Two months later
"Oh, look at you!" Marie cheered as Scottie pulled himself up onto his two legs, using the side of the sofa to remain upright.
He'd started crawling recently, and the two twins were often causing chaos and laughter at the Holmes residence as they crawled about everything, getting underneath their grandparents' feet. Not that Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were complaining.
"Come on, Scottie. Come to mama, my precious." Marie encouraged, holding her hands out wide towards Scottie as the child dithered. "Come on."
Scottie waved his hand towards her, reaching for her, but unwilling to give up his hold on the safety of the sofa as he stared at his mother. Marie remained where she was, a few feet away, bent on her knees as she held out her hands.
"Come on, Scottie." She encouraged.
Scottie wavered before he took a ginger step forward. He almost toppled over instantly, but reached back to grab the sofa for support once more, remaining upright though his face scrunched up in annoyance.
'He looks so much like his father when he does that.' Marie mused, before shaking the thought from her head. Best not think about him.
Marie was broken from her thoughts as Scottie abruptly decided he was ready and – pushing himself off the sofa for good measure – took the few stumbling steps towards his mother.
He pitched forward at the end, but Marie deftly caught him, beaming as she praised: "Oh, good boy! Oh, Scottie, well done!"
He gurgled happily, giggling as he fisted Marie's shirt in his small hands. Marie grinned, proud that Scottie was finally also taking his first steps. And, while he'd done it later than Sheryl, he had managed to make it to Marie's arms… more or less. Poor Sheryl had fallen back on her little bottom not two steps away from the sofa on her try.
Though she hadn't cried; instead, her little face had scrunched up in irritation, just like Sherlock's did when something didn't go his way, as she wailed dryly in annoyance at her own limitations. It had amused Marie and Mrs. Holmes to no end, especially when Sheryl tried to get back onto her shaky feet with a look of utmost determination.
"Mamama." Scottie announced to Marie, and she broke from her reminiscence to smile at him.
"All right, let's go get your sister and feed you both." Marie agreed. "Chérie's probably fed up with her grandparents by now anyway."
It amused and exasperated Marie to see her children had apparently inherited Sherlock's disdain of his parents – or rather, of their normality. The twins would only put up with their grandparents' excessive cooing for an hour at a time, after which they cried out once in irritability.
It had delighted Sherlock the first time they'd introduced the twins to his parents, and it seemed that the twins either remembered this encouragement even though Sherlock wasn't here. That, or they really did take after their parents a little too well – particularly their father.
It was as this thought was crossing Marie's mind while she crossed the threshold into the sitting room, when she heard Sheryl's irritable cry: "Bo'ed!"
"Yes, yes, you're bored." Marie sighed, giving Mr. Holmes an apologetic look as she walked over to her daughter, who had been sitting on the floor while her grandparents attempted to entertain her with storybooks.
Sheryl brightened considerably when she spotted her mother and her twin brother in her mother's arms, and she wobbled her way over to Marie. Marie chuckled, scooping up her daughter as she praised: "Ooh, Chérie, you'll be walking about soon!"
"Yes, and then they'll be right terrors." Mrs. Holmes chuckled as she stood up to join her daughter-in-law and grandchildren. "Running around everywhere and falling over at the slightest opportunity."
"Were your children like that?" Marie asked with a soft smile, and Mrs. Holmes's smile was tinged with a slight sorrow as she replied: "Somewhat."
Marie just smiled kindly, when Scottie interrupted impatiently: "Bo'ed!"
"Yes, all right." Marie rolled her eyes. "I almost want to kill Sherlock for teaching you two that word."
"How is he?" Mrs. Holmes questioned. "What could possibly have kept him so busy that he hasn't come to visit you and the children for two months?"
"It's just a delicate case." Marie explained evasively. "And the twins are too young; but I'm sure he'll be back soon."
'He'd better be.' She added more sourly in her mind, suppressing her scowl. Mrs. Holmes sighed.
"Well, he's missing out on so much." She noted, gesturing to the twins, who were growing and changing every day. Marie just smiled lightly, shrugging noncommittally.
"Dadadada." Sheryl said, and Scottie agreed: "Dadada."
"Yes, your daddy'll be here soon." Marie almost sighed, before she forced herself to brighten again. "Now, who's ready for food?"
"Mamama!" The twins cheered, and Mrs. Holmes and Mr. Holmes chuckled as Marie led the twins off, agreeing: "Yes, yes. Food."
Marie sighed as she watched her children sleeping in their cots in the spare bedroom that Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had kindly offered after Marie had arranged for her children to spend time at the Holmes residence.
With the way Sherlock had been behaving ever since Mary's death, well… it was no place for the children. He'd been incredibly doped almost every hour of every day for a week before Marie made the decision to leave 221B. The worst wasn't even when he was so out of it he barely recognized her – for Marie kept him locked out of their bedroom and the twins safely inside while Sherlock rolled around the sitting room floor. No, the worst was when he was incredibly high.
And Marie certainly didn't want her children seeing their father in the state that he had reduced himself to.
'Let's not think about, don't think about it.' Marie told herself, massaging her throbbing temples.
With a sigh, she turned to the open laptop on her desk, settling herself down for another long night.
One month later
Marie's phone rang and she groaned.
Very few people had her number, and she could strike two off the list of potential callers immediately. John wouldn't, and Sherlock wouldn't dare after the way she'd walked out three months ago. Given the time of night, she also highly doubted it was Mrs. Hudson, Molly, or Lestrade. Which only left one person.
"What, Mycroft?" Marie asked more than a little curtly as she answered her phone, and he answered in his normal, emotionless tone: "Good evening, dear sister."
"If you're going to be patronizing, I'm going to hang up." Marie warned, and Mycroft exhaled sharply.
"I merely thought I should inform you that Sherlock has left your - his flat." Mycroft replied smoothly, and Marie snorted inelegantly.
"Thank you, Mycroft." Marie said, sarcasm dripping off her every word. "What else have you got for me? A list of his groceries?"
"It's the first time he's left in weeks." Mycroft said severely. "The last time he left the flat was after you left and he went to purchase even more of his… substances."
"Really? 'Substances'?" Marie mocked, and Mycroft exhaled once more in irritation.
"Why are you doing this, Marie?" He asked at last, sounding thoroughly annoyed and exasperated. "Who are you trying to fool? Me, or yourself, or Sherlock?"
"I don't know what you're trying to say." Marie replied flatly, though there was the slightest edge to her voice, a tone of warning.
"Sherlock gone rogue is a legitimate security concern." Mycroft reminded her severely. "And I thought the whole reason you made your request to myself was because you wanted Sherlock safe."
"I do want him safe." She replied testily. "But I also want my children safe, Mycroft."
"Then leave them with my parents." Mycroft said impatiently. "I will ensure they are carefully watched over; I need you to go in."
"You're not my boss anymore." Marie sneered. "I retired, remember?"
"You and John are the only people he will listen to." Mycroft returned. "And since Dr. Watson insists on being as difficult as you seem intent on being, I am calling you back in. Just speak with my brother."
"I'm not going, Mycroft." Marie snapped. "If Sherlock was going to listen to me, he would've done it before I walked out three months ago. Instead, he's still higher than any kite, and I have children to take care of."
"I cannot contain his every outburst." Mycroft reminded sharply. "The fact that I am his brother changes nothing. I've explained to you before, warned you." Marie's eyes narrowed. "When I offered you your retirement from the secret services, I warned you about what happened before."
"Goodbye, Mycroft." Marie answered severely, but Mycroft wasn't done as he said coldly: "I believe I was quite clear about Sherrinford."
"You were." Marie snapped, and Mycroft replied evenly: "Then if you 'love' Sherlock as you so claim – stop him. Before he is stopped."
She hung up on him.
Three weeks later
Marie cooed at Sheryl while Scottie gurgled happily as he walked about her legs and using her leg to balance himself whenever he felt himself wobble unstably while Marie changed Sheryl's diaper.
The twins were so carefree, she thought with a sad sigh. Not needing to worry about their idiot father, not knowing their mother's heavy heart though it had been slightly lifted the past two weeks after…
Marie's phone rang.
Closing her eyes irritably, Marie counted to ten before looking down at her phone. But when she saw who the caller was, she was moving instantly, grabbing little Scott while pulling the freshly change Sheryl into her other arm.
"Wanda! Tim!" Marie yelled for the elder Holmes couple as she ran.
Some minutes later
The Diogenes Club
"Mr. Holmes."
Mycroft looked up from his paperwork, raising a brow as Anthea held out a tablet device.
"The younger Mrs. Holmes has left your family cottage."
Both Mycroft's brows shot up at that, and he took the tablet as he wondered aloud: "What has made my dear sister-in-law change her mind about not leaving?"
"We're not certain yet." Anthea admitted. "Although, we did track a signal from Mrs. Hudson's mobile to Mrs. Holmes's mobile a few minutes ago. Our people are tracking the car she's driving right now, as you can see on that screen, but I'm told she's driving in a strange pattern."
"What-? Oh." Mycroft exhaled in exasperation as he stared at the tablet screen. It showed the basic roadmap of the area just outside London, and the red line that was tracking Marie's route on the roads.
She was indeed driving in an unconventional pattern but it wasn't hard to tell what she was doing when Mycroft was staring at the red lines on his screen, which connected to form just two words: F*CK U
"I see why she married my brother." Mycroft commented dryly, thinking back to just three weeks ago when Sherlock had done almost exactly the same thing. "She's remarkably similar to my brother… only sans drug habit."
"What would you like me to do?" Anthea questioned, and Mycroft answered as he sat back in his chair: "Get me on the phone with Marie – I have a feeling I will need to step in, again, to prevent her from being fined at the speed she appears to be going at."
It was at that moment that his phone rang while Anthea's beeped. Anthea swiftly handed his to him while simultaneously checking the message she'd received, and she informed Mycroft: "The call is from Mrs. Hudson… and we've just received word that Sherlock Holmes has been carried out of his flat."
Mycroft groaned.
A few minutes later
Outside John's therapist's house
John stood just outside the doorway to his new therapist's house, staring at the chaos that had appeared in the matter of a few seconds.
A red, Aston Martin was parked in the driveway, engines still revving and 'Ode to Joy' blasting from inside, while police sirens blared as two cop cars drove up behind the sports car. And high above, a helicopter whirred as it flew just over their heads, clearly having been following the sports car.
As John stared around incredulously, his therapist said uncertainly as she also stared about from her doorway: "Well, now… won't you introduce me?"
Just then the driver of the sports car opened the door and a very familiar figure stepped out.
John's jaw dropped and he blinked as Mrs. Hudson sighed deeply, closing the door and turning to John with a smile and look of utter relief on her face.
John gaped, as Mrs. Hudson started towards him, when one of the police officers called sharply as he too stepped out of his vehicle: "Right, you there. Stop right where you are."
"Huh?" Mrs. Hudson asked, glancing over in confusion. "What?"
She paused momentarily to look at the officer before turning away, ignoring him as she walked up to John, saying in a mixture of relief and aggravation: "Oh, John..."
"Mrs. Hudson..." John began as he also took a numb step towards the elderly lady, when the police officer demanded as he walked up: "Do you have any idea what speed you were going at?"
Mrs. Hudson turned to the man once more as she answered with a scoff: "Well, of course not, I was on the phone. Oh," she looked down as she remembered and held out her still open mobile to the officer, "it's for you, by the way."
"For me?" The man asked, confused, as he automatically took the mobile, but Mrs. Hudson turned away again as she said impatiently: "It's the government."
She waved him off as she walked over to John, while the officer answered the phone as he mumbled: "The what? Hello?"
"My name is Mycroft Holmes," a voice replied from the other end of the line, "and I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Office."
The officer's face instantly paled and he quickly removed his cap, holding it politely at his side while he listened to Mycroft.
In the meantime, John had taken Mrs. Hudson's hands, asking worriedly: "Look at the state of you! Mrs. H, what's happened?"
"It's Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson answered brokenly, before breaking down into tears and hugging John tightly as she wailed: "You've no idea what I've been through!"
Earlier that morning
221 Baker Street
Mrs. Hudson slowly crept up the stairs from her flat door, making her way nervously up towards Sherlock's flat where she could hear various cries and angry outbursts from Sherlock, accompanied by bangs and crashes as objects were flung about.
Just as she made it to the turn of the stairs, Billy Wiggins came running out of the kitchen, rushing down the stairs in a clear panic.
Mrs. Hudson gasped in surprise as she moved out of the way for the younger man, who had been looking after Sherlock (in the loosest sense of the word) since Marie's departure, as the man said: "I'm out of 'ere."
He paused at the half-landing, pointing back up the stairs to where they could hear Sherlock as he told Mrs. Hudson fearfully: "I don't care if Mrs. 'olmes asked me te stay and look after him, 'e's lost it."
"Where is it?!" Sherlock could be heard shouting inside his flat, and Billy yelled for Sherlock to hear before he ran away: "'e's totally gone!"
Mrs. Hudson cringed as Billy left the flat, while Sherlock let out a triumphant cry upstairs.
In his flat, Sherlock came charging out from the kitchen and into his living room, wearing his dark blue dressing gown over his black shirt and trousers while he wielded a large pistol as he shouted dramatically while striding around like a maniac: "'Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more!'"
All over the flat were hundreds of photographs of entrepreneur Culverton Smith, stuck to the walls, scattered on every available surface, and strung to pieces of string around the room like little laundry lines. Mrs. Hudson slowly made her way closer while Sherlock continued raving as he jumped onto the sofa: "'Or close the wall up with our English dead'!"
He whirled around, stepping back onto the floor as he hissed: "'Set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide'."
He whirled again, kicking the flat door closed before storming across the room as he recited: "'Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit to his full height'!"
He grabbed one of the photographs, scrunching it up in his hands and throwing it as he shouted: "'On, on, you noblest English whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof'!"
Sherlock suddenly pointed his pistol at the wall behind the sofa, holding it in both hands as he snarled: "'And you, good yeoman, whose limbs were made in England, show us here the mettle of your pasture'!"
He stalked into the kitchen next, as Mrs. Hudson carefully ducked her way into the living room, and Sherlock shouted: "'Which I doubt not, for there is none of you so mean and base, that hath not noble lustre in your eyes!"
Mrs. Hudson peaked around the doorway into the kitchen where Sherlock continued twirling and pacing and spitting: "'I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, straining upon the start'!"
He stepped back out into the living room, aiming his pistol and firing it violently at the back wall, just missing hitting Mrs. Hudson as she ducked out of the way and closed the flat door quickly. Sherlock fired five times in quick succession, shooting holes in various photos of Smith scattered around the room before glaring at the wall with crazy eyes.
"'The game's afoot'." Sherlock hissed, breathing heavily, as Mrs. Hudson slowly opened the door once more and peeked around carefully.
"Oh, hello." Sherlock greeted casually, and all too calmly considering his manic antics just seconds before.
Mrs. Hudson stared at him as Sherlock sniffed, blinking hard as though having trouble focusing his eyes, before he asked nonchalantly: "Can I have a cup of tea?"
And with that, he turned and walked back into the kitchen.
*A/N I bet you can guess where I pulled the elder Mr. and Mrs. Holmes's first names from!
