Lestrade hadn't needed to persuade Joss to share her supper, because as soon as that nice older waiter Deacon came back with the hot chocolate, he had also brought another plate of beans on toast. Damn how did this place make even a plate of beans on toast look like a gourmet meal?
The waiter had smiled with understanding at the Inspector and murmured conspiratorially,
"It smelt absolutely delicious and I really fancied it too as soon as the young lady lifted the plate cover, thought you looked like you could do with a bite to eat yourself sir"
Lestrade had grinned up at the cheerful older man with gratitude. He would have to remember to leave Deacon a big tip.
There was a contented companionable silence in the room as the policeman and teenager tucked into their food, and as soon as they were finished Deacon whisked the fine china plates away and left them to drink the ridiculously adorned and decorated comforting hot chocolate drinks.
Lestrade practically inhaled the mini marshmallows and fluffy cream from the top of his mug, but Joss had licked delicately at the chocolate flakes sprinkled on top of the cream, and then looked shyly over at the Inspector from underneath her lashes. She could see the fatigue on his face and a large dose of guilt made her speak softly.
"You look tired" Lestrade raised one eyebrow at her but didn't say anything. Joss winced and looked away again "I am sorry that you were caught up in this Mr Lestrade" She swallowed hard. The lump in her throat making it hard for her to speak.
Lestrade's assessing eyes didn't leave her face, but she refused to look up at him again. Shit was that a lip wobble? Yeah a definite lip wobble. No he wasn't having any of that. He had just managed to get the kid calm again there were not going to be any more tears before bedtime on his watch thank you very much. So distraction it was then. "I think someone who is brave enough to call Mycroft Holmes Uncle, you know "he who shall be obeyed", the one and only Mr British Government himself, can summon up the courage to call a simple copper by his first name, don't you?"
Lestrade grinned wickedly at the kid's surprised face. Yeah that had worked. Mission accomplished. The threatened lip wobble had been averted and the kid successfully distracted. Then Lestrade saw an intrigued spark in those limpid blue eyes as they regarded him steadily. It was slightly unnerving as she had John's colour eyes but that gleam in them at the moment was pure Sherlock when he was about to be especially outrageous the git. So what now?
The kid's smile turned into the kind of shit eating grin he was sure a baby shark wore as it saw its first ever meal swimming right up to it, as she remarked softly "Yes Graham, I think I can manage to call you by your first name George as long as you are okay with it Gareth?" and then she actually began to giggle helplessly at the look on his face before he closed his dropped jaw and he mock glared at her.
"Oh ha, ha, hardy ha" he snorted. "You spend way too much time with Sherlock young lady. My name is Greg and you know it" he growled but she saw the smirk on his face. There was a long pause and the relaxed atmosphere was fading until finally she spoke again, her face turned away from him, and her hands gripping each other tightly, her knuckles almost wide in the dim light "Please Greg, don't make me go back to B…Baker Street tonight" the simple stutter was very revealing, as was the way her shoulders tensed as she hunched forward.
God he hated dealing with distraught kids. She had to go back to her father even if she didn't want to hear it. She had taken off once already this evening. he didn't want her to do it again, but if she kicked up a real fuss he couldn't ignore his duty and he would have to get Social Services involved. And that little scenario was likely to get him shot by John, dissected in the morgue by Sherlock and his ears (if not anything more precious) hung as trophies on Mycroft bloody Holmes's wall. But the kid's welfare came first and its time those idiots realised it.
"Jocelyn" He began carefully, but the swift miserable glance from the wet blue eyes stopped whatever platitude and protest he had been about to utter. He raised one eyebrow at her, and with a long suffering sigh told her to finish off her hot chocolate or Deacon would be upset. Damn it all to hell, well she wasn't going to be spending the night in the Diogenes Club, bloody Holmes had better hurry up and get there soon so that he could talk some sense into her. The kid adored her idiot father and that long streak of chaos Sherlock, even if she didn't like them very much at the moment.
A small smile passed fleetingly over her tense face, and they continue slurping away at their delicious hot chocolates in silence.
Sherlock's glare could have stripped paint as he watched his oblivious partner stride around the living room. He didn't take his eyes of John even though he was unsympathetic to John's increasingly distressed demeanour. To think Sherlock was always being told he was too self-absorbed to understand the feelings of others around him!
John Hamish Watson was going to be very uncomfortable the time he had the audacity to mention Sherlock doing something "not good", as Sherlock would happily remind him of this epic piece of cretinous idiocy in no uncertain terms. What the hell had John been thinking, had he considered his daughter at all in this bizarre fantastical mimicry of show and tell? To bring that vile woman into his child's home after everything she had gone through. Was the man losing his marbles?
Sherlock knew he had a ruthless streak when it came to solving his cases, he relished in it, especially if it gave him the result he was looking for. He supposed that if Jocelyn hadn't been his Joss then he could have dragged Harriet into Baker Street to get to the bottom of the mystery involving her life pre Baker street, but Jocelyn was his Joss, she had become his Joss over the months she had been living with them in Baker Street and she had suffered enough. What did John think he was going to get out of this exceptional example of utter stupidity except a severely distressed teenager, and pissed off partner? Without mentioning the way Mycroft was going to rain down his righteous wrath upon him? Sherlock actually smirked at the thought, not that Mycroft's interference in their lives was any less irritating but Sherlock could find it in his heart to acknowledge he could have some fellow feeling with Mycroft over this one. Serve John right.
"How can you just stand there when we don't know where Joss is?" John snarled at him, Sherlock raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Jocelyn left her home because you brought that woman into it" Sherlock retaliated without compunction and watched his partner flinch and pale. "I know where she is and who she is with, and she is less distressed with them than she would be with you at the moment" he finished off bluntly. Then Sherlock proceeded to ignore him as he went to get his coat and scarf.
John stared at him open mouthed, "Sherlock?" he questioned quietly. But his words were ignored "In the spirit of our agreement, I am informing you that I will be out this evening and not likely to be back for the next two days. I think you can be assured that Joss will not be returning tonight" Sherlock spoke coldly with his back towards his partner.
John grabbed his arm and swung him around furiously "You can't keep my daughter from me, who the hell do you think you are?" Sherlock raised one eyebrow at John as he spoke cuttingly "I am not keeping your daughter away from you John, it's you she ran from, it's you she doesn't want to see, it's you who hurt her. And I had thought you knew who I was, who we were" Sherlock's last sentence was quieter, almost hurt, before he tore his arm away from John and strode out of the door.
John stared after him in disbelief, and then his eyes roamed the deserted living room, before collapsing down onto his chair, his head buried in his hands. What the hell had just happened? What the hell had he done?
Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade was sipping the excellent whisky Deacon had provided earlier. Its slow burn as it made its way down his throat was comforting, as comforting as the warmth of the gently crackling flames and scent of cedar wood smoke from the fire place. He hadn't realised how long he had been staring into the soft orange red glow of the fire or how his muscles had unwound in the peace of the quiet room ensconced in the leather deep winged arm chair as he kept the sleeping young girl company. She had murmured in her sleep, once even a whimper had broken through but it hadn't disturbed the child enough to wake her from her rest on the large dark green coloured leather sofa, covered by the delicate but warm pure wool blanket Deacon had gently laid over her once Joss had succumbed to the emotional and physical exhaustion of the day. She had curled herself into a ball and unwillingly fallen asleep. Lestrade had settled once more into the chair after instinctively getting to his feet and moving towards her when the sound of the whimper had broken the silence but she didn't make any further sounds or movements, just resumed the soft breathing of a deep sleep.
Lestrade wasn't sure how long Mycroft Holmes had been standing in the darkened doorway before he became aware of his presence. God, he must have been nearly as wiped out as the kid to allow anyone to sneak up on him like that. He glared at the tall suited man. Angrier at himself than Mycroft if the truth be told, but the fact that the elegant git looked as pristine and well put together at the end of the day as he probably had at the start just irritated Greg like hell. Sodding Holmes brothers. There was also the fact that bloody Mycroft had dragged him into another mess this mad family had created yet again.
Mycroft had stood in the entrance for a long time, uncharacteristically uncertain, his eyes not leaving the sleeping young girl's troubled face and defensive posture. He could throttle John Watson, after all the trauma and distress the child had suffered what in the name of sanity had possesses the moronic man to drag up even more in the form of the abominable sister.
He had a damn good mind to return the idiot to the middle of the desert naked with one bottle of water and a map in mandarin Chinese and leave natural selection do its best to rid Mycroft of the cretin. The only problem was that Sherlock would turn up with an industrial size bottle of sun screen and a land cruiser and they would be back where they started in no time at all. Perhaps he should speak to the European Space agency about sending them a couple of "Volunteers" who would not need a return ticket.
"Are you gracing us with your presence or not Mr Holmes?" the deep irritated voice of the Detective Inspector interrupted his reverie
"You could have left her here Detective Inspector, she would have been well cared for" Mycroft murmured in that polite bland voice that lulled those who didn't know him into a false sense of security. Greg had dealt with him too long to be fooled, but he simply didn't care at the moment so for once Mycroft was going to be on the receiving end of Greg's non diplomatic tongue.
"No Mr Holmes, I couldn't, I really couldn't" his answer was dry and he continued sternly, this idiocy had gone on long enough. She was a kid for Christ sake, she deserved to be looked after properly and he was way past the point of being ready to knock heads together or even dust off his police issue truncheon from the back of the kitchen drawer to make sure it happened.
"She has had the kind of shit day that normally gets criminals a slap on the wrist instead of jail time, there is no way in hell she was going to wake up alone in a strange place surrounded by strangers, well-meaning or otherwise", the growl in his voice was audible.
To Lestrade's surprise, the imperturbable proficient professional politician standing in front of him, winced and moved towards the opposite armchair. He sank into it as if he was a puppet and his strings had been cut. Lestrade's eyebrows shot up as he heard the unmistakeable frustrated groan issue from Mycroft's mouth.
"Would you do me the favour of pouring me a glass of that whisky please" Mycroft asked, his voice warmer and in a strange way almost vulnerable. As Lestrade lifted the decanter and began to pour a generous amount of the liquid into the spare glass, Mycroft continued almost as if he was speaking to himself.
"I want to take that child away from that pair of incompetents so badly, I am seriously considering having them packed up and deposited as space debris outside the international space station."
Lestrade snorted inelegantly, the whisky he had just sipped making its burning way unerringly up his nose. "For the love of God Mycroft give a guy some warning" he spluttered with helpless laughter.
"Gregory, I have been trying to get you to call me Mycroft for the last ten years, why now?" Mycroft asked with amusement. "I don't know, maybe because you do actually have a sense of humour and more importantly, with that little girl you are not an insensitive, cold machine of a man who is so bound up in duty he doesn't see people as human beings." came the blunt amused response.
Mycroft glared at him, one unimpressed eyebrow trying to intimidate the silver haired police man, but Greg just laughed "Hot chocolate and beans on toast Mycroft" he mocked gently, and to his surprise he could swear there was a slight flush on Holmes' cheeks before his usual impassive expression returned like a well-worn mask.
Greg smirked and turned to face the fire again. "So what's the plan? The kid really does not want to see her father tonight, she was bloody adamant about it. I am not going to ask what's happened this time because I shall probably need to smack one of them if I find out right now"
Before Mycroft could respond there was the shrill sound of a mobile ringing. Joss began to stir uncomfortably and Lestrade was frowning at him again, as if he was deliberately trying to wake the child. Mycroft checked the blackberry and one eyebrow went up. Predatory satisfaction lit his face as he answered the call. Lestrade almost laughed aloud. He had a damn good idea who the caller was, so he settled back to enjoy the one sided conversation, as Mycroft kept his gaze on the sleeping teenager on the sofa.
"How may I be of assistance to you this evening my dear John?" the polite insincere query caused a sudden silence on the other end of the line before Lestrade could hear John's voice demanding something.
"I am afraid that's not possible at the moment John, Jocelyn Jayne is sleeping and she had already expressed her unequivocal desire not to be near Baker Street tonight. Can you blame her John?" Mycroft did not allow John time to even breathe before he continued "Jocelyn will be staying with me overnight and depending upon how she feels in the morning, possibly for a few days"
"Jesus wept Mycroft she is my daughter and you have no right..." John began in fury, but Mycroft cut him off coldly "Perhaps you should try to remember she is your Daughter John before you traumatise her by bringing home the woman who tormented the child and her mother for most of her short life, now unless you wish me to involve Child Services in this unpleasant situation, I suggest you allow Jocelyn Jayne time to calm down and wait until she actually wants to speak to you herself."
Mycroft waited for a response but John seemed to have been struck silent. Very well "I take your silence as permission for Jocelyn Jayne to stay with me John. I will be in touch when she is ready to speak to you again. Good evening" Mycroft disconnected without waiting for anything more.
Lestrade raised his glass to him in respectful salute and then took another long delicious swallow.
John stared at this phone with anger and despair. He had just been handed his arse by Mycroft bloody Holmes and god damn it he was right, Sherlock was right. Had he just destroyed his relationship with his daughter? Had he destroyed his relationship with Sherlock? Was Mycroft going to have him bundled on the next plane to outer bloody Mongolia?
He collapsed back on to the sofa, nearly giving himself a dead leg in the process by sitting on the TV remote. He picked it up, fingers brushing over the buttons and he must have pressed one hard enough as the TV came to life. Oh for God's sake, he didn't need the fucking TV to be blaring uselessly in the bankrupt to the fucking soap opera his own life had become, and he turned to point the remote to switch it off and came face to face with the paused picture of Mary Morstan, lips open as if stopped in mid-sentence. The remote dropped to the floor ignored as John stared at the screen in shock.
AN:
Hope you like this chapter. Sorry for the delay I have had most of it written for a while but lost the plot literally with it. Couldn't even bare to read it for ages because it felt like it was going nowhere. Then did some angsty writing for another Fandom and suddenly the cast of AT3 were speaking to me again. Yay. There will be more on Harriet's just deserts I promise. And now Joss's gets to stay with Uncle Mycroft big Yay.
Enjoy. xx