The Moment

Mycroft's people had been irritating. Beyond irritating. Sherlock had been forced to explain over and over again things that, really, should have been obvious to people paid as much as they were.

Mycroft had babysat. Which in itself was amusing to think of. If there was one person in the world less likely to cope with a five year old than Sherlock was, it was Mycroft.

Mycroft clearly agreed.

"That television program," he said with a dangerous glare at where Ava sat with a puzzle and that god awful cbeebies. "Who knew the BBC was branching into methods of torture?"

Sherlock studied the takeaway menus in front of him. All the acceptable ones were lined up as he attempted to plan their week's meals.

Ava clambered up onto the chair next to him, munching on the apple he'd given her earlier. It seemed unlikely that John would approve if he risked her getting scurvy.

She leaned over, onto her elbows putting a very serious look onto her face. Munching and studying the menus in front of him she tilted her head up to Sherlock. "Daddy hates that place," she said, jamming a finger on one of the menus. "We should eat them."

Amused Sherlock looked down at her, "It's a terrible takeaway," he scolded lightly. "Your father has good reason to dislike it."

"But their chicken nuggets are amazing!" she said, over emphasising the last word.

Chicken nuggets were terrible things, though admittedly very handy. Sherlock made a non-committal noise, just in case he needed to use them at some point in the week.

"Was Mycroft mad?" Ava asked tracing the letters of a particularly bright menu.

"Not especially." Sherlock tossed three menus on the floor before remembering that John wasn't around to scold him and that Mrs Hudson had probably used up her cleaning quota for the year already. "Why?"

Ava shrugged. "I was bored," she said after a moment. "He doesn't smile much."

No, Mycroft never really did.

"Don't take it personally," Sherlock replied. "He deals with idiots all day long."

"He doesn't shout either. He glares," Ava pushed one menu across to the middle of the table carefully, as if Sherlock wouldn't notice.

"What did you do?"

"I drunk his coffee to make him turn Cbeebies back on."

Sherlock paused and stared at the wall opposite, before twisting to stare down at Ava.

"He turned it off," Ava justified. "It was boring without the TV. I told you." She shifted and then shot him a sneaky grin. "We watched Peppa Pig."

"You did it on purpose?"

The smile faltered slightly as if she was suddenly unsure. "He always looks so grown up. I wanted to see if he'd do something different."

Sherlock could feel his mouth twitching and on a sudden urge, picked her out of the chair and placed her on one hip. "Did his mouth pinch?" he asked.

Ava nodded, "And that eye," she pointed it out by almost poking Sherlock in the eye to show she meant Mycroft's left eye, "Almost closed."

"You must have really annoyed him," Sherlock said.

Ava looked at him, eyes searching as if to figure out what his reaction would be.

"He's very precious about his ties," Sherlock told her after a moment's consideration.

Ava's face broke into an excited grin that probably spelled the end of Mycroft's sanity. After all, Sherlock and Ava together would be an almighty pain for him.

"Mycroft won't be mad?" Ava asked with a conspiratorial gasp.

"No." And if he was he'd have to deal with Sherlock first before he attempted to scold Ava.

It was the first time he'd actually been called inside the school building. Usually he just managed to hover outside of it and wait for Ava to weave her way through to him. The head was a stern looking woman who had the most hideous tights Sherlock had ever seen.

She walked him through the hallway which was painted a rather plastic shade of light blue and spattered with pictures and photographs of small children.

It was so claustrophobic and cluttered with useless items that it spiked his temper up as they walked.

"If you would Mr Holmes," Mrs Leagrave said with a forced smile as she held her office door open for him.

The office was as dull as the woman.

She gestured for him to take a seat and Sherlock purposefully slumped into it, adopting a haughty attitude and relaxed posture just to see what she would do.

The insipid woman cleared her throat pointedly. Then, seeing that it wasn't going to have even the slightest effect, continued on.

"Thank you for coming in at such short notice." She started.

"You wished to discuss Ava?" Sherlock cut across her before he had to suffer through any more small talk.

"Indeed." She shifted and he hid the smile he wanted to give at seeing how much he was unnerving her. "We are aware of course that this is a difficult time for Ava, what with John ill-"

"Shot," he corrected her, "He is not ill, he is injured."

Shifting again she nodded. "Yes, well, Ava has been wonderfully behaved since returning to school. We did have our concerns but it seems that continuing on with her normal routine worked wonders."

Sherlock straightened and leaned forward, suddenly focussed. "I am not one of your usual insipid parents. Tell me your problem before I have to suffer through your attempts at patronising me."

Mrs Leagrave looked taken aback. "I…" she took a steadying breath and seemed to be trying to glare at Sherlock. "Ava has been playing tricks on the other students."

"Tricks?"

"Harmless in their nature but we are concerned that this is a rather odd coping mechanism. She seems to have developed a fascination on seeing how people will react and has a bizarre focus on damaging ties at the moment."

Ties…ah.

"I…she appears to have taken something I said out of context. I will talk to her about the ties."

"And the rest?" The head asked. "We are deeply concerned that this might be showing her attempts to disconnect. She's calling these tricks experiments, as if distancing herself from the res t of the class. We would like to bring in a psychologist in case-"

Sherlock had no idea what was showing on his face but it made her stop incessantly wittering on. She seemed to flounder for a moment.

"Please understand we simply wish to nip the problem in the bud before-"

Sherlock stood and leaned over the desk, enjoying the spark of fear in her eyes as he did so. "She is copying me because I am the only person in the flat at the moment. I do experiments in my line of work. That is all. This is not a psychological issue."

"It's a sign of sociopathic tendencies." The idiotic woman tried to explain.

"I am well aware of that." Sherlock hissed, fingers tightening on the edge of the desk. "I am more familiar with the diagnosis than you will ever be. There is nothing wrong with my child."

"Perhaps we will revisit the topic once John's feeling better-"

"Recovered," Sherlock snarled. "He hasn't got a cold."

"Mr Holmes will you please step back from my desk."

"The lines on your finger say you have been married three times, you haven't kept the rings so you've been divorced that many times also. You left them because you always hope to move on to better things rather than work and improve them; there is nothing old or sentimental about your jewellery and clothes and it's all brand new, which probably means your finances aren't as good as everyone assumes, though you'd never tell them that. This is your second headship at a school and you're struggling to impress the teachers here, probably because you dislike working with what's already there; you prefer to clean shop and start from scratch. You have a need to assert your authority and are using the psychological aspect of your further training to stage a power play because the other members of staff are unsure of the area and will bow to what they conceive to be your higher wisdom in the matter. I will make it perfectly clear Mrs Leagrave, I was diagnosed with sociopathic tendencies as a child. Do I seem particularly sociopathic to you right now?" Sherlock's voice rose and sharpened as he spoke.

Mrs Leagrave stared at him for the longest time. "No." she said eventually, "No, you seem like any other concerned parent."

"I am not her parent."

Instead of cowering at his tone, Mrs Leagrave sat back, looking at ease for the first time. "Mr Holmes, since being in my office you have referred to yourself as Ava's parent and Ava as your child."

No he hadn't…

Oh.

OH.

"I was…" What? Blinking he stared down at the polished, pristine desk feeling vaguely confused.

"I would suggest then Mr Holmes that Ava is trying to get your attention; she wants you to be impressed by what she is doing. Curtail it please."

Sherlock stared at the woman in front of him. "How accurate was I?"

"Completely right. But I do not use students in trying to consolidate my role here." She sat straighter, "And you must understand the effect that Ava's behaviour might have on her peers and her status with them. Perhaps a talk with her might be in order?"

Sherlock nodded dumbly.

"It's lunch time in a few minutes." She stood, holding out her hand, "You make take Ava home Mr Holmes."

"Can we get some sweets?" Ava asked as they walked out of the gates. "I missed out on sticky toffee pudding with custard," she added, as if this was tantamount to losing a million pounds.

Sherlock stopped them and crouched in front of her. Whatever he'd been about to say, the scolding he had half-heartedly started to create in his head faded away as Ava raised a fair eyebrow at him.

It created a certain expression on her little face; one that said that the wearer doubted what they were going to hear would be of much use but they were willing to entertain and humour the person speaking. He'd seen that expression in the mirror or in the reflection in windows when he was at a crime scene. The expression that Sherlock himself often used when talking to Lestrade and John.

It was like a thunderbolt.

He was raising this child.

This was his.

All his.

And then she frowned slightly and her eyes softened in a way that was all completely John.

Theirs.

This tiny girl was theirs. When he and John were long gone there would be tangible evidence that they had been together and created something incredible from it.

This tiny girl with her raised eyebrows and concerned frown. She was Sherlock's responsibility; his to help shape, his to encourage the best bits of John to shine through.

His.

Ava stared at him looking very worried now. "Are you ok?" she asked. "Have you forgotten to eat again?"

There was really only one answer he could give.

"It's fine." He stood, feeling strangely as if the world had stopped and started while he'd been crouched. "It's all fine." He added as he slipped his hand into Ava's.

"You need sugar. Now we have to go to the shop." Ava announced.

She really was the perfect mix of him and John.

Sherlock nodded and took her hand, letting her lead him.

Ava bounded into her bed, squirmed down under the covers and pulled the purple fairy duvet up to her chin.

This has always been John's area, tucking Ava in, doing the bedtime story. It felt as if he was invading precious territory.

"You have to sit on the bed," Ava told him frankly.

Gingerly Sherlock placed himself on the edge, and eyed the bookshelf on the wall with some trepidation.

"Which one?"

Ava twisted her head as she snuggled down further into bed, "How did you meet Daddy?"

"He's told you before."

"You haven't," Ava pointed out.

Sherlock studied her carefully. With a deep careful breath, Sherlock nodded. "How does your father usually start?"

"Once upon a time…" Ava prompted.

"Once upon a time there was a man-"

"Was it the soldier or the detective?" Ava asked.

"The detective before he became a detective," Sherlock answered, feeling slight foolish. "And he was a very angry man. The rest of the world was always going too slow; there was nothing to catch his attention, nothing to focus his mind and feel connected to.

So he did...silly things. Anything to make him feel something.

Then, one day he stumbled upon a crime scene, quite by accident. He realised he could see what the police couldn't and that finally there was something to focus on. Something interesting and real. So he started to solve crimes.

Then, one day, while conducting an experiment a man walked in."

Ava beamed, "The soldier," she said, her eyes lighting up at the mention of John.

"Indeed," Sherlock moved a little and Ava shifted until somehow he was sitting with his back against the headboard and Ava tucked up next to him. "The detective took one look at him and thought he'd seen everything he needed to see. He thought that maybe they could manage to live together for a few months so the detective invited the soldier to see the flat he was renting."

How was he meant to represent suicides and deaths in a fairy tale?

"Did the detective like the soldier?"

"Yes," Sherlock breathed. "Yes he did.

"Do you love Daddy?"

Nodding Sherlock looked down at Ava. "Very much."

"Good," Ava whispered sleepily.

Smiling Sherlock disengaged himself from Ava, drew up the covers again and tucked her in. Her eyes fluttered as she fought sleep and he stroked her smooth cheek with a gentle hand.

Leaning over he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "And you." He added.

Her face frowned, clearly her tiredness prevented her from piecing that together. "When Daddy comes home everything will be ok, won't it?" she asked with a long yawn.

God he hoped so.

Besides, how could it get any worse?

A/N

Couldn't resist the end line!

So this is the end for this fic and this part. I have posted the sequel called "Rocks of Salvation: Nest among the stars" which has a depressing prologue and will then start two days before John gets out of hospital and will continue on until the following October. Then there will be a third and final fic/part.

Thanks for following this and hope you've all enjoyed the story so far :)