Chapter Ten:

Family Rituals

AN:Features "The Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual" and the riddle is taken directly from it.

Ava pursed her little lips and rocked back and forth on her heels. The neat little pink coat swayed as she did so, making Sherlock smile.

"Do I look okay?" Ava asked curiously, catching Sherlock's gaze in the mirror.

Nodding, Sherlock stroked a hand through her hair only to have her frown up at him furiously. "That's my hair," she muttered, smoothing it back down as if there had been a beautiful style to begin with. "It has to be neat when you visit people."

Not when you visit John, Sherlock thought, unable to get John's disinterested gaze out of his mind. The fact that finally he had been prescribed drugs to help him show some emotion…

The thought made him sick. Better to ignore it, pretend-

"Do you think Daddy will like my coat?"

Sherlock stared at her for a moment, trying to work out how best to handle the situation. Kneeling so that their heads were level, Sherlock started to do up her coat. "You understood what I said to you?"

"It's prison," Ava said seriously. "It's not nice."

"No," Sherlock agreed, stroking her arms. "And being there-

"It makes Daddy sad," Ava sighed. "I know." She glared at him. "Can we go?"

"If you get upset-"

"I'm not a baby." Ava scowled. "Can we go?"

Unsure, Sherlock glanced at the door and then back at Ava, at the Watson expression of stubbornness on her face, and nodded.

Despite her determined attitude earlier, it was clear that Ava's bravery started to falter as they entered the prison. Her eyes widened and she started to press closer into Sherlock.

He could relate; it was hardly a guarantee that John would be pleased to see him, Ava or no.

"Ava-"

She looked up at him, nervous but determined. Her gaze made Sherlock sigh and stroke a thumb over the back of her hand.

"I'll be right here," he said softly, not entirely why that needed to be said.

Ava nodded all the same.

They entered the visiting room slowly, Ava stepping even closer to Sherlock, which made it bloody difficult to walk. Her blonde head turned to inspect the people in the room, searching for –

John.

Unlike every time before, John was sitting up straight, his eyes trained on Ava. It was as if he couldn't quite manage to take her all the way in.

Was that the drugs or Ava that had that effect on him?

Either way it was a pleasant change.

Nodding to himself, Sherlock bent down to Ava to start removing her coat. "Have you spotted him?" he asked.

Ava nodded shyly. "He looks sad," she murmured.

"It's the hair," Sherlock replied absently.

She giggled a little and pushed against him, a little less nervous but still unsure of herself.

"Come on," Sherlock said softly, reaching for her hand. "Let's go talk to him."

As they stepped close, John and Ava locked gazes and Sherlock watched John's Adam's apple bob. John licked his lips; a nervous habit that Sherlock recognised well before the man tried to smile.

The expression made Sherlock want to sink in relief.

It had been the right thing.

And not just for John.

"You've grown," John whispered hoarsely as he shifted forward, his entire body angling towards Ava.

Their daughter nodded, her hand tightening on Sherlock's. Her smile wavered as she stared at John, looking for something in his face. "I know," she said, almost swaying from side to side. There was a small hesitation and then her chin jutted out. "I'm almost as tall as you."

There weren't words to describe how much Sherlock adored Ava. John smiled, his expression welcoming as he beckoned her closer.

She went to him, her hand slipping from Sherlock's and he steeled himself.

One day she wouldn't come back and-

He cut the thought off. Torturing himself about what might happen in the future was foolish. Instead, he went to the chair opposite John and sat down, pulling out his phone as if disinterested.

John had reached over to stroke Ava's hair behind her ear. "You think so?" he asked, still looking at her with adoration.

"Yeah," Ava said, nodding. "I'll wear stilettos."

John's laugh surprised him. It had been so long since he'd heard it that Sherlock closed his eyes.

17th February 1.05pm You look better.

"Stilettos?" John asked, sounding just as surprised as Sherlock.

Ava nodded, looking pleased with herself and shuffled eve closer. "Really big ones," she said as she showed him with her hands.

John stared at her and then leaned down, scooping her up. For a long time he clung to her and Sherlock stared at Ava's hands as they clutched at the fabric of John's shirt, desperate to anchor onto him in some way.

When John leaned back he took Ava with him, settling her on his lap. "And you're going to be able to walk in these?" he asked, adjusting her.

He was teasing.

Sherlock tightened his grip on his phone, not entirely sure what to do with the tidal wave within.

"Yeah, Molly's going to give me lessons," Ava said as she snuggled closer.

"Molly?" John blinked, bemused. "How do you know Molly?"

Sherlock froze.

What?

Stunned, he looked up. Lucky for him John was so entranced by Ava that the rest of the world seemed to have faded to a blur.

He'd told John…he was sure he had told John.

How bad had John been?

"I lived with her," Ava said carelessly.

The expression on John's face seemed to echo some of what Sherlock was feeling.

"Molly is a registered foster carer," Sherlock said softly, keeping his distance as he stared back down at his phone. "She and her husband took Ava for a month."

17th February 1.06pm: Did you forget or did you just not want to hear?

Ava nodded. "Molly said she practiced for her wedding 'cause Chris is really tall and she didn't want to give him a neck ache."

17th February 1.07pm: I sent a card from us for Molly's wedding. Mycroft dealt with the present.

John nodded dumbly. "Well, that makes sense," he said, sounding a little lost as to what else to say.

17th February 1.07pm I have no idea what it was. I forgot to ask.

A cheeky smile appeared on Ava's face. "I could learn and then teach you," she wheedled. "So Sherlock doesn't get neck ache."

Oh.

Sherlock resisted the urge to look up and see whatever emotion John was displaying at that little gem. "We discussed this, Ava," Sherlock said neutrally.

There was a long silence. He could almost picture Ava glaring at one of them.

"Discussed?" John asked, sounding a little dim.

"I made lots of mistakes and we aren't together anymore." Sherlock continued typing.

17th February 1.09pm I told her it was my fault.

When Sherlock snuck a peak, Ava was staring at John, pouting.

"Right." John looked away from Sherlock and swallowed. "Ava…so exactly how many years do I have before you try to convince me you're old enough for these shoes?"

Sherlock glanced up. At the little girl that he loved far too much and the man that he couldn't seem to love enough.

By the time Ava was wearing stilettos Sherlock might well be a distant memory, a vague shadow in her the recess of her mind.

It hurt.

He shook it far away. John was talking, interested, animated; and Ava was happy, delighted by her father. Any fears Sherlock had previously about them finding it hard to bond once more were instantly dismissed.

She is my light at the end of the tunnel.

Sherlock should have remembered that.

They talked for ages, Ava relaxing and sitting on John's lap as if the past few months hadn't happened. Sherlock stared at his phone, message after message firing off to John's phone.

Time was almost up.

"Time to go," Sherlock said, putting his phone away and looking over at the guards.

"No," Ava whined. "Five more-"

"Ava," Sherlock said pointedly. "There are only certain hours we're allowed here."

Ava's shoulders drooped in disappointment. She turned into John, snuggling in as close as possible. John cupped her head and pressed a long kiss to her hair, his eyes closing.

When they opened, John locked his gaze with Sherlock's.

It had been so long since they had looked at each other properly. Those strange eyes that never seemed to get John as much attention as much as Sherlock's. Why, Sherlock had no idea; they were far more interesting than his own.

John's mouth moved as if to start to say something.

"Miss you," Ava whispered.

John winced and his attention turned back to Ava, ducking his head to catch her gaze, his hands cupping her face. He murmured to her softly, his voice too low of a rumble for Sherlock to make out.

'Take her,' John mouthed to Sherlock when Ava didn't move. This time he didn't look up but fixed his gaze on part of the table, his lips pressing together tightly.

"John-"

John closed his eyes and a trail of wetness made its way down his cheek.

Sherlock hated it; reaching down to take Ava from John. Worse still was how she resisted, her hands tightening further on John's clothes. It was painful to reach for her fist and guide her fingers to unclench.

John turned his face away, looking as if he were physically feeling the pain of separation.

Sherlock was close, so close. His hands brushing John's chest as he lifted Ava now and held her tight.

Below him, John choked slightly and shook his head.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock murmured as Ava buried her head into the crook of his neck, her tears soaking his collar.

John shook his head and drew in a shaken breath. "I…next week," he said looking down. "Please."

Did John seriously think he had to beg? Had they drifted that far apart?

"Of course," Sherlock said, trying to push back the hurt. "John-"

John shook his head and then turned it to the side, as if unable to watch them walk away. The muscles in his neck were tight as if there was a strain within him to keep himself apart from Ava.

Ava, who was sniffling against his shoulder, a fierce grip on Sherlock now. Shifting her in his arms, Sherlock turned and walked away, not at all sure how he managed it.

Ava was miserable.

She clung to Sherlock like one of those baby sloth things that had been in one of her cartoons. It was as if all of her insecurities came back at once, and suddenly he was faced with a sobbing child who struggled to sleep unless she was being held.

Once upon a time he might have reluctantly made his way to his parents' house for some advice or to get them to intervene for him. Their sudden accident a year before he had met John meant that was impossible. It left him with a terrible option.

Asking Mycroft.

"I beg your pardon?"

Good. At least Mycroft was the one who had used the word beg. "How do you cheer up a small child?"

There was a terribly long silence over the phone and Sherlock barely resisted the urge to sigh in frustration.

"I used to create puzzles for you," Mycroft said slowly, still seeming a little baffled by their conversation. "Our father used to start them and I would help to make them challenging enough."

Sherlock glanced at the child in his arms. Mrs Hudson was the closest thing she would ever have to a grandparent but it still meant she was bereft of a grandfather.

His father would have adored Ava.

Puzzles?

A memory flittered, ever so slightly. A riddle and digging in the garden…

"There was one…something about treasure…"

"Ah," Mycroft said, sounding pleased. "Yes."

Ava sat cross-legged as Sherlock placed the suitcase on the floor.

He'd started to re-customise the flat: the old knife to keep the post on the mantelpiece, cushions. His old equipment out of storage. The suitcase was filled with keepsakes from his parents; things he had shoved in there as quickly as possible when they'd cleared out the house. Persian slippers that had been his grandmother's and that Mycroft had used as a hiding place for cigarettes. There was a case of wine that had been given to his parents when he had helped out Vanberry, the wine merchant, and had evidently been kept as a keepsake rather than imbibed.

And a small wooden box with a sliding lid that Sherlock put to one side deliberately next to Ava.

She'd been quiet when he'd brought the suitcase up but he'd felt her curious gaze as she'd scooted closer. Typically, she was distracted by the slippers, fingers tracing the embroidery and then glancing down at her own feet thoughtfully. Dismissing the idea, she then studied the wooden box and started to slide the lid open.

It was hard for Sherlock not to smile at the expression on her face when she saw the objects within. There was an old-fashioned brass key, a peg of wood with a ball of string attached to it, three round discs of rusty metal and a crumpled piece of paper.

Tiny fingers danced over the objects, lingering over the string for a moment.

"What are they?" Ava asked curiously.

"Leftovers from a case," Sherlock said, watching her take the key out and inspect it. "My first case when I moved to London."

"Before I was born?"

Ava constantly seemed doubtful that there had been much use in the world before her birth. "Yes," Sherlock answered, moving so that his knee touched hers. "Before I met your father even."

Ava's eyes widened in awe. "But who looked after you then?"

It was an awkward question to answer. "I managed," Sherlock murmured.

"Did Mrs Hudson look after you?"

"I…it was before I lived here."

Now Ava looked doubtful. "But…you live here," she said, her brow wrinkling.

"I used to live in Montague Street, around the corner from the British Museum," Sherlock explained. "I moved here and then your father moved in the following week."

"Daddy lived here before we came to live here?" Ava asked.

"Yes," Sherlock said, stroking her hair. "I moved here once I started to make a name for myself."

Ava tilted her head curiously.

"Once people knew who I was and that they should come to me to solve puzzles," Sherlock specified.

"Did you solve this one?" Ava asked.

Sherlock glowered down at her and then lifted her under her armpits onto his lap. "Of course I did," he said as he rested his chin on her head. "An old friend, Reginald Musgrave, came to see me," he murmured to her, his own hand tracing the key she held. "He had a friend come to stay with him and she went missing along with the son of the family butler-"

"He had a butler…Was he rich?" Ava asked, snuggling back.

"Yes. Reginald said that the pair had been sneaking around the house-"

"Were they playing a game?"

Of sorts. Sherlock wasn't entirely sure how to explain an affair to Ava. "Hide and seek," he decided after a moment.

It was hardly a lie; there were many similar elements.

"They'd stumbled across an old riddle. The butler's son and Rachel vanished and Reginald was furious so he fired the butler-"

"Why?" Ava asked.

"Reg wanted…he wanted Rachel to himself."

His daughter let out a melodramatic sigh. "I have friends like that," she said with some disapproval. "They don't like it when they aren't always my best friend."

Amused, Sherlock picked up the paper that was crumpled in the box. "This," he said, "was the riddle that Reg's family had."

Ava shifted. "I want to read it," Ava declared.

Steps echoed on the stairs as Ava took the paper and smoothed out the wrinkles. Her face scrunched up as she glanced at the words and then back and up at Sherlock.

"It's a question followed by an answer," Sherlock said as he watched Lestrade step through the doorway. Reaching out for a pen, he starred every other line. "Read the ones with this next to it."

Lestrade blinked down at them and leaned against the doorway. He seemed content to wait, so it clearly wasn't urgent.

"'Whose was it?'" Ava read clearly.

"His who is gone," Sherlock answered.

"'Who shall have it?'"

"He who will come."

"'What was the month?'"

"The sixth from the first."

"'Where was the sun?'"

"Over the oak."

"'Where was the shadow?'"

"Under the elm."

"'How was it stepped?'"

"North by ten and by ten, east by five and by five, south by two and by two, west by one and by one, and so under."

"'What shall we give for it?'"

"All that is ours."

"'Why should we give it?'"

"For the sake of the trust."

At the end, Ava scrunched up her nose and huffed in annoyance.

"Pick a question," Sherlock suggested. "We'll have a think about it step by step," he said as he lifted her off his lap to stand and walk over to Lestrade.

"She's grown," Lestrade murmured, a fond smile on his face.

"What is it?"

A flicker of annoyance crossed Lestrade's face. "Fine," he said, folding his arms and nodding Sherlock into the kitchen. "I just went to see John. As ordered."

A quick glance confirmed that Ava was utterly absorbed by the riddle. "Was it that much of a hardship-"

"You're the one who doesn't want to do small talk," Lestrade snapped.

Sherlock held up a hand and scraped it over his face. "I…I missed the changes," he said, staring at the chair. "I dislike others pointing it out too."

Lestrade sighed. "She's doing better than I expected from the looks of it."

"We're looking at an old case. She was…" Sherlock glanced back. "Upset after leaving John."

"He seems better too," Lestrade said slowly. "More…present. Between the drugs and Ava it's hard to believe he's the same man I saw last month."

The drugs…Sherlock looked away, despising that they were needed. "He talked to you?" Sherlock asked, trying to keep the jealousy out of his voice.

"Yeah…an actual conversation this time. It was a relief, I have to say."

It was childish to be jealous. To ache with it so fiercely. "What did you talk about?"

"This and that," Lestrade said. "I brought a newspaper in and we talked about some of the sports."

A true heart-to-heart then.

"And…" Lestrade hesitated.

"Me," Sherlock decided, looking at him properly.

"You're doing the right thing," Lestrade said quietly. "By…by letting go."

It was imperative that he clench his teeth together lest he explode in front of Ava.

"You're giving him space to-"

"Enough," Sherlock snarled. "Enough. You have made your point; I know-"

"Mate, I am trying to tell you that it's the right thing. Whether or not it means he goes back to you, you are making the right choice."

Sherlock wanted to scream. Instead, he pressed his lips together and clenched his hands so hard that he wouldn't have been surprised to find marks from his finger nails later.

Lestrade stared at him as if unsure. "It must be hard," he said eventually.

Hardest thing he had ever done. "I have ample distractions," he said, glancing at Ava again.

"John…he said she looked well. Happy with you."

How strange. For the first time in a long time he had John's approval…

Ava had been miserable for days afterward. Whatever John had seen hadn't really been a realistic view. It was an oddly hollow reaction and he had no idea what to do or say.

"You said Ava was looking at an old case?" Lestrade asked.

The change of topic surprised him. Sherlock blinked at Lestrade for a moment before he saw the sympathetic expression. Part of him bristled at the idea of being pitied yet the other part of him was far too tired to fight it.

"She has a riddle. Feel free to help her," Sherlock muttered, making no move to return to his daughter.

Lestrade looked over at Ava and then back again. "If you want some time-"

Sherlock nodded and reached for his coat.

He didn't go far; he had no idea where to go.

"You're doing the right thing by…by letting go."

Turning down a street blindly, he ended up slamming his hand against a brick wall, thudding his fist against it again and again.

John.

He hadn't realised how much he had been hoping that John would-

Would what? Take him back? Want him? Forgive him?

Ridiculous. Sentimental drivel and foolishness.

He'd lost John.

But he was better.

It was a hollow victory.

Next Chapter: Helping hands