CONTENT WARNING: The following chapter contains references to drugs and sex. Rating may be high T to low M for this chapter during the flashback.
Variables
"I want Daddy."
Irene almost looked upset when she came out from under the oxygen tent and walked over to Sherlock.
"He asked for you."
"Nonsense; Toby can't talk yet."
"Well he just said 'I want Daddy' very clearly. So do shut up and go to your son; he needs you."
Startled, Sherlock blinked at her, and then wordlessly walked over to the oxygen tent and ducked underneath.
Lily looked up at the detective, paler than usual and looking alarmed.
"She said Toby asked for me."
Toby's face lit up and he reached his arms towards his father, who sat awkwardly on the bed beside the child. He gingerly stroked Toby's hair and as his son began wheezing again, Sherlock looked over at Lily, face in total panic.
"What do I do?"
Lily gently eased Toby so he was leaning forward and guided Sherlock's arms so he was supporting his son.
"It's all right Toby. Calm down, okay? Daddy's here. Lets take some deep, slow breaths."
The wheezing continued for a minute and Lily pressed a button to call the nurse while quietly reassuring Toby that it was all right and he was safe. Sherlock seemed paralyzed in place, holding his son as though he thought the little boy might break until the nurse came and helped Toby to inhale some medicine before bringing him something to eat. It wasn't long before plates were clean and Lily was singing "Hey Jude" softly to Toby as he drifted off to sleep, his hand curled around Sherlock's first and middle fingers.
Sherlock was able to slip out from under the tent and Lily followed quickly before Toby could wake up. Once out of the room, they found Mycroft and Irene talking to a doctor who was nodding quietly in response to their remarks.
"Married, cheating on his wife with one, no two of the nurses. Keeps tropical fish, confident, capable of his job, knowledgeable in children's illness, attracted to Irene. Nails clipped two days ago, scratch on his arm from a bush by his front door, rosebush. Shoes custom made, shined by someone other than himself, steady hands, almost obsessively tidy, hasn't eaten supper yet."
Lily glanced over at Sherlock, whom had muttered out a stream of observations as they came to him. There was a glint in his eye that she recognized as the same one he used when he was about to pick a fight with Irene.
Usually she would need a little extra courage to try to stop Sherlock from doing anything but it had been a long, stressful, exhausting day and she did not have the energy to deal with more than what was already on her plate. She grasped the cuff of the detective's coat firmly and made eye contact in less than a second as he registered her hold on his sleeve.
"Not now," she whispered so softly that he was reading her lips more than hearing her. "Whatever you think about the doctor, he is in charge of Toby's care and if you start a shouting match you'll likely wake him."
Sherlock's brain came up with six logical protests but under the steady and exhausted gaze of the woman who cared for his son, he sighed silently and nodded at her, the annoyance clear in his gaze. She released his sleeve and followed him towards his brother, his...whatever Irene was to him, and the doctor.
"How is he?" His tone was clipped to the point of rudeness but not overly antagonistic.
"RSV we think. A rather severe case, but not lethal or even harmful in the long run. He'll need to be here a few days and rest as much as possible. We'll keep him on oxygen until he can breathe without wheezing and continue to give him antibiotics as a preventative measure since his lungs are particularly susceptible to attack right now."
"And no one will know he is here or who he is?"
"Discretion is our specialty."
He opened his mouth to point out that it hardly took a genius to locate an identity, especially that with familiar public figures attached to him, but Irene shoved her hand forcefully into his coat pocked and seized his hand, squeezing firmly, her gaze icy. His mouth closed and he nodded.
"Will that be all?"
The doctor was addressing Mycroft this time and the older man waved his hand in a dismissive gesture with a gentle incline of his head and a soft,
"Thank you for your time."
The doctor turned and walked away, leaving the four adults standing in the chilly corridor.
"Anyone for a coffee?" Mycroft asked, "You all look as though you could use it."
"Sentiment, Mycroft?" Sherlock sniped and his brother ignored him.
"I could use a coffee," Lily piped up. "Who knows when Toby will wake up; someone should be with him."
"Lily, you've done plenty for today. Why don't you go back to the house and rest? I'll have the maids come tomorrow morning and clean everything so the house won't have any viruses or germs left for when Toby gets home."
The nanny shook her head.
"I couldn't leave him here all night without me. What if he gets frightened?"
"Sherlock and I are here Lily. Go home for tonight. We'll call you if he wakes up or if anything changes."
Nodding slowly, Lily returned to Toby's room and gathered her coat and bag. Mycroft handed her a coffee as Irene escorted her to the private elevator and pressed a twenty pound note into her hand for a cab.
"Call if you need me to bring anything in the morning," Lily said as the doors of the elevator began to close. Her employer nodded in response and the elevator began to descend.
There was a knock on her hotel door and there he was, pale and stony, hands trembling by his sides.
"Sherlock?"
"Turn on the telly." He pushed past her into the room. "They have BBC 1, correct?"
"I assume so," she said, closing the door as Sherlock fumbled with the remote before pressing the correct buttons. When BBC 1 came on, it was in a blast of noise and the screen was alight with footage of smoke and fire. The presenter was saying something about a hospital bombing.
"It has been over twelve hours and we are still missing several staff, two being doctors John Watson and Allen Franks whose last known whereabouts were to go try to get patients out on the far end of the hospital shortly after the bomb was discovered. The casualties are in the hundreds and the missing are assumed to be either dead or close to it. Rescue crews say that some of the hospital is still unsafe to search for survivors."
"Sherlock," she began, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand.
"John is likely dead. Declaring sympathy will not change that."
He watched the loop of unchanging replays of the bombing and aftermath for two hours before she took the remote from his hand and shut off the telly.
"Sherlock."
"I'm fine."
"Bullshit."
The word was crisp and blunt; he flinched as though she had struck him.
"I have lost others before."
"And you've tried to remedy that by throwing yourself into work, which you have none of here, or drugs, which it looks as though you've resisted thus far."
"My Finnish is rubbish and you can hardly ask for cocaine in English around this sort of town."
"You're not getting your hands on any cocaine."
"It helps me to think."
"The only thing you have to think about is something you should be feeling instead of rationalizing."
"I'm quite sure you're very experienced in helping others feel, Miss Adler."
He had dropped their rapport and reduced her to her surname again, delivering his snipe with a tone of sharp disdain. It stung but she didn't let it show.
"If you want to get high, you should be more polite."
His interest flickered and he glanced at her.
"Your sort of connections don't extend to that sort of thing."
He was unsure and she could hear it in his voice.
"I can make you a deal."
"You don't require money."
"No."
"Then what is the exchange rate?" This was delivered in a demanding growl and if she hadn't known that he was mourning the loss of a friend that nearly understood him, he would have thought him angry, even borderline mad.
"You sample something for me."
"Sample?"
She brushed aside his scoffing incredulity and looked into his eyes, serious.
"I can get you high without procuring cocaine or anything of the like. If you agree to sample my version first and you don't find it to your liking, then I will get you what you want. If you refuse to try it, you will remain here with me and get nothing."
He snorted at her, stood, and walked towards the door.
"Seems an unfair exchange."
"You won't get out."
"What?"
"I know the manager of the hotel...well I know what he likes. And I'll be barricaded in this room undisturbed for at least two days unless I tell him otherwise."
"You're bluffing."
"Am I?"
He tested the doorknob and found it unmoving. There was no keyhole on the inside. He rattled it again and the door did not yield.
"What is this?"
"I thought you might come. I thought you would be high already, granted, but I thought you might come. I am the only one who knows you are alive in this world and as much as you dislike being dependent on others, I assumed you would come somewhere to ride out the high."
"It seems you were correct only on some details."
"Something I'm grateful for."
"I could shout. Make noise."
"These rooms are soundproofed."
He tried a new tactic.
"What are the side effects of this drug?"
"Exhaustion mostly. Muscle looseness, an excess of leftover dopamine and serotonin perhaps."
"Addictive?"
"Not like cocaine or nicotine, but yes."
"More serious?"
"Less."
"I'll manage. What is it."
"You're not going to like it."
"If you're trying to make me beg, it won't work. Just give it to me."
"Sit down."
"Fine."
He selected a chair and flopped down.
"Shoes off."
"Is the power trip helping you?"
"Just take them off."
He didn't cease glaring at her but he kicked off his shoes anyhow.
"Any other unnecessary requests?"
"Just that if you need me to stop, tell me."
"If it's not as addictive as cocaine then there is nothing you can do that I haven't already experienced."
She kicked off her shoes and knelt between his legs, undoing his belt.
"What are you doing?"
"About to get you high."
She pulled out his belt and undid the button of his trousers before sliding his zipper down.
"Miss Adler."
"If you want me to stop, tell me so. I can guarantee that this will give you a high. Which do you want more, your pride or to forget for a while?"
Sherlock looked down at her, then closed his eyes.
"Do it."
Irene gently slipped her hand up his thigh and began to gently stroke his crotch, running a hand back and forth over his boxers. Sherlock's torso and face stiffened for a moment, then relaxed.
"You need to tell me if you want me to stop."
"You said this would make it go away. How long will it take?"
"Not very long if you relax; a few minutes perhaps."
He shut his eyes and attempted to relax his muscles. Her strokes grew less gentle and it was maybe a minute before she could feel him pressing back from under his boxers. Glancing up to ensure that he was still okay with it, Irene slid her hand under his boxers and drew him out slowly, stroking him a few times before she opened her mouth and lowered her head to his groin, her lips slowly closing around him. He shuddered and exhaled.
"Stop."
It was barely a whisper but Irene heard him and she stopped, sitting up and looking him in the eye.
"This is indecent."
"It's only sex, Sherlock."
"You are supposed to be giving me a high...not...degrading yourself."
"I think it's a bit unfair to decide for me what is and isn't degrading, don't you?"
"I won't do it."
He tucked himself back into his boxers and zipped up his trousers.
"May I try something else? Something you would find less...degrading?"
He nodded and she took him by the hand, leading him to the bed.
"Lie down."
"I will not be having sex."
"I didn't say you would."
He climbed onto the bed, lanky and awkward, and allowed her to turn back the covers for him. He gave her a slow nod when she removed his shirt and trousers, then climbed into bed next to him.
"Roll onto your side."
He did, and then started when she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close to her. Slowly, she leaned her head close to his ear and began to whisper. He didn't recognize it at first, but it took less than a second. Equations.
In his ear she whispered equations, chemistry problems, even the periodic table. She rubbed his back again, gently and stopping whenever he tensed, waiting for his consent to resume. Afterwards, she rolled him towards her and gently began to kiss him. He allowed it at first, and then he joined in.
She could feel the moment that he let go of himself. His kissed became violent, urgent, a plea to let him forget what he was feeling and replace it with something else. He clutched at her, pulling her smaller, softer form close. He allowed the sensations, the rushing chemicals, the smell and taste and sound of her to overwhelm him. He ran each chemical, analyzed every pressure, and then it just didn't matter. Everything was enough.
It was maybe half an hour later when Irene gently pried herself away from him.
"When was the last time you slept?"
"Not more than a week. I've gone longer."
"Sherlock I need sleep. Even if you don't."
He looked at her suspiciously,
"You want me to rest."
"Yes I do. But if you can't I want you to stay here with me while I do."
There were a thousand things he could have said, some hurtful, others irrelevant, others still to try and make her let him out of the hotel room. Deep down, however, he knew that this was where he needed to be until he got confirmation that John was dead. So when she stripped down to her knickers and an overlarge jumper, turned the light out, and climbed in beside him, he closed his eyes, let himself relax, and tried to sleep.
There was a small couch covered in plastic in Toby's room as well as a few chairs. As the hours drew later, Irene curled up on the couch, her head in Sherlock's lap as he absentmindedly stroked her hair, staring into space. Toby woke up several times during the night and eventually the three of them ended up crowded into the bed under the oxygen tent, Toby fast asleep between his parents.
It was maybe five in the morning when Irene woke up to a gentle hand on her arm. Lily, looking freshly showered and exhausted, beckoned to her. Looking over at Sherlock, she saw he had an arm curled under Toby while the other reached across to keep a hand on her hip. Lily mouthed
"Don't wake them," and Irene slid out from under Sherlock's hand and from under the oxygen tent to the couch where Lily had several paper bags and a tray of steaming cups of coffee.
"Oh God, you're a saint Lily."
Irene dumped several packets of sugar into the coffee, stirred, and unceremoniously took an enormous gulp, ignoring the heat searing her tongue, then the back of her throat.
"I thought I might take an early shift for a few hours while you went home, showered, and changed."
Irene took another swallow of coffee.
"I couldn't leave them."
"You made me go home last night; I'm returning the favor. Sherlock's still here and Toby's asleep. He probably won't wake until you're back."
"He hasn't said anything since last night when he asked for Sherlock."
"He clearly can talk, he's just not ready to do it yet," Lily reassured her softly, stirring cream into her coffee.
"It makes me wonder if this was the right thing."
"You're doing it to keep him safe."
"He spends more time with a nanny than with either of his parents."
Lily handed her a scone.
"Go home, take a shower, change clothes. You can contemplate firing me when you get back."
Irene nodded at her, offering a halfhearted smile.
"I couldn't fire you; I'd just want to take more time for Toby. Maybe have you work less days a week so he could have a day or two with his father and I."
Lily nodded and after eating her scone and finishing her coffee, Irene quietly gathered her things and left via the elevator at the end of the hall.
She was gone an hour and a half before Sherlock emerged, quiet but rumpled, from under the oxygen tent, and found Lily asleep on the couch with the food and now-lukewarm coffee on the little side table.
Sighing quietly to himself, Sherlock walked down the hall to locate the men's room and splash some cold water on his face. He was strangely awake, though he supposed that actually sleeping may have had something to do with his unusual alertness. Recalling his hand on Irene's him and his other arm curled underneath his son, he wondered if those sentiments, those sensations were what family was meant to feel like.
