The World is Spinning Backwards
Chapter 43: Calm before the Storm
Emmaline busied herself getting Jonathon ready; now eight months old, their son was bursting with energy. Sherlock was exhausted by the time she came home trying to keep him out of things. He could often be caught complaining that Jonathon was learning to walk, and then the next minute be trying to teach him how to.
"Come on, we have to take daddy's camera to get the pictures." Emma told her son as she buttoned up his jacket and put a hat on his head.
A few weeks before, on a whim, Emmaline had bought Sherlock a camera and told him to photograph whatever he wanted. He had finally filled the roll so she told him that while he was out with Lestrade she would get them developed.
She picked the baby up and put him on her hip while she grabbed her bag, and then they were out the door. At the car, she placed him gently in his car seat and did up the straps before getting in the driver's seat. Her car had arrived back from the garage shortly after their zoo trip months before, and it ran like a brand new car.
Turning into traffic, she hummed a tune to herself and was delighted when John heard and began cooing. He loved being sung to, and read to. Often she would sing him lullabies to get him to go to bed at night, and Sherlock would read him stories during the day. Not the books he was used to, but the little cardboard picture books that feature Sesame Street characters.
With a smile, she recalled how Sherlock had told her, he hoped Jonathon would be ready for more 'advanced reading' by the time he was three.
"Reading by three? Sherlock that's an impossible goal to set for him."
"Mycroft was reading by three, I was by four."
"Well what if he doesn't turn out like you? You said your parents are ordinary, I'm ordinary, so what if he isn't like you and your brother?"
Sherlock looked taken aback for a moment before gathering his thoughts. "He's still my son. I'll love him no matter what."
Emma's heart still melted at the exchange. It seemed that, little though he was, John was doing a better job at getting to Sherlock Holmes than she ever had. It was a short drive to the camera shop where they could get the photos developed. Emma parked, grabbed her bag and son, and they were in the little shop; it had taken less than fifteen minutes to drive there.
After a cordial conversation with the shop owner, she was left on her own to explore while the photos were finished.
"Should we get some frames, to put daddy's pictures up?"
Jonathon made a noise and Emmaline took it as confirmation. She picked a few out and placed them on the counter. She was curious about what Sherlock had photographed, because she had never seen him do any of it about the flat. Thinking about Sherlock made him curious as to what he was investigating that day.
He was able to get out of the house more often to work on cases, and since he always worked with Lestrade, brought home a few tidbits about the Detective Inspector's life. Emma knew, for instance, that he was still with Sandra and they had just had their baby boy a few months ago. She wondered then, if they would all like to go out to dinner. Sandra would probably enjoy a night out, and Jonathon would enjoy staring at another baby for two hours.
She got out her phone and texted Lestrade: dinner?
She then sent a text to Sherlock: Dinner tonight with Lestrade family?
Lestrade answered a minute later with: asking Sandra
Sherlock right after that with: why would we – SH
Emma rolled her eyes and made a face at Jonathon. "Daddy just doesn't understand does he? You want to see a baby."
Jonathon cooed and garbled out 'da.'
"Yes, very good! Dada." She said, sounding it out. "At least your first word will be something normal, and not 'microscope' or 'severed head'." She shifted Jonathon on her hip and pulled out her phone, which had just buzzed.
'Sandra says good. What time/place?'
'Fine, if I have too – SH'.
Emma texted them both back with the same message: 'Vincent Rooms?'
"Want to see a baby?" Emma asked Jonathon, just as the shop owner came out from the back.
She thanked the man and paid him for the photographs, and frames, and packed everything up in the car.
"Let's go home and see what daddy took pictures of, huh?"
She pulled out into traffic and in no time, at all they were back in the flat, Jonathon playing in his playpen and Emma taking the pictures out of their folder. She took a quick glance at her phone to see that Lestrade had texted 'sounds good', while Sherlock had sent a frowning face. She chuckled and shook her head.
Looking at the first picture, the sight that greeted her was that of a decapitated head. She frowned and hurriedly put it at the bottom of the pile. While she had become used to seeing a few of Sherlock's more gruesome cases, she still hated it. And these seemed to be mostly taken at crime scenes. Some were of the crime, but most of them seemed to be of the people Sherlock worked with.
There were quite a few photos of Lestrade, doing his work, calling someone, or examining corpses. There was also a couple of the man she remembered from one of her early days with Sherlock – Anderson. So he is still on the force, she thought. Emma had been sure he would have quit after all Sherlock made fun of him for. However, there he was, still doing his job; he had to be doing a good job of it if Sherlock were interested. In addition, it seemed – yes, Anderson had gotten married in the time since.
The next photo was of a woman; based on what Sherlock had told her, this had to be Sally Donovan, a newbie on the force. So this is her…Emmaline thought. The woman that liked to make passing remarks at her husband, hurtful things. Sherlock had told her about a few of the things she said about him, the constant taunts of 'freak'. Emma had vowed that if she ever met her she'd pop Donovan right in the face.
She returned it to the bottom of the pile, and smiled. The next photo was one she herself had taken. She had come home to find Sherlock asleep with Jonathon sleeping on top of him, on the sofa, and she had just felt the need to photograph it. She set it aside, along with a photo of Greg, as one to be hung.
There were quite a few photos then of Jonathon, of Sherlock's experiments in the kitchen, of Emma doing homework or milling about in the kitchen; she wondered how he had taken all these pictures and she had never seen. The last one in the pile was simple, and lovely. It was Emmaline holding Jonathon, her mouth clearly open in light song as she sang him to sleep. She cocked her head and smiled; the photos clearly expressed the human, emotional side of her husband, and were an outlet.
She set that photo aside as well and put the three she had chosen in separate frames, and placed them around the living room.
"I think that looks pretty good. What do you think?" She asked Jonathon.
"Da." He replied, reaching up for her.
"Alright; you have to get a bath anyway and get ready for dinner."
She took John into the bath and drew the water, getting him ready for one of his few outings. As soon as he got in the tub, the door closed signaling Sherlock had come home.
"We're in the bathroom darling!" Emma called out.
"Why would I want to know where you are?" Sherlock replied in his gruff demeanor.
Nevertheless, the door opened and Sherlock stepped in the small room.
"Do we really have to go out tonight?" he asked, kissing Emma's cheek and stooping down to kiss John's head.
"Yes love we do; I thought Sandra could stand to get out of the house, be surrounded by other people."
"Why?" Sherlock asked, taking off his scarf.
"Well she didn't have you; she has a fiancé who has to go to work every day and is always on call."
Sherlock thought about it a moment and then nodded his head. "I'll humor you."
"Thank you darling." She tapped his hand lightly and he understood, stooping over to kiss her.
ᶓ
"See, that wasn't so bad." Emma whispered as Sherlock opened the door for her, a sleeping baby in her arms.
"No, it wasn't awful, but that woman is not good for Lestrade."
"I agree, I don't think she is either. And as his mate, I still think it's your job to say something."
She put the baby in his crib and came back out into the main room.
"No, Lestrade is smart. He'll figure it out." Sherlock insisted.
"Yeah, you said that months ago." Emma told him, taking off her shoes.
Sherlock did not respond; he had caught sight of the new pictures that decorated the living room.
"Are these mine?" He asked, with a hint of interest.
"They are. I went and got them developed today."
"And picked out your favorites." Sherlock deduced. "Where's the one with the corpse covered in maggots?" He asked, not seeing it anywhere.
Emma tried to think of a good answer. "Sherlock, dear, you just have a more refined taste then the rest of us."
"Rubbish; corpses still make you squeamish."
"A bit." She admitted.
Sherlock stared at the photographs an instant longer before turning and withdrawing to the bedroom. Emmaline sighed, running a hand through her hair. She would have to go back through the pictures tomorrow and find one that Sherlock would appreciate, but that was still appropriate. It had hurt him, though he wouldn't say, to see none of the mutilated bodies proudly displayed. That was what he did every day, his work, and he was proud of it. And she was proud of him – that was a way for her to show him.
She entered the bedroom a minute after him and found him standing over the baby's crib, his finger curled in Jonathon's tiny hand.
"Sherlock, are you coming to bed?" She asked, coming up behind him and wrapping an arm around his waist.
"Yeah; he just started crying a bit."
She kissed Sherlock's cheek and left him so she could change, and got into bed. A few minutes later, he joined her and wrapped himself around her under the covers.
"Thank you." He whispered as he fell asleep.
"For what?" She asked tiredly.
"For saving me." He replied, just before nodding off.
Emma's heart swelled with happiness, her subconscious carrying it into her dreams where she stayed content all night, happy to stay wrapped in the arms of the man she loved, knowing their child was sleeping peacefully nearby.