Author's Note: Almost to the Johnlock. So close... Read and enjoy. Remember, reviews are loved!
Chapter 21
John was starting to see things. It was extremely alarming to the medical professional.
It started when he thought he heard Sherlock's voice. He could've sworn that he heard it drifting through the halls of Bart's. (What he heard was an old interview on the waiting room telly, being replayed in honor of Sherlock's return. He was also trending on almost every cite on the internet.)
Then, he had accused a patient of being the detective. It was extremely awkward, and he hoped that he was through imagining after that. But no. As soon as his patients dwindled to none while he still had a few hours to kill, he wondered what Sherlock was doing. Probably chasing a lead for Lestrade.
The thought of Sherlock on a case without him hurt. Would the detective be roaming alone? What if he got hurt? John felt a brief flash of panic at the detective dying again. Or for the first time. He was still trying to wrap his head around the concept.
He pictured Sherlock looming over a corpse, maybe that skeleton that had been on the news, calling Lestrade an idiot.
"Show off." He muttered, as if chastising the detective. "Don't forget to put your coat collar up."
"We really need to get the two of you together again." Mary said from the doorway, causing John to flush red.
"I-uh…" John had no coherent thought as to how he could explain his actions. Mary laughed. John, stung, tried to joke a bit.
"With your efforts to get me back together with him, I would think you didn't love me." The doctor seemed to realize how awful this sounded and started to apologize. He was cut off by Mary's reply.
"I do love you, John. Enough to know that you need Sherlock to be happy, truly happy. Now, get out of here." She gestured out the door. "I'll cover for you."
John grabbed his coat and made a break for the door, placing a chaste kiss on Mary's check as he passed.
Sherlock was bored. Out of his skull, and out of his other skull. His violin refused to help, nor did he have any adequate experiment supplies in the apartment. And he still had no idea where Tilly had hidden his emergency pack of cigarettes.
So when he found that he had emails from clients again, he was thrilled. Then he looked to John's chair, empty, and frowned. He hadn't had to face clients alone in a long time. He didn't want to start back down that path.
"Tilly?" He called down the hall. The little girl scampered into the room, bringing with her the scent of flowers and…burnt hair?
"What are you doing?" Sherlock demanded.
"Bored." The girl muttered, knowing it was a word that her uncle always understood. It did not deter Sherlock from parenting as it usually did. She tried to explain.
"Couldn't find a handgun of John's, so I was testing the effect of heat on-" Sherlock cut her off.
"How did you manage to burn yourself?" He gestured to her hair, and she sighed, but took it down from its ponytail to be inspected. The tips of the curls were blackened, contrasting with their normal cinnamon color. Sherlock glared at the offending tresses.
"We are getting you a haircut. And you are forbidden from all matches and burners." Sherlock thought for a moment. "As well as the kitchen appliances." Tilly pouted.
"Come on, grab your coat. We can get lunch afterwards." Tilly was excited at the thought of spending time with the detective, so she did as she was instructed. Sherlock in turn grabbed his coat, and the two left Baker Street.
Tilly was forced to take off over six inches of her curls. They had once hung down to the middle of her back and now only brushed the tops of her shoulders. She didn't enjoy it. At all.
"At least you look better with that style than I did." The detective tried to cheer up his niece. She smirked slightly, recalling the pictures that Mycroft had shown her after the three of them had played deductions that morning. She hadn't minded losing to her uncles at seeing Sherlock wear the ridicules hat. Then it had been uproariously funny watching Sherlock suggest that Mycroft date.
(She was quite sure that she had won the deduction game anyway, considering that she was aware of a certain goldfish that Mycroft was quite taken with. Not that he would admit it of course.)
"We can go for some chips." Sherlock suggested. Tilly shrugged noncommittally.
"Can we go see Molly?" She asked hopefully. Sherlock smiled upon seeing his niece take interest in something.
"Yes." Sherlock pretended like it was a great sacrifice on his part, but he truly did enjoy Molly's company. She had been one of his albeit many confidants during his death. She was the one whom he had asked to collect any notes or tokens left on his grave and send them to him. It was in this way that he had acquired Tilly's compositions.
While at the morgue, Sherlock received a text from Lestrade. A case had come up. Sherlock read the details hungrily, before recalling his niece was with him.
"Um, Molly…" He started awkwardly. She glanced up at him, worried that something was wrong. When she saw his gaze dart from her to Tilly to his phone, she understood.
"You should take her." She told him, glancing to where the eight year old was bent over a row of petri dishes.
"No, my question was-" Sherlock was interrupted by Tilly.
"He knows that there isn't any plausible argument he can use to get me to stay back at the flat, so he wants to know if you'll come along and keep me out of trouble." She said, not bothering to glance up at them. When she did look up, it was to add.
"If he were brave enough to have asked himself, he would've forgotten to say please, but you should know he usually says it with subtext." She saw Sherlock's bashful expression and gathered her coat.
"Please, Molly?" She looked at the young woman, her grey eyes pleading. Molly melted.
"Of course." She told the little girl.
"Brilliant. Let's go solve a case." She replied, tugging at Sherlock's coat.
The three moved out onto the street, the weather oddly pleasant for London. Tilly stepped up to the curb and, with a practiced whistle and wave, hailed them a cab. Sherlock watched in amazement as she fearlessly climbed into the car. Last time he had ridden with her in a car, he had had to sedate her to keep her calm, which he had not told John at the time.
Molly noticed his shocked expression and put a hand on his shoulder.
"She grew up a bit while you were away." She said softly. Sherlock sighed.
"I know. It pains me to no end, knowing I missed it."
"Just don't miss anymore." Molly advised him, drawing a smile from the detective.
"Is it only me who remembers that we have a case?" The girl called from the backseat. Sherlock and Molly laughed and climbed into the car.
As the cab speed along the streets, Sherlock noticed that Tilly's hands clutched tightly at the upholstery. He took her right hand in his left and squeezed. She looked at him gratefully before turning to stare out the window.
Sherlock recalled Mycroft saying that he was needed in London. As usual, his brother had been right.