They stopped at a pharmacy on the way to their meeting place with Ferguson, Sherlock buying completely the wrong strength of nicotine patch and applying so many in the toilets that John had to strip-search him in a very undignified way and peel some off.

"You are not passing out on a case because of a NRT overdose."
"John, stop fussing," Sherlock muttered, slapping him away.

"No. I will not."

Sherlock allowed him to remove the patches, sighing, and confiscate the box. They were leaving the bathroom as Robert pretty much walked into them. He apologised profusely, John laughing, and they walked back to his car, settling in and heading off to his house.

The house was set back in the countryside, a modest size, built using old bricks and stone with a cottage squatting to the left and a large yard with an open, white gate. John was impressed.

"Beautiful village."
"It is, yes," Robert said with a smile. "Nice place to bring up the boys."

Sherlock was looking out of the window of the car, for once without his coat collar turned up around his cheeks. It was a warm day in July, and they'd seen no need for it (aka John had prised it out of his hands to prevent heatstroke before they left, which ended in Sherlock screaming for Mrs Hudson and sulking when she'd agreed with John). He looked slightly less imposing wearing just a suit jacket and one of his token dark shirts, sunglasses hiding his eyes. But John could tell he was enjoying the trip out of the city, and he was buzzing with repressed excitement for the case.

They stepped out of the car, John grabbing the bags, and walked into the house. Robert was almost immediately grabbed by a young boy, assumingly his son Jack, who eyed the two men in his house warily. Sherlock removed his sunglasses and clipped them on his shirt.

"Who're they?" Jack asked; his voice petulant.

"This is my old pal John and his friend Sherlock. They're here about your mother."
"My mother is dead," Jack spat, and Robert sighed.

"About Adriana."
"She's nuts. Nothing they can do."

Sherlock stepped up to the boy and held out his hand. The lad glared at him, and Sherlock glanced at John, retracting his hand and standing back up to his full height.

"Dad," the boy said, staring up. "There's no point. You should ring the police or a nut-doctor or something."

Robert was trying to hold his temper, but his ears were going red.

"Well, I'm a doctor," John pointed out. "And he's a detective. So I think we'll be okay."

The boy still eyed them suspiciously, as if he didn't believe them. Sherlock, for once, didn't know how to act. They were saved by a young lady wandering around the corner, baby in her hands and a smile on her face.

"Here's daddy!" she squealed, and the baby cooed. John and Sherlock were instantly drawn to the bruise on the baby's neck and exchanged another glance as Emma handed the baby to Robert. Robert took him gladly, smiling, and Emma shook hands with the men.

"Emma Mason. Nanny."
"John Watson."
"Sherlock Holmes."

Emma's eyebrows raised slightly, "Mr Holmes. I thought you were dead?"
Sherlock smiled, "Not quite."
"Dr Watson, I've read your blog."
"Oh, good. Great."

John was floundering over his words and Sherlock knew what that meant. He swung around to shake his head and roll his eyes at his partner. John mouthed 'what?' and Sherlock mouthed 'boyfriend' back. John looked momentarily upset.

"Hello little man," Sherlock said, waving at the baby who chuckled and waved back. "How are you?"

The baby held out its hand and grasped at Sherlock, who offered his finger out and the baby shook it, smiling.

"May I-?" Sherlock gestured to the baby's neck, and Robert nodded. "Of course."

Sherlock beckoned John forwards and they both examined Luis' neck carefully.

"What do you see?" Sherlock asked John, and John shrugged.

"It's a fairly old bruise. Most of the marks are fading. Not much we can get out of it."

"My thoughts precisely," Sherlock said, his fingers rubbing over the bruise softly to inspect the colour. A small puncture mark in the middle caused him to pause and scowl. Robert and Emma didn't notice, deep in conversation.

"Everything okay while I've been gone?"
"Yeah. Daisy isn't very well, though."
"No? What's wrong with her?"
"I'm not sure, she seems tired and she's eating less."

Robert frowned, "Strange. How about Luis?"
"He's okay. Still a little off, but, I guess that's to be expected."
"Has Adriana-?"
"Not a peek."

Sherlock was poking around, sniffing, running his hands over things. John was hovering, making sure he wasn't going to break anything or be offensive in any way. Jack was lurking in a room beyond them, out of sight, but listening. Sherlock caught a glimpse of his brightly coloured t-shirt and frowned once more.

"My wife only wants to see Luis. Not me. Not Emma. Not my son. Just Luis. But how can I let her?"

John nodded, "I understand."

"Can we have a look around?" Sherlock asked, and Robert nodded, handing Luis over to Emma. She muttered something about making lunch and wandered off.

"Okay. Well, I'll give you the tour."