What's Best

Chapter Summary: The Holmes Family discuss what's best for John

29th November 2005

The problem was that all the men in Sherlock's family were tall.

Really tall.

Hopefully it meant he would have a growth spurt. John was pretty much average in the class at the moment, but it would be ace to get to tower over everyone like Sherlock did.

But it did also mean they were a bit…tall and, maybe, just a little bit scary, especially when they all towered over him, peering down at him with that expression…

Mycroft came in first. Sherlock's brother looked like a prime mark, except for the fact that he had those eyes, the same look in his eyes that Sherlock had; the one that made John wonder if he could see through walls like superman could.

Wouldn't be worth it. Even if his watch could buy an xbox and games with money left over.

Those eyes looked at him and then up at Sherlock and John tried not to push too far into Sherlock. Even if Sherlock seemed to be a little happier to have him around at the moment it was probably a good idea not to push his luck.

John almost jumped when he felt a hand stroke through his hair lightly. Sherlock seemed to be doing that a lot recently. John wasn't sure if he should show how much he liked it; Sherlock might think he was being silly or sentimental. Even from just living with him for almost a month, John knew how much Sherlock hated anything that could be thought of as sentimental.

Mycroft frowned down at him in disapproval and John resisted the urge to swallow nervously at the expression.

"Do you think that's wise?" Mycroft asked, nodding at John.

The tone made John want to push even further into Sherlock, but he levelled his chin and then peered up at Sherlock, wanting to hear what he was going to say in return.

I need your help.

No-one ever let him help. Not properly. No way was John ruining his first shot at it. Otherwise Sherlock might think he wasn't worth it, or not ask for his help again.

"Ironic, don't you think?" Sherlock murmured, looking as if he was going to stick with his decision much to John's relief. Pleased, he looked back at Mycroft trying not to look too smug,, even though he didn't have a clue what they were talking about. But it seemed as if Sherlock had made his point as Mycroft narrowed his eyes just as two people appeared behind him. He stepped to one side to let them through.

The man…his…no, Sherlock's father stopped at the sight of him and threw Sherlock a look as well. But John barely had any time to look at him properly, which was a bit of a relief given how much more stern he seemed than last time.

And last time he'd hit Sherlock.

Just the thought of it made him frown and the man's face fall slightly while Sherlock almost seemed to sigh next to him. Curious, John peered over at him, half expecting a sneered insult or some big reaction, but Sherlock seemed to be holding himself stiffly, watching them with wary eyes.

"Oh," the woman said, drawing his attention suddenly over to her as she stepped forward cupping her hands around a smile. "Hello, you must be John?"

Lost, John looked up at Sherlock who seemed to be muttering something under his breath. The woman, who he guessed must be his grandmother, bent down to him and on his shoulder he could feel Sherlock's hands tighten fractionally.

"My name is Bella," she smiled at him. "I can't believe how much like your mother you look."

That got his attention. Mainly because she was the first person, the first family member who mentioned his mother and used a fond tone. Almost hungry for it, he relaxed a little bit, leaning a little towards her instead of trying to push back.

"Yeah?" he asked shyly.

Next to him he felt Sherlock switch his attention down to him. Curious, he looked up to see that same unreadable expression on his face that meant he was thinking about something hard.

Bella looked between him and Sherlock. "Yes," she said with that same smile and a gentle nod of her head. "She was a lovely child. And you definitely have the Watson nose," she added.

The Watson nose? John shifted fractionally closer to Sherlock. He liked the idea that he was like his mum, but the Watson family? No. He didn't want anything to do with the angry red faced man who had yelled at his Mum last year.

Bella's face crumpled slightly and she looked up at Sherlock again, her eyes searching for some kind of an answer. And, suddenly away from her attention, John stared between Mycroft and the other man, the other grandfather both of whom were watching silently.

"Sherlock," the man said, firmly. "He shouldn't be here."

"For this," Mycroft said, jumping in quickly. "For this conversation."

Why? He wasn't a baby, he could cope. It wasn't as if he hadn't heard this stuff before.

"He is staying," Sherlock said firmly. "In every context."

A little flutter danced in John's belly at the words and helped him lift his chin in silent agreement.

His grandfather let out a bark of a laugh and shook his head bitterly with a sigh and paced into the room. Bella stood and turned to him, worry in her eyes.

"This," his grandfather snapped suddenly, "This is why you can't raise him Sherlock. You'd rather keep the boy in here to win an argument than keep him upstairs-"

"He isn't stupid," Sherlock snapped. "He'll know we're talking about him."

And over him. John scowled as they conducted the conversation over his head, glaring at the adults pointedly.

They didn't seem to get that hint. Instead, his grandmother looked at him sadly. "Would you like to go upstairs-" Bella begun.

"No," John said shortly even as Sherlock threw up his hands in frustration, muttering in a furious tone under his breath. John could kinda sympathise – it was annoying when people ignored you.

"Fine," his grandfather folded his arms. "You are selfish and spoiled-"

Sherlock laughed, "Spoiled? If I am so spoiled then surely you would be indulging my whim-"

"Your whim! Exactly." His grandfather seemed to jump on it. "You cannot raise a child on a whim."

"Do not lecture me on child rearing. You produced that," Sherlock said as he jabbed a finger at Mycroft. "Neither one of us are exemplar outcomes of good parenting."

"Sherlock," Bella said, sounding hurt. In the corner Mycroft let out a long, almost bored sigh.

"You cannot raise a child," his grandfather seemed to be building up steam now. "You will ruin that boy."

"That boy is my son," Sherlock snarled. "Mine. Not yours."

"And what will happen when you get bored of that?" his grandfather yelled.

John stepped back a little, slightly terrified of the possible answer.

"Lucian," Bella soothed in a far softer voice after the snapped words. "Sherlock, we are simply concerned about your long term plan with this. You have that job of yours; it's hardly easy to be a single parent in the best of circumstances-"

John stared wide-eyed as his grandparents seemed to crowd Sherlock, saying all those things that John worried about…

Mycroft gestured at him, summoning him over.

"-amused by your attempts to play perfect parent given your actions when I was a teenager-"

John tried to close his ears as he slunk over to Mycroft, determined not to appear pathetic.

Again.

Mycroft gripped at his shoulder and led him down the hall. John glanced back at the other adults, at Sherlock and his Grandfather who were snapping at each other. Sherlock had told him to help, so maybe he should stay…

"Let them argue," Mycroft said quietly. "They'll wear themselves out on it and then we can talk to them properly." Then he shut the door, turning their voices into muted mumblings. Wary, John stared up at him; not entirely sure why Mycroft had taken them out of the room. Mycroft looked back searchingly as if wanting to find something inside of him.

"You are enjoying living with Sherlock?" Mycroft sounded as if he knew the answer to that question already.

John nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said, not really sure what Mycroft wanted.

"Why?"

John shrugged.

There was an annoyed look and Mycroft pinched at the bridge of his nose as if pained. "I would like to know why it is you wish to stay with Sherlock," he said after a pause. "He isn't the easiest person to live with, believe me; I have experienced it."

"Better than the kid's home," John muttered.

"Then you would have no objections to living with my parents?"

No, wait! John looked at Mycroft beseechingly. "I… no; I want to stay here."

"Then tell me why," Mycroft demanded.

"He….he's starting to like me," John said, pleadingly. "And he doesn't yell at me for stealing things or lock me in my room. And he wants to paint my room, even if I want to paint it green like a toilet."

A rather confused expression crossed Mycroft's face, but he seemed to dismiss whatever it was he found odd. "Do you feel safe with him?"

John peered up at him. "It's almost impossible to pick that lock on the front door," John muttered. "He knows all the tricks."

"That isn't…" Mycroft almost smiled. "Just the two of you; you feel safe with him?"

"Think he could do in a fight," John nodded. "He's weirdly strong."

The lips twitched again. "Do you feel scared of him?" Mycroft asked again, trying to clarify his point.

"Oh," John gaped at him. "Are you asking me if he hits me?"

"No," Mycroft shook his head. "I'm asking you if you feel scared with him."

"No," John pulled a face. "He's only just started to remember I'm here most days."

The amused look fell away. "Does he make sure you're fed?"

"Mrs Hudson's gonna make dinner for me," John announced. "But he used to take me to one of the shops up the road."

Mycroft nodded. "And if something happened, if you were scared about something or it was an emergency, what would you do?"

"Cope?" John screwed up his nose. "I'm not stupid," he added.

"I see. And if you needed help?"

"I wouldn't," john tilted his chin. "I'm ten," he said firmly.

"Indeed."

Mycroft left his nephew in Sherlock's room. He had a suspicion his brother would be far from amused at John entertaining himself with what looked to be the start of an experiment on his shoes.

Tough.

When he emerged, his parents and brother were still fighting, still arguing, unsurprisingly. His father and brother were three shades shy of shouting at each other while his mother would pipe in with softer comments in a way that always seemed to throw Sherlock and momentarily split his attention.

His parents had almost thirty years of practise at wearing Sherlock's stubborn nature down.

Mycroft watched them. So thoroughly enthralled by their fight they were that they had failed to notice John's absence and his return.

It was mildly annoying; Mycroft couldn't remember the last time people had ignored his entrance into a room.

"John is staying," he announced firmly.

The words stopped them all dead and they turned to Mycroft; Sherlock with disbelief and his parents…also with disbelief.

It had been a while since he had seen them all look like that.

"I beg your pardon?" his father said, breathing in sheer incredulity.

In the car they had discussed it. They had agreed, firmly, that they had to do what was in John's best interests.

It was always amusing that their parents had never worked out he and Sherlock would follow the letter rather than the spirit of the law.

"John is staying with Sherlock," Mycroft repeated calmly.

Opposite him, Sherlock blinked and then an ugly look passed over him. "Of course," Sherlock sneered, "Saint Mycroft decrees it and so it must be so."

He could never just accept help.

"Are you joking?" his mother asked, stepping towards him. "You cannot possibly be serious-"

"What do you think you're doing?" his father snarled. "We agreed-"

"We agreed to speak to John. As it is, I have," Mycroft answered calmly. "John will be staying here. And let us not pretend that of all the people here I don't have the most influence upon this matter."

Power. There was a reason he had desired it as a child.

Sherlock, seeming to decide to take his victory where he could, beamed at his parents arrogantly. "You may leave," he announced imperiously.

"But with conditions," Mycroft interrupted Sherlock's glee.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stalked over to a chair. "Such as?" he asked, sitting.

Mycroft almost braced himself for the diet quips. "Every Sunday we all have dinner."

Sherlock stood up. "Absolutely not-" he started, "That's not happening."

"You do not have to participate." Mycroft soothed. "But John does."

Unusually for Sherlock, he faltered, his expression hesitant as he weighed that idea up. Seeming confused as to what purpose it would serve, he looked back at their parents, as if to check that they hadn't had a part in this.

Their mother looked hopeful. Their father furious.

"Why?" Sherlock asked blankly.

"Because he needs to feel comfortable enough with us to call in an emergency," Mycroft explained, thinking of John's earlier confusion. The frankly blank look John had given him when Mycroft has asked John what he would do if he needed help had been the most worrying part of their conversation.

"He will call me," Sherlock stated, arrogance dripping from his tone.

"No, he won't."

That seemed to make his brother flinch. He stared at Mycroft, as if to burrow into his mind to see what had made him so certain that John wouldn't call.

"And you may have cases that go on for weeks. He will need a back-up option should you be busy," Mycroft continued. "I will see the boy once every Wednesday for an hour additionally. You will introduce him to Lestrade and Scotland Yard so that they are aware that if it is a long and complicated case I must be called."

"You despise children," Sherlock muttered.

"As do you."

His parents were looking at each other; an unspoken conversation going on that not even he or Sherlock could read. In the end, their father nodded sharply and looked away. "Every Sunday, without fail or excuse, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked back over his shoulder and then ahead at Mycroft, clearly feeling boxed in, which was dangerous when dealing with Sherlock.

"And, unless you have an important case, you will come as well," their mother said suddenly.

That was pushing it. Sherlock's face screwed up in utter distaste, clearly hating the idea. But Mycroft could read his little brother like a book. It may have been more than he had been willing to give, but even Sherlock, possessive and selfish as he was, had acknowledged that he needed to placate their parents in some way.

For John's sake.

It was surprising how much Sherlock had already started to change.

Sherlock turned back. It was obvious from his face that he was already finding loopholes around their mother's vague definition of 'important'.

"If I agree, will you all leave?" Sherlock asked haughtily.

Their father slammed out of the room. Moments later the front door went as well.

When Sherlock walked into his room, John was on the floor, staring at a shoe sole and then at the imprint as if trying to work out what to do with it all. Startled, his son looked up, eyes widening at the sight of him.

"I…" he bowed his blond head to look at what he was doing. "It was Mycroft's fault."

Highly amused by that, Sherlock sat himself on the floor opposite John. "Did you listen to the terms and conditions?"

John looked down at the shoe and then up at Sherlock. "It talks?" he asked with some awe.

Clearly not then. "You are staying here," Sherlock said fondly, reaching for the shoe.

"They're gone?" John asked with some relief as the object was taken from him.

"Yes." Sherlock had checked with the homeless network that Mycroft hadn't parked around the corner and that his father had walked across London in a temper.

"Are they coming back?" John asked, watching Sherlock turn the shoe in his hand.

"No. But they did have conditions that we need to meet."

John drew himself up. "Like a contract?" he asked, part of him clearly puffing up at the seemingly adult way of dealing with this.

"In a manner of speaking. We must have Sunday lunch with them."

John's eyes widened. "Why?" he whined.

"Something about feeding you," Sherlock waved a hand.

"Have they met Mrs Hudson?" John asked earnestly. "I did tell Mycroft that she feeds me."

Interesting. What else had Mycroft asked? "Mycroft believes that you should have a relationship with your grandparents," Sherlock said carefully, examining the print.

"Do I have to?" John asked petulantly.

He was skirting dangerously close to having to defend his parents.

Another day perhaps.

"Yes." He could leave it at that for now. There was no part of him that could find a merit in that idea right now.

"Do you have to?" John asked quietly.

"No."

John froze. "What if they lock the door and keep me there?" he asked, eyes widening again.

Sherlock laughed, then sobered when he realised John was being serious. "They will not kidnap you," he said firmly. "They're far too dull to do that."

John didn't look convinced. "But-"

"And I will go with you on occasion," Sherlock offered.

The first two times.

Maybe three, if John's expression remained terrified.

"And Mycroft wishes to see you on Wednesdays."

Strangely John didn't seem as concerned by that as Sherlock thought he might be. An odd surge of jealousy erupted. John was his, not Mycroft's.

"What ridiculous questions did he ask you?" Sherlock asked curiously.

John shrugged. "Kept trying to work out if I felt safe with you." He didn't sound impressed with Mycroft's line of enquiry.

"And?"

"Yeah," John didn't seem to understand the importance of the question. "Way better than the dumping ground."

That was hardly a glowing recommendation. "Why?"

John rolled his eyes, "He kept asking me that as well," he complained, as if to convince Sherlock that just because he'd answered the question once, he wouldn't have to answer again.

"Then the question should be easy to answer," Sherlock said tightly.

"I don't know," John glared at him. "I said I felt safe, that you fed me, and that you didn't hit me." Something crossed his face.

"Anything else?"

John squirmed. "No."

Liar.