Chapter 15: Difficult

"Dah,"

"Yes, Hamish?"
"Green one."

"You want to wear the green shirt? Alright then."

"Mummy's eye green."

"That's right; Mum's eyes are green. Now, hold still while I put this on you-Right, there we go. Where does mum put your trousers, young man?"

"Dare in up drawer."

"The top drawer, you mean."

"Mhm, up."

"It's called the…Okay then."

"Dah,"

"Yes, Hamish?"

"Love you."

"I love you too."

I can't help but smile as I watch Sherlock dress our eager toddler from the bedroom archway. I felt too bad to ask Mrs. Hudson to watch him tonight so I texted John a while ago to see if it was okay to bring him to dinner. It, of course, was fine; John would never pass up an opportunity to hang out with Hamish. He truly loves that boy and the feeling is mutual.

Also, Sherlock didn't want to spend any more time away from his son. "Three years is enough," he had said when we went down stairs to get him, "I'm not missing another moment." That's what has lead to him dressing Hamish right now; I told Sherlock that it was going to be a challenge, but apparently I was wrong. Hamish has been very clam and still for his father. Usually he's bouncing off the walls and running away from me as if clothes were the worst things in the world. Now, he's smiling and chatting with Sherlock and being extremely good. I must get Sherlock to tell me his secret.

"There we go," Sherlock says, placing on Hamish's last shoe, "all done."

"Tank you." Hamish giggles.

"Oh, your very welcome, young man." Sherlock chuckles, sitting the boy upright on the bed, "Thank you for being so good."

"Can wear 'carf?"

"You want to wear my scarf,"

"Mhm."

"I think you should let Dad wear it tonight, Hamish," I say, entering the room, "After all, he hasn't worn it in quite a while." Sherlock turns to face me then smiles.

"You look beautiful," he says, admiring my dark blue cocktail dress and matching flats.

"You don't look so bad yourself," I reply, adjusting the collar of his black blazer. He is wearing his old black suit with the white button up and he looks just as he did the last time I saw him wearing it. Yes, he is thinner but his clothes don't hang off of him like an extra layer of skin. He's handsome and dapper, to say the least.

"I have something for you," I tell him and Sherlock furrows his brow in confusion. With a small smile, I hold out my right hand to him; Resting in my palm is his wedding band. "John brought it home to me the day you…you know." I go on, "I've kept it safe. Even wore it everyday on a chain around my neck just so I wouldn't loose it." I slip the ring back onto its proper place on his hand: "Perfect fit."

"I-I thought I'd lost it." Sherlock says, staring at the ring in amazement, "When I noticed it wasn't there when I woke up, I panicked. I thought it had slipped off or the paramedics had taken it into evidence. I was worried it was gone for good." His eyes then turn to me: "Thank you, darling."

We exchange a quick kiss on the lips and a small embrace. When we part, Sherlock dawns his old coat and roll his shoulders back as if to get fully comfortable in it again. I pick up Sherlock's scarf from off the bed and gently wrap it around his neck. Yes, now he looks like my Sherlock.

"Mum," Hamish complains, "my 'carf!"

"Hamish Arthur, there is no need to whine," I say, "You need to share." Hamish folds his little arms across his chest and pouts. I'm about to say something, but Sherlock places his hand up to stop me.

"Tell you what," Sherlock says, sitting beside him, "I'll wear it to dinner and then you can wear it on our way home. Sound good?" Hamish ponders for a moment then gives his father an affirmative nod; "Good man," Sherlock says, placing a soft kiss on his son's forehead. Hamish then climbs into his father's lap and wraps his arms around Sherlock's neck to give him a hug. Sherlock holds him in return and smiles at me.

"You're a natural," I say, slipping on my blue coat.

"If you say so," Sherlock replies, carefully rising up off the bed and adjusting Hamish onto his hip, "I've never been good with kids, you know. If you recall, the last child that saw me screamed out of fear."

"That was a completely different experience," I point out, "one that I hope we never have to talk about ever again."

"Sorry," Sherlock says, sheepishly. He then turns his attention to Hamish, who has become fascinated with the collar of his father's coat. Sherlock's expression soon becomes one of fear and doubt as he gently strokes his son's cheek. "What's going to happen when I start getting sick?" he asks.

"How do you mean?"

"The withdrawal, Fee. The headaches have already started and I imagine the next few days I will find it difficult to even get out of bed. I can't bear the idea of him seeing me like that." Sherlock pauses for a moment as Hamish looks up at him and smiles. He smiles back and gives the boy a tight hug: "I love you, Hamish," he whispers to the boy, "never forget that."

Taking a deep breath, I take Sherlock's hand into my own and give it a tight squeeze: "We are going to get through this," I tell him, gazing into his eyes, "Trust me." Sherlock gives me a half mouth smirk and we exchange a quick kiss. I know that he is nervous about withdrawal and by all means he should be. But I'm not going to let him slip away; for years, he has been my rock when things went bad and now it's my turn to be his. I won't leave him. Never.

After a few moments, and Hamish insisting that he walk down the stairs without any help, we head toward the front door.

"Cab?" Hamish asks placing his hands against the wall for support as he takes each step one at a time.

"No, Hamish," Sherlock replies, "we have a ride to the restaurant."

"We do?" I ask, genuinely confused.

"There are some loose ends I need to tie up," he explains, "So, while you were occupied, I found my old phone and…texted my brother."

Unamused, I roll my eyes. I really don't want to deal with Mycroft right now. He never told me that Sherlock was alive; yes, I understand that Sherlock needed to stay under the radar, but Mycroft could have at least given me some sort of clue as to his whereabouts.

"I don't want to talk to him," I say rather quickly.

"You don't have to," Sherlock says, "You can just sit in the car, awkwardly quiet and reserved."

"Are you being funny?"

"Trying too." Sherlock wraps an arm around my shoulders and kisses the top of my head: "I know you're upset with him and I'm not asking you to forgive him," he whispers into my hair, "but don't be angry, darling. I can't stand to see you angry."

"Then you shouldn't have called your brother." I reply. We lock eyes and I sigh heavily; "I'll be civil. I promise."

"Thank you."

Hamish reaches the door first and quickly turns around to face us: "I did it!" he squeals with a proud smile.

"Well done, honey." I congratulate. Hamish giggles then takes his father's hand into his own. Sherlock smiles at him and gives the toddler's hand a tight squeeze. I smile at my two wonderful men then open the front door.

The cold London air immediately hits my face and I wrap my coat around my frame much tighter. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Sherlock prop his coat collar up against his sharp cheeks. I can't help but giggle. He gives me a questioning look but then relaxes as soon as he figures out the reason behind my laughter.

"Old habits die hard," he says, nudging my arm.

"Don't lie: You've missed doing that," I tease. We laugh like we use to then walk down the steps; Hamish more or less jumps down, gently tugging his father's arm along the way.

A sleek black car is waiting for us. As soon as we reach the last step, the back door swings open almost like it was automatic. I let out an annoyed sigh and follow Sherlock and Hamish inside the car. 'Be an adult, Fee,' I tell myself, 'You'll be fine.'

"My!" Hamish squeals upon seeing his uncle, seated parallel to him.

"Evening, Hamish," Mycroft says in the 'nicest' voice he can muster, "How are you?"

"Look! Dah home!" Hamish says, situating himself on Sherlock's lap.

"Yes, I see that." Mycroft replies. He then turns a sort of condescending eye to Sherlock: "Evening, brother."

Sherlock just gives him a quick nod then wraps his arms tightly around the boy as the car starts to get underway. I sit beside my husband and immediately look out the window.

"Always a pleasure, Elfie," Mycroft says to me but I just give him a polite smile then turn away again; I don't have to talk to Mycroft, I just have to be civil.

"You seem to be quickly adapting to fatherhood, Sherlock." Mycroft says, turning his attention to his brother again, "It suits you."

"Mycroft, lets put the amiable small talk aside," Sherlock states, "As I told you via text, I completely end my contract with the government: I will not and can not be chasing down high profile criminals for you anymore."

My ears perk up at the sound of this declaration. Ending his contract? Is that what it was when he was tracking down those criminals?

"Surely you're not giving up on being a detective." Mycroft quips, "What else would you do with your life?"

"I didn't say that," Sherlock says, "I plan on returning to my previous employment once I'm…well established again. However, I don't know when that will be but until that time comes, I wish to be left alone with my family."

"I never expected those words to come from your mouth, baby brother. I must say you've taken me by surprise."

"If you haven't figured it out yet, Mycroft, I am just full of surprises."

I chuckle at my husband's smart remark and place my hand on his thigh. Oh how I've missed his arrogant sass.

"Well, as happy as I for you accepting your role as a husband and father, there is still a particular matter that needs clearing up," Mycroft goes on, "The matter of the men and women whom you've been tracking down these past three years."

"I turned in the ones I could to you," Sherlock quickly snaps, "and Sebastian Moran was the last on the list. He's dead so that's me finished; what more do you want with me?"

"Explanations," Mycroft replies, "the reason and/or reasons for why you only handed over 6 individuals over the course of three years."

"I'd rather not discuss that in front of my son," Sherlock states, sounding very cold and stern.

"I'm not as ignorant as you think, baby brother." Mycroft coolly replies, "I can see that your health…isn't as top notch as it should be. Could that possibly be part of the reason so many of the criminals, whom you promised me you'd turn in, are MIA as it were?"

"I said I didn't want to talk about in front of Hamish," Sherlock snaps, "I'm not discussing this right now."

It's quiet.

The air is tight.

Things have definitely taken a darker turn.

I nervously suck my lower lip and close my eyes. Part of me wonders how many of Moriarty's men Sherlock has killed, but I know that my heart wouldn't be able to take it. He's right, though: this isn't the time or place to discuss the matter.

"Must be nice for you to have Sherlock back, Elfie?" Mycroft asks almost in a taunting way, "I imagine that must have been quiet difficult for you, brother."

"I would have preferred to have him back sooner," I snap, "but apparently you saw it fit not to tell me that he was even alive."

Sherlock clears his throat as he sets a hand on top of my own. I look into his eyes and read his subtext: 'it's not worth getting into a fight over. I'm home now. Let it go.'

"I can assure you, Elfie," Mycroft goes on, "that if it wasn't for my brother's persistence, I would have told you that he was alive. I'm sure Sherlock has told you why he had to keep his whereabouts a secret."

"Yes, he did. He told me everything." I reply, "But that doesn't change the fact that you lied to me. Surely in your heart, Mycroft, you must have realized the affect Sherlock's absence would have on this family."

"I did, yes, however…"

"Work came first." I finish for him, "That's how it's always been, hasn't it? That was the same thought you had when you turned Sherlock's story over to that maniac. Did you…"

"Elfie," Sherlock warns and I give him a quick look. Realizing that I may have just taken back my promise to be civil, I take a deep breath and return my attention to the befuddled Mycroft.

"I'm…I'm sorry Mycroft," I mumble, "That was out of line. You've…you've been more than helpful when it comes to Hamish and I; I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"Quite alright," Mycroft replies rather plainly, "I understand that over the course of these three years all is not forgiven. My only hope is that one day things may be."

I give him a quick nod then return my gaze toward the window. He's right; all is not forgiven. But maybe with Sherlock's return, we can start to move past our differences. That is a big maybe, of course.

"Dah," Hamish quips in to break the awkward tension, looking up at his father's face, "dare yet?"

"Just a few more blocks, Hamish," Sherlock assures him.

"Den we see Jawn?"

"Yes, we will see John then."

"Are you ready to see him, Sherlock?" Mycroft asks, "Given that the last time you and Doctor Watson saw each other…"

"Mycroft, when I texted you to pick us up, I was under the impression that you were not going to make this evening a complete wreck." Sherlock says with an icy sting to his voice, "Since getting in the car, you have managed to upset my wife, pry into matters that I clearly don't wish to discuss in front of my toddler, and now you are pushing a topic that obviously does not concern you."

"As you did just state, baby brother, you did text me." Mycroft quips back, "You didn't have too."

I roll my eyes at Mycroft's egotistical reply and Sherlock catches that out of the corner of his eye: "Stop the car." He states.

"Excuse me?" Mycroft asks, more shocked then insulted.

"Fee, do you still have the address on your phone?" Sherlock asks me and I nod, confused by the situation, "Good, we can walk the rest of the way."

"Sherlock, are you…" I start to ask but then stop when I see the anxiousness in my husband's eyes. It's the same look he had when he told me about his drug use. Not wanting to stress him out anymore, I give him an understanding nod.

"Mycroft, please stop the car." Sherlock goes on, facing his brother again, "I realize now that this was a mistake; I'm…I'm not ready to discuss any of this with you just yet. I'll text you at some later point. Good Evening."

Mycroft opens his mouth to protest but stops suddenly. Then I see a different look in his eyes, a look I've never seen before: A look of understanding. He realizes now that the past events of the last three years have changed his brother drastically and possibly have scared him for life. I can also see that Mycroft feels partially responsible for it. He gave up his baby brother's story, which lead to Sherlock being on the run. Now, I think he truly regrets it. For the first time, I can truly see how deeply Mycroft actually cares for his brother. In this moment I see Mycroft in a new light: not as someone who focuses solely on work, but as a concerned older brother.

The car comes to a stop and Sherlock quickly climbs out, tightly holding a rather confused Hamish in his arms. I pause for a moment and lock eyes with my brother-in-law: "Give him time," I quietly say, "he's not back to being Sherlock yet, but he will be. I'll make sure of it."

Mycroft gives me a questioning look, but then nods: "Take care of him, Elfie." He says, "He truly needs you."

I nod then exit the car to join my husband and son. Sherlock is leaning back against the wall of one of the buildings, eyes closed, with Hamish clutching to his leg. I stand beside them and take Sherlock's hand into my own. He doesn't even flinch; he just holds my hand in return.

"Where My going, Mummy?" Hamish asks as we watch the car pull away.

"He has to go back to work," I say, giving my son a warm smile. I then look up at Sherlock: "You okay?"

"I will be." He breathes out, "I…I don't know what happened there, Fee. I just started to feel really tense and almost like I couldn't breathe."

"Hey, it's okay." I say, gently stroking his cheek, "You don't have to explain yourself. I'm not going to lie and say that Mycroft wasn't prying, but that's not what you should be thinking about right now. Right now, you need to focus on seeing John."

"That's the thing though: What if John doesn't want to see me?"

"Trust me, John wants to see you. You're still his best friend and he's missed you. You're worried about nothing." I think about my last statement for a moment: I don't know how John will react to Sherlock's return thus I really don't know if he is worried about nothing. Doesn't matter: it's out of my hands: "Let's just go to dinner, okay love?"

Sherlock lets out a heavy sigh and finally opens his eyes. He looks at me and nods: "I love you," he says, kissing my forehead.

"I love you too." I reply, "Lets go."

Sherlock adjusts his collar and straights up: "Sorry about that Hamish," he says, "can you walk the few blocks to the restaurant or do you want me to carry you?"

"Walk!" Hamish practically squeals, coming between Sherlock and I and grabbing both of our hands, "I can do it." Sherlock and I exchange a proud look and the three of us start heading toward the restaurant.

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After an about fifteen minute walk (and Hamish stopping about 10 times to pick up various bits of gravel to only then toss aside), we finally reach the restaurant. It's a bit fancier then I had anticipated which makes me regret that we brought along our eager toddler. The front room is closed off from the actual dining area, which two very well dressed waiters guard the entrance to. A maitre d is taking reservations at a small wooden podium by the front door and he immediately gives us a judgmental look when we enter.

"Good God, I feel like I'm walking in to the ballroom on the Titanic," I whisper to Sherlock, "I'm underdressed."

"As I stated earlier at home, darling, you look beautiful," Sherlock whispers back, "Do you mind asking that stuffy, little man where John is sitting? I don't like the look he's giving us."

I roll my eyes and kneel down to my son's level: "Hamish," I say, "we are in a very nice restaurant which means you must be on your best behavior while we're here, okay?"

"Mhm," Hamish says with a nod, "Jawn here?"

"Yes, John is inside with Mary. Mummy has to go talk to the man at the podium. Wait here with Daddy, okay?"

"Mhm."

I place a soft kiss on his forehead then walk over to the podium: "Hi, um, we're actually meeting someone here."
"Name?" the maitre d asks in a rather annoyed toned.

"Watson. John Watson."

"Go on through. You can give leave your coats over there."

"Thanks very much." I turn back to my family and give them the nod to head inside. Sherlock and I remove our coats and hand them over to the waiting valet. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Sherlock start to look over his shoulder nervously as if he were checking if he was followed.

No, wait. I understand.

"Honey, you've been dead for three years." I whisper, gently pulling him close by the arm, "No one is going to recognize you." Sherlock smiles sheepishly then stuffs his hands in his pockets. I pick Hamish up and rest him on my hip, and then the two waiters open the dinning room doors. Geez, this is different.

Immediately, I spot John and Mary at a far back table. I start to walk toward them, but stop when I notice Sherlock isn't following. He is frozen in the doorway; just staring at table his former best friend is sitting at. There are about 20 different emotions on his face right now: fear, doubt, happiness, excitement, relief, confusion, the list could go on. There is a sort of insecurity about him right now; an insecurity that can only be described as nervousness. As always, the affect John has on Sherlock is a mystery to me. No one, not even me, can muster that kind of reaction out of him.

"Hey," I whisper, setting a hand on his shoulder, which seems to be enough to break him out of this little trance.

"Huh, oh!" he says, sounding very much not like himself, "I…I just, um…Can you give me a minute?"

"Love, it's okay to be nervous." I tell him, "It's understandable."

"No, I know, I mean…I'll meet you at the table. Give me a minute." And with that Sherlock rushes back out the door.

"Where Dah going?" Hamish asks me, gently tugging at my collar.

"I don't know, honey," I reply, heading toward the table again, "but we mustn't tell John and Mary that Dad is here, okay?"
"Why?"

"Well, you know how John hasn't seen Dad in a long time? This is sort of a surprise for him."

"Ohh. Secret?"
"Yes, it's a secret."
"Oh-tay! I no tell Jawn."

"Elfie!" John exclaims when we get to the table, "Hey stranger." We wrap each other in a tight embrace and exchange friendly kisses on the cheek. As I pass Hamish over so that he can give his godfather a proper hug, I go to Mary and give her a tight hug.

"Hey, happy birthday." She says, "You feeling any older?"
"Not really," I reply, "Sorry we're a tad late."

"It's no trouble at all," John says, setting Hamish down in the already set up high chair, "We understand how much trouble this little one can be." He playfully pokes at Hamish's tummy causing the toddler to happily giggle. I smile then take my seat beside John (Mary is sitting parallel to us).

They had already ordered a bottle of wine and we immediately started chatting. Even as we are placing our food orders and continuing to chat, I keep looking over to the door to see if Sherlock has come back inside. I know he's nervous, but I wish he'd told me where he was going. A darker part of my mind thinks that he went to buy some cigarettes to calm his nerves. God, I hope that's not the case.

"Waiting for someone?" John jests, nudging my arm.

"Huh, oh no." I reply, "Just spacing out."

"Is everything okay?" Mary asks, "John told me about what happened yesterday; the phone message."
"Oh, yeah. I'm okay." I reply, sipping my wine, "It was…nerve-wracking to say the least. It's hard to describe really."

"Oh, hon'." Mary says, taking my hand into her own, "I'm sorry."

"For what? There's nothing to apologize for. I'm okay, really; I had my meltdown for a bit and now I'm okay, honest."

"Wow," John says, "you do seem genuinely okay."

"Would I lie to you, John?"

"No, no, I mean-Well, you did hear your husband's voice for the first time since his death. Most women would fall apart."
"As you well know, my dear Doctor Watson; I'm not 'most women'." I tease with a smirk, "Besides…something's happened that's brightened my mood."
"Oh?" Mary asks, perking up a bit, "Do tell!"

"It secret!" Hamish suddenly joins in, lifting his head up from the sort of art he's making with a bread roll, "Fur Jawn."

"A surprise for me?" John asks, giving me a questioning look.

There are suddenly butterflies in my stomach and I can't help but smile: "I'll explain in a bit, I promise." I say, seeing that Sherlock hasn't returned yet, "But you said that you two have an announcement. Do tell."
John sighs heavily and leans back in his chair: "Yeah, um, we do." He says, "Fee, you…you can move Hamish's stuff up to my bedroom."

"Oh?" I ask; playing along because I can already tell were this conversation is going.

"Yeah, you see, Mary and I-Well, we've decided that we should move in together." John goes on, "We thought it would make the most sense given our current situation."

"Current situation?" I ask,

John sighs again then he and Mary exchange a quick look. He gives her an affirming nod and with in seconds Mary holds up her left hand to me. On her ring finger, just as I suspected, is a sparkling diamond ring. I giggle excitedly and stand up to give my by best girlfriend a hug.

"Oh my god," I say, "I knew it! This is amazing. I'm…I'm…Oh my god!"

"I know, I know." Mary giggles, "I'm getting married."

We both laugh, and I then turn to John and nearly tackle him with an embrace: "Congrats John." I whisper in his ear, "Seriously, I couldn't be happier for you."

"Thank you, Fee," he replies, tearing up a bit, "You know, things finally seem right again. I think…I think I can let go now." We hold each other for a bit longer and then finally separate. "So what do you think, Hamish?" John asks the smiling toddler, "How would you like it if Mary joined our family?"

"Mary!" Hamish squeals, holding his arms out to her.

"I'll take that as a yes," Mary says, taking Hamish into her arms and bouncing him in her lap. I look at John and see a smile on his face that I haven't seen in a genuinely long time. He's happy: unbelievably, utterly, happy. It seems that he's finally found what he was looking for after all these years of turmoil. John's found someone and he can finally move on.

Move on.

But Sherlock's still alive.

Sherlock is planning on revealing himself to John tonight.

The night he's announced his engagement.

Crap.

"Alright, your turn." John says, "What's this surprise, Elfie?"

My eyes go wide as my thoughts collect in my brain: what will he say now? Sherlock can't just show up and expect John to be over the moon; John's finally moved on, he even said so.

"Elfie, you okay?" Mary asks, "You seem a bit in shock."
"Yeah, yeah, it's just…I don't know how to say this." I then turn my attention to John. I take both his hands into my own and take a deep breath: "John, something…something happened last night."

"How do you mean?" he asks, "Everything alright?"

"Yes, everything's fine; more than fine actually." I say, "It's just, um, only…God, this is harder then I thought it was going to be." A lump develops in my throat and suddenly I'm at a loss for words. Oh God, what am I going to say?

"Excuse me, sir, do you need something?" Mary asks. John and I both turn to look at whose she's addressing and I suddenly feel a surge of relief. John, on the other hand, has lost all color to his cheeks. Finally, he speaks in a soft voice:

"Sherlock."

"John, I owe you a thousand apologize."

Hello my lovely readers,

This was hard to write, I'm not going to lie. Writer's block is no fun. Period.

Any who, I hope you all enjoyed. Sherlock's last line is in fact from the book; I only changed 'My dear Watson' to 'John' because this Sherlock doesn't call his companion by his last name. For those who have mentioned it to me, Hamish's speech pattern is based off of my own little nieces who are about the same age. It's hard to understand, yes, but that's just how little one's are :).

Thanks as always for the lovely comments and favorites and follows. You all are the best. Things are winding down in this story but I am working on another one (on a side note, I'm staring a Star Trek fic as well. Crossing my fingers that it turns out well.)

I do not own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon.

Much love and many thanks