
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/737151.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      No_Archive_Warnings_Apply, Underage
  Category:
      Multi
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Sherlock_Holmes/John_Watson, Mycroft_Holmes/Greg_Lestrade, Sebastian
      Moran/James_Moriarty
  Character:
      Sherlock_Holmes, John_Watson, Hamish_Watson-Holmes, Mycroft_Holmes, Greg
      Lestrade, Molly_Hooper, Mrs._Hudson, Harry_Watson, Mary_Morstan, Severin
      Moran, James_Moriarty, Jim_Moriarty, Sebastian_Moran
  Additional Tags:
      Love, Established_Relationship, consulting_husbands, Parent!lock, Post
      Reichenbach, Dysfunctional_Family, Sexual_Content, Explicit_Language,
      Awkwardness, Angst, Child_Abuse, BAMF_John, mentions_of_mormor, Action/
      Adventure
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-26 Updated: 2013-04-19 Chapters: 14/? Words: 28358
****** Nothing is the same ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     John often worried after Sherlock returned that nothing would ever be
     the same between them. Thankfully, he was right. Before they weren't
     happily married with a five year old son. But can this new dream life
     be spared of complications?
Notes
     I do not own BBC's Sherlock or any of its characters. I'm just
     playing house with them. :) First chapter from John's POV. May or may
     not change through out the rest of the series.
***** Then and Now *****
Back then you would trounce about the flat in nothing but a bed sheet, deducing
crime scenes from your computer. Now you sprint on your heels after our boy,
insistent that you can't fathom why he can't just keep his damned clothes on.
After all he just looks so precious and dignified in the clothes that his uncle
Mycroft got for him last week. You're absolutely right, though it's difficult
to deny how remarkably like you he is. You try to rationalize with him why he
should be wearing clothes. God you're rationalizing with a five year old. All
the same Hamish reciprocates your logic with his own. "Why should I?" he
argues, "It's boring. It isn't as if I'm going anywhere." I can see that you
aren't sure how to respond to that because you once told me that the majority
of the reason we even wear clothes is to abide by what is socially acceptable,
and you found my nakedness perfectly acceptable therefore there was no need to
put on pants or get out of bed that day.
The clock chimes twelve and a grin bisects your beautiful face. You turn on
your heels towards the kitchen, much cleaner than it was before all of this
started. Hamish is immediately curious peering from behind the arm of the
couch. Without checking to see if he's watching, you proceed to put a skillet
on the stove and drop butter into it. Next you're placing bread onto a plate,
buttering each side. It's when you open the fridge to retrieve the cheese that
our little one finally realizes what it is you're doing. He patters into the
kitchen with his tiny little feet, he's staring up at you with those eyes that
are an impossible color. You let the sandwich down onto the skillet with a
satisfying sizzle before finally attending to his expectant gaze.
"No shirt. No trousers. No service" you told him blankly. His eyes sank into
the floor before looking back up into your face half shielded by those inky
curls.
"That's not how the phrase goes daddy" he folded his arms in front of his bare
chest. You smiled slyly.
"I'm the chef. It's my kitchen. The phrase goes which ever way I like." This
time it was you folded your arms over your neatly pressed purple shirt.
Hamish huffs audibly stomping his feet all the way up the stairs to his
bedroom, the room that used to be mine. I'm sure you didn't think that I saw
you smiling that smug, victorious smile but I did. You finished making our
stubborn little boy's favorite meal laying it neatly out on the kitchen table.
Grilled cheese (cut into four triangles), celery sticks, and juice (apple). You
leaned up against the refrigerator with your arms still crossed staring
expectantly up at the stairs.
Hamish skips dangerously down the stairs with a long, black, familiar cape
breezing behind him. It's his Halloween costume from last year. He demanded
that he be allowed to go as Dracula. Regardless of this costume adornment
clearly intended to peeve you, you look satisfied and pull a chair out for him
at the kitchen table. Back then you were impatient, but as a parent you've
learnt to take the small victories as they come.
I'm not sure if this is something that's changed about you. I feel like you've
always done something like this before but it's so much different now. After
lunch you tell Hamish to adorn his shoes and jacket. It's sunny out and you
offer that we should go to the park. I appreciate that you want our son to grow
up unafraid to be an individual but I scoop him up anyway an take him up the
stairs to find something proper to wear. I put him in a long sleeve green shirt
and black trousers. I've always rather liked the color green on him. Taking us
to the park isn't what I am addressing though. It's what happens when we get to
the park.
Hamish is showing you how far along on the monkey bars he can get on his own
before requiring your assistance as I watch from a bench. I never tire of
watching you interact with our son. You who was always so bored with the
domestic world are so impressed with the tiny feats our boy comes to grasp. A
woman sitting on the bench near mine looks up from her book and we start to
chat mostly about the weather and about romantic literature. Domestic things
that wives would exchange whilst watching their children share a play-date. I
ask her if she has a child. It may be good for Hamish to meet some new people,
especially since he is starting school soon. Before she has a chance to respond
I can feel your arms snaking around my waist from beside me. Your left hand
reaches awkwardly for mine. Your pressing our intertwined fingers up to my
chest. Our wedding bands clang together audibly. "Hello. Mr. Holmes-Watson."
You introduce yourself.
I strictly remember what you were like when I would bring women back to the
flat before this entire mess started. You were never very accommodating, but I
understood that to be because you felt they distracted me from our work, from
admiring your brilliance. This interference if for a different reason entirely.
You are jealous that this strange woman is chatting me up. She's only slightly
phased though. She smiles and introduces her as a Smith or Jones or whatever.
She tells me that she has a daughter in the third grade and not so casually
raises her left hand, adorning a rather large engagement ring to her face to
push a strand of hair behind her ear. I can feel you smiling with satisfaction
against my ear. You let out a small breath and kiss me on the cheek before
running back to Hamish who has just taken his third trip down the large green
slide. I'm always telling him that he isn't ready for the big slide but he's
stubborn. Thinks he's bloody indestructible. Maybe I'm just afraid of heights.
He is definitely your son.
You never used to dumb anything down for anyone. You would make your brilliant
deductions and turn to me to translate between you and all of the puzzled faces
around us. Tonight upon reading Hamish a bedtime story I find you much like
Lemony Snicket defining every four to six syllable word that's leaving Hamish
baffled. He's starting to fall asleep clutching to your shirt as you ramble on
the last of the story in that deep, velvety voice of yours. You kiss him atop
his little brunette head and tell him goodnight. "I love you Daddy. I love you
Papa." he yawns turning over on his side away from the door. Slowly, quietly we
back out of the room. You used to play the violin at ungodly hours, as a parent
you'll do anything to get Hamish to sleep through a night.
We are still light-footed as we get down the stairs into the sitting room. You
throw an arm around my waist and your free hand cups my face. You never used to
touch me like that, but come to think of it, you have always looked at me like
that. I wonder why I didn't make a move sooner. Your lips find mine softly at
first but after a few languid kisses your lapping at my mouth and you have me
panting. You pull me into our bedroom, the one that used to be yours alone,
that used to be practically empty and hardly slept in. There is a new sense of
warmth to it since this whole new life started, since you came back from the
dead and brought me back with you.
You used to seem so utterly unaffected by all things of a sexual nature. Now
you can hardly keep your hands off me and make it a point to bed me whenever
you can. You pull me down on top of you on our bed, it was only ever sort of
your bed before then. My fingers are working impatiently at the buttons of your
ridiculously expensive shirt while you mouth at that spot on my neck you know
that I like. Your tongue darts out at the juncture of my neck and my shoulder
before your pushing me back desperately pulling my shirt over my head. You
throw it and it catches on the door handle. Your mouth is on the gunshot wound
in my shoulder and I've finally succeeded in pushing that pretentious article
of clothing off of your shoulders. My hands search your smooth milky chest, I
find myself pinching one of those sensitive pink nubs between my fingers and
you're gasping.
Sometime between removing your trousers and you taking me into your mouth I
lose count of what's going on. Only you know how to make me short circuit like
this. Your passing me lube from our bed side drawer and instinctively I am
slicking up my fingers and preparing for you. You moan out my name as I open
you and press agonizingly gently against your prostate. Between your nails
digging into back and the pitiful gasps and moans we're sharing I can't control
myself anymore. I let myself sink into you completely. Your hair is in my fist
and I'm holding your mouth up to mine like an oxygen mask. I set into a rhythm
and you're practically sobbing out obscene words. You never really used to
curse like that, but that's what makes it so incredibly sexy. It feels like
you're praying to me when you tell me that you're about to come before doing so
all over my stomach and yours. I follow you over the edge and collapse by your
side after a considerable amount of time riding out the earth shattering waves
of pleasure that rip through me. You lick me clean and I nearly get hard for
you again.
Weights are pulling at my eyes though. I hold you to my chest and taking a deep
breath you begin to fall asleep. You never used to sleep, not that I really
knew of. I'm thanking God that this is my life now. Our life.
***** Firsts yet to be had *****
Chapter Summary
     Hamish Holmes-Watson starts his first day of school. Will our Baker
     Street dads be able to handle this one?
Chapter Notes
     Going from Sherlock's POV this time because I think it will be fun to
     see him deal with this critical point in parenthood. :D Enjoy!
I touch your little shoulder lightly and you let out a groan. You simply aren't
ready to stop dreaming yet. I brush the mop of brown curls John won't let me
cut, out of your face and leave a small kiss there trying to call you from your
unconscious adventures. It's time for Hamish to return to the real world. Today
is a very significant day. Today is the day that Hamish embarks to earn an
education. I am certain that I could just keep you at home and teach you
everything you could possibly need to know and you would triumph over your
schooled counter-parts but John insisted that I allow you to go to school 'to
fill the gaps that I cannot.' It is so much like John to resurface my disregard
for the principles of the solar system as important. It simply isn't. I was
thoroughly convinced when John told me that it was a means for me to continue
working. Oh Hamish, your uncle Lestrade doesn't want to admit it, but he needs
my help. You stretch yourself across the length of your bed and your eyes
flutter open. John and I are constantly arguing about those eyes. I think they
are blue but in the right light he swears they are gold. Secretly I agree.
Don't tell your papa, Hamish. Okay?
"Good morning" I say quietly. You are looking up at me but it's more like your
looking through me for the first few seconds. "Today is your first day dear."
"Dun wanna go" you protest. I want you to remember that I didn't really want
you to go either. If it were up to me, I would have taken you to Bart's that
day to watch an autopsy. We could have run tests on some fingers your auntie
Molly would most certainly give me and then eat crisps. I am not sure if I am
frowning at you or smiling at you. I am nearly positive that I am managing both
at the same time.
"You have to." I will not let on that I would allow you to stay home if I
could. Parents are not supposed to contradict one another. I never thought that
information would store itself in my mind palace, but sitting bedside with you,
hearing John stir under our feet, it seems like it has always belonged there.
"It's the law. Besides, it will be fun." It feels very much like I am lying,
but I'm certain that this is based solely on my experiences in school. You are
John's son. You are almost certain to get along better than I ever had.
"I'm scared. And I'm gonna miss you and papa" you complain trying to pull the
covers over your head. I hold them firm in my hand and you tug impatiently.
"Wanna stay in my foxhole." I am glad John didn't hear this. He may not like
you pretending to be at war, even if it's just a small war with the prospect of
going to school for the first time. My hands leave your coverings and sneak
their way under your arms. You fall into a fit of giggles. I used to think that
tickling was such an odd practice. I couldn't fathom it. Now it is a powerful
weapon. I scoop you into my arms and hold you there on my lap, letting you
adjust before I have to make you get dressed. You hold onto my shirt. I like to
think you appreciate that I'm giving you a little more time before this becomes
real.
John, your papa, is at the door while I'm still holding you. He gives me a look
that says 'Sherlock-you-are-babying-him-again.' I always thought that I would
be the one administering those looks when you came into our lives. Regardless
of his attempts to be the stronger parent in this situation he sits beside us
on your bed and we both just hold you like that for awhile. He scoops you out
of my arms and I feel like protesting but I know that it is time for you to get
ready for school. It would all be starting very soon. There is a knot in my
stomach. I'm not hungry. What is this? Paternal feelings. Great.
Your papa likes to see me in purple and for some odd reason he's fond of you in
green. Together we are a singing dinosaur. I don't argue though as he pulls
your very favorite green shirt over your head and then khakis over your legs.
He applies a jacket to your person and hands you your lunch bag while I assist
you with your shoes. "Remember what we told you to tell the teacher?" he asks
sternly.
You look him straight in the eyes with pride on your face. "Hello. My name is
Hamish Holmes-Watson. I am allergic to peanuts." You aren't parroting a lesson.
You know why you cannot have peanuts. I'm proud of your precautions.
"Very good." John smiles at you. "Remember that Daddy and I will come get you
outside of the school. Do not leave the sight of an adult that works there and
do not leave with anyone that you don't know. Do you understand?"
"Yessir!" You exclaim very seriously raising your hand to salute. John frowns a
small frown at this but pulls you into a hug nonetheless. He doesn't look like
he wants to let go. I wrap my arms around the both of you and I think that
gives him the bravery to take a very deep breath and let go. He pulls your
knapsack over your shoulders.
"Just one more thing." He is smiling now as he goes into the kitchen to
retrieve the camera from the kitchen counter.
"Say dead bodies," I smile wide. Before John has time to shoot me the 'now-
you're-treating-him-too-much-like-an-adult' gaze, you say it happily and
realizing it's futile he snaps the photo.
We walk you to school on either side of you. We hold your hands the entire way.
Under your duress we walk you into your classroom, apparently this is entirely
commonplace for parents of first-time students, as your teacher is there to
greet us with a smile. She's a decent looking young blonde woman. She extends
her hand to us and introduces herself as Miss Reilly, a familiar name.
"Hello. I am Hamish Holmes-Watson and I am allergic to peanuts" you tell her
obediently. John is absolutely beaming though it is short lived. "This lady
knows Auntie Molly!" you interject very suddenly.
"How could you possibly know that?" your papa asks stupidly. You are half mine.
He already knows he shouldn't indulge your more improper deductions.
"On the collar of her shirt! That's the same lip stuff that Auntie Molly
wears!" Miss Reilly quickly attempts to smudge the pink stain off of the collar
of her white blouse. A flush fills her cheeks.
"That doesn't mean it's Aunt Molly's." John offered stupidly.
"No it's gotta be," you continue "She smells like Auntie Molly's perfume and
that's Auntie Molly's bracelet! I've seen her wear it!"
"That doesn't mean-" John tries to stop you.
"It's an heirloom" I finally settle the argument. There is a pause that I must
imagine feels very awkward for John and your teacher. "I'm sorry. Molly Hooper
is a dear friend of ours. I work with her actually." I extend a hand to her in
hopes to reconcile on your behalf.
"Of course, that Holmes," she mutters under her breath trying to collect
herself. "It's a pleasure to meet you both and a pleasure to have Hamish in our
class. I assure you we're going to have a great time." She is assuring the both
of us Hamish, because neither of us is very sure about it. She tells you that
you could put your things in a cubby at the far right of the room and you
oblige before returning to us.
John bends down then to tell you something in your ear. I am sure it's
something along the lines of 'please don't do that it again. It offends people.
You should only deduce nice things about people.' It's so very like your papa
to try to instill social graces into your character. I am grateful to him for
that. Both of us kiss you goodbye and when we leave you are talking to a pretty
young girl with red hair, playing with building blocks. She doesn't seem
offended by you at all. I know you will do fine here Hamish.
After that I go to see your Aunt Molly and inform her of the little deduction
you made in class today. Unlike your teacher, she finds this rather amusing.
Your Auntie Molly is pretty serious about this woman but you already deduced
that since she is allowing her to wear a precious family heirloom to classes.
Your teacher's first name is Amanda. Your teacher's sister's name is Kitty.
That is why her last name was so familiar to me. I'm pretty busy trying to
examine the body on the slab but Molly goes on about your teacher. She tells me
things that I won't divulge to you because it won't serve any positive purpose
to you to know how flexible or insatiable Miss Reilly is. I apologise for that.
Good news though, the murderer is female. It's always a little more interesting
when crimes of this calibur are performed by females.
John and I meet halfway to your school and walk there hand in hand. Both of us
are very anxious to see you again, to ask you about your day, to ask you if you
were able to read the notes we left in your lunch bag. John wants to know if
you've made any new friends. I want to know what you learned about. When we get
there you are standing at the door next to Miss Reilly. Her arms are crossed in
front of her and her lips are pursed tightly together when she spots us. You
have a yellow plaster on your knee. You must have informed her that yellow is
your real favorite color. Already my heart swells with panic.
"Your son got into a bit of an altercation with another boy today," she begins.
I am already resentful of her for starting off by addressing you with such a
distancing term. 'Your son.' Your name is Hamish. Your name is Hamish Holmes-
Watson and any altercation that a Holmes-Watson gets themselves into must be
for a good reason. "He told the other boy that his parents were getting a
divorce." John promises to handle it and takes your hand. I take your other one
and as we walk away I briefly consider slapping your father upside the head for
not defending you. Paternal feelings.
"Hamish, I've told you that you can't deduce not-nice-things about people. It
isn't polite." John huffs. I very plainly roll my eyes at that.
"I was trying to say something nice!" you stomp a foot trying to be heard. "He
takes really good care of his 3 year old sister when his parents fight. She
lets him draw on his hand with marker and sings her songs. His voice was
hoarse. I wanted him to know he's a good big brother." I melted a little at
that. So interesting of you to try and use your deductive skills for good.
"Well perhaps you should have started with that rather than telling him that
his parents were getting a divorce. That kind of thing makes people sad" I
inform you smiling. I want you to know that I believe in what you were trying
to do. John shares a look of understanding with me and we both tell you that we
love you.
"I'm really glad you two still love each other" you say sympathetically. Your
grasp on empathy astounds me. I could not be more proud of you my son.
When we get home we sit you down to have a banana and together John and I read
the notes left for us in the folder the teacher has tucked into your knapsack.
A small notation says that you were a pleasure to have as a student. The words
'very bright' were used more than once. I find it somewhere deep within me to
forgive Miss Reilly for the earlier transgression. I think that if she comes to
understand you she can help you learn to keep using your wits for good things.
"I made a new friend. Her name is Abigail and she likes bees and she likes to
dance" you inform your proud papa. You know that he needs to know that you're
getting along well with other classmates. I don't know if I should be worried
that you do so well to deduce the two of us. Potentially dangerous in the
future. I don't want to think about your teenage years.
Your uncle Greg calls me on my mobile. According to the pattern the murderer
we're investigating should strike again tonight at a popular pub. He wants me
to attend. I kiss you and your papa goodbye. I cannot promise that I will be
home in time to tuck you in and for the first time that worries me. How soon
until you are too old to tuck into bed?
***** Are we human? Or are we dancers? *****
Chapter Summary
     John and Sherlock hoped that if they didn't talk about it, Hamish
     would come to understand that all people and all love is equal.
     However between all of the relationships in Hamish's life being gay
     and the gender expectations held by his class-mates, it looks like
     this conversation is definitely going to happen.
Chapter Notes
     Experimenting with Hamish's point of view this time. :D
     Also I hope that this POV thing isn't getting too confusing seeing as
     John and Sherlock address their thoughts almost like letters to
     someone else. To clear this up: for the most part John's thoughts
     address Sherlock because he's noting the changes in Sherlock's
     character while Sherlock's thoughts address Hamish because he is the
     newest entity in his life. Hamish however will tend to address the
     audience.
     Do enjoy. Feel free to comment and leave kudos. :D
Hello! My name is Hamish Holmes-Watson and I'm allergic to peanuts! I live at
221B Baker Street with my dads, Dr. John Holmes-Watson and Mr. Sherlock Holmes-
Watson. Papa said it's really important to remember all that so that if I ever
get lost, I can tell an adult and they can bring me back to him and Daddy (and
also not give me peanuts along the way or something).
Papa and Daddy are always telling me things that are really important for me to
remember to stay safe. Papa tells me to look both ways before I cross the
street because one time he and daddy didn't do that and they almost got hit by
a bus. Papa also tells me not to stand in high places because I could fall and
Daddy did that once and he got hurt and had to go away for a really long time.
Sometimes he and Daddy still fight about that. Even Daddy isn't supposed to
break the rules. For example, Daddy used to smoke and that's not good because
smoking causes cancer so Papa made him stop. I'm never to smoke ever. I don't
even want to, smoking smells gross. I'm not supposed to go with strangers
because they might hurt me; I'm only to go with police men and other people
like that if I get lost or something. My Uncle Greg is a police man and when I
tell that to strangers who try to talk to me they usually go away. They don't
want to go to jail for hurting me I think. I'm not supposed to run with sharp
things (Daddy does not always follow this rule).
There are a lot of rules that I'm supposed to remember but sometimes Papa and
Daddy tell me things to remember that are not necessarily rules. Today Daddy
and Papa told me something very important but it wasn't a rule. It was just a
fact about people. Daddy knows a lot about people and he only remembers
important things and that is why I know what they told me is important.
They told me what they did because I told them about what happened at school
today. I have been going to school for about three days now. Sometimes it is
fun and sometimes it is not. Today was one of the not fun days.
It started just like yesterday and the day before that. Daddy woke me up and
helped me to get dressed while Papa made my lunch downstairs. They both walked
me to school together. We looked both ways before crossing the streets. When we
reached the school they both kissed me goodbye and I put my stuff in my cubby
and sat at my table next to Abigail. Abigail is my best friend in the whole
class because she is nicer to me than anyone else. We have what is called
morning work and sometimes Abigail needs me to help her read what's on her
paper. Even though she doesn't know everything I think she's really smart
because she gets all of the maths right. I'm not very good at maths but Abigail
explains it to me and it gets easier. Together we are probably the smartest
kids in the whole class.
Today we had a spelling test that I think I did really well on. Abigail wasn't
very happy about it though. I put a hand on her shoulder and told her it was
okay. Then we did art and I colored a picture of her to make her feel better.
Abigail is a pretty girl with brown hair like mine but it isn't curly and it's
very long. Her face has a lot of freckles on it because she's outside a lot.
Daddy taught me that freckles come from being in the sun. Abigail is in the sun
a lot because she plays at a sport. In football you have to run a lot outside
and try and kick a ball into a goal. It is Abigail's favorite game other than
dancing. Abigail says she goes to play football on Wednesdays and Fridays and
dances something called ballet on Tuesdays. Tuesday was yesterday so she danced
ballet. Abigail is very busy I think. She liked my picture a lot. She didn't
draw a picture of me, she drew a rabbit, but that's okay because I didn't need
to be cheered up.
At lunch Abigail (she tells me to call her Abby) usually share what is in our
lunch bags. I let her try a piece of my turkey sandwich, but Abby always has
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches so I am not allowed to share with her. She
lets me share her carrots though. I like carrots. Carrots are good for your
eyesight. Today Daddy left me a note that said 'You are exceptional. Love
Daddy.' Abby asked me to read it for her and got a funny look on her face.
"What does Egg-sept-shun-all mean?" she asked. I told her that it meant that I
was really good and she smiled at that. Even though Abby isn't always good at
reading and spelling she loves the vocabulary lessons we take at school. She
likes to learn new words and use them. She says it really impresses her mum and
dad. I wasn't really sure how someone could have a mum and a dad, but I didn't
ask about it because it was probably impolite and Daddy says I need to be more
careful about not hurting others feelings.
Then it was time to play outside. That is where you go out of the classroom and
onto a playground behind the school to play games with your friends or go down
the slide. I usually just play pirates or something with Abby. Today she told
me that she learned new things in her ballet class and she wanted to show me. I
never went to a dance class before but I've seen people dance and it looks like
a lot of fun. We just sort of bent and twirled around for a little bit. All of
the moves had french names that I couldn't remember but she smiled and I seemed
to be doing it right. Then the bad part of the day happened.
A boy in my class named Timothy who is bigger than me came and pushed me down.
He told me that I shouldn't dance because only girls dance and boys aren't
supposed to. Abby got really mad at him and yelled at him to go away but I
thought he was just trying to help me understand what the rules are, like Papa
and Daddy do when I'm accidentally being rude. I apologised to Abby for getting
her in trouble with Timothy and I thought about teaching her how to do ninja
kicks, which are kind of like ballet kicks, but I started to wonder if that was
against the rules too. I offered to push her on the swing and she let me. After
that we went inside for what is called nap-time, but that is not important
information.
After nap-time was over I got my things from my cubby and waited outside of the
school for Papa and Daddy to pick me up. Abby was waiting for her mum and she
let me hold her hand for awhile. Today Abby was supposed to go play football,
but I was starting to wonder if she was even allowed to do that. Both her mum
and dad came to get her and they walked home the same way Daddy and Papa do
with me and I felt a little uncomfortable. I worried that her family was all
mixed up because she had both a mum and dad and played at sports. Soon enough
Daddy and Papa were at the school to pick me up and that made me feel better.
When we got home I sat at the table and ate some celery sticks while Daddy
helped me with my homework. Daddy is really good at maths so my homework is
always right. Miss Reilly is really proud of my homework. That is when I
decided to ask about the new rules, because I know these kind of things are
okay to talk about with Daddy and Papa. I asked them why boys aren't allowed to
dance and if girls are also not supposed to play at sports. They got really
surprised at me and asked me where I got such an idea.
"Today Abby taught me how to dance ballet but then Timothy told me I wasn't
allowed because I was a boy." I said. I left out the part where Timothy pushed
me down because I didn't want Timothy to get in trouble for trying to teach me
the rules. Daddy looked very upset and Papa just looked sat. They both sat
beside me and put their hands on my shoulders.
"Boys are allowed to do whatever makes them happy and so are girls dear." Papa
told me. "If your friend Abby wants to play sports she can and if you wanted to
dance ballet you could. Is that what you want to do?" he asked me.
"It was fun to learn but kind of confusing. I don't think it's something I'd
want to go do every Tuesday." I told them. Papa kind of smiled at that. I was
glad that it wasn't against the rules for Abby to play football. She really
likes to play football. I decided that it would be a good time to ask about
Abby's parents. That surprised them even more. "I don't understand. It's just
that You and Daddy love each other and Uncle Mycroft loves Uncle Greg and
Auntie Molly is dating Miss Reilly. Are boys supposed to like girls?" I asked.
I remembered holding Abby's hand and I began to worry I had broken another rule
by liking her so much.
"Men and women can be in love too. Your uncle Greg used to be married to a
woman and Papa used to date women before we fell in love and got married."
Daddy explained. I was still confused though.
"But Uncle Greg isn't with a woman. He's married to Uncle Mycroft. And you and
Papa are supposed to be together, he's not supposed to be with some woman." I
pointed out. It didn't seem to me like a man and a woman could be happy
together.
"Well, Abby's parents are very happy together and they love her very much,"
Papa started to explain, "And my Mum and Dad, your Grandma and Grandfather
loved each other forever." I smiled at that. I had forgotten about all that.
There was a question still bothering me though.
"Would you and Daddy be mad at me if I married a girl?" I asked. I felt like I
was going to cry. I was worried that they would be mad at me just for asking.
"Of course we would." Daddy said. "You're much too young to get married right
now." I sobbed a little at that and he put his arms around me. "But someday
when you're grown up, if you marry a woman, your papa and I will be so happy
that you've found someone that you love." I smiled then. "It doesn't matter who
you marry as long as they make you happy." He said that like it was one of the
most important things I could ever know. Papa stretched over me and gave Daddy
a kiss on the cheek. He looked like he was going to cry but the happy kind of
tears.
A while after that we had spaghetti for dinner and then ice cream for dessert.
They both tucked me into bed and kissed me goodnight and I thought about how
Abby's parents probably do the same thing for her, and that's good. I was
really happy. I went to sleep.
The end.
***** The Wedding Album *****
Chapter Summary
     Hamish finds the old wedding album and asks for details from his
     dads.
Chapter Notes
     Sherlock's POV again! Kind of a smutty-sweet chapter. The POV gets a
     little wonky as occasionally Sherlock takes a break from addressing
     Hamish in order to address John in his head. I'll try to make it easy
     to determine when. Enjoy!
     Remember to leave comments and kudos if feel inclined to. :D Thank
     you for reading.
I'm examining a blood sample underneath a microscope when you crawl out from
beneath your Papa's chair with a dusty tome in both of your hands. Beneath the
heavy layer of dust I recognize it immediately and ponder the sentimentality
related to John's decision to keep it under his chair. My heart does something
that resembles swelling. It's a feeling of affection and nostalgia. John smiles
at you sitting on the floor between his legs on the floor and peeling open the
book. The spine cracks audibly with the crispness of not being looked through
all too often. I abandon the specimen to and pull you up onto John's lap, I
take a seat on an arm of the chair and examine the first page. It's only a
picture of your Papa and I with our respective groomsmen.
You smile and point eagerly at each person in the photograph. "That's you
Daddy! And there's Papa! And There's Auntie Harry, Auntie Clara, Mr. Stamford,
Auntie Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Uncle Mycroft, and Uncle Greg!" you say. "You're all
dressed up," you point out remembering that this isn't attire we would normally
wear.
"Well that's because these photos are of the day Daddy and I got married," John
tells you kissing your head as you flip excitedly to the next page. This page
is a series of photographs portraying Harry and Clara teasingly assisting John
in readying for the ceremony. A flush crosses my cheeks as I observe the
exposed flesh just beneath his untucked dress shirt. I remember something
unsavory.
At this point, Hamish I implore you to cover your ears for I am speaking to
your Papa now on a very personal and adult matter. Got them covered now? Good.
Hello John. I see the way you're looking at this photo, caressing it with your
fingers, and I just know that you're remembering what occurred roughly half an
hour before it was taken. I'm relishing in it as well. I remember how
ridiculously anxious we were that day. We had no idea how on earth we had let
ourselves get pulled from having mapped out a civil ceremony in the courts to a
wedding. I believe it was a mixture of Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft's protests to us
simply eloping. Either way the pressures had gotten the better of us and here
we were on our wedding day.
I had requested some time alone much to the disgruntlement of my brother and
the others which were supposed to accompany me down the aisle and stand at my
side during the ceremony. I stood at the window for awhile just staring out at
the blossoming trees and considering the weight of this commitment. I knew that
I could give my entire life to you, but the whole ceremony just seemed
extravagant. I wondered if I could just text you and convince you to run out
with me. We would elope like we had always planned. But Mycroft had already
payed for the event and he would never let me hear the end of it, even though
it was he who insisted on paying in the first place. I didn't want this. I only
wanted you. I heard a knock at the door.
"I already told you I wanted a moment alone," I barked roughly. The door
creaked open anyway and I saw you standing all lean muscle and black tie in the
doorway. I couldn't hold back the grin that breached my cool detached demeanor.
"You know it's bad luck to come see the bride before the wedding," I scolded.
You smiled at me then. "You aren't a bride. You're a groom," you corrected me.
Ridiculous notion that is, you correcting me.
"I believe the principles are the exact same. My family is paying for the
wedding much like the traditional bride's dowry and I'm walking down the aisle
second. That qualifies me as the bride." I strode over to you, pulling you in,
closing the door behind you. I placed my hands on your shoulders. "Not to
mention that I am the most common recipient during intercourse."
You became bashful then and snorted at the clerical remark. You placed your
hands on my hips regardless, pulling me against your well-dressed torso. Your
pupils dilated significantly. They were the color which they turn when you
become hungry for me. "Yes. I suppose you're right," you agreed pliantly. You
leaned in to kiss my lips but I stopped you. You cocked an eyebrow at me, your
eyes almost whining now.
"No. I-I don't want to do that. Not until-" I struggled to articulate the
thought.
"Not until the ceremony." I flushed at your acknowledgement of my inability to
avoid being sentimental. "That's really sweet Sherlock." You turned us around
and pressed my back against the door and locked it. Suddenly your lips were
breezing on my neck just above the collar of my dress shirt. "There's so much I
could do without kissing you on the lips," you purred against my skin as a hand
untucked my shirt from my trousers. I arched into the love bites you were
trailing along my pulse point. Your tongue slid to the juncture of my neck and
shoulder as you unbuttoned the top buttons of my shirt to make room for more of
your heating kisses. I pulled at your tie and unbuttoned your shirt until your
chest was completely exposed to me. I pulled you closer. I needed to feel more
of you because of its calming effect on me; you stilled and sped up my
breathing all at once. I could feel you hard against my thigh and I let out a
gasp. I tugged desperately at your belt buckle, popping it open and sliding it
off your waist. You unzipped my trousers and pulled them down with my pants. I
wrapped my legs around your waist as you hoisted me up the length of the door.
My erection was bobbing painfully as you fondled my body. I positively needed
to feel you. I needed you to pound the breath back into me and steady me so
that I could walk down that aisle and wed you in front of everyone. I needed to
be reminded what I was bonding myself to forever and ever from this day
forward.
You slid your hands up my sides and cupped my face in them. I feared for a
moment that you would lapse into devouring my lips, but you took in a sharp
breath and resisted the urge. Instead you pushed your index and middle finger
onto my tongue (I hadn't realized that my mouth was agape, I was unaware
entirely of my panting) and I took to the signal immediately. I closed my lips
around your digits and sucked them thoroughly coated them in saliva. My cheeks
hollowed around the heavy suction I applied whilst ghosting my tongue across
the sensitive tips of your fingers. You let out a groan at that before pulling
them out a long stream of saliva following them from my tongue. You were trying
very hard to maintain control of yourself, I could tell. Your pulse was racing
and your skin was quivering with gooseflesh the way it does before those
positively marvelous words leave your mouth, 'I need you.' Before I could
breathe you slipped your middle into me to the knuckle. The muscles there
tensed but relaxed quickly, trusting your divine instinct.
You continued to pump that finger in and out of me, occasionally curling it
over the sensitive nerves there, making me bite my lip in a failed attempt to
keep from crying out from pleasure. When you were sure, you inserted your index
and scissored me open, teasing over my prostate making me breathless with want.
Suddenly you stopped and I whimpered with protest just to find you pulling
something from your pocket and placing it in between your teeth. It was a
condom. You undid your fly and pulled your trousers and pants down to your
knees. You opened the foil wrapper with your teeth, spitting the excess onto
the floor. "You planned this," I hummed delighted.
"I may have thought of it," you attempted denial. You pulled the condom out of
the wrapper and rolled it onto yourself before brushing against my entrance. My
eyes grazed the clock on the far wall.
"We really don't have time for teasing John." I think I was laughing because
you laughed a little too. You pushed into me agonizingly slowly until you were
buried to the hilt. My head fell backwards against the door exposing the column
of my throat to you as I adjusted around you. You kissed feather light on my
adams apple as you pulled back, then you thrust into me roughly and with
precision. I shuddered and groaned at the direct hit to my weakest spot. I
could almost hear you smiling though I did not look at you. You kept your
thrusts long and forceful as you kissed and nipped at my neck, my chin, and my
cheeks. How I wanted to kiss you, how I wanted not to. My fingers tangled into
your short blond hair as I bucked against you.
"Gonna marry you so hard," I heard you grunt as you lapped at my earlobe, and I
couldn't help but collapse into a fit of short-breathed giggles. The laughter
was short lived as you threw another heavy thrust into me and I was nearly
lost. Stars were threatening me in my peripheral vision. I tugged at the hairs
at the back of your neck and moaned your name as your thrusts became more
hurried and shallow.
"John. John! I'm going to-!" I began to warn you. You hastily pulled the
scarlet handkerchief from the pocket of your jacket and pulled it taught over
the head of my cock. Between the silk enveloping my sensitive glans and you
pumping into me with exactness I spasmed hard against the wooden door pulling
my chest into yours. My breaths became laboured moans that filled my ears and
probably those of several passersby. It wasn't long until you followed me over
the edge spilling into the condom and twitching inside my tight entrance. It
felt so amazing. Soon after that you kissed me on my cheek and helped me to my
feet and back into my pants and trousers. You sorted yourself out but still
looked reasonably disheveled and very satisfied. Then you walked casually out
of my dressing room and back to yours where the photograph was taken of Harry
helping you reorganize your clothing properly. And that is the story of why
there is a handkercheif in the pocket of my jacket in later photos but not in
yours.
Hamish dear? You can uncover your ears now. I'm done talking to your father
about the rather private matter. We can return to flipping leisurely through
the wedding album and I promise the rest of the stories will be perfectly age
appropriate. Now then. You're turning to the next page and naturally there are
photos of me sitting on a white couch in my own dressing room and I am holding
your Aunt Molly's hand confessing to her that this is probably the most
terrifiying and wonderful day of my entire life. She looks sympathetic with her
pouty pink lips and her red lips and her teary blue eyes. You ask me why she
looks sad and I tell you that she's just happy for us but you're right. She was
a little sad. I'm not entirely sure of the status of her feelings for me at
that exact moment in time but as I recall it she was earnestly happy for me in
her own way. Her greatest gift to me was always helping me achieve this
relationship with John regardless of how much it hurt her. I owe your Auntie
Molly so much.
Next is the first photo of your Papa at the end of the aisle, in a chapel if
you can believe it, with his sister Harry at his side, followed by Clara, then
Mr. Stamford (a groomsmen primarily because he introduced us). Your papa is
looking down at his fingers and your aunt Harry has her hand on his shoulder
reassuringly. Her other hand is wrapped in Clara's hand who is beaming
happiness that she could truly enjoy such an event without fearing that Harry
would get too drunk. The priest smiles at the people sitting in their pews. The
photo nearly drags me back into that warm, dusty, chapel all littered with
colorful stain-glass lighting. You ask why papa looks so nervous and he tells
you it's because sometimes getting married makes people very nervous. You smile
and tell him he shouldn't have been so nervous. Because marrying me was going
to be a good thing. I smile at that.
In another photo, Mycroft, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson are already situated at the
right side of the altar. My back is visible and very plainly you can see your
papa's face. It isn't something I observed before but his face is absolutely
astounding. His hands are folded almost as if in prayer in front of his lips.
Behind his hands a wide smile can be seen around the corners. His eyes are
bright with tears. Right now he is smiling down with fondness and I reach an
arm over his shoulders and squeeze. He looks up at me and mouths the words 'I
love you so much.' I smile greedily and mouth 'I know.'
Next your papa and I are both at the end of the aisle all decorated with red
rose petals and holding one another's hands and I can see what we saw then in
the look in our eyes. I remember how the rest of the chapel seemed to disappear
around us as your Papa cleared his throat to speak.
"Sherlock I have loved you and always will love you with every single fibre of
my being," he said ever so predictably, but the tears now evacuating his eyes
had my full attention. "I remember when we both nearly died in that swimming
pool. I nearly gave my life for you Sherlock. I would have, in a heart beat and
I still would. Because you found me when I was a miserable, half-hearted
version of myself and brought me back to life. You made all of my nightmares,
every little thing that haunted me vanish. You gave me a purpose again. You saw
in me things the army no longer did, things I could no longer see in myself and
I cannot thank you enough for that. You are the best man I have ever met, and I
have spent a long time thinking that I waited such a long time for you to just
come back to me from the dead, but I realise now that I have waited my entire
life and I am done waiting. I'm keeping you around Sherlock. I am having you
stand up here in a tux and giving you this ring and making you promise me that
you will never leave me again because I don't think I can bear another second
apart." He sounded kind of bitter, but I knew it was with the best of
intentions. My heart melted, both from guilt and from joy that someone could
love me this much. "I love you. I love you Sherlock. I love you." Your papa was
choking on his own tears then and he nodded to signify the end of his lovely
speech. He looked up at me for approval and then I could feel that I was crying
too.
I hardly remember what I told your papa in return. I remember trembling. A lot.
I told him that I never knew I could feel this way until I met him. I told him
about the very moment I realised that I was in love with him (that very first
night, after running through the streets of London and collapsing into a fit of
laughter in the hall of our flat). I told him about how I never knew a greater
pain then thinking that he could never love me back, until I had to endure the
possibility of him choosing to never speak to me again after coming back from
the dead. I told him that I didn't want to spend a night without him by my side
and that I would in fact never leave his side again. I told him everything I
planned to and everything that did not. Every miniscule emotion I ever endured
on his behalf, that felt so small before suddenly felt immense and poured from
my soul into that chapel. I could hear sobs from my side and the pews, pulling
me from the romantic hypnosis I was in.
In the next photo we were exchanging rings. We explain to you that it's a
traditional representation of the promise a married couple makes to always be
together and to always love each other.
"Because circles never end!" You chime in gleefully. John tousles your hair and
tells you that you are absolutely right, disregarding all historical
associations with bloodlines and all that.
Then there is the traditional photo of the tender kiss shared between the
newlyweds. It couldn't be more perfect. We are cupping each other's faces in
our hands so both our wedding bands are plainly visible in the photograph.
Mycroft chose the photographer well. Then in the next photo we are walking down
the aisles with standing, clapping, attendees at either side of us.
Dear, I'm going to need you to cover your ears again.
John, do you remember on the limo ride to the reception venue? How I sucked you
off with great fervor, looking up at you with champagne dizzy eyes? I can see
you flushing as I share a long knowing stare with you over our little Hamish's
blissfully ignorant head. But you do remember the bliss of finally being able
to kiss and grab desperately for one another as we struggled to make room for
such acts in the back of that vehicle. You're coughing with discomfort now.
Okay I am done.
Hamish you may uncover your ears again. On to the reception photos. They are
really quite plain though. There's the photo of your papa forcing my face into
the entire wedding cake while twisting his fingers into my curls. There's
several photos of the first dance which you seem to take much glee in
observing, having learnt that boys are indeed allowed to dance. Several more
photos feature couples dancing and the ever boring line dances. You think it
looks silly and I couldn't agree more. By the end of the album John and I are
looking particularly sloshed and we close the book with our hands over yours.
You smile up at us. You say you're really glad we decided to get married and
start a family.
After dinner we tuck you into bed and read you a few chapters from James and
the Giant Peach. We both kiss you goodnight and climb down the stairs and go to
retire in our bedroom. Your papa pulls me onto the bed and kisses me gently on
the lips, nostalgia still dizzying his romantic head. Now Hamish, go to sleep.
I'm going to spend a quality little honey-moon with Papa now.
***** The Elder Watson *****
Chapter Summary
     John gets a visit from an acquaintance he made while traveling after
     Sherlock's "death".
Chapter Notes
     John's POV.
     Brace yourselves, I'm actually adding plot.
     Loosely inspired by the song Tokyo (Vampires and Wolves) by The
     Wombats.
You're settled comfortably on the sofa holding Hamish in your arms as you two
watch a documentary about bees that his friend Abigail recommended to him. The
narration is a tad dull for my tastes so I'm working at updating the blog,
which has gotten admittedly less exciting since our lives took such a domestic
turn. Our internet following seems interested in the happenings of myself and
my two best boys nonetheless and often I get requests to disclose the status of
Hamish's school life. I try not to talk about him too much, I fear the child-
exploiters out there. I don't want them getting their hands on photos of Hamish
in the bath or sleeping or anything like that. There's a heavy knock at the
door and I wonder who Mrs. Hudson has let in to see us. Must be Mycroft or
Lestrade. Someone familiar that stops by on a frequent basis yes? I let myself
decide that Lestrade must be coming to pick at your brilliant mind. I save the
draft I'm working on and make my way to the door.
It is not Lestrade. It is not Mycroft, or Harry, or Molly, and it isn't Mrs.
Hudson. I've never seen this small blond boy in my entire life. He looks to be
about ten years old. I do however recognize the woman standing behind him.
She's shorter than I am but several centimeters taller than the boy. She has
shoulder-length brown hair and green eyes. She is a woman I met in travels.
What was her name again? Maggie? Madison? Mary, I suddenly remember. That one
week in Tokyo.
"Hello Mary?" It's more of a question than anything else. "What brings you
around my flat?" I ask. I can't imagine what a woman I spent a rather
uneventful week with all those years ago would be doing at my doorstep. I
hadn't seen her since two years after you jumped off that building. I remember
how miserable I was then. I remember hobbling into that pub on my cane, I
remember several shots of tequila, and I remember Mary's laughter. She couldn't
stop laughing at how horrible I was at Japanese karaoke. She was a reporter
there. She lived there. Had she gotten a job in London?
"Uh hey," she starts. The boy at her side moves cautiously behind her, peering
at me from behind her hip. "I've been following your blog," she smiles
nervously trying to force herself to just breathe. "I was in town and I thought
I would stop in and see you," she said rather casually.
"Oh well please come in. I'll pop the kettle on if you'd like" I say ushering
the two of them inside. You look back from the couch at the odd couplet
entering. "Sherlock, this is an old friend of mine. Mary Moran. Is it still
Moran?" I ask. I'm not entirely sure but I think I see you shudder at her
maiden name. Sometimes I feel like you know everyone.
"No. It's Morstan now." She shows me the wedding ring on her finger and I
congratulate her. I'm certain it couldn't have been too much longer after we
met that she found her spouse judging by the age of the boy she's with. I put
the kettle on and smile back at her.
"Gosh, it's been ages. How have you been? What brings you to town?" I ask.
She takes a seat at the table in the kitchen, her son continues to stand with
his hands on her shoulder. His posture is ramrod straight. He isn't keen to
strangers I imagine. "Well my husband's found some work here and I thought it
would be nice to get back to England," she tells me. I remember she was the
only one in that entire city that could understand my accent with ease. "I've
got a lot of family here and I thought it would be nice for Severin here to
meet them. Unfortunately his one uncle was killed. Tragic. I really wanted to
get them acquainted." She looks down at her fingernails, still reasonably
wracked with grief. I tell her that it must be very difficult to lose a
brother. I steal a glance at you and your shoulders look stiff. I chalk it up
to your general social anxiety. "That's actually kind of what I wanted to talk
to you about." She takes the teacup from my hand and lets herself indulge in a
fairly long drink.
Before she even says anything my head is already whirring. You have taught me
to observe, and though I am not as good as you at the art I am fairly certain
of my deduction here. Eleven years, I think. I was in Japan eleven years ago.
She holds the boy's hand in hers at her shoulder. "This is Severin Moran, and
I'm fairly certain that he is your son."
My heart drops to the pit of my stomach. The first thought my head risks is,
'Why on earth are you saying this in front of my son!' but then I think, 'I
have two sons. You are telling me this in front of both my sons. And my
husband! What is this? Some kind of sick joke?' Her eyes do not leave mine
though. There are tears. Mary is dead serious and everything around me has come
to a screeching halt yet everything is spinning. I feel like I may throw up but
I know that I can't. I hold my stomach as though my organs are about to fall
out. I can hear your breathing become laboured and Hamish is calling for you.
"Daddy? Daddy are you alright?" he's asking.
"Fairly certain?" I finally manage out. I curse myself for doubting her out
loud. I must sound like a terrible person, but she looks sympathetic. I think
she's sure I'm not one of those men, since I've got a family now.
She nods. "Absolutely certain. You- you were the only one." She starts to sort
of grip at her purse as though she's about to stand and leave. "Well anyway,
his dad, my husband loves him very much. I just really thought you ought to
know."
"Ten years," I blurt out painstakingly. It's effective though because she stops
looking so intent on making an exit. "Ten years!" I bark out. I realise that
I'm actually rather angry. My fists are balled. My left hand is trembling.
"Christ, ten whole years. Ten whole birthdays." Suddenly my face feels wet and
my breathing is heavy and difficult. I look desperately at the blond boy with
my eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. God I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry," I sob. I
definitely feel sick. I am no longer in control of myself. First the boy
(Severin) backs away looking very fearfully but then he's holding the sleeve of
my jumper between his fingers.
"Hey. It's okay John. It really is," he says. My heart aches miserably when he
does. John. Christ what have I done? "Mummy and I lived really far away and she
didn't know where you lived. It couldn't be helped." I can't fathom how logical
his tone is. I'm not sure if it would hurt more if he was positively broken or
that he in fact seems to feel nothing.
"I'm really sorry John." Mary is crying too now and I finally notice that you
have taken Hamish up to his room and I am unsure if I am relieved or afraid.
"Now that I'm back in London, living close, I would be more than happy to let
you see him. It would be nice for him to get to know you." Severin nods in
agreement though he looks nervous about the entire ordeal.
I wipe my tears trying to be strong. "And about child support-" I began.
"It isn't necessary. My husband wouldn't want that. We're doing quite fine."
I'm sure she thinks she's taking some kind of weight off of my shoulders but it
only adds to the guilt that's eating away at my insides.
"I um," I can't think of anything to say. "Just let me no whenever is good. So
that I can have him here." The words are clumsy and not well thought out at
all, but she smiles anyway. Before she leaves she pulls me into a hug and we
trade mobiles. I share an awkward hug with Severin and then they are on their
way out leaving me paralyzed and light-headed. I begin to wonder if it was all
just some kind of dream and that it hadn't happened at all. Coming to, I
realise that the bee documentary is still playing in the background and you and
Hamish are not watching it.
Reluctantly I climb the stairs. I reach the door of Hamish's room. I knock
uncharacteristically taking in a deep breath before opening the door. You're
sitting on the small bed with the boy all wrapped up in your arms. Your head is
buried in his shoulder. The two of you look up at me and I see that Hamish has
tears in his eyes.
"Are you and Daddy getting a divorce?" he asks me. I want to answer him, 'no of
course not', but there is a look on your face that I cannot read and I am
afraid that you just might leave me.
***** I will wait for you *****
Chapter Summary
     Sherlock attempts to cope with the news of John's other son.
Chapter Notes
     Sherlock's POV.
     Decided not to leave you all hanging.
     I actually have pretty big plans for this fic now.
     Enjoy the ride.
     Feel free to comment on what you might like to see more of in later
     chapters.
     Surprisingly enough the song that Sherlock is remembering in this
     chapter is "Not Alone" by Darren Criss as featured in A Very Potter
     Musical. Uncharacteristic of him I know but I love it so deal.
I snapped out of my temporary haze of self-pity to finally address the question
I knew was burning at your heart. "No, of course not. I love your papa with all
my heart. I would never leave him," I say. I want to keep comforting you but
you look so pale. I set you down on the bed and rise to get you a glass of
water. As I exit your papa raises a hand to my cheek but I turn away. I simply
am not ready. I feel like my heart is ripping in two. Down the stairs the
documentary we were so peacefully watching before this ordeal is still going. I
stare at the screen for awhile trying to reabsorb the moment. The tranquility
that I cannot get back. My stomach is turning with fear, anticipation. I wonder
what he's saying to you up there, if he's said anything. I would never leave
him Hamish, but god I'm so hurt.
I understand that it is unrealistic to believe that he didn't date anyone while
I was away all of those years, but never had I ever imagined that he had gone
out and made a child with someone. I think about the struggle we had to endure
to have you, and then suddenly there is a child of his own flesh and blood
standing in the doorway of our flat, so simple and easy. A pang of guilt tears
at my being as I realise how much I resent him for it. He's a child. He did not
ask to be conceived by two strangers. Why do I dislike him so much? Why do I
see him as nothing more but an allegory for every moment that John has doubted
me? It doesn't make any sense. I go to the cabinet to retrieve a glass. I
instinctively reach for the whiskey before the purpose of the glass reaches me
once more. I turn on the faucet and the water runs into the glass. Lost in my
own insecurities it overflows for awhile.
I tread up the stairs with glass in hand. I'm waiting outside your bedroom
door. Just listening to your father make empty explanations. "You see babies
are not always made from love. Sometimes they are just happy accidents between
two people. I have only ever loved your Daddy. You know that," he says to you.
You look utterly lost. I finally step in and hand you the glass. You take a
large gulp of the water, breathing steadily through your nose. I frown at John
for a moment and though his face is straight his eyes read desperation. He has
only ever loved me, somehow I just can't imagine that that could be true. I
begin to believe that this is something that he has said for your sake.
You curl up against him and I am sitting at your other side running my fingers
through your hair. We are all silent for a very long time. I know there must be
a billion questions buzzing loudly beneath your calming exterior but you do not
ask them. There are at least a hundred things I think I could say but I don't.
I won't break this minute calm for anything.
It's dark outside and John is singing to you. Your eyelids are heavy. It has
probably been hours since Mary and Severin were here. You fall asleep there,
curled in your covers with your thumb in your mouth. This isn't a vice we
typically allow you, but given the circumstances we let you indulge.
I am the first to leave you there, fast asleep. I trudge down the stairs and
stand at the end of them uselessly staring at the wooden floor. Though I
haven't, my throat hurts as though I have been sobbing for hours. I press the
heels of my hands to my eyes just relishing the darkness they create. Every
muscle in my body aches. I hear those familiar footsteps behind me and I
briskly move to the opposite side of the room, nearing the kitchen. I turn
around and your papa is at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes wet with tears he
won't let fall. He takes a deep breath before coming closer.
"I really am sorry," he says. He's barely looking at me.
"You don't have to. It's okay John. It's okay," I repeat for good measure. I
know he doesn't believe me. I'm not sure if I believe me.
He looks down for a moment before eyeing the door, then me. "Look, I think I'll
just stay at Harry's for awhile so you can just think."
"No," I blurt out gripping his arm as though I fear he may dissipate at this
very moment. He looks at me like I've spoken another language. He begins to
pull away but I grab him by the hip with one hand, holding his shoulder tightly
with the other. "You're not alone. You're here with me. Nothing can keep me
from loving you. It...it doesn't matter." Half of the way I'm singing and god I
have no idea what I'm doing or where I've heard these words before or why I'm
swaying with him in some kind of improved dance. Now it's as though he's
looking at a ghost. I pray for better words. I just barely find them.
"I pretended to die and then I came back and when I came back you didn't want
me. You didn't want anything to do with me. I stayed here in this flat and I
was so alone." It's a decent start, but I'm not sure where I'm going with it.
"I gave you time. I waited for you. I waited for something that I wasn't sure
would ever come. I waited for you to forgive me and that killed me each and
every day." I pause to take a breath. Every word is an ounce of truth I never
bothered John with and it's so painful to let it out of my mouth. "I never,
ever want to put you through that. I never want to put Hamish through that, so
with all gravity, I forgive you. With everything I am I forgive you. You have
to understand that, however long it takes to treat this like it's normal, I
forgive you right now, forever."
"Sherlock I can't expect you to-"
I don't let him finish. "Do you remember our vows John? Our vows yes? John I
don't want this. I don't want to spend another second out of your sight. I
don't want you sleeping at your sisters or on the couch. I want you in our bed
with me. I want to wake up next to you just as heartbroken as the day before
and I want to talk to you okay? I don't want us to be apart and come to our own
conclusions about how we are going to live with this, I want us to reach a
single conclusion together. I want to talk about it every hour of everyday
until it's all fine. I want to take Hamish and Severin out to the park with you
and hold your hand and I want you to stay John. Stay tonight. Stay forever.
That is what I signed on for, what we signed on for and before you say anything
it's about more than some stupid contract we signed, it's about everything I
have wanted and will ever want no matter what comes up. It doesn't ever matter
how badly either of us hurt each other. John I want you here!" I finish my
ranting realising that I haven't been breathing anything but sobs. "Please
John. Please just don't go to your sisters. Please John just stay and be my
husband and Hamish's dad and you can be Severin's father too and I don't care
just so long as you stay dammit."
I pull John close to me and bury my face in his shoulder. My hands are gripping
at the back of his jumper. I feel awfully childish like this but I don't care.
I care about keeping John here with us Hamish. I told you I would never leave
your father and I will be damned if I let him leave me because he's feeling a
little guilty. God knows I have put him through far worse than having him
discover that I have a secret illegitimate child. He's kissing at my neck now,
wet with tears. He's whispering to me but I'm not really listening. All is
drowned out over the sound of our embrace, telling me that, yes he promises he
will stay. I pull his face up in my hands and kiss him firmly, chastely on the
lips a few times.
I pull him into our bedroom and lay him down on the bed. I pull myself to his
chest and lay my head there listening to his heartbeat. I don't risk a look up
at his face. I'm sure couldn't handle it right now. I would only ache with deep
and heavy sorrow. I say it to myself over and over in my head. 'I forgive you
John. I forgive you. I forgive you.' And God help me I do, because what else am
I supposed to do?
***** John and Severin *****
Chapter Summary
     John spends quality time with Severin for the first time. He's rather
     nervous about it.
Chapter Notes
     John's POV.
     Next couple of chapters will be a series of bonding experiences
     between Severin and other characters.
     Conflict will ensue in later chapters.
     Feel free to leave comments in such. I love hearing constructive
     criticisms and ideas from fellow writers. :D
I was cleaning the flat rather obsessively when the the terrifying tiny fist
came rapping at the door. I clear my throat and work up the nerve to actually
answer it. Today is my first day with Severin. You are out on a case with
Lestrade and because I wanted to get some one-on-one time with my newly-
discovered son, Hamish is spending the day with Mycroft. The flat is empty and
immaculate. I let Severin in and he looks upon it as though it's the first time
he's seen it. I'm sure it looks different now, that or he's just avoiding
looking me in the eye. I close the door after him and swallow the lump caught
in my throat.
"Hey there," I say breaking the short-lived silence. I pat myself on the back
for not adding the obligatory 'sport' at the end of the remark to seal this
awkward father-son endeavor. He takes a seat at the kitchen table and folds his
hands together, smiling wordlessly. What is the etiquette in these situations?
"Can I get you anything?" I ask.
"Tea. Two sugars please," he answers flatly. I go to put the kettle on. He's
tapping his fingers against the wood and his lips are pressed tightly together,
they way mine do. I take a moment to contemplate how similarities like this
develop between fathers and sons that aren't in each other's lives. I sit at
the table across from him as the water reaches a slow boil. For awhile it is
just the two of us staring at one another. "You and your husband solve
mysteries right?" he begins the game of questions.
"Yes," I tell him. "Well, I'm a doctor by trade, but sometimes I help him. He's
a consulting detective."
"Mum's shown me a few of your blog posts. The one's she thought was
appropriate," he tells me. "He puts himself in an awful lot of danger eh?"
"Well, not much since Hamish was born," I defend you like I do with everyone
else. Severin smiles innocently. Of course he didn't mean anything by it. He
was just a kid that was interested in your job, the way children ask coppers if
they've ever had to shoot anyone.
"What sort of Doctor are you?" he changes the subject.
"I work in the surgery. Mostly trauma cases. Things I picked up from the army,"
I tell him. He looks interested at that.
"What was the army like?" he asks.
"Never a dull moment. Always new cases to work on. Rather scary to be perfectly
honest," I find I'm staring off into space as I blabber on about the old days.
Talking about the more interesting explosive injuries and the friends I made. I
am trying both not to glorify military service or paint it as a horrific
experience. Each story is a push and pull between the two, as though I am
laying out a pros and cons list. "I'm really glad to be home, just working at
an ordinary job, looking after Hamish," I conclude.
"How old is Hamish? He must be at least four."
"Five actually." The kettle sings releasing me from the tension. I pour him a
cuppa, placing two sugars in as requested and stirring. "What about you?" I ask
after he's taken his first sip.
"I'm ten," he answers.
"No, I know that. I mean, what school do you go to? What's your favorite
subject and all that," I clarify. He looks at me, those eyes mirroring my own,
he's thinking of a proper answer.
"In Japan I went to a private school for some time. I'm fluent in both Japanese
and English, and I know a bit of French. Now that I'm here my Mum's signed me
on to start at Tower Bridge in a few days." I nod trying to imagine where that
is, and what it must be like there. "I have all sorts of classes that I like
but my favorite is science. It's interesting to learn how the things around us
work." A young man after your own heart Sherlock.
"Do you play at any sports?" I inquire.
"My mum doesn't think I'm quite ready, but I'd like to play rugby."
I smile then. "I used to play rugby. Good sport. Really teaches you to work as
a team," I recall my secondary school days.
"Maybe you could talk to my mum about it then?" He raises an eyebrow at me, his
eyes glimmering with hope.
"Maybe," I say taking another sip of tea. I don't really feel it's my place to
inquire with Mary about parenting decisions. Not when I've been absent all this
time.
"My step-dad has tried before. It didn't work," he kind of laughs and I wonder
about his use of the term 'step-dad' rather than just 'dad,' like Mary had when
she had come to visit. He seems to read it on my face the way you would. "Mum
dated a few guys when I was around Hamish's age. She married Charles when I was
eight. He's a nice guy. An old friend of My uncle Sebastian's. Charles is the
one that came 'round to tell her how Uncle Seb died. I never got to meet him."
He doesn't look very sad about it. It's rather hard to mourn someone that you
never knew. "I guess Sherlock's my step-dad too now huh?" he kind of laughs at
idea.
"Yeah. Looks like you've got enough dads to last you a life-time," I joke. I
immediately feel stupid about it. I don't want to come across as trying to
minimize my fatherly responsibilities. He doesn't seem to take it that way
though.
After that I take him out to the cinema. It's an activity we can go through
without necessarily having to talk. He has a bit of a taste for action-
adventure films. I don't pay much attention to the movie itself. I'm mostly
watching his reactions to it, trying to observe the way you would whenever we'd
settle in to watch something. His eyes light up at the typical explosions, what
young boy doesn't like explosions? When we exit the theatre he talks about the
explosive properties of thermite and its uses in action films. He's
surprisingly intelligent for his age.
I walk him back to his mother's flat as the sun is setting. He's stepping over
cracks and telling me more about all sorts of topics he's learnt in school.
Things about photosynthesis, evaporation, and symbiotic relationships between
animals. That seems to be one of his favorite subjects. We arrive at the door
and just stand opposite each other for a moment.
"I'm really glad my mum found you John," he says pulling me into a hug.
"I'm really glad I found you too."
***** Playdate: Hamish and Severin *****
Chapter Summary
     Hamish and Severin have their first ever playdate.
Chapter Notes
     Hamish's POV.
     Fun adorableness.
     Enjoy.
Hello! It's me again! Hamish Holmes-Watson.Two weeks ago I met my big brother
Severin for the very first time. I think I would have met him earlier, except
he is older than I am and for most of his life he lived very far away. You see,
a long time ago, Papa was travelling after Daddy fell and had to go away for
awhile and he met a nice lady named Mrs. Morstan. Except back then she was
called Ms. Moran because that was before she got married and changed her name
because that's what married people do sometimes. Anyway, after my Papa left to
come back to England, Mrs. Morstan found out that she was having a baby boy
named Severin (that's my older brother!) Mrs. Morstan couldn't tell my Papa
though because she didn't know where he lived so she couldn't send him a
letter, and she didn't know his telephone or email either. After a while Mrs.
Morstan got married to Mr. Morstan and they moved to London, so she found
Papa's address and came to come visit. It was all pretty confusing for everyone
at first, but Severin has been over a couple times now and everyone is getting
used to this new family arrangement.
Today was the day Severin came over and we played in my room. I never got to
spend much alone time with him before so today was really neat.
Here are somethings I observed about Severin today:
Severin started at Tower Bridge recently and his uniform is new.
Severin is ten years old but thinks he is very grown up. He told me that
playing with stuffed animals was very babyish but agreed to play with them
anyway. He's very nice.
Severin only calls our Papa, John, because he still doesn't know him that well
and I guess it's hard to start calling someone your dad when you've just met
them.
Severin's step-dad is not always nice to him. I saw a disciplinary letter in
his school folder and noticed that he had his mum sign it, probably because he
was too scared to let his step-dad see it.
I found out lots of other stuff too, but now I'm going to talk about exactly
what happened.
Severin's school gets out later than mine does because he is in a higher grade
than I am so he showed up after I had already had my after-school snack. I
started on my homework and he sat at the kitchen table across from me to do
his. That's when I noticed the disciplinary note in his folder. He quickly hid
it with other papers and I didn't say anything because I didn't want to get
Severin into any trouble with Papa if he had already talked about it with his
mum. I was doing maths with Daddy's help and Severin was doing higher level
maths. At one point he showed me this cool thing one of his teachers back in
Japan taught him to make subtracting large numbers easier. Severin is very
smart. Even though he got a disciplinary notice in school today, his marks are
really good, especially in maths and sciences.
After we were done doing our homework we were excused from the table so that we
could go and play. I brought him up to my room so that I could show him all of
the cool toys that my dads got me and maybe play cluedo with him. He seemed
very interested in the wallpaper, it was all covered in stars and distant
planets. He pointed to one and told me that it was called Saturn and that the
rings around it were made of ice and dust. He knows a lot about space, just
like Papa.
He eyed my bookshelf almost like he was deducing things from me from them. His
eyebrows knitted together as he pulled out a dusty tome, a complete set of The
Chronicles Of Narnia, before pushing it back between the rest of the books.
"So why'd you get in trouble?" I finally asked him out of curiosity even though
I'm sure it was probably impolite. He didn't look annoyed though.
"I hit a kid," he said flatly. He wasn't sorry so he didn't think he had done
anything wrong.
"Why? I mean, what did he do?" I asked. I wasn't about to tell him that hitting
was bad, even though it was. I didn't want him getting upset with me.
"He called me a terrible name," he told me. He didn't want to disclose the
name. Must have been a curse word or something otherwise derogatory for him to
not wish to repeat it to someone that wouldn't get him in trouble for it. He
may have thought I was too young to hear it.
I smiled at him and put a hand on his shoulder. "You should have just called
him a mean name back or walked away. That's what my Daddy says."
"Yeah I know. It just really bothered me. It's not right to call people
something like that. Your fathers are nice blokes..." he kind of mumbled that
last part. I understood then that the insult was about boys who liked other
boys.
"That boy just thinks that there are rules that aren't really there," I told
him remembering the conversation with Papa and Daddy. "A boy named Timothy at
my school thought that boys weren't allowed to dance but Papa and Daddy say
that boys and girls can do whatever makes them happy and can marry whoever
makes them happy."
"Yeah. I know."
"He was just confused. He's not as smart as you Sev." He kind of smiled at the
new nick name. I decided I would change the subject. I picked up a stuffed bear
from my bed and handed it to him. "This is Mr. Benjamin," I told him. "He's the
bravest of my animals."
He sort of grimaced. "It's a bit babyish to have stuffed animals don't you
think?" he asked.
I shook my head. Sometimes Papa borrowed them to demonstrate to Daddy how he
could have been more polite that day, so they couldn't be babyish. Daddy didn't
appreciate those demonstrations of course and also found them babyish but I
think we both learned a lot about being polite from them. Sometimes in the
demonstrations Mr. Benjamin would pretend to be Uncle Greg. He starred in a lot
of the demonstrations because Daddy and Uncle Greg have to work together. I
picked up my favorite stuffed animal (a bunny) and held it out in front of me.
"This is Little Chops," I said.
"What kind of a name is Little Chops? Where did you get that?" Severin asked
with his eyebrow raised.
"I dunno," I admitted. "He was always Little Chops. He likes carrots and is the
best runner." I felt a little embarrassed. Sev just smiled and started playing
a game with Mr. Benjamin and Little Chops in which they ran away from home to
have adventures and save the world. It was a rather short-lived game though as
we couldn't stop laughing over the silly names we'd applied to the villains.
We played a game of Cluedo which I inevitably won and he congratulated me. Sev
clearly doesn't have a problem with losing at small games. For awhile we sat
and he told me about Japan and all of the friends he used to have and how
strange the food was. It was all interesting. I was glad Sev moved to London,
he didn't seem to fit in very well with the Japanese culture, also it meant
that my big brother could come over and teach me things about space and make
things better when they weren't good. Like when I fell off the bed.
I fell of the bed and hit my knee on the wood floor. A large bruise started
forming under my skin and I could feel a sob rising in my chest when he hurried
to my side. "Don't cry," he said. "Please don't cry. It's okay." He left a
small kiss on my knee and hugged me close to him. "It's alright. Hey, what's
your favorite thing in the whole world?" he asked me.
"Strawberry lollies," I told him unsure of what he meant to gain from such
information. It reminded me of that movie with Julie Andrews where she sings
during that thunderstorm about the things she likes.
"I get an allowance every week for doing chores," he said "I'll make sure to
pick some up for you at the small shop by my school next time I come by." He
smiled at me and I could feel the pain in my leg subsiding.
I hugged him extra tight. "I love you Sev," I said.
He looked kind of nervous then. "Yeah. I love you too kid."
After that he had to go home because his mum came to get him. He gave me
another hug before he left and ruffled my hair.
Severin is the best big brother in the world.
***** Family Outings: Mycroft, Severin, and Hamish *****
Chapter Summary
     Mycroft takes his nephews on an outing in hopes to get to know
     Severin.
Chapter Notes
     SEVERIN'S POV NOW! <3
     sorry, I'm just rather excited to work with his POV. :D
     Brotherly awesomeness. Do enjoy.
I was under the impression that I wasn't going to be returning to John's for
another week today when school let out. I went outside to wait for my mum to
come pick me up as usual when a rather posh looking black car pulled up. I
wouldn't have payed it any mind if it wasn't the tiny figure that flung itself
out of the back passenger door.
"SEV!" the tiny brunette screams out as he flings himself at me, wrapping his
little arms around my neck. I blush and look around to make sure no one sees
the two of us. I get teased enough around here for being the new kid. I can see
that idiot Andrew smirking at me before walking away with his mum. I know I'm
going to get it bad at school next week. I'm just glad I have the weekend to
avoid him. If I have to watch him sneer at me and call me a faggot one more
time I may very well lose it and get myself arrested.
"Hamish what on earth are you doing at my school?" I ask him trying to push him
away as gently as possible. A tall ginger-brunette man steps out of the
passenger door of the vehicle and smiles at me.
He walks over to me and extends a hand to me to shake. Timidly I take it.
"Mycroft Holmes. So pleased to finally be meeting you Mr. Moran," he greets me.
A Holmes. He must be Sherlock's brother or something.
"That's Uncle Mycroft! He brought me here so that we could go to the museum
together!" Hamish is bouncing excitedly now but I'm still rather unsure about
the situation.
"I assure you that I've called your mother and gotten express permission from
her," the tall man says. "I'd like to get to know my nephew." I tilt my head
rather confused.
"I'm really just John's son..." I try to explain.
"Family is incredibly important to me. John is my family therefore you are my
family. Hamish here is absolutely crazy about you too. He practically insisted
that you tag along on our little outing."
Hamish takes the opportunity to innocently smile up at me and hold my hand. I
can't really risk any further embarrassment so I nod and join Hamish in the
back seat of the car. The seats are black leather and behind the wheel is a
rather pretty brunette girl who's putting her phone in the cup-holder. She
smiles back at the two of us and introduces her as Anthea. I look to Hamish
thinking he's going to introduce her as his aunt but he just shakes his head.
"My husband the detective inspector is presently at work," Mycroft explains
without looking back at either of us. I'm beginning to wonder if being a Holmes
makes you some kind of gay psychic, though the correlation in sexuality is yet
to be seen in Hamish, not that it would bother or surprise me if he was gay.
I'm trying to stop thinking about it lest Mycroft somehow hear my thoughts and
intervene.
We pull up a small low-key museum and Hamish rushes us off to see an exhibit on
space, while Mycroft follows coolly behind. He is really too calm for my tastes
but it was nice of him to take the kid and I on an outing. Hamish's eyes are
all big and excited as the tape we both have in our hands goes on to describe
the simple mechanics of the solar system. We get a look at a rather new section
dedicated to photographed findings by the Mars Rover. I try to wander to go
look at the sea life exhibit but Hamish won't let go of my hand. He insists
that it is so we won't get lost from one another. Kind of like an otter I think
to myself.
After the museum we go to a place that sells ice cream with a small fountain at
the front. Mycroft gives us two coins to make a wish. Hamish closes his little
golden eyes tight tossing the coin over his shoulder. It lands in the water
with a satisfying plunk and he looks up at me expectantly. I close my eyes and
toss the coin. I wish for school to get easier than it is now. A voice in the
very back of my head wishes for Andrew Farley to die. I push it away and go to
the counter to order a chocolate ice cream cone. Hamish orders strawberry as
expected.
While we eat our ice cream Mycroft goes on about how unreasonable Sherlock can
be and he asks how we're getting along. I tell him that we've started to talk
and he seems really nice, which seems to surprise him. We start taking a
leisurely stroll around the block in a rather aimless fashion. Hamish holds his
ice cream in one hand and my hand in the other. I worry that we look awkward
and try to pull away now and again but he doesn't loosen his grip. He looks
rather happy with himself for managing to get me in on the outing and far be it
from me to disappoint him. I care for him too much. How has it managed to be
this much easier to bond with the little one than with my father?
As we're walking it begins to rain and Mycroft opens a large black umbrella
that covers all of our heads. "Uncle Myc always carries a brolly," Hamish tells
me. "He says it's always cloudy in London so there is no way to know if it will
rain." Hamish looks proud as he takes another indulgent lick of his ice cream
cone. Suddenly he steps on one of his undone shoe laces and falls onto the
concrete. I rush down beside him before he has a chance to cry. His shirt is
covered with strawberry ice cream and he's still holding the dripping and empty
cone in his hand. His eyes water as he chokes on the words he cannot find.
"Shh. Shh," I tell him helping him onto his bum and kissing the offended knee.
"It's okay. It was just a fall. Your shoe laces are untied. Do you know how to
tie your shoes?" I ask him. He shakes his head 'no'. I smile at him in an
attempt to be comforting and hand him my ice cream hand to hold. I take both of
his shoe laces in my hands and tell him to take a look as I pull them tight.
"You see first you cross them, then one goes under the other one and into the
rabbit hole, like where Little Chops lives," he giggles at the reference we
share. "Then you pull them tight and make bunny ears," he giggles again "then
you cross them and one goes into the bunny hole again. And pull, and they're
tied!" He was absolutely thrilled at the demonstration.
"You're so smart!" he shouts leaning forward to kiss me on the cheek but I pull
away. I stand to help him up and the enigmatic man that stands taller than us
looks down and gives us the most earnest look I've seen on him.
"You remind me a lot of myself when I was your age," he says. "Just the way you
take care of Hamish. Reminds me of Sherlock." It's weird to think of the
Holmses as children. Seems impossible that they were ever anything but tall,
mysterious men.
"C'mon Hamish. We should really get you home so you can get cleaned up," I say
looking up at Mycroft. It is getting rather late after all. He smiles and we
walk back to the car. Uncle Mycroft isn't so bad. He seems to understand me a
lot better than Sherlock.
I get dropped off at my flat first and leave Hamish to finish my chocolate ice
cream cone. He smiles and waves goodbye at me through the window until he's
completely out of my sight. I touch my chest as a feeling of wholeness reaches
me. My family is ever expanding, and though there were so many nights where I
convinced myself that my mum was all I needed and that finding my real father
would only ever make me sad and disappointed, it is so utterly untrue. I'm so
happy to have whatever this is. I am so much less alone.
***** Irresistible Encounters *****
Chapter Summary
     Sherlock really really does forgive John.
     Mycroft never forgets why he fell in love with Greg in the first
     place.
     Molly is getting really really serious with Ms. Amanda Reilly.
     Charles only wants to relieve Mary of her responsible nature.
     And a certain someone is all alone.
Chapter Notes
     Decided to take a break from my planned plot to do some smut that
     gives us more insight into our characters relationships with one
     another.
     Apologies in advance as heterosexual smut is not my forte. I'm not
     even sure why I decided to include Charles and Mary.
     Also sorry for the heresy. I have a bit of a priest kink myself. ;)
     All french translations are from Google Translate, I apologize if
     they sound strange to a native.
     Plot will continue afterwards. :)
     Feel free to comment.
-Sherlock and John-
Hamish has already made it safely to school and we are back at the flat when I
feel you snake those deliciously muscled arms around me. I gasp as your lips
meet the juncture of my neck ever so slightly, like they are hardly there. The
letters adorning the reading in my lap become a pointless blur as I stifle a
moan. That clever tongue licks a stripe up and down and the pages crinkle under
my fingers as I grip for purchase. Since we've had time to adjust to your son
with Mary being around you've gotten bolder in your affections with me, but we
haven't been entirely intimate since then. It's uncommon for you to go this
long without mentioning the act with those pleading eyes and that monster
pressing desperately at your jeans. I melt back into your chest almost
instinctively as you whisper something sweet against my ear. One of my hands
snakes up into your short blond hair to pull you closer to my neck. Time has
stricken me with unbearable need.
You get the message and practically jump over the back of the couch onto the
cushion beside me. I can't help but let out a heady chuckle as you take my
shoulders in your hands and lay me down underneath you, pressing brief, chaste
kisses to my lips. I throw the crumpled paper-back onto the coffee table in
favor of exploring the smooth landscape beneath your jumper. I inhale you to
the fullest as you lean into a wetter, more passionate kiss. How I missed being
this close to you John. Your tongue grazes my lower lip and I gladly let you
enter and explore the confines of my mouth. The silky wet muscle wraps
diligently around my own and massages my taste buds. You taste like camomile
and blueberries. I moan into your mouth and your fingers work at the buttons of
my shirt. Your crotch is grinding into my own when you cease doing those
marvelous things with your tongue and pull my lip back between your teeth,
releasing them with a satisfying snap. I sigh breathlessly into the thick
morning air.
You're beaming. There's a smirk spread wide across your face when you drink me
in with those dark, dilated pupils. Your lips are swollen red and I press
forward to get another taste of you but you pull away from me with a tsk, in
favor of attacking my exposed throat with that ravenous mouth. My head arches
back onto the arm of the sofa and I grip at your chest hair causing you to
growl slightly in pain. You pull away from your love bite to pull your white
woolen jumper over your head and toss it atop my paper-back book on the coffee
table. I take a moment to shrug out of my shirt and suddenly you're all over me
again. Your hands are planted firmly at my sides, your lapping pointedly at my
right nipple and my hand grips at the hair atop your hair again. I grind
helplessly against your hardness, keening for more friction. Every sensation
you provide lights every nerve-ending on my body on fire. Sinapses are jolting
at tenfold their average speed, my brain is soaking in endorphines, dopamine,
and other pleasure based chemicals. The act of needing you is better than any
street drug.
Your teeth pull my nipple into a sharp peak before working on the other one.
"Captain Watson your mouth is absolutely /sinful/" I purr playing at a little
kink of yours. It is the first thing any of us has said for the entirety of the
encounter. Your neck flushes a beautiful vermilion and it strikes you that I
will not be fighting fair. I watch your delicate spine shudder as you reassert
your control by biting a sharp purple bruise into my chest. "God," I gasp out.
You sit up and palm my erection through my trousers heavily with your hand.
"Father forgive me," you whisper already looking rather debauched, your hair
all ruffled by my gripping fingers and your lips swollen from heady kissing.
You stood calmly to undo your fly and pull down your trousers with your pants
kicking them aside in a messy pool of denim before climbing on top of me,
caging my body with your arms and legs. You force me into another take-no-
prisoners kiss that practically bruises my mouth and my own hands fumble to
give my throbbing cock release from their confines. You slap my hand away and
remove the clothing from me with only your teeth. My eyes blow wide with
excitement as they pool around my knees. You kiss your way up my thighs before
stopping so teasingly at the base of my arousal. Everything is spinning
rapidly. I can hardly register it all in time for your tongue to dart out for a
quick taste of me.
"Mmm. Confess to me," I hum looking down into those innocent eyes. You smile as
you lick precisely up the underside of my pointed erection.
"I have hurt someone I love dearly through past transgressions. I have
attempted every conceivable thing to atone but I have lusted for this person
through every single phase of our detachment. I have dreamt of how I would make
love to him when we finally made up. How I would fuck him into eternity until
he forgot that I could ever do any wrong," you admit breathily on my sensitive
skin. You finally take my head between your lips and I shiver beneath you. You
hold my hips firmly to keep me under control because god knows I just want to
thrust myself fully into that velvety throat of yours and not cease until I'm
absolutely spent on you.
"Mm. Say your prayers," I finally manage as you slide halfway down my cock.
You pull away. "I can't very well do that when I'm sucking you now can I?" you
reason but I'm too frustrated and too lost to put up with you.
"Then get the lube and finger me!" I snap impatiently. You smirk and raise an
eyebrow. Rather than getting up you lower yourself to the base of my cock,
licking it lightly before working further down.
"Our God who art in heaven," you breathe at my entrance before licking a small
circle at the puckered skin there "hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come," you
whisper rife with innuendo as you plunge that slick muscle just nearly inside
me. I writhe at the smooth insertion and the overall dirtiness of it. You don't
care though. You wriggle your tongue opening me as you go before pulling away
leaving me whimpering. "Thy will be done. On earth," you lap at me again "as it
is in heaven." You make me wet with your hot saliva, pushing farther, moving
languidly against my wall before pulling away again for prayer. "Give us this
day," lick "our daily bread "some sort of suck at my arse cheek mid-insertion,
"and forgive us our trespasses," Oh God whatever the hell you did that's soooo
good, "as we forgive those who trespass against us..."
"God! Please John just fuck me!" I beg arching upward pulling your glorious
mouth from me. The look on your face is nothing but smugness. Regardless of how
sure I am you'd like to keep teasing me you sit up on your knees and take a
moment to smoothly scissor open my already needing entrance with my fingers.
"Lead us not into temptation," it almost sounds like you're scolding me, "but
deliver us from evil." The first thrust is agonizingly slow but so worth the
waiting.
"Amen," I gasp out.
------------------------------
-Greg and Mycroft-
I hang up with the French Ambassador and breathe a heavy sigh, eyeing the
paperwork yet to be done. It's been a stressful day so far between scheduling
mishaps and Anthea being particularly insubordinate today and all I want to do
is get home, strip off this terribly uncomfortable suit, and sit in front of
the fire with my head in your lap. I'd give anything to be enjoying a cuppa
with you while you babble on about one of your dead-end cases or some media
reference you find humorous that I can fail to understand. Any form of contact
with you right now would be welcomed whole-heartedly. My intercom buzzes
annoyingly.
"Mr. Holmes there is someone here to speak with you" Anthea barks over the
speaker.
I rub my temples and examine my book of appointments. "I don't have an
appointment for right now. Who could it possibly be?" I reply.
"Who do you think?" she huffs and the intercom turns off. I'm growing
increasingly tired of her attitude lately.
A light knock raps at the wood of my office door before being timidly pushed
open. From behind it you shoot me a small grin. "Hey sweetie," you sing in that
magnificent brogue of yours. I instantly perk up, sitting up straight at my
desk. I'm pleased that simply wishing for you seems to have made you
materialize.
"Lestrade, do come in," I banter smiling like a fool. You close the door behind
you locking it. I swallow hard on the implications as you saunter across the
office shrugging the jacket off your shoulders, leaving it on carelessly on the
floor. You loosen the knot on your tie until the loop is wide enough to fit
over your head. You walk around my desk until you're standing in front of me,
leaning nonchalantly against my mahogany desk. With those coarse fingers you
slowly unbutton your shirt until our entire silvery chest is exposed to me. I
moan wantonly at the sight.
You lick your lips before finally addressing my eyes with your own. "I hope you
don't mind but I've come here on a very personal matter."
"Not at all," I groan reaching a hand out to touch you but you don't let me.
I'm not pleased.
"Shh. Shh. It's okay Sir. I'm here to take care of you," you whisper leaning
in, holding the arms of my chair. I smile up at you and you land a soft,
sloppy, open mouthed kiss. My tongue is automatically stretching out to taste
your mouth, to search it for everything it has to give. You've been smoking
today but I cannot stand to reprimand you right now. One of your hands cups my
face gently, lovingly and the other is palming my growing erection through my
trousers. I steady myself with a hand on your bare chest. God I love that
chest. I love the shining silver hair there and the steady thrum of your
heartbeat.
Your mouth moves smoothly from my mouth to the long column of my throat leaving
a trail of warm saliva in its wake. You suck and nip at the flesh there making
me clutch at the arms of my chair and groan. Your hand tugs at my fully erect
cock through my clothing. "Oh yes," I moan embarrassingly loud. I can feel you
smirking at my jawline. You press both your hands firmly against my sides,
pushing in your fingers slightly, making me jump in my seat. You lower yourself
onto your knees between my legs. Oh god really? Is this really happening to me?
You unbuckle my belt and slide it from the loops holding it, tossing it to the
side. One hand undoes my fly and the other is still palming at me. I'm
quivering with anticipation, never knowing this was exactly what I needed
today, but knowing it right here and now. You pull my trousers down and breathe
hotly over my clothed length before pulling my erection free through the slit
in my boxers. You look up at me and wink and I positively melt. My posture must
be atrocious but I could not care less.
You lick a long stripe up my shaft. "Dieu!"[God!] I shriek out utterly lost in
the language of previous conversations. You smirk up at me and I remember how
much you love it when I fall apart into fragments of other languages in bed, so
I allow it. I grip your lush hair between my fingers and your stubble brushes
my thigh in a tingling sensation just before you encase the tip of my cock with
your plump pink lips causing me to cry out. You flick your tongue over my glans
and tug my foreskin downward with a hand. "Ohhh oui Lestrade. Juste la."[Oh
Yes! Lestrade! Right there!] I whisper as you plunge halfway down. You stay
there for awhile circling that tongue enticingly around me. I can't get enough
of the look in your eyes. Those brown orbs don't leave me as you bob
excruciatingly slowly up and down.
Finally you swallow down my entire length. "Tellement incroyable," [so
incredible.] I sigh clutching the silver strands scratching lightly at your
scalp. I can feel my toes curling in my shoes. You're humming now as you work
up from my base to my tip again and again and I try to focus through the haze.
Is that...God save the queen? "Oh mon dieu que c'est chaud. Vous êtes la salope
du gouvernement."[Oh my god! That is hot! You are the government's bitch.] You
cup my balls through the fabric and toy with them as you continue to suck me
off, humming with national morale, never missing a beat.
---------------------------
-Molly and Amanda-
Amanda storms through the door of my flat after a rather rough day at the
primary, tossing her set of keys, including one to my flat, onto the banister
before screaming into her hands. I rush quickly from the kitchen to greet her.
She looks at me with sad eyes. "What's wrong sweetie?" I ask her.
"It's just been another one of those days. School's got a real bullying problem
going on," she tells me pushing those gorgeous blonde curls out of her face. I
give her a look of sympathy and pull her into an embrace.
"Amongst the students or the staff?" I ask remembering how some of her
colleagues often gave her a problem about her sexuality. She was usually so
good at ignoring it, but sometimes I knew it really got to her.
She tossed her bag down and looked down at it crumpled on the floor for a
minute, seemingly unwilling to answer. Instead she presses me against the wall
and attacks my lips with hers. That glossy pink sheen smears into my mouth
giving me a taste of the strawberry flavoring she'd been wearing all day. My
eyes roll back as my shoulders settle against the wall. I smooth my hands over
her back as she cups my face, tangling stray strands of dirty blonde between
her fingers.
Without asking she plunged her tongue between my lips searching for mine to
take her frustrations out on. I twisted my tongue around hers pulling her
closer. There is so much heat in this one compact body pressed against mine, it
seems physiologically impossible. Her fingers tug at the roots of my hair so as
to expose my neck to her, already riddled with her possessive purple bruises.
She finds an empty spot nonetheless and sucks at it with fervor causing goose-
bumps to emerge everywhere on my person. I can't even fathom how she manages to
arouse me so much. She licks her way down to my collar-bone and kisses that
delicately. Her hands are on my waist now. How can I not manage to keep track
of their location? She presses the pads of her thumbs into the fleshy part
beside my hip bones and I absolutely squeal with delight as my legs turn to
jelly. She takes advantage of this and sweeps me off my feet and into the
bedroom with a heavy growl from low in her abdomen.
Her eyes look absolutely primal as she throws me down onto the duvet. She
straddles me instantly and tugs her shirt over her head tossing it to the side,
it catches on the corner of the night stand. I can't help but stare up at her.
My eyes wander upward from her smooth stomach up to those gloriously plump
breasts spilling from that tight red bra. She works at unbuttoning my blouse
revealing my admittedly less impressive set, but she relishes it as if I were
some sort of goddess. To have your body worshiped by a goddess, can you even
comprehend that? It's so very exhilarating. To glance up at this divine greek
figure and to know that I am wanted by her and that I am all that she wants is
positively beyond words.
I reach behind her to unhook the offending garment, just so that I can get my
mouth around those luscious pale heaps of smooth unblemished flesh. She growls
leaning down into another forceful kiss, all teeth and tongue. When she's
finally exposed to me I obsess over the perfect curvy orbs, gripping them
tightly, teasing the nipples between my fingers. Kissing them up and down. Her
hands are in my hair again, holding me up. My neck is straining but I can't
stand to give a damn. I lick circles around her nipples until they are perky
and pink with blood flow before coming off them with an obscene pop. She's
panting and I know she really can't stand much more teasing, but God I could do
this for the rest of my life.
I press my hands firmly into her shoulders and flip her onto her back. Her eyes
widen with surprise and I can't contain a small giggle at her expense. She's
just so gorgeous when she's underneath me. Without further adue I unbutton her
trousers and pull the zip so slowly down she's arching and keening, begging for
me to get it the fuck over with. So delicious when she's vulgar. So opposite
her primary school profession. I pull them down quickly exposing those milky
thighs all tempting and tasty. I nip at the flesh taking my time, leaving my
own little love bites. She moans wantonly and grips at my hair again.
My finger traces the damp fabric covering her sex and I groan audibly. I push
the garment aside in favor of pushing my entire middle finger into her. She
arches off the duvet with a loud breathy moan. "You are so wet," I tell her as
if she doesn't already know, because what she doesn't understand is how
incredibly turned on I am by her arousal at my most minute touches. I pump my
finger in and out of her rapidly and with great force and she bucks against the
hilt of my finger for better purchase moaning my name over and over. I can feel
her pulse inside her, rushing with anxiety and want. I choose to pull away much
to her despair. She whimpers at the loss.
I pull her red silken panties off of her, smoothly and slowly down those creamy
thighs, passed those curvacious thighs, and finally over her delicate feet. I
lap at the pad of her big toe and she shudders at the contact. Sitting on my
heels I stretch my arms out in front of me and plant my hands firmly on her
thighs, taking a moment to massage them while drinking in the vision that is
this naked muse before me. As I slide my hands up her thighs I push myself
forward until I'm at eye level with her sex and look up at her suggestively.
Her eyes only whisper 'yes yes yes'. With that I plunge my tongue inside of her
and she lets out a gasp, pulling air into her lungs and clutching at the
sheets. I hum with satisfaction as I work my tongue up and down her labia
before letting it glide gingerly across her clit. She lets out a yelp then.
Amanda is so delicious. Having her writhing beneath me calling out swears is an
absolute blessing. Having her scratching at my scalp with those perfectly
manicured fingernails is an indescribable mixture of pleasure and pain that
sends me whirring. I couldn't care less about the name of my sexual orientation
when she's like this. God who wouldn't want this? This eager minx clawing and
crying out at your ministrations. It's more than I can even bear to think I
deserve. "God I love you," I whisper covertly against her swollen clit as I
take it between my teeth teasing it, teetering her over the edge.
With a final heavy and rapid tongue lashing at the over-sensitized little
muscle she cries out in holy orgasm, "OH GOD! MOLLY I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!"
I am perfectly content in letting her think that she was the first one to say
it.
-------------------------
-Charles and Mary-
The lazy afternoon hung high above our busied minds. He was pulling needy at
the buttons of my blouse as he held me against the wall of our dimly-lit
bedroom. Dirty dishes were laying forgotten in the kitchen sink in a land so
far away from my mind as I was having a languid snog with my husband. I pulled
at his brunette hair hoping to ease the crick in my neck from having to lean up
to kiss him. He groaned into the contact pressing me harder against the dry
white surface. His hands pushed and pulled at my hips as he crashed his
erection against my sex at a slow but desperate pace. It was like waves.
He pushed my hands over my head and held my wrists there with one hand. He let
the other hand press into the thin fabric of my bra. His fingers pinched at my
nipple through the silk and I let out a breathy gasp. Everything between us
felt thick and humid. He kissed me sloppily letting his tongue flick mine
gently and pull away again before letting me get any real taste of him. He knew
how to get me wanting more, two years as a married couple and he was such an
expert on me.
He pulls his hand away from my wrist but I keep my arms perpendicular with the
wall. With his arms he hoists me up the wall and knowingly I wrap my legs
around his waist. My eyes only barely catch the clock on the nightstand. "Oh
no. Dammit. I've got to go pick Severin up soon."
He pushes my panties aside regardless teasing me with his tip. "Mmm...Don't
worry about it. I got a friend on that." I really should protest or ask who
this friend is and if I know him well, but my lust gets the better of me as he
presses slowly into my tight, wet, heat.
"Oh god yes."
-------------------------
-Alone-
A young blond boy walks out of his primary school and looks vacantly from left
to right as though he is waiting for someone. A brown haired boy passes him and
laughs at him and the blond shakes his fist. In the distance, just close enough
to get a good look a short, dark-haired man in a westwood suit with sunglasses
eyes the boy. He finds that the boy has familiar hair and a promising frame
about him. He licks his lips before proceeding toward him.
"Hello there. Severin Moran? I'm a friend of your dad, Charles." He extends his
hand to the confused looking blond. "Jim. Jim Moriarty," he introduces himself
his eyes panging with some sort of painful nostalgia.
***** Deals with the Devil *****
Chapter Summary
     Jim stops Severin on his way home to have a chat about desire.
Chapter Notes
     Severin's POV
     The plot finally thickens.
     Do apologise for the relationship Jim is attempting to impose on
     Severin, I assure you that it won't get very far.
     Remember to comment and leave kudos if you do feel so inclined. :D
"So I saw you with that kid on Friday," that obnoxious voice chided from a
distant part of the courtyard, loud enough to get the attention of every
student surrounding us. I cringed. I knew this would happen come Monday the
instant that Hamish wrapped his little arms around me. Here it is. Give me your
worst Andrew. "That your boyfriend hmm Sev?" the brunette asked pushing past
two other boys to confront me. The words wouldn't come because my mouth was
dry. All I could feel was hate. I shook my head. "Oh I bet he is. You like em
young huh? You're disgusting. A faggot and a pedophile." Without thinking I
push him backward. He stumbles but doesn't fall and raised a challenging
eyebrow at me.
"You shut up. That's my little brother you're talking about," I growl bitterly.
It's a little weird to have laid claim to the boy as family after only two
weeks of knowing him, but he is nothing less to me. I would do anything to keep
him from knowing torture like this. I just want Andrew to stop with this. It's
been going on since I was introduced to the class and it's getting boring if
not persistently embarassing. It isn't fair to me or Hamish that he make these
kind of accusations. I don't want this kind of talk reaching his school through
siblings and cousins in the school districts. Hamish doesn't need to hear all
that.
"Incest too? For shame Severin," he continues teasing "You're a real sick son-
of-a-bitch. Does he cry when you touch him? Or maybe he's just a good little
bitch for you because you've got him brainwashed." Everyone is staring now and
I can feel myself blushing. Why is everybody looking at me like I'm the
criminal? Andrew is like this with everybody. Why aren't they ignoring him? Do
they not realise that he's lying? God I hate Andrew and I hate everything that
comes out of his stupid vulgar mouth. Kids shouldn't talk like that. Nobody
should ever talk like that. I throw a swift punch at him landing solidly on his
cheek bone. He staggers back this time falling on his bum in the dirt.
"Don't talk about him that way! He's a good kid! It's not like that! You're the
one who's disgusting," I shout at him as he struggles to get himself up. Before
he can manage to retaliate I give him another swift punch to the gut. He falls
holding his stomach breathlessly looking up at me. I take the opportunity to
kick him in the shin while he's down. "Don't you ever talk like that again!" I
shout mindlessly. Everything's a blur of flying limbs and white hot anger until
I feel a set of robust arms around me, dragging me kicking and screaming away
from the slightly bloodied heap that is Andrew Farley.
He smirks at me wiping the blood from his lower lip. I stand by my actions. The
bastard deserved it. He's a sick evil little kid that needs to get locked away
before he skins a live cat or something. Without easing his grip on me, Mr.
Manford takes me down to the disciplinary office for the second time in the
three weeks I've been at this school. I get sat down in a chair across from the
headmaster. "I didn't do nothin' wrong. Andrew had it comin'" I mumble with my
arms folded over my chest. Headmaster Peters just looks dully at me with his
chin rested on his hands, his elbows on his desk.
"And why exactly did Andrew Farley deserve to get beaten to a pulp today Mr.
Moran?" His eyes are always serious the way they are now. Scares the piss out
of everybody that gets sent to his office. I swallow hard and try to keep
looking him in the eye as I begin to tell him what had happened.
"He said terrible stuff about my little brother. That he was gay and we were
dating." No. No. It's coming out all wrong. It sounds much more petty the way I
retell it than it actually was. What Andrew said was unforgivable and I made it
sound like stupid 'your-mother' jokes. I cleared my throat again. "More like I
was abusing him really which isn't true!" I corrected hoping that it would have
more of an impact on Mr. Peters. "I would never hurt Hamish. Never. I'm not a
sick sadistic jerk like Andrew is." I couldn't stop myself. I could feel the
tears rolling down my face. What was happening? Why couldn't I keep my
composure?
Peters simply nods. He doesn't look very sympathetic. "Yes. Now tell me Mr.
Moran, why on earth would Mr. Farley feel inclined to make such jokes when he
is a victim of sexual abuse himself?" He automatically looks rather stunned at
his own accusastion, probably realising that he shouldn't have told me that.
I'm stuck on the words that had just came out of his mouth. No. Just no way!
There was no way in hell that bastard was abused, not the way he talks, but
maybe it did make sense. Maybe that's why he used words like that and teased
others. My hate subsided into something else. I even felt a little guilty.
"He...he just did okay?" I finally say. "I don't know anything about all that
stuff and I'm sorry if it's true but that doesn't mean he should go around
saying stuff like that. If he's still all hurt about that he should go get
help."
"I agree," Peters says finally sounding close to human. "Still, you should
never react so violently. I am writing you another disciplinary note to have
signed by both of your parents. Another outburst like this and I will have you
suspended. Is that clear?" he asks. I just nod and take the paper all violently
squiggled upon with red ink into my hands. After that I am free to return to
class but by then everyone is packing up. Without speaking to anyone I stuff my
belongings into my knapsack and bolt for the door.
When I'm finally outside I put a hand through my hair and try to reassemble
myself. It doesn't help that when Andrew leaves with his mother he looks back
at me and laughs. I shake my fist in response. 'I bet it was your da' you big
bag of dicks.' I think devilishly to myself. I look from left to right and then
down at the watch on my wrist. Mum's running a bit later than usual. I really
just want to get this whole thing over with, like ripping off a plaster.
I'm still stuck in my angry fog when I hear an unfamiliar voice. "Hey. Severin?
I was sent to come get you. I'm a friend of your dad's, Charles." I stare up at
the dark haired man in a suit and sunglasses standing before me. I've never met
him before so I'm rather unsure about him. "Jim. Jim Moriarty," he says
extending a hand for me to shake. Tenatively I take it. 
"What's my father's last name?" I ask cautiously. 
"Morstan. He's actually a colleague of mine. I knew your Uncle Sebastian too.
We were friends. Well...more than friends but you don't really need to know
about that yet now do you?" He smiles at me like he knows some kind of secret.
I try not to think about it and start walking in the general direction of home.
He follows beside me and I don't protest. Not many people know about my Uncle,
he kind of stayed under the radar according to my mum so I figure this guy must
be kinda close to the family.
"What was he like? My uncle I mean?" I ask out of curiousity.
Jim gets a vacant look in his eyes. "Stupid. Brilliant but oh so stupid. You
know he went and got himself killed? Yeah, by a royal pain in the arse too, but
that pain in the arse was the cleverest man. Well not that clever." I look down
at the concrete not sure what to make of that kind of detailed response. "You
know him."
"Excuse me?" I ask looking back up at the man who now had more presence to his
gaze.
"You know him. The man that killed your uncle. He's married to your dad. Well
your real dad." I stand still for awhile completely shocked. Sherlock? Sherlock
killed my uncle Sebastian? What does this guy want me to do with this
information?
"Well...Sherlock only catches criminals," I finally realise and verbalise. I'm
unsure as to why I'm standing up for him, if he really did kill my uncle. But
then if he did it was probably because he was a very dangerous man. It struck
me that this meant Sebastian wasn't all my mother thought he was. Or was he and
had she not told me? Why would she hide that from me?
"Mm. Exactly." He smiles almost like looking back upon a fond memory. There was
a long silence. "You were right you know? That prick deserved to get the shit
beat out of him."
I look up at him confused. "Excuse me, what?"
"That kid was talking shit about your kid brother. You had every right to kick
the piss out of him. Good job on that." Disregarding how weird it is that he
knows about it I kind of smile to myself rather pleased that someone agrees
with me for once. "Look at you," he giggles "I bet you want him dead."
"No! No I-I don't want him to die," I stutter out remembering that almost wish
at the fountain with Hamish.
"You've thought about it!" Jim teases with a light-hearted smile that convinces
me that he's trying to be funny, friendly even. "You know I could make it
happen."
"You're not serious," I laugh.
"Serious as death kid." His eyes turn into shiny dark stone as a frown spreads
across his face.
"No. No. Don't actually- I don't want you to...Just don't worry about it okay?
God," I stammer thoroughly frightened by the proposition. 
He just chuckles at me. "You know you remind me so much of Seb. Took him some
convincing too. You've got his hair. Similar eyes. Mm." I try not to think to
hard about how he mentioned that he and uncle Sebastian were 'more than
friends.' I can see my house now and I turn to him to say goodbye. "Look kid.
Stick with me and I'll make sure no one ever bothers you again. Sound good
yeah?" He kisses me on the lips only briefly and before I can yell at him he
turns and walks  away.
***** Acting Out *****
Chapter Summary
     Having received a second disciplinary notice from Severin's school, a
     concerned Mary takes Severin to John's house to discus why he may be
     acting out.
Chapter Notes
     Sorry I haven't updated in awhile. I've been getting some pretty good
     sleep.
     Right now my heart and my prayers are with my homeland, Boston, and
     I'm writing to try and curve a panic attack.
     I love each and every one of you and I wish that all of you be safe
     wherever you are.
     Anyway, this is from John's POV
It's late Monday afternoon and we have settled into our own typical domestic
silence. Hamish is on the floor of the sitting room drawing pictures while you
are at the kitchen table working on an entry for an upcoming anthropomorphic
taxidermy competition. I insisted that if you were going to work on such a
dreadful thing where we eat dinner that you spread out newspaper and thus a
happy compromise was reached. You were humming as you adjusted the tiny violin
in the hands of one of the little mice you'd affixed to its mould. I never see
you more peaceful than when engrossed in such meticulous work so I cannot help
but to admire your dedication to the arts given your ceaselessly impressive
scientific mind. I am so lost in my adoration that I almost do not notice the
loud, harsh rapping at our door. You wave your hand without looking up from
your work to communicate your occupation so with a roll of the eyes I go to
answer it.
"Oh. Hello Mary. Severin. I wasn't expecting you this evening," I say. I notice
that Mary's arms are folded in front of her chest and Severin is looking shyly
down on the floor.
"We need to talk about something," she tells me. Well that sounded a bit not
good. 
"Please, come in," I say gesturing inside. Severin steps in cautiously before
Mary excuses him to go draw with Hamish. Hamish is happy to see him but Severin
continues to look sad. "Our boy got himself into some trouble today," Mary
finally speaks as I close the door behind her. Severin looks up from his place
on the sitting room floor as he hears this. Mary shoots him a glare and he
averts his gaze back to the paper underneath Hamish's messy pile of crayons. 
"Really?" I put my hands on my hips. "What for?"
"He beat up another kid for mocking him." She looks sternly over to him and
then back at me. "This is the second time in the passed two weeks." 
I swallow a lump in my throat trying to gague exactly what it is she's saying
here. "Well, I'm sure that the move has been very hard on him. It's never easy
being the new kid," I finally manage. She raises a skeptical eyebrow at me but
shrugs unable to argue with the logic.
"I just wanted to know how you two have been getting on. You know, it's all
very knew and I was just worried," she begins but I don't let her finish.
"No. No. He's been great here. He and Hamish really get along. They're like two
peas in a pod. We haven't really argued or anything. He's a great kid. I think
it's just tough at his new school," I assure her. "I-if you want I could try
and talk to him."
"It's okay. I'm sorry, I'm just being paranoid."
"No. You're not. You're right. It's a lot of changes all at once. I know you
married Charle's just two years ago, that's something. That with the move and
meeting me, must be a lot to handle all in such a short time." I frown a little
wondering if so far I've managed to wreck my son's life more than anything
else. 
"Careful! I can't have you knocking that over! It's incredibly flamable!" your
voice interrupts from the kitchen. Tearing my eyes away from Mary I watch you
as you scold Severin and Hamish for almost tipping your container of
formaldehyde. 
"S-sorry," the two mutter out simultaneously before returning to the sitting
room. 
"So, you know, if you could go ahead and have a talk with him..." Mary
recaptures my attention. 
"Oh. Um. Sure," I say. Clearing my throat I ask Hamish to go upstairs to his
room for awhile and getting the hint you excuse yourself into our bedroom,
leaving Mary and I to have a talk with Severin in the sitting room. "Hey. So,
Severin I heard you got yourself into a fight at school today," I begin. He
nods uneasy about the topic. "So um, why don't you walk me and your mum through
what happened in your own words." 
He looked confused then, as if no one had really asked him for any
justification. He took a breath and begins. He tells us about how the boy he
had fought with had insulted our little Hamish and accused Severin of being in
an improper relationship with him. "Hamish is a good kid. I would never hurt
him like that. I didn't want any of that talk getting back around to his
school. I just...you know?" Severin concludes. I stare at him for awhile and
then back at Mary who is starting to look sympathetic.
"That's all very fine and good. I'm really proud of you for wanting to protect
Hamish. You've been a really great big brother for him but you really shouldn't
have resorted to violence," I tell him sternly, though I cannot say I would not
have done the same at his age, or any age really. If anyone talked about Harry
like that they'd be limping off without their teeth. I shake my head to quickly
pull myself together again. "You should have just told an adult and they would
have intervened. Understand?"
"Yeah, you're right. I talked with the headmaster about it and he told me he'd
alert my teacher so she could help. I feel bad about it now. Apparently that
kid has had it pretty rough. I just wish he didn't feel the need to say those
things," Severin empathized. I smiled and ruffled his sandy blond hair. 
"Glad we had this talk. Now I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave you to
whatever punishment your mum sees fit," I tell him and he frowns. I rethink my
phrasing and try and frame it in a way that plants less of the blame on Mary.
"Personally I'd have you go without video games for two weeks seeing as it is
your second offense." Mary nods at that seemingly happy with my attempt to
participate. Severin huffs kind of angrily but I tell him I love him before he
leaves and he hugs me. 
After closing the door to our flat you come out from our bedroom without me
noticing and wrap your long arms around me. Kissing me on the neck you tell me
that I handled it well and that you're admittedly a little proud of Severin's
actions. Slipping away from me you return to your mice and I hear  tiny feet
trying to make their way back up the stairs and I chase after them.
When I get to Hamish's room he's sitting on his bed trying to look nonchalant
though it is obvious that he's been eavesdropping. Knowing he's been caught out
he looks at me sullenly. "I'm still going to be allowed to see Sev aren't I?
It's not his fault. It's mine," tears well up in his eyes. I rush to embrace
him.
"Of course he'll still come around," I tell him kissing his head "and hey, it's
not your fault at all. Severin chose to address those insults with violence and
he shouldn't have. He knew better."
"Yeah but that kid's been bothering him ever since he got into school. He calls
him awful names and it makes Sev cry. He doesn't like to show it though but I
know he does," Hamish tells me. "That boy needs to stop provoking him so much.
It's really hurting Sev something awful."
"I'm really sorry to hear that. But now his teachers know and they're going to
be on alert and do all they can do to help," I reassure him. "You can help too
you know. You can help by being nice to Severin and making sure he knows how
much you care about him." Hamish nods enthusiastically and gives me a hug.
We go downstairs and order take out to have in the sitting room. Regardless of
everything I've told Hamish I am genuinely worried for Severin and if life is
going to get any easier for the boy with three step-dads.
 
***** O Death *****
Chapter Summary
     Jim tries to get on Severin's good side.
     When honey doesn't work, he tries subtle hints at vinegar.
Chapter Notes
     I've had this chapter planned for about a month and I've been meaning
     to write it but in light of recent tragedies my PTSD has been acting
     up something awful. I apologise for the wait.
     Terrible offenses against children ahead. You have been warned.
     Severin's POV.
After leaving John's I was sent straight to bed. For the next few days after
school, Mr. Moriarty is waiting outside to take me home. I'm not sure how
Charles convinced my mum to let this go on but I don't mind it very much.
Whenever Jim shows up he brings me small treats like candies and sodas. Every
now and then he would offer me a cigarette and tell me stories about my late
Uncle Sebastian. It's pretty clear to me that Jim was in love with Uncle Seb
which doesn't bother me except for when he insists on holding my hand. I used
to argue with him about it but lately I've just let it slide past entirely
unmentioned. Jim's a cool guy and I'm not sure I want to lose his friendship
over something so trivial. Sometimes the guy just scares me is all...
Yesterday he was going on about how he used to quarrel with Seb because he
would complain about Jim putting himself in danger, but it was okay because
Uncle Seb always got his shot off in time to save him. I nodded as always
because I wasn't sure how to respond to the nostalgic babblings of a murderer.
I mentally called into question why I kept his acquaintance and how Charles
ever got tangled up in Jim. It never had really occurred to me to worry for my
safety or that of my family's. As long as Charles and I stayed on good terms
with the guy there was no harm right? Too late to turn back? Yeah, that must be
it. Anyway so we reached the one block marker from my house where Jim would
usually drop me off. I took a deep breath and braced myself for the inevitable.
You see, by then I was entirely used to Jim leaning forward to kiss me goodbye.
It was just another one of his quirks. To that day I continued to protest it
because it simply wasn't correct, but Jim doesn't strike me as entirely stable.
It's just that they don't usually last this long. Usually it's quick, soft, and
then he's gone. That time however he lingered and his lips moved against mine.
I pushed him away when he tried to pry my lips open with his.
"You need to stop that okay? It's not right!" I shouted.
"It's just a kiss Sevvy." He shrugged as though the act were as innocent as a
high-five or sharing pretzels.
"I'm just...not old enough for all that okay?" I blushed.
"For what?" His voice was calm and smooth. He wasn't offended, seemingly just
curious.
"I'm not old enough to have a boyfriend or anything okay? You're a nice guy and
all that but I just can't," I explained.
He shrugged again. "Okay then. If that's how you feel." He still wasn't
offended. He smiled at me understandingly and put his hands in his pockets. Jim
began to turn on his heel but stopped. He took his left hand out of his pocket
and raised it to a chain around his neck. He then lifted a set of dog tags out
of his shirt collar and pulled them over his head before handing them to me.
The glossy silver read "Moran." I looked up at him and he simply smiled again.
"Those were Seb's. I think you should have them." I put them over my own head
and they drooped all the way to my middle. "They suit you," he said, and then
he was gone.
I ran the rest of the block to my house with the dog tags clinking together
against my chest. I closed the front door to our flat shut behind me and slid
down the door breathing heavily. Jim didn't seem mad, but then psychopaths in
movies didn't seem mad when they were plotting murders either. I looked down at
the shining engraved silver now slumping against my lap. It was a trinket.
Clearly he was planning on keeping me around, right? I put my hand up to my
forehead and tried to steady my breathing. I didn't want mum seeing me this
upset. Charles strolled into the foyer and stopped to stare at me. Walking up
to me I could see he was smiling. He pulled my new dog tags up by the chain and
examined them.
"Looks like you and the boss are going steady now huh kid? First loves. So
cute," he chuckled warmly before ruffling my hair. I was petrified. I went to
my room and stayed there, not even coming out when mum called me down for
dinner.
That night I had nightmares about what would happened if I refused Jim a
relationship. I dreamt that he held my mum hostage and threatened to kill her
unless I let him kiss me again. I woke up crying feeling like I might get sick.
Everything in the dark room was spinning and my head ached terribly. No matter
what I did I couldn't stop my hideous sobbing. Eventually I sobbed myself back
to sleep. I dreamt of watching my husband Jim slowly drift to death from liver
disease, not that it mattered, my mum had already died years ago. There was no
escape ever.
Morning comes. My alarm clock is buzzing angrily from my nightstand. I throw a
hand over, slapping it carelessly and it shuts up. Today is Friday. I groan as
I pull myself out from under my covers. Down the cold chain stuck hard and
hurtful against my skin the metallic sound of dog tags hitting one another can
be heard. I groan again as yesterday hits me. I suddenly don't want to go to
school today. I don't want to walk out to see Jim ready to hold my hand and
walk me home, this imposed boyfriend of mine. Nobody ever asked me what I
wanted. They just listened and refused me. Mum knocks on my door to make sure
that I'm awake. I tell her that I am and accept that I'm just going to have to
buck up and go. I pull on some jeans and a shirt without really caring which
one and whether it looks appropriate. My mum nods when I reach the bottom of
the stairs so apparently it's all fine.
I barely push around my eggs breakfast before I throw my backpack over my
shoulder and walk out the door before mum or Charles follow me out. When mum's
walking beside me she points out that I've been rather moody this morning. I
unconsciously touch the chain that I have tucked under my shirt and try
convincing her that I'm fine. Just a little sleepy. She nods again and purses
her lips looking ahead.
"Looks like a sheet of rain is coming," she says.
"Yeah," I say absentmindedly. "Mum, was Uncle Seb gay?"
She blinks looking surprised with me. "N-not that I know of. He dated women
before he went into the military. When he was discharged he started working for
this man and apparently they were involved but he didn't talk much about it.
Wherever did you get that idea dear?" she asks.
"Just something Charles' friend said. It wasn't rude or anything. I was just
wondering," I make excuses.
She frowns. "I didn't like the man he got involved with much. Seb would visit
with these terrible cuts and bruises. Worried me half to death." I start to
wonder if the injuries were from Jim or from Uncle Seb's dangerous work. "I'm
sorry, that was silly of me to say. Just forget it dear," she tells me. I nod
in agreement though it weighs heavy in my mind for the remainder of the walk.
When we reach the school mum gives me a kiss on the cheek and waves goodbye to
me as she walks away. Taking a heavy breath I walk through the doorway before
the sheet of rain comes pouring down over everything.
School proceeds to be incredibly dull. I am scolded for not having my homework
finished but upon observing my anguished demeanor the teacher leaves me alone.
I don't speak to my friends and barely touch my lunch before throwing it in the
bin. My mind is frozen in place, wondering how this change in Jim and I's
relationship is going to affect me in the future. Will he hurt me like he
allegedly hurt Uncle Seb? I don't know. I'm not sure I'll ever have a choice in
the matter. I grimace at the thought of those lips on mine again. I haven't
noticed girls yet and I've never thought about boys that way. I'm not sure I'll
ever grow into feeling any way about either of the genders, and while I know
sexuality isn't a choice it would be nice to be able to express one as my own
rather than having it as predetermined for me as it is now. I long to just grow
up and know love on my own terms.
I'm still staring wistfully out the window when the bell signals the end of
school. The ground is wet but the sky has cleared up some and the rain has
stopped entirely. I blink before rubbing my lazy eyes, realising that it's the
first I've blinked in some time. I pick up my bag and trudge for the door,
slowly as possible, in no rush to see Jim waiting for me.
To my surprise, Jim isn't there. Perhaps he's late or he's chosen not to get me
today. The latter sends a brief sensation of relief through my body. I let
myself dare to hope that it won't be him who brings me home. I stare at my feet
for awhile contemplating walking home by myself, but if mum's coming to pick me
up I don't want to scare her. I stay still with my stomach churning, still
hoping for the unlikely.
"Hey faggot!" a child's voice attempting to sound rough calls from behind me. I
don't have to turn around to know that it's Andrew but I turn anyway to
politely acknowledge the bully. He stands ramrod straight in a sorry try at
looking taller, his eyes bore straight into mine as he cocks an eyebrow. "Seen
you walkin' with that weird man in the suit lately. That you're new boyfriend?
Hmm? The kid know you been steppin' out on him?" I look down at my shoes unsure
of how to answer him. To tell him that Jim and I weren't dating might be a lie,
and if Jim found out he could be upset.
"I'm not seeing Hamish. I told you that," I say in surrender.
"Oh so you like 'em older now?" Andrew taunts before letting out a hearty
laugh. I look up at him with rage in my eyes he stares back at me in satisfied
sadism.
It is all short-lived though as with a loud bang from afar, Andrew's cruel is
expression is contorted into that of pain and fear. His hands rush to clutch
his damp and scarlet side. With a shrill scream he falls to the ground and the
red continues to spill fast onto the cement darkening against the wet concrete.
I open my mouth but I am not sure that any sound comes out. I can hear nothing
over the screams of nearby teachers and students. Adults push their children to
the ground and sirens pick up in the air. My feet pound loudly on the ground as
I run to Andrew's side. Everything smells of metal and my dog tags chime
against the bare flesh under my shirt. I touch his arm and he is cold. His eyes
look empty and lifeless but he is still sputtering breath. He's forming words.
He's begging for his life and inside I am begging with him that this young life
not be snuffed out after such a short and miserable existence. Andrew doesn't
deserve this. No one deserves this. To suddenly be shot and to never know why
is terrible enough.
I look around in a panic but there is no assailant in sight. Nothing in the air
but mass panic and confusion. I know that the attack is over. I know that
Andrew was the only target and that this shooting was not random. I know
everything. My own breathing becomes nearly as laboured as Andrew's. I whisper
an apology and his eyes widen. Before I let him ask though I dart away from
him. I need to get home. I need to get back to my mum this instant, I don't
care how suspicious it looks. I need to get out of there.
With blood on my knees I run for home, ignoring the shouts from teachers
demanding that I come inside as they go into lock-down. I run too fast for any
of them to catch me. At times it feels as though I'm flying over several
squares of pavement. I don't stop ever, not even when I feel a cramp tearing at
my side. I only look down to assure myself that the strain of my muscle is not
a bullet wound in and of itself. All I here are sirens and I feel like they're
all coming after me. They know I know. They're going to make me talk about it.
I can't talk about it. I just can't. My shoulders feel unbearably heavy with
pure knowledge and responsibility.
When I reach my house I stand there for awhile just breathing, barely
breathing. My head is spinning and now I'm sure I'm going to be sick. Tears are
staining the back of my eyes and I keep getting strangled by would-be sobs. I
swallow them and try to keep steady on the ground. My mind races with the faces
of everyone I love, everyone at risk, every string that my puppet-master
boyfriend is twirling in his deft little fingers in front of me. But no. No,
this was an attempt to try and get on my good side. I feel the cold metal dog
tags still clamoring against my shivering chest. Those were a gesture too. Jim
cares about me I think. Jim wants me to be happy. I have an upper hand here.
Jim will want to keep my happy. I can just tell him to stop. A surge of courage
suddenly takes the reigns. I hardly feel anything I start shouting.
"Jim! Jim you bastard! I know you're following me! Get out here now you bloody
bastard you know I told you not to do that! I'm very unhappy!" I call out to
nothing. "Come on you coward! I need to talk to you!" The door to our flat
opens behind me.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Charles' voice hums calmly. I turn to face
him. He doesn't look shocked by the blood soaking into my jeans.
"What?" I huff out. "Why the hell not?"
"You should just consider yourself lucky. The boss has done you a favor. That's
what boyfriends do," he chuckles but I see no humor in any of it. He frowns at
my silence. "Shut up and stop taking it for granted. Stop being so righteous.
This is how it works got it?"
"What if I refuse?" I ask more brave than I feel. I try to think of the bear
that Hamish once showed me. The bravest of them all.
A devilish grin splits Charles' face. "You mean like tell the police?" he asks.
I nod. "Then I'll kill mummy," he whispers "and Hamish and John and Sherlock
and then I'll run off into the sunset and you'll be an orphan." My eyes widen.
I swallow the lump in my throat and on unsteady feet I walk into the flat,
silently promising to stay quiet.
***** Amateur Deductions *****
Chapter Summary
     Severin demands to spend the night at John's
     John becomes suspicious of his son's role in the recent primary
     school shooting.
Chapter Notes
     John's POV mostly for the sake of trying to keep some of the mystery
     alive until the end. ;)
     Sorry lots of dialogue in this. Kinda boring but pretty important
     stuff.
     Seriously thought about naming this chapter "Spot the Psychopath" but
     I thought that would be too blatant.
I'm gripping the sleeve of your dressing gown as the telly blares breaking news
of a shooting at Severin's primary school. In my other hand I have my phone.
I'm attempting to call Mary but she isn't picking up. I swallow a lump in my
throat and tears well painfully in my eyes as I hang up for the fourth time.
You take my face in my hands and look into my eyes sympathetically. You tell me
it's okay. It's been two hours since the shooting and there is only one
confirmed victim, a boy named Andrew Farley that's currently being rushed into
surgery. The name is familiar. I recognise it from a disciplinary letter. That
boy had bullied Severin at some point, but that didn't matter at the present.
Hamish is a sniffling mess on the sitting room floor. He is still unconvinced
that Severin is okay. You pick him up in your arms and try to shush him,
petting his hair and telling him to relax or he'll make himself sick. I'm
hardly breathing properly myself.
There's a hard knock at the door and I expect that it's Mrs. Hudson coming to
check up on me again. You hand Hamish over to me and tell me that you'll handle
it. I kiss little Hamish on the forehead as we settle into my chair. I keep
repeating to him that Severin is okay and I know that I am trying to convince
us both. When you answer the door you seem surprised to see Severin and Mary
standing in the doorway. Severin's face is flushed and his face is sticky with
dried tears, he has a knapsack slung over one shoulder. Before I have the
chance to react, Hamish leaps out of my arm and bolts across the room calling
for Severin before pulling him into a clearly very tight embrace. Severin
smiles and pulls Hamish closer to him.
"It's okay Hamish. I'm here. I'm okay," he assures him while petting his head
like you had earlier.
Mary steps into the flat and looks at me fearfully. "He demanded that I bring
him here so he could spend the night. I hope it's okay," she says.
I'm rather surprised. "If it's okay with you. You sure you don't want to keep
him tonight? I know it must have scared you something awful," I ask.
"Well, yes. But he was home before it even hit the news so I didn't realise he
had been in any danger until he told me everything. Besides, I'm sure you were
terrified." Mary frowns a little. She leans in to whisper to me. "Poor thing
had blood on his clothes. He wasn't hurt though, he ran to see if the other boy
was okay. I think he's still in shock. I-I just couldn't deny him you know?"
"You could stay if you like. We've got a cot," I tell her still certain that in
this time of crisis she would want to be with her son.
"I'd love to really, but I was going to go and be with the other boy's mum.
She's a single mother and her family lives in Scotland. She really shouldn't be
alone. Besides, my son was brave enough to go to her son in his time of need. I
should do the same," she says kind of proudly. She puts a hand on Severin's
shoulder and he temporarily pulls away from Hamish's worried embrace. She
kneels down beside him. "Severin sweetie, I'm going to go now if that's okay,"
she says. He nods vigorously and she pulls him into a tight hug before kissing
him on his forehead. "I love you so much sweetie."
"I love you too mum. Please, tell Ms. Farley that I'm really really sorry about
her son. Also could you call John and let me know if he pulls through?" he asks
concerned.
"Of course dear," she smiles lovingly. She kisses him one more time and even
pulls me into a hug before she leaves. You close the door behind her and
breathe a tiny sigh of relief. You look at me as though still trying to
reassure me of the reality. I'm still having trouble catching up to it all. All
I know is that I'm relieved that Severin wasn't harmed. It's true, I could
collapse from the relief.
Hamish finally manages to stop crying as Severin makes attempts at making him
laugh and playing board games with him, clearly losing on purpose. You take
your place on your favorite chair and I've forced you to start listening to
news on the shooting on your laptop with headphones so as not to disturb the
children. I've thought about starting work in the kitchen but decided to call
in for pizza instead. I figure that Severin could use a treat after all he's
been through. I'm surprised to find that Hamish is pulling through it
alarmingly well. He seems to be beyond shock, making his primary task that of
soothing Hamish and making sure that he is completely content. It begins to
become unnerving but eventually I shrug it off. He's just a brave kid, I
decide.
It isn't long until I catch you frowning at your screen and I find myself
curious. I pop over behind you and stare at the screen. Outside of Bart's
Medical Center is a vigil of probably hundreds of people holding candles and
lighters. My heart drops into the pit of my stomach as I read the caption. One
Dead In Tower Bridge Primary School Shooting. With tears fighting for exodus I
put my phone on silent before it has a chance to ring. Not tonight. 
There's a knock at the door that signals dinner. We all sit around the table
with our individual plates of pizza in silence for awhile. It seems Severin is
used to saying grace but you insist against it. You haven't touched your plate.
Your hands are steepled under your chin as though you're thinking and you
haven't taken your eyes off of Severin who is casually eating a slice of
peperoni across from you at the table. I find that I ignore my plate in favour
of analysing you, trying to figure out your thought process. You're eyes didn't
budge and you weren't giving any tells. That is until you spoke.
"Severin, do you know who would want to hurt Andrew?" you asked. 
"No. Not really. He was pretty mean to kids sometimes but still generally well-
liked," Severin answered almost expertly taking another bite of pizza.
"Mean? He used to bully you yes?" you inquire walking a fine line with me.
"Yeah, sometimes. It wasn't so bad. I felt kinda bad for him so I didn't get
too mad." Well that wasn't true. At one point Severin reacted violently but I
suppose he means after all that.
"Did your step-father know your Uncle Sebastian?" This question is entirely out
of left-field as far as I'm concerned.
Severin flushes darkly. "Yeah. They worked together. Th-They didn't work
closely or anything though," he stammers. I feel as though you've caught onto
something that I haven't, something important. Severin's eyes suddenly go dark.
"He's dead isn't he? Andrew?"
"Why would you say that?" you ask.
"Yeah Severin. Your mum hasn't called yet. I'm sure he's still in surgery or
maybe still unconcious. That happens a lot," I fan the lie with my medical
degree.
"No. Sherlock only works homicides," Severin says cocking an eyebrow. Those
eyes, they just look so void of well...anything.
"That's not true. He's worked thefts and missing persons before. He handled a
missing rabbit once. Worked to get some fragile information from a dangerous
woman," I list trying so desperately to mask it all from this clever boy. He
simply shrugs, seemingly accepting my defense. We don't speak for the duration
of the meal. You and I share a couple of glances, mostly me glaring at you. 
Finally we send the boys up to bed, trusting that Severin and Hamish can share
Hamish's bed for the night. I guide them up the stairs after getting their
teeth brushed to make sure that they get into their pyjamas and settle in for
the night. I kiss them both on the forehead and wish them sweet dreams,
alerting them that they can come to get me anytime if they're afraid or
experience any nightmares. Lord knows, I know what that's like. I turn off the
light and leave the door cracked open just so and wait outside for a moment,
just trying to breathe. That's when I hear tiny whispered voices.
"Look, Hamish I know you were really scared today but there's something I need
to tell you," Severin whispers.
"What is it?" Hamish asks curiously.
"You need to know that I'm never ever going to let anything hurt you okay?
Cross my heart and hope to die, I won't let anyone get to you." It's hardly
audible but I piece most of it together.
"What are you talking about Sev?" Hamish squeeks. 
"There are dangerous people out there Hamish. But I swear, I will never ever
let them get to you. I'll always protect you." I try and decipher exactly where
he's coming from when he talks about dangerous people. Where does a little boy
get these ideas? 
"Okay. I love you Sev."
"I love you too Hamish. Now you need to get some sleep. It's okay. I won't let
anyone hurt you. Ever. No body." Severin yawns. Dismissing it as shock I trudge
down the steps, passed the sitting room to our bedroom.
You and I settle into our bedroom and I can't fight the urge anymore.
"What the hell was all that?" I ask.
"He knows something," you almost mutter slithering underneath the covers of our
bed. 
"And why would he know anything? He's just a kid. Reports show that the shot
came from a distance, probably from the empty warehouse across the way." I
point out in defense of my son.
"Yes I know. It just can't be unconnected. Can't be a coincidence." You toussle
your hair in frustration before resting your face in your palms. 
"Exactly what can't be a coincidence?" I put my hands on my hips practiacally
staring you to death. You calmly pat the bed for me to sit beside you and I
obey in hopes of a thorough explanation.
"Severin's step-father knew Sebastian Moran." 
"So?"
"So, Sebastian was a part of Moriarty's web." you huff.
"What?"
"He was a sniper, practiacally Jim Moriarty's right hand man. I killed him. I
killed him for you John," you nearly whisper placing your hand on mine. You
won't look at me. "His step-father is a colleague of his that means I've missed
something. John that boy might still be alive if I hadn't missed..." you trail
off.
"You aren't saying that you think Charles Morstan killed that boy because he
was bullying Sev?" I ask. You nod grimmly. "No. No we can't no that. Sherlock
this is not your fault!" I assure you hoarsely. I pull you into my arms and
your hands are trembling as the rest on my chest. "It's okay. I don't think
that's what happened. Could be coincidence." You don't agree. "If it helps you
and Lestrade could go have a word with him in the morning." You nod before
laying down facing away from me. I lay down and hold your back against my chest
and shower your neck in kisses. "Shh. It's alright Sherlock. You'll figure it
out." 
After awhile you drift off to sleep and I watch your chest heaving forward and
back in gentle motions as I stroke your beautiful head. Those curls are acting
as a great comfort for me as I sit uselessly and contemplate your theories.
Would Severin's step-father really do that? The way Severin talked he and
Charles didn't seem that close. It just doesn't fit. I hear a rustling noise
from the kitchen and I worry about one of the boys being up at this hour. Maybe
one of them had a nightmare.
I get up from the bed to investigate and find Severin sitting on the kitchen
floor in front of the fridge.
"Sev? It's one in the morning, what are you doing?" I ask through the darkness,
physically startling the small boy.
"Wh-what? Oh, I was just getting a snack," he says nervously.
My eyes finally adjust to the darkness and I manage to observe what's in his
right hand. "With a bottle of glue?" I ask thoroughly confused.
"Oh. Well...actually I was worried about Andrew. I was looking for some paper
and stuff so I could make him a get well card. I thought glitter might be
nice," he said finally reaching his faculties. 
"Okay..." I look at him curiously. "Go on up to bed okay? We can do that in the
morning all right?" 
"Yeah okay," he says as he gets up and makes his way for the stairs, glue
bottle still in hand. 
It doesn't hit me until I'm already sinking back into bed with you. Not four
hours ago, Severin was convinced that Andrew Farley was dead, and now he was
making him a get-well card.
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