Sherlock and Son

Mary is dead and there is nothing John can do about it. He's got to move on, he's got Charlotte, his daughter, to think about. Life was alright, calm, maybe even peaceful. Until one day something turns up that will change life as him and Sherlock know it.


8. Chapter 8

“I’m here, where is it?” Lestrade asked bursting into the flat. He was followed by Donovan, Anderson and several other officers. John sighed loudly, he looked at them, and they were all wearing military styled boots caked with mud. He hated it when anyone wore shoes in the house, it had taken him three years to stop Sherlock from walking on the furniture let alone take his shoes off by the door. But at least he had learned to wipe his feet before traipsing mud into the house and imbedding it into the carpets.
“Good afternoon, welcome, do come in, make yourself at home.” John sighed sarcastically. “Sherlock’s gone for a bath,” he explained. The reason Sherlock had gone for a bath put a smile on his face no matter how many times he had thought about it. Since Mary died Sherlock had been trying to be a better God-Father to little Charlotte and with his newly found confidence with looking after, well with holding children, he thought it would be a good idea to bond with little Hamish. He picked him up and held him in his arms for a few seconds before he started screaming loudly before being violently sick all over the back of Sherlock’s favourite blazer. John chuckled fondly remembering the face both Sherlock and Hamish had pulled. “He’ll be back in a minute.” John added. “Would you like me to put the kettle on?”
“Sure, the usual please John,” Lestrade said glancing around the room.
“Sally?” John asked. It felt weird calling Donovan just Sally but it felt weirder calling her Donovan seeing as they were not colleges or even friends for that matter.
“Tea, milk on sugar,” Donovan said sharply. She began searching the room, she was busy moving Sherlock’s papers off of the chairs and throwing them onto the floor.
“Er, don’t touch them, please,” John said. “They’re Sherlock’s,” She glanced up at him for a second before throwing everything back down and stepping back next to Anderson.
“Er, Anderson?” he asked. He shook his head. John didn’t know the names of the rest of the officers so decided to make a pot of tea and hope for the best. John hurried out into the kitchen and put the kettle onto boil. He knew Sherlock hated the noise but social protocol stated that you must offer drinks to guests and he was just going to have to get over it.
“John, are you boiling that-?” Sherlock asked. He emerged from the bathroom. John gasped. He was wearing two towels, one around his waist and one around his hair leaving his stomach exposed. He froze in the middle of his sentence. Donovan burst out laughing, Anderson sniggered a bit under his breath and Lestrade couldn’t keep a straight face. The officers fell about laughing; Sherlock’s face was going red.
“We have guests!” John exclaimed.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sherlock hissed attempting to cover himself up with the towel.
“Leave it Sherlock, we don’t mind.” Anderson sniggered.
“I thought you knew! You were the one who told me to phone Lestrade!” John reminded him.
“But what are they all doing here?” Sherlock asked glaring at Anderson and Donovan, who were still in hysterics. Even Lestrade had starting giggling quietly to himself.
“I don’t know,” John replied. “Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll finish making them tea.” He agreed. Sherlock disappeared off into his bedroom quickly. John sighed loudly and finished making the tea. He put the cups onto a tray and put out the final biscuits that Sherlock had not feed to Charlotte. Some days John wondered if Sherlock thought Charlotte was a dog, he loved sitting feeding her biscuits, one for the baby two for him he would say. He tipped the reminder of the packet onto a plate and put it on the tray amongst the cups. He walked back out into the living room where Sherlock was sat in his chair, eyes shut, obviously thinking and the agents were stood awkwardly scattered around the room.
John placed the tray down onto the coffee table as he did Sherlock’s eyes burst open. John lifted the tray quickly, knowing that is anything got spilt on Sherlock’s papers he would have a break down. And John did not want a repeat of the great jam kerfuffle of 08. He carelessly pushed Sherlock’s papers onto the floor and continued to place the tray down. He excused himself once again and went to his bedroom to check on the sleeping babies. He knew things were going to get interesting so before anyone had arrived, he had put both of the sleeping infants in his bedroom in Charlotte’s cot. He poked his head round the door. Both Hamish and Charlotte were sleeping peacefully. He sighed at the sight of his daughter and possibly Sherlock’s son. It put a smile on his face to see them together. Charlotte was hard work as it was, he couldn’t imagine how hard it would be if Hamish was Sherlock’s son. For one imagine how annoying a little Sherlock would be, he would never stop talking. John hoped that if the child was Sherlock’s, he would take after his Mother.
“I’m back,” John announced walking back into the room. They were still stood there awkwardly. Sherlock’s eyes opened.
“How are they?” he asked. John frowned. Was he that predictable that Sherlock knew he had been checking in on the children? It wasn’t new to John; Sherlock knew exactly where he had been and what he was doing most of the time? Sherlock knew John had gone to check on the children. He was so paranoid; he couldn’t go a minute without checking on Charlotte. She was John’s pride and joy and he wanted to make sure she was always safe. Sherlock wondered how it be if Hamish was his son, how he would have to raise him. The thought terrified him.
“I told you to call Gordon,” Sherlock muttered angrily to John as he came and sat down in his chair. He picked his mug of tea on the way past.
“Greg,” Lestrade muttered correcting Sherlock. He still corrected him even after all the years they had known each other and every time he sees Sherlock there is a glimpse of hope that he might get his name right. Ah, well, one day, but not today. He was tempted to bring his birth certificate but even with that level of proof Sherlock wouldn’t believe it; he can’t bear to admit that he’s wrong.
“I know, and I called him,” John reassured him, he didn’t bother correcting Sherlock.
“Then why does it appear that we are throwing some kind of party in my living room. I don’t know why Anderson and his merry men are here, although I can understand why Maid Marian decided to tag along as well. Looks like Robin Hood and the King’s niece are still having their love affair,” he smiled and caught Anderson’s eye. For once his lips nearly curled into some kind of twisted smile. But he stopped himself before it was too late. Emotion was not a quality possessed by him. And besides, his bottom lip was slightly misshaped at the curve and if he smiled before would mock his strangely shaped lips. Sherlock looked across the room at Donovan, she was getting annoyed.
“Shut up,” she snarled.
“You know who you look like,” Sherlock began. “You look like Snow White and the seven Dwarfs. Look there’s Doc,” he said pointing at Lestrade. “And Grumpy, Happy, Sleepy, Bashful, Sneezy,” Sherlock said pointing his finger at each of the agents until he came to Anderson. “You are Dopey,” Anderson pulled a face. “Oh don’t look so sad, you can’t help your idiocy,” He then stood in front of Donavon. “And you Detective Sargent, are Snow White’s evil step Mother,” Donovan went to open her mouth but Sherlock held up his hand to stop her. “Oh, you thought you were goin to be Snow White. But she has a sole, one that is pure and her complexion-”
“Sherlock,” John exclaimed scared that Sherlock was going to cross the line into racist territory.
“What?” he spat back.
“Careful,” he said slowly.
“What…oh!” he exclaimed. “Oh no. I wasn’t going to say anything racist. I think that’s what you mean John. Donovan I was merely going to say that her complexion is far nicer than yours. I hadn’t even thought about the fact that her skin is pure white and yours… well isn’t!” he rambled.
“And she’s far prettier than you, more womanly figure, curves, that kind of thing. It’s a shock Anderson isn’t having an affair with her as well!” Donovan bit her lip hard; she was so ready to deck him one. Lestrade saw how angry both Anderson and Donovan were getting. That was normally the case when Sherlock was around.
“Come on Sherlock you called us remember,” Lestrade reminded him. He was cautious that both Anderson and Donovan were going to turn on Sherlock and that there would be nothing he could do to stop them, he had a gun, but he didn’t like using it. Instead it was just about scaring people. Threatening them until they stopped doing whatever it was that made him draw his gun in the first place.
“I do remember.” Sherlock declared. “Does it not bother you that they are having an affair Lestrade?” He asked. “Can you not taste the sexual tension in the air?”
“Taste the sexual tension?”
“So you can taste words now can you as well?” Anderson sighed.
“Yes and it’s burning the back of my throat, it lingers in the air! One of you, go and stand outside before I’m sick!”
“It’s impossible to taste the air, how can you taste sexual tension?”
“Don’t be stupid Anderson of course you can taste the air. If you don’t want people to know you are having regular intercourse with a woman who is not your wife-”
“We are not having an affair!” Anderson snapped. “I love my wife very much!” he exclaimed.
“Of course you do,” John muttered shaking his head.
“However I would suggest if you are planning on having intercourse,” he paused and took a deep breath in “four times, you would at least shower afterwards.” They both went bright red and exchanged looks of disgust.
“Shut up Sherlock, I’m warning you,” Anderson shouted.
“Actually, Anderson, now come to think of it how the devil is Karen? It’s been such a long time.” Sherlock replied saying the name of Anderson’s wife with care, making sure he elongated the vowels. Both Donovan and Anderson lunged forwards towards him but Lestrade threw himself in front of Sherlock. He drew his gun quickly and pointed it at them. John gasped loudly. He knew most of the people who knew Sherlock carried a gun ‘just in case he turned nasty’ but he didn’t expect Lestrade to pull it out so casually.
“Stop it both of you,” Lestrade warned. “Sherlock, stop winding up my officers,” he said pointing the gun at his head. Sherlock sighed loudly.
“Fine,” he said reluctantly.
“And you two,” Lestrade said turning to face Anderson and Donovan. “You choose to have an affair even though you know we all know, and that bloody nutcase can taste it in the air so start behaving professionally otherwise you can both leave my team and you can piss off back to a desk.” He warned.
“Sorry,” they said at the same time. Sherlock smiled at them, he stood up and walked over to the sofa, he perched on the arm for a moment before falling backwards onto the pile of boxes that were already occupying that particular space. The conversation here wasn’t going to be overly interesting so he decided to pay a quick visit to his mind palace whilst nothing important was being said.
“Now where’s the kid?” Lestrade asked John.
“They are both sleeping so if you would kindly put that gun away because it’s bad enough Sherlock insists on keeping himself armed. Let alone an extra eight guns in my home. And if you wake either of them up I’m going to kill all of you. I know how to use one of those things.” he warned. “You people forget I was in the army, I’ve killed people,”
“You were a Doctor!” Lestrade exclaimed.
“I had bad days,” he growled.
“Fine, look gun going away,” Lestrade said. He put his gun back into the holster.
“Good,” A shiver ran down John’s spine. He hated the fact that Sherlock kept a gun, but he insisted that both of them always carried one. To John’s disgust one was kept in the bottom of Charlotte’s nappy bag. He had never had to use it or even get it out of the bag, apart from the regular servicing Sherlock gives it to make sure it still works, apparently he’s qualified to handle guns. Sherlock was concerned that someone was going to try and kill him, he was seriously paranoid, but John’s biggest fear was someone was going to hurt him or worse Charlotte.
“Sorry,” Lestrade apologised. He got his notebook out of his pocket and a pen and opened it to a clean page. “Right, so John you say when you came home there was a child wrapped in a blanket and it had been left on your doorstep,”
“He,” John interrupted. “The child’s a boy, his name is Hamish,”
“How would you know that?” Lestrade frowned.
“I changed his nappy and we thought it would be appropriate to name him,”
“It’s John’s middle name,” Sherlock added returning from his palace quickly. John shot him a look; he was still lying on the boxes with his eyes shut. Sherlock knew his middle name was supposed to be a secret, he hated it; it is a stupid middle name.
“Right, so we brought a DNA kit with us. Anderson, the kit,” Anderson stepped forwards and handed Lestrade a small plastic kit. He opened it and handed John a small stick. “Put it in your mouth,”
“What?” John exclaimed. “The baby’s not mine!”
“It was left of your doorstep; we need to make sure he’s not your baby,”
“Of course he’s not my baby, my wife has just died. Hamish is about the same age as Charlotte meaning I would have had to be sleeping with both Mary and this child’s Mother!” John exclaimed. There was no way he was going to sit by and listen to accusations made of his faithfulness. Many people think he was angry at Mary for her secret but it didn’t bother him. In fact it made him love her more, he wished she were here now. But there is nothing in the world he could say or do to get her back.
“Then why did you ask for a DNA kit?” Anderson asked suddenly getting the confidence to talk again after the gun incident.
“For Sherlock,”
“For Sherlock?” Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan said at the same time.
“Yes for Sherlock, the baby could be his,”
“I’m sorry John, but if the baby belongs to anyone who lives here it has to be you, have you ever met Sherlock Holmes? Of course he doesn’t have a child, and he doesn’t even like people touching him let alone doing any of that kind of stuff!” Lestrade said cringing at the thought of Sherlock doing anything like that.
“I think you’re the first one we need to DNA test John, then Mrs Hudson, then the man from the sandwich shop next door and then if all three of you come back negative. Then we will test Sherlock,” Anderson joked. Donovan giggled.
“Laughing at his attempts at humour?” Sherlock said suddenly making everyone jump. “Someone’s looking to be promoted to long-term Mistress,”
“What part does he not understand?” Anderson snarled. “I will kill him!”
“Relax, he’s just some jumped up psychopath who ruins the lives of ordinary hard working people,”
“High functioning sociopath,” John interrupted without thinking.
“He’s got you well trained hasn’t he?” Donovan snapped. “Do you jump through hoops and begging for treats as well?”
“No,” John muttered.
“Well in that case. He’s a flipping idiot. He insults people, makes perfectly happy lives a living hell. I’m surprised he hasn’t killed anybody yet. He’s so unpredictable. Frankly I think he’s a liability. To be honest I predict he a series of serial murders waiting to happen.” Donovan explained.
“He’s sat in the room!” one of the other officers exclaimed, Anderson, John and Lestrade shrugged their shoulders simultaneously.
“Oh he’s not listening,” Donovan replied.
“He’s in his mind palace,” John reassured them.
“Anyway Was there a note left with Hamish?” Lestrade asked. John glanced over at Sherlock who was sat with his eyes closed. He was unsure whether he should show them the note. If the baby was Sherlock’s the DNA would prove it, without the need of showing anyone the note. He was contemplating it is his mind when the ground began to shake ever so slightly. After returning home from the war his leg had become extra sensitive to any change or vibration.
“Do you feel that?” he asked Lestrade. He shook his head. The shaking became more noticeable.
“What is it?” Anderson asked.
“Ssshhh!” John hushed him.
“It sounds like footsteps,” Donovan said.
“No, it’s marching,” Anderson corrected her. She shot him a scowl and turned to look at Lestrade.
“Anderson’s right, they’re marching,” Lestrade said thoughtfully.
“They’re coming up the stairs!” John exclaimed. “Sherlock!” he shouted he ran over to his chair and started tugging on his arms. “Get up!” he exclaimed. “What about the babies?” he cried.
“Relax John, we’ve got it.” Lestrade said softly. The sound of footsteps echoed. They were getting closer and closer. “Draw your weapons,” Lestrade whispered. The officers stood arranged in a military formation. They drew their weapons and aimed them at the door. Suddenly the door swung open and they were faced by five swat men in full body armour and carrying guns.
“Get down on the ground,” he shouted. Everyone dropped to the floor. “Freeze,” He ordered. “Drop your weapons!”
“Do it,” Lestrade said slowly. They put their weapons on the floor and stood with their hands in the air.
“Listen I’m Detective Inspector-” Lestrade began.
“Stop,” the man shouted. He lifted a walkie-talkie to his mouth. “Perimeter secure Sir,” he said clearly. “Sir, yes Sir,” Sherlock sat up straight. He had returned from his mind palace and was faced with several armed men shouting at him. He stood up slowly.
“Sherlock sit down,” Lestrade hissed.
“What are you doing here?” he asked one of the men.
“Sherlock,” John begged. “Think of Hamish,” he hissed. Sherlock frowned for a moment and then his face softened. He turned back around to face John and the eight officers who were stood with their hands in the air, a look of fear on John’s face.
“Put your arms down. You look ridiculous!” he scorned.
“What are you talking about?” John asked.
“Look at the way these men are stood, military formation but ever so slightly out of line. So they can’t be army men, because their commanding officer, which I assume is you Sir,” Sherlock said indicating to the man who had told them to drop their weapons a moment ago. “He is not wearing anything to symbolise he is the man in charge. Besides he was using his walkie-talkie to talk to his superior. But look at the way they are stood, they are in fighting stance; they are men from the secret service. And who do we know who is a fan of the secret service?” he asked. Everyone looked back at him blankly.
“Sherlock, what are you talking about?” John demanded.
“Ah!” Sherlock sighed loudly. “So annoying, why do you have to be so frustrating for? It’s like talking to children!” He exclaimed. “These are Mycroft’s men, they aren’t scary or even properly armed, look at these guns,” Sherlock began he stepped towards one of the men, the closest to him. He tapped the gun. “A standard issue British Army gun, tut, tut Mycroft, you could have at least brought some bigger guns, or at least some better agents.” He took one of the walkie-talkies and put it to lips. “Come in.” Sherlock waited a few seconds. Another sound of footsteps echoed, the owner was walking up the stairs. The door was pushed open again and Mycroft walked into the room carrying his umbrella under his left arm. John’s mouth fell to the floor. He was still breathing heavily. He couldn’t believe Mycroft had done that. His heart was pumping 
“Well done brother mine,” Mycroft smiled walking into the room. “But it did take you longer than I had first expected.”
“I was in my mind palace, Mycroft; I couldn’t care less about what they were talking about,”
“I thought as much,”
“Why did you feel the need to raid our home, you know the knocker works perfectly well do you not?” Sherlock asked sitting back down in his chair.
“Oh Sherlock, there is a possibility that you, brother, have a child, and you think it would not catch my attention?”
“He is not my child,”
“I’ll see for myself, where is he?” Mycroft asked looking around the room.
“John where is he?” Sherlock turned around. John had his hand on his heart and was breathing heavily. “John, what’s wrong?”
“What is wrong with you?” he panted. “I thought they were going to kill us!” he gasped.
“John,” Sherlock said slowly. “I feel a sharp east wind rising,” he said.
“What are you talking about-?” John asked.
“Sharp east wind rising,” he said once again. “Shut the windows when you go that way,” he replied.
“I will,” John whispered.
“What are you talking about Sherlock?” Lestrade exclaimed rolling his eyes.
“Nothing,” he said quickly. “God Mycroft,” Sherlock exclaimed, he voice resuming to its normal state. He rolled his eyes. “Look you’ve broken John, he’s nearly crying!”
“My apologies Dr Watson,” Mycroft said. John knew that was as close of an apology that he would ever get from either Holmes brother.
“It’s alright,” he said, he stood up straight, his legs were still a bit shaky. As he stood up he fell, Donovan and Lestrade caught hold of him and hulled him upright.
“Donovan go with John and get them,” Sherlock ordered pointing at them.
“Because I’m a woman?” Donovan asked angrily.
“No because you like babies,” both Sherlock and Mycroft answered at the same time.
“God you’re just like him, aren’t you? Your poor parents,” Donovan muttered as she followed John out of the room.
As soon as John and Donovan left the room two of Mycroft let out a large sigh.
“Go,” he ordered. With military precision two men grabbed hold of Sherlock’s arms and held him. Lestrade was about to draw his weapon but another of Mycroft’s officers grabbed him. The remaining Scotland Yard officers put up a decent fight but Mycroft’s men were better, stronger and more skilled, they were no match for them. Sherlock, Lestrade and Anderson were being held and the remaining officers were unconscious on the floor.
“My men!” Lestrade cried. Mycroft took a step towards him and drew something from his pocket; he couldn’t make out what it was. As he got closer he could see it was a needle.
“What are you doing? Get off of me!” Lestrade shouted.
“Relax Gerald,” Sherlock said slowly.
“It’s Greg, God dammit. My name is Greg!” he exclaimed.
“No it’s not,”
“Yes it is,” Mycroft sighed.
“You can’t talk, what the hell is going on?” he demanded
“Stay still,” Mycroft ordered. “It won’t hurt a bit,” he promised. He stabbed Lestrade and then Anderson after a second of struggling their limp bodies fell to the floor as well. Sherlock remained calm.
“I am so sorry brother mine,”

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...