AN ~ Thank you for the subscriptions, favourites, and reviews! So grateful.
We are now picking up as Sherlock and John are leaving Musgrave Hall, after the Eurus incident.
See you on the other side!
Disclaimer: Anything that is canon belongs to those who carry copyright to BBC Sherlock.
'The roads we walk have demons beneath. And yours have been waiting for a very long time.'
Tension could have been cut with a knife.
Pressure weighed itself down on the ground, alluring, yet daunting.
Sherlock Holmes sat in a car seat, his face tight, eyes closed, hands tapping on his thighs.
'Mycroft's been lying to you, to both of us. They're not dogs' bones.'
'You say it. Go on. You say it first. Say it. Say it like you mean it.'
'He's known, and mummy's known, and daddy's known, and yet no one told you.'
'Holmes killing Holmes…'
'Eurus, the lady on the far left. She's my daughter.'
'I love you.'
"Sherlock? Please mate, say something."
John Watson understood trauma. He understood how emotional stress could undo a person. Hell, he'd been there and back and round again. He had dealt- he still dealt- with grief, trauma, the chaos of his life and it's impact. What had happened today… It very nearly undid him.
Nevermind the man sitting next to him.
He was terrified for Sherlock Holmes.
It had been fourteen hours since the explosion at Baker Street.
In fourteen hours, John had witnessed his best friend lose his home, be confronted with memories he had repressed, be forced to face his emotional attachments to Molly Hooper to save her life, almost turn a gun on himself, and, most dreadful, admit to having a daughter he had never known existed.
John let out a shaky sigh and laid his head that was still damp lay on the back of his seat. To his thanks, the NHS services had provided him with blankets and a change of clothes after his incident in the well, yet the stench and bitter cold still remained on his skin.
God, he wanted to get home. He wanted Rosie. He wanted Mary more so, but he admonished that thought before the swell of grief in his stomach overtook him.
After Eurus had been escorted back to Sherrinford, Sherlock had seemed… Himself. At least, more man than void.
Lestrade had arranged transport for them back to London, and Sherlock had been grateful. They would give statements tomorrow. For now, they took care of themselves.
Yet the moment the car door closed, so did Sherlock.
He hadn't spoken a word, nor acknowledged anyone's existence since. It was like sitting next to a ghost.
But, as John was starting to weary away into the exhaustion of the day, the ghost stirred.
"Sherlock," Enquired John carefully, "Can you hear me?"
"Mmm."
A sigh of relief helplessly fell from the Doctor's lips.
"You've been gone for a while," John started, trying his best to encourage conversation, yet he hardly knew what to say, "Thank you, for saving me."
No response.
"You saved a lot of people today, Sherlock. Molly, myself, Mycroft, even Eurus…" He hesitated, "Your daughter. And all those young adults."
"I didn't save them."
John's brow furrowed.
"Yes, yes you-"
"Your judgement is being clouded by exhaustion. I didn't save people today. Others… Died around me. That- that girl, who apparently is my child, was held against her will because of me. Molly was never in danger, and you and Mycroft protected yourselves."
Anxiety swirled in John's stomach at the ice in Sherlock's tone. Although his mind protested, he heard himself saying words he really knew he shouldn't.
"What are you going to do now?"
He saw Sherlock's cheek twitch. Similar to how Mycroft's did when under pressure. He wondered if his daughter would do the same.
"I need to see Molly," Sherlock replied slowly, "She deserves an explanation."
Okay… "Do you, ah, are you going to tell her you meant it when you said you loved her?"
"I don't believe in love-"
"Sherlock-"
"No, John. My feelings for Molly are complicated. Attachment and sentiment are not my area. She deserves an explanation. I admit… I admit to wanting more of relationship with her... But I don't believe in love. And I won't lie."
Doctor Watson laced his hands together as he considered his friend's words. Deep down, he knew this was as much as love confession the stunted detective would probably give him. Not believing in love didn't mean he wasn't in love.
"…Okay, that's fine." He swallowed, wincing a little at the dryness of his throat, "What about the elephant in the room?"
For the first time since leaving Musgrave Hall, Sherlock's eyes flicked over to John's.
"My daughter."
"Your daughter."
Sherlock's jaw clenched, and he looked away. John could visualise the thunder behind Sherlock's eyes. His entire family had kept this secret from him. They had betrayed him.
Sherlock didn't even know her name.
"You can stay with me, you know. At my flat," Offered John, carefully changing the subject, "We'll go to Baker Street tomorrow. For now I'm not leaving you on your own."
A numb nod emerged from his friend's form. A thank you.
Silence consumed the men for a few minutes, as their driver continued on the motorway smoothly through the night.
A thought brought John out of his stupor, he reached for his phone, and grudgingly realised it wasn't there.
"Sherlock, do you still have your phone?"
The detective frowned.
"Mine's gone. Must've left it in the ones I was wearing earlier. It's probably dead with water damage anyway…"
Sherlock remained impassive, but reached into his Belstaff and took out his mobile, passing it to John.
"I left Rosie with my neighbour this morning. I need to let her know where I am."
John frowned a little when he saw it was switched off, he couldn't recall a time in which Sherlock would have ever done that. But now wasn't the time to question it. He held the button that switched it on, and waited. After a few seconds, the home screen came to life, blue light scorching the darkness of the vehicle. John went to open the phone keypad- and was distracted by alerts flashing across the top of the screen.
Missed Call: Molly Hooper (23)
Voicemail: Molly Hooper (4)
"Er, Sherlock-"
Messages: Molly Hooper (11)
John immediately went to open the messages, and his face fell and what he read.
"Sherlock."
"Mmm?"
"It's your daughter…" John replied, face contorted with confusion as he tried to make sense of the messages, "She's with Molly."
Sherlock's body turned in a flash.
"No, wait- No, they're at the hospital. I think- I think she's been dropped on Molly's doorstep? She's been with her all day- I don't think she knows it's your daughter though. Christ- Oh." He stilled as he read the final message, and swallowed.
Sherlock's eyes were like saucers. Prying for the information that John held in his hands. Of course Eurus would do this. Of course. Nausea swept over him but he battled it down. Focus. Danger.
"Spit it out, John."
"Sherlock…Her name is Viola."
Inside Sherlock's mind palace, a bomb went off.
Yet he remained still.
John registered Sherlock's standby mode nervously, turned to the driver, and told them to change course. Then, he called Mycroft. They were going to St Bart's.
For Sherlock Holmes, St Bart's hospital could have been seen as the office. A home away from home. For the past eight years, nearly nine, Sherlock had been coming here to work in the morgue. Doctor Molly Hooper by his side.
Yet, as they approached now, Sherlock couldn't remember it ever feeling so alien.
In this building, was his daughter.
His daughter.
Clinical and rational, he instructed himself, she's a case.
As the driver pulled up, John murmured a thank you whilst Sherlock swept out of the car.
Side by side, him and John burst through the doors. No words were spoken as they trod their way through the colourless building. Sherlock chose not to comment on the way John limped after the stress of the day. They knew where they needed to be.
Molly Hooper sat in a waiting room, slumped in a worn uncomfortable chair. Grogginess was starting to get the better of her. She wanted to go home. The clock in her eye line read 2:19am. If Molly wasn't such an empathetic person, she would have left by now. She didn't know the woman she had brought into the hospital, and the brief conversations they had hadn't explained a lot. Molly had no responsibility to stay. And yet she did.
Earlier, she had been waiting with the young woman- Viola, apparently- when her eyes caught the news on a screen.
EXPLOSION AT BAKER STREET. RESIDENTS UNHARMED.
First, she had panicked. Then, she realised that Sherlock had called after the explosion. A quick call with Mrs Hudson- who was also safe- reassured her that John was as well, although they had left Baker Street with Mycroft without a glance after the incident. The only thing Sherlock had said to her was, "The East wind has risen. Stay safe," as they left.
That was the moment she realised that whatever was going on today was bigger than her. Something had caused his flat to explode. Something had caused Sherlock to make that phone call. Something that had left an injured woman, who looked like she could have been one of his relatives, on her doorstep.
It had grounded her. And she had stayed.
"Molly!"
She jumped at the sound, head flicking up. She felt nothing but relief when she saw the familiar faces of Sherlock and John rushing towards her.
Her face fell, however, when she saw them in more detail. They looked terrible.
John looked as if he hadn't slept in a month.
Sherlock looked like was never going to sleep again.
"Oh my-" She pulled herself off the chair as they reached her, "Are you both- What happened-"
Words failed her, as Sherlock engulfed her in his arms.
Molly gasped. Long arms wrapped around her frame so tight she could scarcely breathe. Her arms lay contort at the front of her body in shock. He was cold. Too cold. Say it like you mean it. His grip tightened as his head lowered, a cheek coming to the top of her head. Her brain fumbled for something to say – anything – I love you -"Sherlock?"
A visible shudder coursed through his tall frame, and he didn't let go. This was bad, Molly thought, be strong.
She started to notice small words tumbling from the detective's mouth. Sister bombs call John Redbeard murder – Molly's brain snapped into action. She locked her limbs together so he felt the tension, and forced her head up to look at him.
"Hey, Sherlock?" He was scanning her face, rapidly, deducing her, "You can let go… I-It's okay."
In a swift motion, he let go. He looked shocked.
Molly briefly acknowledged John, who stood as if he'd walked into something very private.
"Molly." Stated Sherlock carefully.
"What's… What's going on?"
"I thought you were going to be angry. For… The call. You're not angry."
Molly looked from Sherlock to John and back again.
"I thought you were going to die."
Then the air left her. She found herself staring at her shoes, unable to fix her eyes anywhere else. What did he mean? She felt a hand on her shoulder and saw John's reassuring expression by her side. Molly steeled herself.
This was so much bigger than her.
She stood a little taller and raised her brown eyes to settle on the detectives. She could have sworn she heard thunder raging behind them. "It's okay… You don't have to explain now."
Sherlock's eyes widened and then narrowed.
"I saw the news," Molly continued softly, "221B has been exploded. Then there was the call. Then, a girl called Viola is dropped on my doorstep, injured."
He winced.
"Whatever has – is- going on, is more important than just a phone call. I'm not stupid. You, you can explain what happened to me… Just, deal with the more important things first. I- I don't mind."
Sherlock wanted to tell her that to him, this was what came first. That she came first. But he found himself holding back.
Silence overtook them for a moment, and then Molly decided to change the subject. "Who's Viola?"
"Is she okay?" John asked.
"She's in surgery- well, she's out of it, but she hasn't woken up yet. A broken rib caused some internal bleeding and they've seen to that. I worried she had had blunt head trauma, but luckily it's just a serious concussion. Her skull and brain are fine."
"Can we see her?"
There was an undeniable weight in the doctor's words, and Molly felt uneasy. Sherlock looked exceptionally pale, almost dead.
"Yes, of course… I'll show you where she is."
Together, they started to make their way down to her ward. Molly turned her head to John, "Is she a relative of Sherlock's? I don't know his family very- Erm, he mentioned the word sister- Is she his sister?"
"No," John muttered under his breath "His sister is a whole other kettle of fish…"
"She isn't English, I think she's Italian? Strange, she seemed to understand what I said to her just about, but she couldn't find most of her own words. I am guessing it was the concussion, but she's hardly strung a sentence together all day. I don't know what happened to her."
As they turned a corner, Molly was surprised to see Mycroft Holmes. He was staring at the window to the room Viola was being held in. Suit-clad, umbrella in hand.
John wondered how he had got back from Sherrinford so quickly, but dismissed the thought.
"Sherlock," Mycroft started silkily, "I believe thanks is in order."
Sherlock seemed to bristle, "Thanks?"
"Eurus is back in Sherrinford, she won't be hurting us anymore. You did that… Thank you."
Molly watched the brothers in wonder. Who was Eurus? Sherlock seemed darker, as if rage was starting to simmer in his stomach.
Mycroft pivoted back to the window. Blinds lay down it, but they were turned on a horizontal axis, and they could see through. "She's grown up well, I'm glad to see. I always theorised that the Holmes genes were poisonous, luckily I think that's skipped a generation." A small smile played on his lips.
Sherlock hesitated, breathed, and slowly turned his head to the window.
His daughter.
It was like being doused with ice water.
She looked more like him in person, he realised. Her side profile revealed a similar height of cheekbones and curve of her jaw.
She was attached to tubes, gauze tied around her head, black curly hair tied back. Her expression innocent and pained.
He couldn't deny parentage now. It screamed at him.
The tubes screamed at him.
A fire that had started as small embers, was starting to take light.
Mycroft did this to her.
"Her name," Mycroft began, slowly going to stand next to his brother, "Is Viola Seraphina Esposito. She was born in San Gimignano and moved to Florence when she was seven. Her mother is still alive, in case you were wondering. It seems Viola came to London three days ago, for a week. My people found University brochures in her things."
Molly watched them curiously, and she was concerned.
As Mycroft spoke quietly, Sherlock had begun to shake. This was very bad.
He made her a dirty little secret.
John had tensed, seeing this as well.
Mycroft may as well had held a gun to her head.
"She's bright, that much I know," Mycroft continued, "I personally have paid for her attendance at some of the best institutions in Italy. My intuition is that this is how Eurus and Moriarty found-"
A fist flew. Mycroft flew back into the wall.
"Sherlock!" Yelled John, immediately springing into action.
Sherlock's shaking had exploded. He was white hot rage. "This is your fault!"
"Sherlock-" Mycroft gasped, forcing himself to stand on his two feet.
Another fist came, "Your"- and another- "Fault!"
Mycroft slumped downwards, umbrella lifted between them.
"My daughter is in there because you couldn't be honest!" Sherlock yelled, "How the fuck could you do this to me?!"
Air left Molly's lungs.
"Sherlock, mate, calm down-"
"You're a bastard, a cold-hearted, weak, bastard." Sherlock turned and with a yell, punched the wall. Twice. Cracks were heard.
"My life has been a lie because of you." Sherlock hissed, and his head rested on the wall.
Breathe. Control.
He sagged, "You kept my sister from me, Redbeard from me, and my daughter from me. What the hell am I?"
John Watson was knelt on the ground, helping Mycroft sit up. Luckily, he seemed okay. John was surprised, Sherlock's aim had been... Poor. Maybe it was just the anger clouding his judgement. Maybe, deep down, he hadn't actually wanted to injure his brother.
Mycroft's expression portrayed a man who understood what had been coming to him. There was a reason Mycroft hadn't fought back. "I'm fine, Doctor Watson... He's in shock."
"Hey, Sherlock."
A soft voice drew Sherlock out of his blankness. It was Molly. The soft lyric of her tone made him let out a breath he didn't realise he was holding. Slowly, he turned, using the wall to make sure his legs didn't cave in.
Molly's eyes were wide, tears threatening to spill. Viola was his daughter. The gravity of what was happening finally hitting her. And he's had no idea. But she remained steadfast and strong.
"Sherlock, Mycroft, John, let's go to the morgue." They all looked at her now, Sherlock's face shocked, Mycroft's dreading, John's understanding. "Sherlock needs answers. And fighting on the corridors of patients isn't going to do any good."
They all hesitated.
"Now."
Ooo, a pretty review box! Please let me know your thoughts!
Next chapter is going to be up on New Years Day.
-E
