Two years, three months, and five days...
The late nights of crying and feeding, the planning of a wedding, the promotion to chief inspector, the preparations for the opening of a home practice, the teething, first steps, first words...so much laughter and joy. So much love.
It lasted for two years, three months and five days. Then life was once again turned upside down.
John Watson was out doing some shopping. He had to find some way to kill time as his fiancé was currently at work, trying to adjust to his new position, and his boys were with their grandparents (Greg's mother and father) for the week. He was glad for the few days of rest, but he'd already begun to miss his boys. They weren't rambunctious or naughty by any means. They were almost painfully shy, but devastatingly curious. Everything and anything fascinated them. He or Greg would find them playing with something for hours on end, until they'd satisfied their curiosity and sought out the next target. They were just beginning to make basic sentences, but that didn't stop them from getting their point across. John had limited experience with children, so he often wondered if it was just a trait of youth to be so vibrant and enthusiastic, or was this a trait unique to his boys, at least on this level.
John strolled down the aisles, picking up a few sweets that the boys enjoyed, but his fiancé insisted they didn't need. Hyperactive toddlers are a struggle for people younger than them, with them both being in their forties, it was getting to be more and more of a challenge. As he reached for a jar of strawberry jam from the shelf, a hand landed on his shoulder. As soon as he turned around, his vision went blurry and he lost consciousness.
When John managed to awaken, he realized a few things. One, he was no longer in the store. Two, he was bound to a chair in what looked to be a warehouse. Finally, there was someone sitting opposite him.
"Morning, Captain. Nice of you to join me." The man called from his spot. John had heard that voice before...he'd seen that face before. Rage bubbled forth in an instant.
"Mycroft..." he growled through bared teeth. "What in the HELL is going on."
"I needed to speak with you and I assumed you'd be most unwilling to come of your own accord."
"So you drug me in the middle of a shop?! You unbelievable and utter bastard!" he yelled. "Why am I tied up?!" He asked struggling against the binds.
"Come now, it only takes one broken nose for me to figure out that this was the best alternative. Besides, what I have to discuss will not be easy to hear."
"So you're afraid of me?"
"Not at all, I'm merely looking out for myself and you as well. You can be quite a danger to yourself when you're upset." He blankly stated. "Now, I believe it's time we got to the matter at hand."
Figuring he wouldn't be released until he at least feigned listening, John sat still and waited for Mycroft to continue.
"Approximately three years ago, you witnessed the death of my brother. However, what you saw...was not entirely accurate."
"Excuse me?"
"What he's saying is..." a familiar baritone voice called from behind John. John's eyes immediately widened. 'This isn't happening...it can't be.'
"...I'm alive, John." Sherlock Holmes stood before him in all of his former majesty. His signature coat on with the collar turned up...those cheekbones, that hair...it was him in the flesh.
"W-what?" John gasped as he took in the man before him. "You died...This isn't possible. YOU DIED! I buried you!"
"Now, just calm down, John."
"No! FUCK YOU! You don't get to tell me to be calm after returning from the fucking DEAD! H-how?! I watched you bleed! I was covered in your blood! Have you any idea what I went through, you selfish BASTARD!" John was now shaking with pure fury. Sherlock was very glad that Mycroft had the foresight to tie John up for this part.
"It was all necessary! You have to believe that!"
"How can I believe ANYTHING you say after you've FAKED YOUR OWN DEATH! The nights I spent dreaming of that night, watching you jump from that building and not being able to stop you...I can't believe this..." Suddenly John paused and slowly turned back to Mycroft. "You knew, didn't you? This whole bloody time, you knew he was alive." It wasn't a question.
Sherlock reached out to put his hands on John's shoulder to calm him down. John was having none of it. "Don't you bloody touch me, Sherlock Holmes." His voice was quieter, but held all of the previous rage. "Untie me...NOW!"
"You know why we can't do that, John." Mycroft sighed.
"To hell with you both! Untie me. I have a family to get back to. Unlike some people, I'd rather not suddenly disappear for no bloody reason."
"Family?" Sherlock gasped.
"You didn't tell him?" John asked, slightly amused at the now panicked look emerging on Mycroft's face.
"Tell me what, Mycroft?"
"Sherlock, your mission was of the utmost importance, I couldn't risk..."
"Tell me WHAT? Mycroft?" Sherlock asked again, louder this time. Unfortunately, he'd already deduced it just after he'd asked the first time.
"That...you're a father."
"No, he isn't." John interrupted. "Those are MY children. You lost any right you ever had when you decided it was a good idea to pretend to be dead."
"You have children? You mean, that night..."
"It's not important. My sons have nothing to do with you, and as soon as you untie me, neither will I."
"John, please. Give me a chance to explain. After everything I've done, everything I've been through...you at least owe me that."
"I OWE YOU?! I OWE YOU?!" John screamed. Everyone in the room was sure that if he weren't tied up right now, John probably would have killed Sherlock.
"If you could just be silent for a second and listen. If after you hear what I have to say, you still feel the same, I will release you."
When he didn't receive a verbal response from John, he continued. He told John everything, how he did what he did, what he'd done afterwards. How many people he'd killed, how many times he'd almost been killed. How most of the past year he spent chasing down and locating Moriarity's second in command, Colonel Sebastian Moran.
That names was familiar to John. He'd served with a Col. Moran in Afghanistan, but he was dishonorably discharged for killing civilians unprovoked.
Sherlock read John's face of realization. "You knew Moran?"
"Bloody hell, you're back from the dead from 10 minutes and you're back to reading my damn mind. Yes, I knew him, if it's even the same guy, but what difference does that make?"
Sherlock was about to answer when Mycroft cut into the conversation. "Gentlemen, that's not the matter at hand that needs to be discussed."
"Then what is it, Mycroft? Because I'm tired of your damned games. What?"
"We need your assistance with the apprehension of Col. Moran."
John's face was unreadable for a split second. "You two manipulate and lie to me for years on end, make me not only witness the suicide of my best friend, but the genetic father of my children, you put me through months of psychological and emotional torture, and now you want me to put my life on the line to help you catch a murderous psychopath?"
"Well, when you phrase it that way, it does sound a bit farfetched, " Mycroft agreed. "Let me phrase it this way. Should you fail to assist us, you and everyone you hold dear will be in danger."
"Are you threatening me?"
"Not at all. Merely stating a fact. John, he's gotten your information. He knows your connection with Sherlock and will probably use you and your family to get to him."
John paled at the thought. "So in order to 'help me', you've now put me and my family in danger..."
"John, I..."
"Save it, Sherlock. I...really don't want to hear it." He sighed and turned back to Mycroft. "Fine, but there must be some provisions first."
"I'm listening."
"First and foremost. I want my sons guarded every second of every day should I not be there. Second, I will be letting Greg know everything about what's going on. You want my help, you get his as well, and third..." he turned back to Sherlock. "...once this is all over and the threat is neutralized, I don't ever want to see you again."
"John..."
"Not up for debate."
"I will do everything in my power to assure the safety of your children and your fiancé," Mycroft cordially stated.
"Fiance?! You're marrying Lestrade?! How could y-?"
That thought was never finished. If looks could kill, Sherlock would have been dead the second he appeared before John, but the look he was receiving now, might have incited the Apocalypse.
"Now, untie me so I can contact Greg."
"Anthea has already contacted him and he is en route. When he gets here you will be untied, but could we please keep the violence to a minimum?"
Half an hour later, Greg arrived at their location and saw the Holmes brothers, both of them, standing before a restrained John.
"John! Are you all right?" he asked, rushing over to him and untying the rope on his wrists.
"Hello, Lestrade." Sherlock jealously spat, but was ignored.
"I'll be fine in just a second," John replied rubbing his wrists, trying to get blood circulating again. In a flash, he was right in Sherlock's face and his fist swiftly made connection with it. "Ok, I'm a bit better now," he said shaking his bruised knuckles. "Now let me catch you up to speed."