Author Note:
There are a few flashbacks in this chapter written in italics. I hope it's not too hard on the eyes. There's quite a bit of it. I had fun writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it!
Chapter 117 – Happy Families
Sherlock surveyed his living room once more, dust settling with the cremated remains of pages containing serial killer curriculum vitae of yesteryear and volumes upon volumes of poisons for fun and profit. Surely it was safe to go down now. Nobody had been sent up to fetch him, so he imagined afternoon tea in Mrs Hudson's sitting room was progressing happily, and his mother hadn't turned absolutely monstrous.
Standing amongst the rubble of blackened books, scorched music sheets and chargrilled insect carcasses, he rebuttoned his jacket and fixed his shirt cuffs. He directed his gaze towards the soot-covered wall above the fireplace and imagined his image reflected in the mirror that ought to have hung there.
Right, then. Into battle.
Reaching the bottom step, he was greeted by the unmistakeable sound of an owl in its last death throes. His landlady was obviously regaling her guests with amusing anecdotes about Florida that only loosely related to the topic under discussion.
Sherlock paused in the hallway and hung his head.
Why did this have to be a thing? Why couldn't they fast forward to next week, where everyone knew everything and everybody was fine with that?
Because people are idiots.
With that final thought, Sherlock made for the entrance to the sitting room.
"—just like him when he's bored!" Mrs Hudson finished exclaiming.
The scene before him wasn't as awful as Sherlock expected it to be. His parents sat on the landlady's settee, his mother cradling Grace. Mrs Hudson hovered nearby with a camera. Everyone was looking at the baby girl. And why not? She was exquisite.
Except...
Rose sat in front of the fireplace, in the armchair Mrs Hudson usually reserved for knitting and binge-watching the latest season of Outlandish, or whatever it was—that Scottish Highlander nonsense. Rose's eyes had narrowed upon Sherlock's arrival and her hands were curled together in her lap.
A bit not good.
"Ah," he said, addressing the non-frowny people. "So... you've all met one another. Excellent."
"Oh, Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said. "What were you doing up there?"
"There you are," his mother announced, in case he'd forgotten where he was standing and needed some direction.
"I was just telling your mother how much Grace looks like you when she yawns," Mrs Hudson said.
Rose vacated the armchair, saying, "Here, Mrs Hudson, please have your seat back." Making a beeline towards Sherlock, she added, "I'm just going to get Sherlock a tea cup, so he can join us."
While Sherlock was growing a fake smile on his face, Rose grabbed him by the shirt cuff and half-dragged, half-escorted him into the kitchen.
This was definitely a lot not good.
Rose whirled around and demanded, "Well? You heard Mrs Hudson. What were you doing up there?"
"I was... checking... stuff..."
"I had to introduce myself to your parents without you!"
"Looks like all went well."
Sherlock completed the smile he'd started earlier, however it didn't have the desired effect on Rose.
"They didn't have a clue who I was!" she said, her eyes blazing. "Your mum handed me her coat!"
"Oh, this old thing. Don't bother hanging it up. Just toss it onto the chair or in the fireplace. Now where's Martha?"
"I had to say who I was several times, Sherlock."
"Please don't worry about her," Mr Holmes said, indicating Mrs Holmes who had just found Mrs Hudson in the kitchen. As he handed over his own coat, he added, "Just heard some bad news, I'm afraid. She needs a cup of tea and a good natter. I had no idea Martha had a helper? Here for the holidays?"
"No... I'm..." Rose paused, distracted by footfalls on the stairs above. "I'm sorry. Did Sherlock come in with you?"
"He's just gone upstairs to check a few things, I suspect. Had a bit of a fire up there. Though he might need time alone. We've had a family meeting. Unpleasant business. I'm his father, by the way. Arthur Holmes."
"Oh, sorry," Rose said, attempting to extricate a hand from underneath the coats. "I'm Rose..." But Arthur Holmes had turned from her. "Sherlock's... girl... friend."
"Through here, is it?" Arthur said, his face brightening as he entered the sitting room.
"Didn't you tell them who they were having afternoon tea with?" Rose asked, the unhappy creases in her forehead still prominent.
"It was supposed to be a surprise," Sherlock hastily replied.
"Why did you disappear upstairs the minute you arrived with them?"
Sherlock bowed his head and raked his fingers through his hair.
"Be-cause," he said, suddenly struggling for air. "The whole thing would've been a lot worse in my presence."
"How could it be worse? Your parents refused to believe me. It was awkward!"
"Ah... there you are, dear. Were you fetching the tea?"
"I think Mrs Hudson is. I'll just check," Rose replied to Mrs Holmes's question. Sherlock's parents were now seated comfortably in Mrs Hudson's sitting room. Rose had just hung their coats by the front door.
Head buzzing in bewilderment, she left for the kitchen. Should she bolt upstairs and drag Sherlock down?
Instead, she asked Mrs Hudson, "Didn't they know I was going to be here for afternoon tea?"
"Oh, I don't know, love," the landlady replied, as she poured water from the kettle into a tea pot. "Mycroft just asked me to play host, and here I am. Why don't you go and sit down with them and have a nice little chat? They'll like that."
Intent on doing no such thing, Rose tried to discreetly pass by the entrance to the sitting room so she could find out what Sherlock was up to.
"Oh… my dear… girl…" Mrs Holmes beckoned her. "Could you trouble Martha for a glass of water, please? I've forgotten to take my pills, bloomin' things."
"Yes… of course, I will," Rose said, her stomach in knots. She drifted into the room and drew in a steadying breath. Bloody Sherlock. She'll have to do this now, before there was any more misunderstanding. "Mr and Mrs Holmes," she said.
"Oh, just Arthur, please," Mr Holmes said. "And my wife is Louisa."
Mrs Holmes stared at Rose with wide eyes, as if warning her against calling her by her first name.
"It's actually Margaret," Mr Holmes added in a stage whisper. "But she prefers Louisa."
Turning to her husband, Mrs Holmes said, "Oh, wouldn't you, if you had the same name as that… floozy? Royalty, indeed!"
Rose brought her hands together, lightly clasping them. This was a nightmare.
"Well, it's lovely to meet you," she said, forcing a tiny smile to her face. "I'm… Rose. Sherlock's… girlfriend."
The Holmeses barely reacted at all, except for the slight widening of Mr Holmes's eyes and the narrowing of Mrs Holmes's.
"Are you sure, dear?" Mrs Holmes asked, with a tilt of her head.
It was such an odd response to her announcement that Rose opened her mouth with no reply on hand.
"Because Sherlock doesn't have girlfriends," Mrs Holmes went on. "He won't abide all that nonsense, he's always said. And there was once that…" Mrs Holmes turned to her husband. "What was her name? You know the one… from last year."
"Oh!" he said, his eyebrows shooting up as the name came to him. "Janet!"
"No! Not Janet, you silly man. Janet's the name of your accountant's secretary." Turning to Rose, she added, "He's got Janet on the brain."
"Well, it started with a 'J'," he said mournfully.
"Jenny!" Mrs Holmes exclaimed, and Mr Holmes nodded his head vigorously. Both pairs of eyes fixed on Rose. "Yes, Jenny," Mrs Holmes continued. "Now she thought she was Sherlock's girlfriend, too. Went to the papers and everything. I don't know what she was thinking."
"You mean 'Janine'," Rose said. "Yes, I know about her."
"No. 'Jenny'. Jenny Hawkins. Made up some rubbish about Sherlock proposing to her. Completely delusional. He was after information about her boss. Couldn't she see that? It was always about the work, with him."
"Where… where do you work?" Mr Holmes asked. "It might have something to do with that."
Rose felt as if she were in the Twilight Zone. Did he mean 'it' as in her delusion that she was Sherlock's girlfriend?
"I… don't… work… at the moment."
She shook her head lightly as if to knock some sense into it. She didn't know why she had turned into a nervous wreck in front of the Holmeses. In the course of her many and varied occupations, she had encountered all manner of people.
But deep down she knew why.
They were Sherlock's parents.
For God's sake! Just tell them, Rose!
A tiny bit emboldened, she added,"No, we actually are in a relationship. For quite a few years now." She had no idea how long their relationship had been. When did it start? When they were having regular sex? When Sherlock no longer paid her? Or when she declared her love for him… or vice versa? But she didn't have to tell them those sorts of details to get them to believe her, surely.
"A long game," Mrs Holmes said knowingly, turning to her husband and giving him a grim smile. "Mycroft told me about those."
"A long game," Sherlock repeated, a smile tugging at his lips. "And what information am I trying to extract from you, Ms Sulford?"
"Stop it! It's not funny!"
"A bit funny. But surely if our relationship was a farce, why would I allow my bumbling parents to ruin it?"
"That's what your dad said."
"Oh," Mr Holmes said, turning to his wife, alarm flitting across his features. "Perhaps we shouldn't have said anything."
"Mr Holmes," Rose said. "Arthur… Sherlock brought me to London to meet you both."
"Brought you?" Mrs Holmes repeated, looking askance.
"And where are you from?" Mr Holmes asked, his expression warming once more.
"Edinburgh. I'd just recently moved, but—"
"And what do you do in Edinburgh?" he probed.
"I was studying, but now—"
"Studying what?"
"F-for a Masters in Applied Criminology and Forensic Psychology."
"Ah!" both Holmeses exclaimed simultaneously, as if that explained everything.
"But why aren't you studying at the moment?" Mrs Holmes asked. "It's not break time, surely. But who knows, with Scotland doing everything their own way. It's a bloomin' nightmare sometimes!"
"Um… I stopped to have a baby," Rose answered faintly. This conversation was not going the way she expected it to go.
"When are you due?" Mr Holmes asked pleasantly.
"I've… already had it."
Rose drew in a steadying breath and brought herself up to her full height. These people were messing with her head. She had to stay focussed.
"We've had the baby," she reiterated. "Sherlock and I, just recently. Sherlock has a baby daughter now."
Mr Holmes's jaw slackened, and Rose was sure his eyes began to moisten. Mrs Holmes on the other hand, readjusted herself on the sofa.
Her brow furrowing, she exclaimed, "Now, really! He's gone too far!" Gazing searchingly through the sitting room entrance, she added, "Now where is that boy!"
"Ah," said Sherlock. "You see. I'm always in trouble."
"Yes," Rose said, her mood not shifting. "You are."
"But, Rose. If I'd have been there, my mother would've been ten times worse."
"It was extremely uncomfortable for me, Sherlock!"
"Yes, but… it would've been worse for me. Why make two people suffer? By escaping upstairs, I've eliminated one half of the parent-child suffering ratio."
"What? That doesn't make any sense."
"Only you suffered. And that's a good outcome!"
Rose placed her hands on her hips.
"Sherlock," she said. "If a couple has to face an unpleasant situation, it's best to face it together. As a united front."
"It doesn't work like that with my mother. Divide and conquer, that's her motto." Stepping forward and seizing Rose's hands, he exclaimed, "I came away unscathed, Rose! Don't you see? My plan worked!"
His bright, glistening eyes must have had some effect on Rose, for her expression softened. Sherlock hoped she'd imagined what life may have been like for him as a child, where disappointment and high expectation were served as regularly as string beans and Brussels sprouts. And were just as unpalatable.
"I can't stay angry with you," she said, her mouth easing into a smile.
"That's because I'm far too charming," Sherlock replied, his mouth stretching wide.
His heart quickened when Rose rubbed his arm.
"And so is your daughter," she said.
Sherlock didn't doubt it.
"Ah, here we are," Mrs Hudson said, as she entered the room carrying the tea tray. "Have a seat, love," she told Rose.
"I think I should go and see what's keeping Sherlock, actually."
"No, I'll do that," the landlady insisted. "You sit down."
"Martha, could I trouble you for a glass of water?" Mrs Holmes asked, plucking her handbag from the seat beside her. "I've got all these pills, you see. Completely forgot to take them with breakfast. Mykey's car picked us up far too early."
Rose sighed wearily and took the armchair nearest the fireplace. What was she supposed to say now? She'd told Sherlock's parents everything, and they thought she was a delusional idiot.
"I know what you mean," Mrs Hudson said. "I've got a hip and I can't take my usual herbal soothers anymore."
While the landlady and Sherlock's mother began to exchange ailments and treatments, Mr Holmes leant past Mrs Hudson and her tea service and asked Rose, "Baby daughter, did you say?"
His expression was so hopeful, that Rose realised with a quickening pulse she had made an impression on one of Sherlock's parents.
"Yes," she said, with a smile. "Her name's Grace. She was born on the 12th of September."
"Grace," Arthur Holmes repeated, and his mouth twitched, while his eyes pooled even further.
"Actually," Rose said, rising from her chair, "I should check on her." She sidestepped Mrs Hudson, who was pouring tea into the cups and was talking about arthritis treatments.
"She's here?" Arthur said, sitting up straighter, his gaze following Rose as she crossed the tiny room.
"Yes. We're staying here for the weekend. I'll bring her out."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr Holmes turn to Mrs Holmes, his mouth agape in readiness to interrupt his wife. Rose took that moment to escape into the hallway.
Mrs Hudson had kindly offered the use of her guest room with the cot she reserved for Rosie. A double bed was also squeezed inside, but Sherlock insisted there was nothing wrong with his bedroom—the bomb blast had barely affected the kitchen—and that he and Rose would sleep upstairs and use the baby monitor to listen for Grace and attend to her needs when necessary.
As Rose tentatively opened the door to the makeshift nursery, she felt a tiny bit guilty for using her daughter in this way. But Grace was due to wakeup within the hour, so perhaps it wasn't too bad.
"I'm sorry, Gracie," Rose whispered as she reached for her. "But your daddy's being a bit silly, I think, so it'll have to be you."
She held the sleeping infant close and breathed in the comforting scent of baby oil and baby powder. A warmth spread through Rose and invigorated her.
"It's time to meet your grandparents."
When Rose re-entered the sitting room, Mr and Mrs Holmes were engaged in some kind of whispered dispute. Mrs Hudson lifted a tea cup from the table and offered it to Mrs Holmes.
"Oh!" Mr Holmes exclaimed on seeing Rose carrying her child. He slowly stood, prompting Mrs Holmes to do the same.
"This is Grace," Rose said to the stunned silence, smoothing her hand over Grace's back.
"Oh, there she is," Mrs Hudson cooed affectionately.
Mrs Holmes swiftly rounded the coffee table.
"Let me see her," she said, her tone a mixture of impatient delight and restrained suspicion.
Rose shifted Grace from her shoulder to cradle her in her arms as Mrs Holmes stopped in front of her. Mr Holmes joined his wife's side. He emitted an almost inaudible choke.
"She's as fat as butter," Mrs Holmes said. "Sherlock had long limbs. She obviously takes after you."
Rose felt her cheeks glow red.
"I can see a resemblance to Sherlock," Mr Holmes remarked, his voice subdued in reverence.
"Nonsense," Mrs Holmes replied.
"Yes, yes. Look at her lips," Mr Holmes said.
"Would you like to hold her?" she asked both grandparents, quietly hoping Mr Holmes would take her.
"Oh, let's have her then," Mrs Holmes replied, business-like.
Rose gently lowered Grace into her grandmother's arms.
"Oh," Mrs Hudson said, and she patted Rose's arm. "I'll get my camera."
Rose would've loved to have snapped a picture on her phone at that moment. Both grandparents looking down at their grandchild: Mr Holmes with his eyes glinting, and a faint smile—Rose was sure of it—on Mrs Holmes's face. As they were still strangers to her, Rose didn't feel comfortable whipping out her phone and taking snaps.
"Grace, did you say her name was?" Mrs Holmes asked.
"Yes, after my—"
"The Dunbars," Mrs Holmes said to her husband. "Remember them? They had a daughter called Grace. Sherlock was smitten with her."
"I've named her after my grandmother, actually," Rose cut in. "Not Sherlock's… childhood friend."
"It's a beautiful name," Mr Holmes remarked, offering Rose a smile.
"Thank you."
"Here we are," Mrs Hudson said as she re-entered the room.
The landlady took two photos, both of them rendering a blurry image on the back of her camera.
"Oh, it's not working again," she said, frowning as she took in the screen.
"You might need to turn the flash on," Rose suggested.
"We'd better sit down," Mrs Holmes said. "All this fuss, she's bound to wake up."
"She likes hearing people talk," Rose countered. "And lots of movement. Just like Sherlock did, Mycroft said."
"What would he know, the silly boy," Mrs Holmes retorted, moving carefully as she rounded the coffee table. As she took her seat, she asked, "Does she sleep well at night?"
"Up and down," Rose replied. "But that's normal for this—"
"Ah, nothing like Sherlock then. He used to sleep through at such a young age. After only a few weeks we didn't hear a peep out of him, did we?" She looked up at Mr Holmes as he joined her on the sofa.
"Not a peep," he replied.
Rose frowned. Then what was Mycroft talking about with fans and radios and chanting Latin verbs to a baby Sherlock?
"Sit down, love," Mrs Hudson beckoned. "I'll try one with all of you."
Rose made her way back to Mrs Hudson's armchair and looked up at the camera. This picture won't turn out either, Rose thought. The room's obviously too dark.
Frowning, the landlady asked, "What does 'Card Full' mean?"
"Ooh," Mr Holmes said, distracted by a squirming Grace.
Here we go, Rose thought. She doesn't like being still.
"Oh, she's waking up!" Mrs Hudson said, barely containing her excitement. "When she opens her eyes, you'll see they look just like Sherlock's. And when she yawns, she looks just like him when he's bored!"
When Sherlock finally waltzed in, Rose narrowed her eyes at him.
"There, you see?" Sherlock said. "They're all happy now, aren't they?"
"I want you to go in there and explain to them who I am."
"You've already done that."
"I'm not sure your mother believes me."
Sherlock sighed.
"Why does this have to be so difficult?" he asked.
"Up until now, it hasn't been difficult for you at all. You haven't had to do or say anything. You were hiding upstairs."
Sherlock contemplated his options. He could stand his ground and have Rose upset with him, or… he could spend a few more minutes in the company of his parents and have his mother unhappy with him. Of course, his mother's degree of unhappiness would be lessened somewhat, since Rose had already announced their relationship status. It couldn't be too bad, surely.
"Okay. Fine."
As they made to leave the kitchen, the unmistakeable hiccupping cries of their daughter floated out of the sitting room.
Sherlock clenched his hands by his side as he preceded Rose into the room.
"She must need winding," Mrs Holmes said, lifting Grace to her shoulder.
"Nope," Sherlock said, approaching the sofa where his parents sat. "She wants a feed, but first she'll need her nappy changed."
He confidently reached for his daughter and ignored his mother's splutterings.
This was easy! He could escape now and not have to endure any more nonsense. Why didn't he think of having children sooner? Such a good excuse for leaving a room and a buffer to his mother's inanities.
"Oh, she's such a good baby," Mrs Hudson cooed as Grace's protests were immediately lessened upon snuggling into her father's chest.
Sherlock straightened up and eyed his escape route. Unfortunately, Rose stood in the doorway, and by the raising of her eyebrows, she was silently reminding him of his unpleasant task. Best get it over and done with then, he thought, his mind scrambling for relevant data and arranging it into coherent sentences.
"Okay, then," he said under his breath. "In case there's any misunderstanding," he said, looking vaguely in his parents' direction. "Rose over there is my girlfriend. My partner. And Grace is our baby. Our love child, I suppose. But I'm not even sure what that means, and sex child just sounds wrong. Just so you know, I'm sentimentally attached to Rose. For life, I guess. My life, anyway, and who knows how short that will be. But we'll probably get married and have two more babies… perhaps buy a station wagon and a family pass to the London Zoo. Any questions? No? Okay. Duty calls."
In two quick strides he was across the room. By the rather telling silence, he knew his parents were gaping. But a quick glance at Rose revealed glossy eyes and parted lips.
He didn't know why she had reacted that way when she was privy to the information, but he gave her a wink anyway and escaped the stifling confines of the room with his baby daughter.
Author's Note:
Oh, Sherlock! LOL!
I chose the names "Arthur" and "Louisa" for Sherlock's parents because "Arthur" is the creator of Sherlock, and the real Arthur Conan Doyle's first wife was Louisa. It fit with the L initial for Mummy Holmes (M.L. Holmes, as was written on the cover of the maths book she wrote). I like making vague connections to canon. And of course, from where would Sherlock get the idea that you didn't have to be called by your first given name if you didn't like it?
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