Holmes Again

by LizzeXX

Sherlock/OC – Sherlock and Leena, newly married, are called back to London before their exile could even begin. With Moriarty seemingly back and taking up focus, will Sherlock miss the real danger lurking about? When tragedy strikes a beloved wife will it push him on or will the failure break him down? The East Wind comes for all eventually. Fourth in the Jackie Holmes Chronicles.

4. The Six Thatchers: Hamish

A/N: Just a tiny little warning, there's going to be a bit of a mention of birth happening. Nothing very graphic, but a little more detail than what we saw in the episode of what might have been happening in the backseat with Mary that had them all pulling over at that exact point. So if that's not something you want to glimpse, I would say to skip the part of their mad rush to the hospital from the point where Sherlock goes "Oh my god!" to the end of that scene ;) Again, nothing too graphic, but a more pointed and obvious statement of what's happening than what we guess at in the episode ;)

~8~

The Six Thatchers: Hamish

Leena rubbed her head as she sat beside Sherlock in the Cabinet Office Mycroft had secreted her and Sherlock away to, the man standing before a small council of three, informing them about how their case, murdering Magnussen, was going to be classified for at least 100 years.

"What you're about to see is classified beyond top secret," Mycroft began what Leena was sure was meant to be a very serious briefing, Sherlock was making it anything but with how he was fidgeting beside her and trying not to grin while trying to type away on his phone without his brother noticing, which was no small feat, "Is that quite clear?" he looked at the panel of three, at Lady Smallwood, Sir Edwin, and another woman with a notebook and pen on her lap. He eyed the woman with the pad more pointedly, "Don't minute any of this," he warned, waiting till the woman set down her items on her lap before continuing.

Footage began to play on a projector, cut together images of the events that happened at Appledore.

"Once beyond these walls, you must never speak of it," Mycroft continued, "A D-notice has been slapped on the entire incident. Only those within this room, code names Antarctica, Langdale, Porlock, and Love, will ever know the whole truth."

Leena elbowed Sherlock slightly when the faint clicking of his typing on the phone could be heard in the silence that followed. He just shot her a grin and went right back to typing.

"As far as everyone else is concerned, going to the Prime Minister and way beyond, Charles Augustus…" Mycroft suddenly turned to Sherlock, the tapping intentionally loud now, "…are you tweeting?!"

"…no?" Sherlock offered, looking petulantly guilty and trying to cover his phone even when the sound of the tweet posting rang out.

"Well, that's what it looks like!" Mycroft huffed.

"Of course I'm not tweeting. Why would I be tweeting?"

"Give me that!" Mycroft snatched the phone out of Sherlock's hand even as Sherlock put up a 'fight' to keep it, though it was clear to Leena he really wasn't putting any true effort into it.

"What?" Sherlock huffed, "No. Get off. What are you doing? Get off. What…Leena tell him to stop!"

"Oh this is my childhood all over again," Leena sighed, "Keep it up and there will only be one!" she warned Sherlock, who instantly let go of the phone into Mycroft's hand to frown at her.

"'Back on terra firma,'" Mycroft read the tweets he'd been putting up.

"Mycroft, is that necessary?" Leena sighed.

"'Free as a bird.'"

"God, you're such a spoilsport," Sherlock muttered, before turning to Leena, "Maybe you have a point…"

Mycroft, though, was quite done with is brother's antics, "Will you take this matter seriously, Sherlock?!"

"I AM taking it seriously," Sherlock rolled his eyes, absently taking Leena's hand, "What makes you think I'm not taking it seriously?"

"'Hashtag OhWhatABeautifulMorning,'" Mycroft read the last one.

Leena couldn't help the snort at that part, "You're taking it a bit far, Sherwood," she told him, patting his hand holding hers with her other hand.

"Am I?" he smirked, kissing her hand, before he turned to his brother, "Look, not so long ago I was on a mission that meant certain death, my death and the death of my wife, not that either of us would let it get that far," he added to Leena, before turning back to Mycroft, "And now I'm back, in a nice warm office with my big brother and my wife and…are those ginger nuts?" he spotted a plate on the table before the panel and eagerly leapt to his feet to walk over to the cookies.

"Oh, God," Mycroft huffed.

"Love ginger nuts," Sherlock mumbled, grabbing a handful and moving back to the chairs to hand Leena a few with a wink, "Ginger," he repeated.

Leena shook her head fondly at him and took one from him to munch on, knowing exactly why he'd gone for them.

"Our doctor said you were clean," Lady Smallwood remarked dryly.

"He is," Leena promised, though she could understand why they seemed of the impression he wasn't. He was acting quite erratically, and not even Mycroft knew why.

"No need for stimulants now," Sherlock grinned widely at Leena, before trying to school his features into one of seriousness when he faced his brother, "I have work to do!"

The crunching noise he made when he ate his own cookie didn't quite fit with it though.

"You're high as a kite!" Sir Edwin accused.

"Natural high," Sherlock defended, "I assure you. Totally natural. I'm just...glad to be aliiiiiive!" he began to sing a bit, which earned a laugh from Leena.

"You're being completely ridiculous," Leena told him, "Honestly, it's a bit shocking. I didn't think you'd react quite like this…"

"React to what?" Mycroft demanded, finally understanding that something had happened that was causing Sherlock to act like an excited child and it was irritating him to no end.

Leena sighed, "I threw up on the plane."

Mycroft frowned, "But you never throw up on planes," he stated, while she worked in America, for the BAU, they were constantly travelling by plane, she'd never had any issues before with being sick and... "Oh."

Sherlock grinned smugly at Mycroft when his brother worked it out exactly WHY Leena had thrown up.

"And you're…pleased?" Mycroft almost sneered at the thought.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, "Yes."

"Huh," Mycroft made a noise, almost displeased.

Leena turned to the small panel, "Bit of food poisoning," she offered to them, because honestly it was not any of their business what was going on, "Lingering nausea," she added, holding up the remaining ginger nuts, for ginger was good with nausea, "Sherwood is quite pleased it wasn't anything more worrying."

The Holmes brothers were too clever to not work out why she threw up, Sherlock certainly hadn't wasted any time in convincing her that was why, though she was going to wait till a physical test from a real doctor before she announced it to anyone else.

"What shall we do next?" Sherlock began to change the subject once more, gleaming from Leena's words that she wanted to keep their discovery private, "You," he pointed to the elderly secretary, "What's your name?"

"Um, Vivian," the woman answered.

"What would you do, Vivian?"

"Pardon?"

"Well, it's a lovely day. Go for a stroll? Make a paper airplane? Have an ice lolly?" the woman moved to answer, but Sherlock cut her off, "Oh, why am I asking you? You're not my wife. Leena!" he turned to her, "What would you do?"

"Honestly, I very much miss my bed right now," Leena remarked. She had told John and Mary that Sherlock hadn't slept much the last week, neither had she for that matter. She always felt the need to be awake when he was like that, because his mind could become too active and race too much. She really was looking forward to having a nice lie in.

"Boring!" Sherlock grumbled.

Leena smirked, leaning in to whisper, though she didn't doubt the others could hear in the small room, "I never said what I plan to do in the bed...or who with," she gave him a pointed look.

"Alright, time to go, you've got this handled, Mycroft," Sherlock cleared his throat, getting up to leave.

"Mr. Holmes!" Lady Smallwood huffed.

"Yes?" both Holmes brothers replied, to the amusement of Leena, who slowly stood, popping the last bit of her ginger nut into her mouth.

"We do need to get on," Lady Smallwood finished.

"Yes, exactly what we were doing," Sherlock agreed, reaching out to take Leena's hand and leave.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft yelled at him, "Sit down."

Sherlock turned to his brother and crossed his arms, remaining standing for a moment or two, before gesturing at his brother to 'get on with it.'

Mycroft shook his head in exasperation and clicked a button on a remote he was holding to restart the footage. It was very clearly doctored to those who had been there, but to those who had not, or those who had not seen the original footage only moments ago, it appeared to show Sherlock confronting Magnussen, aiming his gun at the man while helicopters flew close. The image shifted to a headcam from an operative, another running in front of them just after Leena had grabbed Sherlock's arm and gun herself, the image was obscured only a single second, but the next shot showed what appeared to be Leena pushing the gun down and a gunshot ringing out from somewhere else. Both Leena and Sherlock knew they'd only lowered the gun after they'd shot Magnussen, so it now appeared as though one of the operatives had shot Magnussen for two small red dots had been shopped onto the image of the man's head, as though he was a target.

"I see," Sherlock sighed, "Who is supposed to have shot him, then?"

"Some over-eager squaddie with an itchy trigger finger, that's who," Sir Edwin remarked.

"That's not what happened at all."

"It is now," Mycroft declared.

"Remarkable," Lady Smallwood watched the footage as it repeated, "How did you do it?"

"We have some very talented people working for us," Sir Edwin answered, "If James Moriarty can hack every TV screen in the land, rest assured we have the tech to, er...doctor a bit of security footage."

"That is now the official version, the version anyone we want to will see," Sir Edwin continued.

"No need to go to the trouble of getting some sort of official pardon," Lady Smallwood nodded, "You and your wife are off the hook, Mr. Holmes. You're home and dry."

"Ok," Sherlock nodded, ignoring Mycroft's firm and expectant expression, "Cheers!" he hurried over to grab his and Leena's coats, eager to be anywhere his brother wasn't, because the longer they stayed there the more everyone else might expect him to thank the man, and there was no way in any level of hell he would thank the Bane of his Existence for anything.

"Obviously there's unfinished business," Lady Smallwood called, stopping his efforts, "Moriarty."

"I told you," Sherlock tried to speak through a mouthful of ginger nuts Leena had offered and fed him while he buttoned up her peacoat, "Moriarty's dead."

"You say he filmed that video message before he died."

"Yes," Leena nodded, giving him a moment to finish his chewing.

While he may not have explained every detail of what he thought Moriarty had done, it really did not take a genius to work out the most likely scenario given the story he'd launched into about Emelia Ricoletti and how those who knew her had continued the 'mystery' in her name. Someone was using Moriarty's death to give him one last hurrah, so to speak. A man in a field such as crime, there was only one end for such a man, death, anyone with half a brain would know Moriarty would eventually die or be killed, it wasn't a leap to think the man himself would put systems in place to do one final heist of sorts after he'd died.

"You also say you know what he's going to do next. What does that mean?"

"Perhaps that's all there is to it," Sir Edwin suggested, pointing at Sherlock, "Perhaps he was just trying to frighten you."

Sherlock scoffed, both at the notion that the message would frighten him and that Moriarty would do something for that reason, "No, no. He would never be that disappointing."

"That was never his endgame either," Leena agreed, thinking on the profile she'd made for him and how accurate it turned out to be, "He's a planner. That's all. Whatever this was, it's something he preplanned."

"Something that would take effect if he never made it off that rooftop alive," Sherlock nodded, "Posthumous revenge."

"Not the sort," Leena shook her head, "He'd only want revenge if he was there to enjoy it or inflict it himself. This is more to one up you, test you, get the last laugh."

Sherlock considered her profile of him, "Posthumous game," he grinned.

"We brought you back to deal with this," Lady Smallwood cut in, "What are you going to do?"

"Wait."

"Wait?!"

"Of course wait," he repeated again, "I'm the target. Targets wait. Look, whatever's coming, whatever he's lined up, I'll know when it begins. I always know when the game is on. D'you know why?"

"Why?" she huffed.

Leena smiled, "Because he loves it."

Sherlock winked at her, taking her hand to finally lead her out of that room.

~8~

Sherlock was ecstatic as he returned to 221B to find piles of letters from fans of his blog with 'unsolvable' mysteries of their own to tempt him. He stabbed the dagger he kept on the mantle through the papers, beaming, "If this gets any better, I'm gonna get two knives!" he turned around to see Leena behind him, holding up something in a black case.

"Thought you might," she shrugged with a smirk when he grabbed a handle sticking out of the case and yanked, pulling a second dagger out of the sheath and stabbing it into the mantel too, ready for the next influx of papers.

John shook his head at the two, typing away at his laptop by the table, '221Back!' he began the blog, giving their fans some updates about a few cases, and about his life too. He looked up at where Mary, quite pregnant for she was due in only a few weeks, was standing by the window, smiling at them all back together.

"It pays to advertise," John called to Sherlock as the man moved to sit down in his favorite armchair, Leena heading over to Mary.

"I can't believe it," Mary remarked, positively beaming at Leena, "I was joking, you know."

Leena rolled her eyes, letting Mary put her hand on her stomach. Mary had once remarked that she and Sherlock needed to 'get on with it,' because her child needed to have a playmate. Apparently, Sherlock had taken that more seriously than they realized, because...she was pregnant. Four weeks along, right at the onset of nausea, which was what tipped Sherlock off about her state because she really didn't ever get sick on planes, much like how he'd known by Mary's changed taste in wine at her wedding. But while Mary was ready to pop before the month was out, SHE still had quite a ways to go yet.

"Not far behind," she teased Mary.

Sherlock grinned smugly behind them, though Leena didn't need to see his face to know he was doing it, he was very proud of himself for this.

It…honestly, it did surprise her, how happy he'd been when he'd deduced her on the plane, one of the very, very rare times he had ever done that to her. She didn't profile him, he didn't deduce her. But when she had thrown up, which was very unlike her, he couldn't stop himself from trying to deduce what was wrong because if it was poison he needed to know what it was and who he needed to kill.

Surprisingly, it wasn't that at all and a quick hop to the hospital after their briefing had confirmed it.

For a brief moment she'd thought it was just his wishful thinking, that this would be the one time he was wrong. But no, the tests confirmed it. She may or may not have burst out laughing when the doctor gave the results, did it so hard she'd nearly started crying. She could only say 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm laughing. This is the absolute worst time this could have ever happened,' before laughing again. It really was the worst time, her husband was a target of a dead Moriarty, some danger was on the horizon, and they didn't know when or how it would happen, and now she was pregnant too.

At least Sherlock hadn't been angry with her laughter, he'd seemed rather pleased.

She wouldn't lie and say she hadn't noticed some odd things here and there over the years when it came to Sherlock and the idea of children, of starting a family one day. She'd found a few odd web searches, baby names, girl names, symptoms, and signs of pregnancy…back just before he'd faked his death. Then after. She'd thought it was because he suspected Mary was pregnant, but then Mary shot him and it flew out of her mind. Until after the check in with the doctor, the ride home in the cab, when he was almost buzzing with excitement and had let slip that he thought their daughter would be beautiful. She'd said it could be a boy, but he'd been adamant it was a girl, and let slip that he thought so because 'he'd seen her' in his Mind Palace just after Mary shot him. He'd had to explain that he pictured them having a little girl, getting a shaggy black dog to name Blackbeard, being a family together, to cope with the shock of the bullet wound and, because of that, he was 100 percent sure it was a girl, no ifs ands or buts about it.

Sherlock Holmes was good with obsession, she'd give him that, he'd mastered the art of having them, and when he latched onto something, he did not let it go. He wanted to start a family, even more so after he'd nearly died of that wound, after the two years of never knowing if he'd be able to be with her again. He wanted everything with her, and now that she was pregnant, he was beyond smug and pleased he would finally be getting it. She found herself almost hoping it would be a girl so he could have all that he'd ever wanted.

Sherlock, to his credit, was looking back at her with the same fond hope she had glanced over at him with. He had to take a moment, looking at his wife standing beside John's wife, with John at the table, to just take it in. He had a wife, he was going to have a child, he had a best friend who had a wife who was also going to have a child. Never in his life did he ever let himself hope to have something like this, to have Leena as his wife, to have a family with her, nor to have a best mate who wasn't Leena and have that man be happy too. He knew the sort of person he was, difficult to love and get on with, for so long he'd been so on edge that Leena would come to her senses and break ties with him. But seeing her there, married to him, his for life, and happy about having a child wit him…

He finally felt like he could breathe, he finally felt like…maybe…he deserved this happiness.

He really hadn't been lying when he'd said he was glad to be alive as an excuse for his beyond chipper behavior, which he admitted was out of character for him.

It was funny, in a way, how people just assumed he had to be high or on drugs if he displayed any emotion beyond cold hard facts.

Still, he was happy, he was finally, finally happy, about to have everything he'd ever let himself think about wanting for himself the brief second or two a year it snuck up on him. Really, the only thing missing was a dog…a Blackbeard.

"So, what about Moriarty, then?" Mary spoke.

And Sherlock came crashing back to earth. Yes, he supposed there was that too. He could do without that threat looming over his family. He blinked and looked at John and Mary a moment. Family, yes, they were family too. He'd felt the sentiment for a while, but he'd never actively considered them to be so till now.

Moriarty was dead, he was certain of it, but he also knew someone out there was carrying out plans for the man in the event of his death. That made it harder, because he didn't know this person and he couldn't tell if they would deviate or make matters easier or worse. And the fact that this person was someone Moriarty trusted to see the plans through could spell even more trouble. That was something he needed to deal with, sooner than later. Mary was about ready to pop and Leena would be too in a matter of months. He made a lot of enemies, but he was reasonably sure, between the four of them, he could handle those individuals. Moriarty posed a different problem. Once his plan was dealt with, he could feel more secure in the safety and life he was making for his family.

"Oh, Sherwood has a plan," Leena waved off Mary's concern with a smile.

Sherlock stood, momentarily stunned by the sight of her illuminated by the sun and sky through the window, the ease with which she cast off the worry.

After what Moriarty had forced him to do, his death, his disappearance, the nightmares he knew Leena still had about his fall, the nightmares she had after Mary shot him, he had expected her to be a little more frantic and worried. But, a part of him told him, that was a little ridiculous to expect. Leena trusted him, like no one else did, and she knew him. She knew he would go to the ends of the earth to solve this and keep them safe, she knew he'd succeed. Even when he might not be sure how he'd do it, she had all the faith in the world that he would.

She felt safe with him, even now.

And that meant the world to him.

Before he even realized it, he'd crossed the room and placed a gentle kiss to her forehead, "I do," he murmured, promising her in a way the others would never realize, that he was being careful, that he would be sure, he would handle this case unlike any case he'd had before…because the stakes were that much higher for her this time, there was so much more to lose if he failed. She would lose not only her husband, but her child could lose its father, and he would never, ever allow that. He turned to Mary, a hand coming to rest absently on Leena's back, his thumb stroking up and down her spine and a bit to the side, as though to massage her back though it wasn't hurting yet, unlike Mary who was pressing a fist to the back of her own, "I'm going to monitor the underworld," he began, "Every quiver of the web will tell me when the spider makes his move."

He pulled out his mobile and brought up Twitter, '#221BringIt!' he typed.

Until Moriarty's plans began to unfold, he'd remembered, there was a truly large underworld and crime problem in London. He'd have to do something about that, the Yard was rubbish as it was. He was not going to let his daughter…child, his CHILD, be brought into a world running rampant with crime.

Lestrade usually came to him for help, well this time he'd bring the help to Lestrade. Anything and everything clients brought to him or he found on his own, he'd solve and do away with. And, maybe, if he weeded out the criminals, it would make it harder for Moriarty to get to any of them and use them.

"Basically your 'plan' is just to sit there solving crimes like you always do?" John glanced up.

"Awesome, isn't it?!" Sherlock beamed.

"Well then," Leena smiled and moved over to the mantle. She was actually…very pleased with this plan. It was…normal. Which she desperately needed after the last few years. She'd solved some crimes with the Yard, when she could, solved some other freelance work, when Sherlock had been 'dead' for 2 years. And she had delighted in having him back, to have him deducing things and experimenting and rambling, even insulting people.

But, there was something subdued about it lately.

He'd come back just as John and Mary were getting engaged. There had really been one main criminal and a bomb threat, before he was putting much of his efforts to helping the Watsons plan their wedding. He would turn down cases, or solve them as quickly as he could, or not take John with him, though he always took HER. It just…it wasn't the same. And then he'd got shot and John and Mary were having a tiff, and he'd been trying to help them both mend. He'd been so focused on Magnussen and bringing the man down that it hadn't left much time for other crimes, like the good old days.

Now, knowing Mary could handle herself as well as any of them, it opened the door to getting back to normal, perhaps a bit of a new and improved normal. She wouldn't be the only woman, they each had different skills that could help solve crimes and make a difference.

Sherlock, assessing the scene and the victim. Her, profiling the criminal. John, being the doctor and saving lives. And now Mary…well, once she popped…the protection and logistics expert.

As a team, she had no doubt they could be unbeatable.

And, right now, with the threat of Moriarty's final game looming, with both her and Mary being pregnant, she really just wanted to get back to that old-fashioned criminal investigation. She could really use the distraction it would provide from internally freaking out about how she was pregnant and her husband was still a massive target from a psychopath trying to put a hit on him from beyond the grave.

Yes, a distraction would do nicely right now.

So she reached out and ripped the first paper off the stabbed stack, turning to smile at Sherlock, "Let's begin."

~8~

Leena had never before thought that 2 weeks could move so quickly nor that it could be so busy. Granted, it could have been because her mind kept going back to the 2 years waiting for Sherlock to resurface, time dragged on far too slowly in that case and when he did return, she took time to savor each and every moment with him so it never felt like it had flown by.

Sherlock had set his mind to catching as many criminals and solving as many mysteries as he could, it seemed. The last weeks had been full of nonstop cases. She was quite happy with it though, it…it helped, seeing Sherlock in action that way, assisting with her profiles. It was just what she needed to give herself time to process everything in the quiet moments they found in between. She was finally starting to notice other signs of pregnancy, normal ones that any person would see. Change in taste, some odd cravings here and there, her nose had grown bionic to the point where Sherlock had had to put up a plastic curtain in the kitchen to keep the smells of his experiments from wafting through the flat. They'd compromised on that as well, she burned a few scented candles to help cover the smells that did escape.

Mrs. Hudson had been very understanding of letting her use her kitchen instead of the one in the flat given how it had been taken over as a mini lab. It had never been a problem before, cooking around the lab, but the smells got to her more now. Though Mrs. Hudson at times refused to let her cook, telling her to rest and take it easy and she would bring some food up.

Reminding the woman she wasn't her housekeeper only resulted in a hush and a wink.

She had been one of the very lucky ones, it appeared, for while she felt nauseous some times, she hadn't fully borne the brunt of the sickness. It appeared the plane was the only time she'd really thrown up. She was very grateful for it, if she'd had to deal with the smells in the lab and the smell of vomit she'd have had to ask Sherlock to stop his work and she never wanted to do that, take something he loved from him, especially not when she loved it too.

It had been quite funny though, because there had been one client who came to see them, sobbing her eyes out, and she'd gone to get her some water from the fridge. Sherlock hadn't done any experimenting in a few days and left a window open in the back to air it out so she'd felt it was safe to enter the kitchen. She'd opened it to see a severed arm lying across the top shelf, shrugged, and grabbed the water…unknowing that the woman had seen it and begun to hurl into her handbag at the sight. Sherlock had looked at her like she hung the moon when she'd walked back, unperturbed by his shenanigans, and handed the woman the water.

He claimed it was a sign that their child was destined to be a detective or a profiler or something if it didn't get sick at the sight of a severed arm.

She reminded him she didn't even think the baby had developed eyes by then, it was barely more than a month along.

That had only been the tip of the iceberg for clients.

A woman had come to see the four of them about how her husband had died at sea, how he had drowned, but an autopsy revealed his lungs were full of sand.

Sherlock deemed it superficial, half distracted while he texted and tweeted Lestrade for other deductions on his cases.

Another client, a very pale man who was bleeding quite profusely from a wound on his hand, brought in a bag filled with ice for Sherlock to look at. He had gone a bit too in depth with it, using Mars Binoculars to examine the thing inside it.

It took Leena all of one glance to warn the man that he'd brought them the wrong thumb, for he'd severed his thumb in an altercation with another man and both lost a thumb. He'd grabbed one and hadn't known if it was his so he'd gone to Sherlock instead of the hospital. John had instantly jumped into doctor-mode and urged the man to call an ambulance while Sherlock continued to look at the thumb.

Sadly, the man was living with 9 fingers now.

One other client brought them photographs of one of their friends…spotted in two places at the same time, only for him to be murdered in one of the places. John had thought it might be a case involving twins, Sherlock was quite sure it was never twins, Mary had bet that it was twins too.

She'd won ten quid off that.

A man whose cardiac medication was causing amnesia, to the point where the man had strangled his own brother and not remembered he'd done it, which had been a bit heartbreaking to divulge to the man since he was rather sweet. A bit of a cognitive interview from her and the man was bawling his eyes out and calling the police on himself. It wasn't always as hard as that one had been.

There had been a time Sherlock even solved two cases at the same time. She'd been sitting beside him on the arm of his chair, his laptop on her lap while he held a face chat with someone on his phone. That had been an interesting time. Detective Hopkins arrested a man named Wilson while Detective Dimmock was instructed to look inside someone's lymph nodes. She'd had to explain to Dimmock, since Sherlock was busy explaining why Wilson had done it (no one ever suspects the canary trainer, but Leena's profiles have never been wrong before), that the limbless torso that had been found in a trunk in Waterloo station's luggage office had tattoos on it, and therefore the ink used would still be left in trace amounts in the lymph nodes of the armpits, it would identify the poison initially used which would match items found in one of the two suspects homes.

John and Mary had been both impressed and a little concerned for Sherlock and his single minded focus on solving the crimes. Something John said about how he was spinning too many plates triggered an epiphany and Sherlock was rushing off with his phone to call Lestrade about how 'the place was spinning!' and how it solved the crime. SHE had found it very sweet how Mary and John worried, the two had taken the opportunity to make sure she was doing alright. Even though she was so early in her own pregnancy, they wanted to make sure Sherlock wasn't ignoring or neglecting her.

A quick trip to the second bedroom, the one John used to use, showed them a partially constructed nursery. All Sherlock's doing. He'd been trying to keep it secret from her, working on it when she would go have lunch with Mary or stop by the Yard to check in with Lestrade. He liked to think he was surprising her with this, but she knew him too well to know that he would do all he could to make things easier for her, to have her not worry. He was trying to put it all together, with her tastes in mind, to show it off when he finished it.

It was endlessly sweet and very Sherlock to plan ahead like that.

She was fine, she'd reassured Mary and John, reminding them that all she had to do was say 'please' and Sherlock would drop any and all cases for her. She hadn't, and that said something. They both needed this time of normalcy, of doing something, being active, before it all changed…because it would change when the baby arrived, as she was sure they understood themselves. They'd let it go after that, though Mary had gotten a bit emotional and hugged Sherlock three seconds longer than normal for how sweet he was to Leena…which made Sherlock fear something was wrong with Mary's baby because she was upset, until all three reassured him it was just hormones.

The cases picked up after that, it seemed Sherlock had ben reminded of Mary's own impending birth and it set him on double time, it wasn't just HIS child that would be in danger from his enemies, it would be John and Mary's too…and adding that any enemies Mary might have made over her time too. And Sherlock took any case he could, no matter how ridiculous.

Leena shook her head as she and Sherlock walked up the stairs to their flat, John just behind them, having come from their latest case. She had to be honest, when she'd created the profile for the assassin involved in the case…she hadn't quite thought it would end up being a jellyfish even if the profile still, somehow, fit.

"A jellyfish?!" John was laughing as he too reveled in the ridiculousness of the case.

"I know," Leena smiled, moving to take her coat and scarf off.

"You can't arrest a jellyfish!"

"Well, you could try," Sherlock remarked, glancing at his phone as they reached the door to the sitting room.

"We did try," John reminded him, when his phone pinged with a sound alert. They had all turned their phones on silent as they were dealing with an assassin and didn't want to alert him or her…or it apparently. Now though he'd only just switched it on…and been hit with the number of messages he'd received, "Oh God."

"Mary?" Leena looked up, having gotten two texts and one call of her own.

"59 missed calls," John swallowed hard.

"We're in a lot of trouble," Sherlock realized.

"I think Mary is," Leena quickly put her coat back on, "There's only one reason she'd call you that much on a case."

The two men's eyes widened as they realized what that would be, the three of them racing down the stairs and to John's car…

~8~

"Breathe, Mary, breathe," Leena was encouraging, holding onto Mary's hand as she sat in the back seat with the woman, John racing off as the driver with Sherlock beside him, though while Sherlock was facing the two women, turned on the seat, his attention was on his phone.

Mary was panting, gripping Leena's hand so tightly something was bound to break, but the contractions were too close. The baby was coming and it was coming now! She'd initially thought the first of the contractions were a bit of just aches and pains, then when she felt them she half convinced herself they were Braxton-Hicks, false ones. But instead of getting longer apart and easier, they got shorter and sharper. And when she realized she was in labor, guessing her water might have broken while she'd actually been using the loo, she had called John, frantic. She tried, at first, not to call too much as he was on a case. But when hours went by and no response, she began to grow a bit more panicked. She refused to call an ambulance to the hospital, because John might head home after and then he'd have to drive to the hospital and what if he missed it? So she'd waited, she would go to the hospital with John and they'd have the baby and it would be fine.

Or it would have been 59 phone calls ago and not when her contractions were mere seconds apart.

"Ow!" she cried out, her other hand on her stomach, tensing, trying so hard not to push like her body was telling her, trying to make it to the hospital first, "Oh my God. Oh my God!"

Leena winced when a contraction must have hit because Mary squeezed her hand tightly and nearly punched the roof of the car with the other hand.

"Relax," John recited, a technique they'd learned in the birthing classes they'd taken, "It's got two syllables..."

"I'm a nurse, darling!" Mary snapped, "I think I know what to do!"

"Come on then, come on."

"Re…" Mary tried it, trying to purse her lips and breath out on the 'lax' but ended up screaming.

"...lax," John still tried to coach her through it with his own breath.

"John, I don't think it's working," Leena warned as Mary twisted on the seat, clearly in a great deal of pain.

"Just drive!" Mary begged, "Please, God, just drive! God, drive!"

"Sherwood," Leena reached out and pushed the phone away, a little touched to see he had been googling 'how to help with labor pains' and not texting about a case, but she needed his attention right now, "This isn't going to work."

John would speed like the devil was after him to the hospital, unable to look back and really see for himself the state Mary was in, he may not listen to the two women shouting to pull over, but if Sherlock could look and see and even deduce how long Mary had before the baby would be there, John would have to listen.

"Sherwood, how long?" she asked, though the pointed look she threw Mary told him she knew the answer as well as he did.

He made the mistake of glancing down, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head, "John, pull over!" he ordered.

"We're almost there…" John insisted.

"John!" Mary nearly screamed, "John, I think you have to pull over."

"Mary, Mary turn to me," Leena instructed, seeing what Sherlock had and trying to position Mary so her back was to the one door, her feet up on the seat, "We need more room, John!"

"Pull over!"

"Oh my God!" Sherlock nearly jerked seeing something very not normal down below and snapped around, reaching out to jerk John's car to the side, "John, pull over!"

John shoved him away and turned to pull the car over safely, half going up on the curb as Mary screamed.

"Now get back here, Doctor!" Leena shouted and John was out the door, running around to Leena's side and yanking it open, his eyes widened as he saw something crowning…

Sherlock jumped out of the car, on the phone with the hospital to send an ambulance to their location because the baby really was coming right that second…

~8~

In a turn of events that shocked exactly and only one person, it was not a little girl like John had been expecting, but a boy. And after Mary's labor, after he'd missed 59 calls and she'd had to give birth on the side of the road, he had been told, in no uncertain terms, that SHE would be naming their son Hamish Sherlock Watson and if he didn't like it he could shut up about it and damn well make sure he answered the phone with the next child they had!

Mary had expressed to Leena sometime ago that she quite loved middle names more than first names for most people. They were just so interesting in how they weren't often used, and so she'd jokingly said if she and John ever had a son, she'd love to name him Hamish. John had not been amused, he rather didn't like his middle name for some reason.

Now he had no choice but to accept it or face the wrath of Mary Watson.

One did not face the wrath of Mary Watson and live to tell the tale.

Leena had had to drag Sherlock out of John's reach when he'd gone on a tangent about how HE knew it would be a boy and, upon examining the sonograms it was quite clear that it was not certain it was a girl because of how the baby was turned.

…John had nearly punched him because their nurse HAD said that, that they were having trouble identifying the gender due to the positioning, and he'd just assumed it had to be a girl because if they couldn't find a certain part of the anatomy, then it wasn't a boy.

Which had launched Sherlock into another tangent about how you wouldn't really KNOW the gender until the child was able to identify itself and tell you.

Despite that, he seemed entirely too pleased Hamish had turned out to be a Hamish, which had led to quite a sweet moment for the Holmes' when he'd revealed to Leena, just before they'd fallen asleep, that he was very glad Hamish existed, because John's son was the only boy he would ever trust around their daughter.

He still kept on that they were having a girl.

She'd given up arguing with him.

And, odd though it may be, she found it a sweet thought too. Not only the idea of their daughter and John and Mary's son, perhaps one day being more than friends. But also how protective Sherlock already was over their little girl and they didn't even know if they were having one, they decided to wait till the birth to find out. She knew, also, that Sherlock could sometimes have fears of the type of man he was, the type of friend he'd make, the type of husband he'd be…she could now tell him without any doubt he would be a wonderful father too. He already loved their child more than anything and that was enough.

As she stood there, watching Molly and Mrs. Hudson fawning over the newest Watson and taking pictures of it in John and Mary's home, she had no doubts that things would work out for all of them with this whole Moriarty mess. Never, ever underestimate the lengths someone would go to keep their child safe. John and Mary would never allow anything to happen to their son, just like she and Sherlock would never let anything happen to him or their child either.

"Sherwood," she sighed, holding out a hand when she heard a faint tapping beside her, where Sherlock stood, on his phone even while the celebrations were going on.

He chuckled under his breath and handed the phone over, "I was just…"

"I know," she cut in, giving him a smile, not needing to see his phone to know who he was texting and what he was checking on. He was making sure none of his markers or spies were reporting anything going on even remotely close to the Watson home, not wanting this moment to be ruined.

"It…it wasn't too much, was it?" Sherlock asked her after a moment, shifting beside her in a way the belied his uncertainty and concern.

She looked around the room, at the flowers everywhere, the balloons floating about, a very large white teddy bear sitting beside the sofa, next to John, with a glass of champagne on the table. All of it was from Sherlock and her, a bit more from Sherlock though. He felt partly responsible for how Mary had given birth, dragging John to a case so close to her due date, insisting they silence their phones to be extra safe this time. He had wanted to apologize, to show them he cared about Mary and the baby even if it hadn't seemed that way, or seemed that way from his perspective of how they saw his actions.

"I don't think you'll be able to pry that bear away from that boy once he can reach for it himself," Leena teased him. She was sure that the bear appeared as a big white blob to the baby, but she'd already seen Hamish waving his arms at it, even when he'd been passed off to John with the Watsons thinking he was swinging to his father to hold him. She turned to him, "You did brilliantly, Locksley."

He smiled at that, nodding, pleased.

"Congratulations, John," Leena smiled when John approached them, getting up from the sofa to allow Molly and Mrs. Hudson closer to the baby, sitting on either side of Mary.

"Thanks," John positively beamed at them.

"I bet you wish you'd gone with Sherlock now," Sherlock smirked.

John rolled his eyes, knowing it was a dig at how he'd been so sure the child was a girl and 'Sherlock isn't a girl's name' and now his child would forever be Hamish Watson.

"The christening is the first of March," John told them, he and Mary had decided to wait 6 weeks from the birth to have the baptism, "You're…you're still ok to be godparents right?"

With everything that had happened since he and Mary first brought up the subject with the two, with the threat of Moriarty hanging over Sherlock and his own wife being pregnant, he didn't want to add any more pressure on the man. They could always ask Molly and…well, maybe Mike? To be godparents if Sherlock and Leena couldn't do it any longer.

Sherlock gave him an odd look, "Of course we are."

Leena shook her head as Sherlock stepped past them and over to Mary, likely to ask the woman exactly how much sleep John had gotten since they got home from the hospital a few days ago if he was asking ridiculous questions like that. She looked back at John, "He made a vow, John," she reminded him, "We both did. To protect you three, that doesn't end if…if, god forbid, something happened to two of you," she reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, "Hamish will always be safe with us around, all of you will. Nothing will happen."

John smiled and nodded, "Thanks, Jacks."

"And…" Leena added, "It wouldn't be fair for us to turn you down and still expect you two to be godparents for us."

John nodded absently, only to blink and turn to her sharply when her words caught up to him. He pointed at his chest, "Us?"

She nodded, "If…if you want to…" she didn't even get a chance to finish before John was hugging her tightly, a quick look over his shoulder, at the tears in Mary's eyes as Sherlock spoke to her, told her he'd asked Mary too.

Well, great minds and all that.

~8~

The first of March came around quite quickly for the Watsons, though between baby duty and being new parents, it was expected. They hardly slept the first few weeks, all their time consumed by Hamish and bonding with him, caring for him. Sherlock and Leena were a constant presence whenever they needed help.

It…truly surprised John to see Sherlock so invested in helping out with the baby, going so far as to test the best way to apply a diaper, researching which diapers were best, and how to do it with minimal mess. The man even made a chart of which mashed foods Hamish favored to make it easier for them to feed the boy. Leena hadn't been as startled, remarking only that Sherlock loved his experiments and…it was good practice for him, to be around a child, a baby, and get a feel for handling one.

Sherlock attempting a joke about how Hamish was teaching him how not to drop a baby after that first mishap…didn't help at all. He hadn't actually dropped Hamish of course, someone was always in the room with Sherlock whenever he so much as held the baby so it never happened, but the joke was in poor taste.

Now though, it was time for Hamish's baptism. Neither John nor Mary were exceedingly religious, but they were doing this just to cover their bases. If Hamish grew up wanting to attend church or one day marry in one, it would help. The elderly vicar proceeding over the event was a kindly man, he had to be to not have kicked Sherlock out of the church for his lack of attention. Everyone was there, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, and the godparents…though Sherlock was texting away on his phone. He usually wouldn't care where he was while texting, and normally Leena would chastise him for doing so during this moment, but he'd gotten an alert from one of his spies that one of his markers might be deviating and he was checking that nothing could happen so close to the church.

"Father," the vicar intoned, "We ask you to send your blessings on this water," he leaned forward to bless the baptismal water, "And sanctify it for our use this day, in Christ's name," he smiled, turning to the happy parents, "Now, what name have you given your son?"

"Hamish Sherlock Watson," Mary spoke, carefully handing Hamish to the man to continue the process.

"Phone," Leena whispered to Sherlock, elbowing him slightly, he'd asked her to warn him right before he needed to actually do something, which was now as the Vicar turned to them just as he hid the phone behind his back.

"And now, godparents," the vicar smiled at them, not seeing Leena reach her hand behind Sherlock's back to stop him trying to text behind him, "Are you ready to help the parents of this child in their duties as Christian parents?"

"We are," they both spoke as one.

John looked quite startled, and more than a little pleased, to see Sherlock paying attention. Mary, though, threw Leena a knowing wink for her move.

~8~

Hamish grew quickly, which was another experiment Sherlock had taken to. Monitoring how fast babies grew so that he could adequately calculate how many outfits they would need and in what sizes. It didn't make sense, he'd said, to spend a fortune on all manner of newborn onesies when they would only last a month before the child outgrew them. Not that they had to spend a fortune, Mary had already offered them the gender neutral onesies Hamish had already outgrown, offering more if their child ended up being a boy as well.

Leena sat off to the side of 221B, in Sherlock's favored chair, watching as he paced before the fireplace, wearing his tan dressing gown, mid-lecture about something, waving around a small rattle in his hand as he went.

"As ever, Watson, you see but do not observe," he lamented, turning to the chair John usually sat in, "To you, the world remains an impenetrable mystery whereas, to me, it is an open book. Hard logic versus romantic whimsy. That is your choice. You fail to connect actions to their consequences. Now, for the last time..." he moved close, leaning in and holding the rattle up, "If you want to keep the rattle, do not throw the rattle, hmm?"

He was speaking to Hamish as the boy was strapped into a plastic baby seat resting on John's chair. The boy was about three months old, strapped into the chair so he wouldn't fall over, not quite developed enough to sit up on his own yet, with a small tray attached to the chair to keep things from spilling everywhere.

He held up the rattle, offering it to Hamish, before placing it on the tray…only for the boy's flailing arms to knock into it, sending it flying back at Sherlock's face.

Leena tried her best to hide a laugh behind her hand, her mouth half full and munching on a bit of a craving she'd been having, pickle chips and mustard.

"Something funny?" Sherlock huffed, straightening and turning to face her, though his expression grew fond when he saw her happy smile, her soft eyes, the way she was watching him.

"No," she defended, her voice very quiet as John and Mary were laid out on the sofa a few feet away, both dead asleep and she couldn't bear to wake them, "Nothing funny at all, Mr. Holmes."

"You laughed at me, Mrs. Holmes," he reminded her, moving over to his chair and onto a knee to be more on eye level with her, "Implies something amused you."

"Or I'm just happy," she defended.

He smiled softly at that, "Are you?" he asked, not quite teasing any longer, genuinely asking. Pregnancy was…much harder on the wives than the husbands, in his opinion, his body wasn't the one changing, he wasn't the one constantly uncomfortable and aching, he wasn't the one whose insides were shifting to accommodate a new life. It could be hard on women, he knew, not all of them were happy to be pregnant and it just…it meant the world to him to know Leena was happy, content, that he was doing his job as husband to make her as comfortable as he could.

"Always," she reached out to touch his cheek lightly, her eyes travelling over his face before landing on his own, "So long as I'm with you, I will always be happy, Locksley."

He reached up to touch her hand, pressing it a bit more to his cheek, relieved and content with this quiet moment they were sharing.

"Ooh," Leena inhaled a moment.

"What is it?" he stiffened.

She just turned her hand so she could link fingers with him a bit more, before moving his hand down to her stomach, just a bit rounder, nearly 5 months along, and pressed it to the side, "Do you feel that?"

He waited a moment, frowning in concentration, before his eyes jumped up to hers, wide and startled.

She smiled, resting her hand on top of his, "I think she's very happy, too."

Sherlock looked down at his hand, smiling, blinking a bit to not let on the tears he could feel prickling in the corner of his eyes though he knew she'd seen them but wouldn't say it, feeling his child kicking, feeling her move, and very pleased Leena at least humored him in that it was a girl. He composed himself quickly and moved to lean in, to give Leena a kiss, when she reached up with her free hand to press her fingers to his lips, stopping him.

"I've just eaten a jar of pickles with mustard," she warned him with a laugh, "It's disgusting."

At least she was under no illusions about how disturbing her cravings were.

He shook his head, "I'll risk it," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her anyway.

~8~

It was Christmas at 221B Baker Street. Well, not literally Christmas, that was still a few months off, but it was shaping up to be quite a wonderful day, in Sherlock's book at least. He didn't often think that Lestrade had any truly interesting cases because most of the ones the man sent were ones a normal human being could crack with time and effort and those were boring to Sherlock. He liked the ones that were truly challenging.

Lestrade, after spending so much time with Leena while working at the Yard, learning about Sherlock, talking with her about his past cases, had finally felt like he understood which cases were actually of interest to Sherlock, which ones he had more of a chance to get Sherlock to help with, and which ones he had to beg the man for help with just because HE couldn't solve it.

He had called them up at 221B to say he really thought he had a belter of a case for Sherlock and that meant something that might actually be interesting to the sociopath.

Of course, with that dangling in front of him, Sherlock had reached out to John about meeting up at the flat the next afternoon to go over this supposed belter while Leena reached out to Mary to see what she thought. They were trying to be considerate, checking in with Mary. They tried to rotate if they could, involve John on one mystery and Mary on another, keep them both involved without overwhelming them or taking them away from Hamish. But they also checked in to see if it would even be alright to bring the other into the case. If Hamish was fussy or teething or sick or whatever babies did, according to Sherlock, he would need both parents to help him through it and, Leena insisted, they not put too much on John or Mary.

Mary gave the ok that she and Hamish would be fine if they needed John this turn.

Though she had insisted they facetime her if it actually was as interesting as Lestrade thought it would be, just because she couldn't be there didn't mean she didn't want a chance to help crack it.

So there they were, in the flat, waiting for John to arrive, which he did very punctually based on Sherlock's own timing of how long it took to get to the flat from his work.

"Hey," Lestrade greeted when John walked in, unable to keep the smirk off his face.

It took John less than a minute to understand why he was smirking. Sherlock was not in his armchair. Lestrade was actually sitting in Sherlock's armchair and the man wasn't complaining about it.

In fact, Sherlock was on the sofa, sitting on one end, Leena on the other though she was turned so her legs were extended along the cushions…her feet were resting in Sherlock's lap while he kneaded them. He would have laughed, he really would have, to see the great William Sherlock Scott Holmes giving someone a footrub, had it not been for the fact that that someone was his pregnant wife. Things were always different when it came to Leena, and honestly he was just glad to see Sherlock doing something vaguely normal and considerate for his wife. It put him and Mary at ease that Leena wasn't just brushing things off or trying to ease their minds.

"Afternoon," John nodded, moving to sit on his armchair, setting his briefcase beside it, "He says you've got a good one, Greg."

"Oh yeah," Lestrade cleared his throat and pulled out the report from his own case to go over with them, though he wasn't quite sure how much Leena would absorb, the woman seemed to be nodding off on the sofa, "It was David Welsborough's fiftieth birthday and he got a skype call from his son, Charlie. Kid's about 20 years old, off in Tibet for a gap year…" he trailed off when he saw Sherlock rolling his eyes at how he was getting 'too personal' and not 'factual' about it, "Right so he gets a skype call, Charlie showing him the mountains, wishing him a happy birthday. But the image starts to go wonky and cut off but he can still hear Charlie. Starts asking him about if he's eating cos, you know, the wife. He was a little worried cos Charlie was a bit scattered, not really normal for him and…anyway," he shook his head, not wanting to lose Sherlock's interest with his own opinions on the matter, "Asks his dad to check something on his car, parked outside the home since he left. Something about a bet and needing to prove he had a Power Ranger action figure stuck to the bonnet. Asks his dad to send him the photo. Dave does it, sends the picture, call cuts out. A week later…" he hesitated, trying to grin, knowing this was the part that would get Sherlock but also knowing it wasn't professional for him to grin at something so horrific for the family.

"Yeah?" John urged, curious himself.

"Something really weird happens," Lestrade continued, feeling more confident when Sherlock smiled, "Drunk driver, he's totally smashed, the cops are chasing him, and he turns into the drive of the Welsborough house to try and get away. Unfortunately, he crashed right into the back of Charlie's car, causes a fuel leak, causes an explosion, gave the family half a heart attack, middle of the night and a huge explosion outside…" he cleared his throat again, "The drunk guy survived, they managed to pull him out, but when they put the fire out and examined the parked car…" he pulled out another packet of papers and handed it to John, "They found a burned, human skeleton in the driver's seat."

"Whose body?" John frowned at the pictures, flipping through them to the medical report.

"Charlie Welsborough, the son."

"What?"

Lestrade nodded, "The son who was in Tibet. DNA all checks out. The night of the party, the car's empty, then a week later the dead boy's found at the wheel," he looked over, startled when Sherlock chuckled, "Yeah, I thought it'd tickle you. Charlie Welsborough's the son of a Cabinet minister so I'm under a lot of pressure to get results."

Sherlock scoffed, "Who cares about that? Tell me about the seats."

"The seats?" John glanced at him.

"Yes. The car seats," he held out a hand for the folder Lestrade had with more pictures of the car, forcing the man to get up and give it to him as he wasn't about to disturb Leena while she rested. He quickly flipped through it, making a note of the burned and charred remains of the seats, because they could tell a lot about the case, if there were any residual evidence of who put the kid there or tell how long he'd been sitting there given chemicals staining the material. What he saw, thought, was unexpected and gave it a new twist, "Made of vinyl, two different types of vinyl present…was it his own car?"

"Yeah," Lestrade nodded, "Not flash, he was a student."

"Well, that's suggestive."

"Why?"

"Vinyl's cheaper than leather."

"Er, yeah, right?"

"There's something else," John spoke up, or tried to speak up just a bit more to get their attention without waking Leena.

"Yes?" Sherlock looked over at him.

"According to this," he pointed at a lab report, "Charlie Welsborough had already been dead for a week."

"What?" Sherlock began to smile at that.

"The body in the car, dead for a week."

"Oh, this IS a good one," Sherlock beamed, turning to Lestrade, "Is it my birthday? You want help?"

"Yes, please," Lestrade let out a breath, seeing Sherlock actually might take this up without prompting or Leena asking him to.

"One condition."

"Ok."

"You have to take all the credit," Leena spoke, startling John and Lestrade, though Sherlock just patted her feet before she curled her legs and tucked them under her, shifting so she could look at the two more clearly.

"Um, sorry," Lestrade winced, "Did we wake you?"

"I wasn't asleep, Greg," Leena chuckled.

"You er…weren't?" John, too, seemed a bit startled.

Sherlock scoffed, "She crinkles her nose when she sleeps."

Leena chuckled at that, "I was just relaxing, letting you boys have fun with your mystery case," she twisted a little to stretch, "But we really do want you to take the credit, Greg."

"What?" Lestrade nearly snorted at that, but Sherlock actually looked serious.

"It gets boring if I just solve them all," Sherlock shrugged.

Well, that and…they'd talked about this, when Lestrade had phoned about it the night before, about how much of a top priority case it would be which meant this would be the first case the Yard had with a great deal of publicity. He'd been giving a lot of thought to the enemies he gathered over the years. He gained them by being cocky, by wanting his name out there, wanting people to know he was as good as he was.

A large part of that was Leena though. She'd been away in America and he'd wanted his work to make the papers, so much so that it would show up in the news sites she went to. He wanted her to know he was keeping sharp, that he still had it, that he was still as great as she always thought he was. The enemies he'd made were an unfortunate side effect of having his name out there as much as it had been.

She'd come back, and they'd had such a short time together before he'd had to leave again. Part of him wanted to keep up the headlines, take the credit, show off in person for her.

She was his wife now, she was going to be the mother of his children, she had chosen him. He would always impress her, he would always try to impress her, but he didn't feel that need to have his name out there as much anymore. She was right beside him, seeing him be as great as he always was firsthand, she didn't need to read about it in police reports and headlines.

And, well, everything with John and Mary and Hamish and what had happened the last year was…eye opening. He had more people he cared about, more people he wanted to protect, and drawing attention to himself would only put bigger targets on their backs too.

Let the police have the credit, he'd still be named in the reports, he was still a consulting Detective, he wasn't the main focus though.

For once, he didn't feel like he had to be. The people he cared about knowing knew, the people he wanted to impress were, he truly didn't care about other people's opinions. And if this was a way to put the eye on the police force instead of him and his family, he'd do it. He was at that place in life where he was finally content, he had everything he had ever wanted, now he wanted to keep it.

Lestrade, though scoffed, "Yeah, you say that, but then John blogs about it and you get all the credit anyway."

"Yeah, he's got a point," John laughed, handing back the reports, seeing Lestrade about to leave.

"Which makes me look like some kind of prima donna who insists on getting credit for something he didn't do."

"Oh, I think you've hit a sore spot," he teased the two of them, though while Leena seemed resignedly understanding, Sherlock appeared startled and confused.

"Like I'm some kind of credit junkie!"

"Definitely a sore spot," Leena murmured with a wince. She'd have to take tea with him sometime and explain Sherlock's 'change of heart' about all this. They'd talked for quite a while about it, when she'd noticed how he hadn't made a fuss when Dimmock or the other detectives didn't make large chunks of their reports about him. She'd just idly wondered why he hadn't asked for more credit and he'd just looked at her and said she gave him all the credit he wanted.

He'd always said he did what he did to impress her, she'd believed him, of course, but she always thought there was more to it, wanting to be impressive to other people too. She finally understood how literal he had been. He loved the puzzles, there would be no shortage of mysteries to keep him occupied and his mind sharp, he just didn't feel the need to broadcast it everywhere now, not when she was finally beside him and would stay that way forever.

"So you take all the glory, thanks," Lestrade continued, striding up to Sherlock and snatching back the folder.

"Ok?" Sherlock asked, completely bewildered by what was going on. Growing up, when forced to work in groups that didn't involve Leena, his groupmates were always beyond pleased to take all the credit. Was this not like that? And what did it matter if John blogged about it? He only got a handful of readers compared to the wide reach of the papers reporting about the Yard.

"Thanks all the same," Lestrade huffed, "Look, just solve the bloody thing, will you? It's driving me nuts."

"Anything you say, Giles," Sherlock nodded, winching a bit when Leena, who had sat up and moved closer to him, elbowed him in the side for that, "Just kidding," he added when John and Lestrade looked at him.

"Greg," Leena whispered in his ear when Lestrade turned to shove the folder into his bag. She'd literally said his name twice already, but Sherlock didn't really care to give attention to names for the most part.

"It's obvious, though, isn't it, what happened?" John asked, smirking a bit, having seen Leena give Sherlock the clue.

"John, you amaze me," Sherlock turned to him, startled in a good way now, "You know what happened?"

"Not a clue," John snorted, "It's just you normally say that at this point."

"Mmm," Sherlock hummed, "Well, then…" he stood, holding out a hand to help Leena up and began to take off his dressing gown, smirking when he turned to set it down, having caught sight of the small lip bite Leena had made at the sight of his shirt beneath, a white shirt, not his purple one, but one his mother had gotten him that was one size too small, which he knew Leena found second most attractive on him. It had to be second most, with her hormones, they wouldn't make it out of the flat and might scar poor John and Greg if it had been the purple shirt, "Let's help you solve your little problem, Greg. Shall we?" he turned to Leena to take her hand again as she shook her head and followed him to the door.

"You hear that?" they could hear the grin in Lestrade's voice from behind them.

"I know!" John laughed as he followed them out with Lestrade.

"So how's it going then, fatherhood?" the man made some conversation while the Holmeses put on their coats.

"Oh, good, great! Yeah, amazing."

"Getting any sleep?"

"Christ, no."

"I've told you, John," Leena called, tugging on her coat a bit to button it up before giving up, it wasn't that chilly out so close to May anyway, "Any time you and Mary need a rest, Sherwood and I would be happy to watch Hamish for you."

John smiled more fondly when he saw Sherlock actually nodding in agreement, knowing Leena hadn't put him up to it, "I know, thanks Jacks."

Leena nodded, before rolling her eyes when Sherlock began to try and put a scarf around her neck.

Lestrade smirked, muttering to John, "You're at the beck and call of a screaming, demanding baby, woken up at all hours to obey his every whim. Must feel very different," he added with a glance at Sherlock.

"I'm sorry, what?" Sherlock perked up at that when the two stepped past to lead the way down the stairs.

John ignored him, speaking to Lestrade, "Yes, well, you know how it is. All you do is clean up their mess, pat them on the head..."

"Are you two having a little joke?"

"Never a word of thanks. Can't even tell people's faces apart."

Sherlock eyed the men and turned to Leena who was pursing her lips to keep from laughing, ""This is a joke, isn't it?"

But Lestrade kept on, "Then it's all, 'Ooh, aren't you clever? You're so, so clever!'"

"Is it about me?" Sherlock tried to ask.

Lestrade glanced at him and murmured to John, "I think he needs winding."

Going along with the bit of teasing, Leena absently patted Sherlock on the back for his 'burping' as Lestrade was remarking.

"Thank god for Leena," John laughed this time.

Sherlock looked at her, "I don't get it."

"They're both saying they love you very much and find you completely adorable," Leena told him, which made Sherlock smirk as he stepped out of the flat to the sputtering of John and Lestrade. She turned to the two men, pointing a warning finger at them, "Picking on my husband? You're lucky I don't kick you in the shins," she reminded them of her favored way of dealing with people who insulted Sherlock in the past, "Call him a baby? Must be why everyone loves him."

John could only shake his head, they'd walked right into that one hadn't they?

~8~

"Charlie's family are pretty cut up about it," Lestrade warned as he led the trio up the drive of the Welsborough house, heading for the front door.

"Understandable," Leena remarked, looking around at the house, glancing at where the fire had to have occurred before it was cleared away and to the set up of the houses exterior. She had four ideas of what might have happened, the fact that there was no residual ash or smoke or stain on the house told her arson wasn't involved, there was no additional chemicals put in the car to cause the explosion, it wasn't intentionally a bomb or anything.

Narrowed it down to 3 then…none of them very good ideas and she really hoped Sherlock had a different one, even just a single one that wasn't as gruesome and devastating as hers were.

"So go easy on them, yeah?" Lestrade added, more to Sherlock than the others.

"You know me," Sherlock shrugged.

Luckily John's phone began to ring for a facetime call, cutting off Lestrade's remark of 'yeah, that's why I asked it.'

"Hey, hello!" Mary appeared, Hamish in her arms, burping the boy as she swayed with him.

"Got 'em, don't worry," John reassured her, "Pampers, the cream you can't get from Boots…"

Mary snorted, "Yeah, never mind about that. Where are you now? At the dead boy's house?"

"Yeah?"

"I was just about to call you, Mary," Leena peeked over John's shoulder to wave at the woman, "You beat me to it!"

"Googled how long it takes to get there from 221B," Mary shrugged, "What does Sherlock think? Any theories?"

"Uh, well, I texted you the details," John spoke.

"Yeah, two different types of vinyl…"

"How do you know about that?" Sherlock called, appearing over John's other shoulder to speak to Mary.

"Oh, you'd be amazed at what a receptionist picks up," Mary smirked, leaning closer to whisper dramatically, "They know everything!"

"Solved it, then?" he smirked.

She shrugged, "I'm working on it."

"Oh, Mary, motherhood's slowing you down."

"Pig!"

"Keep trying," he laughed, when a thought struck him and he turned to Leena, "What about you?"

"Three ideas," she remarked.

"Hmm, one," he countered with a grin, which made her huff and roll her eyes.

Usually she would give up when he'd narrowed it down that much, but she wanted to see if she could fully crack it this time, "Ok, narrowing it down…" she considered something that related to two of her theories and one of them, "Tell me, would you say this is more of a Christmas or Halloween type event?"

He hummed, "Christmas."

"Ooh," she let out a breath, her voice growing quiet and grim, "One."

He nodded, "One."

"One what?" John frowned, "One theory? You know how it happened?"

"Might have," Leena gave him a sad look, "Just…really, really want to be sure before saying it. It's…it's not good John, it's really not. It's horrific."

"Then wouldn't that be…Halloween?" he asked, not quite sure what she meant by it, but comparing the two, something horrific would be more to do with Halloween and terror wouldn't it?

"I'm honestly not sure if it would be better or worse if it was," Leena murmured, a hand absently resting on her stomach. She looked up, feeling another hand on the small of her back to see Sherlock beside her, looking at her intently with all the promise in the world in his eyes that where her mind had gone, to all the horrors in the world that their child would be risking exposure to, he would keep them safe, no matter what. She moved her left hand behind her back to take his, linking their fingers together and just holding his hand as they approached the front door.

"So, what about it, then?" Mary asked, seeing Sherlock get distracted by something above the porch, "What, an empty car that suddenly has a week-old corpse in it? And what are you gonna call this one?"

"Ooh," John perked up when she finally directed a question to him, "The, uh, the Ghost Driver."

"Don't give it a title," Sherlock complained as they reached the front hall.

"People like the titles."

"I hate the titles."

"I love them," Leena shrugged.

"I can reasonably tolerate the good titles," Sherlock amended, which made Leena laugh when Lestrade made the familiar whipping noise behind them.

John chuckled, "Give the people what they want?" he offered Sherlock, seeing how quickly he'd flipped his opinion because Leena enjoyed the titles.

"No, never do that. People are stupid."

"SOME people," Mary emphasized with her nose in the air teasingly, winking at Leena as she laughed, both of them knowing their boys would go to the ends of the earth for them and think them brilliant.

"Just like SOME people," Leena added, smiling up at Sherlock, "Are utterly brilliant," she leaned in to kiss his cheek, making him nod and smile.

"This way," Lestrade called, leading them over to a closed door as John ended the call. He opened it to reveal a study, a desk, bookshelves, a small table near the window with some displays of Margaret Thatcher resting on them. And there, sitting on a sofa, were Charlie's devastated parents.

"Mr. and Mrs. Welsborough," Sherlock approached as they stood, reaching out to shake their hands, "I really am most terribly sorry to hear about your son…"

John was mildly surprised when Sherlock got the gender right. He half expected the man to call Charlie their daughter and insult them with how little he actually cared about their child and more about the mystery it presented. He looked over when Leena touched his arm, gripping it lightly, her eyes on Sherlock…and it hit him.

Son.

HE had a son. Sherlock had a godson. In twenty years, god forbid, it could have been the same situation, him having someone approach him to talk about his deceased son.

For once, Sherlock was being empathetic with someone who wasn't Leena.

"Mr. and Mrs. Welsborough," Lestrade stepped over, "This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, our consulting detective, and his wife, Jackie Holmes, from our Profiling Unit," he hadn't been sure about introducing Leena at first, he didn't want to imply foul play or that there was a killer to be found, but, given the situation, it could very well be that and if it was he wanted them to know his very best were on the case.

Leena offered them a sad smile, "We are so very sorry for your loss," she told them, "We will do our absolute best to determine what happened."

"Thank you very much for coming," David looked between them, "We've heard a great deal about you two. If anyone can throw any light into this darkness, surely it will be you."

Sherlock nodded, "Well, I believe that I…" before trailing off when something by the window caught his eye, "Can."

Leena looked over, seeing his attention now fixated on the small table she'd glimpsed before. There was a framed, large card set on a stand at the back of the table. It looked like an invitation of sorts and even from across the room, given what the table appeared to be, it was likely one sent to David by Margaret Thatcher herself. In front of it, to the left, was a framed photo of the woman, and to the right was another one of David with her. In the front of the individual photo was a commemorative plate of her. And in front of the other photo was a small figurine of her too. Even from there it was odd, she noticed, the placement of five objects, it was set up as though there should have been a sixth one opposite the invitation.

Something about it had caught Sherlock's attention for sure.

"Sherwood," she whispered to him, pulling him back to the case at hand.

"Mr. Holmes?" David called out, noticing the man had zoned out in the middle of him trying to express how devastated they were.

"Sorry," Sherlock pulled himself together and turned back to the parents, "You were saying?" but he let his gaze slide to Leena.

'What is it?' she asked, her face scrunched in a manner that could only read as that question.

He nodded his head to the side slightly, his brows furrowed, 'There's something wrong with that table.'

She nodded in understanding, and absently wandered the room to get to the table and look at it herself.

"Well, Charlie was our whole world, Mr. Holmes," David was saying to him, "I…I don't think we'll ever get over this."

"No," Sherlock agreed, "Shouldn't think so," he was actually attempting to be sincere and sympathetic there, if it had been John who lost his son, he didn't think the man would ever get over it either. He didn't think any parent could ever truly get over such a death. But his gaze was on Leena as she frowned at the table, glancing back at him and nodding that she saw it too, "So sorry. Will you excuse me a moment? I just…" he hurried over to the table to look at it, watching as she lightly traced a scuff mark on the leather of the table where it was clear another object had been there.

"Now what's wrong?" John asked, moving over to them while Lestrade tried to reassure the grieving parents.

"Not sure. I just…"

"'By the pricking of my thumbs,'" Leena quoted a fitting sentiment to his rampant thoughts, "'Something wicked this way comes.'"

"Seriously?" John huffed.

"Intuition isn't just a gut feeling, John," Leena explained, "It's data that was processed too fast to comprehend at first. This here, this shrine," she offered for lack of a better word, "Mr. Welsborough is clearly a fan of Thatcher, idolizes her. Everything here is perfectly placed to display that, everything is clean and pristine, except this scuff here," she ran her finger down it again, "They'd never leave this scuff mark visible unless there was something placed here, but now it's not. Judging by the shape and scrape it was probably a…"

"Plaster bust," Sherlock said at the same time as her, smiling proudly as he watched her deduce the table the way he would have.

She rolled her eyes at him and nudged him, "I missed you," was all she said.

And he knew it was about the two years he'd been gone. It had comforted her to think like him, to deduce things the way he would have, like he was almost right there with her feeding her the information. She may not have thought anything much of the table, but HE did, and she trusted his mind to pick up on things that didn't belong, the way her mind picked up things about murderers and criminals that others wouldn't think of.

"What the hell has this got to do with Charlie?!" Mr. Welsborough demanded, having heard them muttering about it all this time while he'd been sitting there hoping to find out about his son.

"It was broken," Leena determined, she knew that the parents were desperate for information on their son but…well, even she was having a hard time working out how to tell them what she was almost certain happened without devastating them more. She was playing for time to think of a way to say it while she knew Sherlock was seeing another case forming, "You would have set it back if it was in one piece."

"Rug!" Sherlock pointed out.

"What?" Mrs. Welsbrorough seemed startled by the turn in the conversation.

"Well, how could it get broken? The only place for it to fall is the floor, and there is a big thick rug," he gestured at it, at how there wasn't any indication, not even a speck, of something broken there even after vacuuming.

"Does it matter?"

"Mrs. Welsborough, my apologies," John tried to speak, "It is worth letting him do this."

"Is your friend quite mad?"

"No, he's an arsehole, but it's an easy mistake."

"Look," David huffed, "No, we had a break-in. Some little bastard smashed it to bits. We found the remains out there in the porch."

"On the porch," Leena repeated, nodding, seeing what had Sherlock so caught up. She'd noticed there was a broken security camera on the porch but hadn't thought much of it, hadn't really made the connection to the plaster bust either till now. But she got it. Someone had broken in specifically to smash the bust and it had to be the bust they were after, otherwise they'd have smashed the rest of the paraphernalia. The fact that they didn't break it IN the house, meant they were taking it away, they broke the porch security footage so no one would see them smash it there. The house was carpeted, and if the break in had no weapon, he (statistically more likely to be a he) would smash it on the first hard surface he could find. The porch.

"How anybody could hate her so much, they'd go to the trouble of smashing her likeness…" David shook his head.

"That's the troubling part," Leena tried to explain, "If they hate her, why not smash the other images of her?" she gestured to the table, "Why only the bust?"

Mrs. Welsborough huffed, "Oh, Inspector, this is clearly a waste of time. I mean, if there's nothing more…"

"I know what happened to your son," Sherlock cut in.

"You do?" she turned to him, so hopeful.

"It's quite simple. Superficial, to be blunt…"

"Sherwood," Leena warned him with a look.

He nodded, seeing more in it than the others would, he needed a bit more time for her, "But first, tell me: the night of the break-in. This room was in darkness?"

"Well, yes," David spoke.

"And the porch where it was smashed, I noticed the motion sensor was damaged, so I assume it's permanently lit."

"How'd you notice that?" Lestrade blinked.

"I lack the arrogance to ignore details. I'm not the police."

"So you're saying he smashed it where he could see it," John followed.

"Exactly."

"Why?"

"Dunno. Wouldn't be fun if I knew."

"Mr. and Mrs. Welsborough," Leena stepped forward, kneeling down to look up at them, a comforting position for those in grief, they did not need to be looked down at or look up at someone lording something over them. Grief made you bow your head and hunch over, being below eye level displayed empathy too, being on your knees to share someone's grief was what she was hoping to convey now that she knew what to say, "The night of the birthday dinner…" she began, reaching out to take the woman's hand, "You were both quite sad Charlie couldn't be here, weren't you?"

"Of course," David murmured.

"Your son loved you very much," she continued, "And I would wager he was very sad about it too. So much so that he thought…well he thought he could surprise you for your big day and…and come home early, as a gift."

"But he didn't," David argued, "He was in Tibet."

"The first part of your conversation was, in fact, pre-recorded video," Sherlock spoke up, "Easily arranged."

"He wanted it to be a surprise," Leena repeated.

"There were two types of vinyl in the burnt-out remains of the car, one the actual passenger seat, the other a good copy. Well, good enough."

"Charlie got his hands on some cheap vinyl, to make it look like a car seat," Leena continued, "He put it over him, like a blanket, to blend in with the car so that…when you came outside to take a picture of it, he could jump out and surprise you."

David looked at her, tears in his eyes, shaking his head, not wanting to believe it, believe what it would mean, "You're joking."

"I wish I was," Leena reached out to touch his hand too, "I really wish I could tell you your son is still somewhere in Tibet, but he was here."

"He wanted you to get close enough to the car so he could spring the surprise," Sherlock agreed.

John closed his eyes, now understanding the difference between Christmas or Halloween. Christmas was a gift, a surprise, happy. Halloween would have been more murder and foul play. He agreed with Leena, he didn't know which he'd prefer to have to tell these people either. That their son died naturally with no one knowing…or that he'd been murdered and put there just at the end.

"That's when it happened," Sherlock continued.

"We were told Charlie hadn't been well," Leena spoke softly, "You were worried about his eating and about his drifting mid-conversation. It…it seems very much like he may have had a seizure while he was hiding, one he…he didn't survive."

"No one had any cause to go near his car," Sherlock added, "So there he remained in the driver's seat hidden until…"

Leena cut in, "We're so sorry," she said instead, not letting him remind them of the explosion, "The fake car seat must have melted from the heat, and just…made it all visible."

"Oh, God!" Mrs. Welsborough burst into tears as her husband reached out to pull her to him. Leena gave them a sorrowful look and stood, moving back over to Sherlock and a silent and grim John.

"Poor kid," Lestrade breathed.

"Really," Sherlock spoke, moving his arm around Leena's shoulder, having heard her voice crack near the end. He knew she wouldn't normally be so emotional during a meeting with clients, having seen so much worse during her work at the BAU, but with the pregnancy, some things just got to her more, "We're so sorry. Mr. Welsborough, Mrs. Welsborough."

He turned and led Leena out of the room, John and Lestrade following to give the grieving parents privacy. They didn't stop till they reached the front porch, Leena stepping away to take in some air while Sherlock turned to examine the concrete of the porch, giving her time to collect herself. She really did hate to be seen as unprofessional in such a way and he wouldn't comment on it or draw attention to it if she didn't want it.

"This is where it was smashed," he identified a moment later.

"That was amazing," Lestrade whistled.

"What?"

"The car, the kid."

"Ancient history," Sherlock waved it off, "Why are you still talking about it?"

Leena moved back over to him, resting a hand on his shoulder, nearer his back in thanks for his words. He would have loved to go over every single detail of the case and how he worked it out, it was his favorite part, breaking it down for others, but he knew it had upset her and he wanted the others to stop bringing it up.

"What's so important about a broken bust of Margaret Thatcher?" John looked between them, changing the topic.

"Can't stand it. Never can."

"What?" Lestrade shook his head.

"It's a loose thread," Leena explained, "Why break in and smash a bust but not anything else nor steal anything else? There's easier things to do."

Sherlock looked over at her, a question in his eyes that she nodded to, both of them thinking the same answer. You would smash it if you were looking for something, not simply to just break it.

"Doesn't mean he has to pull on it," John grumbled.

"What kind of a life would that be?" Sherlock snorted, "Besides, I have the strangest feeling…" he trailed off a moment, considering if this might be related to Moriarty, if this might be the start of his posthumous game, and shook his head, taking Leena's hand and leading her towards a black cab parked at the end of the drive that they'd taken there, "That's ours. You two take a bus."

"Why?" John asked, a bit of a laughing disbelief in his voice.

"Three very good reasons. First, my wife is pregnant and I'm not sending her onto a crowded bus. Two, I need to concentrate, and three, I don't want to hit you."

"I'd kick him in the shins for it," Leena teased, getting into the cab before him.

"The Mall, please," Sherlock gave directions for the nearest entrance to Mycroft's office.

~8~

Leena quite hated having to meet with Mycroft in his underground office, it always felt like Mycroft had all the power when meetings were had in a location he controlled. Still, the only thing that got her there besides Sherlock was that the tea selection was quite good. She'd gotten rather used to coffee in America, but there was something about the tea here that was wonderful. Even if she was forced to drink decaf versions of it.

"I met her once," Mycroft remarked after Sherlock gave him a rundown of the latest potential case, as it might involve Moriarty, he was taking no chances to keep his brother in the dark, not after he'd helped Sherlock fake his death.

"Thatcher?" Sherlock glanced over from where he was pacing along the floor.

"Rather arrogant, I thought."

Leena snorted into her tea, swallowing it and setting the cup down on the edge of Mycroft's desk, if just to annoy him about something being out of place, "YOU?"

It did earn a chuckle from the elder Holmes, "I know!" he took a breath, glancing at Sherlock's phone in his hand, an image of a baby on it which had been thrust at him a moment before Sherlock went off on his tangent, "Why am I looking at this?"

"That's Hamish," Leena replied, "John and Mary's baby boy."

"Oh, I see," he eyed the phone again, almost grimacing as he tried to smile, "Yes, looks very…fully functioning."

Sherlock turned and frowned at him, "Is that really the best you can do?" he shot Leena a look that clearly said they would not be allowing Mycroft anywhere near their child if that really was the best he could do.

"Sorry," Mycroft rolled his eyes, "I've never been very good with them."

"Babies?"

"Humans," he returned with a smug smile.

Leena took another sip of her tea, "Keep it up Mycroft and you'll be out of the running for godfather completely."

Sherlock smirked when Mycroft narrowed his eyes. For as much as the man played at being the exasperated older brother and non-human entity, he got surprisingly prickly about certain things related to his brother's life. Keeping Leena a part of it, not being banned from their wedding, and now being named godfather of their first child.

Of course they would never let that happen even if Mycroft somehow made them king and queen of England. John and Mary would be the godparents, it had been decided ages ago.

They just…well, they both very much liked to make Mycroft think he was in charge.

"Moriarty," Sherlock stepped forward and plucked the phone from Mycroft's hand, putting it in his pocket, "Did he have any connection with Thatcher? Any interest in her?"

"Why on earth would he?" Mycroft sneered.

"I don't know," Sherlock huffed, "You tell me."

Leena watched closely as Mycroft leaned forward and opened a file on his desk, "In the last year of his life, James Moriarty was involved with four pol…"

"Four political assassinations, over seventy assorted robberies and terrorist attacks, including a chemical weapons factory in North Korea, and had a minor obsession with trying to track down the Black Pearl of the Borgias," Leena cut in, rolling her eyes, "We said to tell us something we don't know, Mycroft."

He narrowed his eyes at her, but she merely wiggled her phone at him, it was surprising how much you could find about a dead man's activities when he was no longer around to protect his accounts.

"The pearl is still missing," Mycroft spoke, "In case you feel like applying yourself to something practical."

"Still not something we don't know."

"It's a pearl," Sherlock added, bored, "Get another one," he smirked with his back to his brother when he heard Leena snort at his remark, he didn't find interest in most material things, jewels and other trinkets, unless they came from her. Yorrick was proof of that. He sighed, hating to admit that there was something he wasn't grasping, "There's something important about this. I'm sure."

"It could be Moriarty," Leena nodded, understanding why it bothered him so much, he'd cast off other cases in the past easily, but he couldn't risk it now that he was truly back and his enemies knew it. Because any one of them could be a trick and if he ignored it now it might be something he'd regret later, "Or it could be someone else, but I agree with Sherwood…" she pointedly ignored Mycroft's scoff at how 'she always agreed with Sherlock' and continued, "There IS something off about this case."

"There's something coming," Sherlock murmured, thinking more on Leena's phrasing of it.

"Are you having a premonition, brother mine?" Mycroft leaned forward to observe his brother, he'd been waiting for the day when Sherlock's ego got to the point where he thought he could predict the future, if just so he could cut it down.

"The world is woven from billions of lives," Sherlock turned to face his brother, "Every strand crossing every other. What we call premonition is just movement of the web. If you could attenuate to every strand of quivering data, the future would be entirely calculable, as inevitable as mathematics."

Mycroft smirked, opening his mouth to speak…

"Please tell me you're not about to bring up the 'Appointment in Samarra,'" Leena spoke first with a huff, setting her teacup down, now empty.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at her for stealing his thunder.

She scoffed, "You're still so easy to read, Mycroft, it's almost embarrassing," she reached forward to pat his hand, before turning to Sherlock, "Trying to predict the future can sometimes create it," she remarked. It really was so easy to guess where Mycroft's mind went, he had often loved to extol the 'Appointment in Samarra' when they were children, whenever Sherlock would try to anticipate his brother's tricks.

"Why does that sound familiar?" Sherlock hummed.

Leena laughed, "You've gone and deleted it, haven't you?" she guessed, "It's a tale about a merchant who saw Death in one place, and fled to another, thinking he'd escaped his fate. Only to be confronted with Death there. When he asked Death why he was surprised to see him in the first area, he said because he had an appointment with the man in the second location."

"The merchant who can't outrun Death," Mycroft sighed, "You always hated that story as a child. Less keen on predestination back then."

"I'm not sure I like it now," Sherlock grumbled, crossing his arms, thinking about his own 'death' at the hands of Moriarty, not wanting it to be something that just put off the inevitable. Not now.

"I rather liked your take on it," Leena remarked, getting up when Sherlock began to put his coat on, "Appointment in Sumatra, where he went to a different city and lived to a ripe old age."

Sherlock hummed, recalling it now, he'd filed it under Sumatra in his Mind Palace, keeping it because Leena had rather enjoyed his spin on the tale, "Goodnight, Mycroft," he called to the man, heading for the door with Leena.

"Then he becomes a pirate, for some reason," Mycroft called out.

"He wanted to save the princess from the same fate," Leena reminded him.

"Keep us informed," Sherlock called back.

"Of what?" Mycroft asked.

"Absolutely no idea."

"You shouldn't have done that," Leena teased as Sherlock slammed the door behind them, "He'll be calling us at all hours for any little thing he deems is a case you should take now."

"Good," Sherlock remarked, "He at least brings some more clever ones than Griffin."

"Greg," Leena reminded, before pausing to think, "Greg Mycroft Holmes…"

"No," he shot it down easily, her suggestion for their child's name, knowing she was teasing and wouldn't be cross with the quickfire dismissal, "I already gave the perfect name for a boy."

Leena snorted, knowing he hadn't given her serious names for boys as he was fully convinced it would be a girl, "We're not naming him Smaug."

~8~

Leena looked up from her phone as she sat in Sherlock's armchair, watching him pace across the floor while a client chattered on about his mystery. She caught his eye and held up 2 fingers, letting him know that two more reports had come in for 'break ins' that identified damaged property in the form of a plaster bust of Margaret Thatcher. She'd had a program on her phone to alert her if any of those four words came up when a break in was reported, plaster, bust, Margaret, Thatcher. She'd gotten two hits now since the first one at the Welsborough's.

It was clear and confirmed now, someone was looking for something hidden inside the busts. They'd have to reach out to one of their contacts and see if they could trace the connection between the busts. She could probably do it, but her program was on her phone and it would take forever to go back into someone's records and track something like that, connect it to other busts.

She glanced at the door, able to hear two people talking and shook her head, Lestrade and Hopkins were both there, likely waiting to give Sherlock a case since he was with a client at the moment. Neither of them were being particularly quiet, which she could see was irritating Sherlock. He had a thing about too much stupid being in a room and if he could hear you, you were in the room.

He stormed over to the door and pulled it open, "Will you two please keep it down?!" he snapped, before slamming it in their faces. He turned with a huff, irritated, though she knew it was more from the current client than the detectives outside. As soon as she told him about the third bust he wanted to get right out there and find the connection between the four of them. But the client was already halfway through his spiel and with the two detectives outside, the chances of being able to do so were dwindling.

He moved over to the chair she was resting on, moving behind it and crossing his arms to rest on the back of the chair, facing the man before them on a chair.

He was a quite unassuming man, in grey trousers and a pale short sleeved shirt, trying to give the bare minimum of personal detail to his case, though it didn't amount to much when Sherlock could gather your entire life's story from a glimpse.

"Now, you haven't always been in life insurance, have you?" Sherlock cut in, "You started out in manual labor. Oh, don't bother being astonished. Your right hand's almost an entire size bigger than your left," he gestured at the man's hands, one appearing slightly bigger than the other, "Hard manual work does that."

"Carpentry?" Leena made her own guess of it.

"Yeah," the man blinked, "I WAS a carpenter, uh, like me dad."

"And you're trying to give up smoking, unsuccessfully," Sherlock added, "And you once had a Japanese girlfriend that meant a lot to you but now you feel indifferent about."

"How the hell…" the man began, when Leena patted over her heart and the man looked down at the pocket on his shirt where some e-cigarettes were just poking through the top of it, "Ah. E-cigarettes."

"Not just that, ten individual e-cigarettes. Now, if you just wanted to smoke indoors, you would have invested in one of those irritating electronic pipe things, but you're convinced you can give up, so you don't want to buy a pipe because that means you're not serious about quitting, so instead you buy individual cigarettes, always sure that each will be your last. Anything to add, John?" he glanced over at where John should have been sitting in his armchair, only to see a red balloon with a John-like face drawn on it was floating there instead, "John?"

"Kitchen," Leena informed him, and not a moment later the real John poked his head out from the doorway.

"Er, yeah, yeah, listening," John waved him on.

"What is that?" Sherlock pointed at the balloon.

"That is me. Well, it's a me-substitute."

"You know I value your little contributions," Sherlock tried to salvage his embarrassment at not having realized John had walked off.

"Oh, Sherwood," Leena reached up to pat his arm, "It's been there since nine in the morning."

"Has it?" Sherlock blinked, before looking at John, "Where were you?"

"Helping Mrs. H with her Sudoku," John spoke, "Then," he stepped out of the kitchen with a sandwich on a plate with a bit of jelly set up like ketchup next to it, "Made Jackie an egg sandwich."

"Ooh, thank you, John!" Leena beamed when he stepped over and handed it to her.

"You…got my wife a sandwich," Sherlock frowned at him.

"Yeah," John shrugged, it wasn't a big deal, it really wasn't.

"Why did you get my wife a sandwich?"

"Cos she was hungry?"

"No, why did YOU get my wife a sandwich? I should be the only one getting my wife a sandwich. MY wife."

John nodded, amused at how petulant Sherlock sounded just then, "Right, you can get her the ice cream she'll be wanting after the sandwich."

Leena eyed him, "How'd you know I'd want ice cream?"

John smiled at them, "You both tracked what Mary had cravings of," he spoke, though there was a bit of regret in his voice.

He'd had a hard time being around Mary for much of her pregnancy, hadn't done a good job as husband to her after finding out she'd lied about her entire life to him. He tried to make up for it now, being a good husband and father, but Leena and Sherlock had done so much for her. Leena went and had lunch with her every day to make sure she was eating, texting Sherlock all the things Mary even mentioned having a craving about so he could bring it round when he'd come pick her up for a stroll back to 221B. They both took such good care of his wife when he'd lacked the ability to, he wanted to make up for it by returning the favor.

"I paid attention to what Jackie seemed to like, too."

"Thank you, John," Leena smiled at him, "And thank you because this sandwich is delicious!"

"Little bit of horseradish in the eggs," he smirked, pleased he'd noticed something about Leena's habits that maybe Sherlock hadn't.

Leena just hummed appreciatively and dipped her sandwich in the jelly to munch on.

"Er, sorry," their client cut in, "What about my girlfriend?"

"What?" Sherlock looked at the man, already plotting at least 12 ways to one-up John making her a sandwich.

"You said I had an ex."

"It's your tattoo," Leena told him.

"It's Japanese and says 'Akako,'" Sherlock added, back on his roll, "But you haven't gotten rid of it after the first attempt to have it removed so it doesn't bother you either way to have it there or not."

The man chuckled a bit, "Sorry. I…I thought you'd done something clever."

John did his level best to hide his laugh in a cough behind his hand at how Sherlock AND Leena had reacted to the man's statement. While Sherlock turned to glare at the man for the insult, Leena had frozen, her food half stuck in her mouth, mid-bite, and just looked at the man, shaking her head a moment, before finally resuming finishing the act of biting the sandwich to chew on it.

"No, no," the man continued to chuckle, "Ah, but now you've explained it, it's dead simple, innit?"

Sherlock stood from behind the chair, straightening and stepping around it, taking a deep breath and looking at the man seriously, "I've withheld this information from you until now, Mr. Kingsley, but I think it's time you knew the truth."

"What d'you mean?" the man frowned, not seeing Leena and John exchanging an amused look behind Sherlock's back.

"Have you ever wondered if your wife was a little bit out of your league?"

"Well…" the man spoke, actually seeming about to gesture to Leena and Sherlock, as though to say they were in the same boat, which had Leena nearly choking on her sandwich and John physically biting his fist to keep from laughing and interrupting Sherlock.

"You thought she was having an affair. I'm afraid it's far worse than that. Your wife is a spy."

"What?!" Kingsley gasped.

"That's right," he nodded, beginning his assessment as he slowly made his way towards the man, "Her real name is Greta Bengtsdotter. Swedish by birth and probably the most dangerous spy in the world. She's been operating deep undercover for the past four years now as your wife for one reason only: to get near the American embassy which is across the road from your flat. Tomorrow the US president will be at the embassy as part of an official state visit. As the president greets members of staff, Greta Bengtsdotter, disguised as a twenty-two stone cleaner, will inject the president in the back of the neck with a dangerous new drug hidden inside a secret compartment inside her padded armpit. This drug will then render the president entirely susceptible to the will of their new master, none other than James Moriarty."

"What?!"

"Moriarty will then use the president as a pawn to destabilize the United Nations General Assembly which is due to vote on a nuclear non-proliferation treaty, tipping the balance in favor of a first strike policy against Russia. This chain of events will then prove unstoppable, thus precipitating…" he took a breath, leaning into Kingsley's face and enunciating the last words for dramatic effect, "World War Three."

John chuckled, finally familiar enough with Sherlock…or at least Leena, to see he was completely fabricating all of that. Leena would be more serious if it was true than the smile on her face right now, "Are you serious?" he asked, for the benefit of the client.

"No, of course not," he scoffed, straightening and moving to the door, "His wife left him because his breath stinks and he likes to wear her lingerie."

"I don't!" Kingsley defended.

"I can see the bra strap outline through your shirt," Leena called over, turning to set the now empty plate on the table near her.

"Well…it's…it's JUST the bras!" the man defended.

Sherlock shook his head and opened the door, "Get out."

Kingsley got up and hurried out of the room, red with embarrassment, Sherlock not even giving the two detectives waiting outside a moment to speak before he slammed the door shut on them too.

"So, what's this all about, then?" John asked.

"He's just having a bit of fun," Leena remarked, standing up and twisting a bit to stretch out her back, her left hand absently coming behind her to rub at a small knot that formed.

"Fun?"

"While I can," Sherlock agreed, about to step over to Leena when Hopkins opened the door and stepped in, "Borgia Pearl," he guessed before she spoke, "Boring, go," and pushed her towards the door, shutting the door behind her…only for Lestrade to do as she'd done and open it, coming right on in, "Oh, this had better be good," he muttered, moving over to Leena and turning her slightly so he could use the knuckles of his hand to kneed the area she wasn't quite managing to work out.

Lestrade smirked at the domestic sight and reached into a paper bag he'd brought with him, "Oh, I think you'll like it," and pulled out a clear plastic bag…

"Thatcher bust?" Leena guessed before he could fully pull it out.

The man actually pouted when he held it up to reveal exactly that, the shattered pieces of one anyway.

"That is the bust, isn't it?" John reached out to take it, "The one that was broken."

"Nope!" Leena called when Lestrade moved to answer.

He sighed and nodded, "No, it isn't. It's another one; different owner, different part of town. You were right!" he turned to the two of them, Leena having submitted a preliminary report of what they suspected for him to keep an eye out for any other reports, perhaps one that hadn't gone through the electronic filing system yet, "This is a…this is a thing. Something's going on."

Sherlock reached out to take the bag, looking down at the fractured pieces, grim.

"What's wrong?" Lestrade eyed him, "I thought you'd be pleased."

"He is," Leena said, "That's his game face."

That had Sherlock smirking, "And the game is on."

Leena took a deep breath, A game was on, she was sure of that. She just wasn't so certain it was THE game he was waiting on from Moriarty. This was too…rough, it lacked the finesse that Moriarty would have put into his plans. But, she had to concede, she could be wrong, if Moriarty was trying to act out one final game from beyond the grave, he very well could be putting up all the wrong signals, trying to confuse them, let their guard down that 'it couldn't be him' and have him hit where it really hurt.

Either way, whoever was behind this, it was a game and it had to be solved. So while Sherlock headed to the kitchen to examine the plaster, she got to work drafting up her preliminary profile. There were a few things she needed to work through and putting it to paper would help her sift through the contradicting things she was seeing and thinking.

~8~

John and Lestrade stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Sherlock examine a piece of the plaster under his microscope while Lestrade explained more about the mounting case, "Another two have been smashed since the Welsborough one. One belonging to Mr. Mohandes Hassan…"

"Identical busts?" John guessed.

"Yeah, and this one to a Dr. Barnicot in Holborn. Three in total," he glanced at his watch, "God knows who'd wanna do something like this."

"Yeah, well some people have that complex, don't they?" John shrugged, "An idée fixe," he glanced at Sherlock, "They obsess over one thing and they can't let it go…"

And wasn't that Sherlock in a nutshell, but in various ways. He could obsess over a case to the bitter end, or he could obsess over a single aspect of his life he wanted to get perfect or, in the case of Leena, obsess over a single person for more than 20 years. Though, he had to admit, that last one was probably the only reason Sherlock even somewhat resembled a human being at times.

"Well we're not dealing with a monomaniac at least," Leena called, stepping over with her laptop, grateful the kitchen hadn't been used for any experiments in the last few days so she could join them without gagging, "Like we pointed out before, there were other images of Thatcher at the Welsborough's, if it was that they would have smashed the other likenesses of her too. And that doesn't fit the profile," she held up her laptop, "They're looking for something specifically related to the busts. It's not for enjoyment or they'd go anywhere and smash any old bust of her. It's not for risk, they'd make it more obvious they were breaking in. It's not even obsession, otherwise they'd have kept the pieces as a trophy. There has to be something hidden IN the busts that they're searching for."

Sherlock merely pointed at her, his thoughts exactly, when something caught his eye under the scope, "Ooh."

"What?" John asked, considering Leena's words, it did make sense how she described it. If the person wanted to risk getting caught, they wouldn't have smashed the security or been so careful the family didn't realize till morning what happened.

"Blood," Sherlock said, moving the sample to better see it, "Quite a bit of it, too."

"No injury at the scene, I assume?" Leena glanced at Lestrade as he checked his watch again.

"No," he answered.

"Then it's the unsub…er, the suspect," Leena said, "His blood."

"His?" John turned to her.

"Statistically it's more likely to be a man," Leena shrugged.

Sherlock picked up a set of tweezers to put the blood-stained part into a small bag, "Come on," he stood, heading for the door with it.

"Holborn?" Lestrade guessed, thinking Sherlock might need to use the resources there.

"Lambeth," he shook his head.

"We're going to see Toby?" Leena beamed at that, closing her laptop with a snap and setting it to the side as he nodded.

"Who?" John asked.

"You'll see," Sherlock waved it off.

"Right," John sighed, before turning to Lestrade, "You coming?"

"No," Sherlock cut in, "He's got a lunch date with a brunette forensic officer that he doesn't want to be late for."

"Jackie did you…" Lestrade began, turning to her almost accusingly.

"The right sleeve of your jacket," Sherlock kept on, nodding at where there was a long strand of brown hair on his sleeve, "Plus the formaldehyde mixed with your cologne," he grimaced at the smell so common among forensic officers.

"And you keep looking at your watch," Leena added, pulling a light coat on and patting Lestrade on the arm, "Have fun."

He smiled, "I will," and headed for the door too.

"Trust me, though, she's not right for you," Sherlock called, absently texting to make sure it was alright to stop over for Toby.

"What?" Lestrade frowned, turning to face him.

"She's not the one."

"Well, thank you, Mystic Meg," Lestrade huffed, leaving.

"How'd you work all that out?" John asked Sherlock.

"She's got three children in Rio that he doesn't know about," Sherlock murmured.

"Are you just making this up?"

"Possibly."

"Office gossip," Leena answered instead, smiling when John seemed to realize that was how Sherlock really knew what Lestrade was up to. She had gotten back into working for the Yard after Sherlock had returned, in between solving cases with him and helping John and Mary with their wedding and falling out. It wasn't quite freelance, she was on their payroll, but more…consulting, for lack of a better word. She would stop in two or three times a week, check in if there were any cases they needed help working out the criminal behind, not the scene or the victim, but more to narrow down their list of suspects. She would catch up, sometimes, on the few people she actually liked at the Yard.

Anderson was especially interesting to run into. He really had done a complete 180 from how he first viewed Sherlock. She really would not be surprised to find a shrine of the man somewhere in Anderson's house one day. The man chatted with her every time she was there, just checking in, apologizing, going over his own take on the cases they solved and offering help if they ever needed it.

Not that they would, for as much as he changed, she would never forget how he and Donovan treated Sherlock, the role they'd had in driving him to the point where the only way to stop Moriarty was to fake his death. She'd gotten two of the three involved fired, he should count himself very lucky she'd approved of Lestrade to bring him back on the Yard even in a reduced capacity.

"She does have children though," she added, tugging her hair out of the back of her coat, "Full custody of them, doesn't talk about them much. Keeps her work and life separate so it may be a bit of a shock for Greg if he finds out."

"Ok," John nodded, following them to the door, "So who's Toby?"

~8~

"There's a kid I know, hacker," Sherlock spoke as they got out of a cab and headed up the drive to a small house, "Brilliant hacker, one of the world's best."

Leena snorted, "Penny could give him a run for his money," she remarked. In her opinion, one Penelope Garcia was THE best hacker there was.

"He got himself into serious trouble with the Americans a couple of years ago," Sherlock continued, "He hacked into the Pentagon's security system. Leena assisted me in getting him off the charge. Therefore he owes us a favor."

"Part of the agreement was that he not use his hacking for 'evil,'" Leena explained, using quotey fingers, "But that he assist with criminal investigations instead."

"Using his powers for good," John chuckled, getting it. It was actually quite a common thing to happen, when a criminal had a very specialized skill set. They would often be brought in as consultants or assist with catching other similar criminals, a way to either reduce the sentence or escape jail completely. Working for the 'good guys' was certainly better than being cut off in a jail cell.

Sherlock grinned as they reached the black door to the flat, reaching out to bang the knocker twice.

"So, how does that help us?" John asked as they waited.

"What?" Sherlock glanced over.

"Toby the hacker."

Leena smiled, "Toby's not the hacker. Craig is."

"What?" he frowned in confusion.

A moment later the door opened and a young man with curly hair and glasses was standing there, mid twenties, bit of stubble, a little bit of a gut to him.

"Alright, Craig?" Sherlock asked with a smile.

The man chuckled, "Alright, Sherlock?"

"Where's Toby?" Leena all but demanded, moving forward.

A loud 'woof!' rang out and a dog, a large bloodhound, trotted up and began sniffing at Leena.

"Oh, there's the good boy," she beamed, crouching down to pet him.

"Very good boy," Sherlock laughed, leaning down to pet the dog as well, startling John for a moment to see the man so thrilled with another being, especially an animal.

"Hiya!" another voice called, and Mary stepped out of the house, with Hamish in her arms.

"Mary?" John blinked at her, "What are you…" he let out a huff, holding up his hands when the fact that she had Hamish with her hit him, "No, we…we agreed we would never bring Mish out on a case."

"HAMISH," Mary emphasized, taking delight in using her son's full name to wind up her husband, who had tried every variation he could think of under the sun short of using 'Sherlock' to make their son's name seem more 'normal,' before she nodded, "Is not going on a case with us," she spoke, reaching out to hand the boy to John, "Don't wait up," she winked before turning to the Holmeses, "Hey."

"Hey," Sherlock greeted.

John, though, was still in shock, "But Mary, what are you doing here?"

"She's better at this than you," Sherlock said simply.

"Better?"

"So I texted her."

"Hang on. Mary's better than me?"

"Save a life, call John," Leena remarked as she stood, Toby's leash in hand, "Hunt down a criminal, call Mary."

Sherlock nodded, "She IS a retired super-agent with a terrifying skill set. Of course she's better."

"Yeah," John had to concede to that, "Ok."

"Nothing personal."

"What, so I'm supposed to just go home now, am I?"

"Oh, what do you think?" Mary turned to Leena, linking her arm through the other woman's, "Shall we take him with us?"

"He is quite handy and very loyal," Leena mused, though petting the dog as she spoke made John wonder if she meant him or Toby.

"Barnicot's house, then," Sherlock looked over, seeing that John would actually be joining them with Hamish, "Anyone up for a trudge?" he grinned when Toby barked, perking up and hurrying forward, reaching out to take the leash from Leena as Toby could be…quite enthusiastic on the hunt, "Keep up. He's fast!"

A/N: Sorry this was a bit late! Holidays and all, so some chapters may not be up Tuesday/Friday but a day or two late :/ I have a small side hobby where I crochet blankets and my aunt asked for a couple for the holidays and it's now very close to Christmas and I still have 1 left to finish :/ But at least it's a better light note than other reasons why things might be late :)

For this chapter, I feel like I need to start with Leena being pregnant.

I tried to foreshadow that she would be pregnant very closely behind Mary, in how close their weddings were and in Mary urging her to have a child soon so hers had a playmate, and with the Liberty figment of Sherlock's imagination teasing him about bringing her into being. I actually agonized over when in this episode Leena would BE pregnant/how pregnant she should be for the duration of it. Because Mary was so far along and so much of the episode had to do with her baby, I didn't want her to be pregnant through the whole thing too because I thought it would be too much baby. But the more I considered it and looked at Leena, the more it actually fit to have her find out the way she did when she did. Sherlock deduced Mary, he did the same with Leena. Mary wanted her to be close behind, she is. And imagining Sherlock and John having to deal with TWO pregnant women? O.O The more I thought about it like that, the more Leena's pregnancy fit. And I was dying to have that be the reason why Sherlock as 'high on life' during the briefing, it just fit so well since he doesn't touch drugs due to Leena and I felt that really would be something that would get him reacting in a similar way. Leena threw up on the plane, Leena never throws up on the plane, therefore Leena must be pregnant :) I'm going to add a timeline at the end of the note for how I saw the episode going to give an idea of Mary and Leena's pregnancies, and Hamish's growth.

Now, for the other baby, for Rosie (in the show) now being Hamish (in the story). From what I understand of conception, we are who we are because we were conceived at the exact moment we were conceived, the exact month/day/hour/minute, and if that conception was delayed, even 5 minutes, we would not be who we are. That's my rationale for Hamish. I know sometimes a critique of my stories is that the OC being there doesn't change enough. In my mind, Leena being there does affect not just Sherlock's life but John's too. It's not just John grieving that Mary is there for, but Leena's too, it's not just John she spends time with but Leena and John with Leena too during that time when Sherlock was absent.

Let's say, in the show, John goes to therapy one day and comes home to Mary, and they do the deed, hence we get Rosie. Now let's imagine, while John is at therapy, Mary goes to check on her good friend Leena, to see how the grieving 'widow' is doing, maybe they get lunch together to get her out of 221B and just to have girl time to talk, because Leena is not seeing a therapist like John is. John comes home from therapy, Mary's out to lunch, maybe a half hour later she comes home and they do the deed. It cannot be Rosie, not as we know her, it may not even be girl that's conceived at that point. Even if it happened during a time when Sherlock was back, for all we know Sherlock had Leena assist him during an investigation instead of John and he and Mary are intimate earlier, or maybe Leena being there helps a case go faster and John can be with Mary sooner, or Leena is helping Mary plan the wedding and because of her help things either take longer or shorter.

Part of me wanted it to be a Hamish, because of how much Sherlock wanted it (wanted one single boy he would trust around his daughter, if he had a daughter), another part wanted a Rosie because if Sherlock had a daughter they'd be best mates or more. But I didn't feel like that could be the only reason to change it, I really gave it a lot of thought to WHY it would change and HOW it would change and what could have happened to change it. A bigger part of me just kept coming back to Mary's own friendship with Leena, and how Leena being there DOES change things in ways not directly related to Sherlock. And my gut kept telling me, if it's not a Rosie it's a Hamish lol.

...and another part said that Mary would love Hamish as a name, because it came from John, and she would very much force the man who missed 59 calls and caused her to give birth in a car on the side of the road to accept their son is now Hamish and it wouldn't have been if he'd answered his damn phone! lol :) John would have to grin and bear it because he brought it on himself not checking his phone when his wife is about to pop.

Timeline:

May 18, 2014 - Mary finds out she's pregnant at her wedding, I'm going to assume she was far enough along for some symptoms to be noticeable, so that puts it at about 3-4 weeks, let's say 1 month along.
December 25, 2014 (thereabouts) - Christmas at the Holmes' family cottage. Mary is about 8 to 8.5 months pregnant by the end of December.
January 1, 2015, (thereabouts) - Just after the new year, Sherlock and Leena are 'banished' and return within hours. Leena finds out she's pregnant, assuming the same as with Mary, she's about 3-4 weeks along by this point, so 1 month at the start of January.
Mid January - 2ish weeks have passed, Mary is now 9 months along, ready to pop, and soon gives birth, Leena is about 6ish weeks along.
March 1, 2015 - About 6 weeks after Hamish is born, the baptism happens. Leena is now 3 months along.
Mid April - A sequence of raising Hamish and investigating crimes, enough where the Watsons feel the brunt of being parents. Leena is about 4.5 months along.
Near the end of April - Sherlock first discovers the busts being destroyed. Leena is closer to 5 months along.

I imagine that the 3 busts (and the next bust breaks) likely take place over the course of a week/2 weeks as the person committing them is clearly desperate to find what he's looking for, he would not wait long to track down and break the busts that exist.

I hope you all liked the little next chapter for Leena and Sherlock, their own adventure into being parents. I want to say that I know there may be concerns of it going too domestic, so I really tried to keep the pregnancy sort of on a secondary thought, the main plot being the adventures and the mysteries, with Leena just happening to be pregnant as it goes. Sherlock doesn't strike me as the sort to do normal domesticity, so we'll have to wait and see how he is as a father to see if it gets too domestic ;) ;)

Some notes on reviews...

Thank you all for your well wishes for my uncle and aunt, so far there's no change which we're taking as better news than if something changed for the worse.

Oh Leena is going to have some strong words for Mycroft by the time this story is finished };) We'll have to wait and see her reaction to Eurus though ;) And yup! She's pregnant :D

I felt like that was a big part of the show too, that sort of arrogance and pride and ego and realize you're just human and you don't know it all and can make mistakes and get things very wrong :( There are going to be some instances where Leena gets things wrong too, with some very serious consequences. But during the moments where Sherlock comes across like he knows too much, I try to go more into his head and thought processes to show how he came to those conclusions or why he's anticipating certain things to at least try to have it make sense, even if some of the things he's so 'sure' about end up being wrong in the end ;)

Lol, yup, Leena's expecting! :D She does know that she is though, she's not the sort to throw up on planes so she worked it out. I sort of picture her halfway to that conclusion as she walks back out of the loo, then sees Sherlock's smug face and is like 'No, don't you DARE say it!' :) Part of the way she came across and her interactions with Sherlock in the Abominable Bride are from his mind and his dream, so it sort of mixes what he knows of how she likes her privacy and wouldn't just blurt it out to people that she's pregnant, but also that she would still try to help him and he'd have to be the one to give excuses why she can't even if it annoys her :) But she definitely knows now ;)

I'm glad you picked up on that part about Mycroft not really trusting or knowing Sherlock :) That's going to be a recurring theme that gets pointed out to him before the end of the story :) I feel like he made some very big mistakes with a certain sibling and he sort of tries to 'make up for it' with Sherlock, but in the end he sort of makes similar mistakes, not to as large a scale, but thinking he knows best when he didn't really know at all. Because he sees himself as 'the big brother' and therefore he just 'knows' his siblings, whereas Leena sort of proves you actually have to put effort into learning about someone to really KNOW them and know what's best for them :)