A/N: Still alive! Sorry it took so long.
Disclaimer: I don't even own the roof above my own head, yet alone Sherlock.

Chapter IX

"Motherhood has made you slow," Sherlock made a snarky comment as he finally bothered to stand up from the couch. As Mary's gaze was still transfixed on the photograph of the curly haired boy, Sherlock managed to grab little William before she fully realized what he was doing.
"Careful," the motherly instinct made her shriek. However her worries proved to be completely groundless as Sherlock was holding the infant in the most perfect manner.
"You're full of surprises lately, Sherlock," she commented with a ghost of a smile passing through her features.
Sherlock rolled his eyes: "Folding serviettes isn't the only thing you can learn from Youtube, you know. Anyway as I mentioned, you've become terribly slow, Mrs. Watson. I already told you it was the same guy, who…," Sherlock's voice trailed.
"Told me when?"
"Back at the Yard?"
"Oh, you mean right before I gave birth."
"As far as I'm aware child birth has no influence on memory whatsoever."
"Oh, really? Well, how about you try it first and then tell me about it?"
Sherlock's brows furrowed in confusion: "Seeing as that is scientifically impossible, I don't know how I could."
Mary shook her head: "Whatever. Anyway, I recall now. You told me you thought it was the same guy."
"And you didn't believe me?" Sherlock sat down on the sofa holding William in his arms, offering the infant's tiny hand one of his fingers, which the boy eagerly accepted.
"I wasn't sure. It wasn't like you were at your best. Hell you still don't look all that well."
Sherlock huffed as Mary sat down next to him onto the couch.
"How much time do we have?" Sherlock inquired, his eyes never leaving William in his arms.
"Until what?" Mary pretended to be confused.
"Until John comes barging in here and starts shouting. Where is he anyway?"
Mary crossed her arms in front of her chest: "I sent him to bring some stuff to Mrs. Hudson."
"I see," Sherlock murmured.
"See what?"
"You sent him to Mrs. Hudson in the vain hope that I would spill the beans, as they say, to you without him being present."
"Perhaps," Mary confessed and continued: "How did you know John was here anyway?"
Sherlock's eyes finally turned to Mary: "Easy. I heard the car."
"Could have been me driving the car," Mary protesed.
"No, it couldn't," Sherlock disagreed: "Nobody but John parks like that."

When Sherlock turned to face her, Mary finally had the chance to take in his appearance. She made a quick scan of his form and was sorry to conclude that since the last time she had lied her eyes on him, he didn't change for the better. If anything, he looked even a bit worse for wear, if that were at all possible. The circles under his eyes turned a few shades darker, he seemed to have lost a few pounds and there was a trickle of sweat running down his face. Before she managed to form the question that was on her lips, she was interrupted by the sound of John's shoes running up the stairs.
"Last chance to spill the beans before John starts asking questions, Sherlock," Mary urged him.
The young detective gave no indication that he had even heard her words as he stood up from his place on the couch with William still in his arms and faced the opened the door and walked into 221B his face the perfect picture of composure."Sherlock," he adressed his best friend as if nothing had happened during the last few weeks. As if they only had seen each other yesterday and this wasn't a forced reunion after a certain party was being reclusive in the relationship and was avoiding the other."John," Sherlock acknowledged the other man.
"Haven't heard from you for a while, mate," John started, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm.
"Oh, yeah?" Sherlock wondered nonchalantly: "I've been keeping busy, time flies by so fast..."
John growled: "Sherlock, Mary and I have combined for about 325 calls and 542 messages to you over the last four weeks."
"Oh, you have?" Sherlock eyes narrowed: "You know, I haven't seen my phone for a while."
His brows furrowed in confusion and finally he went to the kitchen and opened the fridge with one hand, the other holding onto the infant. Amongst all the various objects he finally managed to fish out the smartphone: "Oh, there you are!"
John was practically seething now, so before his anger could get the better of him, Mary decided to step in.
"How exactly were you keeping in touch with the world?" she wondered.

"I wasn't," Sherlock shrugged her off.

Mary and John exchanged a confused look.

"What?" John managed to get out.

"John has parenthood rendered you absolutely dim? It means exactly what I said, I haven't been in touch with anyone."

"What about Lestrade though? How did you get news from him?" Mary asked disregarding Sherlock's rude comment on her husband's address, after all his rudeness was just a part of his defense mechanism.

"There was nothing new I could learn from him anyway. He tried coming around a few times though."

"I still don't understand," John tried.

"Oh, have you put that on a T-shirt yet?" Sherlock mused.

Once again Mary and John exchanged quizzical looks. Sherlock was acting rather strangely and neither of them liked the first explanation of his behaviour that sprang to their minds.

"Sherlock, I hope you haven't done something stupid," Mary started worry showing on her face.

John's expression however was one of fury rather than worry.

"Sherlock," he growled:"I swear to God, if you're holding my child in your hand while you're high..."
Sherlock walked towards John until his face was almost in John's. His face was a mask of composure, but his voice betrayed the anger and the hurt: "I would never...you have absolutely no idea how wrong you are, John," he finished lamely after breathing in and out and calming somewhat.
"Oh yeah?" John inquired: "Then you won't mind me looking around. For example: what do we have here?" he pointed at the old cardboard box on the table.
"No!" Sherlock cried as John made a move to open the box. He tried to stop John as best as he could while still carefully holding onto William. The result was that the box came crashing down to the floor with its contents flying out of it. To John's surprise there were no drugs to be found, only papers which looked like police and medical records of some kind and a few old photographs. Before Sherlock could stop him, John made a grab for the photograph of the little curly haired boy.
For the longest while none of the three adults, Mary sitting on the sofa, John hodling the photograph he had picked up and Sherlock with William in his arms, made any sound.
Finally Sherlock growled: "Get out, John!"
"Not before you explain yourself," John protested his voice climbing up a few 's features which were those of content before quickly hardened at the loud sound of voices. Before the infant could fully explode into a crying session, Sherlock stood up and grabbed a se of keys from the nearest table, which he used as a makeshift rattle. The little boy's features softened at the sound of the keys jingling.
Finally Sherlock spoke: "You should go, this place isn't really sanitary for an infant."
John huffed: "Bollocks."
"John is right," Mary agreed with her husband: "If there really were some danger to William you would have mentioned it the minute we walked in. But we ought to go if we don't want to miss Will's doctor's apointment. Could you please carry William to the car?"
She turned to John expectantly and added: "I'll be right behind you."
"Yeah," John managed to get out and finally moved from his frozen position and started walking towards Sherlock, his hands unconciously still clutching the photograph. As Sherlock passed the infant to his best friend he made a point of not meeting John's gaze.
"Sherlock...," John started.
"You should go, John."

John made no further comment as he left 221B Baker Street. Mary gave Sherlock one last sad smile as she whispered: "You can't go on like this, Sherlock."