Chapter 17: Misfits.

"In fancy they pursue

The dream-child moving through a land

Of wonders wild and new."

-Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

Day 2 of Misfits.

"…and that was when I saw him. I was very surprised, as you can imagine. I mean, it's not every day that someone comes back from the dead, right? He just stood up, brushed the dirt off his trousers, turned to me, and smiled. That was even more of a surprise, because last time we met, we had been on opposite sides. So why would he be glad to see me?" John paused, allowing the kids to shout out their guesses.

"He's going to kill you!" "He loves you!" "He had a plan!" "He's going to trick you!"

John and Jim both laughed, then their eyes met. Jim shook his head disbelievingly, and John looked away.

"He was happy to see me," he said cautiously, "because he was bored. After his game with Lock, there was nothing for him to do, no one to play games with. So when I came along, he decided to play a game with me. That is, of course, when I threatened to kill him, and he knocked me out."

"I thought you were friends!" one of the little girls protested. Today, there were around twelve children crammed into John's living room, mustard around some of their mouths, leftover from the hot dogs John had served. All of their eyes were fixed on the doctor.

"Well, every friendship has to have a starting point. And ours started with him knocking me out. Nobody's perfect," John said, and all the kids laughed. Sammy grinned at him from her place on the couch, where she sat propped up with pillows to watch him tell his story. "That's all for tonight, guys. Sammy has to get to sleep, and I'm sure you guys should all get going as well."

"Thanks for the hot dogs!" Lily chirped, and there were several cries of agreement.

"Any time," John said. "So… same time in two days, maybe?"

"Tomorrow!" "Can we do tomorrow?" "I wanna come again tomorrow!"

John winced, then looked up to Jim, whose eyes were dancing with amusement, but he offered no help. He looked at Sammy, who tried to lean forwards.

"Please, John? I like having them over." Truthfully, John liked it too. It brought a piece of chaos to his otherwise uninteresting life. The day after next, he was going back to the clinic, and it would be nice to have some way to spend his evenings, other than watching telly with Sammy.

"Yeah, okay. You can come again tomorrow." Well shite, what was he going to serve for dinner? The kids were cheering, though, so it was worth it. Jim was smiling down at the girl sitting on his knee, who was clapping her hands together excitedly. John grinned at her too. She was only six years old, with tangled gold hair and big blue eyes. Her name was Reia, as John had learned earlier that evening. He looked around the room and saw only children's smiles, and it made him feel warm.

One by one, the kids trickled out, and Jim was the last to leave.

"See you again tomorrow, Johnny boy. Looking forward to it." John simply nodded, then opened the door for him to pass through.

"See you tomorrow," he said, once the door was closed and Moriarty was gone.

Day 4.

Back to work. It was even worse than he remembered. Runny noses and unidentified rashes in unfortunate locations. Clinics were not a pleasant place to work, not by any stretch of the imagination. John had made it through the morning, and had reached his lunch break. It was an accomplishment, despite the fact that he was not looking forward to the peanut-butter and jam sandwich. As he had mentioned in the letter to Sherlock, it was there, so he ate it, no matter how much he didn't like it.

His resignation, however, turned to pleased surprise when he walked into his office.

On his desk there was a steaming bowl of ramen noodles, which smelled simply divine. John made his way over and sat down, inhaling deeply. Then he noticed the note, taped to the side of the bowl. It was written in pink ink (unconventional, fun).

'I happen to like PB&J. Let's switch lunches. Enjoy! -JM.

John stared at his modified meal for several long seconds. Then he reluctantly pulled out his phone, and sent a text.

Thanks. –JW

There was no immediate response, so he dug into his lunch with renewed vigor, happy at the unexpected turn of events.

Day 7.

John was reading to Sammy, when his phone rang. "Sorry, hang on," he said, and answered. These days, he was used to getting phone calls with no displayed ID. None of the Misfits' numbers showed up, and they were often calling him about dinner times, story ideas, and food requests. "Hello?" he said into the silent phone line. There was a pause.

"John?"

"Sebastian! How are you?"

"Good, mostly. I'm getting sent away for a month or two. Don't know exactly when I'll be back." He didn't sound unhappy, but he didn't exactly seem ecstatic, either.

"That's too bad. When are you leaving?"

"Two days from now. I was wondering if you… wanted to meet up tomorrow evening? I understand if you don't want to, it's just, I wanted to talk to you before I left. Hear what happened with dinner and everything."

"Oh, sh-" John remembered that Sammy was watching him curiously from the couch, and snapped his mouth shut. "Did I really never tell you? I'm sorry."

"I thought… You were mad at me?" Sebastian said, sounding bewildered. John thought back to their last exchange, and realized that yes, he had been mad at him, the last time they had talked. How far away that seemed now.

"Well, a bit, yeah. But it didn't last long. I've just been sort of busy, really. Um. Sorry again."

"So, tomorrow evening? I really want to know how you two figured it all out."

"Could we make it the afternoon? I'm busy that evening. Every evening, actually. It's a long story."

"I look forward to hearing it. You can tell me, right?"

"Yes, so that's okay then?"

"Yep."

"Perfect." John hung up and smiled at the world in general. It was good to have another friend. Strange, but good. Even if he was leaving soon. John's smile faded a little at that thought.

"Who was that?" Sammy asked. John turned to her. She looked much better than she had a week ago. Her face was bright with childhood again, and she had limited mobility. But she was still unable to sit up, or walk. That would come with time, and she would still limp for a long time afterwards.

"Friend of mine," John said, savoring the words. Then he slid the phone back into his pocket. "Okay, where were we?"

"He was drawing himself a bed," Sammy chirped.

"Right, right," John said, reopening the book and picking up the story from where he'd left off.

Day 9.

John finished his story, and the kids applauded. He had changed characters now, having run out of M stories. Moriarty had told him that the kids wouldn't care anyways, and suggested another trickster character. So John had told one of the Norse myths about Loki, and how he had tricked the dwarves. It was a rather grim story, but the kids loved it, cheering and throwing up their hands, wriggling on the floor in an exited group.

Jim and John rose to their feet and started going around the group of kids, giving the Misfits cloths to wipe their face and hands. One of the little girls gave Moriarty an unexpected hug, and he froze where he was, looking over at John for help. John simply smiled at him, waiting to see what he would do. Slowly, Jim's arms came up and he gave her a tentative squeeze back. The little girl dropped away, beaming her thanks.

Then one by one, John sent them off, thanking each of them by name. As per usual, he, Jim, and Sammy were the last people in the flat. But instead of grinning and walking out, Jim moved to the living room and started picking up the dishes.

"…What are you doing?" John asked.

"Getting the dishes to the kitchen," Jim answered, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Right, right," John said, nodding. Of course the criminal mastermind was picking up the dishes that John usually cleaned. Completely normal. He followed Jim into the kitchen.

"Don't you have to put Sammy to bed? I'll get started of washing these." Jim's voice sounded scarily normal. He must be up to something.

"Okay, I can do that…" John went back into the living room. "Hey Sammy, you ready for bed?" She shook her head decisively.

"I'm not tired."

"Yes, you are," John said. She shook her head some more, and then yawned. She looked angry at giving herself away. "See? I told you. Come on, we'll get you ready, and then I'll read you a book before you go to sleep." John had bought her more children's books, and they were slowly making their way through them. Sammy nodded, finally acquiescing, so John made his way through their regular evening routine. He helped her into her PJs, then carried her to the bathroom, and brushed her teeth. Then he put her back onto the couch, shifted around the cushions to make a bed, and put a blanket overtop of her. "Okay, which story should we read tonight?"

"The purple crayon one!" Sammy said.

"But we've already read that one! Don't you want a different one?" The little girl thought about that for a second, and then her face lit up.

"We could read two stories!"

"No way. You're tired. Only one. Do you really want Harold again?" Sammy nodded. "Alright then. I can read it again." So John did, he read her the whole book, then turned out the light, gathered the dishes Moriarty had missed, and headed into the kitchen.

Jim had slung his suit jacket over a chair and rolled up his sleeves, and was now up to his elbows in soapy water. John hesitated a moment in the doorway, savoring the image of Moriarty doing his dishes, then came over to put down the plates he had gathered.

"So… you want me to do anything?"

"You can dry," Jim said. "And put them away while I wash." So John positioned himself on Moriarty's left, with a tea towel, and obediently dried the dishes he was passed, making his way around the kitchen and sliding them into their proper spots. There was silence, aside from the clack and clatter of dishes, which was vaguely awkward, but not overwhelmingly so. Their work occupied their minds, and a sort of rhythm was reached in their movements, a balance between them. It was enough. It was a beginning.

Day 16

John was making his way through another slow day at work, when his phone buzzed in his pocket with a text. Predictably, he ignored it. Sammy would phone, if she was in trouble. Then there was another buzz. And another. With a sigh, and an apology to the overweight man he was examining, he pulled it out of his pocket, and looked at the most recent text.

Chocolate. –Leo.

Well, that made no sense. John unlocked his phone and flicked over to messages. As he held the phone, it buzzed again, and he dismissed the 'new text' warning, instead clicking on the conversation marked 'Jim'.

How about ice cream with dinner tonight? I'll get the kids to send you their favorite flavors. –JM

After all, we wouldn't want to leave anyone out, would we? –JM

That explained 'chocolate'. John, with a sigh as it buzzed again, turned off his phone and turned back to his (dull, blank, predictable) work. But he was still smiling, looking forward to the evening, and holding onto the interruption that had taken just a little bit of the dullness out of his job.

Day 19

John was shopping for dinners. It was a complicated business, feeding at least 12 mouths a night. Moriarty was, of course, providing money for the venture, but it was still hard to keep up with the cooking. At least he wasn't cleaning by himself anymore. Jim's company had been an unexpected pleasure, really. Better than doing it alone in a dark house, with only Sammy's sleeping breaths to keep him company.

He was throwing boxes of pasta into his cart, having already picked up a variety of sauces. One of the Misfits would only eat white sauce, another liked meat sauce, and most of them would eat whatever they were given. It would be interesting to try and plan this out. A table with a bowl of pasta, and then the sauces lined up so that the kids could serve themselves, and-

"Fancy seeing you here," came a familiar voice from behind him. John spun around, and found himself looking at a stranger. White-blonde hair, grey eyes, beard, dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt. He'd never seen the man before in his life. But the voice…

"Jim?" The stranger grinned, the movement almost hidden in the beard.

"At your service."

"What are you doing here? And please tell me that's a wig."

"I'm shopping, obviously. I thought you were smarter than that, John." His tone was heavily reminiscent of Sherlock, and John had to blink twice to dispel the images. "And how do you know this isn't my natural hair color?"

"I'm hoping it isn't. You look better with dark hair."

"Thank you!" Jim said, looking surprised, and drawing out the first word.

"So… is it just coincidence that we ended up at the same place? Why are you doing your own shopping? Why are you dressed like that?" John decided to go for all his questions at once. There was no guarantee that Moriarty would answer them, but he certainly wasn't going to volunteer any information.

"Pleasant chance. I'm buying chocolate for the dinner tonight. Best way into a child's heart, you know. And I'm dressed like that, as you said so disdainfully, because someone was keeping an extra eye on this shop, and now I know why. It figures that Mycroft is tracking you occasionally." John started and looked around the store for cameras. "Relax, I did reroute them, but better safe than sorry. After all, we don't want to make Mycroft too suspicious, do we?"

John wasn't entirely sure whether 'we' meant 'Jim and co' or 'you and me,' which made him feel vaguely uncomfortable.

"Yeah, that's… true." A brief silence. "Did you get 70% coco?"

"Of course. I know the whole group's taste in chocolate, did you really think that I'd forget yours?"

"What's yours, then? If you already know mine, it's only fair."

"As dark as I can get it. I like the bitterness. 90% is my usual." John wrinkled his nose. "Hey, don't knock it 'til you try it," Jim said, putting extra emphasis on the two words, and grinning his trademark maniacal grin.

"I'll pass, thanks. And what sort of pasta do you think I should get for the dinner? I can't decide, there's so many types!"

"Oreccheitte, or Spaghetti Rigati," Jim answered easily. "All kids love the shells, and I have a particular affinity for the thicker spaghetti."

"Wow, pasta connoisseur. Add that to your resume." John had slowly been collecting a list of things that Moriarty was an expert in. It ranged from fashion and social etiquette, to the obvious criminal mastermind skills, like using a knife, to unexpected gems, like Star Wars trivia and wine.

"Yes, that would certainly help me get more work," Moriarty said, in a voice that didn't convey any sarcasm whatsoever, yet still communicated utter disdain for the idea. Another impressive talent.

"I bet," John said, and then started coming up with cases that would require knowledge about types of pasta. They made their way through the aisles, picking up what they needed. Jim paid for both carts at the front, and then they left.

"And this shopping trip was paid for by the British Government, out of the kindness of his icy heart," Jim said as they reached the parking lot, grinning again.

"Of course it was," John said with a sigh. He'd figured it would happen at some point, after all.

Day 20

John was sitting on the couch, with Sammy's head resting on his knee. She had asked him to braid her hair, and he had agreed, with much trepidation. Now she was making little sighs of enjoyment as he ran his hands through her hair, sectioning it into three pieces. He started interlacing them carefully, trying not to let any of the hairs escape. It was harder than it sounded, and he'd never done this before, so he took his time.

"John?" Sammy asked.

"Yes?" he answered, still concentrating on the hair.

"Would it be okay if…" she trailed off. "No, it's nothing."

"Go ahead and ask, Sammy. You know it can't do any harm."

"Could I call you daddy?" Sammy asked, and then cringed, curling slightly as though to hide herself. The hairs slipped through his fingers and unraveled. He held back the urge to swear, and then the question registered in his head.

Could I call you daddy? It wasn't a question he had ever expected to hear, from anyone. And it was especially loaded coming from Sammy, considering who her last father had been. John felt flattered. After 20 days with Sammy's company, he knew quite a bit about her, and the way she thought, and this was the highest compliment she could pay someone.

"Yes, of course you can." Sammy raised her head to look him in the eyes, then grinned, and made to push herself up. Slowly, she raised herself, and threw herself at him, arms going around his neck as she hugged him. John froze for a second, and then hugged her back, holding her small, warm, fragile body against him.

He didn't want to think about what it meant, that she could move without his help. He didn't want to consider her leaving, he didn't his life to go back to normal. Everything would be so much worse, knowing what he was missing. The Misfits, and Sammy, and yes, maybe even Jim. He'd fallen in love with their youthful energy, even through the darkness of their past and present. But Sammy was healing, slowly, her body knitting back together, and she couldn't stay here forever.

"Thank you, daddy," she whispered into his ear, and those words were unexpectedly precious.

A/N: Yes, I'm back! I finished NaNoWriMo early, so I'm posting early! Sorry about the wait, but I'm now finished the story, so updates should be less sporadic. Maybe every two days or so? Anyways, I'd better let you get on with your lives, but I hope you enjoy the story! If you do… Leave a review! (Look, I even made it rhyme!) See you again soon for the next chapter.