I really want to include some Sherrinford stuff( a sort of attempt to explain the canon) but that would make us way over 30 chapters. What do y'all think?
Don't worry it gets happier as we progress:
Reluctantly, Lissie rose and followed Mary down the street towards Sherlock, but they were intercepted.
"Fel-icity! Sweetheart, we've been frantic!"
Sherlock looked disgusted as a young woman flanked by police and the inept caseworker rushed over and flung her arms around Lissie, gushing.
"The police were looking everywhere, and I just cried. I hope it wasn't anything we did, darling. Jude will be along in a moment, he left work as soon as he heard you were found. I cried buckets when he couldn't get off the day you went missing. Was it something I said?" Her lower lip trembled.
"Oh, no, Ms. Houston. You and Mr. Houston have been so kind. I just wanted to find some answers."
"Of course," the woman agreed, putting an arm around Lissie and glaring at both Sherlock and the caseworker as if it were a conspiracy.
John subconsciously moved in front of Sherlock as though shielding one of his wounded patients. "Mr. Holmes found Lissie."
"Mr. Holmes, while dear Lissie's father, is unfortunately a murderer and involved in dealings of the worst sort. I was told he was imprisoned," Ms. Houston said, pulling Lissie away, caseworker trotting after.
Lissie was silent, looking from one to the other.
"He was acquitted of all charges and is currently in Britain's service," Mycroft flashed an I.D, snapping it shut before the woman could read it. "While we understand that this does not change your status as foster parent or legal guardian, we do wish you would know Mr. Holmes is cleared."
"Very well,"'the woman said graciously, with the air of one humoring a small child's whims. "May we return home?" The caseworker conferred with the French police and nodded.
Sherlock' s eyes followed Lissie's retreating back. He gritted his teeth and thought She's better off , She's better off, She's better off... Then his brain rebelled. No, she is NOT!"
Furious at himself, he started walking. The Watsons and Mycroft left, and, thank God, he was alone at last. The entire Chunnel ride was a blur. Ms. Hudson had kept 221B remarkably tidy during his long absence, but he did not want even its comfortable reliability. He did not want to be comforted. He wanted to be furious at himself, to dwell on his every fault and failure.
Finally he went to ... well, he went to the place that Mycroft none too kindly referred to as the 'crack house'.
Members of the Homeless Network were lounging about, and they leapt up when he ducked in the doorway.
"Mr. 'Olmes, you're back!"or "Been watching that man for ye, Sherlock, he's sly,"or "Have a seat, we won't judge," with a dry chuckle.
He held up his hands. "I'm sorry, but I'm not here for a case or to do...anything."
"He needs to be alone," Bertha, who often hid from her duties, husband and children here, offered.
"There's the room upstairs," someone else said.
Sherlock climbed the rickety stairs, thanking Providence every step that he was clean.
The room was bare save bottles and it looked like a frat house had recently vacated its premises. He sat down in the least grimy corner and stared blankly at one grafftied wall.
What could he do? He had nearly died, prayed, cried, everything - he had tried so hard to make things work.
He leapt up and punched the wall, harder and harder with growing aggression, remembering Sherrinford's boxing lessons in the garage.
Why did Elsie have to die? Why did all this happen?
He began to voice his thoughts.
"I just- want - to - be - a - good - father." Smack!
"I- don't -know- what -to- do." Smack!
"I'm - a - #$&#:+?- failure." Smack!
There were holes in the sheetrock and his hands were bloody when, sweaty and breathless he finally stopped.
"I need some help here. Any suggestions?" He angrily addressed the ceiling and sky beyond.
Call her.
"Call who," he said aloud, shocked at the answer.
He pulled out his phone and the first contact his finger found was Lisse.
Fine. He dialled, sitting on the floor, phone held at arm's length. The room still reeked.
"Hello," she said tiredly, obviously having looked at the caller I.D.
Then, all in a rush, "I'm sorry for what I said earlier. You were really nice both times I was hurt and I didn't mean you never helped I just meant one text in two months was a little, y'know-"
He interrupted this impossible- to -follow apology. "I think we were both a bit wrong, wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes sir. Umm my counselor wants to do a session with you."
"Counseling? I don't need that!"
"That's debatable. Just kidding! Me neither, but it's mandatory. Anyway,it'll be nice to see you, right?"
Ms. Houston dropped Lissie off at 221B. "Are you sure you're alright?"
"Yes, the counselor will be here soon."
Sherlock opened the door at Lissie's knock. He was shirtless.
"Not the best impression. I was thinking more, a suit?"
"Hush. Look, I have to change the dressing from where Mary, uh,-"
"From your wound," she supplied tactfully.
"Yes. Thank you. Anyway, John's changed it once a week but he's out of town and I can't -"
"Here, sit down. Don't look so terrified, I have my first aid certification. If they expected you to do it I can too. Before I start- Is the flat passably clean?"
"I gave Ms. Hudson full reign," he said, sadly adding, "She threw out the severed fingers."
"A loss for science, but perhaps for the best. Now, hold still."
She deftly unwrapped the bandage and pulled a new one around his chest.
"Thank you, Lissie."
This felt so - natural, Lissie reflected as she looked about them. Cozy flat, Sherlock being agreeable, casual conversation... But then she thought of the Houston's, and the news she would have to break to Sherlock later, and worried.
Well? What do you think?
Also : stop at 30 or keep on truckin'?