Eleven years ago
"Sherlock, you are not going to fertilise anything," says John forcefully. They are standing around in the waiting room of the artificial insemination clinic, waiting for someone.
"Why not?" Sherlock asks.
John shuffles, "Do you really want a tiny assassin Sherlock running around?"
"Yes," says Sherlock. John gives him a look, and Sherlock raises his eyebrows in a way of saying, 'what?'.
"Really?" John sighs, "and also, I'm the one who used to date Mary."
"So?" Sherlock says, "come on, you can be the biological father of our next kid."
"Our next kid?" John looks at Sherlock, "Alright, fine. You can fertilise Mary's egg this time, but don't go blaming me when they turn out to be a wanted murderer one day."
"Wouldn't that be interesting?" Sherlock smiles. John rolls his eyes. He's about to protest, but gives up before even opening his mouth.
＊ ＊ ＊
Present day
Irene puts the purple headband onto her head, so it stands out against her long, curly black hair. She stuffs her notebook into her bag and runs downstairs, "I'm gonna go solve the murder down the street."
"Alright, honey. But dinner will be ready soon, so don't be out too long, okay?" replies John.
Jim looks up from his drawing, "she's a weirdo," he says. John glares at him and he quickly diverts his eyes back to his drawing of a corpse. He gets up and takes his drawing into the lounge room where Sherlock is lying on the couch, staring at the roof.
"Dad, look," he says, handing him the picture. Sherlock looks at it. He seems irritated for a second, but then smooths his facial expression.
"Wonderful," he says, and hands it back.
"Geez, Dad, what's so wrong with it?" Jim mutters, moving his dirty blonde hair away from his eyes
Sherlock sighs loudly, and then clears his throat, "the blood... it doesn't work like that. It has to be-"
"Sherlock, will you stop?" calls John.
"He asked me to do it this time!" Sherlock yells back.
＊ ＊ ＊
Seven years ago
"Sherlock, quick! Jim is saying his first words!" John shouts. Sherlock walks over and looks.
"Dadadadadada," Jim mumbles. Sherlock creases his eyebrows.
"He hasn't got an Irish accent," Sherlock says slowly. John does a full 180 to face him.
"What?" John doesn't know whether to laugh or be extremely confused. He decides to go with the latter.
"Jim Moriarty had an Irish accent..." Sherlock mutters.
"Oh my god, Sherlock, I shouldn't have let you name the kids," John sighs.
"You didn't" says Sherlock.
＊ ＊ ＊
Present day
Irene rushes inside again, looking disappointed.
"Back already?" Sherlock mutters.
"Yes, turns out the murderer was just a cat," Irene sighs loudly.
Sherlock sits up, "a cat murdering people?"
"No, a cat killing mice," Irene says sadly.
"Alright, dinner's ready," says John, putting their food down on the table. Sherlock walks over and sits down to eat with the rest of the Watson family.
＊ ＊ ＊
Ten years ago
"How does Irene Sherlock Watson sound?" Sherlock asks, taking another look at their new baby.
"Um, no," replies John.
"Okay then, how about Sherlock Irene Watson? Sherlock is a girl's name, you know,"
"No, it's not. Also, Mary asked if we could put her name somewhere in the name,"
"Right, well; William Irene Mary Watson?"
"No. How about Irene Mary Watson?" John presses.
"Alright, fine," Sherlock agrees rather stiffly.
＊ ＊ ＊
Present day
With each bite, Sherlock is closely looking at it, before putting it into his mouth, and carefully identifying each flavour and texture of the bite.
"Sherlock, you're bored," says John.
"Good observation," Sherlock says bluntly.
"Dad, you can play with me after dinner if you want," Jim suggests.
"No, thanks," replies Sherlock, looking out the window.
"You can help me study, I have a maths test coming up," says Irene.
"What kind of maths?" Sherlock asks.
"Um, calculus?" says Irene, a ten year old.
"No, thanks."
"Oh I know, we can do that deduction game thing," Irene suggests eagerly.
"Alright, sure," Sherlock starts eating his food quicker, and when he's done, he goes outside, and a few minutes later, he returns with a shoe. He hands it to Irene, "you can go first."
Irene takes the shoe, looking at it carefully, "Well, it looks old, but it's a newer brand, so it must just be well worn," Irene throws the shoe to Sherlock.
"This person didn't untie their laces very often, they would just put on their shoes quickly, and head out, meaning they often had to go somewhere in a rush. Not work, as these are clearly not work shoes," Sherlock is about to continue, but he throws it back to Irene instead.
Irene looks them over, nervously looking for any small detail she can find to hopefully impress her dad, "the heels are more worn out... so they would usually apply more pressure to their heels. Which means... um... well, I don't think they would often run anywhere, even if they got ready in a rush. Otherwise I think the front of the shoe would be more worn," she throws the shoe back.
"Based on the substances at the bottom of the shoe, this person would often track through muddy places and places with small stones. The splattering of the newest layer of mud suggests that they were running. The owner of these shoes went out quickly, and this time they really ran. But why?" Sherlock throws the shoe back and Irene starts looking more closely now.
"Wanted to go for a jog, perhaps?" John suggests with a shrug.
"Didn't I say they don't often run anywhere? I doubt they would just go out for a jog," Irene looks at John like he's an idiot for a second, and then goes back to observing the shoe, "there are scuff marks on the side, did they scrape their foot along something? Did they trip?" Irene looks up and hands the shoe back.
"I would say the angle suggests that they fell. Not in the mud," Sherlock turns the shoe over, "and then they quickly tried to get up again."
"They're in a rush. Maybe to get to school? Not all schools have specific uniformed shoes," Irene suggests.
"No, the shoe size is too big. The person must have been running away from something," Sherlock puts the shoe away, "John, I think we might just have a client coming soon." John looks at Sherlock, surprised, but Sherlock can tell he's excited. They haven't had any case in a while.
"Ooh, Dad, can I come with you?" Irene asks.
Sherlock thinks about it, "Alright."
"No, Sherlock! We don't know what kind of danger we'd be putting her in," John says.
"But Daddy, if you both go, me and Jim will be all alone at home. And you know what happens when siblings are left alone together," Irene looks at Jim, who starts slowly backing away.
"But if we just take you, then Jim will be alone, and he's only seven," John says, trying to remain calm, but internally freaking out.
"I can come too!" Jim says, puffing out his chest.
"No, we'll just get Mrs Hudson to look after you like we used to. Oh..." John realises what he's said too late, and looks at the ground sadly.
"What? What's wrong with your face now?" Sherlock says, an eyebrow raised, "but anyway, I do hope you realise that ghosts can't babysit, John."
John looks up again, squeezes his eyes shut tight, then opens them again, "right. Well I'll just stay with you guys now, then."
"John, no. Either you come and we leave the kids at home to kill each other, or you come and bring the kids too," says Sherlock.
"You really don't mind either way, do you?" John asks, "actually don't answer that, but fine... we'll bring them..."
"Alright, let's go," Sherlock puts on his jacket and grabs the shoe again.
"But the client hasn't actually come yet," John reminds Sherlock. Sherlock looks at him, confused.
"So?" he says, and walks out the door. Immediately, he walks back in, "actually no, it's late, let's do it tomorrow."
＊ ＊ ＊
Five months ago
"What? Oh my god, that- that's-" John stutters, talking on his phone. Sherlock looks up, interested in what the problem might be, "and they just found her—on the sofa with a cup of tea? My god, that's terrible!"
"A murder?" Sherlock says eagerly after John hangs up. John seems to be having trouble opening his mouth, but finally he does, and manages to splutter out some words.
"Mrs- Mrs Hudson... she died..." John stammers.
"So, a murder?" Sherlock clarifies.
"No... they said it was a heart attack," John reaches for a tissue and wipes his eyes.
"Oh. Then why are you telling me?" Sherlock replies, irritated. John just ignores him.
＊ ＊ ＊
Present day
Sherlock wakes up, and starts getting ready. He doesn't care if this case is going to be boring, it's still his first case in months, and he wants to enjoy it.
Once he's done, he pushes John out of bed, who, grumbling, and with some protest, starts getting ready too.
"So, we're looking for a place where it's muddy, to start off with," says Sherlock, putting on his jacket, "then we'll find tracks that match the shoes and go from there."
"And how many muddy places are there in London?" John asks, rubbing his eyes.
"Wait, actually, no need to do that, I know exactly where they'll be," Sherlock walks out, taking long, brisk strides, wakes the kids, and heads outside. John quickly helps the kids out of their pyjamas and into day clothing as they stumble out the door, trying to catch up to Sherlock. Finally, John reaches him, and copies the pace of Sherlock, just taking shorter, but more steps.
"Where are we going?" John asks. A small hand clutches onto John's, and he grips it, helping Jim keep up.
Sherlock flicks his jacket flaps up to cover his face, and continues to walk, his hands in his pockets and head down. John sighs and keeps walking.
They stop in the middle of the street, and Sherlock looks around, before exclaiming, "Oh, of course. I'm an idiot! Back to plan A with the mud."
"Um, what?" says John.
"There's no body," whispers Jim.
"Why would there be a body here?" mutters John.
"Because this is where Dad found the shoe, duh," says Irene. Sherlock looks at her, then after a moment, he smirks, both at Irene and John. Just then a phone starts ringing.
"Who is it?" groans Sherlock.
"It's your phone that's ringing," says John.
"Fine," Sherlock takes out his phone, "it's Lestrade," he puts it back into his jacket pocket.
"Well, are you going to answer it?" John says.
"No," Sherlock keeps walking, but John snatches his phone out of his pocket and answers it for him.
"Lestrade?" John continues to talk, then is humming in reply to some things until finally the phone on the other side hangs up. John gives Sherlock his phone back, "they've found the body you were looking for."
"Did they? How did the police find it before me—?" sighs Sherlock, "Alright, where is it?" John gives him the address, and they catch a taxi there.
＊ ＊ ＊
Ten years ago
"Irene's birth certificate has arrived!" John beams. Sherlock grabs the envelope, brow furrowed.
"Alright, but I think I should read it first... in private," Sherlock indicates for John to leave, but instead he stands there, looking flabbergasted.
"Why can't I read it too?" remarks John.
"You can read it afterwards, honey. But I'm going first," Sherlock says forcefully. John looks at him weirdly.
"'Honey'?" John repeats.
"Am I over doing it?" Sherlock replies, "John, please just leave." John glares, but after a moment he finally leaves. Sherlock carefully opens the envelope. Inside is the shiny new birth certificate of Irene Watson. Sherlock grabs a permanent marker and starts looking over it.
'Full name: Irene Mary Sherlock Watson'
Sherlock checks to see that John still isn't in the room, and then he begins to cover the 'Sherlock' part of her name with a permanent marker. Just then, John bursts into the room and grabs the marker off Sherlock.
"What the bloody hell are you doing?" snaps John, "that's our daughter's birth certificate!"
"I know," Sherlock looks down at the paper. Just a single dot right next to the name. Nothing too permanent... unfortunately. Sherlock hands the certificate to John, who starts reading. Sherlock looks away, not wanting to see John's reaction. After all, he'd already seen it about fifty times before in his mind.
"Sherlock... what...? Irene Mary Sherlock Watson? We did not agree on this!" John seems surprisingly calm, his anger strained, although inside he's probably screaming.
"Sorry about that," says Sherlock. He gets up, and leans down the be face-to-face with John. Slowly, Sherlock moves closer to kiss him. John loves his husband, Sherlock, no matter how much of an egotistical sociopath he is, and even if he only kissed John to make John forgive him. And Sherlock loves John, no matter how much of an idiotic psycho-loving war doctor he is.
＊ ＊ ＊
Present day
Sherlock, John, Irene and Jim arrive on the crime scene. All there is is a body and another shoe. Sherlock starts closely inspecting the body.
"We don't know how he woulda been killed here," says Lestrade, "there's no possible way we can find."
"He wasn't killed here, you idiot," replies Sherlock, "there's a large wound right here on his chest. Fresh. Would have bled a lot, wouldn't it? So then why is there only a small spot of blood on the ground? Well it's quite obvious, isn't it? He wasn't killed here."
Sherlock takes out the shoe he'd brought with him and compares it to the new one, "it doesn't match. Not at all. Completely different sizes and everything," he looks at the victim's foot, "Ah, but this is the victim's shoe." He says, indicating the shoe he's found on his street. He replaces the new shoe he'd found on the crime scene with the one he'd found before and gets up to leave.
"Dad, I'm hungry," complains Jim.
"Lestrade, please get my son something to eat," Sherlock says.
"Sorry Sherlock, but I'm working. Besides, you shouldn't have brought your kids with you," Lestrade snaps.
"No you're not, nothing else to do here besides take the body over to get an autopsy," Sherlock hands him some money to go buy food, "now, chop chop. We won't be needing you until they take their next victim."
"There'll be another one?" Lestrade asks, refusing to take the money.
"You really are very slow, Lestrade. Obviously there'll be another one. Why else would they leave a random shoe lying around?"
Irene pokes Sherlock, "Um, Dad, why is there a shoe? Is it the shoe of their next victim? Oh! Have they already taken them?"
Sherlock looks at his daughter, impressed, "that's right. It's a clue. They want me to find them before they kill their captive."
Irene looks up at Sherlock, her big sectoral heterochromia eyes beaming with pride. Sherlock looks at Lestrade again, "so, are you going to go?" Sherlock looks around for Jim.
"Sherlock... he's gone," whimpers John, looking around desperately.
"Oh," says Sherlock, "well I don't suppose you'll need to go buy food now, will you, Lestrade?" Sherlock pats Lestrade on the shoulder, then starts walking home again, investigating the new shoe. John runs up to him and pulls him away.
"Sherlock, Jim is missing," John hisses.
"This shoe, I recognise it..." Sherlock notes.
"Sherlock!" John splutters.
"What? Oh, well there's no need to look for Jim when Irene's already found him," Sherlock looks up, and there's Irene dragging her little brother over towards them. John walks over to him.
"Jim, where did you go?" demands John.
"To get a cookie, Dad was taking too long," Jim holds up a large, white choc-chip cookie, giving him a toothy grin.
"But how did you buy one?" says John, looking very confused.
"There are some very nice people in London," Jim nods, then stuffs the cookie in his mouth. Irene sneaks over and snaps some of the still exposed cookie off, and starts eating it.
"Hey, that's mine!" Jim complains, though it sort of sounds more like, "hhh, tht's moin" through his mouthful of cookie.
"Not anymore," Irene winks and then takes another bite out of it. She looks at Sherlock, "so, where are we going now, Dad?"
"That's the thing... these shoes don't give me a hint of where the bodies will be found, they just tell me what kind of person the victim is," Sherlock replies, looking up at the sky, where the sun is now fully visible.
"Oh. Don't they?" Irene asks casually, glancing at Jim, "they might though. Or maybe the next one will."
"I think what we'll do, is we'll go to where the person was last," he turns the shoe over, "Hyde park."
They call for another taxi and start heading there.
＊ ＊ ＊
Four years ago
"Jim, no! That's my forensic science kit!" Irene yells, grabbing the box off Jim.
"Aww, but you always get the cool stuff!" Jim exclaims.
"Well, obviously, I'm smarter than you!" says Irene, quickly putting her kit away. That's when John walks into their room.
"What's the matter?" he asks.
"Daddy, Jim stole my forensic science kit!" Irene complains.
"Jim, don't touch Irene's things without asking, alright?" John says.
"But Daddy, Irene always gets better stuff than me, and she called me stupid," Jim whines.
"I did not! I just said I was smarter!" Irene snaps.
"Stop fighting, guys. Jim, when you're Irene's age, you can have a forensic science kit as well, okay?" reasons John, "and you're not stupid, you're both very intelligent kids, alright?"
John leaves and Irene looks at Jim, "both Dad and Daddy have been acting differently recently."
"Have they? I haven't noticed," Jim shrugs.
"Yeah, well you're only three. You stay here, and I'll go and investigate their room, okay?" says Irene.
＊ ＊ ＊
Present day
They walk through the acres of Hyde Park, looking for any evidence.
"Dad, my friend, Alex, said his dad was going to this park the other day for work or something," Jim muses.
"That's where I'd seen the shoe before!" Sherlock exclaims.
"Yeah, and Alex has a dad and a mum, and he didn't know what a sociopath was 'til I met him. Also, he's never seen a dead body before, and..." Jim continues talking, basically just mumbling to himself now, until Sherlock starts talking again.
"Alex's dad is the next victim," Sherlock says.
"What?" says Jim and John at the same time. Jim looks at Irene nervously. Irene looks back, her look unwavering and expressionless, but the two siblings can read each other better than anyone else. Even Sherlock.
"Now, let's find some tracks and we'll be able to find where the victims are taken to to be killed," Sherlock starts looking at the ground, his eyes searching.
"Dad, we're gonna save Alex's dad, right?" Jim asks, worry in his shining blue eyes.
"No," says Sherlock.
"Yes," snaps John.
"Maybe," Sherlock reasons.
"Definitely," John decides.
"...hopefully," Sherlock says finally, giving John a glance like, 'but we want him dead'.
They continue to walk along the gardens until they reach one where Sherlock leans down and investigates a flower.
"They were here. Look for any tracks nearby that indicate someone was taken away by force. Possibly knocked out first," says Sherlock, crawling around on the ground now. Irene and Jim run off together to look for clues, and John stays near Sherlock to look. About a minute later, Irene runs back.
"We found it!" Irene exclaims, running back to where she was before. She points at a scrape in the dirt nearby some uprooted plants. All signs of a victim struggling to get away from someone who is dragging them away. Sherlock looks closer at it.
"Sherlock, Jim is gone again," John says suddenly.
"Irene, what did you do to your brother?" Sherlock looks up. Irene struggles to stop the urge to giggle.
"Erm, he, um, went to get another cookie," Irene explains, gripping the edge of her purple and black skirt tightly.
"Right," Sherlock replies. John pulls him off to the side.
"He can't be doing that, right? Did Irene do something?" John asks, eyebrows raised in worry.
"Irene's not lying," Sherlock says forcefully, and then follows a trail he's found.
＊ ＊ ＊
Thirteen years ago
"I now pronounce you husband and husband,"
Sherlock and John lean in and kiss, smiling.
Afterwards, Sherlock is with John in the changing room.
"You know, you look really adorable in a dress," Sherlock smirks.
"I can't believe you made me wear it," John shakes his head, "all I wanted was a normal wedding where I dressed like a normal person. Normal."
Sherlock laughs, "look at me; do I look normal? If you wanted 'normal' so bad, why'd you marry me?" John sighs, putting on the last of his 'manly' clothes.
"I honestly have no idea," he gives Sherlock a kiss and walks out.
＊ ＊ ＊
Present day
After a few minutes, Jim comes back with another white choc-chip cookie. Irene steals a bit of it again, and eats it, pretending that she got the tastier part of the cookie. Jim stares at Irene angrily, and Irene gives him a smug smile.
"Jim, why do you keep running off?" John demands.
"Cookies," Jim says, "oh yeah and I found Alex's dad. He's alive."
"Oh, right," Sherlock gets up.
"That's better than dead. Isn't it, Sherlock?" John clarifies for his husband, a forceful tone on the edge of his words.
"Well, I suppose it is, if he talks," says Sherlock, "where did you find him, Jim?"
"Over there," Jim points in the distance, and there's a man looking terribly ill just standing there.
Sherlock walks over to him, "you're Alex's dad, correct?"
"Y-yes, I am. Zack Huckabee," Zack clutches his head, "and you're one of Jim's dads, right? Sherlock Watson?"
"Yes, now who was it that dragged you away?" Sherlock asks.
"What?" Zack takes his hand away from his head for a half a second, but then flinches and places it back there.
"You were kidnapped. By who?" Sherlock asks, assessing the man's head and hand.
"I'm not a kid, you see, so I can't be kidnapped," Zack says lazily.
Sherlock sighs and gives up, walking away, "he would've been better off dead, you know? Then I could've gotten a proper look at his head."
"No, Sherlock. We don't want our son's friend's dad dead!" says John. Sherlock is about to speak again, but he notices someone following behind, and he spins around. It's Zack again.
"Mr Huckabee, please leave," Sherlock groans. John steps towards Zack, who takes a step back.
"Would you like me to take a look at any wounds you might have?" John asks carefully. Zack shakes his head quickly. John turns back to Sherlock, "look, we'd better call an ambulance. He's not okay."
"Well, do it quick," Sherlock mutters, and continues to walk away from Zack.
＊ ＊ ＊
Four years ago
"Your dad and I have to go and investigate a case, alright? Mrs Hudson will be over soon to look after you," John explains, putting on a scarf.
"No, Daddy, you shouldn't," says Irene, holding Jim's hand tightly.
"Erm why?" John asks, grabbing the keys to the house.
"Have you seen Dad lately?" says Irene, looking closely at Sherlock down the hall with his dishevelled hair and tired eyes.
"Oh, that. Don't worry about it, it'll be alright soon, okay?" John says reassuringly, patting Irene on the shoulder. Irene grips Jim's hand even tighter, and he lets out a small pained noise. Irene watches closely as her dads leave, suspicion showing on her six-year-old face.
＊ ＊ ＊
Present day
They're back at their house. Irene is buttering toast for lunch, her eyes introspective, and Jim is trying to make tea again. Irene has bet that Jim will spill boiling water all over himself again, and he'll have burn wounds for a month. Sherlock is busy trying to figure out where the next person will be taken from, and where their body will be dumped, and John is helping him. Well, he's just sitting there, putting in the occasional comment.
Irene sits down at the table and continues to watch Jim make tea, "Jim, what did you think of the other kids when you first started school?"
"Um, I can't really remember," Jim shrugs.
"Oh. All I know is that it was a bit of a shock. None of the other kids knew anything about the things I knew about," Irene takes a bite out of her toast, "I didn't make a single friend until year three. You're lucky, you made friends even in reception. Next year I'll be going to secondary school, and I don't know if I'll be able to make friends again." Irene looks sadly at her toast. The whistle of the kettle goes off, and Jim looks at it, unsure of what to do. Irene gets up and turns it off for him. She gets a teapot out of the cupboard, and pours the boiling water in with some tea bags.
"Oh, thanks," he says, "but Irene, I know you'll make friends, because if I wasn't your brother, I'd wanna be your friend. You're really smart, and I guess you're sort of pretty too, and I know you're usually nice to people who aren't me, so I'm sure people will like you and befriend you."
Irene nods. Sherlock walks back into the room, "they've found another body," he says, throwing on his jacket, "let's go."
"Aww, but I just made tea!" Jim complains.
"No, I made tea. You didn't even know how to even turn the kettle off!" Irene corrects him, taking the last of her toast. She stuffs it into her mouth, and then puts on her own jacket.
"Well, I didn't need your help! You just took over!" shouts Jim, running over to the door to get away from Irene. Irene pokes her tongue out at him, and he does the same back.
"Irene, honey, are you sure you won't be cold in a skirt?" John asks.
"Daddy, I was literally wearing this outside half an hour ago! Also, I have a jacket on!" Irene replies.
"Alright then..." says John, and the family walks out the door to go and check out the next dead body.
＊ ＊ ＊
Five years ago
Irene sits at her desk, staring at the teacher. The teacher is a female married to a man, however she's only been married a short amount of time. She lives down the road from the school, and has a long haired German shepherd dog. She's been a teacher for a few years, but this is her first time teaching year ones.
"Irene Watson, would you like to tell us a bit about yourself?" asks the teacher.
Irene shuffles, "Um, don't you already know?"
"No, unfortunately not yet. Do you have anything you'd like to share with us so that we do know? Any pets, perhaps? Or what sorts of things do you like doing?" the teacher smiles. Irene swallows nervously.
"I don't know... but, um, what's your German shepherd's name? I- I like dogs," says Irene. The teacher looks confused for a moment, but she continues to smile.
"Her name is Amy. Do you have a dog too?" asks the teacher kindly. Irene shakes her head, still sweating from nerves.
"No, but Stacy does! She- she lied when she said she doesn't have any p- pets, she has a poodle," Irene fiddles with her sweating hands, looking around the room, analysing everyone. This is what she has to do. Stacy looks at Irene, confused, "and Peter has a budgie, and someone in his family bakes bread," she continues to look around as the muttering gets louder, "and Alyssa only has one parent that she lives with," Irene is about to say more when the teacher stops her.
"Irene, sweetie, how do you know these things?" The teacher asks.
"I observed, obviously. How's your husband going? I don't think you two have been having any issues," Irene is having an anxiety attack, and this is the only thing she can think of to help her.
"She's a weirdo!" says Stacy, and the other students begin chanting it.
"If you don't know how I do it, you're all obviously idiots!" Irene yells, her face red, and then she stands up and storms out of the classroom.
＊ ＊ ＊
Present day
The next body has been left with two different shoes at Ladbroke Grove. Sherlock carefully looks at each shoe, and every inch of the body—a laundry worker.
"Dad, why are there two shoes? Is it a hint?" Jim asks. Sherlock stands up, and hands both shoes to John, who awkwardly holds them.
"No, one of the shoes belongs to this victim—the shoe that was going to be left with Zack if he had died, and the other shoe belongs to the next victim," Sherlock explains, "which leads me to my next question; why would they let Zack go, and yet be perfectly capable of killing this perfectly in shape person, however overworked he may be?"
"Maybe they just liked Zack and didn't want him dead?" Jim suggests. Sherlock looks at him.
"No, our murderer isn't like that. There has to be another reason..." Sherlock muses.
"Sherlock, there's a note here!" John calls, pointing to a small tag attached to the body. Sherlock picks it up and reads it; 'Piccadilly Circus'. Sherlock looks at Irene who is reading the note over Sherlock's shoulder.
"Is that where they'll take their next victim from?" Irene speculates.
"No, it's where they'll dump the next body," says Sherlock, "would you like to go and wait there with your brother?"
"Sherlock, no! We can't send them off on their own to where a murderer will be going!" John yells, his face contorted.
"John, they're perfectly capable of taking care of themselves," says Sherlock, looking back at their seven and ten year-old who are holding each other tightly.
"No, Sherlock. We're not, okay?" John asserts, "we can go over with them or the police can go, but we can't send them off on their own." Sherlock looks at his kids one more time, who glance at each other nervously, but then he agrees, and they head off to Piccadilly Circus.
When they arrive, they can't find any bodies or shoes yet, but Sherlock gets some of the people in his homeless network to help out. According to the shoe, the next victim is a businessman. Sherlock takes note that so far only males have been killed and/or kidnapped. A small clue as to who the murderer is.
＊ ＊ ＊
Two years ago
"Dad, who am I named after?" Irene asks.
"A dominatrix and extortionist," Sherlock explains simply.
"Oh, wow... so my biological dad is a sociopath, my biological mum is an ex-assasin, and I'm named after a dominatrix and extortionist..." Irene says, staring into the distance, "that- that's really great."
"And don't forget your brother is named after a psychopathic consulting criminal," Sherlock comments.
"He is? Wow, my family is so, so normal,"
＊ ＊ ＊
Present day
They wait an hour and still no body turns up, so they head home again.
"There's been a lot of murders in one day," John mentions.
"Yes, so are they all being taken one after the other, or have they all already been taken?" Sherlock wonders, taking out his collection of shoes and looking at them all individually again, "John, get up some files of every victim we've found dead so far."
"But-" began John.
"John!" Sherlock demands.
"Alright, fine,"
"Dad, Jim and I are gonna go outside, okay?" says Irene.
"Okay," Sherlock murmurs, looking at the two siblings carefully. Jim has his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and is looking out the window. Casual enough. Irene has her arm hooked around Jim's, and she looks determined.
"Sherlock, they all have nothing in common that I can find," says John.
"What time did they all go missing?" Sherlock asks, opening his laptop.
"None of them were reported missing—just dead," John says.
"Right," replies Sherlock, "send me their addresses."
After a little bit, Sherlock has their houses marked out clearly on a map on the computer. John looks at it, "they're forming a circle..."
"Around us, yes," says Sherlock. Sherlock abruptly stands up and looks out the window to their front yard, "our children are gone."
"What?" yells John, running to the window as Sherlock sits back down.
"They've been kidnapped. Finally," Sherlock adds calmly, starting to type (extremely fast) on his computer again.
John turns on him, "Sherlock, just for once, I wish you could show at least some concern for our children."
"John, I can be concerned for my children, just not the same way you are. Especially when they want to disappear. Besides, I've already found them," Sherlock turns his laptop around and shows him a location on a map, "it wasn't forming a circle, John. It was forming a triangle, and at the very top of that triangle is where our kids are."
"Well, how do you know they were definitely taken there?" John says.
"Because where else?" Sherlock gets up and starts heading there before John can say anything more.
John smirks at Sherlock quickly rushing there, "you know, it's kinda hot, you running to save our kids."
"Shut up, John. It's a completely normal dad thing, it's not hot," but Sherlock is smiling.
＊ ＊ ＊
Four years ago
"What did you find in Dad's room?" Jim asks, as they stare at the front door, waiting for Mrs Hudson.
"A list," Irene says softly, not taking her gaze away from the door, but her hand squeezes ever tightly on Jim's hand.
"What?" Jim says, looking at Irene for a second, but then following her gaze and staring at the door again.
"And no one to give it to," Irene continues.
"Oh," Jim looks at the ground, "right."
＊ ＊ ＊
Present day
They arrive at an old abandoned building, and Sherlock swiftly walks inside stepping over the loose planks of wood with nails sticking out from the sides, John trailing behind. Sherlock suddenly stops somewhere, and looks up.
"Irene," he calls, "come out, you've had your fun, but it's over now."
"What? Irene?" John says, confused.
Sherlock turns to John and crosses his arm, "what do you get when you mix an assassin and a Sherlock?"
"What?" John says. You'd think after all of these years he would be able to comprehend at least some of what Sherlock said. But apparently not all the time.
"You were right, John. You get something worse. You get Irene," Sherlock continues. John is about to yell at him when Sherlock calls out again, "Irene, honey, come on out. Whilst I admire your passion, don't you think you're just a little bit too young to be murdering that many people?"
And out steps a woman, the graffitied arch she's standing under acting as a frame for her complexion. A woman with a slender face, red lipstick, long legs, and a coat wrapped around her body. No, this wasn't a woman. This was The Woman.
"Too young am I? Why, thank you," says the woman, grace in every word she pronounces.
"I- Irene? Irene Adler? You're alive?" John exclaims, looking over to Sherlock who says nothing, his eyes introspective.
"Yes, that's me. Not your daughter. But I do love little Irene, she's very sweet," Irene A says with a smile. Sherlock finally looks up, his eyebrows creased.
"You have them here. Where?" Sherlock presses.
"Yes, they're here. But I didn't kidnap them, they asked to be brought here," begins Irene A.
"Obviously," Sherlock says quickly.
"And I would expect you can figure it out. After all, you are the cleverest of them all," says Irene A mockingly.
Sherlock looks around the room, John just watching Sherlock's eyes flick here and there.
"Oh and by the way, if you take too long, I think I will kill them. And dump them at Piccadilly Circus. The next victims," Irene A says casually, "because I do like mini me, but sometimes she can be a little bit annoying, you know?"
Sherlock continues to look around, now moving his whole head about.
"Tick tock," Irene A says, her words like a poisoned dagger, twisting through their intestines.
"Sherlock?" John hisses urgently.
"John, please just-" Sherlock inhales deeply, "move to the side a bit."
"What?" John says as Irene A laughs softly.
"Just... do it," Sherlock snaps. John moves sideways, "just a bit more."
When John does this, he must have stepped on some kind of trigger, as an old curtain rises next to Irene A, dust engulfing the room. Up on a platform is Irene and Jim Watson, hands tied together by some rope and mouths stuffed with thick material.
"Let them go," Sherlock says forcefully to Irene A. She looks towards the children.
"Aren't you going to try and do it? Won't that be more fun?" Irene A says, giving Sherlock some kind of puppy eyes.
John is about to butt in, but Sherlock cuts him off, "I just want to have my children back."
"Oh. That's a bit disappointing, but alright," Irene A walks over to the kids and unties them. Irene W quickly gets up and runs over to her dads, hugging them, her eyes red-rimmed and damp.
"I'm sorry, Dad, Daddy... I- Dad, you said you were bored because you didn't have a case for ages, and so I wanted to help! I- I didn't actually kill anyone, th- that was the other Irene, but- I- I'm sorry..." Irene W sobs, hugging her dads tighter as Jim joins in the hug.
"Irene, I hope you know that it's not how it works. We don't plan the murders, we solve them," John explains.
"It's alright, Irene," says Sherlock before Irene or John can say anything more, and then he adds, "thank you."
Irene Adler is leaving, but she turns in the direction of Sherlock first, beckoning him over. He squishes out of the hug and over to her.
"Did I ever thank you for naming your first born after me?" Irene A asks.
"No," says Sherlock.
"Well, thank you," she says, smiling, "I would never kill her, you know. I do actually like her." Sherlock is about to turn and leave when Irene continues, "and I'm sorry about Mycroft. I know it was a while ago, but... I'm sorry. And sorry about Mrs Hudson, as well." She gives him a soft kiss, and then leaves.
Now Sherlock watches Irene A leave, slightly shocked, and stares at the spot The Woman was for a long while after until John taps him on the shoulder, apparently having not seen the kiss, and the intricate family leaves the crime scene together.
＊ ＊ ＊
Two months ago
"Irene Adler, correct?" Irene Watson asks the lady at the door, the address crumpled in her hand, sweaty and barely readable.
"That's right," says Irene A, slightly suspicious.
"Well, I'm Sherlock's daughter, and I was just wondering if you'd like to... help me plan a... crime of a sort? One for my dad to solve," Irene W asks slowly.
Irene A raises her eyebrows, and she smiles, "certainly. A murder?"
"Oh yes, that would be fantastic!" Irene W beams.
A while later, Irene W leaves the house, and goes out the front to where Jim is waiting for her, and she discusses the plan with him, their young faces growing even more eager by the second.
＊ ＊ ＊
Present day
As the family walks, hand in hand, across the streets of London, John asks, "Sherlock, how did you know our kids were involved in the first place?"
"It was pretty obvious, really. Basically-" begins Sherlock, but then Irene cuts him off.
She clears her throat and says, "I'll explain. So, basically, I knew where the shoe Dad had found was when he found it, even though I hadn't gone out to get it with him."
"And I kept on getting cookies! Big Irene has a really tasty collection!" Jim adds.
"Yeah, Jim, no one cares, that was really obvious," Irene snarls, and then in a friendlier tone, she continues, "and after Dad said there should be a clue as to where the next body is going to be, there was a note on the next one. Because I told Jim to tell Irene to do that whilst he went and brought Alex's dad back from Irene."
Irene is about to say more, but Sherlock tries to speak over the top of her, "and they just had to go outside just before they were kidnapped."
Irene is yelling now, "but don't forget, when I went out to solve a murder..."
John watches the two bicker away, like two attention craving seagulls, as he laughs softly, and Jim glances up at him, smiling.
Mission success.