CHAPTER 62. THE FAMILY WE MAKE

John and Sherlock were happy to return to the chaos of London, the weekend had taken a lot out of the two, and had extended into a week longer than planned. On the fifth day, at midnight, while Mycroft sat and read the business section of the paper, the elder Holmes had passed.

The funeral was quiet, as per the dying man's last wish. He only wanted to be buried quietly beside his wife and brother in law. The man wished to avoid the throng of false mourners, and extended family seeking fortune.

John had stayed close to his friend, although on the outside Sherlock showed no sign of grieving. The good Doctor knew differently, he'd known his friend long enough and well enough to identify the signs of loss.

Mycroft however was harder to read, he had spent a lengthy amount of time keeping the older man company. Sherlock showed no interest in knowing what the two could have been discussing.

~0~

The oldest Holmes brother had listened to Sherlock's explanation of the twisted events surrounding the death of Nathan Watson. He also knew that Sherlock hadn't spoken to John about any of this disturbing news. Mycroft's first reaction was disbelief, naturally he had the police reports and the pictures brought to him in a neatly compiled file. His PA was really quite thorough.

It took just a few minutes of his skilled eye to confirm the worst about his father. The older Holmes was a murderer, and he wasn't even an apologetic one. Sherlock seemed to agree with this method, and Mycroft found himself unable to decide how he truly felt.

As a distraction Mycroft used his power and status as a minor employee of the British Government to have a certain top secret file pulled. One that was nearly thirty years old. He quickly read through the confidential report, scanning the picture of a man he hardly had known.

It was startling the resemblance of Uncle Lawrence to Sherlock. It wasn't a wonder how father had been confused by Sherlock's sudden appearance. However there was something different about the young officer in his flight uniform. Uncle Lawrence was leaning against the side of his plane a smile playing across his lips, and an arm thrown over two other pilot's shoulders. Mycroft wondered if that was what Sherlock would have looked like had he been more of a free spirit.

The British Government tried to recall his uncle, and all he could remember were long arms reaching to pick him up or embrace him. Surprising, considering they weren't that kind of family. He remembered how mummy lit up when her brother was around. Somewhere buried deep in his memory the older Holmes could even remember his father's easy laughter.

Then he recalled the funeral and how the light had gone out of the house. Father left on longer business trips, he hadn't even attended the funeral.

"It's an empty coffin, why would I waste my time." Mycroft recalled his father's cold words to a distraught Mummy.

Flipping through the highly detailed documents, the witness statements and finally the photographs. Mycroft shook his head sadly, the old government had covered this up because it was their mistake. One they would have happily kept buried, until now.

Mycroft looked over some of the happier photographs his mother had locked away in albums. Old family albums that now had grown dusty and fragile in their years of abandonment.

Uncle Lawrence always wore a smile, or a polite grin. He had a very familiar expression on his face when standing next to a younger version of father. That grin Mycroft knew very well, after all, he'd seen it countless times over the years and even recently.

"Sherlock I said eat."

"John you are not my nurse maid."

"Thank god for that! If I were I'd of hung myself in frustration by now. Don't give me that look. You have no reason to put this off. I already warned you. There is no case to slow your brain down, and it's been two days. So, either you go have a bit of toast or I hold you down and make you eat a ham sandwich. Your choice."

Mycroft had looked up from father's desk, not surprised to see his brother shaking his head and the exasperated grin from the blond two argued as they passed the study's open door. This caused Mycroft to come to a decision.

The British Government gathered the confidential file and went to sit with father. The man had been nothing but cold and harsh in his latter years but Mycroft would offer him this one piece of information. Perhaps it would allow the man some rest. He also had the grave of an unknown soldier exhumed and placed in his proper place. Technology was amazing these days how quickly the body was identified through DNA.

"Father I have something to tell you. I need you to try and concentrate."

"What is it my boy? What trouble has your brother gotten up to?"

"Father, it's not Sherlock, it's about Uncle Lawrence." The old man didn't speak again, and Mycroft wasn't sure how much his father actually understood. Mycroft watched father's expressionless face as the old man listened to how his brother in law and friend had died a hero and had finally come home. Mycroft assured the elder Holmes that Uncle Lawrence was now buried in the family plot where he belonged.

Not wishing to leave father's side just yet, Mycroft decided to read the business section of the days paper. Only to keep himself busy, and maybe to help ease what was left of his father. It wasn't too long after father slipped into a deep sleep and ceased to breathe.

Their wasn't grief in the end just a sense of relief, the end of the confusion for a man who once had been bigger than life and sharp as a knife.

~0~

Soon after their return to London they were off and running once more, this time after a mad bomber. The first victim had been a young mother leaving a Tesco. The second victim an elderly woman, unfortunately the elderly woman hadn't made it. All the while Sherlock thought it a great game, a mystery starting out with a pink phone and somehow having to do with a dead boy's trainers.

"This isn't a game Sherlock! People are being hurt. Can't you-"

"John, sentiment is not going to help any of these victims past present or future, I suggest you get this through your head."

John had an expression that Sherlock had seen many times in Mycroft, but it angered him to see it in John. John was supposed to understand, supposed to be on his side.

"I've disappointed you?"

"Yes. That's a great deduction."

"John, don't make the mistake of believing in heroes they don't exist and if they did I certainly am not one of them."

~0~

Officer Kelly was standing next to John and Sherlock when the call about the painting came in. The young boys voice speaking was all too familiar and John felt his stomach turn, officer Kelly however had made a grab for the mobile. Sherlock was way too quick for it.

"Don't say anything!" Sherlock ordered the young boy. "Just do as the man instructs, tell me what he says word for word." Matt's voice was hauntingly calm as he spoke, but John could hear the fear in the way his breathing had sped up, and his careful pauses between words.

Sherlock was studying the painting, the curator still in complete denial. Suddenly to Sherlock's and John's shocked surprise officer Kelly drew his firearm, pointing it directly at the lying witch.

"Tell him why it's a fake! Tell him!" he growled "I swear I'll shoot you right here!"

"Now, calm down Tim." John tried to near the officer, all the while Sherlock was ignoring this trying to stick with the picture's details, something was off. He was missing it and it was in front of his face.

"Ten-" the countdown started "eight"

"Tell him!" Kelly was yelling nearing the woman with the thick accent, the hand gun wasn't shaking, and John knew this wasn't going to end well.

"Officer!" John was trying to put himself in between the distraught father and the paintings benefactor.

"Do shut up!" Sherlock shouted "I can't think!" then it came to him and he shouted into the phone. Everyone fell silent and the boys unsteady voice cut through the dead silence.

"Dad?"

Officer Kelly slowly lowered his weapon, and he took the phone from Sherlock "Mattie? Where are you son?"

"It's dark here-" Sherlock and John looked at each other.

"Mattie, look around tell me what you see, is there a door?"

"He said if I move I'll blow up." Matthew's voice was hoarse.

"It's okay Mattie, it's okay son. I'm coming to get you. Just try to tell me if there was anything, a smell or sounds.

"I hear a humming noise. And it kind of smells like chocolate. And when he blindfolded me I could hear a train." Sherlock had his mobile out his hands flying over the screen. He spouted out the address and John called Lestrade but Officer Kelly was already gone.

By the time John and Sherlock arrived Timothy Kelly was sitting on the tailgate of the ambulance holding a very pale Mathew in his lap. The boy looked so much younger wrapped in an orange shock blanket. Tears streaked his dirty face, and John felt a sudden flare of anger.

"He didn't get a good look at anyone, just remembered walking home from school and someone coming up from behind. Poor kid he's pretty shaken." Lestrade ran a hand over his tired face.

"Understandable." John nodded, watching as Mathew's mother just arrived with what looked like his grandmother and grandfather and few aunts and uncles. John could tell they all were Gloria's relatives due to the red hair and green eyes. He made his way to the ambulance leaving Sherlock and Lestrade to discuss the mad bomber's next move.

Sherlock watched as John put a hand on officer Kelly's shoulder, the man was visibly shaken. The consulting detective didn't mention the fact that the officer had nearly shot a suspect, nor did John. This was the most primal of instincts, a parents drive to protect one's offspring. Natures way to ensure the survival of the species. Perhaps it was necessary in the most prehistoric times but now Sherlock wondered over the necessity. The idea that officer Kelly would have done time in prison for murder just so a non blood related child that he had adopted wouldn't parish.

The strength of emotion confused Sherlock, and as the family gathered around the small boy, he scrutinized their faces from afar, and felt as if he missed something important.

"Hey, genius, Mycroft just texted me, he wants that memory stick."

"Fine, I know exactly where to find it. Come along John." Sherlock turned to Lestrade. "Lestrade, you may want to give the child's father the day off, and be sure to prosecute the woman with accomplice to kidnapping, terrorism and fraud."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it all. You'll come in later for a statement." It was a statement but John thought it might as well be a question. Sherlock only turned and sauntered away, John shot the DI a sympathetic look and then a quick nod to the officer who caught his eye. Kelly nodded in reply, the officer tightened his hold around the young boy tucked under his chin.