A/N

Elbafo

And thank you for contributing! For enriching this story with your amazing character and writing! You already know that, when I first had the idea of a 'crossover' with someone else's story, I only wanted that someone to be you!

Guest

Haha, I'm so glad I managed to surprise you! And of course that you liked it. 15 Minutes really is a master piece! Elbafo has an amazing way with words!

Companion Teresa

Thank you for your kind words. It was great to get to dive back into Sherlock's and Kyrie's lives again. I really had a blast collaborating with Elbafo, but, this will be their last story. Though it's fun to sometimes 'see' glimpses of the people their children will become (I love Scottie too!) I'm not going to invest a lot of time and energy in writing about it. When a character is 'born' in my head, the story pretty much writes itself and only the typing and finding the right words takes up time and energy. With the story concluded, the 'drive' for that story goes with it. This story was simply a last 'hoorah' for the fans who wanted more Kyrie/Sherlock. As you know, I am writing something else atm. If I ever get around to posting that, I hope you will give it a chance!

Thedragonaunt

I don't like to read or write fanfics involving only canon characters. I don't feel it. I can't get into it. I just love to read and write OC's. So, that also means I really don't feel the Molly/Sherlock in love vibe either. With all respect for readers and writers who do, it's simply not for me. Though the show did establish a deep affection between the two, even love, I just can't get with that relationship ever developing into something romantic. No matter how well the story is written, I simply don't believe in it.

You said you read the previous chapter, purely for context only. The chapter where my Sherlock is pretty much at the end of his tether and has an emotional moment with Mary and his son. Yet, the only thing you took away from that emotional roller-coaster chapter, was the observation that in the fifty universes he has encountered so far, there was not one in which Sherlock was in a relationship with Molly...

So, even though your suggestion briefly sparked an idea, that idea died the instant I realized that the only interest shown for my story, is the possible addition of a Sherlolly reality. Even though the scene I saw briefly got my juices flowing, I'm currently too invested in writing an entirely different fanfic (brain, please leave me alone!) too even muster up the energy to explore that scene. Especially with so little incentive.

I do want to thank you for leaving such lovely words for Elbafo. I can at least agree with all the praise you left for her.

Now, on to the story!

* S *

Kyrie was curled up in John's chair, her head resting on her arms, as she stared into the orange flames of the fire, gently dancing at one time and playfully licking at the wooden logs another time. So many wonderful evenings spent together in peace, right in front that same fire place. All gone now. Her eyes started to sting and her vision became blurry. Mycroft's news had hit her like a truck. There was no Bradbury Centre, not even a secret one and Jason Hawthorne… he was a simple science and physics teacher. And nothing indicated he was leading a double life as a mad scientist.

There was a small creaking noise as the door to the living room was slowly pushed open. Kyrie clenched her eyes shut. She really did not want to see him right now. Was it too much to hope that he would pick up on her cues and leave her alone? There was the sound of footsteps walking closer and then she could hear how he lowered himself into his chair. Apparently, yes, that was too much to hope for. At least he didn't instantly start running off his mouth as he tended to do. Seemed even this Sherlock could be considerate every now and again.

"I understand this must be very hard for you."

"No, you don't," Kyrie rebutted without looking at him.

He sighed a weary sigh. "No, I don't. You're right. Sentiment."

"Sentiment," she echoed.

"I take it he was better with… that?" he asked curiously.

Kyrie slowly lifted her head from her arms to look at him. The tears she was trying to hold back were burning in her eyes. In her throat. In her lungs. She thought that, for that day at least, she was all cried out, but seeing him in that chair… so familiar, so beloved… but not hers. Just seeing him tore her apart. She quickly nodded her head.

"Not always. But… he learned. He was always learning."

Sherlock placed the palms of his hands together, the tips of his fingers just barely touching his chin.

"I know this is not the life you wanted," he said with a soft and gentle voice, "I wish I could help with that, but I can't. I can help, however, make this life as comfortable and pleasant for you as possible."

His words brought on the urge to laugh hysterically or to hurl something against his head. Flowers perhaps, that were still in a vase.

"Evelina will want for nothing. You will never have to worry about money; for clothes, toys, education… She'll have you. John and Mary will spoil her to bits, they adore her. She'll have two doting grandparents –"

"She already has grandparents," Kyrie shot back. His words should bring her comfort about her future here, but they didn't. She didn't want substitutes; she wanted her life back!

Her comment annoyed him, she could tell, but she didn't care.

"They are not here. My parents are. As am I."

Kyrie turned her head and looked into his eyes. She knew he'd see the pain she held in her own. "And what role would you play in her life?"

"Well… obviously…"

His hesitance was clear. He did not want to be a father. Not that she would accept him claiming that part. Evelina already had a father and it sure as hell wasn't him.

"I'll never be able to tell her how proud I am of her father, the world's only Consulting Detective. I'll never be able to tell her how her father is so often the only chance left for people, the only one they can still turn to. I can never tell her how her father solves important cases and that her uncle John likes to blog about them. She'll never know that the person responsible for solving the 'Study in Pink, the 'Scandal in Belgravia', 'The Hound of Baskerville', 'The Six Thathers' is her father… because here… that person is you. Do you have any idea how much that hurts?"

Sherlock slowly shook his head.

"One of my children will grow up without his mother and the other will grow up without her father. For all the ways you are him, you're still not her dad and you're not the man I love. You just look like him, sound like him, smell like him..." Her voice broke and Kyrie swallowed the words 'You'll probably taste like him too'. She didn't want to find out. Didn't have to really because she already knew that he would… taste like him.

"What can I do?" he whispered softly.

"Nothing."

A tear rolled down her cheek, soon followed by more. It hurt to swallow. It hurt to speak, to think, to feel… It was so hard to stay strong for Evelina's sake. Perhaps she should be grateful that at least she wouldn't be left to her own devices. She would have help. In time… perhaps she would be grateful. Just not now, not when the whole thing still hurt too damn much.

"Kyrie..."

There was the sudden sensation of his hand covering hers, the warm contact of their skin touching. She grit her teeth together. Couldn't he see she was hurting?
Can't you see he's trying to comfort you?
She shook her head violently and a brief look of bemusement crossed his features. Of course he wouldn't understand that she was having an argument with herself right now.
I don't want to see!

"Kyrie," his voice was stronger and bolder this time. "Would it really be so awful if I were to… step in? I know I don't know much about this… emotional stuff. I think – don't you? – I could learn. You could teach me. And, Evelina would have a dad and you… you would have a husband."

The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them, "I don't want you for a husband." Kyrie then pushed him away and fled from the room before she would blurt out the rest… her fear that at some point the charade would become real and she'd be content… content without her real husband by her side and without her son. What kind of wife and mother would she be? Certainly a monstrous one! God help her, but with the constant presence of this Sherlock, what would happen when he'd show the same grow of character? What would happen if there'd come a point she could no longer distinguish her Sherlock from this one?

Her terrifying thoughts chased her into Sherlock's bedroom, the room he'd given up for her and Evelina while he now took use of John's old bed room. She flung herself onto the bed and gave free reign to her tears as she wept.

A long time later, Kyrie could hear footsteps echoing in the kitchen and soon after that, on the landing in front of the bedroom. She sighed heavily when the door slowly opened – she really was not in the mood for his poor attempts at making her feel better.

"Kyrie, we really have to talk."

The grave tone of his voice made Kyrie finally look up at him, dread sitting like a heaving stone in the pit of her stomach. Sherlock pulled over a chair, put it near the bed and sat down.

"Fine… talk," Kyrie whispered, her voice still rough with emotion.

"The reason why I suggested that I'd… step in as the legitimate father of Evelina… is because otherwise she won't have one."

Kyrie slapped a tear away, as if the unpleasant sting would be enough to keep the others from falling. "I know..." she whispered. "I just… even if there's no way to return on this side… I keep hoping that..."

"If you want to set aside your life, wasting it in the process, by waiting for someone who might never show up, that is your choice… But doesn't your daughter deserve more? How long are you willing to wait, Kyrie? Be reasonable about it..."

No, she would not accept this. She furiously shook her head. "Don't say it," she whispered brokenly, please, don't say it..."

"I think we should no longer expect someone crossing over to – save you. For better or worse, it appears you and your daughter are stuck here. I know I'm not the man you… love… but, don't you think Evelina deserves to have a father? Even if it's me? And for all intents and purposes, I kind of am her father."

Sherlock then laid out the plan he and Mycroft had come up with. Kyrie didn't hear any of it. The words sounded garbled, as though he was talking under water. All she could hear were the words that destroyed her last little splinter of hope. Don't expect someone to cross over and save you. You and your daughter are stuck here.

"It's funny how you are supposed to be one and the same as my Sherlock," Kyrie whispered at some point, "you certainly have all of his flaws, yet, not one of his strengths. Get out, Sherlock, I don't want to see your face again. Not tonight at least."

At some point, Kyrie found herself staring at an empty chair.

* S *

Sherlock's footsteps echoed through the hallways of the Bradbury Centre, along with the smaller footsteps of St John who was trying his best to keep up with him. They were headed to the Bridge Room, receiving quick salutes by the guards stationed at each gate along the way. Sherlock tried to keep his annoyance at a minimum. It was not St John's fault that Mary could not look after him as she usually did. No, because Mary had a little emergency herself. Something to do with John and a mandoline slicer, whatever that was supposed to be. It wouldn't take long at all, Mary had assured him, but she was a bit tied up at the moment. With Mrs Hudson already looking after Rosie, Sherlock had little choice but to bring St John with him until Mary could pick him up from the Bradbury Centre.

When they entered the Bridge Room, St John instantly took in his surroundings. A lot had changed in the room in the months that Sherlock was busy searching for his wife. Before, the spacious room with its white walls had held nothing but the control console and the large contraption itself. Over time, glass boards had made their way into the room where Cassidy could mark their progressions. Tables and chairs had been added to allow brief reposes. There was now a small kitchenette that Cassidy could use to make coffee. And of course there was the small group of highly trained special ops agents standing by. Just in case when Sherlock returned from a host-reality and someone – or something – unwanted was following him back.

Mycroft had claimed the office overseeing the Bridge Room. He was now travelling a lot between his official offices and this one. Though Mycroft was very vocal in bemoaning the extra work load, Sherlock knew he was loving it. Except of course for the fact that Kyrie was missing. He looked up, and saw Mycroft standing near the large window looking down at them, a scowl on his face.

"I have to go now, but I can come back a lot sooner now that it's so much easier to find out if Mummy is there or not."

"It's okay." St John's voice betrayed very little of his emotions, neither did his face. Sherlock smiled and awkwardly patted him on his head.

"You go and pester uncle Mycroft for a bit, okay?"

St John didn't respond, but the slight curve of his lips, identical to his own, were all-telling.

"Try the next sequence, Cassidy!"

Cassidy, already standing by at the console, gave him a quick nod and typed in the necessary presets to plot a course to the next reality.

"It's wrong."

Sherlock looked down at his son who was still standing there, his impassive look back in place.

"Wrong? What do you mean, wrong?"

"The sound. It doesn't sound like when Mummy went away."

"You've got to be kidding me," Cassidy muttered, a look of disbelief plastered on his face.

Sherlock could feel the blood drain from his face when the implication of St John's words hit him. Though the keys of the console didn't make different sounds by themselves, the combination of what keys were pressed, what fingers were used, the relative distance between the keys… now that did produce different sounds… And St John had the ability to discern them.

"Good God," he groaned. How had he not thought of that possibility? He was the Consulting Detective for God's sake! "St John, do you remember the sounds you heard that morning? Exactly?"

"Yes." His son didn't even bat an eye when he looked up at him. "Don't you?"

No… No, he didn't because he'd been too consumed by his own superiority to notice what Cassidy was doing. It was Norbury all over again. Then too he'd been too cocky for his own good to realise the old bat was about to shoot him.

"It's uhm, buried very deep. St John, can you… help… Mr Cassidy? I need to have a little word with uncle Mycroft."

Sherlock hoped with all his heart that this would be very last time he'd have to go to a different reality. He was more than ready to take Kyrie back home. And with the amount of time it had already taken him so far, his second-born was likely already several months old. He'd missed all the important bits!

* S *

The moment Kyrie got out of the taxi, it was Sherlock who – for once – had to do his best to keep up with her quick impatient steps. Kyrie was trying not to trip over the gorgeous, excessively overpriced, red dress and she carried the small train, draped over her arm, like a banner. Even the openly admiring look he'd appraised her with, had done nothing to curb her anger. She was livid. Pure rage was running through her veins… a rage she had not wanted to confront Mrs Hudson with so she had kept it bottled inside – until now.

Kyrie marched through the door of the hotel that was opened for her. They were late for their own party – her own party. A fucking PARTY! And, even though they were late, she dragged Sherlock into a side-room before the usher could show them to the reception room that was booked for them for the evening.

The moment the door snapped closed behind them, Kyrie railed at him.

"I asked you for one thing, Sherlock, one thing! To give me a bit of time to readjust! But, you just couldn't be bothered, could you? No, when Sherlock fucking Holmes has a plan, it has to be carried out the way he sees fit and damned what anyone else thinks!"

Sherlock looked visibly taken aback at her sudden tirade. "Time was of-of the essence! People were already starting to ask questions!"

"And since when do you give a damn about that?" Kyrie yelled at him. "I needed time, you fucking moron! You insensitive git!"

Footsteps approached the door and Kyrie couldn't believe her ears when she heard someone trying to open the door. She whipped around and used her shoulder to slam the door closed again. "We are talking in here! Give us a fucking moment!"

From the shadows she could see fall through under the door, someone briefly lingered near the door, then they retreated. Her attention was instantly on Sherlock again.

He blanched at the increasing high volume and high-pitch of her voice. Kyrie felt her chest heaving and for a moment she actually understood what people meant with 'seeing red'. Though she'd hardly given the interior of this room a glance, she knew it was just a relatively small conference room with a sleek table and white leather chairs surrounding it. But right now everything looked red, red, red.

"You don't care at all do you? I lost my husband! I lost my son! I lost any chance there might have been of ever seeing them again!" Thank God her anger prevented her from crying, because otherwise she'd look like a blubbering mess before she'd even set foot in the reception room.

"I thought that somewhere deep down in that selfish heart of yours, even you would have an inkling of the crippling pain I feel! I guess I was wrong! I accepted your plan, Sherlock! I accepted your plan to take on the mantle of fatherhood for Evelina's sake. I accepted your plan to be officially introduced to your friends and family as the mother of your child."

By now Kyrie was close to screaming. "I accepted everything you threw at me for the sake of my child, so she would not have to grow up without a father. In return, I only asked you for some time to mourn my husband and my son. I am forever cut off from them but you could not even wait one day to throw me a PARTY! A PARTY, Sherlock! When I'm still grieving!

Sherlock looked even paler than usual. "I just wanted it over and done with so you could get on..."

"Fuck you, Sherlock! Fuck you and go to hell! I will do my best to keep up appearances for this night only, but stay the hell away from me if you know what's good for you!" With those final words Kyrie yanked open the door and she marched toward the gaiety that was waiting for her, before she'd actually physical harm that idiot.