Two Years Later: Can't Walk Out
Sherlock would never have dared to believe it, but there he was, witnessing the peace-binding between his people and the land-walkers of Molly's tribe. A peace he'd never been interested in seeing between their two peoples until she came into his life - and glad he was of it, even if it had been only for a few, fleeting days. The happiest of his life, were he willing to admit to so frivolous an emotion. Molly's act of mercy had caused him to return the favor to one of her tribesman, the man who stood on the shore opposite him - John Watson, a soldier and physician who had urged their new chief - Lestrade was his name - to speak to Sherlock's brother Mycroft and try to bring an end to their war.
The actions of both men, as well as their words, had not fallen on deaf ears. Sherlock acknowledged John's slight smile with a nod of his head as Mycroft and Lestrade clasped forearms, signalling that the peace-bonding was complete. Cheers erupted from both land and sea as the witnesses gave voice to their relief and happiness at this momentous occasion.
During the process he'd looked in vain for Molly, and afterwards, when he and John were free to speak to one another, he asked after her. Although he tried not to sound too eager - he'd never told John what had prompted him to come to his aid, keeping true to his promise to Molly - something in his voice or eyes must have given him away. John gave him a hard look, then a short bark of laughter as he shook his head. "It's you," he said, inexplicably to Sherlock. "You're the one - of course it would be you, I should have known!"
"Known what?" Sherlock demanded, wishing - not for the first time - that he could turn his fins to legs in order to walk on land. In this case, he also wished to shake his friend into explaining himself, although he had a sinking feeling he already knew.
Sure enough, John's next words confirmed that suspicion. "Molly Hooper had an...encounter...with a sea-dweller two years ago," he said, pitching his voice low in case anyone was listening. Which was ridiculous, as everyone was too busy singing and drinking and feasting to care what they said. "That was you, wasn't it."
Sherlock nodded. "Is she here?" he asked, not bothering to hide his eagerness now that John knew the truth.
But the physician shook his head. "No, she's not - and she's not on the Death-Minder's island anymore, either," he added when Sherlock made as if to swim away.
"Why not? Where is she?"
"She was given an apprentice, and he's taken over her role - Philip Anderson is his name. Not as good at the rituals as she was, but competent enough, I suppose," John said. He sounded as if he doubted his own words, but Sherlock didn't care about the apprentice, only about Molly, and said so in no uncertain terms.
"She's been exiled," John said bluntly. "By Magnussen, not by Lestrade." The land-dweller's former chief had been given over to the sea-dwellers for punishment when Lestrade, aided by Sherlock and John, had discovered that he had been the true reason for the war. He'd murdered the envoy Mycroft had sent to broker a trade agreement, as well as one of his own tribesmen who had witnessed the killing, then blamed the sea-dweller for it all.
"Exiled? Because of me?" Sherlock was stunned; he'd not expected such ill news, and felt a surge of guilt and anger at having been the cause of any harm to the woman who counted, who meant so much to him no matter how brief their actual time together had been.
"Don't worry," John said, clearly mistaking his friend's words as concern for himself. "She said nothing, told no one the name of her, erm, 'friend'. And now, why, it matters not!"
Sherlock ignored John's words. "Why hasn't Lestrade lifted the exile?" he demanded, sending a dark scowl towards the silver-haired human seated comfortably on the breakwater and talking to Mycroft.
"He couldn't, not until the treaty was formalized," John told him. "But I know he intends to allow Molly to return, now that our people are truly at peace."
"Where…" Sherlock started to ask but John was already speaking.
"It's the northernmost island in the chain, the one shaped like a dolphin." He gave his friend a sly smirk. "I'd offer to take you there, but I'll warrant my boat won't travel nearly as swiftly as your fins - after all, I've heard love lends speed to even the hardest of hearts!"
Sherlock gave an exaggerated sigh and eye-roll. "Yes, yes, John, your humor remains at the level I'd expect from a land-walker."
John's expression had become serious, but before he could do more than open his mouth to give voice to whatever warning he deemed it his duty to give - for surely such a relationship between their two peoples could have no good ending, or so Sherlock been cautioned often enough when his fascination with land-walkers had come to his brother's attention - Sherlock had already disappeared beneath the waves.
oOo
Molly was working the nets, bringing in a fresh catch, the only means by which she could make a living after Magnussen had her exiled. Once a month she'd be visited by Mike Stamford, the kindly merchant who'd offered to buy whatever she caught and who insisted on visiting her himself rather than simply sending one of his sailors.
And all just so his wife, Sarah, the Healer from the village the three of them had grown up in, could continue to see Molly. Magnussen had decreed that her services would not be 'wasted' on Molly after the first year of her exile, but now that Lestrade had become Chief, Molly had hopes that her exile would soon be at an end. There had been rumors of a peace treaty between the land-walkers and the sea-dwellers, and she'd prayed to the Gods most earnestly that such a peace might come to pass. Not only for her sake, but for the sake of…
"Sherlock," she whispered, the net dropping from her calloused hands at the sight of her lover rising from the waves. "Sherlock!" she cried out, tears of joy springing from her eyes as she splashed into the water, heedless of the fish now frantically swimming free of their entrapment. She reached the deeper waters where he waited, and threw herself into his welcoming arms, laughing and crying as his lips met hers in a tender kiss.
She broke the kiss almost immediately, her eyes seeking the shore. "Sherlock, I must...there's something you need to know," she said anxiously. She could feel his eyes upon her as she pulled regretfully from his embrace.
"Your exile will be lifted by your chief," he interrupted her, reaching out to capture her hands in his. "The war is over, peace has been declared and our people are celebrating even now."
Her smile faltered, but before he could ask her what was wrong - she could practically see the words forming on his perfect lips - a sound from shore caught her attention.
"Mama! Wanna swim! Who dat?"
Sherlock had gone rigid in her embrace, and she stole a glance at his face, seeing the shock she knew he must be feeling. She'd meant to tell him first thing; she had resolved that long ago, upon first discovering that he'd left her with child, to tell him first thing…but seeing him had thrown those good intentions out of her mind entirely. All she could do now was say, "Her name is Merina."
"She has legs," Sherlock breathed, eyes still glued to the tiny figure toddling into the waves.
Molly turned and held out her arms. "Come in, Merina, and meet your father, my sweet!"
"She has legs," Sherlock said again, but when Molly glanced at him again she saw the way his eyes were taking in every detail about their fifteen-month-old daughter. The tumble of dark curls on her head. The sun-kissed flesh. The brown eyes, so like her own; the plump lips unmistakably shaped as his were; the sturdy little body splashing in the shallows - and the silvery sheen of scales on her legs, human legs ending in elongated, webbed feet.
He said nothing more as Merina swam out to meet them, diving beneath the waves and popping up only a few inches from her mother's waiting arms. "Mama!" she piped in her dear, sweet voice, smiling widely as Molly swept her into her embrace. "Who dat? Fodder?" She leaned forward as if to get a closer look at Sherlock, and Molly held her breath as she waited for his reaction.
In living memory, no land-walker had ever birthed a child sired by one of the sea-dwellers. She'd had to take Mike Stamford and his wife into her confidence as her time neared, and they'd not let her down. Even after her exile they'd remained steadfast allies, refusing to allow Merina to be drowned at birth as Chief Magnussen had so arrogantly decreed. Nor had she given the name of her lover, even under threat of torture. The traditions of her people had been shredded by the war, but not so badly that he was allowed to follow through on that threat. Exile, however, was well within his powers and he'd sent her away without an ounce of pity or remorse in his eyes.
Molly feared to see what was in Sherlock's eyes as he continued to study Merina; would he reject her, reject them both? Would be repulsed by their child, disgusted by the fact that she had legs rather than fins and a tail? Would he…
"Molly." His voice cut through her thoughts like a dagger; her eyes flew up to meet his. "You are thinking too loudly. Kindly stop so I can…" his voice caught, just the smallest bit, and she felt some of the pooling tension in her stomach start to ease as he continued speaking. "Kindly stop so I can properly introduce myself to our daughter. Hello, Merina," he added, returning his attention to the now-squirming toddler in Molly's arms. "That means 'Little Ocean' in my language, did you know that?"
Merina laughed and held out her arms. Sherlock looked to Molly for permission, but with a smile on her lips she gladly relinquished her hold. Merina was giggling as she was held by her father for the first time. "Fodder!" she said gleefully, patting his face and reaching up to tug on his hair. "You gots my hairs!"
"No, little one," he corrected her solemnly. "You gots mine." He patted her head, then leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to one plump, rosy cheek. "But you have your mother's beautiful eyes."
Merina giggled again, while Molly fought down a sudden lump in her throat. This meeting had been so perfect that she feared what might happen next. But she tried her best to ignore the many questions and worries swirling through her mind, concentrating instead on the happiness on Merina's face, and the wonder she now recognized in Sherlock's gaze. When he flipped his tail out of the water for their daughter to see, she clapped her hands together and bounced in his arms. "We can swims! Mama can't swims like me but you can, Fodder!"
"Yes, I'd love to swim with you," Sherlock said with a slight - very slight - wince and grimace that Merina didn't notice, even if Molly did. "But perhaps you could just call me Papa instead?"
She tilted her head to one side, then nodded. "Papa," she said proudly, turning to look at her mother. She pointed at Sherlock. "Look, Mama, Papa!"
"Yes, that's your Papa," Molly said as she once again found herself battling tears. "I hope he will visit us many times…"
Sherlock interrupted her with a scowl. "Not visiting, Molly, staying. Either here or back on your old island. Wherever you two go, so do I." His gaze turned uncertain and he added in a faltering voice, "Unless that's now what you want, then of course…"
It was her turn to interrupt him, moving closer to tug him down for a lingering kiss. "I wish you to remain with us always," she whispered, not trusting her voice. "Always, always."
"Awees!" Merina crowed, clapping her hands together before wiggling out of Sherlock's arms. She paddled around her parents as their lips met in another kiss, the first of many they would share during their long, happy lives together.
A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing this little merm!lock fic. I'm sure you're shocked - shocked! - that it turned into a parentlock story!