6: Endearments and Abductions
"Hello, Mr Granger," Sherlock's smile was shark-like as he prowled around the man's flat. The man was mildly good looking, with dark hair and striking eyes, but his teeth were coffee stained and his face white. The man quaked under Sherlock's gaze, and hurriedly sat down, clearly waiting for the interrogation to start. Smirking to himself, John followed Anderson into the kitchen, as the rest of the team tore apart the suspect's flat. Sherlock had asked to question the author personally, so Lestrade grudgingly ordered a search on the modern, fairly expensive apartment. John began to comb through the messy contents on the kitchen counter, looking for anything suspicious or related to the victim. John considered himself fairly good at this by now, and quickly dismissed everything as clutter, discarding a notebook with the letters
I O U scrawled across it in red.
"You must be insane," Anderson's nasally voice caused John to turn around. Anderson was studying him with a curious expression on his face, as if John was some sort of creature that he couldn't quite figure out. John cleared his throat, and unconsciously tensed.
"I'm sorry?" he said, ready to defend himself against Anderson's petty insults.
"It's just… most people can barely even talk to him. And you married him, and raised his kid… its just incredible really," Anderson said. John rolled his eyes- people often thought that just because Sherlock was insufferable to most, that he was rude to everyone. Anderson had never seen Sherlock truly happy, his eyes crinkled up with laughter when John told a joke, or the delight in his smile when Hamish made a feeble deduction. Only John knew Sherlock as the human, not the machine.
"Hamish is my son too, Phillip," John said, trying to contain his temper. Anderson nodded, and opened his mouth to say something, before a police officer's yell interpreted them. Sherlock swept into the kitchen, and addressed only John when he spoke.
"We found poison in his bathroom. We're still proving whether it's linked to the book," Sherlock caught his husband's eye, silently letting him know that he'd heard the conversation between him and Anderson. The said man pushed forwards, muttering about being a trained forensics episode. Sherlock gave John a swift smile, before following Anderson into the room. John glanced at the clock, biting his lip. Hamish had to be collected in ten minutes… John hated to leave Sherlock at a crime scene, with no one to tell him when he was being incredibly rude or cruel to officers, but Sherlock was hardly going to leave matters with the police. As usual, it was up to John to take care of domestic matters. John stopped Sherlock by his coat sleeve, and kissed him chastely, before darting out to catch a cab.
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John jogged to the playgroup entrance, scanning the sea of children for Hamish's dark curls. The children milled out the doors, accompanied by parents and relatives- but no Hamish. John swallowed anxiously- if Hamish had normal parents, then this wouldn't be worrying. But Hamish's parents solved crimes and battled master criminals for a living. Obviously he was a vulnerable, due to his father's reputation. John located the blatantly homophobic playgroup assistant, and made his way towards her.
"Hello, er- have you seen Hamish Watson-Holmes?" John asked her, trying not to sound panicked. Hamish had probably got lost on the way to the cloakrooms or something trivial like that.
The blonde woman blinked, and looked over John's shoulder to where the gate was.
"His uncle came to collect him," she said slowly, looking very puzzled. John whipped around, to catch the view of a man who clearly wasn't Mycroft leading Hamish towards an ebony car. John felt his breath stop, and pure fear began to course through his veins as he pushed through the crowds of children.
"Ha-Hamish," he felt himself croak, because all he could see was his son chattering away to a strange man, with a gun clearly stowed in his pocket. The man stopped in mid sentence, noticing John racing towards them. He muttered something to Hamish, before diving into the car and shouting something at the driver. John fell to his knees beside Hamish, checking him for any sign of injury, before breathing a sigh of relief. Unharmed. John swept the boy into his arms, and inhaled him, trying to relax. Hamish was fine, and Sherlock would find who did this.
"He said that you'd sent him," Hamish whispered, clearly confused. John sighed. It was inevitable that Hamish would have to be told about the dangerous people that Sherlock and John interact with on a daily basis- but John hadn't thought that these people would affect their son's life so early.
"Come on, love. I'll explain when we're home," John said, his heart weary as he hailed a cab.
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"Stop fussing over him, John," Sherlock said, from where he was glaring at the window. Hamish was nestled in John's arms, sound asleep. After a conversation about "baddies" and "only going places with his daddies", John had all but smothered their son with sweets and films. Hamish hadn't really reacted to the afternoon's events, but had enjoyed the extra attention from John. Sherlock had taken one look at John when he'd waltzed in half an hour ago, and began making rapid phone calls to Mycroft and Lestrade.
"In case you didn't notice, Sherlock, our only son was almost abducted today," John hissed. Sherlock rolled his eyes, and turned to watch Hamish, an unreadable expression decorating his face.
"John, by coddling him you're making it into a memorable experience, that will register as significant when he's older. It would have been better to pretend it never happened," Sherlock was trying to look dethatched, but he was getting worse at hiding his emotions now that he had a family. John followed Sherlock's gaze, and they both stared at the small bundle of innocence and potential in John's arms for at least a minute.
"Who, Sherlock?" John whispered, his voice breaking. Sherlock looked at John, desperately trying to convey the fear he was feeling but couldn't say.
"Not many people know about Hamish. We haven't put anything about him on the blog, and I think there was only a minor piece on us when he was a baby in the tabloids. So it's someone who's been watching us. Most likely someone dangerous," Sherlock said cautiously. John chewed his lip, trying not to think of all the possibilities. Hamish simply couldn't be in danger. The newspaper article was the only proof of Hamish's existence, and therefore most likely their security leak. The article wasn't detailed, but it was enough to endanger them-
Sherlock Holmes, the infamous London detective who regained his celebrity status after he came back from the dead in 2013, has finally confirmed the circulating rumours of the nature of his relationship with his colleague, Dr John Watson. The apparently brilliant detective was sighted embracing Watson in public yesterday, and the couple appeared to be wearing matching wedding rings. The crime solving pair had been speculated over for many months now, but most assumed their relationship was platonic. This startling revelation, along with the legalization of gay marriage in the UK, is showing that homosexuality is truly becoming the norm. The couple are reported to have a young son, who is Mr Holmes' biologically.
The only suspect John could think of was Moriarty and his associates. Sherlock had no other known enemies.
"Moriarty's network?" John suggested. Sherlock collapsed into his chair, opposite John and Hamish.
"I don't know. I've got Mycroft searching every single bit of security footage available, to try and find the car," the detective said, beginning to pluck at his violin. John nodded, unable to think of anything to say. Surely just finding the car wouldn't eradicate the threat? John felt like more drastic measures should be taken, but then again, Sherlock's point was prominent in his mind. Making a big deal out of this would make it stick in his mind, and lead to paranoia when he's older.
"The case?" John enquired, to change the subject. Sherlock looked at him blanking for half a second, before remembering the case. The afternoon's events must have really shaken him up.
"Author was jealous that his ex had all her lovers. She had a passion for reading, and was smarter than she looked. She knew the significance of the page thirteen, as he'd hoped, and her skin made contact with a deadly poison which he'd rigged the particular book with. The librarian was paid to only put that book on the shelves when the victim entered, but she didn't know why. The author knew that she'd go to the library because she loved libraries, and she was low on money. He's been arrested, and I might have to say something in court," the detective finished with a contempt, displaying his hatred of courtrooms. John nodded in awe, wondering how people came up with such intricate murders. He'd just shoot them in the head and be done with it.
"Shall we put him to bed?" Sherlock asked after a few minutes. John nodded, and motioned for Sherlock to extract the sleeping boy. Hamish stirred awake as Sherlock carried him to the bathroom, and began mumbling about the film he'd watched with John earlier.
"Really, Hamish, that film wasn't exactly educational," Sherlock chided, as he sat Hamish on the side of the bath, and began to brush his teeth. John leant against the door frame, watching Sherlock lecture their son about the Scientifics of teeth and gums quietly. Hamish watched his father with undying interest, absorbing his words and most likely memorizing them. Sherlock stared back at his son with equal fascination and wonder, an expression that John rarely saw on his husband's face. It was nice, seeing Sherlock like this. Only Hamish really brought out this kind of reaction.
"But what is enamel's purpose?" Hamish enquired after he was freed from the toothbrush's clutches. John scooped the little boy up, and answered the question himself as Sherlock exited quietly, his phone ringing in his pocket. Mycroft, most likely.
After Hamish was settled, John retired downstairs to his chair, ignoring the small part of his mind that was insisting it was dinner time. His head was still buzzing about Hamish's encounter this afternoon- and also concern for the unborn baby. Natalie was five months along, but Sherlock was still delaying telling people apart from Molly and Mycroft, probably for security reasons. But this baby's life was in danger now, and will be even more helpless than Hamish. John's thoughts spun in circles, thinking of the fuzzy ultrasound picture in his wallet, and the insanity of the criminals of the world. Sherlock swept into the room, snapping something at Mycroft before hanging up. He then stood silently, deducting John's thought process, before perching on the chair's arm.
"We're having full surveillance put on him whenever he's not in the flat with us. Even outside with us, there's still a chance that he could slip away and someone would be waiting," Sherlock said, in a sort of defeated way.
"What about the baby?" John asked, wrapping his arm around Sherlock's waist.
"Same for him or her, obviously," Sherlock confirmed, resting his head on John's. They sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying each other's warmth, before Sherlock spoke again.
"We could disappear. Fake the whole family's death and move to America," the detective offered. John immediately felt that the idea was unnecessary, and shook his head.
"No. Our whole lives are in London. That's a plan for really serious circumstances," John said, and Sherlock made a noise of agreement into John's hair. John pulled the detective down so that he could kiss the side of his perfect mouth, and then his lips. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, and John pulled his husband into his lap, not breaking the kiss. Kissing Sherlock was always incredible, no matter how heated or how chaste the kiss was.
"We agreed not to do it in the arm chair," Sherlock rasped as he started grinding against John. John groaned, ignoring the other man's words as he felt Sherlock's bulge. And then suddenly his intoxicating presence was gone, and John was left breathless in the chair, with Sherlock smirking at him.
"Bedroom. Now," John growled, tugging Sherlock in the direction of their room.
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"Boys, I know you're still young, but couldn't be a little quieter?" Mrs Hudson nagged, bustling around their kitchen. John caught Sherlock's eye from over his newspaper, and they both struggled to refrain from laughing. Hamish joined in, unaware of the conversation's context. John carried on feeding Hamish his eggs-
" I won't associate myself with that egg filth you call food," as Sherlock had stated when John had reminded him Hamish ate more when Sherlock fed him- and Sherlock ignored his own plate as usual. Mrs Hudson began tidying up the table, deaf to John's protests, moving all of their case files and bills into a pile.
"When are going to start buying baby furniture?" Sherlock asked absently, turning the page on his newspaper.
"We've still got Hamish's old stuff, haven't we?" John said, surprised that Sherlock had brought up something sensible like that. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"There's no need to recycle, John. You'll remember that we're married, and I've got rather a lot of money available-"
"Yes, no need to remind us you're filthy rich," John interrupted, wiping Hamish's chin, and removing his bib so that he could reach for his picture book and continue reading.
"We're filthy rich. If I die, then you'll be a millionaire," Sherlock grinned. John laughed, and leant across the table.
"I'll begin plotting your murder, in that case," he teased.
"Honestly John, you'd hardly be able to fool me,"
"I could shoot you," John reminded his husband. Sherlock snorted dismissively.
"Well you'd have the element of surprise, certainly. I've always assumed you're too obsessed with me to kill me,"
"You say such sweet things, darling," John said mockingly, rising from the table. Mrs Hudson, who had been observing the conversation until then, sat down in John's seat.
"Wait a minute, boys. I've got some news," said Mrs Hudson, blushing slightly. John made eye contact with Sherlock- the detective had already worked it out, and was looking sceptical.
"I'm moving to the country," Mrs Hudson announced. John blinked. Mrs Hudson, leaving Baker Street? The woman in question pulled Hamish onto her lap before continuing.
"Well, I know that you need some more space, with the baby on the way, so I've been thinking that you'd like to-"
"I've already signed the papers, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock said, in a slightly exasperated sort of way. John rolled his eyes, and sat on Sherlock's lap, wrapping an arm around his neck.
"What papers, sweetheart?" John said, still sarcastic.
"Mrs Hudson is selling us the whole house, dearest," Sherlock sneered. John looked at Mrs Hudson in surprise, and she nodded in conformation.
"I'm expecting lots of visits of course, but I feel like I'm too old for London now. And you'll need the space when the children are older," she smiled. John privately agreed- Sherlock would never leave Baker Street, but John had being worrying about space recently. Maybe they'd be close to a normal family, in the near future.
This chapter is pretty long wow. Um I've had almost 800 views, but no reviews- c'mon people be nice and leave me a review.