Jo hated how nervous the thought of going home made her, and she hated even more that the thought of taking Sherlock with her only made it worse. As a result of her nerves, she had put off packing as long as possible, and now was rushed with the knowledge that she had to be ready to leave in less than an hour. Sherlock had packed the night before and was out talking to members of his homeless network, giving final instructions before he left for four days. She was actually rather pleased about having the flat to herself for the time being: it meant that she could properly panic without being observed; unfortunately, it also meant that when Mycroft showed up in the sitting room there was no one else to deal with him.
"I don't have time for you," she said before the politician even had the chance to open his mouth. "We are leaving in less than an hour, and I really don't have time to deal with whatever it is that has possessed you to break into my home yet again. Feel free to make yourself tea while you wait for your brother to get back because it is most assuredly his turn to deal with you." She turned and walked back into her bedroom to finish packing without waiting for a response.
Sherlock came home a few minutes later. His footsteps had sounded excited coming up the stairs, but he stopped short once he got to the living room; Jo almost felt guilty for not giving him a warning of some kind. She could hear the brothers' voices but couldn't really tell what they were saying. Still, their tones alone were a very good indication of how the conversation was going. She heard Sherlock go from his typical annoyance at finding his brother in the flat to genuinely and completely frustrated; Mycroft's voice also took on distinctively smug overtones, so she was completely unsurprised when Sherlock slammed the door after his brother. Sherlock came storming into their room and flopped on the bed, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes.
"I hate it when he does this," he said, sounding miserable and frustrated. "Is it too much to ask that I get to tell him this one thing? Does he have to come in here spouting off about happy announcements and wedding plans? Would it kill him to let me be the one to tell him something about my own damn life?"
"It might," she answered pleasantly. "He is Mycroft after all."
The detective groaned. "I'm thirty-two years old; I should be allowed to announce my own damn marriage however I bloody well please without my older brother upstaging me."
"That's a very reasonable desire," she replied. "But there's nothing you can do about it now. He may be infuriatingly annoying, but it's how he shows that he cares; getting yourself all worked up about it isn't going to change anything."
He narrowed his eyes. "Why do you have to be so reasonable?"
"Well one of us had to be," she said, walking to the bathroom to collect her toiletries. "And being reasonable as always fallen on my side of the division of labor in this household."
He groaned again, this time loud enough for her to be able to hear him from the bathroom. "But it's Mycroft! Surely that justifies some level of unreasonableness."
"I hate to break it to you, love," she answered, coming back into the room. "But Mycroft is no where near as bad as my family is going to be. He may be megalomaniacal genius with aspirations of omniscience, but my family is frighteningly perceptive and none of them have any tact to speak of.
"Oh god, you haven't even met Harry yet. She's awful, and she's still the best of the bunch. You're going to be completely traumatized."
He smiled up at her. "Oh come on, they can't be that bad. After all, they managed to produce you, and you're wonderful."
Jo froze, her whole face going soft as she looked down at him. "That's really rather sweet. You're going to be horribly disappointed and definitely traumatized, but you're definitely very sweet and far more sentimental than you let on."
"You seem awfully concerned about me coming away from this with some sort of emotional trauma," he answered, trying to ignore the fact that he was blushing yet again from Jo's compliments. "I would have thought that it would be the other way around. I am usually the one inflicting emotional damage through tactlessness rather than receiving it."
The doctor sighed and kindly refrained from telling him just how untrue that last statement was. "Well they deserve whatever trauma you inflict on them. And I would rather like to keep you, so I'd much prefer it if they didn't scare you away over the course of one weekend."
"You don't want me to go with you," Sherlock said after a slight pause, sounding just hurt enough for Jo to know that he was hiding his emotions as best as he could.
She shook her head, trying to figure out what to say in order to reassure her partner. "It's not that I don't what you to come, exactly; it's more that I don't want to go at all. Sherlock, I haven't been back there since before I left for my last tour in Afghanistan. I wouldn't even be going back now if I thought I could get away with not going. My family isn't pleasant, Sherlock, and I'd rather not impose them on my loved ones. Unfortunately, they're going to find out about our marriage eventually, and if we don't go to them now, they'll show up here unannounced and that would really be a disaster."
Sherlock gave a low hum and nodded, choosing to reflect on what she had said rather than answering it directly. "If you're finished packing then we should probably be going; we wouldn't want to miss our train."
Jo agreed, zipping her bag shut.
The pair was checking the sitting room to make sure that they hadn't forgotten to pack anything important when Sherlock's phone rang. Sherlock gave short, terse answers to whoever was on the other line, his expression growing more and more pained with every passing second. After only a few minutes he rang off with the instruction to 'email me the details.' He closed his eyes and took deep breaths to compose himself, obviously trying to avoid looking as disappointed as he really was.
"What was that about?" Jo asked, trying her best to sound curious and not like she already knew the answer to her own question.
The detective sighed again. "It was just Lestrade calling with a case. He's going to email me the crime scene photos and such for me to look at on the train."
"It must be interesting if you're willing to work on it from pictures alone," she said, remembering her partner's disgust of working from second hand material.
Another pained look crossed his face. "Yes, apparently a serial killer is performing ritualistic vivisections on women. The police have yet to be able to find any connection between the victims."
"That sounds right up your alley," she replied with a hum. "It would probably be much better if could stay and work the case properly."
He glared at her. "Don't be ridiculous. Our train is leaving in less than an hour. I know that social interaction isn't exactly one of my strong suits, but even I know that skipping out on meeting your fiance's family for the first time falls under the category of 'a bit not good.' Photographs and emails will have to suffice."
"Sherlock, this is your job," she answered softly, reaching for his hand. "I really don't want to keep you from it. I can go without you and ease my family into the idea that I'm marrying my flatmate whom they didn't even know I was dating. If you finish the case before I get back, then you can come join me."
"Are you sure?" He asked, hope seeping into his voice despite his best efforts."
Jo nodded, giving him an encouraging smile. "Completely. Just be safe, and call me if you need anything."
"Thank you!" He exclaimed, beaming at his friend before swooping in and kissing her. "I promise that I'll keep you updated. I love you." He kissed her again before bounding out of the room, taking the stairs two or three at a time.
"I love you too," the doctor called after him, chuckling to herself.
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Luckily, Sherlock managed to get to the crime scene before the body had been removed. It was the third such crime scene and was as disturbing as the DI had promised. The consulting detective made a point of making a few token remarks reprimanding Lestrade for not calling him in sooner before settling down to examine the evidence. He was unable to completely block out the feeling of emptiness that came with not having his blogger by his side, but he managed well enough; he had had a lot of practice considering his extended absence from London and Jo's less forgiving schedule. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something obvious that Jo would be able to point out. For lack of any other options, he called Anderson over.
"There's something off about the body," he said briskly, keeping his voice low enough that only the man beside him could hear. After a brief pause he decided to clarify his statement, just to be safe. "Anatomically speaking, I mean."
Anderson hummed and gave him a nod to show that he understood the question; he didn't say anything, however, choosing instead to focus all of his attention on the corpse in front of him. After a few moments, he knelt down in order to be more thorough in his examination.
The two men had definitely been getting along better since the Thames Incident back in December. Apparently they were shockingly compatible once they stopped referring to each other solely with insults. This newfound air of cooperation was remarkably useful, not only because the lack of antagonism made cases in general more pleasant, but also because Anderson had been taking a few medical courses, and that knowledge was helpful in the absence of Jo's medical expertise. Jo, of course, had been unable to refrain from cracking jokes at their 'budding bromance' at every appropriate opportunity; Sherlock just rolled his eyes and sighed a lot when she did that; Anderson did his best to hide his smiles and pretend that he wasn't amused.
"She's pregnant," the forensic analyst said after a few minutes, looking up at the detective with wide eyes and a frown. "Sometime in her second trimester, I think."
Sherlock nodded, making a point to acknowledge his contribution (Jo had given him a whole series of lectures about why positive reinforcement was a good thing) before turning to Lestrade. "You mentioned that the other victims were pregnant as well."
"Yes," the DI affirmed. "We thought it was a coincidence since the second woman was only a few weeks along. The medical examiner only knew because of blood tests he ran; we weren't even sure if the woman herself knew."
He hummed, trying to figure out just how this information effected the case. "I believe that it is safe to say at this point that it's not a coincidence."
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Jo had been back at her childhood home for all of three hours and already she was seriously regretting her decision to visit. Her mum seemed incapable of not sniping about her career choices; her dad insisted on defending her with the phrase "well at least she didn't turn out to be a total dyke;" and her uncle occasionally pointed out that, apparently, all she really needed was a man to take care of her. Also on her list of Things To Regret was scheduling the trip for four days and deciding that it would be alright to just stay in her old bedroom instead of getting a hotel room; she was simultaneously thankful that she told Sherlock to stay in London and wishing that he was there with her. In addition to all of the stress she had been planning for in preparation for this trip, it had apparently turned into a family reunion of sorts without anyone telling her.
Harry had arrived just after Jo had, and all of the aunts, uncles, and cousins either lived in town or were there before she was. The only person who had yet to arrive was her grandfather, who was making the trip down from Scotland; he was, coincidentally, the only one that she was really excited to see. Growing up, she had spent all of her summers at her grandparents house — a tradition that had continued, despite everyone's expectations, even after her grandmother's death when she was ten — and had almost moved in with him when she was sixteen. She hadn't been expecting to see him on this trip, but his surprise visit almost made spending four days with the rest of her family worth it.
Hamish Watson arrived just in time for dinner, looking tired from his travels but still happy to see everyone. He easily commandeered the seat next to Jo at dinner. He asked her questions about her job and where she had gone with it and then about what cases she and Sherlock had been working on, only interrupting once to tell her to stop censoring out the dangerous parts. It was nice to tell someone about her life who was truly interested and wasn't going to think she was completely crazy.
"I'm glad that you've finally found someone who can keep up with you," he told her with a smile after she finished telling him about one of her cases. "It's looks like you've finally found your perfect match." Her grandfather was the only one in her family who knew that she and Sherlock were more than just friends, and Jo couldn't help but blush just a little bit.
Harry, who was sitting across the table from her sister, rolled her eyes. "Come on Jo, when are you going to just give up and admit that you're shagging your flatmate? Even Granda can see it."
Jo cleared her throat, knowing that this was probably the best opportunity she was going to get. "Actually, Sherlock and I are getting married."
There was complete and utter silence for a full fifteen seconds before Harry burst out laughing. "That was a good one. Oh god, I almost believed you there for a second. But you win; I'll lay off you about Sherlock." Everyone else chuckled as well, looking relieved that it was a just a joke.
She grit her teeth. "I wasn't kidding. Sherlock and I have been dating for over a year, and we've decided to get married. We haven't quite set a date yet, but it will probably be sometime in July."
There was another beat of silence before Hamish turned to his granddaughter with wide grin. "Well congratulations; I'm sure that you two will be very happy together." He kissed her cheek as she smiled and thanked him, feeling more prepared to face the surge of questions she knew her family would throw at her as soon as they got over their shock.
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The case was not going well. So far, the only connection between the victims seemed to be their pregnancies: they were from different socio-economic backgrounds; had different jobs, relationship statuses, and work schedules; they went to different medical clinics; their lives didn't seem to intersect in any way other than their murders. Normally when a case got this frustrating, he went to Jo to help him figure it out, but he wasn't too keen on telling her about this case, not wanting to upset her. Lestrade tried to be as helpful as possible, but somehow Sherlock didn't think that the DI would be willing to pet his hair while he rested his head in his lap.
To make matters worse, the violence was escalating. Jo had only been gone for a day and a half and the body count had already risen to six. Sherlock's mood was quickly deteriorating, and even he had to admit that he was being more snappish then usual. The sixth crime scene was like all the others and there was absolutely nothing new to learn. Still, Sherlock did a thorough search, hoping for some sign of the murderer. He bit back a frustrated scream when he finished and was still unable to tell if the murderer was a man or a woman.
After he finished his fruitless examination he stalked away. He ducked down the nearest alleyway and leaned his forehead against the bricks, squeezing his eyes shut and running through all of the facts again. The six women had all been at different points in their pregnancies — the fifth victim had been the farthest along at thirty-two weeks (which had made for an incredibly disturbing crime scene) — but the tableau was always the same. The women were stripped of all clothing (although there were no signs of sexual assault) and laid out on the ground with their arms and legs spread. They had been immobilized with chloroform — which seemed ridiculously cliche — before being killed via suffocation. Then the murderer had transported the bodies to where they would eventually be found — which strongly suggested that he/she had his/her own vehicle — and performed the vivisections, focusing on the reproductive system in a way that obviously indicated an unhealthy level of obsession with the women's pregnancies (as if killing them wasn't enough evidence of such an obsession). The dissections were preformed skillfully, which pointed to the murderer having at least some medical training, and were very precise — the murderer even pinned back the skin as you would an animal dissection in a biology class. The locations where the bodies were found were out of the way enough that the murderer would have enough time to set up his/her scenes without being interrupted, but were places — such as abandoned buildings and under overpasses — that were well trafficked enough — at least by the transient population — that the bodies would be discovered within twelve hours, indicating that the murderer wanted the bodies to be found. Which meant… what exactly?
Sherlock's train of thought was derailed by the sound of footsteps approaching. He turned his head to assess, feeling the rough bricks scrape and pull at his skin and wondering if the motion was going to draw blood. All he saw was Lestrade, looking worried and vaguely paternal. The detective groaned quietly, not feeling up to the task of human interaction. Lestrade's expression grew even more concerned and he quickened his pace.
"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?" The DI asked, pulling his friend away from the wall.
The detective sighed and rolled his eyes. "Thinking. Obviously."
"Oh, of course. It's completely obvious that the best way to go about thinking is to give yourself a bloody head wound!" He reached into his jacket and pulled out a handkerchief which he used to dab at the taller man's forehead. Sherlock sighed again but didn't pull away, allowing Greg to clean away the blood and then cover the scratches with plasters he procured from somewhere in his pockets.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the silver haired man in front of him. "What don't you have in your pockets? You're like Mary Poppins."
"I have learned to come well prepared to anything that involves you," he answered, looking both confused and slightly amused. "And I am frankly astonished that you have even the slightest idea of who Mary Poppins is."
He shrugged. "Jo made me watch it a few weeks ago. She said it was a crime against humanity for me to not have seen it."
"Speaking of Jo," he replied, frowning again. "Why don't you give her a call? I know that she's working more regularly, but I think it's time that you call her in on this one."
He groaned again, squeezing his eyes shut. "I can't. She's visiting her parents."
"Okay," he said comfortingly. "Why don't you call her anyway? Maybe just talking to her will help."
He shook his head. "She's hasn't been back there since before she was shot; I don't want to ruin it for her. And this case will bother her."
"Well it's bothering you," Lestrade retorted. "I know that it's hard when you can't find the evidence you need, but beating yourself up about it isn't going to help. And how's Jo going to react when she comes home to find you bruised and bloody because you've decided to take the phrase 'beating your head against a brick wall' far too literally."
He glared down at him. "You're not allowed to use her against me."
"I'm not using her against you," he answered kindly. "I'm just reminding you that your girlfriend is eventually going to come home, and that you want her to be as pleased as possible when she does. Now, let me take you to lunch; I don't think you've eaten properly since this whole thing started. And don't give me any of that food slowing down your thinking crap; you won't be doing too much thinking if you've passed out from hunger."
Sherlock offered a few token protests, but he went without putting up any real struggle.
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Jo sat down on the stoop and took deep breaths. She'd been at her parent's house for two days, and already she was remembering all of the reasons why she ran like hell as early as she possibly could. She missed Sherlock and the ease that came with really being home. He had texted her a few times, but it was obvious that he didn't really want to tell her what was going on with the case he was working on. It wasn't the first time that he had decided that it was better if she didn't know about a particular case, but it never failed to worry her. She had just begun to relax when she heard the front door open behind her, and she tensed up again in seconds.
Harry shut the door behind her and sat down next to her younger sister. "Hey, how're you feeling?"
"Like I need a stiff drink," she responded dryly, staring at the ground in front of her.
She laughed. "You and me both." There was a slight pause and then she continued. "Look, I'm sorry about outing you and Sherlock like that. I really was just kidding around; I never would have said anything if I knew that you guys were really together."
"I know," she replied, offering her a smile. "And I'm sorry about not telling you about us. I just knew that you wouldn't approve, and I didn't want to fight about it."
She sighed. "It's not that I don't approve — it's hard for me to have an opinion about a man I've never actually met — I just don't want you to get hurt. He doesn't strike me as the steady and sure type. I honestly didn't think that you'd ever get married; are you sure that he's the one you want to give in to?"
"It's not giving in," she replied, her tone sharper than she had intended it to be. She paused for a deep breath before continuing. "Look, I'll be the first one to admit that getting married wasn't exactly in my plans, but I'm not settling and giving in. I can't imaging wanting to marry anyone else, and I don't think Sherlock could either. You may not see him as the steady and sure type, but he's one of the most loyal people I've ever met."
She nodded slowly. "So do you think you can be happy with him? Even with wedding vows and rings; sometimes it's a lot of pressure you know."
"I know I can be happy," she answered, smiling. "When I'm with Sherlock I'm the happiest I've ever been, hands down, and I know that the same goes for him. I'm not saying that it'll be easy, but when has anything worth doing ever been easy?"
There was a lull in the conversation and Jo had begun to relax again when Harry turned to her with a slight frown. "You're pregnant, aren't you? That's why you two are getting married so quickly, and why you're coming here for the first time in years. You're knocked up."
Jo sighed, knowing that denying it at this point would be useless. "Yeah, we're trying to keep it quiet though, so please don't say anything."
"I won't tell," she promised. "But the rest of them are going to figure it out. You may not think very highly of them, but they can count to nine at the very least."
She chuckled. "I know that. But I'm not marrying Sherlock just because he got me pregnant — in fact I said no the first time he asked because I didn't want that to be the reason — and I don't really want to listen to them go on about it. You know Dad, he'd never let it go if he knew."
"Alright, I concede the point," she replied, smiling. "You know, you could have avoided the whole issue if you had just gone the smart route and shagged women like any other intelligent female."
She laughed, shaking her head and bumping their shoulders together affectionately. "Thanks for the tip; I'll have to remember that for my next reincarnation." Harry laughed as well and then Jo continued. "For the record though: I would have shagged Sherlock even if he was a she. It wouldn't have made a difference to me."
"That is so sickeningly romantic I think I might vomit," she answered, feigning a few gags.
Jo shoved her. "Oh come off it."
"No seriously," she answered, forcing herself to stop laughing as she pulled her sister into a half hug. "I'm really happy for you. You're my baby sister; I'm glad you've found someone you think is worth sticking around for." Jo thanked her and they fell into silence, simply enjoying each other's company as they watched the sunset.
Hey all! Thanks for reading, as always, and sorry this one is a bit late. I hope you all have a happy new year, and that anyone who was away visiting family had a good time and save travels. I'd love to hear from you either here or over at Tumblr where I'm theravensdesk.