Chapter 20: The Genius and His Son

'Breaking News: Internet detective back from the dead and innocent.'

'Sherlock Holmes: Alive and Telling the Truth.'

'His Last Big Scheme: How Sherlock Holmes managed to fool the world.'

'Back on the Case: Sherlock Holmes is alive and as clever as ever.'

The news was everywhere. Every magazine, every paper and every new station all read the same headline: Sherlock Holmes, formerly of Internet crime solving fame, is back from the dead. Due to the success of at the press conference, the entire world now knew of Moriarty's plan to debunk Sherlock's reputation and how he had seemingly succeeded in it. To be honest, I was quite shocked on how immediate the press took to this information. I expected a lot of hate and 'this is just another scheme. He's lying' but surprisingly there wasn't. Instead, they were just fascinated:
"Mr. Holmes, how on Earth did you pull this off?"
"Did you know what Moriarty was planning?"

"Where have you been these past three years?"

"Can you tell us where your career goes from here?"

My personal favorite response was from Sgt. Donovan. We bumped into her on our way out of Scotland Yard and her look was simply priceless. She was carrying a bunch of papers, but immediately dropped them when her eyes met Sherlock's. Her eyes widened and all color drained from her face:

"You…you…here." She stuttered and Sherlock just smirked at her.

"Care for help with those?" he asked, "No? Ah well, in that case then, see you soon Sally. Afternoon." Then with a click of his tongue, Sherlock strode past her with his coat whisking behind him. I couldn't hide my smile as I followed him; I know it's catty of me to say, but man am I glad to see her utterly embarrassed.

It has begun to feel like the old days again what with the press delving into (or at least attempting to) Sherlock's personal life. He's even more of a mystery to them then before: if anything, they've become way more interested in him then they ever were. He's gone from 'the detective in the deer stalker' to 'the man who fooled the world'. Sherlock is the story of the century, which makes me both proud and worried. I'm just afraid that they'll turn on him again.

When we left the press conference, Sherlock, John and I exited out a different way, unfortunately leaving Lestrade to deal with the hyped up reporters. Once we were clear of the building and safely in a cab in route to Baker Street, I expressed my feelings to my husband: "So what…what happens now?"

"We go home to our son, relax for tonight and then go from there." Sherlock replied rather matter of factly, "Why? Does that not seem suitable to you?"

"No, well, I mean-I don't know," I said, "I guess I'm just worried that things could go down hill again."

"Darling, that's not going to happen," he said, kissing the top of my head, "I promise you that."

"But how can you promise something like that?" John asked from the front seat.

I watched as Sherlock just turned his head to gaze out the window and sighed heavily: "Because this time I won't let my guard down." He replied, "This time, there won't be a Jim Moriarty to mess everything up. This time…I won't fail."

The first few days after the press conference have been quiet around the flat. Sherlock's still on the mend, but his health seems to regaining now that he doesn't have to worry about fixing his reputation. He now spends hours either on his computer, exchanging emails with Lestrade, or doing miscellaneous experiments just like he use to. He hasn't returned to actually going out to crime scenes and such just yet; he claims that he's not well enough, but in my heart I believe that he's nervous.

Technically, Sherlock's been out of the game for three years. Just like any other person who hasn't been at something for a long time, he's afraid that he might not be as good as he was. I know that's not true and so does everyone else. It's no secret, though, that Sherlock's self-confidence has been compromised over the years. He just needs the extra push to get him back out there. After that, I'm sure he'll be shooting off witty insults and solving crimes in a matter of no time.

On this January evening, I trudge up the stairs to the living room, simply exhausted after working all day. I've gone back to working 9 to 5, Monday through Friday at the museum, but I'm seriously considering about changing that. Call it being sappy and overbearing, but I just can't stand being away from my family for that long. Tonight was my first late shift where I had work past 5 and I couldn't stand it. Maybe I am turning into an overbearing mother.

As I reach the archway, I immediately notice how eerily quite and calm the flat is. I left Sherlock and Hamish alone together today so there should be some sort of disarray, but surprisingly everything seems in place. Did they go out and Sherlock just forgot to tell me? Sherlock had mentioned taking Hamish to the lab.

"Sherlock?" I call out, slowly setting my bag down by the coat rack.

"In here, darling," Sherlock replies from the kitchen. With a sigh of relief, I remove my coat and head toward the sound of my husband's voice. My heart immediately fills with joy as I spot Sherlock, dressed in his black trousers and purple shirt, balancing an extremely happy Hamish in his lap while he gazes into Sherlock's microscope. During the first months of my pregnancy, I dreamed of a sight like this and now that it's a reality…I guess, it's just hard to believe.

"Now, Hamish," Sherlock instructs as he fixes his steady hold on the eager toddler, "Look very carefully. Tell me what you see."

"Nut-ting Daddy." Hamish replies sounding rather frustrated.

"Try this," Sherlock coaches as he gently adjusts the knobs on the side of the microscope: "Now, just like before. Look. Really look." As I watch my boys at work, I can't help but remember the time when Sherlock first showed me how to study evidence under a microscope:

"I…I don't see anything different. Its just dirt."

"Try this. Now, look. Really look. Don't think about the obvious. Just look."

"Hold it. That's it! I can see it!

"I see! I see!" Hamish squeals. Out of the corner of his eye, he then notices me in the doorway, "Mummy! Mummy, look!" He quickly scrambles out of Sherlock's hold and wobbles his way toward me, "I helping Dad!"

"I see that, Hamish," I say, kneeling down to his love to meet him in a tight embrace. My son wraps his pudgy arms around my neck and places a huge kiss on my cheek.

"Oh I've missed you, sweetheart," I coo, scooping the boy up into my arms and standing upright, "What have you and Daddy been up to all day?"
"X-tier-a-mints." Hamish slowly sounds out, furrowing his brow in concentration.

"Experiments, is that so?" I say, walking over to Sherlock's side, "I hope it was nothing too exciting for you Hamish."

"It was perfectly safe, Fee," Sherlock mumbles as he takes his turn to look into the microscope, "do you really think I'd let him help with something that wasn't? Honestly, I'm not that reckless."

"I know. I trust you." I chuckle, placing Hamish on my hip, "But dare I ask what the experiment was?"
"I show you, Mummy." Hamish says with a giggle, "Look!" He digs through the pocket of his light blue pajama trousers and pulls out a small, clear bouncy ball.

"You…made a toy ball?" I ask, giving Sherlock an 'I'm very impressed' look

"A mixture of borax, glue, water and corn starch." Sherlock states, still not looking up from his microscope, "It's not that difficult really; I mixed the solutions but Hamish stirred the concoction. But we do have one major rule with it, don't we Hamish."

"Mhm," Hamish says with a nod, "Don't throw inside."

"Good man," Sherlock replies with a smirk, "Can't risk breaking anything, now can we?"

"Well, that's…that's quite an amazing experiment." I say, turning my attention back to Hamish, "Well done, little one." Hamish giggles then places another big kiss on my cheek. I kiss him back and then set him down so that he can run off to the living room to play with his homemade toy. I then set my hands on Sherlock's shoulders and place a kiss on the top of his head: "What's under the microscope?"

"Tissue from a human liver," Sherlock states rather nonchalantly, "Lestrade wanted me to take a look at it. Apparently, the former owner of this liver died of alcohol poisoning, but Lestrade's not convinced. Hamish and I went by the lab to pick it up shortly after he called me. He was very well behaved and quite fascinated by all the science equipment."

"Sherlock, if that's just a piece of the tissue, then where is the liver?"

"In the fridge, second shelf, red container to the right."

"Sherlock!"

"Where else was I to put it? Molly said that it wouldn't keep for long-Oh, she says hello by the way."

"Oh, well, hello then." I reply sheepishly. Molly and I sort of fell out of contact after Sherlock's 'death', but I now understand why. She was the only one who knew he was still alive and the responsibility to keep that a secret couldn't have been easy for her. Maybe now that things have cleared up, we can try being friends again.

Pushing the thought away for now, I gently wrap my arms around Sherlock's shoulders and gently rest my head on his shoulder. He lets out that lovely baritone chuckle of his and I can see a small smile grow across his lips.

"Why is it you always manage to distract me from my work?" he teases in a soft tone.

"Sorry to be such a bother," I reply, kissing his neck. Sherlock looks up from his sample and turns around so that we are eye to eye.

"Come here," he whispers and before I know it, Sherlock has pulled me onto his lap and is kissing me on the lips. Happily, I kiss him back. Today must be a good day then; those seem to be more common then the bad ones.

"I missed you today," he says as our lips part, "I…I wasn't feeling that well this afternoon while Hamish was sleeping and, well, I needed you."

"What was it?" I ask, taking note of the distress in his voice. Guess it really wasn't that good of a day.

"To be honest with you, love, I can't really explain it." He says with a heavy sigh, "I just felt so…alone. Of course I wasn't; that's a stupid way to put it. But I couldn't think properly and everything seemed to be reminding me of where I've been and…and what I did. I tried to sleep it off, but that only made it worse. I felt dizzy and my whole body ached and I soon as I closed my eyes, the memories started flooding in which only lead to-"

"The nightmares." I finish for him and Sherlock gives me a small nod.

"I can't live like this forever, Fee." He goes on, "This constant game of 'will I be okay today or not' is too much and, quite frankly, it's inconvenient to me."

"I know, Sherlock, honestly I do. You're going to get better, I promise you that." I reply, smiling at his latter comment, "and you now you could've called me at work if you were feeling that bad. I'll always drop whatever I'm doing to come home."

"Yes, but you shouldn't have too," he says with a hint of sadness, "I'm a grown man, I should be able to care for myself as well as my son." His gaze then shifts to Hamish who is contently flipping through one of his picture books in the living room, "Do you know what our son told me today?"

"What?" I ask.

"He said that he wanted to be just like me when he grew up," Sherlock replies, looking back at me, "He called me his hero. I've never been someone's hero before, Fee, I…I don't quite know how to take it."

"Hey," I whisper, cupping his face in my hands, "You've always been my hero, Sherlock Holmes, and you've never done anything to make me think otherwise."

Sherlock gives me a small smirk and pulls me in even closer to his body; "You've always been a mystery to me, Elfie Marie." He says, "I've never been able to figure it out."

"Figure what out?"

"Why you continue to stay with me."

"It's because I love you, you idiot." I chuckle, playfully hitting my husband's shoulder, "That shouldn't be a mystery to you. It's rather-how would you say it-obvious?"
Sherlock chuckles and we kiss again, but this time much deeper then before. Deciding that we probably shouldn't start making out while out son is in the next room; I get up from Sherlock's lap and start to pick up some the miscellaneous dishes around the kitchen. When left alone all day, my boys will boys, so a few dirty dishes doesn't surprise me. Plus, I gave Sherlock dinner responsibilities; based on the amount of dishes and the state of them, I don't even want to know how that went.

"Mummy, look!" Hamish shouts from the living room, "Dad on TV!" Both Sherlock and I exit the kitchen and go to see what Hamish is watching. It doesn't surprise me that by the age of 2 he's learned how to use the remote; he is a Holmes after all. Sure enough, it is some random news program doing a report on how the great Sherlock Holmes faked his death and fooled the world. That's all that seems to be on television these days.

"Mummy," Hamish giggles, "You see? Dat Daddy!" Before I can even say anything, Sherlock snatches up the remote from Hamish's hands and turns the television off. Almost immediately, the toddler's bottom lip is out and that look of sadness fills his eyes.

"Daddy," Hamish begins to whine but Sherlock puts up an affirmative hand.

"Hamish, we've already had this discussion today." He explains, "You ask your mother or I if you can watch telly. You can not turn it on by yourself."

"Why?" Hamish whines, folding his arms across his chest

"Because, that's the rule." Sherlock replies, "It's not open for discussion."

I furrow my brow in confusion at Sherlock's scolding; it is a reasonable rule, yes, but I don't think there's a need to get so harsh about it. It's just television; what kind of trouble could a 2 year old...oh, wait. Now I understand.

"Hamish, why don't you go pick out a book and I'll be up to read to you in a bit," I say, wanting to get my husband alone so that we can talk, "Sound good?"

"Dull." Hamish pouts, "I want TV."

"With that kind of attitude, you won't get anything." I scold, "Now, go to your room." With a huff and a roll of his eyes, Hamish gets up and heads to his bedroom. "Honestly, it scares me how much he's like you." I say, turning to address Sherlock, "Now, do you want to talk to me about what just happened?"

"What about it?" Sherlock grumbles, plopping down into his armchair, "I was being a father; I don't want Hamish's brain to be muddled by the utter crap on television."

"Sherlock, I'm not stupid," I say, taking a seat in the armchair across from him, "You don't want Hamish to see any of the news coverage about you, I get it. But I don't think you should be so harsh about it."

Sherlock gives off a heavy sigh and taps his fingers impatiently along the edge of the armrests. A look of utter distress comes across his face as he speaks: "I…I don't want him to know about what I did."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean that I don't want my son to know that I was once considered the biggest fraud in all of London." He practically spits out, "If Hamish sees any of these reports, then he'll start asking questions and I can't bring myself to tell him about the past.

That little boy thinks so highly of me that…that I couldn't bare it if he knew what the world use to think of me. There probably still are those who think that I'm no good, that I'm a…freak."

He takes in a deep breath and rests his elbows on his knees; "I never cared about what others thought of me," he goes on, running his fingers through his curls, "but if there is one fear that I always had, that I still have, it's that any form of negative press gets to those closest to me. I don't want you and Hamish to be affected by what the papers say about me. This is my own battle to fight and I can't have either of you harmed by it." Sherlock gazes down at the floor for a moment and rests his hands under his chin: "You know I've never second guess myself, Elfie." He says in a low voice, "But to tell you the truth, love…I think I've made a terrible mistake by coming back."

Those words hit me like a knife to the heart. He can't mean that. No, absolutely not. He doesn't mean it. "Sherlock, don't say that. Don't ever say that," I snap, shaking my head in disbelief, "How…how could you even think something like that?"

Picking up on the sadness in my voice, Sherlock quickly lifts his head and lock his eyes with mine: "No, no, Elfie I didn't-You misunderstand me, darling," he goes on, standing up and coming to my side, "I could never speak of you and Hamish in that way, never. I…Damn it, that came out all wrong didn't it?" He immediately kneels in front of me and cups my face in his hands. Very gently, Sherlock strokes his thumbs across my cheeks as those mesmerizing eyes gaze deeply into my own. I can see the genuine hurt in those sea foam orbs of his and my own eyes start to fill with tears.

"I'm so sorry, my darling." He apologizes, "I wasn't talking about being back with my family, please understand that."

"Sherlock, what…what did you mean then?" I sniffle, stroking my hands down his arms

"I'm talking about being back in the limelight." He explains, "I regret making such a spectacle of myself. Things were so much simpler when I could just solve my cases and be done with it, not having to dodge cameras and irritating reporters. Back before Moriarty, back before the blog-but mind you I don't hold John responsible for the public attention either. But before the fame, I was private and content. Then all of a sudden, I have a public image: The man of little words who wears a deerstalker and solves mysteries in the blink of an eye. I hated it then and now it seems to be coming back. As much as I hate it, I have accepted the fact that I have to deal with this unwanted attention, but that doesn't mean you and Hamish have to as well.

Hamish should have the chance to grow up like any other child and my greatest fear is that because of who I am he won't be able too. He'll be the child of the strange detective and that may lead to-God, I'm not making much sense now am I, Fee?"

I look into his eyes and sigh heavily: "No, I think I know what you mean." I say, "You don't like the press following you around and you're-you're afraid that Hamish may get some of this unwanted attention as well."

"Yes," Sherlock says with a nod, "He…he is so important to me, Elfie. Both of you are; I can't let my personal faults affect either of you. I don't care what the world says about me, but if the press gets to you or Hamish…I don't want to think about what I do." Sherlock then takes my hands into his and places a soft kiss on my knuckles:

"The day I told you that I loved you, I vowed to do everything in my power to please you. When you became my wife, I promised myself to never let you come to harm. And now that we are parents, I'm making another promise: Keeping our lives private is not going to be easy, but I will protect our family with my whole being. I love you both so much and won't let anything harm you. Never forget that, my darling, darling girl, never."

Without really thinking, I wrap my arms around his neck and fall out of the chair and into his arms. Sherlock holds me close and presses his lips against the top of my head as I nuzzle it onto his shoulder. I close my eyes and just relax into his embrace. We remain like this for countless minutes. My entire being is filled with love for this man and I can't help but cry a bit.

"Shh, it's alright." Sherlock coos, gently cradling me, "I've got you my darling, darling girl."

"I know you do." I reply, "You always have."

I always knew that Sherlock had a heart, despite what everyone else thought and or said. He actually has the biggest heart I've ever seen in any human being and they way he shows it is by being cold and protective. His sudden resurrection and return to the public eye will bring challenges to our family, I know that, but now I'm not worried about it. Now, I know that my wonderful, strong genius will protect our family just as he's always protected me. Sherlock Holmes is, and always will be, my guardian angel and I'll never loose faith in him. Ever.

The patter of little feet against the hardwood floor causes us to separate from each other slightly. We both turn our heads to see Hamish, sheepishly standing by the couch with his thumb in his mouth, staring at us. His mop of dark curls is all a mess causing him to look like Sherlock more than ever.

"What is it, sweetheart?" I ask, drying my eyes and sitting up fully.

"I sorry." He says, waddling over us, "I bad." He comes over to me and plops down into my lap, facing me; "I sorry Mummy."

"It's alright, Hamish," I reply, wrapping my arms around him, "Thank you."

"Mad?"

"No, honey, I'm not mad and neither is Daddy."

Hamish then turns slightly to face Sherlock: "I broke rule," he says

"Hamish, it's quite alright," Sherlock says, moving over so that he is sitting beside us, "To be honest, I should be saying sorry too. I…I just got a little upset that's all. I should not have gotten so cross with you."

"It oh-tay," Hamish says before sticking his thumb back in his mouth. Sherlock smiles and places a kiss on Hamish's forehead. He then wraps an arm around me and kisses my cheek

"I love you," he says, resting his free hand on my knee

"I love you too," I say. We exchange another kiss, but are quickly interrupted by Hamish wiggling his way between us.

"Kiss too much." he says causing both Sherlock and I to laugh.

"Alright then, come along," Sherlock says, scooping the boy up into his arms. Sherlock then situates the giggling toddler up onto his broad shoulders and holds him steady by the ankles: "Shall we head off to bed then, young man?"

"Mhm," Hamish replies with a yawn, patting Sherlock's head "Tell story?"

"Let's try something different tonight." Sherlock replies, turning back around to face me, "Darling, could you grab my violin?"

"Sure," I say with a smile. I quickly get up and grab the delicate instrument from his resting place by the window, "A private concert?" I ask following them up to Hamish's room.

"All my concerts are private." Sherlock replies with a smirk, "Now, Hamish, how would you like me to play for you tonight?"

"Music?" Hamish asks giddily.

"Yes, I'll play you some music."

"Mummy can come too?"
"If she'd like," Sherlock turns his head to look at me and gives me a half mouth smile. My heart flutters and I can't hold back my grin.

"I'd love too." I reply

Hello lovelies,

So this didn't turn out the way I wanted but I felt like I needed to show Sherlock's protective father side. I'll go more into it in my next Elfie/Sherlock story (is Elflock still a thing?).

I kind of mentioned in my last post that I've been going through a lot of family things this past week so it was hard for me to find my drive to write. But I did and I hope it makes you guys happy. I have one more chapter left and I'll start posting my next story when I can. For those who may be interested, I posted my first Star Trek story, Meadowlark. Go and check it out and tell me what you think!

Thanks as always for the support and I love you all. I do not own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon.

Much love and many thanks