Chapter Twelve: A Birthday
Sun came sliding through the windows, warm, and bright. It covered the room in heat and false happiness, giving it bright feel and shining it's light in every possible crevice. The small boy woke, rubbing at his eyes and sliding from the warm bed. His feet lead him to the kitchen, where he could smell the brewing coffee and cooking breakfast. Once upon a time that scent would've been calming. Instead, it only filled him with dread and hurt. He could see the scarlet pooling on the ground-that been his fault-the coffee spilt and dropped in shock and fear-that he caused. He closed his eyes, sinking into a chair, sobbing. It had been his fault.
Rain dribbled down sadly, sliding over the glass of the window, until it feel to the icy ground bellow. The detective sat stretched out on the sofa, absentmindedly plucking at his violin strings. John was on his laptop, his fourth cup of coffee at his side. "I'd say happy birthday, Sherlock, but-"
"Don't."
"Don't what? I don't read minds."
An irritated huff. "Don't you dare say it."
At that moment, Mrs. Hudson came bustling in, a tray of biscuits in her wrinkled hands. "Oh, happy birthday, Sherlock." She sighed, and the man quickly got to his feet, violin dropping on to the soft, worn, cushions. The land lady continued. "Though it isn't a very happy one, is it? With Hamish being gone and all.."
The older woman looked far more aged than she should have, the bags under eyes seeming to way down her whole face, and her small hair a mess. Soother's hadn't been working, then. "There's nothing, boys? No calls?"
"Nothing," Sherlock snapped, bursting from his place, and running into the bedroom and slamming the door behind him.
"Oh dear," Mrs. Hudson murmured, her hands starting to tremble. "It's hard on him," John explained. "But it's best if we…don't memtnion what today is. Hamish had 'secretly' planned him a party." He sighed, leaning back into the chair. "I've been trying to speak to Mycroft, but the man's unreachable." He sighed. "I just hope we find Hamish soon."
The two looked up at a glance up a knock on the door. John sighed, opening the door and blinking in surprise. "Mycroft."
"Hello, John." The man greeted.
The doctor gave another few blinks, composing himself before gesturing for Mycroft to come in, unaware of the figure following. John settled in his chair, leaning back in his chair and shouting for his husband. Sherlock returned a few moments later, frowning deeply. "Brother," he greeted bitterly.
"Sherlock."
A small figure peeked out from behind Mycroft, waving slightly. "Hi," he whispered.
John's brows shot up and he leaned forwards. "Who's that?"
"This is Alex."
"You're not honestly saying he's your's."
Sherlock huffed, flopping on to the couch again, picking up his violin. "Of course he's not. You really think my brother could…or should I phrase that as would care for a child? He can barely care for himself, which is very clear from his failing dietary plan and how he nearly jumps at every cake slice he sees. No, he isn't Mycroft's. Look at him. Though he's very much of relevance, I'm guessing. Why else would he be here?"
Mycroft's face held it's normal calm demeanour, though a bit of irritancy slid into it, his lips thinning. Sherlock's lips quirked up into an almost smirk, a win.
"So who's he?" John demanded, breaking the argument.
"Take a look and make a deduction," Mycroft answered calmly, pushing the boy forwards. He shyly backed away, rubbing at his eyes and clinging to his map and bag. Sherlock took everything in, deducing.
He stood. "Get him out."
John frowned at him. "Sherlock? What's wrong, who's is he?"
Mycroft's grip tightened on the umbrella in his hand. "Sherlock, be reasonable-"
"I will not. Send him back, take him with you, I don't care. If Jim finds out we've gotten him, what will he do to our son? No, I refuse. Get him out."
"You could use him-"
"I will not use a child."
Alex gently reached up, tugging on Sherlock's sleeve. "You's Ha'ish's Daddy?" He asked quietly and peered down at his map. "I told Ha'ish I'd fine his Daddy n' Papa so he'd not be sad no mowe," he whispered. "I not wike when he sad." He peered behind Sherlock at John, waving at John.
Sherlock swallowed thickly, his body tense at the thought of his son in the clutches of Jim, of what the man could be doing to the small boy.
John stood, walking over and gently placing a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "I'm Hamish's Papa, Alex. Hello. Do you know where he is? If he's alright?"
Alex stared at the ground nervously, shifting his weight from foot to foot and glancing up briefly at each adult. "Ha'ish says you good at makin' bedder. An you's put plasters on good." He offered after a brief silence. "He at home. Wif Daddy. He has hurts."
Sherlock paled and John's face went blank. Mrs. Hudson spoke up, oddly. "Alex, deary, why don't you come with me? I have some nice biscuits and juice you may have."
With a glance at Mycroft, Alex slowly crept forwards, taking her outstretched hand and following after her. "He'll be perfectly alright, boys," she said softly. "Just you see."
Darkness took the room quietly, creeping in, consuming the light. Stars shone out million years away, managing to pierce the thick and eerie depth. The boy watched out the window, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. He wouldn't sleep-couldn't. Haunting nightmares slid into his mind, both waking and sleeping. The memories wouldn't fade, and yet, he didn't want them to. He couldn't lose his friend, the one who had fought, who had cared, who had understood. Who fought for their freedom. And who left, who fell and burned, though his soul seemed to live on in his mind. No matter what, he would keep that flame burning as he grew old, as his old body and soul faded away. And they would watch. They'd all see.
The rest of the day had been long. There had been arguments, shouting and screaming, thrown instruments, torn hair, a used pack of nicotine patches.
Sherlock wandered the flat, lit cigarette in his hand. He stood near the window, watching the world bellow. Mrs. Hudson had ushered Alex downstairs deeming that is was 'unhealthy for the poor dear'. John was placed in his chair again, eyes on the ruined violin. It had shattered and splintered against the wall when the doctor had thrown it in a fit of anger; immediately regretting the action as he saw his husband's agonized face, miserable and unbelievably hurt. Neither had uttered a word since, even Mycroft reverting to silence.
The silence was broken by a ringtone. Plain and old, a few simple rings. Mycroft reached into his coat with a slightly confused look, peering at the caller and pressing [answer].
A small, crying voice of a girl rang out. "Fingers beat five, three times. Fingers beat five, three times. Save us, save us…"
Everyone stilled, and Mycroft cleared his throat. "Where are you? Can you tell us your location?" He asked calmly, his mouth moving into a deep frown.
"Fingers beat five, three times. Fingers beat five, three times. Save us, save us…"
"What does that mean?" John demanded, standing up, upturning his tea. "It's always that! What is it? How the fucking hell are we suppose to save our damn son if we don't even know what the hell that means?!"
Sherlock glanced sideways at John, and then at the phone, where the voice was continuing. Of course, his mind whispered.
"M-midnight. At midnight, it all ends. It goes away. W-w-we go away. Oh god-save us!" Her voice reached hysteria, cracking and breaking before falling into small sobs. A voice cried out with her. "Daddy! Papa! Help, help, Mr. Moriarty is hurting and we're hiding in the dark building-"
Click, and a dial tone.
The call ended.
The child's program flashed cheery music, though the child it was meant for held no interest in it, instead gently munching on the cookie he had and playing with the false mobile he'd found. Pressing buttons, pretending to answer, offering it to his parents. Dialing 2-2-2#3 2-2-2#3 2-2-2#3 2-2-2#3 2-2-2*3.….He glanced up at his father, who extended his hand for it. The boy sighed, handing it over and returning to his cookie and starting a drawing. Of two boys holding hands, though one had a yellow circle over his head, and a cloud beneath his feet. Both were smiling. It got better. They got happy again. Thing were starting new.
A/N: Yay, update! Updated early...and late (sorry) because of midterms and I've got a date tomorrow with my dad going to see American Idiot. Super excited! Sadly, I won't have time to update another chapter before I go. :( I do have one written, and will upload it Friday!...maybe.