Chapter 22

Over the next few days, John started remembering more and more about his childhood years. The first such memory that returned to him really shook him up. He immediately texted Sherlock, to let him know what was happening, and then grabbed hold of a spiral notebook and started writing it all down.

"What's wrong, John?" Mellie asked him with a furrowed brow, as he was writing.

"I—I just remembered something," John told her. "Something Sherlock and Greg need to know." He looked at the mid-morning sunlight pouring in through the lounge windows and shook his head. Mellie nodded, and John turned his attention back to his writing.

As soon as he had finished, Sherlock entered the lounge, followed by Lestrade. "Sherlock tells me you've remembered something else," Lestrade said.

"Yes." Clearing his throat, John rose to his feet. "I wrote it all down, in case you didn't get back in time, but I can tell you now, if you want me to." Greg nodded and looked expectant.

John bit his lower lip. "You remember I told you how Gruner once tried to kill me." Lestrade and Sherlock nodded. "Well, the same thing happened to Harry later that summer; I remember that now. I wasn't there with her when it happened, but I do remember her darting into the garden shed, where I was hiding from Dad." He took a deep breath. "She was deeply shaken. I asked her what was wrong, and she told me that Mr. Gruner had tried to kill her." He nodded towards the notebook. "It's all written down, as much as I can remember. You'll have to speak with her if you want the details. Since she was 13 at the time, she probably remembers more about the incident than I do about mine."

With a nod, Lestrade approached the desk and picked up the notebook. He read the memory that John had written down, and then tore the page out and handed it to Sherlock, who tucked it into his pocket.

"We'd better go to the safehouse and speak with Harry," he told the detective inspector, who nodded agreement. Sherlock pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and texted Mycroft's number. 'Mycroft? Lestrade and I need to visit Harry Watson. Which safehouse did you have her taken her to?'

When his brother's return text appeared in his message box, he read it and texted Mycroft to thank him. "Harry is staying at a safehouse in Islington," he told Lestrade. "Mycroft sent me the address."

The detective inspector nodded, and the two of them left. A half-hour later, they arrived at the safehouse, where Harry gave them the details that she remembered of the day Gruner had tried to take her life.

"You didn't tell your parents?" Lestrade asked her, when she was finished.

Harry shook her head. "It wouldn't have done any good," she said. "Mum was in the basement at the time, and she was always unavailable to Johnny and me when she stayed down there. Dad was home, but he was drunk. I knew better than to try to tell him."

"And this was in early August," Lestrade said, to clarify. Harry nodded.

"And you didn't tell your neighbour across the street?" Sherlock asked her. "Alice Templeton?"

Harry grimaced. "She was visiting some relatives at the time, so I couldn't. And when she came back, it didn't occur to me to tell her about it."

Lestrade nodded, looking sombre. "You're not the only member of your family Ruben Gruner went after, that year," he told her. "John's remembered that Gruner tried to kill him back in June, that same summer."

Harry stared at him. "He did?" She shook her head. "Johnny never told me!" She shook her head again. "But why? Why did Gruner want us dead? And why does he want to kill Johnny and me now?!"

Greg laid a hand on her shoulder. "We're finding out the details little by little, Miss Watson, but there's still much we don't understand yet. We're doing everything in our power to hunt him down. Till then, you need to stay here, where you'll be safe."

"And—and you can promise he won't find me here?" Harry asked him.

"Oh, yes." The D.I. smiled. "Safehouses are called that for a reason, Miss Watson—they're inconspicuous and protected. Every effort is made to ensure that enemies can't find the people who take refuge in them, and the safehouses are also carefully guarded. You'll be safe here until we make an arrest." With a weak smile, Harry nodded her thanks.

Greg and Sherlock said good-bye to her and returned to Scotland Yard, where they gathered Donovan, Camden, and the SCO-19 officer, Jacob Smith for a meeting in one of the conference rooms. They reviewed all of the information discovered so far.

At last, Lestrade leaned back and sighed. "Well, we're making progress in forming a case that will stand up in court. But we also need to determine where Gruner and his accomplice are hiding. We've got to do more than charge him with the previous murders, and with his previous attempts on the lives of John and Harriet; we've got to keep him from murdering John and his family. To do that, we've got to find them. Let's hope that Anthea's team is able to locate his hideout."

"I agree," Donovan said soberly, and Sherlock and the other men nodded agreement before leaving the conference room.

XXXXXXX

The following morning, John had opened his laptop and was going over the most recent CCTV footage that Mycroft had sent him. So far, he had not been able to see any identifying features on the accomplice's face that would show him who the man was. While he carefully examined what he could see of the man's head, Mellie fed Rosie in the kitchen.

At last, with a sigh, John turned off the footage and closed his laptop. "I'll need to see better footage, before there's any chance I'll be able to identify Gruner's friend," he said, frustrated.

"Well, perhaps they'll show up on the streets again," Mellie soothed him. She popped Rosie out of her highchair and carried her to John, who cuddled her against his chest. Siger was reading a novel. "They won't be able to stay in hiding forever, John. If nothing else, they'll have to leave wherever they're staying to get some food and other necessities."

John snorted. "True. Unless they've hired someone to get them their necessities, that is." Rising to his feet, he stretched his arms above his head and ambled toward his armchair; sinking down into it, he leaned back. At the moment, there was nothing more he could do. Wish I could leave the building and take a walk, he thought dully. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes. He soon started to drift off…

*'When's Mummy coming back?'

'I don't know! She'll have to get well first.'

Popping open his eyes, John raised his head and gaped ahead of him. Get well? When had his mum been sick and perhaps in the hospital?

*'I wish Aunt Alice was here.'

'Yeah. Come on, Johnny, we gotta get dressed. We can't hang around in our pyjamas.'

John shook his head violently. That was his sister's voice, Harry's voice, when she was much younger. And his own voice, when he was just a young child. What's coming back to me now?

"John?" Now that was Siger's voice. "Something wrong?"

John pressed his lips together. "I think I'm starting to remember something else."

Closing his eyes again, he leaned his head back and clenched the chair's cushioned arms. Images began to creep across his mind's eye: himself and Harry alone in the lounge. Harry heating some food in a saucepan. Harry sitting in the lounge, picking up the phone and dialling a number and then speaking into it, only to hang back up, looking disappointed. John and Harry eating slices of bread for a meal. The two of them walking to the corner shop and buying some food. John waking up feeling sick on a stormy day, with only Harry to take care of him. Where had his mum been? It wasn't hard to guess that his dad had been out on a bender.

With a frown, John picked up his phone and dialled the safehouse's number. With a sigh, he switched his mobile to speaker mode while it rang, since he knew that Siger and Mellie would want to know about this. When his older sister picked up, John cleared his throat. "Hi, Hare."

"Hi, Johnny," said Harry. "What's up?"

"Waiting for news, same as you." John grimaced. "And while I'm waiting, I've been starting to remember some things. Things that aren't good. While I was sitting here in my chair and napping, I started to remember something I think really happened. I dreamed it at first, but then when I woke up, I started to remember more. Harry—" He cleared his throat. "Harry, was there ever a time when I was very little, when you and I were all alone in the house? I don't just mean when Mum was in the basement, and Dad was at work or out on one of his benders, but for an extended period of time. For days."

Silence on the other end of the line, followed by a groan. "I'm afraid so, Johnny. It was the first time Mum was in the hospital, and Dad left us all alone, you and me. He was on one of his benders, only that one was much longer than any of his benders had ever been. In fact, he didn't return home till sometime after Mum's discharge. Alice Templeton was off visiting relatives at the time, and the Pitmans were away on holiday. You and I had no one to turn to." She paused. "You were only four."*

"It wasn't the last time," Johnny said, remembering. "I'm only just beginning to remember, and I probably won't remember much since I was only four, as you said. But that wasn't the only time that happened, was it?"

"No, it wasn't."

John swallowed hard. "What did you do? How did we manage?"

Harry sighed. "It wasn't easy, Johnny. It was very hard on us both. I was only 10, much too young to be looking after you all by myself for days on end, and you were just a toddler. You and I had to do all the work and all the shopping. Three times, we ran out of food. And the first few times I tried to ring Mum at the hospital, she was too sick to take any calls."

John frowned. "How did we keep from starving, if our food was running so low?"

"Well, the first time it ran out, I still had some money I'd earned walking Mrs. Thompson's dog, so I used it to buy us some more at the corner shop. The next time, I took you with me to her house to walk her dog again, and used the money we earned to buy more food." She paused. "The third time, it was storming, and you were sick with a fever and a sore throat when you woke up. Earning any more money and going back to the corner shop was out, so we were in a real fix. The only thing that saved us that time was that Mum was finally well enough to speak on the phone. I told her what our dad had done, and she rang the corner shop and told Mrs. Russell, and asked her to ring her mother."

John smiled. "And Alice Templeton came."

"As soon as she could, yeah. Mrs. Russell came first, and brought us some food and medicine. She stayed at our house and looked after us until her mother arrived." Another pause. "Dad never did come back while Mum was in the hospital, so Aunt Alice stayed with us until Mum was discharged. I don't remember when Dad did come back."

John grimaced. "Knowing him, he was probably drunk when he finally did."

"No kidding." Harry swore. John didn't ask her why she hadn't told anyone else, not even Mrs. Russell; he knew why. Telling anyone but Mum would have meant running the risk of going into care, and that was something neither of them had had any desire to endure, growing up. After a moment, Harry continued.

"Mrs. Russell told us to tell her if that ever happened again, and she'd make sure we had food and the other things we needed. And whenever Aunt Alice left to visit her relatives after that, she always made sure we could ring her if that happened again while she was gone. So, while it did happen again—more than once—the other times Mum had to stay in hospital, at least we never again had to face it all alone." Harry paused. "And thank goodness! I was so afraid, Johnny."*

"I hear you!" John said fervently. He did remember the times that had followed, but on all of those occasions, Alice Templeton had been available to look after them until their mum was well enough to come home. He cleared his throat. "Thanks, Harry."

"I just wish you hadn't remembered any of it, Johnny."

John grimaced. "There's too much from back then I wish I didn't remember, but I do. I'm sure the same holds true for you. Well, I've got to hang up now. Have a good day." He laughed. "Well, as good as you can, under the circumstances."

"Yeah, you, too." Harry hung up, and John switched his phone off. With a sigh, he laid it on the side table and gazed down at his lap.

After a moment, he looked up at the elder Holmeses, both of whom looked unhappy. "I'm sorry. I should have left the phone off speaker and taken it upstairs to my room."

"No, John." Mellie shook her head. "I'm glad you allowed us to listen in, though I'm not glad to hear that your father abandoned you and Harry like that."

John grimaced. "I—I just don't know if this is something Sherlock or Lestrade need to know about. I mean, it has nothing to do with Gruner."

"No, but it does paint a picture of your childhood," Siger said.

John shrugged. "True." Standing up, he approached the desk, sat down, opened his notebook, and wrote down everything he himself remembered, and that Harry had told him. When he had finished, he texted Sherlock to tell him that he had remembered something else from his childhood, something that Gruner had had nothing to do with, and that he had written it down in his notebook. Then he stood up again and approached Rosie, who had finished eating and was sitting on the floor, playing with her toys.

When Sherlock and Lestrade returned to the flat a few hours later, when lunch was over, Sherlock asked to see what John had written down. Tearing it out of the notebook, John handed the sheet of paper to him, and he and Lestrade read it silently.

Lestrade shook his head. "Some people should never be parents."

John grimaced. "I can only agree."

The D.I. looked at John. "Well, this may not have anything directly to do with Gruner, John, but everything you tell us of back then can only help. If any other such memories come back to you, write it down as you did this one. Or tell the Holmeses, if they just happen to be here. And feel free to tell me, if I'm here."

With a sigh, John nodded. "I will."

Sherlock handed the paper back to John. Suddenly, another painful memory shot through his head, and he froze.

"John?" Siger asked gently. "Are you remembering something else?"

John took a deep breath. "I'm afraid I am. And like the earlier one, it has nothing to do with Gruner that I know of. Only with my dad. But it's a hurtful memory."

"What is it you're remembering, John?" Greg's voice was equally gentle.

Taking a deep breath, John turned to face the others. "Oh, something cruel my dad did to me, once. At times, he was cruel to us both—breaking my toys, destroying Harry's possessions, shouting at us, just generally being a horrible father. Too many times, in fact. So often, he was cruel to our mum, too. Not relevant to what we need, but not pleasant to remember."

Mellie approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Well, anytime you need to share anything, John, we'll be happy to listen."

Looking up at her, John gave her a wan smile. "Thanks."

He didn't look at the others, and none of the others said anything, either. Mellie wrapped her arm around his shoulders and gently squeezed the one her hand rested on.

"I'm sorry." John sighed and scanned their faces. "I shouldn't be inflicting all this on you."

"John," Mellie told him firmly, "we told you to share your memories with us, so inflict away. Siger and I are tougher than you think."

"And so am I." Lestrade approached him. "Believe me, I've heard much worse stories than this, and so has Sherlock, here. We know these are painful memories to endure, John, but we intend that you won't have to endure them alone."

"We certainly do," Siger added.

John gave him, and then the others, a grateful smile. "Thanks." He cleared his throat. "All of you."

Lestrade and Sherlock left to resume their investigation, and John took Rosie on his lap. As he bounced her on his knee, he started pondering.

In one respect, I'm luckier than Sherlock, he thought. I never rewrote my memories, not as he did. But looking back, I did block some of them out. Some of them were just too painful to remember, especially since I had no way to deal with them at the time they happened. He bit his lower lip. I've known for a long time that my childhood memories aren't as complete as other people's, but I never worried about it. Though I might well have, if I had lost huge chunks of them. I just wonder if it's just my traumatic memories I've blocked out, or if any of my good memories have disappeared with them? He grimaced. I don't care if none of my traumatic memories ever come back to my conscious memory; I can do without them. But I would like to remember at least some of the good ones.

With a sigh, he turned his attention to Rosie. Perhaps he should speak to Sherlock's therapist about these memories. Not yet, though. For the time being, he and the rest of his family had to stay alive; that came first. Seeking help to deal with his returning memories could come later. He started bouncing his daughter again, and she laughed.

XXXXXXX

*I took this memory of John's and Harry's out of my story, "Abandoned Babes," which is posted on and Archive of Our Own.