A/N: Thank you to all of my readers for their patience. I hope to make it up to you all by being diligent and posting at least once a week. I appreciate all of my readers and reviews are more than welcome.
Grounded
"Are you Mr. Holmes?" The guard was clad in a crimson red outfit trimmed with gold, shiny silver clasps kept the jacket from separating from the shirt of the same shade of red. John cocked an eyebrow, this looked more like a royal guard rather than a simple train station attendant.
"No, I'm Dr. Watson, Ryder's other father." John extended his hand to shake the guards, which was apparently frowned upon, as the action was not reciprocated.
"Are you his legal guardian?" The guard asked, his face deadpan and stoic, he took his job description to the T, which could have been said after the affair with Mycroft. What amused John about that situation was that Mycroft, being the biological father of Ryder, could not pick up his own son. Guardianship or not, Mycroft had the power to get Sherlock and John into the most secure locations in the world, yet he could not pick up his own son from a train station detainment centre.
"Yes, I am. I have his birth certificate and school registration with me if you need-"
"No, that's alright Sir, we have your name down on the sheet. Let me go get your son."
John stifled a laugh, he couldn't believe it, he didn't even need to show proof. What had Mycroft said that made them so suspicious of him? Sherlock had finally emerged from gathering their luggage off the conveyor belt. It was getting late, and being trapped in the enclosed compartment for so long made Sherlock highly active and twitchy. John was rather surprised the detective was still here, he figured once he was free, he'd run until his legs gave out from under him. Although the Good Doctor supposed the threat of what the detective would receive as punishment for abandoning them was enough to hold him here until he was properly dismissed.
It took only seconds until Ryder ran around the corner; his curls bouncing wildly in all directions as he leapt into John's arms.
"DADDY!" He shrieked, giggling and clinging onto his father's neck for support. Any anger or irritation he felt was dissolved as he held his son close to his body. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he missed the child, even if it was only for one night. Sherlock, however, was not in such high spirits as he came around the corner and locked eyes with his son, scowling in a manner that shouted 'utter disappointment'. Ryder must have felt it, because he immediately unhinged himself from John's neck, sliding down until his small feet hit the floor.
John knelt onto the ground so he was eye level with his son, keeping his eyes fixed onto the deep blue abyssal eyes of the child. His eyes were an exact replica of Sherlock's, the child himself was an exact replica of Sherlock, only slightly less destructive. It often made John question Ryder's true parentage, although without a doubt a Holmes, he wondered if it were just some elaborate cover-up that John was out of the loop of. Every time that question entered his head; it was just as quickly scoffed off without a second thought. It wasn't uncommon for children to resemble their uncles or aunts instead of their parents, they shared most of the same DNA, and since Ryder was a male, it only made sense that he looked like Sherlock rather than anyone on Rita's side of the family.
"Ryder, what did you think you were doing?" John asked softly, his face close to his son's to avoid sounding confrontational. Ryder looked away, as his feet suddenly became very interesting to him.
"I...well, I didn't want to wake Uncle Mycroft, but...I wanted to see you and daddy again." Ryder continued to look at his feet, shuffling slightly. Sherlock noticed this and finally decided to get involved.
"You've stayed the night at your Uncle's before. Did he make rules? Were you trapped there?" Sherlock questioned, his voice audibly harsher than John's. John exhaled loudly, leaning over to hiss in his partner's ear.
"We're NOT playing good parent bad parent here, Sherlock!" He spat, hoping to remain quiet enough so Ryder didn't hear him, but of course he did anyway. He was a Holmes, they heard everything.
"No, I was just bored. He was asleep on the couch and so I went to find you to play with me." Ryder's voice was soft, John was right in front of him and could barely hear what he said. He brought his palm up and rested his face in the crook of it; that sounded more like Sherlock than anything the boy had done in his six years of life. Sherlock started to beam.
"That's my son. How did you find the train station?" Sherlock stepped forward, taking Ryder into his arms, clutching him close to his chest. He felt the spark of pride that Ryder wasn't like other children, who would pester and pester you until you woke up to play. No, he went out to get what he wanted, rules be damned. He really was a miniature version of the consulting detective. It made his heart swell with an intangible amount of pride.
"I walked around until a police man came up to me and asked me where I was going and I said, 'to see my daddies at the train station', so he gave me a ride but they found out you weren't there so I told them about Uncle Mycroft but they said he couldn't come get me but Uncle Mycroft gave them your number. They made me wait a lot, I was really bored." Ryder shrugged against Sherlock, which was really uncomfortable. Sherlock's coat was making his skin itchy and he wanted to be put down, but daddy never hugged him like this, so the child accepted the embrace, loving the attention he was getting, and appreciating that he wasn't getting in trouble.
"I'm proud of you that you figured that out all by yourself-"
"But that was very dangerous, and you should know that you should have stayed with your Uncle. He was in paroxysm's of worried fits." John interrupted, he knew Sherlock would shower Ryder in horrible ideas of law breaking and bad habits. Sherlock interjected by giving John an expression that clearly read, 'We're NOT playing good parent bad parent?' John shook his head, knowing he had been defeated. As much as he tried to be the 'good' parent, or ultimately the 'mother' figure; he just couldn't compete with Sherlock. He knew what it felt like to get praise from the detective. It was addicting, like a drug, only without the awful bodily side effects.
"You do know that we still have to go to dinner with your mother." John smirked, knowing that would stop any and all approval Sherlock bestowed onto Ryder. Dinner with Mummy Holmes was dancing with Death, only with a more uncertain outcome.
They sat in the restaurant, Sherlock and John on one side, Mycroft and Ryder on the other, and at the head of the table with Sherlock and Mycroft kitty corner; sat the one and only Mummy Holmes.
She was tall, like both Holmes children, her hair artificially lightened to the point of being over processed. You could never tell what colour her roots were though, for a small mink fur beret sat atop her slender pointed head. Her nose had been shrunk with the magic of prosthetic surgery, as were her ears. John could tell those scars anyway, no matter how much of that expensive cover up cream she plastered on.
"So Sherlock, enlighten me. What are you doing for a living? Still pretending to be one of the Hardy Boys or have you moved onto playing with the big dogs yet?" Her lips curled upwards into a sardonic sneer. John saw Sherlock wince, as the comment stung close to home. He had been with Sherlock for nearly a decade and even he had not yet managed to make Sherlock look so pitiful, so hurt. Sure, he had made him feel bad, even a little bruised; but never like this. No, there were ghosts from Sherlock's past involving his mother that not even John was sure of.
"I think I make a decent living doing what I do, Mother." Sherlock muttered, slouching into chair even farther. John's hand was discretely placed in his lap, allowing him to gently stroke the side of Sherlock's thigh without being noticed by anyone else at the table; not even Mycroft with his ability to see everything. Mummy Holmes shrugged, her bony shoulders draped underneath a translucent white shawl. She looked like a skeleton that was covered with paper thin skin, her collar bones jutted out at a sickening angle, making her look not only malnourished but like a dead woman walking. Her appetite did not reflect her body shape, however, as she packed away her meal with impressive speed whilst still managing to look graceful doing it.
"At least one of my boys has a secure future. I'm only sorry Ruby passed away before she could see what a handsome child she created." Mummy made cooing noises in Ryder's direction. Mycroft looked uncomfortable, for once he had kept tactful and polite towards Sherlock, making no crude gestures or snide remarks about his career nor personal life. It was in exchange of Sherlock not telling their mother about who was really raising her grandchild.
"It was Rita, dear Mother. Don't be so hard on Sherlock, he has a nice little flat in central London; not everyone would be able to afford a place in that area." Mycroft even went to far as to compliment him, Sherlock duly noted, curtly nodding a 'thank you', which his brother reciprocated, smiling slightly. He patted Ryder's shoulder affectionately, trying to get off the topic of Sherlock and his job, or rather, lack of one.
"Oh Please, we all know Doctor Watson brings in most of the money. Have you been able to hang onto this one, Sherlock? God knows why though. You couldn't find a nice woman to settle down with? Someone to bring me some grandchildren?" Her comments hit closer to home, and John felt his grip tightening on Sherlock's leg, trying to keep himself from lashing out at her. He bit his bottom lip with his teeth to prevent any words he would regret saying from slipping out, he couldn't, no, WOULDN'T make a scene here.
"Don't bring him into this, he hasn't said anything to you." Sherlock said, staying remarkably calm through clenched teeth, his muscles becoming tense under John's touch. Sherlock could handle any insults about himself, but he got very protective about John. Mycroft caught this immediately and stuttered slightly before attempting again to change the subject.
"I hear you recently travelled to North America, Mother. How was that?" He older brother asked with all respect and dignity he normally portrayed. On a normal day, John would roll his eyes at the obvious sugar-coated words used to get their Mother on his side, but tonight he appreciated it before Sherlock blew a fuse and hurt someone. Seemingly forgetting her attacks on Sherlock and John, Mummy Holmes turned to her favourite son as they engaged in deep conversation over Canadian demographics.
"How much longer?" Sherlock leaned over to John, whispered ever so quietly into his ear. John checked his watch, than looked over at Mycroft and Ryder; the latter was sitting still in his chair, eyeing his food with a tinge of disgust, trying to hide it under a mask of politeness. He hadn't squirmed in his chair once, although the threat of slipping up and ruining dinner for Mycroft only to be chastised by Sherlock was a punishment that kept him seated there, unmoving.
"Until your brother decides to leave, otherwise we don't get our son back." John huffed, hurt and irritated at the sharp comments that still stung in the back of his head. He couldn't imagine Sherlock with anyone else, much less a woman. The thought of his lover being in the throws of passion with someone else etched into the back of his mind, and it stung deeply. Knowing that Sherlock gave up any prospect of a "family" when they first got together; regardless of their situation now, Sherlock was willing to give it all up to be with John, and if that sacrifice wasn't worth commending, than he had nothing left keeping him there. Now Sherlock HAS a family; a loving partner and a son. If that wasn't good enough for Mummy Holmes than John didn't know what else he could do.
"We could always pawn him back off to Mycroft, since he's the one who got us into this mess in the first place. Don't let her get to you John, she's not me, and I love you. That should be all that matters to you." Sherlock whispered back, his lips grazing John's ear lobe, sending sparks of electric currents down the doctor's spine.
"Wait until we get back home, you can do anything you want with me." John miraculously managed to keep his voice low and level, able to hide their conversation from the other three members of their party. Sherlock chuckled, patting John's shoulder before sitting back up in the chair, trying to listen in on the active conversation, but finding himself really unconcerned on the matter, all he thought about was John and the wonderful things he was going to do, or at least attempt to do. He forgot they had to bring Ryder home.
"I do apologise for my mother's behaviour, John." Sherlock said as they left the restaurant ahead of Mycroft. His was still talking to their mother at the till, Sherlock's excuse was to get some air., dragging John out with him. John waved his hand dismissively.
"Don't. Sherlock, she attacked you viciously and I won't stand for it. Don't even worry about me, she's not MY mother, I can handle it." John clasped his hand onto Sherlock's in a soothing motion, locking onto his eyes to comfort. Sherlock was tempted to lean closer to the doctor, but worried that Mycroft and Ryder were still inside prevented him from making any advancements.
"I...am very sorry you two had to sit through that, might there be a way to make it up to you?" Mycroft said with an air of complete dignity and tact as he pushed open the front doors, Ryder's hand grasped to his.
"We tried that, remember? You turned our son loose on the city." John said, although not holding any hostile feelings towards Mycroft; actually, he hadn't been truly resentful of the older Holmes brother for ages, they got along splendidly on normal circumstances. Sherlock, however, had some resentment about how the evening had gone.
"Yes, well...I did not expect that with four maids and various other staff that a child could escape the house without being detected. Even the security alarm didn't go off, and either that means that Sherlock taught him the proper skills for housebreaking; or he has the ability to walk through walls, and I severely doubt the latter. Is there still a way for you two to get back to the hotel tomorrow? There's still three days left in the reservation." Mycroft sniffed, his voice lowering slightly just in case Mother opened the doors and caught wind of what they were talking about, and any crucial details.
"I'm afraid we're home now, Mycroft, but thank you for trying. Ryder isn't usually so...umm...what's the word, well, he doesn't normally act like this when he's with you. Usually he throws a tantrum when we come to take him home." John nodded his head curtly, a little disappointed that he and Sherlock had to come home, but than again, the vacation was just a bonus anyway, and, all in all, they did have at least one night alone.
"Mother wishes to stay the night in my manor, John. We have a bit of an issue." Mycroft hesitated before telling him.
"Why didn't you start with that?" Sherlock asked, finally joining in the conversation. Mycroft looked at him as if only just realising he was there.
"Dear Brother...return to your hotel and I can deal with Ryder until Mother is gone. It's only three days, I'm sure I can deal with him."
"That's what you said the last time." Sherlock rolled his eyes, feeling slightly grumpy. John didn't particularly wish to go back to the hotel; he would have to deal with Sherlock growing discontent and bored for three days; he feared for the state of the hotel. He wanted to go home, make himself a cup of tea and sleep, and he decided to tell Sherlock that.
"Look, Mycroft, we really appreciate what you're doing and what you've offered to do, but either way we have to spend the night here anyway, no trains depart until tomorrow morning. We could just stay home and take Ryder on vacation with us next time we can catch a break. It's no big deal, but we'll be at home if you need us." John said, holding Sherlock back gently with his hand on his arm before kneeling to face his son, whispering so low, Mycroft just above him had trouble hearing.
"Now Ryder, please please please for the love of God, behave this time. Don't go wandering out of the house, if you're THAT bored, call us with the phone, but do not leave the house." John said before giving Ryder a kiss on the forehead, standing up to face Mycroft.
"When will we get him back?" He asked the older brother.
"Christmas Eve, and I myself will make an appearance on Christmas morning. Now, I must go see what is taking Mummy so long. See you boys Christmas Eve."
With that, Mycroft went back into the restaurant with Ryder to meet up with Mummy, leaving Sherlock and John outside in the crisp; yet not cold air of London's December.
A/N: Next chapter will be a Mycroft and Ryder chapter, along with Christmas Eve/Day. After that, I'll find some other adventure that isn't so heavily devoted to Mycroft.
Hope you're all enjoying this.