Having a place to go - is a home. Having someone to love - is a family. Having both - is a blessing.
~Donna Hedges
Siger Holmes
He tries calling Mal again, worried that the shocking news gave her a heart attack or rendered her unconscious. Not that she's in great danger of having one. It's his blood pressure and cholesterol levels that their GP isn't liking very much. As much as his inability to remember where he put away his glasses. For a very short while a couple years ago there was even a brief scare of early onset of dementia that the man convinced Mal into believing that Siger was supposed to start developing.
Blood pressure and cholesterol levels are on him. He's an old man with old man's vices. He likes his pipe and his chips a bit too much to easily give them up but he makes an effort to limit them. He still misplaces his glasses though, but it's a vanity thing, up until his retirement he was one of the best shots on the base and even when the letters in his books started to shrink he would rather squint at them instead of admitting that he was getting older and needing reading glasses.
None of his calls come through and he isn't impatient enough to continue making them as soon as the call drops. He waits until it drops and then he gives it two to three minutes for Mal to answer.
Thing is, Mal isn't stupid, far from such actually and not only intellectually. In spite of her limitations of understanding social cues she has a pretty strong grasp of them and good enough memory to remember what's right or wrong. And she's been an army wife for so many years and there are certain things that a good army wife just doesn't do.
Out there, no matter where out there happens to be at the moment, calls are scarce and with both parties being thousands miles away from each other passive-aggressive hanging ups are a big no. Summons might come at every moment but it takes only few seconds to say 'I have to go, bye honey'. Mal knows that and they always ended their calls with a proper goodbye.
Unless he was in a doghouse for some reason, which rarely happened but he had enough of them through their life to know when to give up.
So he gives up eventually and gives into the trip down the memory lane. He smiles fondly at the photograph of all his children sleeping on the couch. It was barely big enough for them when they were sitting on it and sleeping on it couldn't be very comfortable. At the very least it had a wide and sturdy backrest hence Sherlock sprawled on the top of it, with his limbs dangling in all directions like a particularly lazy cat. He never really grew out of that catlike mannerism truth be told. He could be loud and obnoxious and stroppy in the next minute. Just like he could curl himself into a ball or sprawl out like an octopus. Then there was Myc, all proper, dozing in a seated position, bracketed by Sherry's long legs and holding onto Sherlock's dangling foot. Sherry takes the entire length of the couch, Rosie sprawled on his chest with his right arm wrapped around her to keep her from falling and his other hand holding onto Sherlock's.
There are more photos of them as babies. Sherry with baby Myc, not amused by the presence of baby brother but holding onto him dutifully. Toddler Sherlock in Sherry's lap learning how to spell his name with blocks. It's an easy place to lose oneself, especially now that he doesn't have to hide it anymore.
Which is why he misses the knock on the door who knows how much later. He stares at it perplexed. Mal is a cautious if a bit lousy driver at the best of times and the drive from Edinburgh would be a long one. And once again Myc would have called.
Could be a neighbour in need, he decides as he puts away the album and heads to open the door.
It's neither Myc or any of the neighbours and it takes him a moment to recognise in the darkness the intruder and a moment longer to remember why she seems familiar. It's Sherlock's long-suffering landlady. He saw her briefly a couple of times, mostly in passing and from afar and only when they visited Baker Street they had a chance to exchange a couple of words.
Mal didn't particularly like her from the start. Not with Sherlock bailing out of the car straight on the pavement and instead of heading to the front door running straight into the woman, relieving her of her shopping bag and practically beaming at her all the way to the front door.
He doesn't do that to Mal. He helps her when asked and when he can see that she's struggling with something. Occasionally he smiles at her too. But that beaming fondness isn't Mal's, hadn't been since the fire. Mal hates it, just like she low key hates anyone that inspires him to act like that, anyone that isn't her. And Siger gets that, Mal, Lord knows, tries her best but her best wasn't always best for Sherlock. It's no wonder that what he found lacking in his own mother he tried to find elsewhere.
Which still doesn't explain why she's here. But he greets her, invites her in and learns.
It's perplexing and what she's telling him is Mycroft level of intrusive so he wastes very little time to fetch a birthday gift from his nephew. Eddie works in cybernetics for MI5 and occasionally gives family members peculiar gifts. Siger and Mal in particular, Mal usually scoffs at that because who would be crazy enough to spy on a pair of retired civilians. Siger knows better, his position wasn't high or noteworthy enough for him to worry about being spied on, at the very least for what he knew, knows or will ever learn. But that doesn't change the fact that both of his surviving sons are more or less connected to MI5 and MI6 and while they rarely visit, separately let alone together they do visit or bring over their stuff. Therefore it's better to err on the side of caution.
For a casual onlooker it looks like a vanity box but it's far from such. It's made from cedar wood and some type of material that blocks radio and cell frequencies. It's also a good thing to use to suss out whatever or not Mycroft managed to sneak in some spyware on their phones. That's what Siger thinks while Mal believes that it's quite a good way to inspire Myc to call his parents if the signal from their phones disappears for too long. Not that Myc had never tried to put listening devices on the landline or anywhere else.
It's a good mental and sometimes physical exercise, far more better than remembering where he put away his glasses. And of course there's the bug killer, some elaborate electronic device (and another gift from Eddie) which makes them useless.
Mrs Hudson's phone goes inside the box as Siger makes plans to utilise his nephew's knowledge and connections in the morning.
Then it befalls on him to bring the landlady up to speed. Curiously enough she shakes off the shock of Sherlock newly acquired family connections faster than Siger did and within minutes of learning that the Watsons would be moving in with Sherlock she's up into plans of what needs to be done and as it turns out there's a lot of it.
She's in the middle of contemplating adding a bathroom upstairs when Siger manages to interrupt her.
"Wouldn't that affect your future tenants?" he asks.
She looks at him as if he had grown a second head.
"Mr Holmes," she starts.
"Siger, Mrs…" he interrupts her again.
"Martha," she interrupts him in return before she continues. "I have no children of my own. My sister's family is looked after and taken care off. They have no need for a property in central London and even if they do Neil can take care of that."
He nods slowly.
"I'm not planning to depart from this world anytime soon but neither I'm labouring under a deluded notion that it's not going to happen sooner or later. When that will happen however I made arrangements for the house to end in their care," she says as she gestures upstairs. "Therefore they're more than welcome to make any changes to it as they see fit."
"They don't know that?" he asks and hums softly. "Do they?"
"I lived and known them both for long enough to not make a mistake of mentioning that. Sherlock might view that as an invitation to set the place on fire and John hates charity. Best to leave that as an offer they cannot refuse."
"How on earth then you're planning to convince them to remodel?" he asks curiously.
"With great ease," she replies. "Then only thing that perplexes me is whatever or not they will be eventually needing three or four bedrooms," she adds with a smile that's half-whimsical and half-dreamy.
Siger smiles back in return before he asks, "How long you've known?"
"Since the day that poor lamb brought the doctor home," she replies. "For what he had done for me I would have housed him for free indefinitely. He insisted on rent but the whole thing is quite fluid as long as he continues to chip in on the bills. He certainly didn't need a flatmate, nor I believe he wanted to have one. But then next day after he moved in…"
"He brought in John," he finishes with a smile.
"And had been this mixture of excited and bashful as my niece did when she was bringing in a serious boyfriend for a visit," she adds and smiles fondly. "I just wish that they will figure it out before I die."
Siger smiles again before he says, "I'm kind of hoping that they had. I wasn't exactly subtle."
She beams at him.
He looks at the clock, it's way too late into the night for them to be still awake. They might risk checking how Siger's plan worked without seeing something no parent would want to see they children doing.
And what they're doing is sleeping soundly. All four of them. The girls are conked out in the crib. And Sherlock and John… Well, their clothes are all over the room and while they're covered by the bedsheet there's very little left for Siger or Mrs Hudson to imagine what transpired there.
"Finally," Mrs Hudson breathes out once they close the door before she hugs Siger tightly. "I'm so happy for them."
"So am I," Siger agrees.
And he is, he realises and a little while later after he leads Mrs Hudson to Myc's old bedroom and heads towards his own he wonders about the days that will come. He falls asleep thinking about little girls running around the garden, chased by their fathers. He thinks of Sherlock radiating with serenity and happiness as he exchanges vows with John. There will be a wedding, of that much Siger is certain. When and where it will take place is debatable but not that it will take place. Sherlock might scoff at the institution of marriage but it doesn't change that on a deep primal level a wedding ring is a claim. And six years is a long time to wait to make one.