Chapter 7

It had been weeks since Sherlock had last spoken and it was worrying John. He did have a habit of being silent for extended periods but even for him this was a long time. Hardly a word had passed his lips since John had given him the ring and the residents of 221 Baker Street were growing more and more concerned.

Often John would come home and find Sherlock sitting in the same place, his knees pulled to his chest and his hands on top of them with his mouth moving quickly and his eyes clamped shut. Despite his silent murmuring, no words were spoken. After five weeks of silence, John snapped.

"FOR GOD'S SAKE, SHERLOCK!" he shouted. "I know you're hurting, I know you're concerned and angry and perhaps even frightened but that's no reason to shut off."

There was no response. John sighed and sat across from his friend, letting out a sigh.

"Sherlock, they're gone. You can't bring them back, no one can. You're worrying me and Mrs Hudson so please, for us and you, come back to reality."

"But I don't like it there." His voice was a mere whisper, childish and quiet. It made John want to smile and cry at once. He settled for sighing and walking around to where his best friend sat. He put his arms around his shoulders and lifted him up. Together they struggled to Sherlock's bedroom and John helped him lie down.

"Just sleep, Sherlock."

"Will sleep bring them back?"

"No," he answered sadly. "But it'll help bring you back."

And then he left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. Sherlock remained still for a while, unable to find the energy to move. He had spent the last month trying to work out where his and Moriarty's paths intersected and he could only put it down to Moran. He must have contacted the consultant criminal and Jim followed him, then them to the hospital. But why would he take her ring? Sherlock could only put it down to opportunity, he saw his chance and took it, willing to use it against his nemesis.

He had been lying there in silence for so long that the light had disappeared completely from the room. He deduced it was about one in the morning and there was a vicious storm wailing outside his window. Light seared the sky and crashes could be heard from the heavens. It was because of all this he was surprised to hear a loud banging at the front door. Annoyed, he pulled his pillow over his head but the banging continued. Finally he decided to end it himself.

Wrapping his dressing gown around him he walked down the stairs to the front door. As he opened it he was yelling at the person on the other side. Nothing could have prepared him for what really was there. He opened the door to reveal a woman wearing a blood-stained hospital gown and clutching something to her breast. He was about to send her on her way when she looked up at him through soaked hair. He recognised her at once.

"Erika!"

Before he could say anything more, the woman collapsed on the floor, shivering and shuddering but still holding onto the bundle in her hands. Sherlock knelt down beside her and yelled up the stairs. "JOHN! GET DOWN HERE NOW!"

On hearing his flatmate running about upstairs, Sherlock turned his attention back to the woman. "Erika, what happened to you?"

She looked up at him and she was sobbing. "I c-couldn't leave him there. I couldn't. I had n-nowhere else to go. P-please," she said through tear stained eyes, "Help me."

It was at this moment John appeared. He took one look at Erika and gasped, "Jesus."

He tried to sit Erika up but when he touched her shoulder she let out a blood-curling scream, collapsing back onto the floor. John looked down at his hand and saw it was crimson with blood. He looked back up at Sherlock and, on seeing the horror in his face, tried again, this time talking to her. "Erika, please, can you sit up?"

She struggled but did so, not letting go of the bundle in her arms which John noticed. He indicated that Sherlock should help hold her up and he did so as John took the bundle off her, gasping at what it was.

In his arms, wrapped in a leather jacket, was a boy, no more than a week old. He had dark hair that curled around his face and he was pale; far to pale. Taking the boy's pulse and temperature, he was met with the confronting fact that the infant was dead. He looked up at Sherlock who had clearly come to the same conclusion. His eyes were laced with tears which were rejected when they both heard Erika shriek again, pressing her hand to her shoulder.

"Sherlock, we need to get her upstairs." Sherlock nodded and picked her up, cradling her to his chest, and carried her quickly up the stairs to his bedroom. John followed, laying the infant down on a pile of sheets in the corner before turning his attention to the patient he might still be able to save. He ran to the bathroom, grabbing his medical kit, and set to work on her shoulder. Sherlock watched nervously but John was worried about him, so he set him a task.

"Phone Molly." Sherlock looked up and saw John purpose in his eyes immediately. He nodded sadly, picked up William and left the room. John looked down at Erika who had lost consciousness again, desperate to save the life of the woman, for both their sakes.

Outside, Sherlock had pulled his mobile out of his coat pocket and sent a text to Molly.

221B Baker Street. Come at once. Emergency. SH

Barely a moment passed before her received a reply.

On my way. Molly

Sherlock then sat for a moment, looking down at the boy in his arms. He had dark, curly hair like his own but it was slightly lighter in colour. His skin was pale and smooth, without blemish. Opening one of his eyes he saw it was the green of emeralds that sparkled in the sunlight and he let a tear slide down his cheek, closing his son's eyes once more. He was perfect, and that was the most hateful part about it. The boy was everything perfect could be but the life had left him.

Despite the thunderous storm, Sherlock still heard the door knock harshly but made no attempt to go to it, knowing Mrs Hudson would have been woken and would do it for him. Sure enough, a minute later he heard two sets of footsteps on the stairs before two women burst into the room.

"Sherlock, what's happened?" Mrs Hudson asked, concerned before spotting the child in his arms. Molly noticed too and swallowed back a tear. Ignoring her question, Sherlock looked up from his son to the younger of the pair.

"Molly, I need you to take this boy to the morgue."

Molly stepped forward slowly but made no attempt to take the body. Sherlock stood up and placed the child in her hands. She looked down at the infant sadly before looking up at Sherlock. She bit her lip before permitting herself the question she not only wanted to know, but needed to know. "For the preliminary paperwork, I need his name."

"William," Sherlock whispered and Mrs Hudson walked to his side, hugging him softly as he continued. "His name in William Sherlock Holmes."

Molly nodded, smiling sympathetically at Sherlock before leaving. Mrs Hudson stayed at his side, looking at him concerned. She lead him to the sofa and sat him down, reasonably aware of what was going on. She hugged him to her softly in a maternal way as they waited for John to come out and tell them everything was going to be okay.

It wasn't until it was almost four in the morning that John re-emerged. Sherlock stood as soon as he saw him, waiting for his verdict. John took a deep breath before starting. "She's going to be fine. She's got several unhealed wounds on different parts of her body. The most severe is a deep stab wound in her shoulder."

"Wait," Sherlock said quickly. "You said 'the most severe'. What else is there?"

John shifted uncomfortable. "She's got deep bite marks in her neck and below her ear. She has a deep cut on her thigh which looks like it was made jumping barbed wire, a cut and bruise on her head from being hit by something hard, she has bruising on her wrists and ankles from restraints, cuts to her feet indicating she walked a long way barefooted and…"

He trailed off but, on seeing Sherlock's face decided it was best he know. "And she has a rope burn around her throat, indicating that she tried to-"

"Hang herself," Sherlock finished. John nodded solemnly. Sherlock fell back into his chair with his face in his hands. Mrs Hudson hugged him softly and looked up at John. John sighed.

"I've given her some sedatives to help her sleep but she'll be awake in a few hours. You can see her if you like."

Sherlock stood quickly and brushed passed the pair, hastily walking to his room. Looking in he saw Erika, now wrapped in bandages and wearing a pair of his pyjamas, lying asleep in his bed. He sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, softly running his fingers along her hand. She was cold as ice and as pale as the moon but even in this state she was beautiful. He kept his hand on hers in an effort to convince himself that she was real and he wouldn't wake up alone again. The soft beating of her pulse was enough to convince him and he sat there beside her, waiting for her to wake.