Five days had passed before Sherlock heard any news from Mycroft. In the days intervening John and Sherlock had spent most of their time at the hospital with the baby. Dr. Mitchell commented happily that the baby was making steady progress, and if they were still satisfied in a couple of days' time then John would be allowed to take his nephew home – but the absence of Clara and the elusive man had become notably more present. John had been rummaging through the almost bare kitchen cupboards, attempting to find anything that he could eat before having to head off to the hospital when the sound of the front door of the flat opening and shutting came floating up the stairs, followed by brisk footsteps. Sherlock had been lounging silently in the living room, listening to John muttering to himself about the lack of food that wasn't in a tin; his brother was standing, neatly suited, in the doorway, staring at his younger brother with a look of some disapproval.
"Good morning." Mycroft greeted him in a clipped tone.
"Morning?" Sherlock answered. "News to grace us with then?" There was a clatter from the kitchen and John came rushing through the archway to see whom it was that Sherlock was addressing. When he saw it was Mycroft he gripped the back of the armchair in front of him and bit his lip in anticipation. Mycroft had paused while John had joined the two of them in the room, before nodding curtly.
"What then?" John burst out impatiently, not able to cope with the suspense that Mycroft demanded as he drew out the time before his answer.
"I found Clara, and managed to send her a message." Mycroft replied, "I haven't been able to locate the guy yet – but Clara might be able to shed some light on him…"
"Where was she?" John asked weakly.
"In Portugal, where you thought she would be. I was able to trace her leaving the country, then I got border control to chase her down and get a message to her." Mycroft said. "I referred her to here, so she should come here when she gets back."
"If she comes back." Sherlock muttered.
"She'll come back." John stated firmly. "She may not have been on the best terms with Harry when she left, but they'd been together for years, she wouldn't just abandon her entirely." Sherlock had his eyebrows raised, he wasn't entirely sure – but John was less of a sceptic, and he knew Clara better.
"Well, glad to be of assistance on some level." Mycroft gave a rather mock bow and turned to leave, but John called out to stop him.
"Mycroft, thank you for your help. It's much appreciated." He nodded and left.
"Well at least he's been able to find her, that's some way to something…" John sighed, he was staring at Sherlock who was gazing into a vacuum of space before him. Very abruptly, John changed the direction of the conversation: "I'm starving, and we've got no food in the house. Come on, let's go and get something before visiting hours start."
Sherlock didn't know whether he should be worried about John; it had seemed at first as though he had been emotionally battered at the loss of his sister, however he had rallied surprisingly quickly and was managing to just get on with things. Sherlock couldn't help suspect that this was a façade that John had built up, and that at some point it would come crumbling down. But for now he had the baby to focus on.
"He's doing well." John said, as the two of them sat in opposite chairs at a small café down the road from the hospital. "Dr. Mitchell was saying that they've put him on high protein, high caffeine feeds to help him gain some weight and grow a bit, and he's gained a couple of ounces." John paused as he put a fork full of food into his mouth; Sherlock tightened his grip on his cup of coffee and thought about the question that he had been wondering about for a few days.
"Have you thought about a name for him yet?" He asked, John's chewing slowed down as he thought about the question.
"I have been thinking about it…" He answered eventually, "But I wondered about whether I should wait until Clara was across so I could see what she thought."
"Harry said something about wanting to name him using the 'Watson tradition'?" Sherlock commented, trying to sound casual and as though he wasn't prying. John let out a small laugh:
"Yeah, the Watson tradition is just something that runs in our family, as a way of choosing the name of a baby." John answered, "We run alphabetically – so Harriet is H, and I'm J."
"Right…" Sherlock nodded in understanding.
"And I've got my cousins Kaitlyn and Leanne who are K and L." John continued.
"So she should begin with M?" Sherlock asked, John sighed at this.
"Well… technically yes… But when I was born I was meant to be I, but my dad couldn't think of a name, so he skipped to J… So I wondered whether the baby should be the missing I…" John said slowly.
"Have you thought of any names that you begin with I?"
"There's a couple… But I don't really like any of them…" John answered, "There's Iain, or Immanuel, or Ianto… I can understand why my dad skipped I not… it's almost impossible."
"You'll think of something." Sherlock said reassuringly. "And if you don't then you can always skip onto M yourself."
"I guess, yeah…" John nodded, picking up his fork from the side of his plate again. "Come on." He glanced at his watch, "Visiting time starts soon, finish your coffee."
Dr. Mitchell and Dr. Harper were the two doctors that were in charge of the paediatric ICU on a rotational basis, and both of them knew Sherlock and John now. Every day the two men had been there waiting for visiting hours to let them in, and they were always the two latest left in the hospital. Paediatric ICE was a little bit different from all the other wards, their visiting times were longer than the others, and special allowances were given to the parents of those infants that were very ill. Since they had started visiting there had always been one couple at the bay of their child constantly – the little girl was as small as John's nephew, however her health had seemed on a very delicate edge point. When John and Sherlock arrived, those parents were no longer there – the bay was empty. John had spoken to the couple several times and he looked around to see if they had been moved to another bay, then asked:
"Where are Carry and Andrew?" Dr. Mitchell glanced and lowered his voice.
"Their daughter passed away in the early hours of this morning." He replied.
"oh god, no!" John took a short breath in. "Oh no – that's awful!"
"They were very aware of how serious her condition was, it is a real shame." Dr. Mitchell agreed, nodding solemnly; they had arrived at the side of John's nephew and John was gazing down at him in some apprehension. "I have good news for you though – Watson is doing incredibly well especially for how premature he was."
"Oh good!" John's face broke out into a smile of relief.
"We're discussing later today whether we should move him out of the ICU and into the paediatric unit; he's doing really well – he's a little fighter!" Dr. Mitchell continued, John laughed weakly.
"Just like his mum." John commented, Dr. Mitchell excused himself and went over to speak with another parent who had just arrived. Sherlock sat down in the chair that was beside the incubator and noticed that John's eyes had filled with tears. He had slipped his hand through the gap in the plastic and whispered: "She'll be proud of you, and you'll know all about her. I won't let you forget."
"Do you want to hold him?" It was nearing the end of visiting hours and Sherlock and John hadn't moved at all in the two hours that had elapsed. John's head snapped up as Dr. Mitchell's voice broke in on him.
"What?" John asked as though he had misheard him.
"We need to change the sheet underneath him, so I wondered whether you'd like to hold him while we do that." Dr. Mitchell offered, glancing in between the baby and John.
"Y-yeah! If that's alright." John agreed in an enthusiastic tone.
"Of course." Dr. Mitchell waved a hand to one of the nurses, who rushed across with a set of fresh sheets and began to unfix the top of the incubator so they could lift the baby out and change the sheet with ease. The nurse scooped John's nephew out of the cot, and immediately he began to wriggle and wail at the disturbance of being moved; she turned to John and, very carefully, passed the baby across to John. He was still writhing in a struggled attempt to stop being moved, but he was no longer crying. John rocked his nephew soothingly and the baby settled, appearing to be relaxed by the close contact of another human being. The nurse was changing the sheet without John or Sherlock even noticing. The look on John's face was so caring – so full of love and protection that Sherlock was transfixed by the sight of him for a moment. That was what real love looked like.
A/N: Again, I would love to know what you think of this chapter/story so far!