A/N
Companion Teresa
I'm glad I was able to offer you some insight to my writing process (which can of course differ from the process of other writers). There will be no Dallas TV show like scene that retcons everything. Though there is some drama in this chapter! I hope you will like this one better!
Feuilledelune56
First of all, thank you so much for taking the time to leave me such a lovely review!
Now, if I were a really smart writer, I'd say that it was all planned out from the very beginning (his reluctance to let his daughter go because she'd disappeared into a different universe with her mother). Alas, I'm honest to a fault and also not that smart, so I have to give you kudos for making that connection. Suddenly that scene makes even more sense! It's a great idea! I hope you will like the rest of this story as much as you liked the rest!
* S *
Kyrie tried to muster a smile at the supposedly funny story. The look on Mary's face told her she had not succeeded and she instantly stopped trying. She really was not in the mood for this.
Only a few days ago she'd been told that she was basically sentenced to a life time of daily seeing the man who was – biologically at least – the man she had fallen in love with, but not the man she loved so very much. Kyrie clenched her fingers around the glass in her hand until she could feel it vibrate ever so slightly in protest. She hadn't taken a single sip from her cocktail.
Mary laughed at another joke but this time Kyrie didn't even bother. It was no use anyway. Her heart was an open wound irrevocably beyond healing and Evelina the only remedy to make the pain at least somewhat bearable. This entire evening was an ill-begotten idea that had sprouted from Sherlock's head and the longer she remained, the more she simply wanted to turn her back and leave.
Sherlock being Sherlock, once an idea was stuck in his mind, he wasn't going to give up. It would be all for the best, he'd promised and it had seemed like a perfect solution… Him publicly acknowledging Evelina as his daughter to give reason for why he was supporting mother and child. The backstory already contrived… a few drinks too many, one night of passion… As if people who actually knew him would ever believe him capable of that.
For the people too stupid to see right through the transparently thin excuse, it would give sufficient, plausible reason for Sherlock's wish for his instant family to live with him. He had assured her he had no ulterior motives in mind, only the well-being of Evelina. Since she knew Sherlock would rather see her gone than living at Baker Street, she could hardly stay mad at him for having arranged it all behind her back. But this evening, this-this party to introduce her to his family and friends as the mother of his child… Kyrie's fingers were trembling around the glass and she pursed her lips into a thin line. At least he'd heeded her warning. She'd not seen him after she'd scolded him within an inch of his life.
It was a miracle she'd been able to simper for as long as she had, but, she was growing exceedingly tired of answering too bold questions and of dodging Molly and her infinite supply of questions, born out of despair. How did you meet? What had Sherlock been drinking? What role will he play in his daughter's life? Are you thinking of getting together? And the unasked question… is there a teensy-weensy chance of him falling in love with me after all?
She did feel sorry for the poor woman, knowing how hard it was to love someone and believe that love would never be returned. Right now, Kyrie was still dealing with her own grief and staggering emotions and she felt ill equipped to deal with the sore disappointment of someone else.
And then of course there was 'Mummy' – who was called Madge in this reality… Madge! – who'd been dogging her the entire evening… When were you planning on telling me I have a grandchild? When will you do the decent thing and marry my son? Are you planning on having more children? Why did you not bring the baby? When can I see her? When can I hold her?
It was maddening!
Kyrie turned her head, about to alert Mary that she'd had enough. She couldn't do this. The stunned look on Mary's face made her pause however and Kyrie wondered what had gotten into her. Conversations paused or seemed to halt altogether as more and more guests turned their heads, their attention drawn to one focal point.
It was not unlike a horror movie actually. One of the victims walks down into the basement and suddenly they feel a presence behind them. And you yell at the telly: "Don't look! Don't look!" But they look anyway. They always do. And then they die. That was what it felt like, being compelled to look.
When she did look, Kyrie couldn't fathom what the fuss was all about. There was a fight of some sort going on right outside of the doors leading into the reception room. So what? Drunken fights happened all the time, everywhere, and, though annoying, they didn't exactly warrant this kind of rapt attention.
"Isn't that...?" "Sounds like..." "Never thought he was this…" Just snippets of excited whispers that suddenly turned to gasps when two people crashed through the double doors, their momentum launching them straight into the table with the champagne fountain. There was an explosion of sound as over a hundred glasses in the seven tier champagne fountain shattered against the marble floor and spilled their contents all over the guests.
There were a few indignant shrieks but overall everyone's attention was on the two men wrestling on the ground. Kyrie put a hand over her mouth when she recognised the face of Sherlock. He looked terrible! He was now getting bundled towards one of the tables with all the silver platters, filled with hors 'd oeuvres. He was lifted from his feet and smashed right on top of the previously scrumptious looking finger food. He flailed his hands in an attempt to steady himself, but his attacker was already bundling him in a different direction.
"Wait? Wasn't that…? There's two of them…?"
There was something awfully familiar about the person who was straddling Sherlock while throttling him. Her hand flew to her mouth when only then did she recognise the short cropped curls, the familiar scarf, the familiar Belstaff coat...
"Sherlock!" she gasped. Two men looked up at her; one who was getting pummelled and the other who was doing the pummelling. This world's Sherlock took advantage of the distraction and he punched her Sherlock – her husband! – across the face. Her husband reacted with a vicious punch to his gut, which knocked the wind right out of this world's Sherlock and caused him to groan in pain.
"Don't appal me when I'm angry!" her husband all but shouted. He stumbled to his feet, panting, and he looked about him with a frenzied look in his eyes, until he spotted her.
Her mouth instantly ran dry, her bottom lip dropped slightly and her arms fell to her side. The glass she'd been holding shattered to the floor that was already covered in a blanket of debris. She could hardly breathe in the confining dress and the shock of seeing him had her teetering on her feet.
"Don't you dare faint on me!" Sherlock snapped at her and by some miracle, Kyrie managed to keep herself upright.
"Not now! Don't you..." he stopped talking and gave her a bewildered look. "I mean..."
"What's going on? Who is he and… why does he look just like… Sherlock?"
The voice sounded garbled but Kyrie thought she heard the deep timbre of Lestrade's voice. She felt like a quivering mess and she clasped her hand to her stomach, as if her guts would simply fall out otherwise.
Her Sherlock stalked towards her looking verily like the angel of death with a chip on his shoulder. Kyrie thought she was going to faint after all, but his gaze held her captive. The room had grown so quiet, one could hear an atom drop and Kyrie could feel that the gaze of every guest was on them with undivided attention. Unable to move, Kyrie stood there mutely, rooted to the spot, watching, as from a distance, how each long stride brought him closer and closer.
His dark chocolate hair was cropped shorter than what she'd become used to these last weeks. His shoulders were testing the seams of his evening jacket as he pushed someone aside who refused to get out of his way. His eyes were watching her intently. The intensity of his gaze was blistering, his features were sharp and his mouth was set in a grim line.
The way her body responded was unmistakable and Kyrie was pretty sure that the current that leaped back and forth between them, was clearly visible for all the guests to see. Every cell in her body practically strained towards him.
A last purposeful stride brought him right in front of her. There was no time for further thought. In one fluid motion, strengthened by the momentum of his gait, his hands grabbed the sides of her face and he pulled her in, her body crashing against his as his lips swiftly covered hers. And then he kissed her. Hard. With deliberate purpose. Need. Longing. Craving. Seeking entrance. She yielded against him and she could taste a trace of whiskey on his tongue and lips as he explored every nuance of her mouth, claiming it with a hunger and thoroughness he'd never exhibited before. Her walls and defences she'd been forced to build up these past weeks, came crumbling down as she opened for him and swayed into him.
She couldn't stop the tears from mingling in. Unleashed, his emotions fired through the kiss, searing her and branding her his all over again. She clutched his shoulders, her nails biting ever so slightly into his skin through his shirt.
"Why is he… kissing her… like that?"
"I think that's because he's her… husband."
Gasp.
Now that was a moment that would have made her laugh, if Sherlock's kiss didn't consume her so.
He released her only for some much needed air and rested his forehead against hers, unwilling apparently to sever the close connection between them. His breath, like hers, rasped between his lips in an effort to regain control.
"Oh, my God! I- I thought I'd never see you again!" Kyrie just about choked on the words.
Sherlock pulled her close and she clung to him, burying her face in his neck. "I don't know why this should come as a surprise to you," he said with a gravelly voice, "did you really think some bloody machine could keep me away from you?"
He could try and sound as nonchalant as he liked, but the slight catch in his words betrayed his true feelings. She chuckled and sobbed at the same time. They stood there, revelling in each other's embrace, until he pulled back. He looked down at her, placed his fingers against her cheeks – they were slightly trembling – and he took his time in studying her face and her eyes. The frantic look was slowly leaving his eyes and some normalcy returned to them. He seemed a bit more like himself and a bit less than a vengeful demon.
The expression on his face told her lot's of different stories and, despite the fact that more and more people curiously moved in closer on them, he didn't even try to mask any of those naked emotions, free for everyone to see.
"I seem to be missing half of you."
She rubbed her cheek against his hand. "That's because half of me is back in Baker Street, sound asleep."
He closed his eyes at her words and released a ragged breath. "I wasn't sure…" he said. "When Cassidy shoved you..."
"One small favour the universe granted me… I fell into a huge pile of leaves."
"Can someone please explain what THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!" Greg's voice suddenly bellowed through the room.
"That depends, Graham," Sherlock drawled, ignoring the murderous look that Greg gave him, "how familiar are you with science fiction? Considering the, frankly, outlandish theories you come up with sometimes, I'd say you're well-versed."
"Are you like… twins… or something? And it's Greg, not Graham! For crying out loud!"
"It's never twins!" Both Sherlocks said in unison.
Kyrie muffled a laugh at that while her husband gave other-Sherlock a death glare.
With the first shock over, several people demanded answers for different questions at roughly the same time.
"Wh-What's going on? Molly stammered as Madge pulled herself loose from George – at least that name hadn't changed – and walked up to the two Sherlock's. "But, but… my granddaughter?"
For a moment Kyrie actually felt sorry for her when her Sherlock, who did not seem entirely like himself yet, gave Madge an utter look of condescension. "Not your granddaughter." He stepped away from her, then turned towards other-Sherlock. "And you'd do well to remember this, my wife already has a husband and my daughter already has a father and that is certainly not you!"
Oh… the heated discussion in the side-room… the moment Kyrie thought someone was going to walk in on them… Her Sherlock, no doubt, and he'd heard everything. Apparently her husband was not too happy with some of the things he'd heard.
"You said..." Greg seemed to have trouble believing what his eyes were seeing, as his glance kept shifting from her Sherlock to other-Sherlock, "that he's your husband. And you called him Sherlock."
"Yes, I did."
"So he's not..."
"It's never twins, Greg," Sherlock blinked his eyes, as did Greg. "And she is my wife."
In the back, Mary and John started ushering out the other guests, among them a bewildered looking Donovan and Anderson, so only a select group of people remained.
"I think I need to sit down for this, and I need a drink… a stiff one!" Greg muttered to himself. He was dressed quite smartly for the party but he flopped down on a chair with very little regard for festive attire.
"But, who are you?" Molly ventured. "And why do you look like you could be Sherlock's twin?"
"Oh, Molly," Sherlock sighed, "how well do you know me? I mean, you've secretly watched me for – how many hours? – let's settle for a lot, shall we? You're a doctor and quite clever – the Molly I know is anyway – so you know that identical twins are never really identical twins… Different fingerprints, different freckles… different moles. Would you care to check mine? What do you suppose your findings would be, Doctor Hooper?"
Molly gaped from one Sherlock to the other and made soft spluttering noises. "What do you mean, 'the Molly I know'?"
Greg took a sip from the golden liquor that just got pushed in his hand. He used that hand to point at Sherlock, her Sherlock. "You said 'science fiction'."
Sherlock looked upward and gave a half-eyeroll. "Look, Greg, I can tell you everything I know about Matter Bridges, the fabrics of space and time, alternate realities – "
"You said Greg. Again." Greg looked at her husband, his bushy eyebrows raised sky high.
"Are you serious, right now?" Sherlock asked, "I always call you Greg. Now, as I said, I can tell you everything I know –"
"No, you don't. You always call me Graham or Gavin or..."
Kyrie, seeing the mounting agitation of her husband, tried to stop Greg from bumbling on, to no avail… Sherlock erupted. "Will you please allow me to finish my damn sentence! I don't care what he does or doesn't call you!" He jabbed his finger in the direction of the other-Sherlock.
Greg gaped at him slack-jawed and Molly's hand flew to her mouth at his eruption.
It was the wild heat returning to his eyes that had Kyrie worried though.
"I am done catering to you people," Sherlock spat at them. He was sweating and his chest was heaving as though it took every ounce of his discipline to keep himself in check. "All I want right now, is to be alone with my wife. The Bridge needs cool-down time and also... maintenance this time around."
He pressed his fists against his head and Kyrie placed her hand against his back, hoping her presence would take away the edge of some of his agitation. "If you want answers you'll have to wait. The day after tomorrow… there's a small strip of wild land, a little nature reserve along New River. It's called Badger's Bluff here... I believe it's near a High School this time…"
Beneath her fingers, Kyrie could feel tremors racking through Sherlock's body and she gave John a pleading look. John gave her a slight nod. "Sherlock, come on, let's go. You can come with us… Let's just give them, you know..."
Other-Sherlock shot him an annoyed look. He did not get the gist. "Come with you? Why the hell would I want to come with you and spend a night on the lilo if I have..."
John grabbed his arm and practically dragged him away. "You are not spending the night at Baker Street," he hissed at his clueless friend. "They are!"
"You heard my husband..." Kyrie paused for a moment. God it felt so good to be able to say that again! "Answers the day after tomorrow. For now, all we want is to retreat for the night. John, thank you for taking Sherlock with you."
Greg released a sigh, but he nodded at them, got up from his seat and made a quick exit through the large doors. When both Madge and Molly showed signs of wanting to asks more questions, Kyrie resolutely told them, "Good night," after which she left them standing, taking her Sherlock with her.