Title: Written in the Stars
Author: Rewrittengirl
Fandom: Sherlock (TV series)
Wordcount: 2,531 words.
Rating: T for tean.
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson, Inspector Lestrade, maybe Anderson later, definitely Jim Moriarty a lot later, a little Mycroft, and an OC.
Pairing(s): Shwatsonlock (duh), maybe some other pairings later on if I rewatch the show for all the other character's little nuances. I was really only paying attention to Watson and Holmes the first run through. :3
Genre: Romance, angst, mystery, drama, family, friendship, etc.
Warning(s): For this chapter, suggestive themes, alcohol, mild cursing, and lots of gay lovin'. For the rest onward, expect sex, violence, LOTS of angst and gay loving, and very soon Mpreg, child abuse/violence (perpetrated by the next warning, not either of our boys). And Jim Moriarty. He's a warning in an of itself.
Contains: In the entire fic, sex, mpreg, angst, adorable awkwardness, kidnapping, child rearing, secrecy, shootings, violence, some drug abuse by our favorite detective, alcohol, etc.
Notes: I AM SOOOO SORRY! Like, seriously. I know I've already apologized in that author's note, but you should know I really am truly sorry for the wait. I'm almost glad I did, or else this wouldn't be as good as it is now. So, yeah... Here's the next chapter! ENJOY MY LOVELY REVIEWERS! I should also say that my friend Jill/Izzi (the girl who's writing the Jack the Ripper/Sherlock fic with me), helped me on this chapter with any writer's block I had. THANK YOU JILLY! This chapter is dedicated to her.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes, nor any of the characters mentioned in this fic (apart from one introduced later). Sir Arthur Conan Doyle owns the characters, and the BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss own the modernized version. If I owned the BBC version, Holmes would have kissed Watson in a dark alleyway in thanks for saving his life. Episode one. :3
Summary: What was once a forgotten (and drunken) one night stand turned into much more for Dr. John Watson. He doesn't remember meeting Holmes, nor that his little bundle of joy could also be Sherlock's little bundle of joy. He just thinks he's moving in with an unusal flatmate who he happens to feel deja vu around, and that they somehow met each other somewhere before. But he just can't place where.
A soft, yet inexplicably somber melody floated through the courtyard, surrounding the pair in its dire mood. The french doors were wide open, the curtains flowing in the breeze as they came upon a woman in the middle of her life, her careful and precise fingers gliding over the keys of the grand piano.
John was surprised at the sight, it seemingly coming straight from a simple elegance of it all was dreadfully peculiar, and had it not been for the woman's haggard and frayed appearance, he would have suspected this was a trick, some sort of candid camera movie.
It didn't phase Sherlock, however, though these things never do. He strolled inside casually, not even waiting for John to follow.
He still seemed to be distant from his companion, though John really couldn't blame him. The "incident" had mostly been his fault, placing his hand on John's knee... Though John couldn't really say what had come over either of them, other than the heat of the moment. He certainly knew Sherlock had no feelings for him other than perhaps trust and brotherly love.
Or did he? Oh, no no no. He did not. He couldn't. As he'd mused before, Sherlock's stated himself that he was a sociopath, unable to feel for another human being. He's displayed it countless times on cases with his insensitivity, John always the one having to pick up the pieces.
He assumed this was the only reason Sherlock brought him along today.
"Hello, Miss Parker!" Sherlock said in his usual deceptively cheery fashion. John hobbled in, his limp flaring up from the stress and worry Sherlock had been placing on him. The woman was shocked at anyone coming to join her, and she stopped playing immediately, standing up and fiddling with her fingers.
"Who are you?" she asked, looking straight at Sherlock.
Sherlock was busy examining her, no doubt looking to see if she was the culprit. John rolled his eyes, and held out his hand to shake. "My name is Dr. John Watson, and my friend here is Mr. Sherlock Holmes. We're currently investigating the deaths of your sister and her family, and we'd just like to ask you a few questions, ma'am."
Her eyes flickered in remorse, as she sat back down on the piano, and began to play again. Sherlock mumbled something about John always being so personable, and flashed a quick grin at the doctor, confirming John's suspicions of his reason in being there. The detective strolled about the room, not much there apart from the piano (well polished he might add) a settee, a rug, and a fireplace, pictures and knick-knacks littering the mantle.
John set himself down begrudgingly on the settee, situating his cane next to him and turning toward the pianist. "We're both very sorry about your loss, Miss Parker," he said (he could just feel Sherlock snorting internally over by the mantle), "so we'd like to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible. Did your sister or her husband have any enemies at all?"
She shook her head sadly, and John could tell tears were starting to well. John sighed.
Sherlock just scoffed, "Oh come now, everyone has enemies!" he said, striding over to the settee and moving John over, so that he could be closer to the woman in interrogation.
"I-I don't have any enemies," John said quietly, but with a grumble. Sherlock glared at him, then rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the pianist.
"Even you have enemies, don't you? Perhaps your landlord, who's been pestering you to move out, as you make too much noise and too little money playing the piano. In fact you make hardly any money at all, judging from the state of your appearance and your rooms. You are too much of a hermit and a spinster to bother socializing outside this place, so you keep here with your memories of your sister and her family, envying her in every aspect of her life. Perhaps your sister was your enemy too? Perhaps you killed her, in cold blooded jealousy?"
John didn't even bother to stand and correct him, hanging his head in his hands in embarrassment.
To his surprise, the woman stopped playing, and turned to the detective and John, smiling softly with eyes of sorrow. "That's very clever, Mr. Holmes, but you must also know that I loved my sister very much. I would never hurt her, or her family. I loved them all."
"Then why have they not helped you to overcome your intense agoraphobia, as I can clearly see you have from your gravitation away from the doors. You have not left the far end of the bench since we arrived."
Sherlock grinned in triumph (though it was gone almost instantly), getting up and strolling back over to the mantelpiece, mumbling something about something not being quite right.
John scooted closer to the woman in comfort. "Just ignore him, he's always like that."
The woman coughed lightly, nodding with furrowed brow. "I can tell," she said quietly, hurt obviously displayed in her eyes. "I like to keep the doors open... I like the breeze," she said in a soft voice.
John nodded in understanding. He glanced at the keys resting under the woman's hand. "Don't stop playing on our accounts, Miss Parker."
She pursed her lips. "Please, call me Jillian." She began to play again.
Sherlock was busy studying the photos on the mantle, while John continued to question the woman. He would pipe up every once in a while with an off the wall question, no doubt trying to sort out her real story in his mind. John tried more to pull out of her information on anyone she might think could be the kidnapper and killer.
"Your sister, she was the younger, right?" John asked about 20 minutes into the questioning.
Jillian nodded, still lightly playing the piano. "Yes, Erika was 37. I'm 45."
Suddenly, Sherlock strolled around the room and ended up leaning his elbow casually on the side of the piano, giving a large interrogating grin to the woman with his chin in his hands. "Just one or two little questions, that's all. Miss Parker, what is your relation to your deceased sibling's husband?"
Another off the wall question, and Watson even had to admit in his expression that he was confused. He wasn't the only one. The spinster looked at Holmes incredulously.
"H-he was my brother-in-law...?" she said, like she couldn't believe he'd ask that kind of question.
Honestly, John couldn't believe it much either. "What... does that have anything to do with the case?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, chin still resting in his hand. "Really John, you should know by now I always have a point. Quit being so oblivious, its annoying," he said in his typical annoyed drone.
He turned back to the woman, still smiling. "Please answer the question in far more detail than you just did before, and we'll all get along swimmingly. Thanks."
The woman stared at him for a moment, swallowing under the sheer pressure of Sherlock's gaze. She took a moment to compose herself out of frustration, and said, "I met him 19 years ago, long before he'd met my sister."
Sherlock grinned. "And we all know how that goes..."
She glared at him, playing a sarcastic and bright tune on the piano. "We dated, I won't deny it. But what does that have to do with my sister's murder?"
The detective glanced up at Watson, in a sort of "watch this" look. "Absolutely everything."
It was then that it hit John: a crime of passion.
"Sherlock, where are you going with thi-"
Holmes silenced him with a glare. He returned his attention to the pianist, completely absorbed in catching his killer. "We both know there's more to it than that, Miss Parker," he added, getting up and strolling about the room again. "I suppose you're not concerned at all as to the whereabouts of your nephew are you? Or are you just closing in all that turmoil?" The man lightly picked up one of the picture frames on the mantle, holding out a bit for Watson to see. "How old would he be now? 17? 18?"
Now it was making sense for Watson. A few months ago he would have been still confused as ever, but living with Sherlock for this long had forced his senses to become keener than they were.
"18," the woman retorted, glaring. "Yes, 18. Again, what does that have to do with anything?"
Sherlock smirked, setting the frame down calmly on the mantle. "Here are the facts, Miss Parker. I present them to you as I perceive them to be, and I'm never wrong."
The man rubbed his hands together, beginning his bombardment of observations that would surely lead to the woman's arrest. John sighed as he began, not looking forward to the consequences that would follow in his wake.
"19 years ago, you met your sister's future husband and fell in love. He scorned you once he met your much prettier and more practical sister, Erika, and married her. Little did he know that you were pregnant at the time." He walked over to the piano, slamming his hands down on it. "And you left the child with him! How inconsiderate of you! Honestly, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were good friends with the mother of John's daughter!"
"Sherlock!" John exclaimed, glaring. "That's none of her business."
Sherlock brushed him off. "John, I'm trying to prove a point, don't bother me." He waved his hand, suggesting himself to continue. "You wanted a career as a concert pianist, so you dropped the child off on your sister and her new husband's doorstep, only telling the father later that it was his. After you realized you would never become famous as a musician, you sought to reconcile with the man you once loved, but it was too late. They'd 'adopted' your son, and they would have nothing to do with you. Your sister sent you pictures of her growing family, and I couldn't help but notice the considerable amount of photographs of your 'nephew.' A little tad obsessed, aren't we, Mother?"
John stood in anger. "Sherlock, that's enough! You're making the woman miserable!" Though she deserved it, the murderer. How... He couldn't comprehend how she could go so far as to have a child killed, much less her niece.
Watson was right though. The woman was sobbing into the keys, drowning her sorrows in her wasted talent.
"You wanted to punish your sister and your old lover for taking your son away from you! And you did it the only way you could think of. Kill them all. All that mattered was your son, not your sister, not her husband, not even your own young niece! Oh, but you'd never get your hands dirty yourself, no. You're far too thin and sickly to be fed well, but you do make money, which is why you haven't been kicked out yet. You've been saving money to hire hit-men! Isn't that right Miss Parker?"
"Sherlock, that's enough, you've made your point," John pleaded with him. The woman wasn't even coherent any more, and John tried to console her by touching Sherlock's arm, begging him to stop with his eyes.
The detective wasn't having any of that. "Don't touch me." His glare was like death toward John, clearly angered at constantly being interrupted.
John glared back, but with an insane amount of hurt on his face.
A slam of hands on the piano suddenly, and Sherlock was in the woman's face, nearly breathing down her neck. "You hired someone to take care of your son until your perfect crime, one you didn't even commit, was solved, and the young man could find a family in you. You, the only one left in your family. Oh yes, I read the case file. You have no one. Both your sister and your husband were nearly the last in the line, after your mother murdered your father and then herself in cold blood. Guess it runs in the family, doesn't it?"
"Sherlock!"
"So all you had to do was wait until the bumbling police 'solved' the case, and then your boy would be returned to you. That was your plan, wasn't it? Well, I must congratulate you. You might have gotten away with it, if it had gone according to plan. But you see, there's one thing you didn't count on. There's one thing no killer ever counts on." He stared her directly in the eyes. "Me."
The woman shuddered with hatred. "You wouldn't know... You wouldn't understand!"
Sherlock smiled with sarcasm. "Oh, I understand perfectly. You killed them. That's all I need to know."
Her eyes narrowed. "He promised no one would figure it out."
Holmes' eyes widened. "Who? Who promised that? What did he tell you? Where is he? Did he tell you his name?" He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her violently. "Answer me!"
"Stop it Sherlock, stop it!" John tried to stop him, but he wouldn't relent.
"Who is he? Don't look at me like that! You have nothing left! Everything is over! You have nothing to lose!" She wouldn't tell him, only looking scared of the man with the cold-blooded eyes. "TELL ME!"
"HOLMES!"
"SHUT UP, WATSON!" The detective growled loudly, and shoved the pawing man to the ground.
John didn't cry out in pain. He didn't shed a single tear. He was just there, sprawled out on the ground, staring directly into the suddenly regretful detective's eyes. He was nothing short of damaged. He shuddered, never breaking eye contact, but shook his head in disbelief.
Sherlock's eyes searched for words that would never come, his accursed hand that had hurt his friend nearly reaching out to help him, to comfort him, to tell him he was sorry.
But John wouldn't have that. He scrambled away, fumbling for his cane and racing out the door.
Sherlock couldn't breathe. He couldn't speak. Not just from the shock of having betrayed his best friend, but from the rush of emotions hitting his heart like lightning, emotions that he'd suffocated until they were unrecognizable. Now they were here, alive, and devastating.
This would not do. He couldn't have this any longer. Not when he was lying to him. The lying had to stop. The crying had to stop. The emotions had to stop.
The love had to stop.
Suddenly, a small, pathetic voice reached up to him in desperation, trying to reconcile its pitiful situation. The woman was absolutely lucky Lestrade had just pulled up outside her home, or else Sherlock would have neatly wrung her throat with his bare hands.
"Moriarty."
... I think we all know there are no words for this.
Read and review guys. And don't forget, I posted a new fic, the really unique one! Alert and fave it, and review it too! Its called the Case of the Forgotten Doctor.
See you next chapter!