New Year's day have passed quietly. That day, everyone were at Baker Street, drinking, eating Mrs. Hudson's food and having a good time. At least, to Sherlock, it was more private since Lestrade and Bill were not there because both of them decided to spend the first day of the year with their respective families. But not even Sherlock could stop Bill calling Jane first thing in the morning.
Jane had been quiet that day while Sherlock spent most of the day with Hamish, helping him to solve the puzzle he had given to him for Christmas, watching some cartoons and reading him his favourite book.
It was Sherlock's birthday. Jane woke up early in the morning and took Hamish with her downstairs. The little boy was carrying a middle sized package, red paper wrapped with a green bow at the top of it and a drawing.
"Happy Bir-birthday Sherwock!"
Sherlock was playing a very sad tune with his violin. He didn't mind Mrs Hudson tidying up behind him, but as soon as he heard Hamish' voice calling him, he turned and his eyes lit up.
Hamish plated a kiss on his cheek and handed him his present. Sherlock sat on his chair with Hamish on his lap and opened the present, not giving his mind a second to deduce what it was. He wanted to be surprised.
And he was.
Hamish gave to him a blue scarf. And it looked exactly like the one Jane had given to him three years ago.
"Mummy said you-you like blue scarf!"
Sherlock nodded. "It's like the one you gave me for my birthday."
"Yes," said Jane, taking her bag, getting herself ready to go to class. "It's getting cold and you needed one."
"Thank you."
"Composing?" asked Jane, changing the subject as he handed Hamish his milk and cookies.
"Helps me to think. The counter on your blog... it's still one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five," said Sherlock, pointing at his computer screen with the bow of his violin.
"It's faulty."
"Faulty or..." Sherlock took the camera phone from inside his pocket and pulled up the security code.
I AM 1895LOCKED
WRONG PASSCODE
3 ATTEMPTS REMAINING.
Sherlock turned to face the window and continued playing the sad tune again.
"Right. Hamish, promise me you'll behave, okay?"
As Hamish had a light cold, Jane let him stay at home under Mrs. Hudson's watchful eye. The little boy promised his mummy he was going to be a good boy and Jane left.
Once outside, Jane met a woman who seemed to know her name. "Jane?"
"Yeah?"
"Hello," said the strange woman in dark clothes, gesturing Jane to get into the dark car next to her. "Plans for today?"
"I've got classes to attend to."
"Mr. Holmes would like to talk to you. Please, get in the car."
Jane frowned at the location. It was a very old, deserted factory. The car in which they had been driven there stopped and the woman in dark clothes led Jane to the second floor, which was empty.
"You could just phone me. Your brother doesn't follow me everywhere. He's writing sad music, doesn't eat, and he barely talks - only to correct Hamish. That's all," said Jane to no one, taking for granted she was to meet Mycroft Holmes. "I'd say he's heartbroken, but I'm not sure -"
"Hello, Jane."
It was Irene Adler.
Jane caught her breath. "Tell him you're alive."
"He'd come after me. Is that what you want?" asked Irene, mockingly smiling.
"I'll come after you if you don't tell him you're alive."
Now Irene was curious. "Why would you want me to tell him I'm alive?"
"You were dead on a slab. It was definitely you. He recognised you."
"I needed to disappear."
"Then how come I can see you, even when I don't want to?"
Irene nodded. "Look, I made a mistake. I sent something to Sherlock for safe-keeping and now I need it back, so I need your help."
"No," snapped Jane.
"It's for his own safety. You'd never put the life of your husband in danger would you?" asked Irene, testing Jane.
Jane shook her head. "He's not my husband. Tell him you're alive."
"I can't."
"I'll tell him and I still won't help you," said Jane and turned, walking away.
"What do I say?"
Jane turned, furiously, and pointed at her with a finger. "What do you normally say? You've texted him a lot."
The Woman took her phone and started typing. "The usual stuff, you know."
"There's no usual with Sherlock."
"'Good morning', 'I like you', 'Let's have dinner', 'You look sexy on the news. Let's have dinner'. He replied: 'I'm not hungry'. I insisted. But then, he replied the same: 'I'm not hungry'"
Jane looked startled. "You flirted with Sherlock?"
"At him. He never replies."
"How -? He would have replied to you."
"Would he? That makes me special?" asked Irene with a grin.
"I don't know."
"Are you jealous?"
Jane shook her head, determined. "We're not a couple."
"He hurt you, didn't he?"
"That's not your business," replied Jane, angrily, holding tears.
Irene smiled. "You're dying to have him. You know you do. But you're afraid."
"No. I am not."
"'I'm not dead. Let's have dinner'. Happy now?" asked Irene, sending a text.
"I don't want him anymore. He's yours."
"I do want him. Look at us both."
Irene was laughing mockingly at Jane when they heard an orgasmic female moan. It was Sherlock's phone. Jane tried to follow the sound, but she stopped. She knew there was no need for her to go behind Sherlock.
After all, she had said the truth.
Sherlock needn't to hear it twice. Jane said the truth. She was with another man now. And Sherlock knew he was nothing to her. Not even her friend.
It hurt.
It hurt because the only thing he wanted was having Jane's love back again. He wanted to be the one who filler her heart, he wanted to be the reason why Jane's heart beat every day. He wanted to kiss her, take her hand, be the reason of her life and just be with her. Sherlock wanted to marry her again to prove everyone Jane was his, only his, that he loved her and hat she loved him as well. Sherlock wanted to tell Hamish he had a daddy and that it was him. That he was sorry for hurting Jane and being the reason as to why Hamish had the health problems he had now.
Sherlock wanted to be part of them, be part of their little family, join the picture.
Sherlock wanted Hamish to call him daddy. He wanted Hamish to tell all his little friends his daddy was a detective and he wanted to teach Hamish more words, how to play the violin, how not to mix the wrong chemicals.
And after Jane had said she didn't want him anymore, Sherlock realised all the things he wanted were a mere dream. Because all the things he had done, the drugs, the violence, everything had taken Jane and Hamish away from him.
Forever.
But when Sherlock arrived at Baker Street, he found the door had been violently opened. He saw Hamish's toys all spread over the stairs, and there were marks of nails on the wallpapers.
As soon as Sherlock heard Mrs. Hudson trying to ask for help and Hamish helplessly crying, his expression changed from deductive to murderous.
Sherlock opened the door of the flat and he found three men inside. Mrs. Hudson was sitting on one of the dinning chairs facing the door. Behind her was the American man who threatened Sherlock back at Irene Adler's house. In front of them, a man had Hamish tied to his high chair, with a gun over his head. The little boy was crying and sobbing as he could barely understand what was happening. Sherlock looked Hamish panicked face as he pressed his little hand to his right hear and couldn't find his hearing aid.
A third man was standing by the windows, aiming his gun at Sherlock.
Immediately, Sherlock knew he had to do something quickly, before Hamish had a seizure or even worst, something wrong happened to his heart. Hamish was a very fragile little boy, and Sherlock knew things like this, scary things for an almost three year old child could be dangerous.
"Sherlock!" said Mrs. Hudson, with tears on her eyes.
Sherlock took Hamish' hearing aid from the floor, which was broken, and tried to help Hamish off the chair, but the man threatening Hamish aimed his gun at him. "Stay away or I kill the brat."
"Da-da-ddy! daddy!" cried Hamish.
Even being under pressure, having three men aiming their guns not only at him, but also at his landlady and his son, Sherlock heard Hamish calling him daddy and treasured that word very deep inside his heart.
The man aiming at Hamish grabbed him by his arm, a futile attempt to make him stop crying. But it only made Hamish sob louder. "Daddy! Da-ddy! Daddy!"
Sherlock clenched his teeth. He couldn't bear watching Hamish crying and being so upset. "Keep your hands off my son right now if you don't want to die."
"Leave it," said the leader.
The man did as he had been told and Sherlock took Hamish in his arms. He then placed him on his play pen in the kitchen and caressed the boy's soft curls. Sherlock noted he had finger marks on his cheek. They had slapped him trying to make his crying stop. "Nothing will happen to you, okay? Daddy is here," whispered Sherlock, softly, as he pressed a kiss to Hamish' forehead.
Hamish nodded, but he continued crying.
"I believe you have something we want, Mr. Holmes."
"Then why didn't you ask for it?" asked Sherlock, getting close to Mrs. Hudson and looking at the wound on her cheek. She had been hit too.
"You know what I'm asking for, don't you?"
"I believe I do."
"Sherlock, please, help us!" cried Mrs. Hudson.
"Get rid of your boys. I dislike being outnumbered. It makes for too much stupid in the room."
The man seemed to consider it for a moment. "Go and get into the car."
"And drive away," Sherlock completed. "Don't try to trick me. You know who I am. It doesn't work."
As soon as the men left, Sherlock held up his arms. "Next, you can stop pointing that gun at me."
"So you can shoot me?"
"I'm unarmed."
"Mind if I check?"
Sherlock smiled, sarcastically. "Oh, I insist."
When the American man walked past Mrs. Hudson and started patting Sherlock's clothes and coat looking for a gun, the young detective hit him with his elbow, hitting his face and breaking his nose. The man screamed as Sherlock turned and hit him with his own head, making their foreheads collide.
The man fell to the floor unconscious.
"You're okay now," said Sherlock to Mrs. Hudson. Then, he took Hamish in his arms and cuddled him. "Everything is okay, baby. Daddy got rid of the bad men."
Hamish was still sobbing. His face was a mess of tears, and he had a red mark on his face. Seeing this, Sherlock turned and looked at the unconscious man on his floor.
"Mrs. Hudson, take Hamish to my room and wait there. I will clean this mess."
Jane couldn't go to class that day. She knew she would not concentrate. Instead, she walked back to Baker Street, thinking what she had said, what Irene said, and about Sherlock.
Sherlock needed to know she couldn't go back to him. Many things had happened between them, and Jane felt as if she was never going to be able to forget all of it. But what did he want from her? He had Irene, who was far beautiful than her. Irene Adler was perfect, she was as clever as Sherlock was - she was his match. And Jane knew she could never compete against her.
But soon her thoughts vanished when she looked at the note attached underneath the knocker. Written on the note, by Sherlock's handwriting:
CRIME IN PROGRESS. PLEASE DISTURB
Jane immediately ran the stairs and found Sherlock aiming a gun to the American man at Irene Adler's house. He was tied to one of their chairs, with his mouth covered with a piece of fabric, preventing him from screaming, and with a bleeding nose.
"What's going on? Where's Hamish? And Mrs. Hudson?"
"Mrs. Hudson and Hamish were attacked by the Americans. Go and check they're okay," explained Sherlock as he dialled Lestrade's number.
"Hamish? Oh my God, tell me he's okay!"
Sherlock nodded. "Go with him."
"Will you tell me what's going on?"
"Later. Now go and take Hamish and Mrs. Hudson downstairs."
As soon as Sherlock and the American were left alone, Lestrade answered Sherlock's call. "Lestrade. We've had a break-in at Baker Street. Send your least irritating officers and an ambulance. Oh, no, no, no, no, we're fine. No, it's the... it's the burglar. He's got himself rather badly injured. A few broken ribs, fractured skull... suspected punctured lung. He fell out of a window."
When Sherlock hung up, the American knew it was not good to mess with Sherlock Holmes.
"And how many times did he fall out of the window?" asked Lestrade, suspiciously, looking how the ambulance pulled away from 221 Baker Street.
"I lost count."
"He could present charges, you know."
"He hurt my son."
Lestrade didn't say anything to that.
Once inside, Sherlock found Jane inside Mrs Hudson's kitchen, pouring more tea for her and holding Hamish in his arms. The little boy was still scared, but at least he was not crying anymore.
"She'll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight. We need to look after her."
"No," said Mrs. Hudson.
"She's fine."
"No, she's not, Sherlock. She's got to take some time away from Baker Street. She can go and stay with her sister. Doctor's orders."
Sherlock shook his head. "You're not a Doctor. And don't be absurd, Mrs. Hudson leaving Baker Street? England would fall!"
"All because some bloody camera phone? Where is it anyway?" asked Jane, angrily.
Mrs. Hudson took the phone from inside her shirt. "You left it in the pocket of your second-best dressing gown. I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was having a cry."
"Thank you."
"Go upstairs. Hamish needs to sleep and you look tired. I'll be fine."
"Mummy... scared!"
Jane kissed Hamish' forehead. "It's okay, Hamish. Sherlock got rid of the bad men now. Look, they are not here, are they? Now time to go to bed."
Hamish ran to Sherlock and clung his hands to the detective's legs. "Wanna sleep with daddy!"
Sherlock, who was standing close to the windows and had taken Hamish in his arms turned to face Jane and froze. The same happened to Jane, who was sitting on her armchair and looking at Hamish with widened eyes.
"Hamish, Sherlock's not your daddy. We talked about this, remember?" said Jane, softly.
"Hamish -"
Even Sherlock tried to intervene and explain, but Hamish buried his face into his chest. "But I wanna Sherwock to be my daddy!"
Jane took Hamish off Sherlock's arms. "Go to your room, Hamish."
"I wanna sleep with daddy!"
"Go to your room," repeated Jane.
Sherlock placed a hand over Jane's shoulder. "Jane -"
"Go to your room, Hamish," repeated Jane, using a very motherly but severe tone of voice and Hamish left, with a very sad look on his face.
"Let me explain."
Jane walked a few steps until she was close to Sherlock. "Did you tell him to call you that way?"
"No."
"How come he's calling you 'daddy'?"
Sherlock took a deep breath. "I don't know. The Americans were aiming a gun to his head and I tried to tell him to calm down, and he just said it. He was upset."
"Tell me truth. Because I've explained him he doesn't have a father. And he understood."
"Jane, I didn't tell him to call me daddy."
"Do you know what day is it today?" asked Jane, with tears in her eyes.
Sherlock nodded.
Of course Sherlock knew what day was it. It was not only his birthday but it was also the very same day, three years ago, when Jane found him snorting cocaine. And not only that. That very same day, but three years ago, Jane was in that same room with Sherlock, and she was crying as he shoved her against the wall.
And Sherlock did not only hit her against the wall, but he also slapped hard across the face, he pressed his body over hers, making her uterus collapse and making her bleed, a clear sign she was losing her baby.
With tears on their eyes, both remembered that night in which Sherlock tried to pull at her clothes and take her without her consent, even knowing she was in pain and losing her son.
And not being happy with that, Sherlock pushed Jane down the stairs.
And there's when everything started.
"I know."
When Sherlock tried to take as step forwards, trying to get closer to Jane, she walked a step backwards and let the tears fell down her cheeks.
"Do you remember what you did to me? To us? You bastard, you almost killed us!" hissed Jane, angrily. Her hands turned to fists and she tried to hit Sherlock's chest, but Sherlock was far taller and stronger than her and he took her wrists. "How could you?"
"Jane, I'm sorry -"
Both fell to the floor, on their knees. Sherlock embraced Jane and for a moment she didn't fight him. "Why, Sherlock? What did I do to you to deserve that? I tried to be good to you… I gave you everything, Sherlock. Everything."
Sherlock cried. He let the tears fall down his eyes as he felt Jane's on his chest. He knew this moment was to come sooner or later. When they first talked, when he visited her at her old flat, it surprised him how calm Jane was. Even though she made him enumerate all the things he had done that night, Jane was calm, and it looked like she had forgiven him.
But she had not.
"What did I do to you?" repeated Jane, sobbing. "What did I do to you to deserve your hatred?"
"I didn't hate you."
"Yes, you hated me. You still do! When you pushed me down the stairs you said you hated me!"
Sherlock kissed Jane's forehead. "I didn't hate you, I'm so sorry. Jane, I'm sorry."
"What did I do to you, Sherlock?" repeated Jane, between sobs.
"Nothing. You did nothing. It was the cocaine. I was so high... please, love. Forgive me. There is not a single day in which I don't regret what I did," begged Sherlock, crying as much as Jane was.
Jane didn't say anything. Sherlock got them to their feet and both sat together on the sofa. Both lay together on the sofa as Sherlock placed an arm around Jane's shoulder and she buried her face on Sherlock's chest. For several minutes, neither of them pronounced a word, not even a sound. The two of them just stood glued to each other, crying in each other's arms for a long time.
"I love you, Jane," whispered Sherlock.
Jane looked into his eyes and realised they were sincere. Jane noted Sherlock's words were genuinely honest.
And Jane knew he meant it.
The world and everything around them stopped when their lips met in a very deep, warm kiss. Both had their eyes closed, and Jane moved her hand upwards, cupping Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock's hands soon migrated to her waist, making the little space between them disappear.
Both fell asleep in each other's arms.
And Sherlock slept in peace. He'd finally conceived some sleep in peacefulness, feeling Jane's heartbeats against his chest and her soft fingers entwined with his.
