely a whisper.
Sherlock tried to speak, but it just caused the knife to press harder into his neck. There was more blood now.
"I'm going to leave now, Mycroft. Sherlock too. You are going to let us go, or you will regret it."
Mycroft's grip tightened on his umbrella, but he nodded stiffly, his frown turning to a grimace.
"Good." John pulled the knife away from Sherlock's neck and grabbed him by the hair instead.
Mycroft watched worriedly as John pulled Sherlock into the alleyway. Sherlock wasn't struggling, he just looked confused. His eyes were pools of hurt and Mycroft worried about the impact John's actions could have on the man. Sherlock put a lot of work into maintaining his calm and emotionless facade. Behind that mask was an emotional, delicate, and breakable man. Considering his childhood trauma and Redbeard, it made sense that the man would want to avoid sentiment and all its troubles, but he just couldn't keep away from John Watson. That man was good for Sherlock, until he wasn't.
When John and Sherlock finally reached Baker Street they both breathed a sigh of relief. This wasn't over, but they could have temporary relief.
"John-" Sherlock's eyes were on the ground and his voice was like that of an abused child.
John stared at him, his eyes softening and carefully reached forward to wipe Sherlock's blood away. When Sherlock flinched from his touch, John's eyes went cold again.
"Get inside." He snapped, gesturing to the door.
As soon as they were both through the door John stabbed a needle into Sherlock's shoulder.
"John! What is this?!" Sherlock yelped, pulling the needle out of his arm.
"It's a sedative, you'll sleep for a while, and when you wake up it'll all be okay." John's entire face morphed into a horrific grin, and Sherlock felt himself falling towards the ground before everything went dark.
When he awoke in the flat he thought he'd just had an awful dream, but when he called for John he realized there was a gag in his mouth and his hands and feet were tied to the chair. A few moments later John strolled into the room, knife in hand. He was still smiling, though it was a softer smile now.
"Oh, you're awake!" His eyes crinkled as he chuckled.
"MMMPPMMMH!" Sherlock tried to respond, but it just came out as a muffled scream.
"Let's have some fun, shall we?"
John stepped towards the chair, setting his knife on the coffee table as he passed it. He pulled the knots loose on Sherlock's bonds, allowing him to get loose, then pulled the cloth out of his mouth. He leaned over Sherlock, pushing his face right against Sherlock's. Sherlock flinched away and John cursed colourfully.
"John. Stop. This isn't okay." Sherlock's breathing was laboured and he looked confused.
John leaned forward again, hands running over Sherlock's shirt. He pressed a gentle kiss onto Sherlock's unresponsive lips. "Come on! You're no fun." He pouted, pulling away.
Sherlock stayed, still as a statue, on the chair. This wasn't like John. What was happening?
John gripped Sherlock's hair and pulled him to his feet. "I'm going to kiss you again, and you're going to respond. Ok?"
"John. I want you," Sherlock pleaded, "But not like this."
"This is how you get me." John's tone trembled with rage.
"Angry? Forceful?" Sherlock's voice was strong, "this isn't you."
John went limp, his hands releasing Sherlock's curls. Sherlock reached for the smaller man, pulling him against his chest.
"It'll be okay, John." John raised his eyes to Sherlock's, so much pain in them it made him want to look away.
"Can I...can I show you something?" John clung to Sherlock pathetically.
Sherlock nodded, allowing John to pull away. He lead Sherlock towards his bedroom, his feet shuffling across the carpet. Sherlock followed, hesitantly, wondering what he was about to see. When they reached the room, he was torn between relief and horror.
"A child?" He collapsed against the bed, "You have a child?"
John nodded, his tears drawing lines down his face.
"And the mother?" Sherlock was almost afraid to hear the answer.
"Dead." John made an aborted move to reach for the infant, only stopping at the last second.
"John... did you..."
"Kill her?" A cold laugh escaped him, "No. Died during childbirth."
"Oh."
They both stayed there, awkwardly avoiding each others eyes for a while.
"What's her name?" Sherlock asked tentatively.
"Rosamund," John murmured, "Rosie for short."
"Ah, was that-"
"Her name? No. She chose it though. Her name was Mary."
Sherlock watched John carefully, wondering how he felt about this conversation.
"She was brilliant. You would have liked her." "I'm sure I would, you chose her."
"We were married. You were gone a long time. I got on with my life."
"Oh."
"Well, I almost did."
"She died, so you turned back to the real problem, me."
"She died, leaving me living in our flat with an infant." He spoke these words as facts.
"John, I'm so sorry."
"Yeah, well. That's not good enough."
Just then, Rosie started bawling, her eyes fell on John and she began screeching louder.
"SHUT IT!" John roared, causing the baby to cry harder.
"JOHN!" Sherlock shoved him out of the room, locking the door behind him.
As he moved towards the crib he noticed the scratches on her tiny legs and the obvious signs of malnutrition. She wasn't even a year old, yet it was incredible that she even made it this far. John was not in fit condition to take care of himself, let alone a baby. Sherlock picked Rosie up gently. He knew very little about children, but he was determined to care for this one until John could.
"Hello Rosie, I'm Sherlock." He spoke the way he would to anyone else, only slightly quieter.
The infant stopped sobbing and looked up at him with her big blue eyes. She had John's eyes for sure. "I'm going to take care of you for a while," he murmured, "just until your daddy gets better."
He cradled her in his eyes and rocked her gently. After a few moments she fell back asleep and he set her in back in the crib gently. She had no blankets, and there was nothing for a child, other than the crib, in sight. Sherlock pushed his hands against his temples before reaching for his cell and punching in Mycroft's number. He could hear John banging against the door, but he ignored it for the moment.
"Hello, brother mine. I take it you're no longer a hostage?"
"I need supplies, Mycroft, everything needed to take care of a baby."
"Whatever for?"
"John's child of course."
"John's child?" Mycroft's voice was flat, questioning.
"You have been monitoring him, haven't you?"
"Of course we have!"
"How do you not know?"
"A child."
"Yes. A child. Now get me my damned supplies like a proper big brother!"
Sherlock snapped the phone shut and glared at it before standing and letting John into the room.
"You can't just lock my child away from me!" John snarled.
"You can't just yell at a baby." Sherlock replies.
John was silent for a moment before groaning and lowering himself onto the bed. As he did so his sleeves rode up on his arms and Sherlock could see the many scars stretching over his wrists.
"John, you hurt yourself!" Sherlock yelped, "You hurt yourself because of me!"
John pulled his sleeves up defensively, "It's nothing, I'm fine."
"None of this is 'fine' John!" Sherlock continued, "I'm not stupid you know."
John looked at Sherlock curiously, "Of course I know."
A loud slam startled them both to their feet. Sherlock was first, rushing out to the living room to find Mycroft and another official carrying shopping bags full of diapers, milk, blankets, and other such supplies. "Just set the bags there, Velsby." Mycroft ordered, "Now go wait outside."
As soon as the official was gone Mycroft strolled over to Sherlock.
"Oh, Sherlock." Mycroft said, before Sherlock buried his face in his coat and began sobbing. Mycroft stood stiffly, clearly uncomfortable, as his brother cried his eyes out. When John cautiously stepped into the room, Mycroft pulled Sherlock behind him protectively.
"Mycroft, it's fine, I'm not going to do anything." John huffed.
Sherlock sniffled from behind Mycroft, but didn't make an attempt to move away.
"You've already done enough, ." Mycroft said curtly.
"Look, I'm unarmed." John raised his arms up mockingly.
"Where's Rosie?" Sherlock inquired from behind his brother.
"Exactly where you left her." John stated, trying to get a look at his friend.
"Rosie, the child." Mycroft stated, "How did you hide her from my surveillance?"
"He kept her in the house, caring for her until the supplies ran out." Sherlock supplied.
"No, brother mine, look at this house, he never cared for her he just fed her." Mycroft replied.
John looked at his feet before murmuring, "I cared for her."
Sherlock frowned, stepping out from behind Mycroft.
"There are scratches on Rosie's legs similar to the scars on John's wrists." Sherlock murmured.
"Oh, Sherlock." Mycroft looked at him sympathetically.
John looked up, his eyes flickering between Sherlock and Mycroft.
"John, you will come with me now." Mycroft stated.
"Where?" John parried, beginning to panic.
"An institute, you will stay there until we see fit for you to leave." Mycroft replied calmly.
"What about Rosie?" He pleaded.
"She'll be better off without you for a while." Sherlock added.
"I won't go." John muttered, already backing away.
"I'm afraid it isn't a choice ." Mycroft snapped his fingers and one of his men stomped up the stairs three at a time. As soon as he could see his target he shot John with a tranquilizer gun. John's eyes widened before sliding shut. As he slumped towards the ground Sherlock slid his arms under him, catching the smaller man before he could hit the ground. He then carried him out of the apartment and into the awaiting ambulance.
"I would go with him, but I believe Rosie needs me more." Sherlock told his brother before disappearing back into the apartment. He prepared what he needed and went to the little girl. When Sherlock stepped into the room, Rosie began to giggle watching him step around the mess of clothes on the floor. He smiled back at her and brought her a bottle of lukewarm milk. The child clearly had not been fed recently and was very weak. He gently bottle fed her for a little while before taking her to the bathroom to wash her up and give her a clean diaper. The poor kid had been wearing the same diaper for quite a while now and had some pretty nasty diaper rash. The little cuts on her legs had already been fixed up, but they were deep enough to scar and were definitely dangerous on a kid this young. The little girl seemed happy to finally have some attention and Sherlock was quite happy to just carry the kid around with him as he tidied up the flat. As he was dumping all of the rotten food into the bins, stepped into the room carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. "Oh, Sherlock." She sobbed, "How could you do that to John, letting him think that-"
"Oh stop your blubbering it does no one any good." Sherlock sneered, turning towards the landlady.
"Oh dear!" She had just noticed Rosie, smiling against Sherlock's chest.
" , where the hell have you been?" Sherlock growled.
"Oh the poor thing!" She covered her mouth with her hands, smearing lipstick all over herself.
"Didn't you see what was going on?" Sherlock's voice was full of fury at the injustice of it.
"John went into a right frightful mood after Mary...Oh goodness...her legs."
"He killed people, ." Sherlock choked, "Molly..."
"Oh dear!" She fell into the chair in shock, "that sweet girl."
"He... wanted me to come back... he g-"
"Gave you a case. Oh, Sherlock." sobbed.
"He's not who we thought he was, ." Sherlock stated.
Rosie gurgled as Sherlock shifted her slightly in his arms.
"Let me hold the poor thing won't you?" sniffled pitifully.
"No!" Sherlock pulled her closer to him protectively.
"Sherlock! Stop your nonsense this instant! I know this is hard on you but for goodness sakes let people help you for once!" lectured fiercely.
"John's in an institution now, he won't be out for a while." Sherlock stated uncomfortably.
"He deserves much worse after what he's done!" replied.
Sherlock just shook his head in wonder, "As always your little brains amaze me."
smiles in spite of herself, Sherlock was back.
"I don't know how to take care of a baby , I would ask Molly if she were still- Well, you know. She isn't. So please, , help me."
began to tear up again, "Of course dear, anything I can do."
Sherlock nodded gratefully and passed the now sleeping child over to the landlady.
John wouldn't be back for a while, but until then they would be okay. They would all be okay.
Molly Hooper. Sherlock stared at the mangled body laying broken at John's feet. A cold knife glinted in his hand, warm blood dripping off of it. Molly's blood. "What, no response? Pity, I was rather hoping we could pick up where we left off."
"You...killed her." Sherlock's voice cracked pathetically.
"I didn't have to, you could have came back." His voice was empty, just stating the obvious.
"I...couldn't." "Still in shock. Ridiculous. You never felt the other cases." John's, no the man's voice was frigid and sharp. How could this happen.
"No. It can't." "Sherlock!" This tone was familiar.
"What. Not good?" Another painful sentence, the tone came out pathetic and weak.
"Oh Sherlock, very not good." Cold again, not John.
"Molly..." Stop. This wasn't supposed to happen. "Oh, you remember her don't you?" He kicked the body playfully, "Molly Hooper."
"Don't touch her." Sharp this time, good.
"Finally! There's the Sherlock I wanted to see." He kicked her again.
"Don't." It was almost a growl.
"You left. I can do what I want." Sherlock could almost hear pain in John's voice.
"I didn't want to leave." Sherlock pleaded pathetically.
"You don't get to do that!" John snarled, his face full of fury and pain.
Sherlock flinched away, eyes burning.
"You left! You left me alone, and you didn't come back!"
What happened to you? My Watson. You were always kind and gentle, no matter the situation. Who are you? Where's John?
"John, please." "Begging already? Pathetic."
Sherlock took a step towards the man reaching out with his arms, eyes pleading for this to be ok. John stepped forwards as well.
"John..."
John's face softened, "Sherlock." "What do you want?" Sherlock tried to make his tone cold, but it came out broken.
"I wanted you to come back. Now you did."
"Why Molly?" Tears again.
"You cared about her enough to come back."
"I was coming back when I could, John."
"No. You weren't. You let me grieve. You didn't come back."
"I'm sorry. Forgive me John, please forgive me for all the hurt I have caused you."
John's face was soft now, there were tears in his eyes.
"Please, John." Sherlock's voice cracked again.
John looked down at Molly, at the blood on his hands.
"Forgive me, John." Sherlock pleaded.
"What have I done?" John dropped the knife and stared at his hands in shock.
"You brought me back." Sherlock tried to look John in the eyes.
"I...I killed her."
"Yes. You did." They both looked at Molly's corpse.
"Christ, Sherlock. What have I done."
"John it's-"
"Okay? It's not okay." He was crying now. Covering his face with his hands he began to sob. "No," Sherlock wrapped his arms around the smaller man, "But it is what it is."
They stayed like that for a while, the two of them tucked in a desperate embrace beside the one person who had seen through both of their lies.
"John, I..."
"Mmmhm." His voice came out muffled from beneath Sherlock's coat.
"John, look at me." Sherlock made his tone come out calm and gentle, despite the desperation he was feeling.
John didn't move, his face still mushed against Sherlock's coat. Sherlock gently moved one arm away from the mans back and gently tilted John's face up towards his.
"Sherlock?" His eyes were puffy from crying and his voice cracked painfully with just one word.
Sherlock looked John in the eyes despite the discomfort eye contact caused him.
When John pushed his face up towards Sherlock's he grinned smugly and leaned down into the kiss. John's mouth pushed roughly against his in a desperate attempt to get all he could in the time he had. Sherlock pulled away with a groan when he heard the sirens getting closer. "What do we do?" John glanced around in a panic, looking for a way out.
"Mycroft, if his men can make it in time." Sherlock pulled out his cell and hurriedly punched in his brother's number.
"Hello brother mine," Mycroft's voice crackled over the phone, "I'm already on my way with a handful of my most trusted men, your pet has made quite a mess this time, Sherlock."
"Oh shut up. Where do we go?"
Sherlock paced back and forth while John followed his movements with an anxious expression.
"You'll stay there. My men will lock the street down. Best not to be seen by anyone else."
Sherlock stopped pacing and stood by John's side.
"What about John? Can you clear him?"
"Of course," Mycroft jeered, "It's not the first murder he's committed since you've been gone."
Sherlock glanced at John sadly, and John looked at his feet.
"Goodbye, Mycroft." He snapped his phone shut and moved closer to John.
"Sherlock I-" John was still staring at the ground.
"No John. You did what you did, and it's my fault anyways."
"Oi! No it's n-" John panicked again before Sherlock interrupted.
"Yes. It is. I'm sorry John."
"No. I did it not y-" Sherlock silenced him by pushing his lips against John's.
John reached up and ran his hands through Sherlock's hair, his fingers getting caught in all of the curls. He gave up and just held on to his hair instead.
Sherlock pulled away and John tilted his face back down to his and kissed him again.
Sherlock grinned through the kiss and made John chuckle.
"Now really isn't the time." Sherlock said quietly.
"It was never the right time before, deal with it." John replied before kissing him roughly.
"John, this is a crime scene!" Sherlock pulled away again.
"Yes. I'm the case, so solve me." John reached up for another kiss, but Sherlock stopped him.
"Not now John." Sherlock looked down at Molly, "It's not fair to her."
John looked away guiltily.
"Right. Sorry."
Just then a sleek black car pulled into the area. Mycroft Holmes stepped out slowly, umbrella at his side.
As Mycroft stepped forwards John reached down towards the ground. Sherlock was hardly paying attention, to concerned with what Mycroft had to say to worry about what John was doing. Suddenly a knife was by his throat and John was there breathing in his ear.
"Mycroft, put the gun down!" John commanded.
Sherlock's breathing quickened, "John wh-"
"Shhhhh... I don't want to hurt you." John's voice was gentle and calmed Sherlock instantly.
Mycroft pulled a tranquilizer gun out of his coat and slowly, methodically, he set it down on the ground in front of him. He kicked his right foot out, sending the gun sprawling towards John's feet.
"Apologies, brother mine. It appears my plan was too simple for this delicate situation."
John pressed the knife closer against Sherlock's skin, ignoring the terrified whimper this pulled from the man. A few drops of his blood trickled over the knife and onto John's hand. Sherlock knew better than to attempt to pull away, but Mycroft was visibly worried at the sight of his brother's blood running freely from the cut on his neck.
"Now John, is that really the safest move?" Mycroft tutted, trying to calm his agitation.
"I'm a Doctor. I know what will and will not kill my patient." John's voice was barely a whisper.
Sherlock tried to speak, but it just caused the knife to press harder into his neck. There was more blood now.
"I'm going to leave now, Mycroft. Sherlock too. You are going to let us go, or you will regret it."
Mycroft's grip tightened on his umbrella, but he nodded stiffly, his frown turning to a grimace.
"Good." John pulled the knife away from Sherlock's neck and grabbed him by the hair instead.
Mycroft watched worriedly as John pulled Sherlock into the alleyway. Sherlock wasn't struggling, he just looked confused. His eyes were pools of hurt and Mycroft worried about the impact John's actions could have on the man. Sherlock put a lot of work into maintaining his calm and emotionless facade. Behind that mask was an emotional, delicate, and breakable man. Considering his childhood trauma and Redbeard, it made sense that the man would want to avoid sentiment and all its troubles, but he just couldn't keep away from John Watson. That man was good for Sherlock, until he wasn't.
When John and Sherlock finally reached Baker Street they both breathed a sigh of relief. This wasn't over, but they could have temporary relief.
"John-" Sherlock's eyes were on the ground and his voice was like that of an abused child.
John stared at him, his eyes softening and carefully reached forward to wipe Sherlock's blood away. When Sherlock flinched from his touch, John's eyes went cold again.
"Get inside." He snapped, gesturing to the door.
As soon as they were both through the door John stabbed a needle into Sherlock's shoulder.
"John! What is this?!" Sherlock yelped, pulling the needle out of his arm.
"It's a sedative, you'll sleep for a while, and when you wake up it'll all be okay." John's entire face morphed into a horrific grin, and Sherlock felt himself falling towards the ground before everything went dark.
When he awoke in the flat he thought he'd just had an awful dream, but when he called for John he realized there was a gag in his mouth and his hands and feet were tied to the chair. A few moments later John strolled into the room, knife in hand. He was still smiling, though it was a softer smile now.
"Oh, you're awake!" His eyes crinkled as he chuckled.
"MMMPPMMMH!" Sherlock tried to respond, but it just came out as a muffled scream.
"Let's have some fun, shall we?"
John stepped towards the chair, setting his knife on the coffee table as he passed it. He pulled the knots loose on Sherlock's bonds, allowing him to get loose, then pulled the cloth out of his mouth. He leaned over Sherlock, pushing his face right against Sherlock's. Sherlock flinched away and John cursed colourfully.
"John. Stop. This isn't okay." Sherlock's breathing was laboured and he looked confused.
John leaned forward again, hands running over Sherlock's shirt. He pressed a gentle kiss onto Sherlock's unresponsive lips. "Come on! You're no fun." He pouted, pulling away.
Sherlock stayed, still as a statue, on the chair. This wasn't like John. What was happening?
John gripped Sherlock's hair and pulled him to his feet. "I'm going to kiss you again, and you're going to respond. Ok?"
"John. I want you," Sherlock pleaded, "But not like this."
"This is how you get me." John's tone trembled with rage.
"Angry? Forceful?" Sherlock's voice was strong, "this isn't you."
John went limp, his hands releasing Sherlock's curls. Sherlock reached for the smaller man, pulling him against his chest.
"It'll be okay, John." John raised his eyes to Sherlock's, so much pain in them it made him want to look away.
"Can I...can I show you something?" John clung to Sherlock pathetically.
Sherlock nodded, allowing John to pull away. He lead Sherlock towards his bedroom, his feet shuffling across the carpet. Sherlock followed, hesitantly, wondering what he was about to see. When they reached the room, he was torn between relief and horror.
"A child?" He collapsed against the bed, "You have a child?"
John nodded, his tears drawing lines down his face.
"And the mother?" Sherlock was almost afraid to hear the answer.
"Dead." John made an aborted move to reach for the infant, only stopping at the last second.
"John... did you..."
"Kill her?" A cold laugh escaped him, "No. Died during childbirth."
"Oh."
They both stayed there, awkwardly avoiding each others eyes for a while.
"What's her name?" Sherlock asked tentatively.
"Rosamund," John murmured, "Rosie for short."
"Ah, was that-"
"Her name? No. She chose it though. Her name was Mary."
Sherlock watched John carefully, wondering how he felt about this conversation.
"She was brilliant. You would have liked her." "I'm sure I would, you chose her."
"We were married. You were gone a long time. I got on with my life."
"Oh."
"Well, I almost did."
"She died, so you turned back to the real problem, me."
"She died, leaving me living in our flat with an infant." He spoke these words as facts.
"John, I'm so sorry."
"Yeah, well. That's not good enough."
Just then, Rosie started bawling, her eyes fell on John and she began screeching louder.
"SHUT IT!" John roared, causing the baby to cry harder.
"JOHN!" Sherlock shoved him out of the room, locking the door behind him.
As he moved towards the crib he noticed the scratches on her tiny legs and the obvious signs of malnutrition. She wasn't even a year old, yet it was incredible that she even made it this far. John was not in fit condition to take care of himself, let alone a baby. Sherlock picked Rosie up gently. He knew very little about children, but he was determined to care for this one until John could.
"Hello Rosie, I'm Sherlock." He spoke the way he would to anyone else, only slightly quieter.
The infant stopped sobbing and looked up at him with her big blue eyes. She had John's eyes for sure. "I'm going to take care of you for a while," he murmured, "just until your daddy gets better."
He cradled her in his eyes and rocked her gently. After a few moments she fell back asleep and he set her in back in the crib gently. She had no blankets, and there was nothing for a child, other than the crib, in sight. Sherlock pushed his hands against his temples before reaching for his cell and punching in Mycroft's number. He could hear John banging against the door, but he ignored it for the moment.
"Hello, brother mine. I take it you're no longer a hostage?"
"I need supplies, Mycroft, everything needed to take care of a baby."
"Whatever for?"
"John's child of course."
"John's child?" Mycroft's voice was flat, questioning.
"You have been monitoring him, haven't you?"
"Of course we have!"
"How do you not know?"
"A child."
"Yes. A child. Now get me my damned supplies like a proper big brother!"
Sherlock snapped the phone shut and glared at it before standing and letting John into the room.
"You can't just lock my child away from me!" John snarled.
"You can't just yell at a baby." Sherlock replies.
John was silent for a moment before groaning and lowering himself onto the bed. As he did so his sleeves rode up on his arms and Sherlock could see the many scars stretching over his wrists.
"John, you hurt yourself!" Sherlock yelped, "You hurt yourself because of me!"
John pulled his sleeves up defensively, "It's nothing, I'm fine."
"None of this is 'fine' John!" Sherlock continued, "I'm not stupid you know."
John looked at Sherlock curiously, "Of course I know."
A loud slam startled them both to their feet. Sherlock was first, rushing out to the living room to find Mycroft and another official carrying shopping bags full of diapers, milk, blankets, and other such supplies. "Just set the bags there, Velsby." Mycroft ordered, "Now go wait outside."
As soon as the official was gone Mycroft strolled over to Sherlock.
"Oh, Sherlock." Mycroft said, before Sherlock buried his face in his coat and began sobbing. Mycroft stood stiffly, clearly uncomfortable, as his brother cried his eyes out. When John cautiously stepped into the room, Mycroft pulled Sherlock behind him protectively.
"Mycroft, it's fine, I'm not going to do anything." John huffed.
Sherlock sniffled from behind Mycroft, but didn't make an attempt to move away.
"You've already done enough, ." Mycroft said curtly.
"Look, I'm unarmed." John raised his arms up mockingly.
"Where's Rosie?" Sherlock inquired from behind his brother.
"Exactly where you left her." John stated, trying to get a look at his friend.
"Rosie, the child." Mycroft stated, "How did you hide her from my surveillance?"
"He kept her in the house, caring for her until the supplies ran out." Sherlock supplied.
"No, brother mine, look at this house, he never cared for her he just fed her." Mycroft replied.
John looked at his feet before murmuring, "I cared for her."
Sherlock frowned, stepping out from behind Mycroft.
"There are scratches on Rosie's legs similar to the scars on John's wrists." Sherlock murmured.
"Oh, Sherlock." Mycroft looked at him sympathetically.
John looked up, his eyes flickering between Sherlock and Mycroft.
"John, you will come with me now." Mycroft stated.
"Where?" John parried, beginning to panic.
"An institute, you will stay there until we see fit for you to leave." Mycroft replied calmly.
"What about Rosie?" He pleaded.
"She'll be better off without you for a while." Sherlock added.
"I won't go." John muttered, already backing away.
"I'm afraid it isn't a choice ." Mycroft snapped his fingers and one of his men stomped up the stairs three at a time. As soon as he could see his target he shot John with a tranquilizer gun. John's eyes widened before sliding shut. As he slumped towards the ground Sherlock slid his arms under him, catching the smaller man before he could hit the ground. He then carried him out of the apartment and into the awaiting ambulance.
"I would go with him, but I believe Rosie needs me more." Sherlock told his brother before disappearing back into the apartment. He prepared what he needed and went to the little girl. When Sherlock stepped into the room, Rosie began to giggle watching him step around the mess of clothes on the floor. He smiled back at her and brought her a bottle of lukewarm milk. The child clearly had not been fed recently and was very weak. He gently bottle fed her for a little while before taking her to the bathroom to wash her up and give her a clean diaper. The poor kid had been wearing the same diaper for quite a while now and had some pretty nasty diaper rash. The little cuts on her legs had already been fixed up, but they were deep enough to scar and were definitely dangerous on a kid this young. The little girl seemed happy to finally have some attention and Sherlock was quite happy to just carry the kid around with him as he tidied up the flat. As he was dumping all of the rotten food into the bins, stepped into the room carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. "Oh, Sherlock." She sobbed, "How could you do that to John, letting him think that-"
"Oh stop your blubbering it does no one any good." Sherlock sneered, turning towards the landlady.
"Oh dear!" She had just noticed Rosie, smiling against Sherlock's chest.
" , where the hell have you been?" Sherlock growled.
"Oh the poor thing!" She covered her mouth with her hands, smearing lipstick all over herself.
"Didn't you see what was going on?" Sherlock's voice was full of fury at the injustice of it.
"John went into a right frightful mood after Mary...Oh goodness...her legs."
"He killed people, ." Sherlock choked, "Molly..."
"Oh dear!" She fell into the chair in shock, "that sweet girl."
"He... wanted me to come back... he g-"
"Gave you a case. Oh, Sherlock." sobbed.
"He's not who we thought he was, ." Sherlock stated.
Rosie gurgled as Sherlock shifted her slightly in his arms.
"Let me hold the poor thing won't you?" sniffled pitifully.
"No!" Sherlock pulled her closer to him protectively.
"Sherlock! Stop your nonsense this instant! I know this is hard on you but for goodness sakes let people help you for once!" lectured fiercely.
"John's in an institution now, he won't be out for a while." Sherlock stated uncomfortably.
"He deserves much worse after what he's done!" replied.
Sherlock just shook his head in wonder, "As always your little brains amaze me."
smiles in spite of herself, Sherlock was back.
"I don't know how to take care of a baby , I would ask Molly if she were still- Well, you know. She isn't. So please, , help me."
began to tear up again, "Of course dear, anything I can do."
Sherlock nodded gratefully and passed the now sleeping child over to the landlady.
John wouldn't be back for a while, but until then they would be okay. They would all be okay.