Chapter Two. The Mother.
Elena was not afraid of death, but she was afraid of dying.
Not because of the pain. Living through that was always worse than dying from it, and she had lived through more pain than any normal human being ever would. She had long ago built up a tolerance to it until the point where all she could ever feel was numb. Instead, it was the fear of what she'd be leaving behind that shook her.
Who she'd be leaving behind.
Placing her son in a cab bound for London had been difficult… and as embarrassing as it was, he had been the braver one. Not because she was afraid of him getting lost (he was more than capable enough to find 221b on his own), nor did she believe he would be intercepted (as she had taken great pains to make sure that no one knew of his existence), but the simple fact of the matter was that Elena did not feel whole without her son by her side.
They had been apart before, of course, they had, but she was not sure if she would get the chance to be with him again this time… For, you see, she had been living her life through someone else's game ever since she could remember… and now, after all this time, she was going to end it.
The problem was…
Elena predicted a 97.6% likelihood that she would have to die to make that happen… and if that was to be the case (and she was convinced it would be), then her son needed to be placed somewhere safe.
He needed to be with family. He had always wanted to meet his father, and she had kept them apart long enough.
"I miss the kid already," a familiar voice casually stated behind her.
From her spot sitting on the ledge of an open window, Elena turned her gaze to her companion, watching with little interest as he cleaned one of the pieces from his extensive arsenal. He didn't look back at her, pretending to be disinterested with her frame of mind... but she knew better. He was trying to cheer her up, even if it was only for a moment.
Needing the distraction, she decided to play along and quirked a brow. "We both know you only liked him for his cooking."
He cracked a smile, briefly. "What can I say? The boy can make one hell of an omelet." He finally turned to glance at her, a slightly boyish sparkle in his eye. "Sure didn't learn it from you."
"No," she rolled her eyes and hummed distantly, turning back to the window. "He's self-taught, thankfully."
John had left Sherry in the care of Mrs. Hudson since he, unfortunately, couldn't take his child to Bart's. Luckily, the older woman was more than happy to spend time with her goddaughter. She had also asked about the presence of a certain little boy, but John had no time to give her a proper answer as Sherlock, after grabbing something from the bookcase, was already out the door. He summed it up as being related to a case of sorts, kissed Sherry on the forehead, and made it out just as a cab was being hailed.
The ride to Bart's was awkward. Sherlock kept intensively staring at the child and said boy, still holding on tightly to his backpack, refused to utter a word.
John chose to stare out the window, not really sure what he could possibly say in this situation… and honestly, he was still processing the fact that there was even a possibility of this kid being Mycroft's.
While he had believed that both Holmes boys would never end up being fathers if he had to choose he would have put his money on Sherlock before the older brother. For there to be someone out in the world to get intimate enough with Mycroft Holmes, of all people, to bear his son… John couldn't imagine what kind of woman she must have been.
Eventually, the trio made it to the hospital and Sherlock made quick work of commandeering one of the labs for his personal use. Unsurprisingly, the demand was met with little to no opposition, as everyone had already learned (after multiple encounters with the detective) that he would eventually end up getting his way regardless of any complaints they may have had.
Once situated, Sherlock went straight to work, quickly yanking a piece of the boy's hair straight from his head without warning. The child, understandably not expecting the action, let out a small yelp in response to the pain, and John shot the man a look followed by a growl filled, "Sherlock."
The detective didn't respond, instead sitting down and pulling out what he'd taken from the bookshelf at the flat. The two others in the room stared at it in curiosity. It was a little pouch and, inside it, a lock of hair.
The army doctor frowned at this. "That's Mycroft's isn't it?"
Sherlock glanced innocently in his direction as if what he was holding in his possession was something that should have been naturally had on hand. "Yes, John, I couldn't very well test the boy's DNA without it."
John frowned deeper. "But… you had it… hidden in a bookcase…" How was he not seeing how strange this was?
"For safe keeping," Sherlock said simply and turned back around.
The doctor sighed, not really feeling like explaining why having a lock of your brother's hair 'for safe keeping' was abnormal. "Should I even ask why?"
"I wouldn't," was the only response he got. The detective diving deep into his task.
Following the advice, John decided to finally turn his attention to the boy beside him. There was a pause before he said "Hungry?", not knowing what else they could possibly do while his best friend was busy playing with DNA.
To his surprise and the minor delight of his stomach, the boy nodded. "Alright then shall we? I'm starved," he smiled.
Sherlock didn't bother to acknowledge the two as they left, the gears in his brain turning as he thought about what the presence of this child must have meant.
He wasn't testing the boy's DNA because he needed to. He had taken one look at him and knew instantly that they were related… Not only that but he could see the boy's mother in him too and it wasn't hard to do the math. However, he knew his older brother would have a harder time accepting it. Not because he wouldn't be able to see it, but rather because he wouldn't want to.
Sherlock was semi-aware of the circumstances in which both Elena and Mycroft had parted. His brother was always in constant denial about his capability for sentiment, but the detective had always known better.
Elena had been a whirlwind in both of their lives.
Sherlock remembered the day that he, himself, had first met her. 2004. Winter.
As usual, he had gotten himself into trouble with some very bad people-Gun smugglers. He'd been drugged to make it look like he'd had an overdose… but to their disappointment and his good fortune he had survived. If only barely.
Of course, that had only made his pursuers want to go with a more direct approach, but they hadn't counted on her being there to stop them.
.
.
.
"Someone's coming to kill you," a woman had hummed to his right as he slowly regained his senses, everything feeling so heavy. He turned his head toward the direction of the voice, and in the blur of his consciousness, he saw her red hair in the dim lighting. She was smiling at him.
"Don't get up on my account," she told him as he tried, and failed, to move his body. "I'm more than capable of cleaning up this mess for you. You're welcome."
Sherlock tried to speak, but his mouth was too dry. Squinting, he made an attempt to see her more clearly. She leaned forward to make it easier and blue eyes stared into hazel. In an instant, deductions about her came in like a flood, but he could hardly make sense of most of it at the time. His mind was too clouded.
The only thing that came clearly was one name. The only name that mattered, because he could smell him on her.
"Mycroft," he croaked. Her smile widened.
"Very good," she confirmed, tilting her head to the side. She paused a moment, glancing off into the distance before a frown set in place upon her lips. "You'll have to excuse me. It's showtime, Sherlock."
She stood up and slid into the shadows of the room, in the nook between the wall and the door. Hearing the footsteps only a few moments after she had, the young man closed his eyes, knowing his role without even having to be told.
He was the bait, she was the hook.
The hitman was clumsy, well, as clumsy as someone with the profession of "hitman" could be allowed to be. He was too confident. He slipped up. Assuming that Sherlock was the only one in the room was his first mistake. Not holding on tight enough to the syringe in his hand was his second.
She made quick work of him.
Ten seconds was all it took for the man to hit the ground, a highly concentrated shot of potassium chloride stopping his heart within moments.
Her smile from before came back again, but wider. "That's a bit disappointing… I was hoping for more of a fight."
.
.
.
It wasn't until later that he'd found out just to what extent she and his brother valued each other. Elena had never worked for Mycroft as he had originally thought. She had merely been doing him a favor. And he was more than aware that when his safety was concerned Mycroft did not just leave it to anyone. Especially someone who did not take direct orders from him.
She had been an exception, and Mycroft didn't make exceptions for just anyone.
Sherlock's musings were interrupted by the positive match that flashed upon the screen of the computer beside him. Exhaling, he printed his findings, gathered his things, and left the lab in the direction of the cafeteria.
Meanwhile, John was putting himself through the slightly difficult task of trying to figure out what a child who refused to speak wanted to eat. After a few minutes, the two managed to get through the cafeteria line with a series of nods and pointing. After convincing the reluctant child that cauliflower would be good for him, the two of them sat down at one of the empty tables and began eating in silence.
John watched the boy between bites and was only half surprised to find him taking everything in. Even as he ate, he seemed to be constantly observing everything and everyone. Looking at him, the doctor felt himself starting to come around to the idea that the child could indeed possibly be a Holmes. The way the child's eyes examined everything looked a bit like that deduction thing both Mycroft and Sherlock had.
It was surprising, though, that the boy did not speak. Both of the Holmes brothers seemed to like showing off just how clever they were, but so far this child hadn't uttered even a peep. Of course, John had an idea of what it was. Selective mutism.
He wasn't a psychologist but if he had to guess that was why the boy wasn't speaking. It was more typical in children than people thought and all the evidence pointed to it. ...Yes, even John Watson was capable of making a deduction or two every now and then.
The child obviously wasn't physically mute because he was capable of making sounds (based off his earlier yelp). He very clearly wasn't death either, since he understood everything that was said. And lastly, he wasn't necessarily just shy either… since most shy children could at least speak lowly and truly he didn't carry himself as a shy person. He didn't back down from eye contact easily.
No. The boy's personality wasn't about shyness… Likely, it was about trust.
John wasn't sure how much the child knew about his situation, but either way, it still had to be jarring. He was putting on a brave face and doing as he was told, but Holmes boy or not… he was still a child away from his mother.
"I never… introduced myself properly, did I?" the war doctor questioned, turning to the boy with a small smile and sticking out his right hand. "John Watson."
The child looked from Watson's hand to his face and then back again before he tentatively grasped it.
The man chuckled. "Ah, that won't do. Someone's going to have to teach you a proper handshake," he said, giving the boy's hand a small but firm squeeze. "Come on, stiffen up that wrist. Show me what you got."
The boy did as he was told.
"That a boy," John grinned, earning him the smallest of smiles.
Now feeling he was getting somewhere, he pressed on. "What should I call you?" he questioned a bit dramatically, his hand going to scratch his chin. "You must have a name? Shall I guess it?"
The boy raised a brow at him, unsure if he should be confused or a missed by his odd behavior.
"Andy?" John continued, pretending to look him over. "No? Bernard?" The boy shook his head, making a face. "Nah, didn't think so. How about... Henry?" Again the child shook his head.
The doctor hummed, "It can't be Rupert, can it? Because that would be a rubbish name," the boy scrunched his nose and they both laughed at this. John shook his head. "I didn't think so."
A moment passed as the doctor tried to think up some more names. Before he could, however, a small "Roylen" fell from the boy's mouth so quietly that John almost didn't catch it at first.
"Roylen, is it? That fits you much better than Rupert," he joked, earning him another smile.
It was at that moment that Sherlock decided to show himself, making the two jump as he rested a hand on both their shoulders and completely ruined the mood.
"Ah, good, you've finally gotten him to talk… I knew you could do it," he said confidently.
John rolled his eyes at this, finding it typical that the detective would purposely leave the socializing for him to do (or at the very least claim to have done so).
Moving on, he asked, "Well? The verdict?"
Sherlock looked from John to Roylen and smiled tightly, "As expected, you're my nephew, congratulations."
"What? Really?" John questioned, snatching the papers out of Sherlock's hand for a look see. The results confirmed it, but it was still hard to wrap his brain around.
The older Holmes sighed, "Honestly John, it isn't that crazy… they are married, after all."
This threw John in for another loop, and he shook his head for a moment. "I'm sorry, excuse me? Married?"
"Separated, clearly, but yes," Sherlock confirmed as he took the papers back and stuffed them in the inner pocket of his jacket. He paused a moment to correct himself. "Well, they aren't married on paper, but…"
The doctor shook his head again, overloaded on this new information. "I don't understand…"
"He never does," Sherlock whispered to Roylen and then, not wanting to waste any more time, motioned for the two to follow him. "Regardless. Come along, my big brother is about to get the biggest news of his life. Should prove interesting."