Author's Note: I have decided to play a little game with you all. The hospital that I'm going to be using in some upcoming chapters is called Wydethcourt Memorial Hospital…if you figure out the anagram properly (all three words are part of it), it will give you a hint to a future event in the story! Good luck!
A few weeks passed, and each second that ticked by without Hamish was a second that ate away at both John and Sherlock. While John was often away fighting court battles with his soon to be ex-spouse, Sherlock was working as diligently as possible to solve the case so that when they won (which he whole-heartedly believed they would), they could safely bring Hamish home.
Sherlock had an entire suspect web up on one of the walls in their flat, though he was incredibly frustrated that all of his clues ended up taking him back to square one. Sherlock knew that there was a father killer with a daughter named Lory, and that the body was specifically sent to Wydethcourt Memorial. However, the only Lory currently on the premises was Dr. Clemmsford, and that lead ran cold. Sherlock had had Mycroft speak with government officials in the United States, and according to their records there was no one from that country recorded with that name, nor the name of her supposed father.
To Sherlock, this meant that Dr. Clemmsford was probably a spy for someone, considering her entire life story was a lie. However, there was no way for him to legally get information out of her until Mycroft was done proving her guilty of fraudulent identity. What Sherlock knew he had to do was figure out who she really was, but without any further leads there was no way of doing that either. This issue also poked another hole in the detective's investigation, if Dr. Clemmsford's real name wasn't Lory, did she even fit this case at all? On one hand, the killer could be purposefully using his daughter's fake name as to not give her away, but on the other, her alias could be a complete and total coincidence.
Sherlock was running a search on any and every Lory in England when John walked through the door, back from another long day of court and looking absolutely drained.
"Any news?" Sherlock asked, not bothering to look up from his web of possible deductions. John sighed and plopped down in his chair, head in hands.
"It wasn't looking good for us at the beginning. Mary was arguing that Hamish would be unsafe with us, not only because of the nature of our work but because…well, you're you." An extremely bitter look crossed Sherlock's face, looking away from his work and staring at John, who looked near tears.
"She also said it wasn't right, raising a child with more than one dad." That was all Sherlock really needed to hear, standing up quickly and picking up his revolver. John didn't bother to protest, watching wearily as his lover shot the smiley face that was already blasted into the wall. He shot the gun until it was out of bullets and then threw it, his body trembling with pent up rage. John got up and wrapped his arms around the taller man, holding him tightly against him.
"It's alright. Bless her, Mrs. Hudson testified on our behalf. She showed pictures of you and Hamish and talked about how wonderful you were with him. We both also pointed out that having a child with our job is no different than a cop raising a kid, and also with our combined salaries we make more than Mary and could better provide for our son. I then took the liberty of pointing out that not allowing us custody due to our sexual orientation would be classified as a hate crime and that we would sue the court." A ghost of a smile graced Sherlock's face and he pecked John on the lips.
"Did it help, do you think?" Watson smiled and gave a small nod, Sherlock letting out breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.
"I think so, yeah. Toward the end of the session it almost seemed like they were going to rule in our favor, but we won't know the verdict until next week." He paused for a moment before taking notice of what Sherlock had been doing when he'd arrived home.
"What about you? Any breakthrough in the case?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and let out a long groan.
"No. There are five hundred Lory's in England, over half of which are too old to have living fathers and the rest living too far away for any relevant connections to this case. I'm going with my original theory about Dr. Clemmsford, I just think that her father is protecting her by concealing her true identity. In this scenario we are no longer looking for a Lory, but trying to figure out the good doctor's true identity. From there, we can track down her father." John sighed and scratched the back of his head, about to tell Sherlock he was confused when he noticed the amount of nicotine patches on his boyfriend's forearm.
"Sherlock Holmes are those five patches? Are you trying to kill yourself?!" He scolded, ripping a few of them off. Sherlock pouted and crossed his arms, an amused expression crossing Watson's face.
"Nobody likes a drama queen." The detective chose to ignore that statement and placing his long fingers under his chin.
"Grab your coat, John. We're going to visit the victim's families to collect more data. I'll figure this out if it's the last thing I do." John did as he was told, but playfully chided Sherlock as he did so.
"Only if you remove all those bloody patches, I'm not going out with you like that." Sherlock said no immediately, but rethought his answer at the look he received from his counterpart. John was wearing his no-sex-unless-you-do-as-I-say face, which Sherlock had learned about pretty early on in their courtship. He pouted again as he peeled the other patches off and fetched his scarf, a triumphant grin breaking out across John's lips.
The couple stalled only after opening their door, which had a bright blue piece of paper attached to it. The paper hadn't been there when John had come home from court, so it hadn't been there long, but there was no one else in the lobby of their building and Mrs. Hudson hadn't told them they had company. Strange as this was, Sherlock read the note aloud.
"My, my, Sherlock.
Aren't you smarter than this?
Read between the lines.
Yours truly.
-M"
Sherlock's brow creased as he thought about what this could mean, shooting a curious look at John. John simply shrugged his shoulders in reply and Sherlock folded the note up, shoving it into his coat and popping his collar.
"We'll worry about it when we get back."
While Sherlock and John were doing this, Mycroft was doing something a little more interesting. Today was Lestrade's day off, and Mycroft had been up to his elbows recently in legal work with everything Sherlock had been making him do, hardly taking notice to this change in his lovers schedule. That was, of course, until Lestrade made it his personal business to make sure Mycroft noticed. When the government official walked into his office that morning, there was a card on his desk baring a suggestive picture of the detective on the front. Mycroft rolled his eyes, almost frightened to read what may be lurking on the inside.
Mycroft,
Not sure you're aware, but I am finally off for a day or two. Now I don't know about you, but I'm up for a couple of days of play if you know what I mean. I know you can take off, you've worked more overtime than anyone I know. Meet me at my place immediately.
Missing you,
Greg
The corners of Mycroft's lips twitched up into a hint of a smile, sticking the provocative note into his coat pocket. He still had tons of work to do, but he and Lestrade hadn't had a proper date in a long time, and Mycroft wanted to do something romantic for his lover. He opened an email, looking around cautiously before typing in the address.
To: lestradeg286
Subject: You naughty boy
I have much to do well into the afternoon, however, I have decided to take off at around five PM and take you someplace special. I will pick you up, be ready. Expect to be out all hours of the night, when I go on a date I make sure it's exceptional….especially when I've found someone like you.
Most Sincerely,
Mycroft
p.s. I may or may not require you do redo the photo on the front of your letter…in my room tonight. Just be weary of that, dearest Gregory.
Mycroft sent the email and victoriously glanced around his desk, reaching for his phone and making reservations for one of the most expensive five star restaurants in London. His plan was simple, take Lestrade to dinner at The Delaunay on 55 Aldwych, only a fifteen minute drive from Baker Street, where he needed to stop by briefly to have a word with his brother, and then head out another ten minutes to Shakespeare's Globe Theatre and take Lestrade to see The Changeling. Mycroft knew Lestrade had never been to an actual play like that before, and he was willing to pay the extra fifty pounds for premium seats.
Lestrade was more than excited when he received his boyfriends email, and when five o'clock rolled around, he made sure he was dressed to the nines. He had been on dates with Mycroft many times in the five years the couple had been dating, and he knew that when Mycroft said 'someplace special' it meant someplace where you may as well be ingesting gold because you're likely to leave broke. More than that though, Lestrade had something special of his own planned, unbeknown to his consort. Mycroft couldn't help but lick his lips when Lestrade opened his door upon his knocking. The detective inspector was wearing a dark suit with a red bowtie, his salt and pepper hair slicked back in a manner that shouted James Bond.
"Don't you look handsome." Mycroft stated in a pleased tone, his calculating grey eyes seeming to drink the inspector in. Lestrade only smiled in response, pulling Mycroft in by his tuxedo coat and planting a gentle kiss upon his lips.
"So do you." Mycroft offered Lestrade his arm and the two walked out to the limozine that was now parked outside of Lestade's flat. The stop at Baker Street took all of two seconds, since John and Sherlock weren't there, and they headed quickly on to the restaurant to claim their reservation. Mycroft had asked for the private dining room in the back, and even though it was normally only reserved for large business parties, Mycroft knew the right bribe amounts to get his way in most situations. They ordered Champaign and took menus from the waitress, who shut the door behind her and left them alone to decide.
"Are you sure this is okay? Everything on the menu is insanely expensive." Mycroft rolled his eyes.
"Oh hush, Gregory, you say that every time we go anywhere. I think if you knew just how much money I make a year you'd be less inclined to worry about it." Lestrade didn't say much back, terribly nervous about the events that were about to transpire. He had given something to the waitress to bring out with the Champaign, and the anticipation was just about killing him. As they both decided to order Lobster and folded their menus down, Lestrade decided to try and begin a conversation to break the ice.
"You know, I've been thinking a lot, Mycroft…about us. We've been dating for a little over five years now, and I hope you know how much I love you." This seemed to catch Mycroft off guard a little bit, having always been very cautious with the 'L' word.
"I do. I do you as well." Lestrade knew it was his roundabout way of saying I love you too, so he smiled, and bashfully scratched the back of his head.
"Well, do you love me enough to come out with me?" Mycroft misunderstood what his lover was trying to say, gesturing at the room with his hands.
"Are we not out together now?" Lestrade shook his head, a nervous sweat threatening to break loose.
"No I mean out with me, you know….like, do you love me enough to be with me the way Sherlock is with John." Mycroft nearly choked when he realized that Greg meant out of the closet, but he had no time to respond as the waitress walked back in with their beverages. The detective inspector turned beet red and held his breath as he watched Mycroft analyze was floating in his Champaign. They each numbly ordered their meal, tension in the room exploding when she shut the door once more.
"Gregory what is this?" Mycroft asked, fishing the gold ring out of his drink and laying it out on the palm of his hand. Lestrade stood and took the ring from Mycroft, dropping down before him onto one knee.
"Mycroft Alfred Holmes, would you do me the immense honor, of becoming my husband?" Mycroft's entire body appeared to be frozen by some unnamed emotion and his eyes were glazed with what may have been tears. He slowly shook his head and Greg's heart sunk deep down in his chest.
"No." It came out a whisper, but Lestrade heard it loud and clear, choking back both shame, hurt pride, and heartache.
"May I ask why?" Mycroft took a sip of his Champaign and looked down at his hands as the food came out.
"Just eat, please." Now it was Greg's turn to shake his head.
"No, I want to know why. Please, Myc, that's all I want." Lestrade's voice cracked and it hurt Mycroft a lot more than he'd ever care to admit.
"I can't go through it again." Mycroft groaned, not one hundred percent certain that he'd said that out loud.
"Pardon? You never mentioned being married before…" Mycroft shook his head quickly, sighing deeply and shooting sad eyes at his love.
"I never was, but oh did I want to be once. Gregory if I ever made you feel unloved I am truly sorry, because I love you more than I love anyone. Don't you understand, that is why we cannot marry. I couldn't bear it." Lestrade's expression twisted from one of sorrow to one of confusion, and though he didn't ask, Mycroft answered.
"I know it doesn't sound like it makes any sense. But Greg I've only ever loved two people my entire life, you, and one other. That other person and I were very serious, and very young too, which is a terrible combination. We had a child together, quite on accident I admit, and I panicked. It wasn't that I didn't love the baby, but I didn't love the circumstances under which that child was conceived, and my partner turned out to be somebody different than what I originally thought and I…I left. I did what I always do, what is best for me, and now there is a grown child out there somewhere who grew up without a father. I don't regret leaving the other person involved…but that child haunts me, Gregory. Marriage and children are things that forever alter a relationship, be it for good or for bad, and I don't want this to be ruined. Not my relationship with you, I won't allow it." Lestrade reached across the table and took Mycroft's hand, giving it a loving squeeze.
"Mycroft, I understand that feeling a lot more than I think you realize. I threw a lot away to be with you, and I did it happily, because the marriage I put on the line was already in shambles and I felt with you―still fill with you, so much more affection than I did when I was with her. That's why I'm willing to give marriage one more go, I know it wasn't marriage itself that was bad, it was who I was married too. No matter what happens I could never love you any less than I do now, only more. If you don't want to marry me that's okay, I understand. I just needed to know that you not wanting to get married didn't stem from some unhappiness in our relationship." Mycroft seemed to think for a little bit, gently caressing Lestrade's hand with his thumb.
"I accept." He said quietly, a dumbfounded expression crossing the inspector's face.
"Sorry?" Mycroft rolled his eyes but was unable to keep a smile from breaking out onto his face.
"I'll marry you, you idiot." Greg slid the ring onto Mycroft's finger and pulled him into a passionate kiss, which the latter melted into.
Meanwhile, Sherlock was glumly unlocking the door to his and John's flat, his companion dutifully by his side, though equally as filled with dread. The families of the deceased had been of no use whatsoever and they were no closer to solving these murders and getting their son back. Sherlock aggressively flopped down on his and John's couch and grabbed the note that had been on their door.
"By god I will figure this…." Sherlock trailed off and John rose an eyebrow at him as he closed and locked their front door back.
"What is it?" Sherlock grabbed a pen and began furiously marking and underlining things on the note, thrusting it excitedly at his boyfriend when he'd finished.
"Look!"
My, my, Sherlock.
Aren't you smarter than this?
Read between the lines.
Yours truly.
-M
"Mary M. It spells out Mary M! Mary Morstan, John!" John shot Sherlock a knowing look and crossed his arms.
"Now Sherlock, are you sure you aren't just trying to villanize my ex-wife? I mean, that's not much proof." Sherlock almost looked insulted, letting out a huff of annoyance.
"It says read between the lines, John, and that's what I did. Now, it may not necessarily mean she's the killer, but it was definitely put there for a reason and that makes her connected. Get my phone, John, hurry. I'm going to call and check on Hamish." John fought the urge to roll his eyes and laugh at the very same time.
"It's in your blimey pocket isn't it?" Sherlock didn't answer, but he didn't have too, his Cheshire-like expression said it all. John reached into the detectives coat pocket and handed him his phone, watching intently as he dialed Mary's number. She answered on the first ring, as if she were about to call him herself.
"We need to talk!" She blurted out immediately, an unexpected sort of fear rising up in Sherlock.
"Yes we do…" There was silence for a moment, and then a hiccup, sounding as if she were sobbing harshly. John could tell instantly by Sherlock's body language that something was very wrong, in all his years working cases with Sherlock he had never seen his hair stand up on end like that and it scared him shitless.
"It's Hamish….he's very sick. I-I'm scared, and I don't know what to do…I don't think he's breathing, and I n-need John." Mary sounded absolutely hysteric and Sherlock promised they were on their way, hanging up and staring at John, pale as a ghost and more nauseas than he'd ever been in his life.
"We've got to go, now!"