A/N -_- So, I've finally got only 1 exam left and a whole 11 weeks till I start my new college and… I get sick -_- I'm feeling much better today but I had to survive a two hour trial at my new job yesterday while feeling like rubbish and my only thought was "how on earth am I gunna write my next chapter of fanfic?" XD Lol, I know how to lay out my priorities :D Anyways, I'm feeling better now and am pushing forcefully onwards!
Also, on a random note, has anyone else spotted that image manager thing? You can have, like, book cover type things on your stories! :O I am flabbergasted by this! If I was any good at making images, I'd have some, but I fail at making wallpapers and stuff XD So I'm afraid that I don't think I'll be making use of it! D':
A big thank you lovely Ms Cainchan for reviewing, your lovely reviews always make my day! Also a big thanks to everyone who favourite-d and alerted, it makes me smile when I see those lovely things in my inbox X)
Disclaimer: Okay, so my estimation was incorrect and have instead resorted to allowing the monkeys to build me wings to fly to safety with :S They're aerodynamically sound, right? After developing illness, no doubt rabies from these fleabag *No, wait, wait, please don't hurt me! Stop! ARRRGH!*… lovely monkeys, I have bought shares in Kleenex tissues and cough sweets, supplying me with enough money to build the best wings ever created and find our Sherlock! (No-one has any tips on how to fly, do they? :S)
For a moment, John was certain that he had misheard what Sherlock had said. He almost laughed at the pure absurdity of it, only just stopping himself by glancing a look at Lestrade and seeing the same doubting, shocked expression on his face. John felt a cold shiver run through him as the thought hit him. This man was Sherlock's father? He gaped at the man and realised that even if Sherlock hadn't addressed the man, John would have had the nagging feeling of familiarity at the Chief Superintendent's appearance. He would certainly have come out of the office feeling as if there was something missing as even as John looked at him now, it didn't take any stretch of deduction to see the massive similarities between Sherlock and the older man.
The face shapes were identical and although the Chief Superintendent's face was older and more hardened, John could easily pick out the same angular features and although his hair was smoothed down, it was the same shade of brown as Sherlock's. He was a little larger than Sherlock was but he was just as tall as Sherlock was and even the way he held himself reminded John of Sherlock. It had a hint of the military to it, a stance that John recognised, but he held his head just like Sherlock did, his fingers holding the file in the same delicate way that Sherlock held evidence, the expression observing the file almost identical to the one that Sherlock held while deducing. The thing that unsettled John the most however was his eyes. The colour was practically the same and they had the same intelligent spark in them. In fact, they were so alike that if John had only been looking at those and nothing else, he could just as easily have been talking to Sherlock. The phrase "he has your eyes" seemed to take on a whole new meaning and John had to look away quickly before the feelings of déjà vu got any stronger.
There was a silence in which nobody seemed to know exactly what to say; John and Lestrade unable to speak through their shock (the thoughts seemed to be coalescing in Lestrade's mind so strongly that his expression revealed it, as if he himself had experienced the same feelings of déjà vu every day of meeting this man and yet he had never dared to wonder) whereas Sherlock and Mr. Sherrinford appeared to be performing calculations, estimating the correct thing to say, as if the whole thing was one elaborate chess match. Then, finally, Sherlock seemed to decide to make the first move, tentatively testing out the playing field.
"I have to admit that your reappearance has… surprised me," Sherlock said and there was a note of hesitancy in there, like he was still trying to scrape around his memory for clues. His father smiled and it was the kind of smile that John couldn't quite put a lock on, one that looked to be both wary and caring at the same time, sympathetic almost to Sherlock's confusion.
"It's good to see you again also, Sherlock," he replied and he turned to John, acknowledging him properly for the first time, "I must apologize for my rudeness, it's been a long time since my son and I have met. I'm Robert Sherrinford, formerly Robert Holmes, before I changed my name. You can call me Bob, if you wish." John stared at him, patiently waiting for his head to reboot and start working properly once again. The man sounded almost… nice. He vaguely wondered if, between his mother and Mycroft, the few scraps of humanity Sherlock had managed to garner throughout childhood had been from his father.
"John Watson," he managed to say, looking over at Sherlock in a muddle of needing both an explanation and needing permission to tell this man about himself. John had got used to meeting dangerous people when around Sherlock Holmes and it was safe to say that he was wary of potential threats. The London that Sherlock Holmes lived in was different to that of most people and Mycroft had been right when he had said that his London was like a warzone, full of risk and enemies.
"A pleasure to finally be introduced," Robert said, smiling at him, "I've read a lot about you, you've been helping my son in his cases haven't you?" John nodded cautiously.
"Well, I have a lot to thank you for then. Sherlock has always been a very intelligent young man but he needs a little bit of looking after, doesn't he?" Robert continued and John felt himself give a small smile. That certainly was true. The man's tone was open and friendly and Sherlock had yet to intervene, which John took as a good sign.
"Would you like to sit down?" Robert said and he gestured to the desk, taking a seat himself and waiting for Lestrade and John to sit opposite him. Sherlock, stubbornly, remained standing.
"I heard that you were a soldier, an army doctor, John. I was in the army myself for a short time, with my brother. We got a fair few medals between us, they're adhered to the Holmes name however, I had yet to change my name by that point," Robert said, pointing over to the display cabinet and John raised his eyebrows at the impressive selection of medals displayed proudly within the case.
"It looks like we owe you an awful lot," John said and the Chief Superintendent's smile widened.
"Our country owes us both an awful lot, if you were as good a doctor as reports say," he complimented. John was about to thank him when Sherlock cut in, obviously tired of the chatter.
"What are you doing here, father?" he said. John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's interjection but was surprised to hear that it lacked the usual bite, replacing it instead with genuine curiosity. His voice sounded quiet, cutting through with simple interest and he sounded almost apologetic for interrupting the conversation. In all his time of knowing Sherlock Holmes, John had never heard him sound apologetic for his impatience before.
Robert looked at his son and there was a sort of affection to the look but it made alarm bells ring in John's head all the same. It could merely have been the angle at which he was looking at him from but the look in his eyes seemed similar to the one he had given his case of medals, protective and proud and yet possessive of his achievements. He felt Lestrade tense slightly next to him, like he was trying to move to see the look better and convinced John that he wasn't seeing things. The smile on the older man's face looked genuine enough and John was having trouble deciphering the expression, sure that he was just being overly cautious, too afraid of losing Sherlock again.
"It's been a long time since we have spoken son but I have been following your exploits closely. Dr. Watson's blog has been a marvelous resource to keep me updated however it was after reading the piece in the paper about Richard Brooks and your… defamation that I was sure something was afoot. After your-" he cut off and seemed to have to think about the word before it came out, "death, I was certain."
Sherlock's mouth twitched into a small smile. "So," he said, "You used your connections in the police to get you a job somewhere high in the hierarchy in order to find out what was really going on and clear my name."
"Exactly," Robert agreed, "I lack faith in the Holmes name, Sherlock, however I was prepared to believe that you were, at least, a good example of it and, of course, I was always hoping that you would still be alive, somehow. I know how clever you are Sherlock, I was certain that you had found an answer to your problem." John watched as Sherlock's smile widened and there was the impossible to miss shine of pride in his eyes. To anyone else, the change in Sherlock would be impossible to spot, but to John, Sherlock was practically glowing under the praise. He had shone whenever John had complimented his skills, surprised that he hadn't simply told him to "piss off" and happy to hear the appreciation, but this was different. Sherlock looked happier than John had seen him in ages, an innocent sort of happiness that came from something so small and yet meant something huge to him. A shift of something akin to jealousy and protectiveness ground itself into John's stomach but overall he couldn't help but feel grateful for the older Holmes' approval, bringing back some of Sherlock's usual vigor.
"I started an investigation into your name and managed to find sufficient evidence to clear it," the older Holmes concluded, "And now, here you are, alive again and I'm able to see you once again. Things have changed so much, you've changed, Sherlock. A great detective now, the Reichenbach hero. He's inspired the force, hasn't he Lestrade? After we revealed this whole Moriarty thing, Sherlock's become something of a hero, defeating him like that." Lestrade gave a nod but John could see the unease in his face, the slight whisper of suspicion to him. It was obvious to tell that Lestrade didn't trust Robert Holmes, no matter how much he may have owed to Bob Sherrinford. John himself certainly hadn't seen any admiration of Sherlock in Sally Donavon's eyes, nothing but blame settling on Sherlock even after the media storm had calmed down. This "inspiration of the police" might have been what Robert Holmes saw, but Lestrade didn't see it and neither did John and he wondered if Lestrade's uncharacteristic silence and suspicion was anything to do with that.
"We could use a detective like you back on the force, Sherlock," Robert said and for the first time since they had entered the office, Lestrade looked relieved, nodding in agreement, "I don't think it'd be any trouble to get you back on a consulting basis again, if you would like." John raised an eyebrow at that. To get Sherlock back consulting again without trouble indicated power and he briefly considered how far up Robert's input in Scotland Yard went. Sherlock didn't look surprised but there was that slight glow to him still as he nodded and then, with apparently no prodding from John or reprimanding looks, he added, "Thank you."
John gaped at him. Sherlock Holmes had said thank you without pressure from anybody. He looked at Sherlock and then back to the other Holmes, wondering how in God's name he had gathered that much respect from Sherlock Holmes that not only was Sherlock practically lapping up his approval but he was being polite without even so much as a turning up of his nose.
"No problem," Robert Holmes said politely, standing, "I can get Lestrade to inform you of when your re-instatement is complete, if that's okay Greg"
"Um, yeah, that'll be fine," Lestrade agreed but even he seemed to be in awe of how in control and in power Robert Holmes was.
"Good. Now, I regret that I have a meeting to attend to, however it has been fascinating meeting you Dr. Watson," Robert said and John quickly stood to shake his hand.
"You too," John said and the older man nodded at him. He stopped to look at Sherlock, looking his son up and down.
"You have no idea how relieved I am to see you're alive," Robert said, "We've not spoken in a long time Sherlock but it is wonderful to see you again."
Sherlock didn't reply but that same admiring look passed his face and his eyes didn't leave his father as the older Holmes walked from the room. Lestrade cleared his throat, standing up as well.
"I've gotta- that meeting's for me too…" Lestrade paused a moment and then looked at Sherlock, "Is he really your dad?"
"It does have a sort of poetry to it since he's in the police, doesn't it?" Sherlock said, by his way of agreeing. Lestrade let out a huff of air and raised both eyebrows as he processed it.
"Wow," he said eventually, "I thought just one of you was bad enough." John gave a small laugh, confusion making it something of a giggle.
"Um, well… anyway, I've got that meeting," Lestrade said, still looking stunned, "But I'll text you when you're back on consulting, alright? You can find your own way out, right?" He seemed at a loss for what to do for a moment and then seemed to make a decision and walk for the door, only turning back once he reached it.
"And eat something will you, Sherlock?" he said, sounding mildly irritated, "You look like a stick insect."
He left the door open, inviting them to leave and John shot a glance over at Sherlock, hoping for an explanation however he was met only with Sherlock avoiding his gaze and after a few moments, followed Lestrade out of the door.
"So, do you want to explain to me why your father is the Chief Superintendent?" John said when they finally got home. The taxi ride had been awkwardly silent, Sherlock staring out of the window with a shut-off, calculating gaze and John felt relieved to finally be home.
"He used to work in the police," Sherlock said simply, "Obviously he has used his connections within Scotland Yard to be given a position." It was an obvious deflection, a clumsy one for Sherlock's usual standards.
"So they gave him Chief Superintendent?" John said incredulously. Sherlock nodded.
"He's a very powerful individual," Sherlock said and it was obvious that he wasn't listening, flopping himself down in a chair and flicking through the TV channels casually, sparing each one only a second to catch his interest. John was never sure if Sherlock really did like the crap on tellie or if it was just a way of diverting John's attention from Sherlock. He settled on Corrie and John winced as the screen was filled with two members of the Street arguing with each other in high pitched voices.
"She's obviously sleeping with him," Sherlock mumbled, "The scripting is predictable, as usual." John rolled his eyes.
"Listen, Sherlock," he said, coming to sit on the other chair, "Your dad seems like an alright guy and I'm chuffed that you've got to see him, I just want to make sure you two are okay, that's all. I mean, if you've not seen him in a while then obviously you might not really know him as well as you used to and-"
"We should go out for dinner," Sherlock interrupted, speaking as though he had been ignoring everything John had just said. John gritted his teeth in frustration.
"Sherlock, I'm only trying to-"
"In fact, I know just the place," Sherlock said quickly and he jumped up, indicating immediately to John that this was more than just Sherlock's usual ignorance; he was actively trying to ignore John's prying, "It does a wonderful menu at this hour. Besides, we should celebrate my return and reinstatement, I think."
John searched desperately for some reason to stop Sherlock as the detective rooted around for his scarf. If he lost his chance now, Sherlock would never open up and that'd be it. He felt as if enough secrets were being kept from him already without any more from Sherlock.
"You're not going to have dinner looking like that," John finally settled on. Sherlock frowned at him, the apparent change of demeanour catching him off guard and he looked at John suspiciously.
"Like what?" he said. John nodded at Sherlock's hair. Although Sherlock's face was still relatively clean-shaven, his hair had grown to a ridiculous halfway sort of length, too short to be shoulder length, but too long to be his normal style. John had been meaning to point it out to him but hadn't got the chance, but now he seized upon it.
"When was the last time you had a haircut?" John said. Sherlock glowered at him.
"What does it matter when I last had a haircut John?" Sherlock said and John gave him his best sceptical, mother hen look and Sherlock sagged slightly. John could practically see his thought process written above his head. Time spent in army means a neat, practical attitude. Mother hen looking decisive. Prognosis: Situation unable to be salvaged.
Sherlock sighed and wilted under John's glare, much to John's relief.
"Fine," Sherlock spat, dragging up one of the wooden chairs from the table. It wasn't the first time John had had to cut Sherlock's hair, the consulting detective usually far too busy to care about his appearance, much to John's chagrin and he had often had to forcibly drag Sherlock from his room to "cut that Goddamn mop of yours". John gave a smile, scurrying into the kitchen to fin the scissors, hearing Sherlock grumbling in the living room. Sherlock knew he was right, he did look a bit of a mess, but he also knew the operating factor of the gesture: John needed Sherlock to sit still long enough to get through to him. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the idea, considering how much nagging he was about to receive. He would have smiled at the idea if he wasn't so agitated, the idea of John nagging him like he always had done. Sherlock didn't know quite how he felt about his father's sudden return but John's familiar presence at his side felt somehow comforting and, although he wouldn't show it to John, he felt grateful at his friend's unchanging personality.
John returned with the scissors and Sherlock braced himself for the grilling he was going to receive. The thought of an angry army doctor wielding a pair of scissors behind one's head would be a terrifying thought to anyone but Sherlock, who knew undoubtedly that the worst that could happen would be John feeling offended by Sherlock's refusal to co-operate. Sorry John, Sherlock thought to himself, but my father's relations with me isn't going to be a topic up for debate tonight. He felt drained, not that he'd reveal that. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about his father when his own feelings about it were confused anyway.
"Sherlock, listen, I'm not expecting you to tell me anything about your dad, okay? I don't like talking about my dad so I'm not expecting to tell me anything about him; I just want to make sure that you're okay with it. Your dad showing up, I mean. You've been under a lot of stress as it is and I'm just worried that-"
"I'm fine," Sherlock said. In all honesty, he didn't know that for sure. He felt okay with it. The logical part of his brain was trying to get something through to him, as if he'd deleted something he shouldn't have but for all he knew, he felt glad to see his father again. Or at least, he was sure that was what he was feeling, despite a wandering feeling of confusion. "I'm fine with it, John, there's nothing else you need to know," Sherlock said calmly.
John knew that there was something still troubling Sherlock, the feeling of secrets being kept from him was beginning to grind at John's brain and he desperately wanted to just shake Sherlock and ask him what the hell was going on with him. He seemed different and worse of all, he wasn't telling John things. Sherlock had never lied to John without reason and although those reasons were often infuriating ad dangerous, he would never believe that Sherlock Holmes had told him an outright lie to save face. And yet, right now, John felt himself doubting that. What was Sherlock so afraid of him finding out that he would lie to him about it? He sighed and started to cut Sherlock's mane of hair, feeling overwhelmed at the ridiculous task of trying to tame the mass of locks in front of him. There was always an element of difficulty when living with Sherlock Holmes, from the cases that needed solving and the villains on the loose, to the domestic side, like ignoring Sherlock's many tantrums and trying to keep the man looking half decent and not starving himself to death.
"There's nothing I should know then?" John pressed. Sherlock tried to turn his head around to look at him, almost meeting the scissors with his cheek if John hadn't have pulled his arm back and told Sherlock to keep still.
"Like what? What would you need to know?" Sherlock said defensively. John shrugged, even though Sherlock couldn't see him.
"I dunno, just… your dad wasn't really in that article Moriarty put together about you." The atmosphere immediately felt denser at Moriarty's name and Sherlock sat in dark silence for a long moment, John feeling like he had just stepped into quicksand and was rapidly sinking.
"There were a lot of things that weren't in that article," Sherlock said quietly and John immediately backed off the subject. It was sore for the both of them, an open wound that hurt to touch and John felt like his own emotions had suddenly become more tender at the mention of it.
He let the silence run on, both men deep in their own thoughts. John had finally got Sherlock's hair to the right length by the time he managed to speak again, trying to now shape the still overwhelming curls into something half presentable by Sherlock's standards.
"What you said to Sally Donavon," John said, speaking something that had been niggling at him since leaving Scotland Yard, "Well, actually, more what you didn't say, I mean, you just kind of, accepted what she said. I thought you'd say something, what she said was out of order, especially since you're in the clear now. She was-"
"She was right," Sherlock said and John froze in surprise. He let the words linger, allowing time for John to take them in. "You have to remember John that I was convicted of being a fraud, of setting up false crimes, even carrying out my own; if not by a court then at least by the public. And it may be that I have got my name cleared but it is still a serious thing to have been accused of. I would be surprised if nobody did confront me. She is right to keep an eye on me, John. Surprising as it may be, she may be incompetent, but in a way she does happen to be a half decent police officer."
John took the words in silence. He wasn't even sure what to think of them, only that, in some capacity, Sherlock believed that he deserved to be kept in suspicion, for people to be wary of him. He silently finished Sherlock's hair, not giving a reply to what Sherlock had said because, although there was sense in what he had said, John couldn't help but disagree. Sherlock was his friend, a great detective and was not someone to be held in suspicion of anything, let alone of being a fraud.
"Somebody has to watch the watchmen," Sherlock said into the silence and John didn't know if it was aimed at him or if Sherlock was saying it to himself. John silently cleared up the floor, putting the scissors away and felt rather than saw Sherlock begin to move around in the living room, the usual spring lacking from his movements. John could honestly say he felt the same, exhaustion draining at him.
The only thing that dragged him out of the house to go have dinner was the fact that, no matter the circumstances, John could always honestly admit that he enjoyed going out for dinner with his friend and he was also simply glad to see Sherlock eating something at last. As Sherlock had predicted, the menu was great at that time of the day and, as usual, they got the familiar looks from the waiters that seemed to want to ask if they were "together" to which John would indignantly reply a forceful "no!" Twenty minutes in, the food having arrived exactly when Sherlock had estimated it to and with the waiter having forgotten the garnish John had requested, as Sherlock had already said would happen, John had almost forgotten about Scotland Yard and although he could still see Sherlock mulling it over in his mind, he could almost pretend that things were halfway normal.
Halfway across London and Mycroft Holmes was sat in his office, waiting as the trill of the phone on the other end of the line rang out in his office. He usually disliked speakerphone; however, in the privacy of his own office, he could make an exception. Bob Sherrinford's file was on his desk, Mycroft's fingers drumming over it. He had been suspicious ever since he had heard of the new Chief Superintendent yet he had not had the time to investigate. The minute his spies had confirmed Sherlock's arrival at Scotland Yard, Mycroft had looked into Robert Sherrinford.
The Chief Superintendent's face looked out of a photo on the file and Mycroft had circled it, the word "HOLMES" written in capitals around his name in neat, tight handwriting. A Holmes was currently in the top ranks of Police status and Mycroft had only realised it now because he was no longer spending his time scouring the globe for his brother. He was losing his touch, not least because the man he was currently looking at just happened to be no one short of their father. His fingers tapped impatiently and he could feel a silent fury building up in him as he waited for someone to pick up. What the hell was father doing here? And moreover, what was he doing talking to Sherlock?
The rings rang out and Mycroft was greeted with an answer phone message.
"You have reached the office of Chief Superintendent Robert Sherrinford. Unfortunately I am not available at the moment but if you could leave your name, time of call and a message, I will be sure to return your call." There was a beep that followed and the sound of Robert Holmes' voice had made Mycroft's fingers curl up into a tight fist. A few second of silence gave him time to decide not to leave a message and he ended the recording, slamming the phone down hard, gritting his teeth in anger.
A few seconds later he ripped the cord from the phone, pushing it from his desk with a snarl and hearing the satisfying clatter of plastic as the phone hit the floor. He stood up, straightening his suit, back to business and breathed out slowly. He sent a text to his assistant, who had taken up the name of Patricia on his phone today, before he stormed from the office, slamming the door behind him.
A/N Um, secondary disclaimer of a serious nature: I don't own Coronation Street and so can't speak for its storylines and since I don't actually watch any soaps, I can't really say if someone is sleeping with someone else on it… however it does seem a likely storyline for Corrie XD
Anyway, I'm not sure what to think of this chapter, I'm not completely happy with it, but I'm coughing and spluttering like a dying taxi cab driver and can't really make any judgements on anything at the moment :/ So yeah, I hope it's okay!
Any and all reviews are welcome and absolutely adored so please be sure to press that shiny button and make my day! XD Thanks again for reading :)