Get comfy, it's a bloody long one!

Sherlock was a sponge; absorbing every detail from the furthest corners of what he could see, taking photographs with his eyes, sound bites with his ears, storing it all for a time when he could be bothered to sift through it. He allowed his mind to wander, saving himself from the draining task of listening to Miss Crossley talk. And talk. And talk. He had first asked who would want to poison her. Now, he found himself wondering who wouldn't.

"Because it seems like a silly thing, doesn't it? To think you're being poisoned. Which is why I'm almost certain I am being poisoned, otherwise I'd have never come to you. Does that make sense?" said Miss Crossley, clutching the door handle as the black cab swung around a corner.

"Not in the slightest," Sherlock replied.

John held back a chuckle as he looked out of the window, hoping, like Sherlock, that Miss Crossley would allow a moment of silence.

"Have you ever had a case like this before?" She continued. "I mean, you do believe me, don't you? You must do, to even be here, right?"

They turned onto the street of St Bart's Hospital.

"Stop the cab," said Sherlock.

The driver slammed his foot on the brake, squealing to a halt. Miss Crossley and John jolted forwards.

"Come on, John," said Sherlock as he lifted Vaughan who was sitting in his pram down onto the pavement.

"Where are you going?" asked Miss Crossley as she watched the two men climb out of the cab.

"Before I can even begin to solve your problem, Miss Crossley, I must first make a stop. I assure you it is fundamental to your case," said Sherlock, closing the door. "You go on, we will be at your home shortly."

They stood on the pavement watching the cab disappear around another sharp corner. Sherlock and Vaughan let out a sigh in unison. John looked down at the toddler who seemed equally as exhausted by the woman as his father. Sherlock spun the pram and began wheeling it towards the entrance of the hospital.

"I thought you said this was fundamental to the case; what can Molly do?" asked John.

"I can assure you, this is very important."

III

Molly slid her protective goggles onto the top of her head and pulled off her gloves.

"Oh, hello! What a lovely surprise." She waved at Vaughan who smiled and put his arms out to her. "Where's Margaux?"

"At work."

"So… you two… are in charge of taking care of him… alone?" Molly asked in disbelief.

"Don't sound so surprised," said John.

"Sorry, John, you're just… I've never seen you around children before. And well he's Sherlock Holmes," she said as she bent down and unclipped Vaughan from his pram, lifting him out and carrying him over to her work station "Are they doing a good job of looking after you?" she asked in a high-pitched voice.

"Ya," said Vaughan. "Car very fast!"

Molly turned her head slowly to the two men with a raised eyebrow. Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Yes, thank you for that, Vaughan. Moving swiftly on… an interesting case just came up. Quite peculiar actually," said Sherlock.

"Oh really? Do you need my help? I mean, I've got a lot to get through but I'd be happy to look at something if you need me to?"

"Actually…" Sherlock began as he took the changing bag off John's shoulder and placed it in the pram. "How would you like to spend the afternoon with a charming little boy who bears a striking resemblance to his equally charming father?"

"You? Charming?" John scoffed.

Sherlock parked the pram against the wall next to the coat rack.

"Oh I'd love to," said Molly, "But I can't. See, I was hoping to get all this work finished before lunch. I'm meeting my fiancé at one o'clock; he's reserved a table at Fiori's Bistro."

"Well that's fine," replied Sherlock, "you like Italian food don't you, Vaughan?"

Vaughan gazed at his father and then at Molly. He gave a shrug and returned to playing with the access card around her neck.

"I- I don't think it's a child-friendly sort of place…" Molly tried.

"He has food, drink and nappies in the bag," Sherlock began as they headed for the door. "But…"

"Oh, and he's cutting his last tooth. His favourite teething ring is the one shaped like an owl. Terribly childish but he loves it."

"Sherlock!?"

"Sorry, Molly." John added.

As quickly as they had come, they were gone again. Leaving Molly standing in the lab, as quiet as it had been before. This time, a small blue-eyed boy sat on the edge of her table.

III

Margaux stood near the door of the lecture theatre, allowing the final few students to wander out slowly like the last few drops of water from a tightened tap. She tried to check the time, forgetting she had left her watch on Sherlock's nightstand in the morning rush. It felt strange to not be wearing it, the indent of the buckle was still slightly visible on her delicate wrist.

"It's quarter past a freckle," said a familiar voice.

Margaux looked up to see Mary's soft, bright face smiling at her.

Mary had a smile that on anyone else wouldn't look right; a half smile, confident, almost mischievous. But on her it was comforting and kind. She leant a shoulder on the doorframe and folded her arms as the last student left the room.

"Mary? Hi! What are you doing here? Oh god, is there a problem? What have they done? Is Vaughan alright?"

Mary held her hands up. "Hey, nothing's the matter. I just finished meeting a friend, she teaches nursing here and I noticed you as I was walking past... Hang on, what do you mean? Oh, Margaux you haven't left them with him have you?"

Margaux nodded reluctantly.

Mary let out a huff, like a laugh and a sigh in one. "Coffee?"

"Yes. Please."

III

Margaux opened her bag and rummaged for her purse. "Let me get this," she said.

Mary took a ten pound note from her pocket. "I've got it." She smiled as she handed the barista the money. "You get the next one, yeah?"

Margaux closed her bag and nodded gratefully.

"I'm not usually this… manic," said Margaux as they sat down at a table. "I don't know what's wrong with me, I'm just all over the place at the moment."

"You don't seem manic. A bit tense, maybe."

Margaux sighed and lifted the cup to her lips. Mary sat quietly, allowing her to enjoy what was probably the first uninterrupted sip of coffee she'd had all day. She watched as the rolled-up sleeve of her shirt slid to her elbow and then back down her forearm as she drank. Her slender frame drowned under navy blue fabric, her delicate neck hidden behind a stiff, unflattering collar.

"Margaux, I'm sorry if this seems rude but I have to ask… Are you wearing a man's shirt?"

"Oh, yes, I spent the night at Baker Street and didn't have a change of clothes. Borrowed one of Sherlock's shirts – to his absolute horror," She laughed.

Mary raised an eyebrow.

"Vaughan fell asleep there and then that rain started so it just made sense."

Mary lowered her brow slowly. She rested her elbows on the table and wrapped her hands around her cup.

"Is there something going on between you two? You can tell me. I won't tell John, honest." She winked.

"No," said Margaux. She brought the cup to her lips before stopping and putting it back on the table. "Well, I don't know. I mean… He's so cold and clinical. Sometimes he talks to me like I'm a client or something."

"Charming as ever is our Sherlock," Mary nodded.

"But then other times, like last night…" She leant in and began to whisper "You'd swear he was flirting with me. In the kitchen, he– Well it was like he was– ugh, I don't know. It's like when he looks at me, he's never just looking at me. There's always something going on behind his eyes."

"Cogs turning."

"More like two cogs fighting with one another; one cog wants to love me and the other is an unaffectionate, sociopathic loner. It's like the only way he'll let himself get close to me is if he can justify it by calling it a test, or an experiment, or pretending he's doing it to wind me up or prove a point." Margaux paused to look at Mary. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm laying all of this on you when we've only met a few times," Margaux laughed nervously.

Mary reached her hand over to Margaux. "John has told me a lot about Sherlock; both in mourning and since he's come back. The overall theme seems to be that he lives behind a brick wall. Always has. But in the short time I've gotten to know him, I've realised the wall's not impenetrable. He can soften. And he's scared of that."

"I don't want to pressure him. I don't want to push him too far and scare him off. But I can't wait around, Mary. I want to be loved, not tolerated. I feel like I'm waiting for something that's never going to happen."

"Then don't wait. Don't wait," Mary shook her head. "Your soulmate could still be out there. I mean, take me and John for instance; I had the biggest crush on this bloke I worked with. Wouldn't even go on a date with anyone else because I just wanted this guy to be the one so badly. But then wham! I met John and suddenly he was the only future I'd ever wanted."

Margaux smiled. "You're wonderful for him. Talk about men softening, he practically melts whenever he's with you."

Mary smiled and squeezed Margaux's hand. "You'll find that too. You're ridiculously clever, beautiful, funny, strong, you're a great mother – even if you did think leaving him with Sherlock and John for an entire day was a good idea…" she grinned.

Margaux laughed. "I know. God knows what they're up to."

III

Miss Crossley lived in a detached, orange-brick newly built house. It had a generous driveway and a small patch of grass in the front garden, so green it almost looked artificial. John knocked on the door and waited as Sherlock slunk around the side of the house.

"What are you doing?" asked John.

Sherlock peered his head back around the corner. "The bins, John. Disposed packaging, half-eaten poisoned food, discarded medical equipment." He disappeared again.

Miss Crossley opened the door. She was wearing the same clothes as earlier, but her high heels had been replaced with a pair of plush slippers. She gestured for John to enter before looking around outside.

"Where's Mr Holmes?" she asked.

"Oh he's digging through your bins," John replied bluntly.

She brought them through to the kitchen, offering them a drink which they both declined. She leaned against the counter and watched as the consulting detective surveyed his surroundings. He walked around the place taking more mental photographs; meaningless, overused quotes on the walls – Sentimental yet unoriginal. House plants decorated the corners of rooms – all vibrant and green – well looked after. A spotless pale grey carpet ran through the entire ground floor. Miss Crossley was wearing slippers and a shoe rack sat at the front door, yet she had let the two men keep their shoes on – submissive. He opened every kitchen cabinet, looking through all the food, glasses, crockery, cutlery. Nothing. He bent over and examined the water taps. Nothing.

The front door creaked open. "Loz, you home?" A voice called out as the door closed again.

"Yeah, through here!" she replied.

Miss Crossley's fiancé walked into the kitchen. He had taken his shoes off at the door confirming Sherlock's observations. He was average height and average build with short, mousy hair. His nose was slightly too large for his face and there were lines forming in the outer corners of his eyes.

"Who's this?" He said, gesturing to the two men.

"Jason, this is Mr Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson… They're not a couple."

"Thanks for that," said John sarcastically before stepping away to answer his buzzing phone.

"They're here to try and get to the bottom of my blackouts."

Jason sighed. "I've told Lauren she needs to stop with all this poisoning nonsense. I've offered to pay for her to go to a private doctor and have tests but she's absolutely convinced!"

Sherlock observed the way he talked about his fiancée as if she wasn't there. He regarded the man again. "How long have you been a biologist?" he asked.

"Erm, since I left university about ten, eleven years ago. Why?"

"How did you know he was a biologist?" Miss Crossley asked.

"He knows everything," said John as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

"Botany, specifically," said Sherlock. "Which explains why your plants are so well looked after."

"Anyway, I just came home for my lunch…" Jason pushed past them gently and began making himself a sandwich at the counter.

"Shall we talk in the living room?" said Miss Crossley.

John nodded and followed her out of the kitchen. Sherlock stayed put, watching Jason assemble his sandwich.

"Your fiancée is–"

"An idiot? Yes." Jason said, slamming his knife through a tomato.

"I was going to say very welcoming." He continued to watch. Soaking in every creepy feeling the man emitted. "When is your wedding set for?"

"It's not. I told Lauren I wanted a long engagement."

Two options hovered above Sherlock's head. "Divorced?"

"Widowed. My first wife died very suddenly."

"Ah, I see. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Can you just go and set her straight please? She's obsessed with this ridiculous poisoning theory."

A knock at the door interrupted Sherlock's thought process. He stepped out of the kitchen and met John who was peering into the hallway.

Miss Crossley walked to the door "It's like a mad house in here today," she laughed.

"Not really," Sherlock quipped quietly. John hit him on the arm.

She opened the door, revealing a dishevelled woman standing in the front garden.

"Molly?" Said Sherlock.

Molly glanced down the hallway, struggling to keep a grip on Vaughan who was wriggling in her arms. She dragged the pram and bag towards the door and placed Vaughan on the carpet inside.

"I missed my lunch," she said. Sherlock had never seen Molly like that before; anger visible behind her eyes, seeping from her gritted teeth. "And what you've done, Sherlock. That- Well it- It's not okay... It's actually very inconsiderate. Quite selfish, really." She walked away.

Sherlock ran quickly to the front door. "Wait! Molly… I…"

She stopped and turned back. Waiting for the apology.

"How did you know where we were?" He asked facetiously. "Was it John? It was John wasn't it."

She clenched her fists and huffed, pivoting on her heels and continuing to walk away.

Vaughan stood up and headed for the stairs.

"Nope," said Sherlock, scooping him up in his arms. "Don't even think about it. Unless… is there a clue up there?"

Vaughan looked at his father, "I d'no" he shrugged.

"Listen, Sherlock, maybe we should continue our investigation back at Baker street," said John, gesturing to Vaughan who was hanging over Sherlock's shoulder trying to pluck the leaves from a tall fern-like plant.

III

Margaux ordered another coffee to go while she waited for Mary to come out of the bathroom.

"Are you… Sherlock Holmes' girlfriend?" the barista asked with a nervous smile.

"Sorry?"

"It's just, well I follow a couple of blogs about him and you look really familiar."

"Erm no," Margaux replied awkwardly. "I'm a friend."

The barista placed the coffee on the counter. Margaux looked around, relieved to see Mary walking towards her.

"Is it true he has a child? There's just so many conflicting blog posts about it–"

"You should follow Dr John Watson's blog," Mary interrupted. "It's the only one worth reading."

They walked out of the café.

"Thank you," Margaux whispered.

They walked back to the university together. Margaux listened happily to Mary's wedding plans. She imagined a veil weaved into her short, blonde curls, a dress that fit just right. She imagined fistfuls of confetti and flower petals showering them on the steps of a church, smiling faces and laughter. She had never been to a wedding. The only time she had ever been inside a church was when she was a young girl, alone and hungry, collecting a box of donated food to get her through winter. She shook the memory away. No. She promised herself she wouldn't let her mind drift back there.

"You are coming, aren't you?" Mary's question interrupted. "To the engagement party on Saturday? Vaughan is welcome. And hey if you're lucky, Mrs Hudson might even offer to take him home so you can stay and have a drink." She nudged.

Margaux smiled. "Of course, I'll be there."

Her phone began to ring. She apologised to Mary and pulled it out of her bag. "Hello? Hi Molly what's– Sorry, what? They did what!?"

III

Sherlock sat in his armchair examining a piece of scrunched-up paper from Miss Crossley's bin. John sat at the computer, quietly researching as Vaughan played on the floor with two leaves he had managed to steal from the house.

"Sherlock… His name is Jason Banks right?" asked John.

"Something like that."

"I found a bunch of articles online about his first wife."

"Oh yes, he said she passed away."

"Did he say it was ruled as suspicious circumstances?"

Sherlock sat straighter in his chair. He turned his head to the side "Go on…"

John continued to read from the computer "Police have stated it is highly probable that Hannah Banks was a victim of foul play. A relative of Mrs Banks shared that she had been distant, confused and forgetful in the months leading up to her death; admitting that she had even taken out a large life insurance policy with no memory of doing so. Police deemed her husband Jason Banks a suspect after discovering he was the sole recipient of the insurance pay out. However, with little to no evidence, Mr Banks was cleared."

"Interesting," Sherlock pondered as he straightened out the paper in his hand. "This letter is addressed to Miss Crossley. A confirmation that her life insurance policy has been set up. Crumpled and stuffed in the bin outside."

"We've got him."

"But how. How is he poisoning her?" Sherlock stood up and began pacing. "He's a botanist, so could very easily get his hands on something deadly. But doctors didn't find traces of anything in her tests."

Vaughan toddled over to Sherlock, tugging on the leg of his trousers, "Dadda," he said, waving his handful of leaves.

"Not now, Vaughan, please."

The boy scrunched his face and followed his father around the living room, pestering him to look at the leaves. "Dadda!"

"Oh for Christ's sake. John, can you take him for a nap."

"I'm not your bloody nanny, Sherlock, do it yourself."

Sherlock huffed. He took Vaughan in his arms and walked him through to the bedroom.

"No!" Vaughan shouted, scrambling off the other side of the bed.

"Will you please stop this, I'm trying to solve a case." He caught him and placed him back on the bed, pointing at him sternly.

Vaughan sat still, obeying the finger for just a moment before making a run for the edge of the bed again. He clambered across the bedside table, knocking a bottle of cologne and watching it smash on the floor. He threw the leaves into the pool of liquid.

"For God's sake, Vaughan!" Sherlock shouted as he lifted him away from the shards of glass.

"Oops."

Sherlock looked down at the two bright green leaves floating in the fragrant puddle. Nearby the silver spray nozzle was still attached to a piece of thick jagged glass.

He looked down at his son with wide eyes. "I know this is all coincidence, but you're a genius," he said.

John stood up from the computer as Sherlock rushed back into the living room.

"What was all the commotion?"

"Vinea Evanescentium," said Sherlock as he scanned through his books.

"English please?"

"Vinea Evanescentium, John. Fading Green." He pulled out a book and flicked through the pages until he stopped on one and began to read aloud. "Fading Green is a rare plant that is safe to touch and consume raw. However when exposed to intense heat or boiled, the leaves secrete a poisonous oil which is undetectable in colour and smell and almost completely untraceable in blood and urine." He slammed the book closed. "He's a narcissist, John. Arrogant enough to keep his murder weapon in the hallway of his home. And he's a botanist, which explains why he would have knowledge of the plant in the first place. It all makes sense."

"Okay, so he's boiling it up and putting it in her food?"

"No, John," he stepped across the room until they were face to face. "It's in her perfume."

III

Margaux sat with her fists clutching the arms of the chair. Mrs Hudson closed the door behind her and went back downstairs, leaving her sitting in the flat alone. Waiting.

It didn't take long for the sound of a car pulling up outside. She listened for the doors opening and closing, followed by the creak of the front door and clunking of shoes on the stairs. When they walked into the flat, Vaughan beamed at the sight of her. He reached his arms out for her to take him. She stood up and walked over to them silently. Taking her son in her arms, she lifted the rest of his things and stormed out of the flat.

"Hello to you too," Sherlock said sarcastically before removing his coat and scarf and flopping back into his armchair.

"I think she knows," said John.

"Knows what? That we solved the case?"

John shook his head. He wondered why he was always so surprised by Sherlock's social ignorance.

"No. I think she knows that we left him with Molly earlier."

"Okay," Sherlock shrugged. "So what?"

"So… Judging by the silent treatment she just gave you, I think she's pissed off."

John went home to Mary shortly after, leaving Sherlock alone in the flat. He had always prided himself on his ability to be completely content in his own company. But tonight was different. There was an itching inside of him; something niggling away at him, infecting the quiet. He tried to ignore it but it wouldn't stop. Why was she able to get under his skin like this? She was in his mind, behind his eyes, taking root in his bones. He didn't like it.

He put his coat back on and headed for the door.

III

He followed her into her living room, stopping in his tracks as she turned abruptly to face him. "You left him… in. a. morgue!" She shouted.

"Actually I left him in a laboratory– "

"I will punch you in the face."

Though she was smaller than him, he didn't doubt for one moment that there was truth in her threat.

"I made sure he was safe, well looked after..."

"That's not the point, Sherlock! I left him with you– no, I didn't leave him, you offered. I just can't believe you would do something like this. Not just to Vaughan, but to Molly. They'd been planning that lunch for weeks and she missed it because of you!"

Sherlock's face twisted. He looked uncomfortable as he searched for an appropriate response.

"And I can see that you're trying to care but you don't, so you can lose that stupid facial expression." She pointed at his face. "I understand empathy is an alien concept to you, Sherlock, but surely in that abundance of knowledge you can deduce why what you did was bad."

"I only left him with her for an hour or two."

"Yes, only an hour or two because she brought him back!"

"I don't understand why you're so angry. He saved a woman's life today!"

"He's a baby! He should be throwing toys around and having midday naps, not solving bloody crimes!"

He noted how Margaux flung her arms around as she spoke. Passionate. How her voice inflected and she tripped over her words. Rage. He had zoned out, missed her last sentence or two. He wondered what his next move should be. He reached out and cupped her face, pulling it towards his. She stopped speaking immediately, placing her hands on his chest and pushing herself away from him before their lips could touch.

"What… are you doing?" She said quietly.

"You're angry. Physical affection such as kissing has been proven to reduce stress, anxiety and lower blood pressure. I thought I'd try and calm you down, stop this escalating further."

"You're unbelievable," Margaux scoffed. Y'know, you can't just go around kissing people to shut them up."

"Why not? I thought humans did that all the time."

"Would you do that to John? Mrs Hudson? Would you try and plant a big wet one on Mycroft in the middle of a debate?"

Sherlock grimaced.

"Exactly. So you don't get to do it to me," she said. There was a quake in her voice, like it killed her to say it.

"Your conviction is lacking."

"Yeah? Well… so is yours."

Neither of them spoke for a while. Margaux sat down on the couch and put her head in her hands. "Just go," she said. "I'll see you at John and Mary's engagement party this weekend."

Sherlock nodded and walked to the door, stopping before he opened it. "Margaux, I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"For disappointing you."

She sighed. "It's not me you should be apologising to, Sherlock. You said you wanted to be in his life so be in his life. Not as his babysitter, not as his 'colleague', but as his father. His dadda."

"I'm trying," he said, almost whispering.

"I know."

They shared a silent exchange. She watched as his hands hesitated on the doorknob, his gaze flickered between her eyes and her lips. He opened the door, yet turned back to her again. "Margaux…" His voice was deep and serious now.

"See you this weekend," she countered quickly.

He paused for a moment. "Yes," he nodded before walking out of the room and out of the flat.

Margaux exhaled, dropping her face back into her hands.

When he looked at her like that, she knew it could only spell hurt. As much as she longed for that look, she knew she couldn't give in to it. His gaze was a shot gun, and she was the prey.