I'm thinking of maybe writing a prologue to all of this, so life before Andrew and how Sherlock and John got together. Thoughts?
After John did his best to heal Smyth, he was dragged back to his own section if cave and chained to a rusted, yet sturdy chair.
"I'm sorry I had to cut our conversation short, but, you see, I might need him later so I can't have him dying. now can I?"
John stared resolutely unblinking unwavering in his rigged up-right position.
"Why. Why do you need him, why me?" He paused, "Forget that second part that was a dumb question. Why him?" Hadi stared just as fixedly back at him and pointed to the chair.
"Do you see the chair you are sitting in?" He stepped close to John, faces level, "While you are chained to it it means I get to ask the questions." Hadi moved back and slapped John across the face. John didn't call out, didn't flinch, just moved with the hand.
A hunk of bread was tossed into his lap.
"Eat, you must be famished." John looked at the dry wheat bread and knew he couldn't eat it with the way he was tied, he also knew the entire point was to make him look stupid and make him beg.
"I can't-"
"What not hungry?" Hadi stepped forward, but John leaned to bite his hand.
"Not done yet. I can't eat it by bending over, due to the way I am confined. You have to either untie my hands, unless you would like to feed it to me." Sometimes they did and sometimes they took the bread and walked away, today he was lucky. Hadi nodded to the man behind him to feed the prisoner.
"Don't worry, he won't bite." Hadi cooed to the apprehensive guard, and that was how he ate.
John had a feeling Smyth wasn't so lucky. When John finished he could feel his stomach moving around the strange new substance.
It was after the funeral that the John's face was plastered all over the media. "Consulting Detective's Husband DIES in Afghanistan!". Front page news, but Mycroft made sure there was no mention of Andrew anywhere. The poor boy didn't need the media after him, but they followed his Father like hounds to meat.
"Mr. Holmes! How does it feel to lose the only person you cared about? That cared about you?" "Mr. Holmes, will you stop helping the Scotland Yard solve crimes in protest of the government?"
Every time they found him and asked him their invasive questions Lestrade worried that Sherlock would snap and yell deductions at them, which sounded funny, but it would wreck everything. Every time though Sherlock would calmly step forward and state that his name is "Mr. Watson-Holmes and it hurts more than you will ever comprehend." that would be all and then he would just walk away like nothing happened. While all the attention was focused on Sherlock Watson-Holmes, Andrew had to stay with Mycroft so he would not be found by the numerous magazines, news papers, and tabloids.
The distance took it's toll on both of them.
Sherlock hated the empty apartment, once full of two other people.
Andrew hated his Uncle's house. Anthea took him too school, no more tube rides, and brought him right back, no more football. The only solace he got were the rare meetings he was allowed with his Father and the everyday meetings he stole with Mr. Brook, his English tutor, although more along the lines of therapist. Andrew met with Mr. Brook everyday after school until Anthea came to pick him up in that retched black car with the windows tinted darker than should be allowed.
Andrew grew close to Mr. Brook, he reminded Drew of his Dad, always listening to him talk about his Dad or Father or life in general.
That was his highlight, talking to Mr. Brook, and the scattered meetings with his Father.
Today was a good day though, today Father was coming over to have dinner.
Chloe sat across from Andrew at the lunch table, they had gotten close after Carter the Imbecile tried his last attack.
"Well, look who is all smiley today. You get to see your dad tonight?" His smile wavered.
"I get to see my Father tonight." Chloe cursed under her breath.
"I am so sorry, I didn't mean to, they just-"
"Both mean the same to you. I get it. They used to mean the same thing to me too." Andrew smiled and didn't let the dark thoughts take over, for once her won. Chloe smiled back sensing his victory.
"Is your Uncle going to be there?" Andrew had told her about how his Father and his Uncle didn't get along that well. His smile widened.
"Nope." The excitement stilted his hunger so Chloe picked at his plate.
"You know, your Father sounds cool. I would like to meet him one day."
Andrew didn't want that at all, he didn't want her to be deduced, but he would never actually say that, so he settled for shaking his head.
"I don't think you do, he can be a bit of a nightmare."
They laughed as Chloe finished off the last of his food.
"The world thinks you are dead, doctor." John was awoken by that voice. His former friend's voice.
"Yes, you seem to have done a convincing job in killing me." The lights flicked on, blinding John.
"Your husband has moved on, you know. Even went so far as to drop your son off at his Uncle's house and never looked back, leaving him to Mycroft's mercy, or lack there of. Now poor Andrew only has Anthea to keep him company."
"I don't believe that."
Pictures were tossed in his lap. Pictures of Andrew being escorted to Mycroft by Anthea, who was still on her phone.
"No! Sherlock wouldn't!" John's head was reeling. The next picture was of Andrew leaving the morning after, still escorted by the ever present Anthea. The next three were of Andrew sitting at a table eating different meals by himself. He was always alone. There were several more photos all the same, Andrew alone or being escorted by Anthea who was still on her phone.
"I don't believe you or your pictures!" John spat gritted teeth and a rising temper, Sherlock promised to take care of Andrew and Andrew would never allow himself to be handed off like this! These pictures are lies!"
Hadi Harun smirked and left the countless photos spread out in front of John so they could entertain his worst nightmare.
The nightmare that Sherlock had broken his promise and had left Andrew to the cold hands of a heartless Mycroft.
Sherlock couldn't help but to bounce on the balls of his feet a bit as he walked up to the crime scene.
"What's wrong with him?" Anderson was dying to know what was going on in the Consulting Detective's head. Donovan had no idea and no want to have an idea, all she knew was that she hadn't seem him this way since John died. She was also wondering if they should be looking for a body.
"Maybe he finally killed someone." Sherlock disappeared into the house holding the scene and of course being escorted by Lestrade.
"Sherlock, what is going on? You happen to be scaring half the staff." Sherlock ignored him and went straight back to examining the body.
Strangle marks around the neck, nothing else.
"Tell Molly to look for cuts, scrapes, or small holes. He wasn't strangled."
"How on Earth did you know that? He has hand marks on his neck."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and took a breath to share the information.
"Look at the marks around his neck. Dark finger marks surrounded by slightly less dark marks. The killer was wearing gloves in hopes of hiding his true hand size." There was a pause where normally John would say some sort of praise, but there was only silence. It hurt them both.
"I get to see Andrew tonight." Sherlock said softly.
What? Wait, he isn't living with you anymore?" Lestrade was shocked, it had been hard for Sherlock to lose John, but to have Andrew taken from him as well.
It was borderline criminal.
"Mycroft's idea." It was not a question.
"To avoid publicity. My choice, Mycroft supported it."
"That's ballocks! He'll be hearing from me." Lestrade gave his orders and left in a huff. Sherlock watched the Detective Inspector closely as walked away to get ready for the night.
He was finally able to see his son.
Andrew wasn't very talkative with Mr. Brook that day and not with lack of trying on the teacher's part. It was just the prospect of seeing his Father for dinner that night kept his talking to a minimum.
"Drew, what's on your mind? You are never this excited when your Uncle comes to get you." Andrew hardly registered the words being spoken to him.
"Father is coming over for dinner tonight. First time in a while!" Mr. Brook raised an eyebrow.
"You don't live with your dad, Father, sorry." Andrew's eyes never left the window waiting for the black car with the just as black windows that would take him to his Father.
"Not anymore, Father and Uncle Mycroft agreed that it would be best for my safety to keep me far from the publicity Father is getting right now."
The car pulled up to the curb and off Andrew went racing out the front door, onto the front steps, throwing himself into the back seat. And there on the other side was Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective and Father Extraordinare.
"Father!" Andrew powered his way into his Father's arms, "I thought I wasn't going to see you until later tonight!"
His Father smiled and pulled his son close, kissing the top of his head.
"I figured you would like the surprise. No cases tonight, my phone is even off." Andrew chuckled and rested his head on his Father's shoulder.
This was the first time in a long time either of them had been truly happy.
Back at school Mr. Brook watched the car pull away from the curb and down the crowded street.
How interesting was it, that Andrew didn't live with his Father after losing his Dad. How unfortunate really. The poor boy is probably all alone in a big house.
Mr. Brook smiled as he packed his papers away.
Maybe things would change and they could live with each once again.
"Mycroft, what the Hell is wrong with you?" Greg yelled over the phone.
"Terribly sorry, you are going to have to be a little bit more specific." Mycroft sat at his desk tucked away in his den, waiting for Sherlock and Andrew to arrive from school.
"You separated Sherlock and Andrew not that long after John's funeral! Why?" Mycroft sighed, he knew he would hear this eventually he had assumed it would have been from Sherlock, but he was too concerned with protecting Andrew to care about the emotional consequences. Never did he think he would here it from Greg.
"Sherlock and I agreed Andrew could not be placed into the hot spot of the media. He is 15 years old and doesn't need reporters in his face everywhere he goes."
Greg let out a sigh of frustration.
"Family, Mycroft, Sherlock had a family and in one move you took the last of it away." Mycroft furled his brow.
"Sherlock doesn't value-"
"Shut up! Don't you dare say that Sherlock doesn't value family. He valued John enough to marry him and values Andrew enough to drop my case to spend an evening with him. I've been calling him non-stop giving him updates, but he hasn't answered once! He's changed, Mycroft, and I have a feeling you are going to see that tonight."
"Are you still coming? We need an officer on the inside of the house."
Mycroft could sense that Greg was shaking his head.
"Yes, I'll be there, but you owe me big time."
"Oh, I'm sure I can think of something." Mycroft smirked as he hung up the phone in time to hear the door open and two lively voices cascade through the empty halls of the house.
Mycroft couldn't help, but to smile a bit.