A/N: Thank you for reading/reviewing/favouriting/alerting/whatever this story.
Disclaimer: I continue not to own Sherlock.
Chapter VI
After Mary left the room to get Lestrade, Sherlock's gaze lingered on his trembling fingers, he tried fighting the sensation, but the slight shaking of his hands wouldn't stop. He sighed and closed his eyes. Inside of his mind palace he was faced with a small boy, not much taller than Archie, the boy from John and Mary's wedding, albeit slightly chubbier, unruly dark curls falling into his blue-green eyes.
The boy stared at Sherlock with an expression of anticipation and a bit of something else that Sherlock could not quite place. Fear maybe?
"You," Sherlock started accusingly.
The boy covered slightly, but did not move from his spot.
"Why were you such a stupid little boy?" Sherlock wondered.
Tears trickled down the pale chubby face: "I'm not stupid!" he screamed as he ran off to hide in some corner of the mind palace.
"Oh for God's sake," Sherlock exclaimed.
It didn't take him a long time to find the child huddled in a corner of what looked like the shed that once belonged to Sherlock's childhood home, his face buried in Redbeard's fur. Some things never change, Sherlock supposed.
He kneeled down next to the boy and stroked Redbeard's fur.
"I'm sorry," he finally started: "I didn't mean to scare you."
The teary green-blue eyes looked up at him, but the boy didn't say a word.
"What's your name?" Sherlock continued in a much friendlier tone than before.
"Lock," the boy whispered.
"Tell me, Lock, what are you so scared of?"
But no word would escape young Sherlock's mouth.
"Will you show me?" the grown man offered.
Finally, the boy gave him a small barely noticeable nod. He let go of Redbeard and stood up, his small hand grabbing Sherlock's much bigger one. He led Sherlock through the corners of the mind palace, Redbeard followed in their footsteps, the ever loyal companion always ready to protect his little friend.
At last, the trio came to a halt in front of a room that felt strangely out of place in Sherlock's mind. He was an entirely chaotic person and you would even find chaos inside the tidiest places of his life. This room though was spotless and the smell of the detergents still lingered in the air. Suddenly a man of a considerable built appeared and a warm smile spread across his face.
"Oh, hello, Sher," he started and pointed to some things spread on the floor: "look at the new experiment I got for you."
The young boy let go of Sherlock's hand and both of his fists grabbed Sherlock's shirt instead as he buried his head in Sherlock's torso and a stream of fresh tears streaked down Sherlock's shirt.
"Sherlock?"the call came from far away.
"Sherlock!" this time a different voice, much stronger.
He opened his eyes to Mary shaking his shoulder, with Lestrade in tow, a concerned expression on his face.
"Sorry, thinking," Sherlock excused himself and as nonchalantly as possible he touched his cheek to wipe away the solitary tear.
"Um, okay," Lestrade began: "Look, Sherlock, your ass of a brother has some pretty strange ways of showing that he cares about you. But making me believe that you were using just because he thinks you should recover from your sickness before you take on any case was pretty low even from him. I do agree that you probably should get healthy first, but given the circumstances of the case..."
"I'm back on the case?"
"Yes," Lestrade agreed after a while as he lay a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and gave him a comforting fatherly squeeze: "Just don't overdo it, alright?"
An uncomfortable silence fell on the room as Sherlock finally managed to get some words of assent and Mary suggested they went back home before Sherlock's fever came back.
"You lied to Lestrade," it wasn't an accusation, merely a statement.
"Of course I bloody did."
"But why?"
"Oh, Sherlock, he'd never let you back on the case if he knew the truth."
"Yeah, I suppose, he's too professional to let someone directly involved get close to a case."
"Yes."
"There's more."
"Of course there is."
"I see."
"No, you don't."
"Nope."
"He cares about you, Sherlock. If he knew, he'd worry what this case could do to you."
"But you don't. Worry, I mean."
"Of course I do. I just think that of all the people out there I'm the last one who has any right to point out how much your poor decision making can hurt you and those around you...ow," Mary exclaimed and held a hand to her stomach.
"What's wrong?"
"I think...my water just broke," Mary managed to squeeze out between shallow breaths.
Sherlock's eyes widened as Mary grabbed his hand: "Sherlock, please, don't panic, this definitely isn't the right time for that."
Sherlock gulped and yelled for the closest Yard officer, knowing the average arrival time of the paramedics in London he commanded the officer to drive Mary and himself to the hospital in a squad car. The officer didn't protest much, not that Sherlock really gave him any chance.
In the hospital waiting room Sherlock sat on the plastic chair with his knees drawn to his chest, arms draped around the knees.
"You sure you don't want anything," John asked for the third time as he went on his way to get coffee, the sixth cup of the night.
"No, just like the last two times you asked, John," Sherlock answered annoyed.
"Alright, alright," John held up his hands in defeat, but a few minutes later he returned not only with his cup of coffee, but also with a bottle of still water, which he pretty much forced Sherlock to drink as he slumped down into the chair next to him.
"What's wrong, Sherlock?" he asked after a few minutes of silence as he observed the dark circles under his best friend's eyes and the complexion even a few shades paler than usual.
"With me? There's nothing wrong with me," Sherlock shook his head without sparing John as much as a look: "your wife is the one giving birth right now, why aren't you worried about her?"
"I'm not worried about Marry."
Sherlock's eyes pierced through him at that.
"Yeah, alright, of course, I'm worried about her. But she's in good hands, with doctors you personally handpicked. There's not much I can do for her right now."
"You could. Why aren't you with her?" Sherlock retorted accusingly.
"Sherlock, we talked about this. You know what they say about doctors as patients. This would be even worse...if something were to go wrong, I don't think I could...this was a decision Mary and I made together."
Sherlock scoffed to show that he did not agree with this decision at all, but said no more on the topic.
"Is this about Moriarty?" John tried once again.
"Who?"
"Jim Moriarty, remember?"
"Morirarty's dead, John."
"How?" John was utterly confused.
"He blew his own brains out, remember?"
"And then he came back."
"Of course he didn't."
"But he did."
"Don't be ridiculous, John. No one can come back from that."
"But you did."
"Jumping off a building proves much easier to fake than a bullet to the brain. Especially when you have audience just a few inches from you."
"But...the video?"
"You'd be shocked what the likes of Lady Smallwood and Mycroft Holmes can achieve. That? A piece of cake with a bit of archive footage."
"But why?"
"Well, considering that Lady Smallwood was the reason why I started hunting down Magnussen in the first place, she hardly had any interest in me being involved in a suicide mission."
John's eyes widened as it finally dawned on him what exactly Mycroft's estimation of six months meant.
"...as for my brother...well, I'm sure he'd love to see me go through with the mission until the very end, but he seems to believe that on balance I have more utility for him and his people here..."
Before John could ask more, one of the doctors approached them. She seemed very tired and she was soaking in her own sweat.
"Is everything alright?" John asked unsure.
A small smile spread across her face: "There were some minor complications, but both your wife and son are doing fine right now. Would you like to see them?"
About an hour later when Sherlock walked into Mary's hospital room, she was lying in her bed absolutely exhausted, but it was impossible not to see her happiness shining through. Even more so John who was holding a small bundle in his arms seemed happier than Sherlock had ever remembered him looking.
"Hey," Sherlock greeted them all as he stood in the door unsure if he could interfere with the new family's happiness.
"Come here, you oaf," John solved his dilemma as he commanded him.
"Meet your godson, Sherlock," Mary told him as John put the small bundle into his hands.
"William John Watson," John introduced him.
Sherlock looked down at the still somewhat shrivelled face and took in the small fists and fingers and finally the sky-blue eyes. For a moment it seemed that their eyes locked and the infant was staring right through him. Of course Sherlock knew that the notion was ridiculous as a newborn's sight was hardly good enough to see as far. He tentatively offered the child one of his fingers and as the small hand encircled around it and squeezed he could not defend himself against the warmth that spread across his insides. Of course, he'd never confess to his, but as he was leaving the room, he could not hide the small smile that was tugging at the corner of his lips.
A few minutes later when John went to consult with the doctors, Mary was cradling her newborn son in her arms.
"That was uncle Sherlock, William. Your godfather. He's very very smart. And he'll do anything to protect you. But sometimes he's also really really stupid and makes idiotic decision. And he's also very very hurt and he doesn't see it. Can you help him, Will?" she whispered to the baby.
As Sherlock was about to walk from the hospital, his phone buzzed with a new text from an unknown number.
William John Watson. What a beautiful baby boy. You better look out for him as I'm sure he'll be quite the looker one day.
Sherlock stared at the words as he tried once again to contain the trembling in his hands. He squeezed the phone with force in his hands, but the only damage it did was a slight pain in his palm.
He threw the phone against the wall and left the shattered pieces behind as he ignored the looks of the people around him.
He took in a few calming breaths as he fought down the rage at the man who even after all this years managed to get in the way of his happiness.