Chapter 113 – Well, He's Very Limited
Rose slid forward on the sofa, poised to rise when Sherlock rested a light hand on her arm.
"No, don't go yet," he bid her in a low voice.
Grace stirred a little over his shoulder, and he smoothed a hand down the infant's back, instantly settling her.
"What?" Rose asked. She was busting for the loo herself, now that the conversation in the living room had been interrupted.
Justine had ordered Bob to finish the dishes while she commenced the laundry. John had insisted on taking over when Bob had conveniently found a dodgy security alarm that needed inspecting. The conversation prior had been lively and entertaining—Sherlock's minor cases since his resurrection, as retold by John—and Rose hadn't wanted to miss out. In the quiet that had descended on the household, she thought she could now tend to her own needs.
"While we have a moment of privacy," Sherlock said, a curious smile on his lips.
Rose eased back into the sofa, her eyebrows raised in expectation.
"I just wanted to say I love you," Sherlock said, his expression one of boyhood innocence.
A light chuckle escaped Rose and she leant towards him to press a soft kiss to his lips.
"I love you, too," she whispered half a breath away from him.
Sherlock cupped a gentle hand to her nape to keep Rose there.
"Just one more to tide me over," he murmured.
When their lips met again, Rose found his kiss was soft and undemanding. She didn't mind this small indulgence. Sherlock appeared to exist with an undercurrent of sorrow since returning from Sherrinford, and if a kiss could "tide him over", who was she to deny him that?
Before attempting to leave for the bathroom once more, she said, "Since Grace's not really sleeping and Rosie's happily playing…" She gestured to the young Miss Watson who was sitting up on a small rug in the middle of the living room, happily taste-testing several chewy toys. "How about we all go for that walk now?"
Sherlock exhaled a tiny sigh, almost rolling his eyes in the process.
"Yes!" Rose said, emitting a laugh at his micro-protest. "It'll do us all good!"
Prior to making her way upstairs, Rose detoured to Justine and mentioned the outing to her. When she had finished up in the bathroom and returned downstairs, Rose found her plan had worked. Justine had roused everyone into moving, a tough task since she had contributed to their lethargy earlier by serving them afters in the form of a sticky date pudding. It was only Rose who had declined a serve of dessert, and Sherlock who didn't touch any of his.
Justine was explaining to Sherlock how the baby carrier worked, and he kept protesting that he already knew. Bob was opening up the pram in the front entrance and John was adding extra layers to Rosie's outfit.
Rose found there was little she had to do apart from slip on her own shoes and jacket. Justine had already taken care of Grace's warm clothing needs.
"You end up carrying her anyway," Justine said in response to Sherlock's protests of "this feels ridiculous." She adjusted the straps about his shoulders, adding, "But this is safer and more comfortable for you both."
"There's no place safer or more comfortable than directly in my arms."
"Stop your whining. She's practically in your arms, save for the safety harness. Oh, no. Where's that man gone to now?"
They were all assembled in the front entrance and Bob had disappeared. Rose checked that Grace was snug against Sherlock's chest in the carrier. Seeing the unimpressed expression on his face, she resisted the urge to take a photo using her phone. She knew he would've preferred Grace in the pram and Rosie in the baby carrier with John, but Rosie was too big for the size they owned.
"Alarm keeps going off," Bob said, as he strode in tapping his watch. His smart watch was configured to control the security system and receive notifications from it. "But it's the eastern corner now. I'll check it when we get back."
As Sherlock held the front door open for everyone, Justine tutted and shook her head.
"Birds again?" she said to Bob.
Rose folded in behind John, who was pushing Rosie in the buggy. Justine and Bob were behind her, with Sherlock locking the door and bringing up the rear with Grace.
"Birds are too small," Bob argued. "I told you that."
"A fox then," Justine mused. "Cheeky buggers."
John had trudged across the paving stones in the direction of the front pedestrian gate, pushing the pram ahead of him. Rose was about to tell him the keycode to release the lock on the gate, when back at the front porch, Sherlock said, "Wait a minute."
They all turned towards him.
"What did you say?" he said to Bob, marching towards him.
"About what?"
"The security alarm?"
Sherlock's eyes rapidly scanned the garden from left to right.
"That it went off," Bob said. "First the southern sensor, then the east—" The security expert then straightened up as if a thought had occurred to him.
Sherlock's expression hardened and he gestured with his arms wide, his palms facing downward, fingers splayed.
"There's something not right," he said in a low voice. "Bob, Justine."
The two ex-agents exchanged a glance as Sherlock strode across the pavement towards the front gate, where Rose and John waited.
"Rose," he said, taking her by the arm. "John."
With a nod in the doctor's direction, Sherlock began pulling Rose towards the house.
"Wha—?" Rose stammered, her skin prickling when she took in Sherlock's expression.
Closer to the porch, Justine and Bob had split, and each stood facing in the opposite direction, their eyes peeled.
"We're going back inside," Sherlock whispered, his hand still firmly around Rose's arm.
She glanced back at John. He had lifted Rosie from the pram.
"Sherlock," Rose said, a mild panic rising inside.
"Quiet, Rose! We just have t—"
In that instant a blur of black-clad figures emerged from behind shrubs, wooden screens and even the wheelie bins. Rose froze, unable to comprehend what she was seeing, but Sherlock released his grip on her arm and shoved her roughly behind him.
Rose's heart pulsed in her ears as dull thwacks and groans were all she heard, apart from a "Sh-it!" from John somewhere behind her. Sherlock had taken two steps backwards, shuffling her with him.
In an instant it appeared to be over… whatever this was.
Rose was shocked to see Justine sprawled face down on the paving, an assailant standing over her with a scary-looking assault weapon pressed against the back of her head. Another stood by, also pointing their weapon at her. Beside this group, a third gunman had fallen over, it seemed, and was struggling on all fours to not only get up, but also to breathe, coughing and spluttering while pulling at his throat.
"You right, Higgins?" the second gunman said, twisting around to look at his fallen comrade.
Rose took a tentative step out from behind Sherlock just as Grace began to squawk. Sherlock shot out an arm to prevent her moving forward any further. But why wasn't anyone paying attention to them? Just then another figure stepped in front of them. Her breath hitched. Sherlock reached for her hand. It was a comforting hold, she thought vaguely. Not a protective one.
The gunman pulled the mask from his head.
It felt odd seeing a fresh young face, cheeks slightly flushed, eyes twinkling, at odds with everything that had just happened and the scene that was now laid out before them.
"You're safe now, Mister Holmes," he said. "You can return to the house now."
"Safe!" Sherlock spat derisively, releasing his grip on Rose's hand.
Rose automatically smoothed a hand down the back of the baby carrier to soothe Grace, just as Sherlock did. His hand briefly covered hers, and Rose could feel his entire body bristling in anger.
As the young officer-gunman gestured toward the house, Sherlock exhaled a lengthy, "Oh…," dropping his head briefly as if a thought had just occurred.
Rose could now see Bob. He lay motionless, also prostrate, with two gunman guarding him. She felt John come up beside her, just as Rosie let out the beginnings of a cry.
Sherlock tilted his face skywards and called, "Mycroft!"
His shout stunned Rose and her heartbeat jolted into a gallop. Grace hiccuped another cry, as Sherlock turned in a slow circle, his eyes taking in every corner of the front garden. Patting his baby at the same time, he called, "Come out Brother dear! You've royally fucked up this time!"
"Sherlock! Language!" John said in a loud whisper.
Settling his eyes on one corner thickened by shrubs as the cries of infants rose around him, Sherlock added, "And you've upset the children!"
Rose had followed his gaze, her mind a whirl. Was this true? Did his brother really organise this? And for what purpose?
And then an even more unnerving thought hit her: was he here?
She held her breath as figures emerged from behind the greenery.
The man she remembered and recognised as Mycroft Holmes came striding forward, his eyes blazing. Two more gunman flanked him, but they were unmasked.
"Do you know who these people are?" Mycroft said, the fury evident in his voice as he pointed toward Bob and Justine.
Rose felt ill as his presence loomed closer. The most dangerous man she could ever meet, Sherlock had once said. He was going to destroy her once upon a time and it looked like he could easily do so again just with one glance.
"Yes," Sherlock replied, seemingly unphased by the fury evident in his brother's eyes. "Our nanny and our gardener. John…" Turning to his friend, Sherlock said, rapid-fire, "You may want to check on Bob. He could have received a blow to the head. Check for responsiveness. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you how to do your job. Justine's okay. She's just severely pissed off. Rose please take Rosie from John.
"Uh, yeah…" John replied. "And… uh… babies, remember? Language?"
"Now get rid of the riff-raff," Sherlock said to Mycroft, waving a dismissive hand at the group as Rose gently took Rosie into her arms. "They're making the place look untidy."
Mycroft took a step closer and Rose stopped breathing. The British Government official was a few inches taller than Sherlock.
Looking down at his younger sibling, he said in a low, menacing tone, "Juliette Tavernier and Henri Greuze were freelance assassins hired by the DGSE. They were due for retirement, but they disappeared. Probably gone rogue. Who knows who's employing them now to infiltrate your little… domestic setup."
"Well, that's an easy one," Sherlock replied. "I'm their employer."
"Bob? Bob, can you hear me?" John said, crouching down beside the man. Looking up at the officer who stood over him, John said, "Would you mind pointing your gun elsewhere?"
Rose softly shushed Rosie and patted her as the infant continued to cry. She would rather be nowhere near Sherlock's brother, but she felt the safest place to be right now was next to Sherlock. And besides, she didn't want to leave Grace out here.
"They are assassins, Sherlock!" Mycroft said, his voice low and fierce.
Rose couldn't believe Sherlock wasn't quaking in his boots. This man had the power to bring in an assault team and was clearly seething, his anger directed at Sherlock, and Sherlock was standing his ground, while he continued to pat Grace's back. But hadn't Sherlock always spoken with disrespect to his older brother? Rose cast her mind back to the phone conversations she'd witnessed. With these thoughts in her head, she felt a bit giddy and oddly proud of him for the stance he took.
"Did you actually do the homework yourself," Sherlock said with a note of derision in his tone, "or did you copy off the other children? You've got it wrong, Mycroft. You authorised the DGSE to provide agents to help me around Europe, remember? Tavernier and Greuze—"
"I have no knowledge of who the DGSE allocated to you. Just a file of—"
"Well, they helped me on more than one occasion. I trust them with my life." Gesturing with a turn of his head in Rose's direction, he added, "And with the lives of my family."
A warmth drizzled through Rose, but Mycroft seemed to pay no attention to either her or Grace. As a result, Rose stood just a little bit taller.
"They disappeared without notification," Mycroft said.
"Get new intel. They were retired with no payment or acknowledgement by their own government. The DGSE forced them to disappear. I expect the pen pushers wrote misleading information in their secret files. With all the work they did for this country as well as their own, I thought it apt that my little nest egg provided by Her Majesty will go into funding their retirement. With a few odd jobs around the house on their part, we've come to a comfortable agreement. Now get rid of this mess in our front garden. You're devaluing the property."
The brothers locked eyes, neither of them wavering, until at last, Mycroft blinked a couple of times. Turning his head toward the officer who had given Sherlock the all-clear earlier, he gave a tiny nod.
With an unspoken signal between them, the gunmen all shrunk away from their captives, then disappeared in two groups along either side of the house.
Where were they going? Rose thought. Through the Tennis and Lawn Bowls centre?
Justine rose in a flurry of obscenities in French before hastening to Bob's side. Rose couldn't see Bob as Mycroft was blocking her view, but she was relieved to hear John say, "You 'right to walk inside, Bob?"
She was surprised when Sherlock moved away from her.
Gesturing to her, he said, "Mycroft, I'd like to introduce Rose, my… girlfriend… and the mother of my child." Rose froze as Mycroft's steely gaze was directed to her. She felt slightly flustered when all he did was raise one eyebrow. She tightened her hold on Rosie.
"Rose," Sherlock said to her, and she was relieved she had the excuse to look at Sherlock instead of Mycroft. "This is Mycroft, my big brother. I'd like to apologise for his appalling behaviour. He doesn't get out much."
A bubble of laughter formed in Rose's throat, but she resisted the urge to release it. Her lips curled up at the edges all the same.
"Mycroft," Sherlock went on, "This is Rose's home, and if you're lucky, she may invite you in for a cup of tea. Otherwise, I can call you a cab, or there's a particularly reliable bus service that runs along Morningside Road."
Mycroft clenched his jaw, then stated through beady eyes, "I have a car waiting."
Once again, Rose found herself under Mycroft Holmes's scrutiny. He appeared to be waiting for something. She felt Rosie curl her little fingers around a strand of her hair as the infant dropped her head onto Rose's shoulder. She was clearly tired.
Feeling emboldened by Sherlock's general disdain for his brother and the recognition Sherlock gave her, she widened her smile a little.
"Mycroft," she said, her voice oddly calm and sounding foreign to her ears, "would you like to come inside for a cup of tea? I'm sure you're very tired after your long journey. Excuse me, though, I have to get this little one inside." She felt her expression brightening, and without waiting for an answer, she navigated around both men and headed towards the house, her heart pounding. She expected a contingent of armed soldiers to descend on her at any moment to arrest her for treason or something.
Warmed by a distant chuckle behind her from Sherlock, she continued on through the already open door and crossed the entranceway to the kitchen.
Bob was sitting on a dining chair, his head bowed, while John tended to his head wound. Justine looked to be assisting, but her attention was instantly drawn to Rose.
"Here, love," she said, striding towards her. "Let me take her. You all right?"
Rose was stunned to see Justine energetically bustling about as much as she ever did.
"Justine, are you all right? You've just been…" Rose's eyes darted to a fresh bruise on Justine's neck. Justine practically pulled the baby girl from Rose's grasp.
"Oh, that were a whole lot of nonsense, hey?" Justine said to Rosie. "A big puff of air from a big bad wolf. And you're knackered, poor love." She cuddled the infant to her. Rose looked on, bewildered by her nanny's casual attitude. "Oh, and we've left the pram outside." Making for the kitchen door with Rosie in her arms, she added, "Can't leave it out there. Looks like it's going to rain after all. Lucky we didn't make it all the way to the shops. Though, there's nowt in the house for dinner."
With that, she disappeared through the entrance.
Her head still spinning, Rose quickly approached Bob and John.
"Are you okay, Bob?" she asked, resting a light hand on the man's shoulder.
"I cannot tell a lie, Rose," he said, his head still bowed as he held an ice pack to it. "I feel like a mashed potato."
Rose's insides twisted, hearing the heavy sorrow in his voice.
"I'm sorry this happened," she said.
"He'll be fine," John said, stepping away. "It's superficial, but we will have to keep an eye out for signs of concussion."
John moved away to wash his hands in the sink.
"Are you all right, love?" Bob asked her, lifting his head, his eyes rounded in concern. "You're looking a bit pale about the gills."
Rose felt her own eyes well with tears. She couldn't believe everyone was okay. Justine was worrying about dinner, John was doing his doctorly stuff, Bob was worried about her, for fuck's sake, when he was the one who'd been knocked out.
She gave him a vague nod, and tried to smile, but all the same, her head swam and her skin prickled.
'Well, he sure feels like a complete arse," Sherlock said, sweeping into the kitchen through the doorway that adjoined the living room. "Business as usual."
At the sight of Grace still in the baby carrier, Rose's stomach churned.
"Grace!" she cried, crossing the room to Sherlock. "Is she okay?"
"She's absolutely fine… but… but you're not."
His arms encircled her as Rose felt the blood drain from her face and she lost all strength in her legs.
"Yep… okay," she heard John say as gentle arms guided her to a chair. "Here we go." The room swam and her vision became blackened around the edges. Voices flitted in and out, as if she was submerging in water. As her stomach roiled and clenched, she gasped, "Going to… be… sick."
"I'm on that as well," came John's business-like voice as a large cooking pot was placed at her feet. Her skin became cold and clammy before she gave into the involuntary needs of her body.
As she expelled the contents of her lunch, all Rose could think about was the pumpkin soup now returning to the pot it had been cooked in. Oh, God. Justine would be so furious.
"You'll be okay, Rose," she heard Sherlock whisper.
Talking continued around her but Rose barely heard them, except for the occasional exclamation from Sherlock along the lines of, "No, this clasp! Don't tug, just gently lift!" Visions of Sherlock desperately trying to get Grace out of the baby carrier passed through her mind. She felt a kind of hysterical giddiness.
After her stomach had finished retching, a facecloth was thrust in front of her.
"Here, love." It was Justine's voice now.
"There's water here, if you need it," said Bob.
The pot of fresh vomit was also whisked away by a person unseen.
Rose had squeezed her eyes shut as she soothed her face with the cloth. It was cool and damp and welcome. She gulped down the water, then bowed her head again, cooling it once more with a few swipes of the cloth.
As she concentrated on slow and regular breaths, she heard Sherlock say, "And now lift this way." She braved a glance. He was now passing Grace to John, half the baby carrier still around the infant. Sherlock met her gaze and adjusted his shirt. An affectionate smile grew on his face as he approached her.
"Hello," he said, crouching on his haunches in front of her. "The things you'll do to get out of changing a nappy, hmm?"
Rose smiled weakly at Sherlock's attempts to cheer her up.
"You'll be fine. We all feel sick after our first raid by Special Forces, isn't that right, John?"
"Huh?" John said, distractedly pulling the carrier away from Grace's legs. "Oh… yeah. Yes, yes, definitely."
Rose huffed a small laugh as Sherlock reached up and smoothed a strand of hair away from her face. He left his hand there, cupping her face.
"Just take your time," he said, gently running his thumb across her cheekbone. "Would you like me to run you a bath?"
On the periphery, Rose saw John glance around in interest. She supposed this offer sounded odd to him, coming from the mouth of Sherlock Holmes.
"No, I'm fine," she replied, covering his hand with hers. "I might just freshen up a bit, though."
Sherlock smiled in response, then dropped his hand. He rose just a little, planted a kiss on her forehead, then straightened up fully. Rose allowed him to assist her to stand.
"I'm fine," she said again. She reached for the glass of water Bob had refilled for her before he had quietly skulked away himself.
Passing through the kitchen, Rose rubbed a soft hand over Grace's back while she was being held by John.
"Back in a minute," she murmured.
She noted that Justine had left the kitchen at some stage.
Climbing the stairs on shaky limbs, a sense of disappointment rippled through her. She hadn't done anything to help! Bob and Justine had been attacked! John had dutifully tended to Bob's injuries, Sherlock had appeased his bloody brother and called off the Special Forces team, and all Rose could do was faint and vomit! Pathetic!
She made it to the bathroom upstairs, her face flushed with shame and embarrassment. As she closed the door, she heard Justine's soothing voice from the nursery. And now the former assassin was putting John's baby daughter to sleep! Rose couldn't even manage that!
She gulped down her water, placed the tumbler onto the shelf beside the sink, then sniffed. She regarded her reflection in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes, pallid complexion. Pathetic.
Rose brushed her teeth twice.
Still feeling a little delicate, she sank onto the edge of the bathtub.
A quiet sob escaped her, and she did nothing to stifle the tears that began to flow freely. She knew it had to come out. She had just experienced a traumatic event. This was normal! But she still couldn't push away the feeling of helplessness as her body shuddered with gentle sobs. This was Sherlock's world, and she had decided to be a part of it. She had to learn how to cope better, because he had to deal with more important things than mopping her brow. It was up to her to hold the baby in times of crisis, because there were assailants with rifles, and God help her if she ever let Sherlock Holmes hold his baby in front of him again!
Oh, God, you idiot! she thought of herself. That's what was bothering her the whole time. She couldn't take Grace from Sherlock. She was fastened into the baby carrier and he was on the front line. He'd pushed Rose behind him, but his bloody child was in front of him. No wonder Rose had vomited.
Rose stood, splashed her face with cold water, a new determination motivating her. She would belong in this world. She would be a good mother and supportive partner. She would never fall to pieces again!
Rose patted her face to get the blood flowing. Her reflection showed an improvement, but you didn't need to be a Consulting Detective to know she'd had a good cry. She drew in a steadying breath then left the bathroom.
Halfway downstairs, she encountered John.
"Just checking Bob's okay," he said, smiling ruefully. "You all right?"
"I'm going to be fine," she said.
"Yeah," he agreed, before inhaling deeply. "Listen… you know this…" he gestured vaguely towards the downstairs area, "… this isn't a normal day with Sherlock Holmes."
"Yes, I know."
"But it's also not…" He gave her a sheepish smile. "It's also not unusual."
"I think I know that, too."
John cleared his throat. He obviously had more to say.
"You know, Rose, I've been kidnapped more times than I can count since I met him… because of him. But… I wouldn't want to live my life any other way. Not… not the kidnapping thing. That… that's shit, really. But he does protect those around him. He really goes to great lengths to protect those he cares about. And I reckon you and Grace are at the top of the list these days."
"I know," Rose said quietly. Thoughts of what Sherlock did to protect Mary and her from Charles Augustus Magnussen careered through her mind.
"You will be safe," John continued. "He'll make sure of it. I'll make sure of it. And now Grace has got an overbearing uncle who will make sure of it. Because today…" John pointed down the stairs once more. "… today was Mycroft Holmes ensuring your protection. That's what that was. In his own mistaken, bumbling way."
"He was protecting Sherlock."
"No," John said, with a shake of his head. "If Sherlock was in danger, Mycroft would see how deep he could get. It's… it's a kind of spectator sport for him. Mycroft's not one for swooping in at the last minute for Sherlock. It's almost like he knows Sherlock will get himself out, then he saunters in and criticises him for how slow he was or how stupid he was for taking on such a dull case. No, this was definitely not for Sherlock. This was for your benefit. You and Grace."
"He barely looked at us."
"Yeah, he does that. Tends to talk at people, or around them. Don't worry. He's quite boring when you actually have a conversation with him. I'd savour this moment in time if I were you."
Rose couldn't help but smile. She reached up and pulled John in for a hug.
"Thank you," she whispered. Perhaps she needed to hear all that.
Rose found Sherlock still in the kitchen, holding Grace over his shoulder while he poured milk into tea cups on the kitchen counter.
"Feeling better?" he asked, without looking up.
"Yes. Slightly." It didn't surprise Rose that Sherlock wasn't fawning all over her. He did almost laugh the time she had been traumatised by Mary pulling an empty gun on her. This was something she'd have to process by herself, although she also had Bob, Justine, or even John to fall back on later, if she needed the support.
She went on, "I will have that bath a bit later, though. Once everyone else has finished using the bathroom."
"Full house at the moment," he said, placing the milk container onto the counter and replacing the lid.
"Will Mycroft be staying over?"
"God, no. He can have this cup of tea, then be on his merry way. Lots of small countries to invade, diplomats to manipulate. He's just spent the last fifteen minutes filing a top secret report for a top secret mission that never existed in the first place. Unfortunately, Justine crushed some poor squaddie's windpipe. He'll be okay… but still. The paperwork."
Rose took a moment to reflect on the armed assailant who was on all fours, struggling to breathe.
Sherlock strode the length of the kitchen to deposit the milk back into the fridge.
"I'll get to your tea in a minute," he said. "Some flowery thing that needs longer to steep. This one's for Mycroft. I'll just take it to him."
"No, Sherlock," Rose said. "I'll take it to him."
Sherlock paused, his brow furrowed.
"Mycroft and I have barely met," Rose explained. "In fact," she said, reaching out, "I'll take Grace in as well."
"Okay, we'll all go in."
"No. Just me and Grace."
"Why?"
"We need to get better acquainted."
Rose's hands encircled Grace's torso. She wasn't going to take no for an answer, so she raised an eyebrow at Sherlock until he released his daughter.
He gave a light cough.
"There's something you should know, then," he said.
"What?" Rose asked, settling Grace against her shoulder and warming at the feel of her soft head against her cheek at last.
"At… at Sherrinford."
Rose's stomach flipped. Sherlock's expression had dropped again.
"It wasn't pleasant," he went on. "And… Mycroft… like I said—he doesn't get out much."
"What are you trying to tell me?"
"Be… gentle."
Rose reached a hand out and gave Sherlock's arm an affectionate rub.
"Since when haven't I been gentle to somebody who's had a traumatic experience?"
Sherlock's mouth quirked into a smile.
"He's in safe hands then," he said.
Rose gave Sherlock a peck on the cheek, then carefully lifted Mycroft's tea cup and saucer from the counter. With a confident stride and a light heart, and her daughter safely snuggled against her, Rose made her way through the adjoining doorway to the living room to meet her daughter's uncle properly this time.
A/N:
How did you like this (over)reaction of Mycroft's? I had so much fun writing that. Poor Myc! He does try! And there's still more to come, of course…. Next chapter: Mycroft, Rose and Grace in the same room, alone!
(To Caitrona-guest, yes I do have an account on archive of our own. Same user id "elbafo" but "15 Minutes" is the only story I have on there, and it's updated at the same time as it is on here).
