Sorry I haven't updated in a while been so busy with work.
Thanks so much to: riddle-tom12, Bec, MyPartnerInCrime, CatRhul, adarnnya, anna keye, ILoveHLaurie, The Beth midget, OhTex, WordsWrittenByHeart, XMillieX, rowellylovesgryffindor & x-Pick'n'Mix-x.
Hope you all like it and I hope I dont die on my arse like Ricky Gervais at the Golden Globes...
As Sherlock ushered Rebecca into the hallway the young lawyer did her best to try and cover her huge bump with her clutch bag.
She gave a gulp as she stared around...
The place was like a castle, with large paintings of men in uniform hanging on the walls along with an actual suit of armour halfway up the grand staircase before them.
"Sherlock...this place-" But she couldn't finish her sentence too much in awe of the whole thing.
Somehow she could just imagine a tiny Sherlock with a mop of dark hair running about the place, getting into trouble.
She snatched a quick glance in his direction but his jaw seemed to be firmly clenched and his face set into a deep frown.
"Sherlock," she uttered after a moment finally remembering her desperation. "Can I use the bathroom?"
He looked at her suddenly, jumping slightly, as if he had forgotten she was even there.
"Oh, of course. Up the stairs, first on your left," he uttered emotionlessly.
Rebecca gave a nod before scuttling off up the staircase.
She walked slowly, admiring the red drapery which hung off the walls. The place was like a gothic mansion. Rebecca half-expected Dracula to pop out at any moment...
Finally after what felt like an age she arrived at the top of the stairs and pushed open the door to her left.
Inside a gleaming bathroom shone out at her.
The whole thing was tiled in an Indian theme with blue decorative designs covering not only the walls but the bath and sink too.
Rebecca soon did what was needed before moving over to the large basin to wash her hands.
Several large hand soaps littered the edge and the young lawyer took delight in trying out each one and breathing in its floral odours.
A few minutes later she had closed the bathroom door behind her and made her way down the stairs. She half expected Sherlock to still be waiting for her when she arrived back in the hallway but he was gone...
Cautiously she turned the handle of the door to her right and inside she was met with several faces.
"Ah here she is," said Mycroft with a strange smile in her direction. "Did you get lost?"
Rebecca reddened once again. "No, I er-"
"You'll have to watch her Sherlock," continued Mycroft ignoring her completely and throwing a look in Sherlock's direction. "You don't want to lose her now do you?"
Suddenly there came a simpering laugh. "It's not like she's going to get far in her condition is it?" said the blonde woman next to Mycroft.
The tall man smiled back at her. "Miss Francis, this is my wife Marion and our two children Harry and Trudy," he said gesturing to his toothy blonde companion and the two beaming children beside them, who Rebecca had noticed were prone to pinching each other when they thought none of the adults were looking.
"Nice to meet you," uttered Rebecca politely. "And it's Rebecca, really."
"Rebecca, of course," said Mycroft bowing his head slightly. "Yes I suppose there are no need for formalities now that we are practically family."
"Family, pah!" scoffed a sudden voice from across the room. Rebecca looked up to see the leggy form of Mrs Holmes draped in a chair with a large glass of brandy in her hand.
There was an awkward silence before Mycroft finally gave a cough. "Shall we move into the dining room? I'm guessing dinner should be ready soon."
Each person gave a nod and followed Mycroft out of the door one by one, and as she passed Mrs Holmes shot Rebecca a vicious glare.
Sherlock gave a sigh and rubbed his face with his hand.
He hated this, he would have much preferred to be home burning yet another turkey with Rebecca.
Just him and her...that's how he liked things.
But now he could see just how upset this whole situation had made her. This could not be good for the baby...
Of course the meal was perfect, served up by the best caterers Mummy could get her hands on but it didn't make up for the atmosphere being so cold.
None of the festive cheesiness that Rebecca liked lingered at the table. No crackers or paper hats...
And the looks that Sherlock's mother was shooting her did not help matters.
Rebecca was trying her best but nothing was helping.
It was during the main course that she suddenly spoke.
"So is Mr Holmes not joining us?" asked Rebecca gazing around.
A piercing silence fell across the room as no-one looked at each other, let alone spoke.
"Rebecca-" said Sherlock after a few moments with a violent shake of his head.
But a voice cut across him. "You bring her here," said Mrs Holmes, pointing a finger. "And she has to go and mention him."
Rebecca seemed to pale as Mrs Holmes took a huge gulp of wine, draining her glass but in a blink of an eye she had poured another one.
"How dare you!" she said in a high pitched tone staring daggers at Rebecca.
The young lawyer looked frightened and mumbled a quick apology as the dinner table fell into silence once again.
It was only once their main course had been cleared and their desert was on the way did anyone speak again.
"So, Rebecca," said Mycroft dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. "What do your parents do for a living?"
Sherlock frowned at the 'out of the blue' question as Rebecca shuffled about a bit awkwardly.
She never spoke about her parents. In fact neither of them did. Sherlock had never spoken about his father and Rebecca had barely spoken about her parents. All Sherlock knew was that they were architects that had emigrated to Australia.
"They're both architects," said Rebecca taking a nervous sip of her orange juice.
"Oh, right," said Mycroft nodding his head interestedly. "Only I heard differently."
There was a sudden silence as Sherlock felt Rebecca tense at his side.
All eyes turned to her.
She gave a nervous shrug and toyed with the hem of the table cloth. "They're just...architects...they moved out to Australia...to work."
"Hmmm," aid Mycroft oddly, as he licked his lips. "Only I've heard they were much more than architects Rebecca. Word on the street is that they are in fact wanted activists."
Sherlock stared quickly at Rebecca but her face was set. Sometimes he could read her like a book but this wasn't one of them.
"Then you've heard wrong," she uttered quietly, her voice smooth but under the table Sherlock could see her trembling slightly.
He glanced up at her, shock upon his face. She had lied to him? All this time?
Mycroft who had ignored Rebecca's last statement completely kept on talking.
"Arthur and Jayne Francis," he muttered as if reading from a statement. "Political activists responsible for several violent crimes against both politicians and bankers...so much so that several European businesses decided to flee the UK in fear of an attack whether it be viral or literal. Between them and their little band of followers they lost the country billions."
Sherlock couldn't say anything he merely stared at Rebecca in shock.
It was after a long moment that she finally spoke. "They were only doing what they thought was right..." she said quietly.
But Mycroft gave a cold chuckle. "Of course they did. And that's why they fled to Australia was it, where they couldn't be arrested or tried?"
He gave another bitter laugh. "Don't worry Rebecca," he said noticing the concerned look on her face. "I won't say a word. Although there are some people that I work with that would gave everything to see your parents get their just deserts. And speaking of deserts-"
Sherlock glanced up to see several smart waiters entering the room holding dishes of indicial Christmas puddings.
Rebecca seemed to utter a sigh of relief, reaching for Sherlock's hand under the table.
She took it in her own but he did not grasp back. Right now he did not know how he was feeling.
The woman he loved had lied to him, not over for the past four years but for all the time they had known each other prior to this.
So her parents were activist. Wanted criminals.
If this really was the case it would explain everything.
Perhaps this was why Moriarty had come after her. Why he had targeted her. Perhaps one of these angry politicians had hired him to do so. To get to her parents.
"So," said Marion after a while gazing up at Rebecca and braking through Sherlock's thoughts. "How far along are you?"
Rebecca gave a nervous smile and pressed a hand to her stomach. "About 7 months," she replied, her face glowing with pride.
A moments silence fell across the room before suddenly little Trudy piped up.
"Mummy," she said tugging on her mother's sleeve. "When I grow up, I never want to have babies...I never want to look like that."
And with that she pointed coldly at Rebecca whose eyes seem to blink in shock.
Her hand tensed around Sherlock's under the table.
"Now don't be rude darling," said Marion sounding earnest but in her eyes Sherlock could see a certain twinkle of enjoyment.
"But Mummy," chimed little Harry gazing at his mother. "Aren't people supposed to get married before they have babies?"
The young boy cast a suspicious eye over Sherlock and Rebecca.
"Harry!" said Mycroft warningly. "I'm sure both Sherlock and Rebecca are very happy as they are."
"Pah," said Mrs Holmes once again. "Have a child out of wedlock...it's not right."
She was slurring her words ever so slightly.
"Why couldn't you have got a normal job like Mycroft and married a normal girl, a girl of your own status Sherlock," she snapped, sloshing wine all over the tablecloth. "This one here."
She pointed at Rebecca.
"She's got you now. You heard her asking about your father...she's only after your inheritance. Then before you know it she'll have run, just like her patents did, taken the money and left you with the brat-"
Rebecca sat, mouth agape as she blinked away tears at the hurtful things Mrs Holmes had said.
She glanced at Sherlock waiting for him to defend her, but there came nothing.
He just sat staring forwards, eyes glassy.
She slowly turned back around, unlatched her hand from Sherlock's and got to her feet.
"I think I'd better go-" she said.
And with no argument from anyone else around the table she pushed back her chair, placed a protective hand to her swollen stomach and silently left the room.
I hope that was okay...
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