Monday 9 July

John walked up the steps of 221B. From the floor above he could hear a violin sweetly playing a song. The song was familiar to him. He would think of that song until the day he died.

John slowly climbed the steps. Slower...slower...only 3 steps left.

He needed to make it last. This had happened too many times.

Only one step left.

John tried to stop moving but he couldn't. His foot landed on the top step and the effect was instant. The violin stopped playing and the silence became deafening. His feet automatically carried him inside and he took a look around.

Everything inside was exactly as John remembered it. The sofa up against the right wall. The yellow painted smiley with the bullet holes. The large table in the middle of the room. The skull on the mantel. It was all the same except Sherlock was missing this time. He always stood by the window. When he played he looked out onto Baker Street. Whenever John came home Sherlock would stand with his back to the window and greet John as he walked through the door. Not this time though.

A sound came from the bedroom to the left. Sherlock's bedroom. He's probably in his bedroom, thought John.

John's feet carried him into the hallway and through the doorway of Sherlock's bedroom. Inside the room was the same. Chaos. Books piled in a far corner. Clothes on the floor. Case papers covering the wall farthest from the door. The bed was just the same. Blankets bunched into a pile in the middle of the bed.

Then the blankets began to move...and there was that noise again. John moved to the side of the bed. He raised an arm to lift the blanket. He slowly pulled back and inside the blankets was a baby. The baby had light brown hair (like Irene) but it was curly (like Sherlock's) with blue eyes. Immediately the baby began to cry.

At the first cry of the baby, John began to panic. He needs something. What is it that baby's need? I should know this.

7:00am

John's eyes flew open as the alarm clock on his bedside table started to ring. He thought of the dream he had. It was the same dream every night but this time was different. Sherlock wasn't there. Instead there was a baby in his bed.

John dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. The dreams were torturous and now the pain in his leg was back. It's psychosomatic but telling himself doesn't make the pain go away.

Eventually John got up and got into the shower. 15 minutes later he was in the kitchen fully dressed and brewing tea. By 7:30 he was out the door headed for the tube station. By 8am he arrived at the clinic.

"Good morning John" Sarah greeted him like that every morning.

"Morning" then he made his way to his office.

His office was small but it was big enough to hold a desk on the wall opposite the door. On the wall to the left of the doorway was a small bookcase containing medical journals. On the other wall was a white board.

John sat down on his desk and buzzed to await his first patient. The first few patients were simple enough. They were all adults who were experiencing some pain of some form or other.

An hour before he was set to leave, his last patient turned out to be a 5 year old.

John walked into the patient room and saw the little girl nervously sitting on the bench with her mother.

"Well hi," John cheerfully greeted her.

The little girl didn't respond. She seemed to just shake a little more.

"Katy say hi to the doctor," her mother said.

After a pause and a look to her mom, Katy gave him a small hi.

"Katy huh? What a nice name," said John.

As expected, John didn't get a response.

"So what seems to be the problem?" he asked Katy.

Katy stopped looking at him and instead seemed to be deep in thought.

"Katy tell the doctor what hurts," said her mother.

Katy then looked up and tears were streaming down her face.

"Oh God" John whispered as her mother picked her up in her arms. John reached back and grabbed a tissue from the box. "I am so sorry."

"Don't be" Katy's mother said "you did nothing wrong. Katy?" Her mother asked sweetly.

After a couple minutes Katy's crying subsided and she spoke "I can't remember what hurts."

John looked at Katy's mother wondering what was going on here but Katy's mother just laughed and held Katy even more.

"Katy that's nothing to cry about." She said, "we only cry when we're in pain. Your knee hurt from playing football with your brothers remember?" The little girl smiled and nodded as she remembered.

They both turned back to John who then realized his mouth was wide open. Had that really just happened?

"It was the right knee."

"R-right. Got it," said John.

John examined the knee but besides a couple bruises there was nothing else.

"Oh thank God," said Katy's mother. "My boys can be a bit rough and you know how it is. When you're a parent you automatically assume the worst."

John shook his head "I'm not a parent."

"Oh. Well if you ever do become one, you get used to little breakdowns like this one all the time. I remember my oldest, Brian, once jumped down 4 stairs and fell at the bottom. I started imagining hospitals and every worst case scenario but he just got up and tried to do it again." Then she began laughing. John gave a halfhearted laugh then bid them farewell.

After that John was free to go. He kept his head down as he left out the front door and to the tube station.

As he turned the corner to his flat, he saw a familiar figure standing outside waiting.

John approached him and said "hello Mycroft"

"Evening John."

John walked past him to the front door and opened it with Mycroft following right behind him. When they reached the stairs, John let Mycroft go ahead of him. He was still self-conscious about his cane and his slow pace to climb 3 sets of stairs.

When they both reached the door of John's flat (John a few paces behind him), John let them both in. He went straight to the kitchen to put the kettle on while Mycroft sat in the living room.

Once the kettle boiled, John brought their teacups to the living room. Mycroft was sitting in the same spot Irene had sat in only the day before. John set the cup in front of Mycroft and then took the seat on the other side of the sofa just like the day before.

They each took a sip of their tea before Mycroft started with "so how was the clinic?"

John didn't answer. Mycroft didn't actually think him that stupid. Obviously he knew Irene had visited him (how? John could only imagine). "Don't play stupid with me Mycroft. You're obviously here about Irene."

They both went quiet a moment while Mycroft studied his tea. "Fine. So she's alive. Sherlock?"

John inhaled sharply. At first it felt as though Mycroft was asking if Sherlock was also alive but then John understood the question and they both spoke at the same time.

"John. My apologies. That wasn't what I meant-"

"Yes. Sherlock was behind Irene's fake death."

Again silence.

"So what did she want from you? Did she not know of ...Sherlock's death?"

"She knew."

"She didn't come by to give her condolences. She wouldn't risk her safety just for that."

"You didn't see her did you?" asked John. Mycroft was asking the wrong questions. He obviously had not seen her pregnant stomach. Of course she is only 4 and a half months.

"I saw the CCTV footage of her walking into your flat." So that's how he knew.

"And you didn't notice her stomach?"

Mycroft looked down at his cup in thought. "She's pregnant." John nodded. "Why would she...did you?...you and her?-"

"Why don't you just ask who the father is rather than making up all this gossip?"

"So if you aren't the father, who is?"

John had a feeling Mycroft already suspected but wanted to hear him say it. "It's Sherlock."

Mycroft's face remained unchanged. "She is a dominatrix. There could be others. Is she sure it's Sherlock? As far as I know my brother was never..."

"She's sure. She did a test. I have the papers here." John handed him one of the papers that Irene had left him the night before.

Mycroft looked over it. "And so she came to you to tell you? Does she want reparations from me?"

"She doesn't want anything from you...she...she wants me to be the father. To raise the baby."

"So she doesn't want to raise the child...have you agreed?"

"No. I haven't said yes or no."

"But you are going to say yes right?"

John looked at Mycroft questioningly. "Mycroft I'm in no state to raise a child. Financially. Emotionally. Psychologically..."

"I can help you financially. My brother had a large sum of money in his name from when my father passed away. It's yours now. It should have always been yours really."

John looked at him quizzically. "I-I thought he couldn't even afford a flat by himself."

"At the time that you met him, he couldn't. My brother had been clean for 4 months when you first met him. My mother gave me charge of my father's estate so I cut Sherlock off from his inheritance and gave him an allowance. Enough for him to live in a flat share. Then you came along and changed my brother for the better. After a few months of the two of you living together, he became clean for a year and I knew he wouldn't relapse because you wouldn't allow it so I reinstated him. Of course he died soon after...Now that money is yours."

"You took his inheritance away?"

"I thought it might provoke him to get clean but I was wrong. The only thing that got him clean was detective work. I told him the only way he could work was if he got clean...one night of withdrawals in a jail cell and he was done."

They were quiet for a while until John spoke. "Mycroft I cant accept your money. It's your family's."

"Let me put it to you this way," said Mycroft, "you are going to be adopting my brother's child. That would make me an uncle and you would be my brother. As far as I can tell, you would be family."

"Mycroft I haven't agreed-"

"But you will."

"What if I don't?"

Another pause.

"I imagine Irene will put the child in an orphanage. If the baby is my brother's, no family in England will soon adopt him. He will spend years in an orphanage driving everyone insane until he comes of age when he gets thrown out onto the streets to fend for himself... it's a harsh reality but it's how my brother turned out."

"So you want me to take him in...and fail?"

"That's the difference. You won't fail. You'd do anything and everything to make sure that wouldn't happen. Besides you have had experience with Sherlock and you did great with him."

"I raised the original Sherlock Holmes," said John quoting Irene from the day before. Mycroft just nodded in agreement. "But I'm not psychologically there. My limp is back and I can't seem to make it go away...I'm not father material."

"I think being a father might actually help you. You'd have a reason to carry on...I ...imagine you've contemplated suicide..."

John gave him an angry look. "You've been reading my psychiatric report again?"

"I...Greg...Lestrade asked me to keep an eye on you so I looked into your report..."

"So now everyone knows I did that."

"No. Lestrade knows not to mention that to anyone. We were both just worried about you...how are you doing now?"

"You should know since you read my file."

"I only read it that one time."

"And the time I first met you."

"Yes but that was so I could know who you were."

"Well next time, just ask me." John crossed his arms in finality.

"I'll make sure of that." Then he stood up to leave. "Whatever you choose to do, I'll stand behind it... you should ask your psychiatrist tomorrow and see what she thinks about this."

John paused and then got up to see Mycroft to the door.

Just as Mycroft crossed the threshold John said "it's a boy by the way. Just in case you wanted to know." Mycroft seemed unphased. "She wants to name him Hamish."

Mycroft pointed at him. "Your middle name?"

"It was a joke between the three of us...a joke at the time...for me."

Mycroft paused as though he wanted to say something consoling but just turned and walked away.