"The message is for me."
"For you?"
"There's a pattern: the three victims had all been asphyxiated. There are no clues left, not a single fingerprint to start an investigation and there are no witnesses," Sherlock's eyes dropped on the boy lying dead in front of him. "And the three look like them."
Sherlock looked closely at the cuts with his little magnifier. They were sharp cuts, clumsily made using a scalpel and most of her lower abdomen has been cut - the attacker removed the uterus off the woman's body.
"He?"
"Yes," Sherlock looked at the dead woman lying on the floor of her tiny flat. "He is an expert."
"Are we looking for a medical man?" Greg suggested.
Sherlock shook his head. "A medical man, or a medical student more likely due to the poor work and the lack of neatness a proper doctor would have."
Lestrade nodded. "What else?"
"The cuts are clumsy, though he knew where to cut - how to use the scalpel. And she didn't die from this," Sherlock knelt down again and focused on the woman's bruises on her neck. "She's been asphyxiated. Where's her uterus?"
"Forensics," Greg pinched the bridge of his nose."She was pregnant."
"How far a long she was?"
"Dunno. Anderson say it was the size of a pea," The Detective Inspector said absent-mindedly. "hardly considered a baby, I was told."
Sherlock showed no emption whatsoever. But he remembered Jane's words. They were still echoing inside him, inside his mind. It hurt him to know Jane had been pregnant and expecting his child, Doctor Morstan's child. And it also hurt Sherlock to know she had lost it and that she wasn't going to have babies any more.
The fact that Jane had carried a child who was not his, who was her new partner's child, it made Sherlock realise that maybe there was not a future for them. Not any more.
"She wasn't in a stable relationship. There," Sherlock pointed at the box of condoms on her bedside table. "condoms, but not pills. Not stable or casual relationships then. But this," this time the Consulting Detective pointed at the lock of the door. "No one picked the lock. She let her killer in. She knew him. She knew she was pregnant and she wanted to keep it. But apparently he didn't."
"Hold your horses, Sherlock. How do you know that?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "She keeps track of her periods," Sherlock pointed at a calendar hanging on the wall, which had some days marked with red crosses and others with a black crosses. "She does casual relationships but she keeps condoms, therefore she was a very careful woman. But she gets pregnant and she knows it. She told him she was pregnant and that she wanted to keep it, but he didn't."
"And how do you know she knew she was pregnant?"
"It's obvious. If she had always kept track of her periods, she would obviously had noticed when she missed one or two if it was the size of a pea."
Greg nodded. "And what makes you think she wanted to keep it?"
"This," Sherlock pointed at the pictures hanging on the walls. "She's got nieces and nephews. From her older sister I'd say. She likes kids. She wouldn't have had an abortion. She wanted to keep it, her casual partner didn't - he prefers to kill her but why? He could have just walked away - let her to have the child alone..."
"If it was a casual relationship, as you said, maybe he was married? Maybe she threatened him to tell the truth to his wife -"
"Have you asked her neighbours if they had seen anyone?"
"Yeah," Greg sighed tiredly. "And nothing. We got nothing. The bastard didn't leave a trace - not even a fingerprint -"
"I wouldn't say so."
"Check yourself."
It was truth. There was not a single hair, not a single footprint, fingerprints, nothing.
"He was wearing special gloves when he asphyxiated," Lestrade said, walking next to Sherlock off the crime scene. "Will send the body to Bart's if you want to do further examination."
Two days later, Greg called Sherlock asking him to take a look at a crime scene a few streets from Jane's house because this time there was a message painted with blood on a wall.
God, it was all covered with animal blood: the floor, the three walls of a basement room had been red painted with animal blood and a little boy of no more than three years was lying dead in the middle of the room.
And there was a message on the wall.
THE FINAL GAME IS ON.
Sherlock looked at it carefully. The man (yes, he was sure it had been a man) was tall. He was ambidextrous. He had used animal blood.
And the boy lying dead on the floor looked like Locky. He was little. He was wearing a pair of dark jeans and a blue knitted jumper. The boy had pale complexion, pink lips that after hours of being dead were already white. He had a mop of very dark curly hair and next to him had been left a teddy bear.
The same teddy bear Locky had.
Sherlock knelt next to the boy's body and focused on the bruises on the boy's face. He had been asphyxiated, just like the boy he had seen when he saw Doctor Morstan, and just like the woman's corpse he had examined two days later.
"Asphyxiated."
Greg assented. "He was reported missing yesterday morning and found dead today by a couple of homeless kids."
"Witnesses?"
The Detective Inspector shook his head. "Nothing."
"The message is for me."
"For you?"
"There's a pattern: the three victims had all been asphyxiated. There are no clues left, not a single fingerprint to start an investigation and there are no witnesses," Sherlock's eyes dropped on the boy lying dead in front of him. "And the three look like them."
Greg frowned. "Like them?"
"Like Hamish, Locky and Jane."
"No," Greg stepped back and his eyes dropped on the boy lying dead on the floor. "It must be a coincidence -"
"It isn't."
Sherlock bit his lip. He showed no emotion whatsoever, but deep inside he knew who this was. Who was behind this and what this person was looking for by killing a pregnant woman and two children who all looked a lot like Jane, Hamish and Locky.
All those three victims, somehow, had been killed in a particular way. The three of them had been asphyxiated to death, but afterwards, their bodies had been harmed in very particular ways: the first boy had bruises as if he had been hit. The woman had been cut and removed her uterus off her body and she was pregnant. And the third victim had only been asphyxiated.
Every victim showed, somehow, the damage Sherlock had caused to them, to his family.
"No fingerprints, no footprints, not even a hair. Nothing," Greg said anxiously. "We've got three victims, three families asking us questions and not a single clue to start the investigation," The Detective Inspector sighed. "No one saw anything, no one heard anything."
Sherlock looked at the pictures of the crime scenes lying on the desk in the living room. They had nothing to start with, not a single clue and nothing that could tell them where to start; there were three victims, two children and a pregnant woman whose uterus had been removed off her body. Three victims that were not related at all, and the only thing within Sherlock's mind was how alike they were to them, to the people that had once been his family, to Jane, Hamish and Locky.
And the woman was pregnant.
If Sherlock was right about the person he thought was behind all this... This person had information. Good information. This person knew Jane was pregnant but lost her baby.
This person was dangerous.
"What d'you think?" Greg asked.
Sherlock took his coat and his scarf. "I need to see them."
The detective rang the bell and waited. But by just seeing the car parked outside the house, Sherlock already had an idea of who was going to open the door.
"Good afternoon," Matthew said politely after opening the door.
He was right then. It was Friday and Jane was nowhere to be seen. She had always been the one who prepared the children and opened the door of the house for him. But Jane was not there and it was not difficult to guess it was because of all the things Sherlock had said. Sherlock knew Jane didn0t want to see him after the things he had said about her, about the mistaken deductions he had made.
Sherlock's grey eyes were on the doctor's. "Good afternoon."
Matthew moved and Sherlock got inside. His steps were firm, confident. The detective walked to the living room where he found Hamish and Locky already waiting for him, watching telly and deciding which books, toys and DVD's they were going to take to Baker Street to spend the weekend with their father.
"Dad!"
Sherlock hugged his children. "Hello Hamish, Locky," he pressed a kiss to each of the boy's foreheads. "Are you ready?"
Both nodded eagerly.
"Wait dad. Matt has to listen to my heart and check my arm," Hamish said softly.
Sherlock looked at the doctor and then at the elements on the small table: a stethoscope and a blood pressure monitor. Matthew sat on the sofa and patted the place right next to him. "It'll be only a minute."
Sherlock said nothing. But he watched his eldest son sitting next to the doctor and smiling while Matthew rubbed the metallic chest-piece against the soft dark fabric of his trousers to warm it before pressing it to Hamish's chest.
"Take deep breaths," Matthew said softly as he pressed the chest-piece of the stethoscope to the boy's chest. "Now I'm going to listen to your lungs. Cough a bit," Hamish coughed and Matthew smiled fondly at him. "Good!"
"Now my arm!"
Matthew nodded. "Your right arm," the doctor said as he helped Hamish with the cuff. "Now we have to count to ten, remember?"
"One... two... three... four... five... six...," Hamish and Matthew said in unison while Matthew pressed the bulb. "seven... eight... nine... ten!" Matthew's eyes were fixated on the pressure gauge. "Good!"
Hamish smiled. "Can I go now?"
"Yes. You're very healthy," The doctor said and kissed the top of Hamish's head.
Watching them so close, so fond of each other, so deep into their own world, Sherlock couldn't help but realise how much Hamish loved that man, how much he loved Doctor Morstan and how much he loved Hamish as well. Looking from afar, Sherlock saw a man and his child. They were Matthew Morstan and Hamish Watson Holmes. They were not father and son. But anyone who didn't knew who they were would say they were father and son. Anyone would have been able to say Hamish was Matthew's son.
"Daddy coat!" Locky said to Sherlock, bringing him back from his deep thoughts, pointing at the zip of his little coat. "Zip."
Sherlock helped Locky with his coat and then Hamish when Matthew handed him the bag with their toys, books and DVD's. "Are you taking them somewhere this weekend?" The doctor asked friendly towards Sherlock.
It was true friendliness, Sherlock deduced.
"That's not your business."
Matthew blinked once or twice. "I know it isn't, but er, I'd rather Hamish stayed in the flat and had some rest." Sherlock shoot him such a glare that Doctor Morstan didn't need to be asked why. "He's got a mild cold and he had to stay in bed," Matthew said to her girlfriend's still husband. "He's fine now, but he needs to have some rest. He can't afford to fall sick."
Sherlock picked up the boy's bag and walked towards the door. Both boys were already waiting at the door and Matthew was walking behind Sherlock.
"If anything happens, take him to Bart's. I'm working this weekend -"
"What makes you think I'll take my son to see you?"
Matthew sighed inwardly. "I'm his doctor."
"And there are plenty in London. And better ones too," Sherlock snapped.
Matthew preferred to ignore that. He stooped and smiled to both boys. "See you soon, boys. I'll miss you."
"We'll miss you too, Matt."
Locky threw his arms around Matthew and kissed his cheek. He hid his head on his shoulder for long seconds. And that hurt Sherlock. It hurt him to see his youngest son being so affectionate to the man he hated, to the man who was the owner of Jane's love and the man who he knew Locky considered more like a father than him.
"Bye bye dad."
God.
It felt like a knife stabbing Sherlock's heart.
Matthew kissed the top of Locky's dark curls. "Matt. I'm Matt."
"Matt," Locky repeated mechanically. "Love you."
"I love you too."
Sherlock took the boys hands and got them into a cab.
As soon as Jane closed the door of her house behind her back, she removed her coat and walked towards the kitchen where she found Matthew putting some takeaway on a plate to heat it for dinner.
"Hello, darling," the doctor said softly. "Had a good day?"
She only nodded. "I'll take a quick shower before dinner."
When Jane felt the cascade of hot water hitting her body, she sighed tiredly and closed her eyes, feeling herself clean. She washed her hair and then her body. She stayed for long minutes, letting the hot water run down her body when she rested her back against the cold ceramic tiles of the bathroom. She closed her eyes and let a hand travel on her flat belly. She rubbed the skin there as she used to do when she was pregnant, expecting Hamish and then Locky. She remember herself touching her belly in both occasions, thinking, wondering what she was expecting, if it was a boy or a little girl. She remembered Sherlock rubbing her prominent belly, kissing her skin, tracing patterns with his fingertips, talking to her belly, to their baby, to Hamish and then to Locky.
"I love you."
Jane smiled at him and caressed Sherlock's wild, dark curls. She felt Sherlock lifting her jumper and then her tee to kiss her belly. It was like old times. Sherlock always loved to kiss and touch her belly, he liked to wait for the baby to start kicking. The baby always kicked when Sherlock was around. It was as if it knew its father was close.
The baby kicked.
"Knows when his father is close."
Sherlock kissed her belly again. "There must be a scientific explanation as to why a baby can feel one of its parental figures close."
"Well, Hamish knows when you're close because my heart beats quickly than normal every time you're around."
The young detective delicately kissed Jane. "Does your heart beat faster because of me?"
Jane nodded. "Of course. Because I love you."
Jane remembered when she was pregnant, expecting Locky, and how much Sherlock needed to hear, feel their son inside her.
Sherlock placed a hand on her growing belly. "How is he?"
"Calm. Must be sleeping. Hasn't kicked at all."
"Have you brought your stethoscope?"
"What for?" asked Jane confusedly.
"It worries me when he doesn't kick," said he. "I need to hear him."
She had always loved it when Sherlock touched her belly, kissed it, used her stethoscope to feel their baby inside her. He had always said he needed to hear their child moving for them, but mostly for him because every time Sherlock was around, their baby kicked. It happened with Hamish and then with Locky. Every time the detective was around, they would move, kick and basically cause some pain to their mother, but Jane never cared. She was always happy her babies had moved inside her every time Sherlock was around because he was their daddy.
Jane wondered if she had been Sophie's biological mother, if she had got pregnant of Matthew's child, if Sophie would have kicked inside her as much as Hamish and Locky did. If Sophie would have kicked every time Matthew was around because he was her father.
"Jane?" There was a knock at the door. "Love, are you all right?"
She wrapped herself with a towel and opened the door. She faked a smile and felt Matthew's strong arms around her waist, pulling her closer and walking her to their bed. He sat on his side of the bed, with Jane on her lap and wrapped another towel around her bare shoulders and started to rub the towel up and down her wet arms.
Jane buried his face into his neck. She pressed a little kiss to the skin there and remained silent. She had always felt as if she was Matthew's little girl. He had always been so protective over her, almost like a father. Every thing Jane wanted, Matthew would always give it to her. Not as if Jane manipulated him, but if there was a single tear rolling down her face, Jane was sure Matthew would move heaven and earth to make her feel better. And she was so small compared to him; she was short and thin, she had lost weight recently and she wasn't feeling healthy, but Matthew was tall, taller than Sherlock, strong, he liked to go to the gym and he was very athletic. His strong arms were able to carry her everywhere.
"What's wrong, baby?"
Jane looked at him. "You've never called me 'baby' before."
"You don't like it?"
She shook his head. "No."
"OK," he smiled at her. "What's wrong, darling?" Matthew asked worriedly.
"Nothing. Just missed you, that's all."
"I missed you too," The doctor admitted and started pressing soft kisses to Jane's neck, to her collarbones and her shoulders. "Sophie's sleeping and we're alone tonight..." Matthew looked into her eyes. "A week without you was killing me," His fingers curled on the edged of her towel. "A week without you and the children made me realise how much I need you, how I can't live without you."
Jane said nothing. She let him pull down the towel around her body and he shifted them until she was lying on her back across their bed, and he was over her, kissing her lips and caressing her body, running his hands up and down her body, then pressing his hands behind her knees and pulling them around his waist.
"We'll alone this weekend," he whispered to her ear. "we can try for a baby."
Matthew kissed her, but when he opened his eyes, with his lips still pressed to Jane's, he noticed Jane was stiff, her eyes were wide open and she wasn't returning his kisses. She was just lying stiff under him. Her eyes lost.
"What's going on, love," Matthew insisted. "Are you okay?"
"No," She pushed him off her and sat on the bed. She covered her nakedness with her towel when she felt Matthew's warm hand over hers. "I'm not in the mood."
The doctor said nothing for a moment. His eyes were on Jane's, on the worried look in her eyes. "I know you don't like it when I... you haven't had your period recently, have you?"
Jane looked down. "No."
And she noticed there were sparks in his eyes. Hopes almost.
"Are you...," he trailed off and pressed a hand to her flat stomach. "Are you -"
"No," Jane said smiling bitterly. "Matthew, I think we need to talk about this. About us."
Some little tears rolled down her face. Matthew's eyes dropped, and she couldn't help but embrace her, press her tightly to his chest, press soft kisses to her forehead, as if she was his little girl who was suffering.
Because Matthew knew Jane was suffering.
"Hey, why are you crying?" The doctor wiped the tears off Jane's face, "Jane?" Matthew tried to kiss her but Jane moved her head away. "Love, what's wrong?"
Jane said nothing.
"Was it Sherlock?" He asked angrily. "Did he do something to you? Did he hurt you?"
"No, it's not - Sherlock has nothing to do with this."
"Then what is it, love? Please tell me what's wrong," Matthew begged. "You've been so quiet, so distant these past weeks. I need you to tell me what's going on," the doctor said softly. "we're one, remember?" he asked and both focused their gazes on their laced fingers, on their matching engagement rings. "I'm your boyfriend and I need to know what's bothering you."
Jane didn't know what to do, what to say. Matthew took her hands and laced their fingers. He kissed her knuckles, the soft skin of her wrists he knew she was so sensitive there. Jane glanced at their matching rings, their engagements rings and took a deep breath.
"Matthew, I don't want to have babies."
She chose to lie to him.
"What?"
Jane bit her lip. "I don't want to have babies," she repeated. "I know... I know how much you want to have more children, but I don't want to get pregnant now."
"But you... You said we should try. You said you wanted a big family."
"I know," Jane admitted. "That was months ago and we - I think we should wait."
"Wait?"
She nodded. "Yes. I've just started my residencies, Locky will start nursery soon, Sophie is still very little and Hamish... If I get pregnant I won't be able to focus on my work and on them," she made a pause and leaned forward to take his hand. "I'm sorry, but I need my time too."
Matthew placed his hands on her waist and pulled her over his lap. He kissed her lips softly and ran a hand over her spine reassuringly. "I'm sorry. I know I've been insisting far too much," he rested her head on her chest. "I'm sorry, darling. I'm so sorry."
"It's okay," Jane said caressing her cheek. "I'd like to have more children," She said, hiding her feelings and the pain of knowing she won't be able to have children again. "But we should wait. And you wanted to get a new car, right?"
Matthew laughed. "Yeah, we need to get a bigger car, don't we?"
"Yes."
"For our three children and the one or two more coming," Matthew joked.
Jane only smiled.
"Wake up! Wake up!"
Sherlock opened his eyes and found Locky standing next to him, with his teddy bear tightly pressed against his chest and his thumb on his mouth. Locky's eyes revealed he had woken up long time ago and when Sherlock looked at his watch he knew something wrong was going on.
"I've never been fond of sleeping, but it's five past six," Sherlock said yawning. "We had a long talk about this. Books suggest you should sleep in your bed."
"Mish."
Sherlock sat on the bed. "Hamish?"
"Dad come! Mish sick!"
It took Sherlock less than five seconds to go upstairs, only to find his eldest son tightly wrapped with his duvet, with a worried expression on his face and fumbling around the bed, looking for something.
"Hamish?"
The boy only turned to his dad because he noticed he had got into the room. "Dad I lost my hearing aid!" he shouted.
As Hamish couldn't hear properly without his hearing aid, he shouted because he couldn't hear his own voice, and he couldn't measure his vocal pitch.
"It's okay -"
"MY HEARING AID!"
Sherlock placed both hands on the boy's thin shoulders. "Calm down, Hamish. We will find it."
"I CAN'T LISTEN TO YOU, DAD!" Hamish shouted anxiously.
The detective sat next to the boy on his bed and whispered to his left ear, where he could hear. "Calm down. We will find it. Just take deep breaths."
Hamish pressed his hands to his head and then covered his crying eyes with the palms of his hands. "I DON'T WANNA BE DEAF FOREVER!"
Sherlock felt Hamish's sadness. He felt the sadness, the desperation. Sherlock could feel how sad Hamish was, how desperate he felt and how Hamish conceived of himself as a deaf if he wasn't wearing his hearing aid.
"It's here," Sherlock said as he helped Hamish with his hearing aid. "It's okay now. I'm here."
Hamish buried his face into Sherlock's chest and cried loudly for long minutes. Sherlock kissed his fair hair, rub his back softly and say everything was okay now.
"It's very early," Sherlock said softly. "Go back to sleep."
"Can I sleep with you, dad?" Hamish almost begged. "Please, dad."
Sherlock looked at Locky who was sucking his thumb.
Sherlock closed his eyes. Next to him, to his left side was Hamish, and to his right side was Locky.
"Dad?"
"Hmm."
"Want mummy," Locky whispered.
The detective looked at Hamish's peacefully sleeping form next to him and then turned to face Locky. He noticed Locky was tightly hugging the teddy bear he had got for Hamish when he was still a little baby inside her. The bear was old and it was a bit dirty. Sherlock knew his youngest son was very fond of that stuffed animal.
And Sherlock remembered he was so high when he got it.
"She will pick you up soon," Sherlock said. "You miss her."
Locky nodded.
"If Jane is your mother, who's your father?"
Locky pointed at him. "And Matt," he added.
It felt like a knife was stabbing his chest.
"He is not your father."
"He dad. You daddy," Locky said.
"No," Sherlock said a bit angrily. "I'm your father, dad, daddy, whatever you want to call me. Doctor Morstan is merely your mother's boyfriend."
Locky's little fingers curled on his teddy bear. "Buuuaahhhhhh!"
Sherlock sighed. He held Locky in his arms and went to the living room where he sat on his chair. He cuddled Locky as if he were a very little baby an pressed little kisses to his falling tears.
"Why are you crying?"
Locky sniffed against his chest. "You bad."
"I'm your father. Your dad, your daddy. I made you," Sherlock whispered. "Your mother and I made you, you're the result of our love," The detective said lovingly. "You're my son. My little baby. Can you understand that?"
Locky said nothing.
"I love you so much," Sherlock shifted Locky so the little boy boy lie on his chest, resting his head on his shoulder. "I know I will never be able to make up for lost time. But I'm doing my best. Weekends aren't enough to be with you and your brother," Sherlock looked into his son's blue-grey eyes. "But that's what we have. That's all I can get now."
"Mish say you daddy an' mummy say you daddy an' Matt say you daddy," Locky babbled. "You daddy?"
"Yes."
"Daddy?"
"Hmm?"
Locky giggled. "Milk! I'm 'ungy!"
Sherlock couldn't help but smile widely to the child in his arms. "OK. Let's prepare some breakfast."
It had always been faster for Sherlock to prepare his coffee first and then the children's breakfast. He only had coffee while the children had milk, juice, toast with jam or sometimes cereal and biscuits. And as Sherlock knew he had to help Locky with his milk and his toast, Sherlock always prepared his coffee first so he would drink it while preparing them their food.
Sherlock placed his cup of coffee on the table and turned to prepare the cereal, the milk and the toast.
After a few minutes, whilst waiting for the toast, Sherlock frowned at the silence of the room. Usually, Locky would be walking around, stumble with the carpet, play with his toys or get hold of the remote and turn on the telly.
But the room was silent.
And when Sherlock turned, he found Locky drinking his coffee.
Shit.
"More!"
Sherlock looked at the cup. It was empty. Locky had drank all the coffee and Sherlock remembered Jane's words.
"Don't give them coffee to neither of them. It makes Hamish feel sick and Locky won't sleep at all."
Shit. Sherlock knew Jane was going to kill him.
"Your mother is going to kill me."
"That's all?"
Jane nodded and sipped more coffee. "Yeah. I'm not hungry."
"Breakfast is the most important meal. You can't just drink coffee for breakfast," Matthew said worriedly. "You have a big day ahead and you'll need energy."
Jane ate the toast almost reluctantly. "Happy now, dad?"
"Hey, what was that?"
"You remind me of my dad," Jane joked.
Matthew smiled. "Well, that's normal, I suppose. You'll turn twenty five soon and I'm thirty six."
"And?"
"I'm older than you," The doctor said bitterly. "Remember when we went to that pub and the bartender asked you if I was your father?"
Jane laughed. "He was joking -"
"He was flirting with you."
"Were you jealous?" Jane asked jokingly.
He nodded. "Of course," Jane noticed Matthew had got a bit angry. "I can't think of you with someone else."
Jane kissed his lips and smiled. "I love you."
"Please Jane, don't leave me," Matthew said. "I don't know what I would do without you. Without the children," The doctor's eyes focused on the little baby girl on her pushchair next to them. "Tell me you will always be mine."
She bit her lip and faked a smile.
"I'll always be yours."
Sherlock was finishing replying to some of his clients when he closed his computer and focused on his children. Locky was playing with his toys on the floor and Hamish was on the sofa, wrapped with a duvet and watching The Avengers. Generally, Sherlock had noticed, every time his favourite super heroes were engaged in some sort of fight, he would be jumping on his seat. But this time the boy was quietly watching the film.
"Who's the man with the ridiculous helmet?"
"Loki."
Sherlock nodded. "And he's what I presume the baddie?"
"Yeah."
"And why is he fighting his brother?"
"Cos he discovered they are not brothers," Hamish said softly, eyes focused on the film. "And he thinks their daddy only loved Thor cos he's adopted and son of Laufey."
"Yes, I was angry."
Hamish turned to Sherlock. "What?"
"You wanted to ask me if I was angry when your brother called Doctor Morstan 'dad'. Yes," Sherlock admitted. "I was."
"Why?"
"Because you and your brother are my children, not his."
Hamish snuggled up to Sherlock's side. "I call Matt 'daddy' sometimes... but I get confused, daddy! I swear -"
"I'm not angry with you."
"You sure?"
Sherlock kissed his son's forehead. "Yes," he looked to his watch. "You mother should come soon."
At five pm sharp, Doctor Morstan was at Baker Street.
"Oh, Doctor Morstan, it's so good to see you!"
The man smiled fondly to the woman Jane considered was like a mother to her. "God afternoon, Mrs Hudson. How are you?"
"Oh, I'm fine, thank you. How are you? How's Jane?"
"We're fine," Matt said. "She's started her residencies so I'm picking up the boys. Do you know if they are upstairs?"
The landlady nodded. "Oh yes, I'll let you go and see the boys then. Send Jane my love."
"I will."
Matthew walked the seventeen steps and knocked the door once and only after a second or two Hamish opened the door and jump over him.
"Matt!"
"Hello big poppet!"
Matthew found Locky sitting on a chair and Sherlock standing by the fireplace.
"Hello little poppet!"
Locky jumped and Matthew held him in his arms.
"Where's Jane?" Sherlock asked sharply.
"She started her medical residency at Bart's."
Sherlock's eyes fell upon the doctor. He was wearing a pair of dark grey jogging trousers, a white t-shirt, a blue jogging jacket and special trainers. Sherlock knew he had just came from the gym and that he was not lying, Jane had started her medical residency.
Matthew's eyes focused on Locky's.
"Has he -"
"It was an accident," Sherlock said, before the doctor could even ask. "He drank my coffee while I was distracted."
"I see," Matthew commented friendly. "Don't worry, I will tell Jane -"
"I'm not asking you to lie to her to protect me," Sherlock snapped.
"Have you packed your things?"
Both boys nodded.
"Say good bye to your father," Matthew said.
"Bye, daddy. I love you."
Locky pressed a sloppy kiss to Sherlock's cheek. "Bye bye daddy."
As soon as the boys were going downstairs, and out of earshot, Matthew turned to Sherlock.
"Listen, Sherlock. I know what you think of me, but that doesn't mean we are enemies. I really want us to have a good relationship - for the sake of the children."
Sherlock frowned. He felt his phone going off inside his pocket, but he ignored it. "What do you want? There is something you want to ask me, but you don't dare to."
"I want to know what happened between you and Jane," Matthew said softly. "I know something happened last week when she picked up the children."
Sherlock's phone went off again.
"What makes you think so?"
"She asked me to prepare the kids this Friday and to pick them up today," Matthew's eyes were on Sherlock's. "She's avoiding you. I want to know why."
"Go and ask her."
"Did you hurt her?"
The detective shook his head. "No." He lied.
Matthew said nothing. He only turned and left.
Sherlock took his phone and read the two messages.
Who will be the first?
And then there was a picture.
It was a picture of Jane.
And Sherlock knew who this was. Moriarty's right-hand man.
Moriarty's right-hand man was alive then, and he wanted to destroy Sherlock, but not only him. He wanted to destroy his whole family as well.