Chapter Twenty:

7th July to 8th

(AKA: Ava's Birthday and John's hearing)

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has waited so patiently for this. You're all utterly fab and we seem to be on a bit of a home stretch now with this fic. :)

7th July (Ava's Birthday)

Sherlock had been sure after meeting Hammond and seeing his treatment of John that he couldn't hate the man any more than he already did.

He'd missed Ava's birthday. Every single hour of it.

She was fast asleep, hugging her pillow; her little mouth pouting as she breathed and stirred the strands of hair falling over her face.

Six. She was six.

Bending, he stroked the strands back, trying to decide if she'd grown since he'd first met her. It was frustrating, especially because he hadn't paid that much attention to her at the time.

They should document her height. People did that, didn't they?

She turned, stirring just a little bit as he brushed his hand through her hair. Was her face a little older, a little more defined?

He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"All right?" John asked quietly from the doorway.

"You should be asleep," Sherlock said without turning. "You'll need to be alert tomorrow."

"Sherlock-"

"I hate Hammonds," Sherlock muttered petulantly.

John sighed and sat on the edge of Ava's bed. "Me too," he said with a smile.

"I didn't want to miss it all." Sherlock brushed her cheek with his thumb. "I know we agreed I'd have to miss a lot but…" He sighed and shook his head.

"Angelo spoiled her," John said after a moment. "She thought he was brilliant."

He wanted to see that. He had wanted so much-

"It was just a day," Sherlock frowned, a little baffled by his emotion. "I have no idea why-"

John reached out for his hand and squeezed it. "There'll be others," he said softly.

Sherlock stared at the sleeping child and tightened his grip on John's hand. "On Sunday," he started to say.

"Don't-"

"If it goes wrong-"

"Sherlock," John huffed. "What's the point of worrying about it, we can't change it-"

"You should leave then."

John blinked at him in surprise. "What?" he breathed. "Don't be so bloody-"

"They wouldn't expect it," Sherlock said dully. "You can protect Ava should Moriarty come after you but we are so close now…I'll find you afterwards."

"Are you…Jesus, you're serious," John said incredulously, touching his arm gently. "Sherlock, I'm not going to-"

"The worst case scenario sees me dead, you in prison and Ava in care. Let me limit what I can." Sherlock didn't look at him.

"I don't want to run-"

"Retreat," Sherlock corrected. "We can fight many things, John, but not this. Not while Moriarty is still alive to twist and pull at things."

John remained silent. Sherlock glanced over at him and inwardly sighed at the stern, searching look on John's face.

"It's a backup," Sherlock said eventually. "One you can gauge. In that room, I want you to decide one thing and one thing only: how safe our daughter will be at the end of it."

The hand on his squeezed. "Okay," John said quietly.

8th July

He spent Sunday picking up tickets that couldn't be traced and stared at them with fear.

It felt as if he hadn't seen her in forever. Suddenly, Ava appeared in her jeans and t-shirt, flying down the stairs to him, her hair a mess.

Then she jumped at him.

His heart thudded wildly in his chest as he moved to catch her. God help him if she inherited John's lust for danger somewhere in her genes. He staggered backwards as she clung to him and buried her head in his shoulder, her hands clutching the material of his coat.

He'd missed her so much.

"I'm six," she announced with excitement, pulling back, her blue eyes dancing with pride.

"And a flying monkey apparently," Sherlock muttered, not entirely sure he'd ever want to see her flying through the air to him again. John shot him an odd look, as if unbothered by her dare-devil stunt.

"All right?" John asked as he reached the bottom step.

Sherlock nodded, feeling the tickets in his pocket as Ava turned to look at them both.

"Are you sure-"

They'd gone through it enough times. "Do I look like an idiot?" Sherlock asked, reluctantly letting Ava slide down when she wriggled, bored by their conversation.

"In the cleverist of ways…" John smiled weakly as he leaned against the wall.

"Where are we going?"

For a moment, Sherlock thought that she knew, that she'd overheard at some point. But she was staring at them both eagerly, excited.

"You and Sherlock are going out for an hour," John said, shooting Sherlock a quick look.

Oh. That.

"Why aren't you coming?" Ava asked, twisting from side to side as she looked up at John beseechingly.

John swallowed tightly and Sherlock clenched his hands. "I have a meeting," John said, looking over at him. There was a flicker of fear in his eyes.

There was never meant to be fear in John's eyes. Stepping forward, Sherlock wound a hand around Ava's head to cover her eyes. Reaching out with his free hand, he cupped the back of John's head and pulled him close to kiss him.

John poured himself into the kiss.

He had them both in his hands; the two people that he loved more than anything and…and he couldn't keep him safe. He couldn't keep them from the world or stop what was about to happen.

But, in a few hours' time, he could make them vanish. If he had to.

It could be months before he managed to see them again like this.

John pulled back a little and rested his forehead against Sherlock's, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.

How was he meant to do this?

Under his hand, Ava's nose wrinkled and scrunched in distaste.

"We're upsetting your daughter," Sherlock breathed, forcing himself to pull away. John closed his eyes and took a breath, and then nodded. When he was sure that John was composed, Sherlock lifted his hand and Ava gazed at them both with disapproval.

John rolled his eyes and smiled.

"You'll text," Sherlock said sincerely. "And don't hesitate to-"

"I know," John said, glancing down at Ava as he stroked her hair. "I know."

"But where are we going?"

"You'll see," Sherlock said, keeping an eye on her from where he sat in the seat opposite her on the train.

Ten minutes until the meeting for John. Twisting the phone in his hands he restrained the urge to tap it. Across from him, Ava stared up at a woman with interest, focused on her jewellery, then squinted up at the tube map longingly.

Following her gaze, he was struck with an idea.

When they finally reached the top of Monument he was free from watchful eyes and having to pretend. It was just himself and Ava looking down at the city. He smiled as he heard her gasp at the view.

"When I first came to London," Sherlock murmured into her ear, "I wanted to be able to know exactly where I was at all times. Everyone here acts as if they know it perfectly but they only know their own routes." His grip tightened on her as she turned her head into him. "So I snuck up here one night and started to map it all out on my head."

She shifted even closer and he closed his eyes. The hearing must have started by now and all he could do was hold her and hope.

"And when you're older," he said, his voice tight, "we'll come up when the cage is off so we can see clearly."

And beyond everything he wanted to believe that it would happen. That she would grow up in London with him and John, without the shadow of Moriarty.

"Can't we take it off now?" Ava begged, oblivious to his thoughts.

Sherlock shook his head, his chin brushing against her hair. "Not tonight," he said softly. "But I can show you the city," he said. "Would you like that?"

Ava nodded eagerly. "That's the river," she said, peering through the cage.

Well, they had to start somewhere…

Ava stared solemnly at the sights he pointed out to her: the Gherkin, Tower Bridge, the Tower of London and St Paul's Cathedral. He let himself be guided by her knowledge of the city, inwardly praising John for explaining things as he walked with Ava every day around the city.

When he sensed she was at her limit, he made her run around to where she thought the landmark would be, then lifted her up to see the view she had chosen. Ava seemed to think it was hilarious and begged for more.

It was almost a fitting memory to have of him and London if this was to be her last time in the city.

It had been almost two hours since he had left John and still no message. Starting to get frustrated, he let Ava draw on the menu he'd stolen from a café that afternoon while waiting for his contact.

He wanted to pace, but it felt like a fruitless exercise in the circular walkway. In the end, the setting sun and Ava's yawn made him reluctantly carry her back down the steps.

John needed to make up his mind.

Quickly.

Back at street level, Sherlock leaned against the wall, watching as Ava examined the engraving on the bottom of Monument with some curiosity and not a small amount of squinting and scowling.

Need a decision. Now. Eat in or out? SH

"What's it say?" Ava asked as he put the phone in his pocket.

Say? Oh, the inscription. Sherlock glanced at it.

Haste is seen everywhere, London rises again, whether with greater speed or greater magnificence is doubtful, three short years complete that which was considered the work of an age.

How oddly…fitting, he thought, glancing back at her, not entirely sure she would understand it. "You don't want me to read all of that to you, surely?" he asked.

"The important bit?" Ava wheedled, winding around him catlike as she stared up at him beseechingly. "Or the bit that you're staring at."

He almost smiled as he read. "…three short years complete that which was considered the work of an age."

Ava frowned "What's that mean?"

Sherlock scooped her up again, holding onto her tight. The little girl that, under a year ago, he had hoped to get rid of so he could have John back all to himself. "That in a very short amount of time sometimes that which seemed so unlikely can happen very quickly," he explained softly.

He could tell from her face she had no idea what it meant, but she nodded in what he supposed was an attempt to act in a mature manner, even as she rested her head on his shoulder.

It was a battle to place a resigned and unhappy look on his face as he hailed a taxi.

Stay in. be back soon. Xxx

Sherlock almost collapsed into the taxi with relief.

The minute Sherlock heard the car outside he flew down the stairs and managed to meet John just as he closed the front door to the building.

John stared at him, and then leaned back against the door, nodding and a smile dancing across his face.

Sherlock sat down in relief.

"Hey." John stumbled forward and followed him down, wrapping his arms around him. "It's fine. We're fine."

John wasn't going to prison.

Relief couldn't even begin to describe what he was feeling as he clutched John without the faintest hint of coordination. Pulling him close, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and held him as tight as possible, pressing his lips to a spot just behind John's ear.

Free. He was free. They weren't going to take him away and lock him up where Sherlock couldn't touch him.

John could come onto crime scenes again.

Almost laughing he turned his nose into John's neck, sure that he would never be able to get enough of the wonderful man.

It suddenly wasn't enough and he started to tug at John's clothes. "Here," he whispered, desperate.

"Mrs Hudson-"

"Make enough noise and she'll work out that leaving her flat is a bad idea," Sherlock said, yanking at John's tie and tugging it off, over his head.

"This is stupid," John hissed, even as his hands reached for Sherlock's buttons.

"Dangerous," Sherlock agreed, throwing the suit jacket up the stairs.

John laughed into his mouth as they crashed backwards and knocked something off the side table.

"Boys!"

Sherlock, braced on his hands above John, glared at the wall and then lifted himself to look over his shoulder and at their landlady. "Ah, Mrs Hudson. Give us twenty minutes, would you?"

"You're in the hallway," she said in disbelief, though an amused twinkle was lurking in her eyes. "This is hardly decent."

"Decent," Sherlock tutted in disapproval. "We're celebrating."

"You got off?" she asked John, suddenly hopeful.

John sniggered and started to laugh.

"We should have a toast," Sherlock said, lying with his head off the bed.

"Mm," John agreed. His head was resting on Sherlock's stomach. "To sex or getting caught?"

"To getting off." Sherlock smiled and opened his eyes to look at the wall. "Three times in one night."

"Ah." John crawled up his body with a lazy look of lust. "I feel like there should be one more for luck," he added. "Or at least three of the same kind of getting off!"

Sherlock watched him with amusement. "I thought you were too old for things like that?" he teased, rolling them.

"I am." John grinned, rolling them again. "You can cope with it though. You have an amazing stamina," he added, ducking to Sherlock's neck.

Impossible man. Sherlock smiled and rolled them-

Straight off the bed and onto the floor with an almighty thud.

John couldn't seem to stop giggling under Sherlock, which was ridiculous for a grown man. But every time he seemed to have himself under control the giggles exploded out again in a contagious peal that had Sherlock huffing laughter into John's collarbone.

John let out an amused sigh and tucked an arm under his head. He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, the odd chuckle still sounding out. "You twit," he said after a moment.

"Why is it my fault?"

"You rolled us last." John tilted his head to look at Sherlock. "You must have felt the bed was coming to an end."

"I was-"

"Distracted." John rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know." He looked up at the duvet and pillow spilling off the bed and shook his head, then started giggling again.

Sherlock could feel himself start to smile. How did John do this? They were lying on the floor, Sherlock propped on top of John after falling out of the bed together (a situation Sherlock was relatively sure was not meant to be endearing) and somehow John made it into something fun.

An adventure.

He was addicted to this man. Completely and utterly addicted.

"Marry me."

The giggles ended on a choked snort and John stared at Sherlock, the smile slowly fading. "I…what did you just say?"

What had he just said?

Marriage?

But no matter how much he searched his head there was no panic. No hiss at the sentimentality of the idea. Instead there was an unending calm, a delicious peace after spending the entirety of the previous day utterly certain that he had been about to lose John again.

"Marry me," he said, sounding far more serious this time.

John pulled his head back to look at him. "Wait…are you serious?"

Was he serious? The idea of life without John seemed so unbearable. The very notion that anyone else could take his place absurd.

All he wanted was John and Ava.

"I think I am," he said sitting back. John stayed where he was, as if he'd been dealt a blow to the head.

"You think?" John said slowly, staring up at nothing.

"It's all very sudden." Sherlock cleared his throat.

John started laughing.

"It isn't a joke-"

"No, I know." John scraped a hand over his face. "I know. I just…you think you're serious." He shook his head. "Sherlock…we've had the timing discussion before."

"Timing?"

"Yes." John sat up and leaned forward with an oddly gentle smile on his face. "I…" He eyed Sherlock carefully. "It happens sometimes – you feel…overcome with emotion and words bubble up." John shifted close. "It's like a…an afterglow thing."

"An afterglow thing," Sherlock said with distaste. An afterglow thing? It was infuriatingly insulting.

Picking up on his brewing anger, John let out an annoyed breath. "You started this," he said, pulling away to find his trousers. "You proposed and then said you thought you were serious." He yanked his jeans out from under the bed and rolled away from Sherlock to stand.

"And you implied that I am overcome by hormones," Sherlock snapped.

"You are!" John paused in getting dressed, looking slightly bizarre with his jeans still open. "You don't want marriage! You don't want a wedding! You'd hate it. If for no other reason than Mycroft would probably turn up and you'd suspect him of trying to eat the whole cake or something equally childish."

"Of course I don't want a bloody wedding!" Sherlock huffed. "I want you."

John faltered at that and looked momentarily lost, then shook his head, refocusing on his jeans. "I hate to break it to you Sherlock, but to get married you have a wedding."

"No, you walk into a quiet court room, register and leave." Sherlock steadfastly refused to move, which prompted John to give up searching for a way to get his shirt out from under him and simply turn to the dresser to retrieve a clean one. "It's a civil partnership, John, not an event."

John yanked his t-shirt on and seemed to pause with his back to Sherlock. Slowly he turned back.

"Just…tell me one reason why you want to get married," John said. "And-" he added, when Sherlock opened his mouth, "it cannot be because you're afraid of what's going to happen to us in the next few weeks or because of what you thought would happen yesterday."

"I'm not afraid," Sherlock snapped.

"One reason Sherlock." John stepped forward. "Give me that one reason."

One reason? Sherlock refused to look away from the calm gaze but his mind was floundering. One reason…what was a good reason? A logical, clever reason that would have John nod and see that Sherlock was right.

John's shoulders dropped a little. "I'm…" He sat on the edge of the bed, while Sherlock remained on the floor. "I'm not saying no," he said carefully. "I'm saying I don't think you've thought about this. And I'm not sure, when this is all over, if you'll still feel the same way."

Sherlock frowned at him in confusion. "Meaning?"

John stared down at his hands. "I mean…you and I have only ever been together while Moriarty has been in the background, threatening us. We've not been in normal circumstances."

"Normal," Sherlock scoffed.

"Sherlock, you've shot at walls because you were bored. You'd hunt down cocaine dealers just to have something to do and then make up an elaborate game of hide and seek with the drugs and cigarettes. You haven't had a chance to be bored because of Moriarty. That's one issue we have never had to face."

It was the strangest thing; Sherlock wasn't exactly sure how it was possible to be both hurt and still feel desperately protective at the same time. "You think I would get bored of you and Ava?" The idea was ludicrous.

John fidgeted. "I don't know," he replied honestly. "And…I won't take that risk, Sherlock."

Air was stolen from his lungs and Sherlock stared at John blankly, words fading before they reached his lips.

A frustrated sigh echoed from John. "I…I'm not explaining this well," he said. "I just don't see what the rush is. We'll figure it out, but marriage is meant to be solid, it's meant to last and I worry that it would add to what will already be a difficult time for you."

"You think I would be bored knowing you were safe?"

The words weren't meant to come out the way they did. It wasn't meant to sound so utterly wounded.

"No." John struggled, looking confused. "I just think it will be an adjustment."

It was so, so…

Insulting!

Almost snarling at John, Sherlock stood up and let the bed covers fall about his feet as he stormed off to have a shower.

"Sherlock-"

"Go away." Sherlock yanked the door open. "Just go somewhere else." Then he slammed the door to the bedroom behind him with enough force that he half expected Mrs Hudson to shout up at him.

He sulked. He knew he was sulking but it was still so insulting to think that John-

Sherlock cut the thought off violently as he paced.

In the end he went back after an hour.

His sulking really had become quite pathetic since he'd become responsible.

He found John sitting in Ava's room, a habit they had both agreed they needed to stop. As if picking up on his thoughts, John sighed.

"I know," he said softly. "But…for a moment there I thought I'd have to…" He broke off and shook his head. "I didn't mean to upset you," he added softly.

The discomfort radiated from John, and Sherlock refused to look at him as he closed the door and watched Ava sleep.

"How can you think this would bore me?" he asked suddenly, infuriated all over again. "You and her; you both have a gift for making the ordinary extraordinary. I want…I want to show her things, I want to see her grow up and what she will be like. I want to have normal cases with you and see how often I can make you laugh at a crime scene. I want people to know just by looking what I have. What I have earned and kept safe and what is mine." He stared ahead, knowing that if he looked his vision would blur with traitorous tears. "I want my reward at the end of all of this. I want you."

"I'm not ready for that," John said in a voice that was barely audible. "And if you are honest with yourself, Sherlock, neither are you."

Surprised, Sherlock twisted his head to look at John. "What? Why?"

John just shook his head. "I…I can't seem to find the right words to explain it," he said with a shrug. "I just think that there is something that won't work when we get back to normal."

A flash of fear shivered through him. "But-"

"Oh God." John banged his head back against the wall. "I'm not saying we won't work it out, I'm saying there's still a lot you and I need to work through and I'd quite like to get married when we've sorted all of that out. Rather than just have it done on a spur of the moment, I'd like it to actually symbolise the fact that we worked hard and got 'us' on track and figured out a way to make it properly work for us."

Sherlock considered that as he looked down at John, his mind dissecting what John had just said. "That sounds perfectly reasonable," he said after a few minutes of thinking it through. Hesitantly he stepped over to John and slid down the wall to sit next to him.

"It does?" John sounded baffled at his sudden agreement, shifting a little to give him room.

Sherlock nodded slowly. "It should mean something. It should show something," he said simply. "I've seen enough idiots get married without good reason. I want…I want us to earn it," he decided with a nod.

They could be different, do it properly.

John's hand reached for his. "Yeah…" he said and then Sherlock heard the grin. "Well, I mean the last thing you want is for us to become some clichéd couple getting divorced or killing each other in a crime of passion."

"Don't be ridiculous, John; I'd hardly ever do something so mundane as get divorced."

John pressed an amused kiss to his shoulder. "But the crime of passion would be fine?"

"It is my area of expertise," Sherlock said, turning his head to press a kiss to John's hair.

Suddenly John snorted.

"What?" Sherlock pulled back to look at him.

But John shook his head. "I'm being childish," he said.

"That's hardly a surprise," Sherlock muttered. "What is it?"

"Well, neither boyfriends or girlfriends are your 'area'." John's voice wavered with amusement. "And-" he sniggered quietly, "you'd have to get a divorce to marry me."

A divorce? What on earth was he-

Suddenly Sherlock saw it. That first night with John, sitting in Angelo's, by candlelight on their first case together.

"I consider myself married to my work."

"Oh, grow up, John," Sherlock huffed, stranding up.

"Do you think it would be amicable?" John teased, following him out of the door. "I mean your work can be a right bitch sometimes."

"You are not funny."

"And which one of you would get Lestrade? Would you fight for custody?"

"Shut up."

"I assume you'd let work have Anderson though?"

"Shut up!"

Thanks for reading :)