John struggled up the stairs careful not to drop the box full of clothes and shoes he had packed a few hours before. Passing through the door frame he wrestled with the baby gate until it gave free. "No it's okay, I don't need any help." Dropping the box on the floor with a little more force than necessary he finally turned to face the sitting room. He was surprised to see Mycroft in his chair twirling his cane in his fingers, paying no mind to John as he continued to stare at Sherlock. Sherlock sat in his own respective seat, his elbows propped on the side fingers resting against each other forming the shape of a pyramid against his mouth, his eyes closed. Well, that can't be good. John walked further into the room, "So you two are talking to each other again?" Sherlock expelled a breath out his nose. Maybe not then. "Sherlock, where is Rosie?" Continued silence. John really wasn't in the mood. "Sherlock!" "Keep your voice down John, you will wake her." Sherlock finally opened his eyes and looked towards John. "She's fine, taking a nap in her crib the door is open and the baby monitor is just there." He gestured to the small device next to his chair. John relaxed a bit, "You got her to nap?", with an impressed tone. "He exhausted her," Mycroft spoke from his seat, "then again, my brother does has that effect on people." Sherlock rolled his eyes for what must have been the 100th time that morning.
"Yeah, okay. What's going on?", John tried again. If Sherlock was exhausting, Mycroft was absolutely arduous. "I have a niece," Sherlock said, settling his eyes on Mycroft. "Yeah.." John tried to connect the dots. Of course, he had a niece. Rosie was his niece and godchild. John thought that they were comfortable in their routine of life since Rosie was born. Was he still coming to grips? Did I pack my house for bloody nothing? "Not Rosie, Dr. Watson, an actual niece, my daughter," Mycroft stated from the couch clearly tired of John's inner monologue. Letting the 'actual niece' comment go, John couldn't help but raise his eyebrows in absolute shock. "Oh my God, are you serious." John moved his eyes from Mycroft to Sherlock and back to Mycroft waiting for the punchline. Now was Mycroft's turn to roll his eyes. "Yes Dr. Watson, you having a child of your own, and being a doctor none the less would have led me to think you knew how one would go about having a child." Sherlock shot up from his chair. "Don't worry John, just because he has a child doesn't mean he's a father." Mycroft bounced then end of the cane against his shoe. "And what, pray tell, would you know about being a father?" "All right you two, that's enough," John ever the referee.
Turning his back on Sherlock, who had trudged into the kitchen, John looked at Mycroft. "What has happened then?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow in question. "Come on Mycroft, you aren't one to share information unless you are backed in a corner or Sherlock's life is at risk, so come on, spit it out." John echoed Sherlock's words from earlier in the park. "My daughter is in danger." John couldn't help but stand a little taller and set his shoulders. "Her name is Kathleen, she's been taken from her post within the CIA and is being held by a party not yet known to me." Sherlock walked back into the room, a cup of tea in his hand. "Mycroft is asking for our help, but refuses to give us any useful information, per usual." Mycroft takes a deep breath a look of exasperation taking control of his face. "I'm trying to protect her, Sherlock." Sitting back in his seat Sherlock takes a sip of his beverage, "Yes, of course, because you have done such a great job of that so far." John sits at the table, the gravity of the situation taking rest on his shoulders, "Why was she with the CIA? -Why wasn't she with you?" John can feel his paternal instincts taking control. "Because Sherlock is right. She is my child but I was never her father", something close to shame glints over his features before he clears his voice and shifts in his, well, John's seat. John cuts his eyes to Sherlock curious if he had seen it. He had. "How old is she?", John asks. "Old enough to know better", Mycroft mumbles to himself before turning his attention to John still seated at the table. "She's 24." "And, uh, is she like you and Sherlock or like Eurus?", John asked drumming his fingers on the table. Sherlock looked up curious about the answer as well. "It would seem that the women in our family tend to be a great deal smarter than us," he looked at Sherlock, "But to answer your question, Dr. Watson, she is not a threat of National Security. Not unless she is feeling bored, of course." John sat back in his chair, relieved. "So what are we going to do?" Mycroft opened his mouth to reply but Sherlock beat him to it. "Mycroft is going to sit by the phone and wait for the kidnapper's call." Mycroft shut his mouth in annoyance. "Then", Sherlock continued, "He is going to give them whatever it is they want." John pursed his lips slightly letting that sink in his brain, "If they haven't made contact yet, then how do you know that she's been taken?" "I received a phone call from a very upset young man last night stating and I quote: Sir, they are going to kill her, she can't take much more of this, she's going to die." John felt his eyes bug out of his head, "How are you just sitting here?!" His left hand balled into a tight fist on the table. "Ah, there we go, welcome to the conversation, John." Sherlock quips from his seat, finishing off his tea. "We are sitting here Dr. Watson because the boy gave me no viable information before, what I can only imagine, he was shot." John looked to Sherlock. Before another question could be asked, Mycroft's phone began lightly chirping in his breast pocket, demanding his attention. Sherlock rocketed out of his chair and over to Mycroft who stood up with the phone in his hand, "It's a video from another blocked number." John moved closer. "Play it.", Sherlock said. All three of them noticed the shake in Mycroft's hand as he moved his finger to the screen and press play.