Author's Note:
One chapter left after this is over!
"Better staying with you than being with that git," Lestrade replied simply as he studied Sherlock intently. "Hell, a posh hotel might do us both some good. No sleep talking, no pushing me for a quick shag before work," he muttered more to himself than to his companion. He reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled a small card from it, flipping it slightly between his fingers before clearing his throat. "Here," he stated as he extended his arm and put the card in Sherlock's lap. "'S a card for a narcotics program. Best in London."
Sherlock took the card with a slight shrug, still staring out the window. "He is right about me. I care more about myself than the children. I should be back there, showing her how to plant seeds in that ridiculous fairy orb thing, not staying at some hotel." He broke his gaze from the window to glance down at the card, before sticking it in the inside pocket of his coat.
"You should also be taking care of yourself," Lestrade said softly. There was no way he was going to say anything to upset Sherlock, no matter how right he was. "John will tell her something, you will be fine." He nodded to reassure both of them. John had a way of doing things like that. "Getting yourself better isn't selfish, Sherlock. It's smart and will work out down the road. Just think, couple weeks from now you will have Amy taking care of those bloody little plants and you'll be on fairy lookout."
Sherlock shrugged again but gave a slight nod. He couldn't help but smirk at the comment about fairies and he finally turned his head to look at Lestrade, one eyebrow raised. "Soon she will be losing teeth and getting visits from the tooth fairy. You know, the things parents come up with to tell their children is ridiculous. The tooth fairy, Santa, the Easter Bunny. Or maybe I just don't understand, we never got told any of that growing up. Dad didn't allow us to be children really." He frowned at that, his attention once more going to the window.
Lestrade shifted slightly in his seat, clearing his throat with a nod. He had heard it from Mycroft and it wasn't a surprise. "That's why you've got them now, Sherlock. Thomas and Amy. You've got a chance to do what is right, what you never got." It felt odd having this conversation again. Mycroft had voiced the same concerns. This was definitely more of John's area than his own. "And you're already doing so well, even with Siger. God, you're an amazing Uncle and Father and you don't even realize it."
"That's what John says too." Sherlock just had a hard time believing it sometimes, especially when he was getting into his head like this. His own brother didn't believe in him. When did he start caring what Mycroft thought or said? He sighed and when the car came to a stop he got out without another word. He was going to check in, but Lestrade had the credit card and if the Detective Inspector wanted to pay then he was okay with that.
Lestrade went straight to the check out desk, the woman taking the credit card without question and handing it back with a set of keys. The woman said something about his usual suite and Greg nodded before glancing back at Sherlock. "C'mon," he muttered as he moved toward the room. First floor. He pushed the door open with a sigh, tossed his keys on the nearest bed, and glanced back at Sherlock. "It's true. Treat them like you always wanted and you're doing it all right."
Sherlock raised his eyebrows but followed after Lestrade. He looked around the room. "Stay here often?" Was his older brother and the Detective Inspector having frequent marital problems? He wasn't tired but he slumped down onto the bed, sprawling out onto it.
Lestrade shrugged, glancing at Sherlock. "Not because we fight," he amended softly, knowing exactly what his brother-in-law was thinking. "After tough cases I can't go home. It's tough to see murders and all that and go back to a family. One or two nights after a case I stay here so I'm not bringing it all home around Siger." They'd decided on it after a particularly nasty shag right after a case that resulted in Mycroft needed stitches after Lestrade bit into his shoulder. "'S for the best, really."
Sherlock nodded a bit. What now? It wasn't that he and Lestrade didn't get along, they just usually talked about work related things. A no smoking room. Of course. He probably shouldn't pick the habit back up anyway. His brother-in-law probably wouldn't let him get drunk either. He looked at the clock. Lunchtime. Still several hours to go until John put the children down for bedtime.
Queue the awkward silence. Lestrade shifted slightly on his feet, moving to sit on the edge of his bed and running a hand through his hair. "If it makes you feel any better," he muttered with a shrug. An attempted at conversation. "I punched him one time. Right in the jaw. Bruised 'im. I...dunno, thought it might make you a smile since it's Mycroft and we're both pissed at him." A small grin tugged at his lips.
Sherlock looked over at Lestrade with a smirk. "I don't blame you, I've been known to punch him on occasion." The Detective Inspector and his brother had a weird relationship in his opinion. He had never punched John before. Maybe some rough shoving and unkind words but nothing as physical as what his brother-in-law and Mycroft got into at times.
"I imagine but you also aren't his husband," Lestrade muttered with a frown, rubbing the back of his neck. "He...God, he complained about how annoying Siger's crying was. We were laying in bed and I'd finished a kidnapping, murder case of a four year old. Some Mum and Dad lost their kid and here Mycroft was complaining. So I turned in bed and..." He pushed his fist into the air and pushed a breath nosily through his teeth. "One of the reasons we've got this room." He fell back on to the bed with a sigh. "Haven't almost killed him, though," he said with a bit of a chuckle, alluding to the incident from the island.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, glaring darkly at Lestrade. "That wasn't John's fault!" He was sitting up on the bed now, already worked up in a huff with his breathing heavy. He had never been upset or blamed his husband for what happened and he was quick to defend John when anyone said something about it.
Right. Apparently the wrong thing to say. Lestrade tensed and sat up himself. He wasn't too keen on a recovering drug addict catching him on his back. "Oi, I was kidding," he muttered as he studied his brother-in-law. "Calm down, deep breath. It won't do any good to get all worked up right now." He tensed as his phone went off. He pulled it slowly from his pocket, studied it for a moment, and tossed it behind him on the mattress. "I know the story."
Sherlock gave a slight nod, forced himself to relax and laid back down on the bed. He sighed trying to calm down still. Just think about something else. Getting upset, especially without John there to comfort him, would just make him want drugs all over again. Right. Don't think about that. Anything but that. He closed his eyes, hoping it would help him focus on a different thought process.
"Thomas told me he wants to grow up and be a detective," Lestrade started softly, keeping his gaze locked on the floor. At first it had been exciting and Greg couldn't have been more proud. When he asked his nephew what department the boy simply rolled his eyes. Consulting Detective. "He wants to grow up and be you, Sherlock. Just like you. Hair, coat, happy relationship...it's incredible."
If the children were smart, they would grow out of the stage of wanting to be like him. He wasn't sure if Thomas was smart because of the boy's likely relation to Moriarty somehow or through hard work in wanting to be like 'Daddy.' Sherlock turned his head, eyes opening as he looked at Lestrade. "Yeah…I know…" He supposed most parents would be proud or excited about that, but he was worried about all the pitfalls that came with being a genius.
That was a look Lestrade could recognize on the face of any Holmes. Fear. Worry. It was rare but sometimes... "That worries you," he muttered softly, moving to lay on his back and meet Sherlock's gaze. "Is there something I need to be looking into? Tell me and I'll do it, Sherlock. I'm not going to let you handle this on your own. Not you or John. If something is wrong then tell me." It was a rough approach, certainly, but sometimes that was the only way to get through to his brother-in-law. He had learned that years ago. "I'm here for you."
Sherlock shrugged and then shook his head. "If you can figure out a way so my children don't make all the mistakes I have, that'd be great." He managed a smirk but it faded quickly. "Its hard knowing everything sometimes. I know they want to be like me, but...they shouldn't...being a genius isn't really that great after awhile. Its fun at first because you are always the most clever person in the room but..." He trailed off, shrugging again.
"Raise them differently?" Lestrade suggested with a shrug. "Honestly, raise them differently than you were. John doesn't talk about being a soldier in front of them because he doesn't want them to even think about it at their age. Thomas doesn't actually know what your job entails, I don't think. He just thinks you look cool." After a moment he sat up and took several deep breaths. "I don't want Siger to know what I do. And, Hell, I don't even know what the fuck Mycroft does."
"I do raise them differently than I was raised." Sherlock couldn't fathom raising the children like he was raised. He managed another smirk. "Probably better you don't know what Mycroft does, he might have to kill you otherwise. He wants me to work for the Government. Apparently I have become more popular being splashed all over the news, despite what is being said about me. Wouldn't have time for cases for the Yard or private cases." He still wasn't thrilled with the thought.
"Then don't worry about it. They're going to turn out just fine, you wait and see. Thomas will probably work for the yard and, Hell, I imagine Amy becoming some sort of vet," Lestrade muttered with a sniff. Then there was his little Siger who would probably end up just like Mycroft, posh and all that, but with his voice. Rough but powerful. It made him smirk and snort slightly to himself. "I just worry about him...about him not coming back or something happening. He leaves for a week on a business trip and will come back with bruises. I'm always worried."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Bruises? Mycroft usually stayed at the office, not go out and do things first hand. He had people who would get their hands dirty for his older brother. Curious. What could be going on? "I am sure everything is fine." Except it probably wasn't. He would have to ask Mycroft about it, although he wasn't entirely sure if his older brother would tell him.
That was a lie if Lestrade had ever heard one. Nothing was fine. He had no idea what his husband did and coming back with bruises, some of them darker than he'd ever seen, was not fine. "It's not, really. He's my husband and watching him wince to just pick up a bloody tea cup isn't what I had imagined. But you two are fighting now which means he'll just go on another trip, come back worse than he left, and hide it all. Every time you two fight he goes on some trip for work. Just ups and leaves. I hate it when you two fight."
Curiouser and curiouser indeed. Sherlock frowned slightly at Lestrade's words. He was definitely going to say something to Mycroft now. Maybe he could figure some things out by asking a few questions. "How long has this been going on?" It seemed unlikely now the trips had anything to do with work if his older brother randomly disappeared after having fights with him.
Lestrade glanced at Sherlock for a moment, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth before shrugging a bit. "Dunno, nearly a year I would think," he muttered as he lifted his leg up to start undoing his shoelaces. "Fight will happen and two days later he and Anthea are gone. Get a text in the morning, maybe a shag if I'm up early enough." At first he hadn't questioned it but with the alarming rate of injury Mycroft had been returning with, on top of the fact that Siger was constantly asking where his father had gone twisted him stomach, he couldn't ignore it anymore. "Makes me think he hates me or something."
Sherlock decided to let the subject drop, merely nodding. It was something to certainly think about. What the hell was Mycroft up to? Were the fights connected or just coincidental? His older brother took Anthea, so it could be work related. He sighed, letting himself forget about it for now. It wouldn't do any good to worry about it now.
"Hell, you and John fight. Does he ever up and leave you after? Just go to a pub or something?" Lestrade glanced at Sherlock and sighed. Was it normal? Or was he actually a bad husband and Mycroft just couldn't bring himself to tell him? He groaned and stood up, pacing the room and shaking his head. "We're just horrible, aren't we? Me and Mycroft? We just... I dunno..." He stopped pacing and looked at the floor. It probably wasn't best to be talking to Sherlock, of all people, about his marriage.
"You do remember that John took off his ring and I went running oft without shoes on or what about the time we got in a fight and John went to the pub while Sarah was still pregnant?" Sherlock sighed as well, those were memories he just assumed forget about. "Mycroft...he's probably just having a hard time showing how he feels. A Holmes trait, if you will." Or maybe his older brother just wanted what he had? Probably best not to share that theory.
All of that had happened so long ago and Lestrade figured they had moved past that. Communication in their relationship had been amazing, far better than the communication between he and Mycroft. "I don't want to lose him, Sherlock. I nearly lost him years back because of my own stupidity and selfishness but...I love him. I really love him." His voice cracked and he looked away from his brother-in-law.
"You should be telling him that then. There was a time I would have scoffed at the idea about talking about things, but it works. It really does. Take a month off together and go somewhere. John and I could watch Siger. Mum and Mrs. Hudson would be there to help us if need be. Even Harry, too." When did he become the go to guy for relationship advice? It was still a strange thought to Sherlock.
Lestrade glanced at Sherlock because, of course, he was right. He was just too afraid to speak up and ruin Mycroft's schedule, too scared to lose him by simply talking. "Right," he muttered before moving into the bathroom.
Nap time in the Watson-Holmes flat. You all right? -JW
John sat back in his chair and closed his eyes with a bit of a sigh.
Sherlock smirked as he watched Lestrade walk away. His mobile went off, and saw that he had a message from John. He glanced at the clock, surprised at how much time had gone by. He typed out a reply and hit send.
Fine, even though I am playing marriage counselor. How are you and the children? - SH
A pause and he sent another text.
I miss you. -SH
John snorted slightly as he read the text. Sherlock a marriage counselor? Good one. He read both of the texts and cleared his throat, slowly typing out a reply.
They're good. Nice and asleep. I'm doing the best I can. Miss you. I can practically hear you pacing the living room of the flat. -JW
He held the phone for a long moment, just staring at the screen as the message sent. God, he really missed his husband. When had they become so dependent on each other?
I miss you, too. Please don't murder Greg. -JW
Sherlock read the messages and then began typing out a reply.
I am sure you are doing a great job Love. –SH
A brief pause before he sent another message.
Things are fine with Lestrade for now, he hasn't annoyed me yet. –SH
Bah. Screw texting. He called John. Hearing his husband's voice was something he needed right now.
John had been half-way through his first text when his mobile started ringing. Leave it to his husband to be too impatient to wait for a bloody text. "Oi, I was typing," he muttered with a laugh as he scratched gently as his knee. "Couldn't wait?" He sat back with a small sigh, licking his lips for a long moment. "I miss you," he whispered. God, just hearing Sherlock's voice had calmed him down. "What do you want to tell me about work?"
Sherlock smirked and shrugged, even though John couldn't see it. "No, it couldn't." He smirked some more before it faded quickly. Right. Work stuff. "Mycroft wants me start working for the Government, possibly the Queen. It would pay six figures, two cases and we are set for a couple of months. I wouldn't have to take cases from the Yard or private ones. It would be less stressful. I just…I don't really want to do it, but I wanted to talk to you about it before I turned it down. If you want me to I will…" He would hate every minute of it, but he was a family man now and what he wanted didn't really matter anymore. He couldn't be selfish now.
Oh. John cleared his throat and took several long moments to respond. Taking those cases meant more money, something they needed with two kids. But cases from the Yard...private cases...that was what had made Sherlock. What did he say? "I don't know, Sherlock." He cleared his throat and pressed the bottoms of his feet together. "Those cases, the money...it would be nice. Certainly less stressful." The last thing his husband needed right now was stress. "But I don't want you doing anything that you aren't happy doing. That isn't any good for you. Do whatever you want, love. I won't make decisions for you."
Sherlock was quiet awhile, eyes closed in thought. When he opened his eyes again, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "Maybe. I just want to see if we can make things work without doing it. I would hate it and be miserable doing it John. Let's see if we can make things work with changing hours and working only during the week. And if you get a job, start a practice or work as surgeon…we should be okay. If not, I'll just…I'll do it then…" God he hated that idea so much.
"I'll get a job, Sherlock," John replied immediately. "I will do it so you don't have to take those stupid jobs and hate everything you are doing." No way in Hell was he going to make his husband do something he hated simply because they needed money. They would figure it out. "You'll never have to do it. I promise." There. Now the work talk was out of the way and he could focus on the sound of his husband's voice instead of the actual topic. "You sound tired."
Sherlock smiled. "I love you." John was amazing. Tired? "Not physically. I got a good nap in on the couch. Just feeling drained mentally and even a little emotionally with everything going on." He was away from his family. Fighting drug addiction. Shit. He still needed to look into that narcotics group Lestrade had recommended. He just wanted to go home and be next to his husband.
"I imagine," John said with a bit of a smile, standing up and moving into the kitchen. He winced when he noticed Hamish near the corner of the kitchen. "Bloody cat," he muttered into the phone as he started the kettle and grabbed a mug. "Thomas wore that coat to bed. Amy wants one now," he stated with a bit of a snort. It was forced, nervously. "She wants the necklace you wear." Dog tags. She wanted bloody dog tags.
Sherlock smirked. "Make sure to feed that over grown feline or he will bite your toes when you are sleeping tonight." The smirk twitched into a slight frown. He couldn't really blame John for not wanting the children to be like him. "She was fascinated with them as an infant." He thought for a moment, trying to recall what had happened to them as she got older. "Whatever happened to those replicas that were made?" When John had gone back to Afghanistan an extra pair had been made for him to wear.
John exhaled loudly into the phone and let his head fall back. "In the closet with my uniforms," he muttered brokenly. Did Sherlock want to give the extra set to their daughter? Hell, he wasn't going to say no if that's what his husband really wanted. "Should we give them to her, you think? It would probably make her entire life. Might be better than some stuffed dog."
Sherlock found it pretty much impossible to deny any request their daughter made. Except, the dog tags weren't his to give away. They were John's. "If you want. They are yours to do what you want. If you don't want her to have them, it is understandable." It would make little Sandi smile though and just the thought of Amy smiling broadly was enough to make him smile.
"We probably should or we will never hear the end of it," John said softly as the kettle started to go off. He slowly poured himself a cup and let the tea brew. "I don't want her getting any ideas. I swear if she even thinks about enlisting..." He trailed off with a frown as he took a sip. Too sweet. Hell, he couldn't make himself a good cuppa anymore. It seemed like only Sherlock knew how. "I miss you."
"She would love it I am sure." The thought of their daughter wanting to join the military wasn't even something he wanted to think about. It was too horrible and heart breaking. "I am sure Amy just wants them because I wear them, not because she wants to be in the Army. It is a phase, just like the puppies." Sherlock hoped so anyway. "I miss you too Love."
"Can you come home?" John asked weakly, setting his mug down in favor of wrapping an arm around himself. He was so hopelessly lost without Sherlock in the flat, struggling to even go into the bedroom. Hell, it hadn't even been a day. When had he become so dependent on his husband? "God, I just want you here. I am not going to be able to sleep tonight."
Sherlock wanted to say yes. To hang up the phone and run back home. "That probably wouldn't be a good idea. The withdrawals are infrequent but still there. I don't want the children having to see that. I shoved Mycroft in childish a fit. Things could be worse next time. When I go a full twenty-four hours without craving some kind of drug, I will come back to the flat." Shit. The next few days were going to be hell on both of them.
A full day? John loved Sherlock but that could take up to a week. A week of keeping the kids, of sleeping in an empty bed. No violin music, no aeroplane feedings for Amy. It was going to be horrid. "I understand." His selfish wants needed to be pushed back. Having Sherlock off of drugs was better than having a warm body to sleep next to at night. "But when you get back I am snuggling the Hell out of you."
"We will do more than just snuggle. I am going to shag you against that damned window finally." Sherlock smirked at the thought. He had wanted to have his husband pressed up against that glass for almost four years now. Just the thought was beginning to give him a hard on. Probably not the best of ideas right now, since Lestrade was in the bathroom and it wasn't like he could go anywhere for the kind of privacy he would want. Maybe after the phone call he could take a long shower.
The window. John turned to look at it and felt his heartbeat increase almost instantly. He had been so excited that he even went and found a video camera in their closet. "Found the camera, by the way. Small and compact. Could put it anywhere, really," he muttered as he shifted on his feet. No good to get an erection if his husband weren't around to help out. "And then I will snuggle the Hell out of you."
