"Danny keeps asking after you," John admitted quietly to Sherlock's gravestone. It was a cold day. He pulled his coat tighter around himself. "He wants to know if you left us because you don't love us anymore. I'm having trouble getting him to eat complete meals. That was always…" John paused, leaning forward to rest his head against the cold marble. Sitting cross-legged it was an uncomfortable position but John didn't care.
"That was always what you were good at. Harry is looking after him today. He wanted to go to the zoo and I wanted to visit you so… here I am." John sat back on his heels, eyes focussing on the gold lettering of the words 'SHERLOCK HOLMES'.
"I'm so lonely, Sherlock. Without you I don't know how to be myself again. I'm trying to keep upbeat for Danny, but he notices when I'm down. I have bad days. Most nights I sleep on the couch…who am I kidding? I haven't slept in our bed since you left. Some nights Danny falls asleep on my chest and I don't move him. It seems to soothe him to sleep. Come back, Sherlock. If not for me, for Danny. He needs at least one of us and without you I'm no longer me."
"Mycroft keeps coming over. I kicked him out the first few times, but he kept coming so I gave up. He plays with Danny mostly and sometimes makes us dinner. Mrs Hudson cleans as usual, but she won't stop sniffling whenever she comes by one of your things. I wish she wouldn't. Lestrade occasionally stops by at nights after work and sits with me when I've put Danny to sleep (in our room on those nights). We talk. We try not to talk about you but after a few beers it always comes back to that. He sits in my chair and I usually fall asleep on the couch. He's never there when I wake up."
"Honestly, Sherlock, without Danny I don't know how I'd be doing this. He's the only one keeping me sane and yet everyone keeps insisting on looking after him for me, or taking him away on day trips. I try to tell them that he's fine, but they don't listen. He's his same old self, I don't know if he's still grieving. It's hard to tell if he really knows what's going on at all. Every so often he looks up at me and asks if I miss you or how I think you're doing in heaven. It always catches me off-guard."
"I guess I should bring him by to see you. I think he'd like that. I've taped a photo of you to the bars of his cot and he always falls asleep facing it. I've got to get back. It's starting to get dark. I'll bring Danny soon. I miss you, Sherlock."
John stood, resting one hand on the marble and turning to walk away. Something stopped him, though, and he spun back around.
"There's just one more thing, mate. One more thing, just one more miracle, Sherlock - for me. Don't be…dead. Would you do that? Just for me?" John whispered, voice breaking as he tried to hold himself together. "Just stop it. Stop this." His head fell forward as he took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself, but it only caused more tears to fall. He lifted a hand up to try to wipe them away as his shoulders shook with silent sobs.
It took only a moment for John to regain himself and pull his shoulder back, straightening his spine as his army training kicked in and he tried to stay distant. Clicking his heals together he held his head up high, sniffed back the tears that still threatened to fall and turning on his heel, walking stiffly out of the cemetery.
"Dadda! Dadda!" John heard Danny yell from the living room. He spun around from the kettle, forgetting he was holding a hot cup of tea and burning his hand as the hot liquid sloshed over the side.
"Ah!" he gasped, putting the cup back down on the bench.
"DADDA!" Danny yelled again. John tried to ignore the burn of his hand and rushed to see Danny holding a piece of paper.
"What is it, bub?" he asked, crouching down on the rug and brushing away the crayons scattered over the floor. "Are you okay?"
"I drew you a picture!" his son grinned. John sighed.
"It's you and me and Daddy." John looked at the picture. Really, it was a good drawing for a child his age, but even his own father found it hard to decipher what it was. "That's you," Danny explained, pointing to a circle with arms and legs and eyes. "And that's me," a smaller circle. "And that's Daddy."
John fell back onto his heels as he saw what Danny was pointing at. He'd drawn a solid black rectangle with yellow scribbles over the front. It was Sherlock's grave. John coughed, trying to disguise his emotion, but it came out as a strained gasp.
He didn't know what to say. What was there to say? Is that all Danny thought of Sherlock now, just a lifeless black stone?
"Dadda?" Danny murmured, moving to stand in front of his father, resting his hands on John's knees. "I'm sorry, I'll draw 'nother one."
John wasn't paying attention. His mind was far away, running through all the times he'd seen Sherlock with Danny, how the detective had all but given up on cases in order to care for their son. Would Danny even remember him when he was older? Would he remember the father who loved him and doted on him and almost completely changed his personality to suit the changing needs of his two-year old?
The sudden howling coming from in front of him interrupted his thoughts. "DADDA! I'M SORRY!"
John collapsed onto the rug, taking Danny into his arms.
"It's okay, baby, it's okay," he whispered. "I'm sorry, I like your picture, I do. You did a great job. I love you, Dan."
Danny just kept crying, clinging to his dad and sniffling loudly, the drawing lying forgotten on the floor.
"Good morning, Watsons," Mycroft announced as he walked through the door, only to stop at the scene before him. "Oh, sorry, is it a bad time?"
John stood, Danny still in his arms and walked to the couch, still cooing at his son and trying to calm him. Mycroft took a seat on John's armchair; Sherlock's remaining permanently empty.
"Good morning, Mycroft," John sighed. There was no mistaking the tears on John's face, the drawing still on the floor. It didn't take a Holmes to deduce what had happened.
"Tea?" Mycroft asked, only to receive a stiff nod from John. "I see you have your hands full."
"It's okay, Danny, it's okay," John kept repeating. Danny slowly drifted to sleep, having not slept much the night before. If Danny didn't sleep, John didn't sleep and the doctor felt himself tempted to put his son back in his cot so he could crawl up on the couch. Mycroft returned and put the two cups of tea down on the table in front of him, taking in the sight of John cradling his boy.
"Are you all right, John?" the older man asked. John narrowed his eyes, looking up at Sherlock's older brother. He stood, hitching Danny higher in his arms and taking him to his cot to let him sleep before returning to the couch.
"What'd you think, Mycroft?" John questioned.
"I think you're struggling," Mycroft answered. "Danny's a well-behaved child, but even that's hard to deal with when you're grieving. Add that to no sleep and the fact that you're no longer working to pay the bills and it would stress anyone."
"Why did you even come here? To rub it in? To make it hurt more? I'm doing my best! I'm trying here! Why doesn't anyone understand how hard I'm trying to keep it together?"
"I do understand, John and I want to help you."
Before John could bite back a reply Harry was at the door with Mrs Hudson who'd clearly let her in to the flat.
"John!" Harry smiled, stepping into the room as John and Mycroft both stood. John let his sister hug him before stepping back.
"Harriet," Mycroft nodded in greeting.
"John, I was wondering if you wanted some time alone, I could take Danny for a couple of days?" Harry asked sincerely.
"No!" John roared and it seemed that once he started he couldn't stop. "Enough! Why don't you people get that I need time alone with him? He's the only thing keeping me okay at the moment and you people keep taking him away! I know you're worried, but I need him! I need him here with me. We might not be the most functional two, but we look after each other. He keeps me strong, he's the only reason I haven't completely broken down yet so please just please don't take him away." John was crying now, his words hoarse as he tried to steady his voice. "I get that you're trying to help and you've been great, but don't take him. Let him stay here, let me hold him and care for him."
"John, we're just trying to lend a hand," Mrs Hudson interrupted quietly.
"I know you are and it helps that you clean and it helps that Mycroft cooks and Harry buys groceries, but I need Danny," he choked. "It's hell living here without…without him let alone sleeping another night without my baby in my arms."
"I'm sorry, John," Harry whispered. "If I'd known this is how you feel…"
"It doesn't matter," John dismissed. "You know now. Just go, leave us alone."
Mycroft nodded, moving to the cot to place a gentle kiss on Danny's forehead before patting John on the shoulder and leaving without a word. Harry and Mrs Hudson were quick to follow.
Once they'd left John took Danny back into his arms and, not even thinking, walked to his and Sherlock's bedroom. The bed was made, but still crinkled from where the detective had slept on it the night before he'd left for Switzerland. The room still smelled of him. Ignoring this, John walked to his side of the bed and crawled under the blankets with Danny, tucking his head into his son's thick curls and falling to sleep almost instantly.
A/N: So it seems John's at the end of his rope, but perhaps this is the best thing for him and Danny to get some time together. Reviews let me know that people are still reading. Jess x
