Sherlock glanced at the clock and frowned. Ellen had promised to assist him with his experiments at precisely five'o'clock, yet it was now 5:45 and she was nowhere to be seen. Such tardiness was uncommon in the intelligent teenager.
"ELLEN!" Sherlock bellowed, his voice reverberating out of 221B and through the rest of the building. Down below, he could hear Mrs. Hudson grumbling something about he and manners (unimportant) but nothing from the Watson apartment. Scowling, Sherlock rose from his seat on the couch and strode out of his abode, making headway for 221A.
As he climbed the stairs he kept his ears perked for any sound of the inhabitant within. Mary was still at the hospital and John was working at the clinic, as he did on occasion when not assisting Sherlock with The Work. Ellen would be upstairs alone.
After sixteen years of training, Mary Watson had instilled in Sherlock Holmes a respect for knocking on the door before entering the flat. He acted on his training now, knocking before pushing the door of 221A open and stepping into the small hallway that led to the living room.
Gladstone growled as Sherlock entered the main room, the dog having grown to an impressive bulk that was majority muscle. But Sherlock's eyes were not on the Tornjak, but rather on the fourteen-year-old curled up on the couch. He began to analyze the data before him immediately: jacket discarded in a hurry, torn pictures of two smiling youths littering the floor, hair falling from normally meticulous braid, face paler than normal, mascara tracks down her cheeks, and eyes rimmed with red. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to get a better look at the pictures on the floor. Ellen Watson and Tyler Blake.
Tyler Blake had made his goddaughter cry.
"What did that worthless piece of vermin say to you?" Sherlock demanded coldly.
"Leave me alone," Ellen hiccupped, not looking up at her godfather.
"No. What did that repulsive reptilian say to make you cry?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Eleanor Juliette Watson –"
"Sherlock Augustus Holmes, I said leave me alone. Ugh, why are all men such pigs?" Ellen shouted. With tears in her eyes, she jumped up from the couch and ran from the room.
"Gladstone, come!"
With a parting growl at the shell-shocked and unmoving detective, Gladstone loped after his mistress who promptly slammed her bedroom door shut after he had joined her.
Sherlock's mouth flopped open in shock. How…? Where…? Who had dared to tell her his middle name? Not even Mycroft would be so cruel!
But no, the problem at hand was not the leak in information. First problem to solve would be what exactly that worthless piece of scum had done to his brilliant, precious Ellen.
Sherlock Holmes prepared to go to war.
He entered his Mind Palace, sprinting for the floor that was dedicated to the Watson family. In the large room that Ellen had been gifted with at her birth there was a small off-shoot closet that information about Tyler had been shoved into so as to avoid unintentionally upsetting Ellen.
With any luck he would be allowed to shred, burn, and permanently delete this information later tonight.
But for now, Tyler Blake. Fifteen-years-old, disgustingly sub-par. Sherlock had disliked him instantly, and it had nothing to do with the fact that at the time when they first met Tyler had been attempting to place hands on his goddaughter. He was excellent at sports and knew it, expected to receive several invitations to national teams when he became of age. Considered attractive from the teenage female standpoint. Unintelligent with the grades to prove it. Enamored with Ellen's looks, heavily intimidated by her intelligence yet not against taking advantage of it (Sherlock had been forbidden to ever bring up the chemistry homework incident ever again), no knowledge of her own work in the realm of athletics (fencing, sanshou, jujutsu, street fighting, shooting, with the occasional dabble in parkour at Sherlock's insistence). Also an extreme dislike of Gladstone, with the Tornjak returning the sentiment, growling every time that Tyler came into the flat.
A waste of time when she could have been experimenting in Sherlock's opinion, but he had been informed by Mary Watson, Molly Hooper, and Mrs. Hudson that if he ruined the relationship for Ellen there would be consequences. "Cromwell the skull being permanently removed from the flat and losing all access to St. Bart's for the foreseeable future" style consequences. And then there were Mary's threats…even Sherlock was unsure if what she had threatened was anatomically possible, but he been disinclined to test that hypothesis.
But he had not caused the problem. Tyler Blake had. Whatever happened next, Sherlock could successfully claim innocence in the matter. But first he had to call in the necessary reinforcements.
Sherlock pulled his mobile out and dialed a familiar number.
"Sherlock."
"Mycroft."
"To what do I owe the pleasure –"
"I do not have time for banalities Mycroft. Ellen has locked herself in her room with Gladstone, refuses to leave, and has ripped apart several photos of herself and Tyler Blake. I require more information before proceeding."
"Pulling up the CCTV footage of her now," Mycroft replied smoothly. "Emailing to your account. My suggestion would be to contact Mrs. Hudson and have her on hand until I can clear the remainder of Doctor Hooper's work schedule. The Doctors Watson are on route from work now."
"Suggestion noted." And for once not deleted, Sherlock thought to himself.
"Oh and Sherlock?"
"Yes?" the younger Holmes drawled.
"Do not make this worse for the girl. Get Mrs. Hudson up there and get out."
Sherlock hung up on Mycroft and exited the flat. He went first to Mrs. Hudson who set immediately to baking fresh biscuits to take up to the poor girl. He then traversed the stairs to his own flat, snatching up his laptop from the coffee table and ignoring the bubbling sound coming from the experiment he had started at the kitchen table. Pulling up his email he clicked open the files that Mycroft had sent him and watched silently as his niece's life from the last three hours was played out before him.
There she was at the coffee shop where he had first witnessed her with Tyler. She sat waiting for him for twenty minutes before he finally appeared. There was another girl with him, clearly not related judging by the size and shape of her nose as well as the shock of red hair that clashed with Tyler's brown curls.
The redhead and Tyler stood talking with Ellen for five minutes before turning and walking away, leaving Ellen alone at the table. Sherlock leaned closer, narrowing his eyes as he watched his niece stand up and throw some money on the table. She walked out of the coffee shop and the camera angles began to switch, following her progress as she walked almost drunkenly from the coffee shop to 221 Baker Street. On more than one occasion one of the members of the Homeless Network came up to her, supposedly asking if she was all right and needed assistance getting home. She turned each of them away, putting on a false smile that hurt Sherlock's heart. Ellen stumbled her way to Baker Street and once again the cameras shifted, moving to inside the flat (Sherlock would have to have a few words with his brother about their presence later). She made her way past Mrs. Hudson's door, past Sherlock's flat, and was just outside the Watson home when she fell to her knees, her entire body shaking as she sobbed. When she opened the door she was met with a worried Gladstone who stood still as his mistress cried into his fur.
The clips ended and Sherlock closed his laptop with a frown.
Tyler Blake was going to die. Slowly, painfully, and creatively. No one would ever find the body, and even if they did there would be no trace of who had committed the murder. Sherlock would make sure of that.
Although he would never admit it out loud, there were certain aspects to life that Sherlock Holmes did not understand. He did not understand why people found John's blog to be so entertaining, why stupid television shows ran for multiple series (while semi-intelligent ones were cancelled after a few episodes), or why anyone would allow his oaf of a brother to have any sort of governmental power. Sherlock also did not understand in the slightest how such an insipid plebian could do so much damage to his precious niece. He didn't understand why this intelligent, beautiful, strong young woman was so broken up over the unfaithfulness of an idiotic, rude, barely pubescent Cro-Magnon.
What he did understand though, was that if Tyler Blake had any sense of self-preservation whatsoever he would be at least as far away as Russia by now. Not that it would do him any good.
Drs. John and Mary Watson arrived home from work on time to find their flat invaded. Sherlock was lurking in the living room, his head bent over his laptop with D.I. Lestrade at his side. Mrs. Hudson was in the kitchen, in the process of sliding a tray of biscuits out of the oven.
"Something you all want to tell us?" John asked, taking Mary's coat from her and glancing at his friends.
"Plotting death, you'll want to help," Lestrade said promptly.
"Does someone want to start explaining?" Mary asked with raised eyebrows. "Also, is Ellie back from her date with Tyler yet? She said this morning that she wasn't sure if they were going to get dinner after their movie."
The non-Watsons exchanged dark glances.
"What happened?" John demanded, picking up instantly on the dark mood.
"Where's Ellie?" Mary asked, looking to Mrs. Hudson for her answers.
"She's in her room, dear. She's been there ever since Sherlock came to talk to her."
"Sherlock!" John and Mary rounded on their friend instantly. Before they could ask their question a knock sounded at the door.
"I'll get it," Sherlock shoved his laptop into Lestrade's fumbling hands and bounded through the room and past the glowering Watsons.
"Sorry it took me so long to get here," Molly apologized as Sherlock opened the door for her.
"What did you stop for that caused you such delay?" Sherlock frowned as he skeptically eyed the grocery bag that she clutched to her side. "Ice cream? What on Earth do we need that for?"
"It's for Ellie. Speaking of which, where is she?"
"Ellen is in her room with Gladstone. Mycroft has had her watched and is assured that she has not left the room."
"Good, now tell that brother of yours to call the eyes off. No girl deserves to have her first breakup recorded for everyone to see," Molly ordered before striding past Sherlock and smiling at the Watsons.
"Hi Mary, John. Sorry it took me so long to get here," Molly apologized once again, but stopped when she saw the expressions on their face.
"What's that look for?" she inquired.
"What do you mean, 'breakup'?" John demanded thunderously.
"I told you mate, you're going to want to help plan this one. Sherlock's got a crazy idea and I'm trying to make him see reason, but you know what that's like," Lestrade called over.
"What does he need to see reason about now?" John crossed the living room to Lestrade in a huff while Mary turned to Molly.
"Tell me what's going on?" she asked in a low voice while the men started to discuss.
"I don't know all the details, but Tyler broke up with Ellie. Apparently in a brutal and public way. Sherlock called in backup so I brought ice cream," Molly nodded to the bag that she still held in her hands.
"Here dearies, I'll go put it in the freezer, you go get our girl," Mrs. Hudson dithered, stepping forward and taking the bag from Molly. "Oh good, this will go perfectly with the biscuits, I just need to let them cool for a bit. You get Ellie out here and we'll be all set."
"Of course Mrs. Hudson," Molly smiled taking Mary by the hand. "Come on dear, let's go get that daughter of yours."
Mary and Molly went quietly down the hallway to Ellie's room. From behind they could hear the sound of Sherlock explaining to John what he had found and playing the video for he and Lestrade.
Coming to a halt outside of Ellie's bedroom door Molly knocked twice and waited patiently.
"Please go away, Uncle Sherlock," a hoarse voice called from the other side.
"Ellie? Sweetie, it's Aunt Molly. Please, would you open the door for me? Your mum's here as well," Molly called softly. There was a pause and then the door cracked open.
"Aunt Molly?" Ellie asked, her voice wobbling dangerously. "Mum?"
"Oh…come here sweetheart," Molly held her arms out to her niece.
"It hurts. You and Mum…you never said it would hurt this much," Ellie sobbed, stepping briefly into the loving embrace of the older woman before turning to her mum.
"Oh Ellie," Mary murmured, taking her daughter into her arms and murmuring softly to her.
"I'm so sorry sweetheart. I'm so sorry," Mary spoke into her daughter's hair, holding the fourteen-year-old close as fresh tears spilled over.
"He hurt me, Mum. I didn't…I never expected…why would he do this to me? What did I do wrong?" Ellie begged, lifting her face to look first at her mother and then at her aunt.
"Absolutely nothing!" the two women cried at once.
"Eleanor Juliette Watson, you are a wonderful young woman, a true gem. You are smart, kind, brave, beautiful –" Mary insisted.
"A freak," Ellie interrupted sadly.
"Not at all," Molly was quick to disagree. "Not in the least! If anything you're just like your mum and I were at your age."
"Yeah?"
"Absolutely," her mother agreed before adding, "You know that I was moving around always since your grandfather, may he rest in peace, was in the army. It was hard for me to make friends, let alone have a lasting relationship. And when I was six I knew more about guns and military maneuvers than how to hold a proper tea party."
"Yeah…I guess Uncle Myc did at least teach me how to have a proper tea," Ellie admitted, remembering with a tentative smile all of the tea parties that her uncle had hosted.
"You know I'm sure I still have the pictures from those tea parties somewhere," Mary started the beginning of an old family joke.
"Not unless he confiscated them," Ellie finished. The three women laughed, although Ellie's was not as heartfelt as it normally was. Mary smiled sadly at her daughter and pulled her back in for another hug, holding her little girl (although not so little and no so much of a girl anymore) close.
"Who else is here?" Ellie asked after their few moments of silence were interrupted by the sound of John swearing violently from the living room.
"Nana Hudson, Uncle Lestrade, and Uncle Sherlock," Mary informed her. "Apparently Sherlock didn't know what to do so he called us all in."
"That's nice of him," Ellie observed quietly.
"I brought some ice cream if you're up for it," Molly offered. "Your favorite. And Mrs. Hudson was just taking out some biscuits when I got here a few minutes ago. And I'm sure if you asked your poppa would put some tea on."
"That sounds…nice," Ellie sighed.
"Come on love," Mary directed Ellie gently, leading her down the hallway to the main room. Ellie paused in embarrassment at the doorway and Mary nodded understandingly before stepping forward to address the gentlemen.
"Budge up gents, the ladies are commandeering the couch," Mary said stiffly, Ellie waiting in the background with Molly at her side.
"Ellie requires it?" Sherlock quirked an eyebrow.
"She's out of her bedroom and wants some ice cream. The couch is more comfortable than the kitchen," Mary explained to the group at large before shooting her husband an explicit 'come talk to me' look.
"Right. Come on men, a war council can be held just as easily in the kitchen as it can be in here," John directed, standing up from the couch. Lestrade and Sherlock went to the kitchen, naturally, but John went to Mary first.
"How is she?" he asked softly, wrapping his arms around Mary gently.
"She's hurting and doubting herself. I'm not sure what to do John," Mary admitted in just as hushed a tone. This was not how the Watsons had been planning to spend their evening. "I'm trying my best here, but it seems like the slightest thing might set her off."
"We'll get her through this," John reassured his wife, gave her another squeeze then turned to the doorway where he knew his daughter was.
"Ellie?"
"Poppa," Ellie stepped forward and practically threw herself into John's waiting arms. It had been years since Ellie had stopped using her childhood name for him, and to hear the old name spoken with such sadness…
Two emotions warred within John at that moment: pain for his daughter and fury at the idiot who dared to break her heart.
"I'm right here Ellie. I'm right here. I love you, sweetheart. I love you so very much."
"I know. Why…?" Ellie couldn't bring herself to finish the question, opting instead to hold on even tighter to her beloved Poppa. He hugged her back, vaguely noting that in the background Sherlock and Lestrade were set up in the kitchen, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Mary were already settled on the couch with ice cream and fresh biscuits.
"I don't know sweetie, but it's his loss. Don't you ever doubt that. You're my brave, beautiful, brilliant girl and it's his loss completely," John repeated. Ellie gave him one last tight squeeze then stepped back, smiling up at him with watery eyes.
"Thanks Poppa."
"Anything for my girl. Now go eat a biscuit. Your uncles and I have a…little project to take care of," John said mysteriously.
"You're not going to kill him, are you?"
"Not completely," John admitted.
"Unless you want us to," Sherlock called from the kitchen. Ellie laughed a little at her godfather's antics before shaking her head.
"That's…that's all right Uncle 'Lock," Ellie called back. She glanced up at her father and sighed.
"I think I need some ice cream," she admitted.
"Triple chocolate. Just what the doctors ordered," Mary said, standing up from the couch and coming over to her husband and daughter, offering her girl a spoon. Ellie took it and smiled at her family, the entire extended bunch.
"That sounds perfect."
Not much later, Mycroft Holmes entered the flat, his brolly in one hand and a vanilla folder tucked beneath his other arm.
"I was led to understand that there was a 'council of war' taking place?" he inquired glancing around coldly before his eyes settled on Eleanor. They warmed briefly, hardening when John stepped into the room and nodded at him.
"Hello Mycroft, took you long enough. Don't feel bad though, we're not all here yet. Sherlock, Lestrade, and I are set up in the kitchen though if you want to join us," John offered.
"I first wish to check on Eleanor," Mycroft admitted. He passed the folder to John (yet kept his umbrella with him, of course) and strode into the living room. He did not take a seat but merely stared at Eleanor.
"How are you feeling my dear?" he asked in what Eleanor knew to be his most caring tone. To anyone else, it would sound cold and detached with a sinister edge of politeness. But Eleanor knew better, she had heard that tone all of her life after all.
"Hi Uncle Myc. I…I've been better," Ellie admitted. She was flanked on either side by her mother and Aunt Molly, there was a tub of ice cream in front of her on the coffee table with a plate of still warm biscuits next to it. Mycroft nodded once before reaching into the depths of his mind and coming up with the best advice he could possibly give to the heartbroken girl.
"All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not always an advantage, Eleanor," Mycroft spoke solemnly. He stopped himself from smiling and waited for the positive acknowledgement of this true statement.
The rest of the room went silent, everyone staring at the British Government. There was a silent exchange between the females in the living room before Mrs. Hudson took the lead (in part due to her being the closest to the man). Rolling up the magazine she had been absentmindedly perusing while Ellie and Molly chatted on the couch she approached Mycroft and proceeded to whack him over the head with it, all while proclaiming as she did so:
"Shame on you, Mycroft Holmes!"
"Apologies, apologies!" Mycroft backed away quickly, not daring to strike or snap back at the formidable woman. British government be damned, in this motley, pulled together family Martha Hudson was the undisputed matriarch who was to be obeyed and respected at all times.
Once Martha Holmes was done with Mycroft (leaving the man standing in a state of shock), John took pity (a little) on him and came to Mycroft's side, placing an arm on his shoulder and guiding the elder Holmes towards the kitchen of the flat where he, Lestrade, and Sherlock were conversing.
"Better part of valor, Mycroft, retreat," John advised, glancing uneasily at the murderous expression on his beloved's face that was mirrored by Molly and Mrs. Hudson. Mary Watson had a terrifying temper of her own, but she normally did a splendid job of keeping it in check. But now that her baby was hurt and she had the backup of her best friend and her mother-figure…Tyler Blake better be praying that the men found him before the women did.
Mycroft followed John to the kitchen where Lestrade and Sherlock were still huddled around the slowly growing number of laptops and security footage.
"Still a master with words," Sherlock observed snidely.
Before Mycroft could return with a cutting remark he was interrupted by a loud knock at the front door.
"And that would be the last guest," John observed, going to answer the front door. He barely had the time to open the door before a whirlwind of maroon-red jumper and brown hair ran into the room.
"Hi other-Dad, thanks for giving me the call," Ellie's best friend Dawn Gibson said absentmindedly, briefly glancing at John before she turned to face the rest of the flat. She briefly nodded in greeting at the various adults before her eyes zeroed in on her best friend.
"I got your text too. Oh Ellie…" Dawn jumped over Gladstone who had come to greet her, slipped past Mrs. Hudson and practically threw herself on top of Ellie, giving her a tight hug.
"You were right," Ellie whispered, hugging Dawn back. "My God, you were so right about him. Why didn't I listen to you? Why was I so stupid?"
"You weren't, he was," Dawn insisted, speaking soothingly. "He was a tool, a jerk, and an egotistical douchebag, and you're a prize that he would never in a million years deserve. What stage are you at?"
"Aunt Molly brought ice cream," Ellie sniffed, giggling a little at Dawn's question.
"Perfect! Are you still blaming yourself and need a pep talk or do we get to talk about what an asshole he is and how your next boyfriend is going to be at least ten times better?" Dawn asked, sliding off of Ellie and onto the couch (Mary having given up her seat), kicking off her shoes and pulling her feet up to her chest for a nice long talk.
Ellie laughed again, this time a little stronger.
"Well when you put it that way…he was a jerk!" she shouted, her voice echoing a little in the flat.
"And an idiot," Dawn added gleefully. Molly stood up from the couch, moving out of the way so that the two best friends could be comfortable. Mary handed Dawn a spoon, smiling at the girl who had become like a second daughter to her.
"Thanks other-Mum," Dawn said off-handedly, grinning at Mary before proclaiming for everyone in the flat to hear that she had always believed Tyler to have problems with BO. At that pronouncement the three older woman abandoned the living room for the kitchen, giving the girls at least a semblance of privacy, even as they chuckled softly over the insults that were being heaped on Tyler Blake's head.
"He always wanted to copy my answers for chemistry!" Ellie added.
"And he still got the answers wrong!" Dawn chuckled.
"He tried to kick Gladstone once."
"Not your baby!" Dawn gasped in horror, reaching out to gather the dog in question into her arms. Gladstone woofed appreciatively before wriggling out of her arms to lay his head on Ellie's lap. Ellie scratched his ears lovingly, smiling goofily at the overgrown puppy.
"I know! That should have been the end of it! Hell, I should have ended it!" Ellie exclaimed defiantly. "What the hell was I thinking wasting my time with that loser and then letting him dump me? I'm Eleanor Freaking Watson!"
"Too right you are! And he's Tyler Can't-Get-His-Head-Out-Of-His-Bum Blake!" Dawn cheered.
This pronouncement earned several hearty laughs from the kitchen. After calming down, Lestrade, Sherlock, Mycroft, and John stood up and took their leave. Mary shot a questioning look at him and he glanced pointedly at the living room before lowering his voice.
"You three and Dawn have everything under control here, love. But there's something that me and the boys need to take care of," John said reassuringly.
"A case?" Molly inquired innocently.
"A ten in regards to urgency," Sherlock growled.
"There are certain…behaviors towards one's family that cannot be permitted," Mycroft added coolly.
"And certain people should be aware of what is and is not to be accepted," Sherlock agreed.
"Oh would you two give it a rest. We're going to go scare the crap out of Tyler. Do any of you three want to come?" Lestrade asked, tired of the Holmes brothers and their way of dancing around the truth.
"No, but thanks. Have fun with your male bonding boys," Mary chuckled.
"Should I prep the morgue for an autopsy?" Molly asked curiously.
"I'm sure between us we can come up with enough for bail for one of them, at least. Who do we want to rescue?" Mrs. Hudson added, looking conspiratorially to the other women.
"Oh that won't be necessary Mrs. Hudson," Mycroft smiled like a shark who had scented blood in the water. "Everything shall be taken care of. Shall we gentlemen?"
"Lead the way."
A/N For the record Tyler Blake was not killed, and none of them were arrested. However…well let's just say that mental warfare can be fun as can relocating someone's family to Antarctica for the sake of a job. No one messes with Ellie.
Sorry it took so long to get this one up, but things have been nightmarish lately. The ideas are still coming though, and in fact I'll be explaining how Ellie met Dawn in the next chapter!
Please feel free to tell me what you think of this chapter in the comments or PM me if you have a request for an Ellie and uncles adventure!