The Blog of Eugenia H. Watson - January 4
Jul. 31st, 2011 04:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madlorificTitle: The Blog of Eugenia H. Watson
Author: MadLori
Length: 3600
Genre: Family, humor, shameless fluff, although quite angsty of late
Pairing: Sherlock/John (established), John/OFC (referenced, in the past)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Teenagerfic
Summary:
He’s home. Home home home. Dad is euphoric. I am euphoric. Sherlock himself is bloody exhausted. He’s like a limp noodle. But he seems happy, like really happy to be home, and that’s not a mood we often see him in. Usually even if he is really happy, he’ll make faces and act crotchety to hide it.
Genie's blog stars here: 1 September
The Blog of Eugenia H. Watson, Supercalifragalisticexpealidocious
4 January
Sherlock is home. I can’t even. I’ll be back later to explain. Must go now and revel in all the Sherlock-being-hominess.
later
Okay. Phew.
He’s home. Home home home. Dad is euphoric. I am euphoric. Sherlock himself is bloody exhausted. He’s like a limp noodle. But he seems happy, like really happy to be home, and that’s not a mood we often see him in. Usually even if he is really happy, he’ll make faces and act crotchety to hide it.
This afternoon after school let out, I came out to the pavement and there was a Man In A Suit standing there in front of a shiny brown car. He wasn’t one of Mycroft’s drivers, I know all of them, and when he hires a new one he introduces him to us so we know all the drivers. And all Mycroft’s cars are black. “Miss Watson?” he said.
I was instantly on alert. “Who wants to know?”
“Stradivarius.”
I think we need a new password. This one’s just been getting a lot of use lately, it’s starting to feel not so secure. But I accepted it, and I got in the car. We started driving. We got on the A40 like we were going out to Ruislip. The driver didn’t say anything. I was starting to feel a bit panicked. Then I got a text from Dad.
It’s okay. Mum and I are here waiting for you.
I felt a lot better then. The driver got off the A40 and we went under a sort of tunnel and came out onto a building near an airfield. I saw lots of RAF planes and some civilian ones. He pulled up to the building and came to open the door for me to get out. Mum and Dad came rushing out to meet me. “What’s going on?”
“We don’t know. They came and got me at the A&E and Mum at King’s. Nobody’s talking.”
“They’re not from Mycroft,” I said, keeping my voice low.
Dad shook his head. “No. But they know the password.”
“Where are we?”
“RAF Northolt. It’s the main RAF base near London. Lots of military traffic.” Dad was looking around. “I have no idea what we’re doing here.”
“Dad…do you think…”
“I’m trying not to think at all, Genie. I don’t want to jump to any conclusions.”
We waited for over an hour. RAF officers came and went, and some RAMC. Dad perked up when he saw them – he’d been one of them, after all – but nobody acknowledged us. Not until another man in a suit came and got us. “Follow me,” he said. He led us out to a golf-cart sort of vehicle. We climbed on and he drove us away from the little building. We crossed what seemed like acres of concrete until we came to a little out of the way spot where there was an RAF transport plane parked. It was making powering-down noise, it had just landed.
We got off the cart. There were other people hovering nearby, most of them soldiers and men and women in uniform. Dad and I kept exchanging glances. Was Sherlock on that plane? Why would he be on an RAF plane?
A ramp at the back of the plane lowered to the ground. Activity was going on inside. “No,” Dad whispered.
Soldiers were lifting coffins. Flag-draped coffins. Three soldiers on each side, they carried them down the ramp. I clutched at Dad’s sleeve. He was shaking all over and his knees were sagging. Mum and I were half holding him up. I wished somebody would hold me up because if Sherlock was in one of those coffins, I might need the help.
I looked away from the coffins, just because I couldn’t stand to see them anymore. There were people getting off the plane, coming down the staircase and onto the tarmac. As I watched, a figure appeared in the doorway and emerged. Tall and curly-haired, and for a moment I thought I was seeing things.
Sherlock.
He was still wearing the fatigues he’d been wearing in the video chats. He had a bag over his shoulder and was looking around. He didn’t seem to see us; we were a bit obscured by the military personnel milling about. He came down the stairs. I just stared, frozen, scarcely willing to believe it.
But it was true. He was there. He was here. He was home.
“Dad. Dad!” I yanked on his sleeve. “Look!”
He looked. Sherlock was off the stairs and coming across the pavement toward us by now, following the crowd, more or less. I felt Dad suck in a big breath. “Oh my God,” he said.
At that moment, Sherlock saw us. He didn’t smile. He didn’t wave. His face tightened up and he strode toward us with purpose. Dad took a few steps forward. Tears were already running down my face. Mum wrapped her arms around my shoulders from behind. I wanted to run to him, to jump on him and wind myself around him like a vine and never let go again, but I knew I should let Dad have his moment first. There’d be plenty of time.
Dad’s face. I’ll never forget how his face looked. Slack-jawed and wide-eyed, like he couldn’t be sure he wasn’t hallucinating, like he didn’t quite dare believe it yet because if it turned out to be a mirage then it’d be all the worse afterwards.
Sherlock didn’t take his eyes off Dad as he crossed the tarmac. Dad’s paralysis broke and he jogged forward to meet him. Sherlock didn’t break his stride, he just let his bag drop to the ground and walked right into Dad’s arms. I heard the breath huff out of both their chests as they collided, snapping shut around each other. Dad clutched his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders and a sort of choky groan came from deep in his chest. Sherlock didn’t say anything. He curled himself around Dad’s smaller body, his face pressed into Dad’s neck. I lifted my hands and held on to Mum’s arms to hold myself together. I heard her sniffing. “Mum,” I whispered, not sure what I even meant to say.
“I know, sweetheart,” she said, and I felt her kiss the side of my head.
Sherlock’s hands were clenching the fabric of Dad’s jacket like he was holding on for dear life. They just stood there for a few moments, not moving. Sherlock pulled back just far enough to grab Dad’s head in his hands and kiss his face, a half dozen short, quick kisses delivered without much attention to aim, until Dad finally got his hands up to hold him still and kiss his mouth. And that was some kiss. It went on long enough that I started feeling like a creeper, but then they separated and just stayed still, foreheads together and eyes shut, for a few more beats.
“John,” I heard Sherlock say. That was all. But that one word had a lot going on underneath it. He kissed Dad’s forehead one more time, then looked over at me. His face broke into a big smile, his real smile, and that was when I sort of lost it.
I pulled away from Mum and just ran at him. I jumped up like a little kid and got my legs around him and hung off his shoulders while I squished him as hard as I could. I may have been impeding his breathing. He staggered back a step from the impact and then hugged me back. “Sherlock,” I sort of half-sobbed, half-yelled.
“Genie,” he said, setting me down on my feet without letting me go. “Good to see you, too.”
“You…you…wanker!” I exclaimed, smacking him on the arm.
“Genie!” Dad said, sticking close to Sherlock’s side and lacing their fingers together.
“He is a wanker and a…a…cretin! You left me in New York all by myself and got yourself kidnapped and stuck with a bunch of Evil Overlords and you missed Christmas!”
“I’m afraid she’s right, John. I am a wanker.”
“I’ve been saying that for years,” Mum said, walking up for her turn. She hugged Sherlock tight; he could only hug her back with one arm because Dad wouldn’t let go of him.
He looked around at all the three of us, a strange expression on his face. “I’m…I’m quite…” He cleared his throat and sagged, like he was giving up the ghost. “God, I missed you all.” We all piled back on him. Family hug. I had both arms around his waist and I hung on as hard as I could, my face pressed against his chest, feeling like I might cry because everything was okay now, it’d all be fine because Sherlock was home. My father was home.
Dad stared up at him like he was still waiting for him to vanish in a puff of smoke. “I can’t believe you’re really here,” he said, his free hand lifting to touch Sherlock’s face.
Sherlock grasped Dad’s hand. “I assure you, I am really here, and I’m bloody exhausted. Can we get out of this Godforsaken place?”
“Yes,” Dad said, grinning a little giddily by now. “Let’s…oh. Blast. We don’t have a car. D’you suppose those goons who picked us up would give us a lift?”
“Um…John, I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Mum said. I followed her eyes across the tarmac and there, parked a few hundred yards away, was Mum’s car.
We didn’t even bother wondering about it. We hoofed it as fast as we could to the car and climbed in. Dad and Sherlock got in the back. Sherlock practically crumpled up against Dad the minute he was seated. I twisted around in my seat, afraid to take my eyes off him for more than a second.
“Sherlock, are you hungry? Do you want to stop somewhere for something to eat?” Mum asked as she started the car.
“I just want to go home, Grace,” Sherlock said, tucking his head down on Dad’s shoulder. Dad put both arms around him and held him, his fingers combing through Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock sighed, a long deep sigh like he was sliding into a warm bath after being out in the cold for months. His eyes closed and his whole body sort of melted, the tension leaking out of it. I watched them as Mum got us back on the road, heading for home. Sherlock opened his eyes a little and saw me looking. He extended one hand forward and I took it and held on to it the whole way home.
Mycroft was already there, of course. Sherlock actually seemed – well, not glad, exactly, but not pissed off to see him. The extent of their brotherly greetings was a handshake and a nod. Mum took Sherlock’s duffel bag and started unloading it. The first thing she pulled out was his coat. “Oh, yay!” I said. “The coat survives!”
Sherlock smiled. “I confess I had no idea what was in that bag. They just handed it to me as I got off the plane.”
“It looks like it’s the clothes you were wearing when you disappeared,” Mum said.
“Don’t be daft, Grace. I didn’t disappear, such a thing violates the laws of physics. I simply wasn’t where I was meant to be.”
“Where were you?” Dad asked. He still had this sorta-dazed look behind his eyes, and he was still semi-compulsively touching Sherlock.
“Alaska.”
The answer came so swift and certain that we were all a little taken aback. “Alaska?” I repeated. “Were there polar bears?” I blurted out, the first question that popped into my head.
Sherlock shot me a wry glance. “I wasn’t bivouacking in an igloo, Genie.”
“Jesus, come on, sit down,” Dad said, pulling Sherlock over to the couch. Mum was now puttering around the kitchen. Tea, no doubt. Cures all ills. Sherlock sort of flopped down in an untidy heap. Dad sat next to him, holding his hand. Mycroft perched elegantly on the edge of a side chair. I sat on Sherlock’s other side. “Alaska?”
He nodded. “Believe it or not, an underground base. Very confusing provenance. I was unable to determine who built it or when. The people I was with were of varying nationalities and affiliations. The whole situation was – fascinating, actually.”
Dad shook his head. “We’ve been here, fearing for your life, dreading bad news, missing you like crazy, and to you it was fascinating?”
“John, don’t take on so,” Sherlock said. “I feared for my own life for most of my stay.”
“Just most of it?” I asked. “How did you get away? What was on the flash drive?”
“Oh, it reached you. Excellent. And you passed it on to Mycroft?”
“It’s safe,” Mycroft said.
“I don’t think we’ll be needing it,” Sherlock said. “But it’s a useful backup plan.”
“How did you get them to release you?” Dad asked, quieter.
“How do you know I didn’t just escape?”
Dad gave him a look. “Their drivers came and collected us. You were on an RAF plane. How stupid do you think I am?”
“Quite right. My apologies. As to how I managed to secure my freedom, well – I knew I couldn’t escape. So my only option was to make myself indispensable. They couldn’t dispose of me if they’d need me again.”
Dad’s hand clenched on Sherlock’s a little. I saw it. “You agreed to work with them, didn’t you?”
Sherlock met his eyes, a sort of beseeching look in his own. “John. I had no choice. The price for my release was some of my time given back to them.”
“How much of your time?” Dad’s jaw was tight.
“Two weeks a year. At their discretion. But I’m to receive one week’s notice.”
Dad relaxed a little. “Well – I suppose that isn’t so bad.”
“Unfortunately the weeks need not be contiguous. They may require a day here, three days there, and so forth. The week’s notice always applies.”
“And you got them to agree to this? How?”
“By being very, very good at what they asked me to do.”
“And what was that?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it.” A little trepidation crept into Sherlock’s eyes. “You know it pains me to keep anything from you, John. But this silence was imposed upon me. I’ve discovered that having a family one actually cares about may have unforeseen rewards, but it also has unfortunate consequences. Leverage being foremost among them.”
He didn’t need to spell it out for us. His “hosts” had used us to force Sherlock’s hand. He’d keep his silence and comply with their requirements or harm might come to us. Dad’s face softened. He put his hand around the back of Sherlock’s neck and drew him close to press a kiss into the side of his head.
Sherlock looked at him. “No,” he murmured. “Don’t ever think that.”
Mycroft harrumphed. “I’ll just keep that flash drive safe, then?”
“Yes, please,” Sherlock said, not taking his eyes off Dad’s. “And you’re not to look at its contents, is that understood?”
For once, Mycroft seemed to understand the necessity of Sherlock’s request. “Very well.” He got up. “Sherlock, I imagine you and your husband might wish to spend some time alone together soon. I’d like to offer you the use of the house in the Cotswolds.”
Sherlock looked up at him. “May we go tomorrow?”
Mum and I shared a smirky little look. Clearly Dad wasn’t the only one who’d been pining over the past month. Dad looked surprised. “If you wish,” Mycroft said.
“John?”
“That’d be lovely,” Dad said, quietly.
Mycroft nodded. “I’ll send a car for you at noon.”
“I may just sleep until then,” Sherlock said, yawning.
Mycroft showed himself out. Mum handed tea around. Sherlock was still lolling on the couch, his head tipped back and his legs sprawled. “I can’t wait to get out of these infernal clothes. What do they make these fatigues out of, sandpaper?”
“We’ll burn them,” Dad said. He smiled down at him, then all at once his face pinched in a little and his lower lip trembled. “Sherlock,” he rasped.
Sherlock lifted a hand to Dad’s face. “I know,” he said. He drew Dad down into his arms and Dad hid his face in Sherlock’s chest. I got up and went into the kitchen with Mum. We knew a private moment when we saw one. I heard Dad sniffling a bit as I left.
Mum put the teacups in the sink and braced her hands on the countertop for a moment. “God,” she said.
“I know, right?” I leaned my butt against the counter at her side. “I feel sort of spinny.”
“I hope this is over.”
“I don’t trust these people he’s supposed to be working with now. Even if I knew who they bloody were.”
“I don’t either. But I’m sure Sherlock doesn’t trust them any more than we do.”
“It’s just – I can’t believe he’s really back.” Sherlock appeared in the kitchen doorway. He exchanged a glance with Mum.
“I’d better ring the lab,” she said, heading out. She squeezed his arm as she passed.
Sherlock cocked his head to one side. “You all right, crumpet?”
Hearing his pet name for me made me feel a bit wobbly. “Compared to what?” I said.
“Good point. I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed, myself. I find that I’m in an odd, strange situation.”
“What’s that?”
“I think I need something.”
“What, tea? The water’s still hot, I think.”
He shook his head, smiling a bit at my tiresome obtuseness. He came forward and pulled me into a tight hug, bowing his cheek down on the top of my head. I grinned and hugged him back. “Needed a hug, huh?” I said.
“Not exactly. I needed a hug from my daughter.”
I swallowed past the ginormous lump in my throat. “Did your little sabbatical turn you into a big mushball? Because it’s freaking me out a little.”
He chuckled deep in his chest. I felt it beneath my cheek. “If I am feeling uncharacteristically sentimental I think it might be understandable given my recent experience. Don’t worry, it’ll pass soon.”
“Good. I don’t think I could take Huggy!Sherlock all the time.” That wasn’t true, of course. If he stayed huggy it would be brilliant and I’d give him as many hugs as he cared to take. But he was right. It would pass.
He drew back and looked down at me. “I hope it’s okay with you, that your father and I are going away tomorrow.”
Frankly, it was a little bit not okay. He’d just gotten back and here he was, going away again. I just wanted to sit him in a chair and make him not move for a few days. I’d bring him books and food and whatever else he wanted, just as long as I could be certain that he would stay in that spot. This was of course a silly notion, but I did want him around. On the other hand, I got it. They were married, they were flat-out mad for each other, they’d probably both been gothic-heroine pining this whole month and then the whole “might never see each other again” aspect had to amp up the whole thing to eleven. They needed some time alone, like with more urgency than Sherlock wanted time with me.
“It’s okay,” I said, because part of being grown-up is just squaring up and taking it when things are a bit not okay.
Sherlock was not fooled. Why did I think he would be? But he’d take my word, because he knew I was trying to be adult about it and not throw a tantrum and cling to his leg like a three-year-old. “All right, then. It won’t be long, and when we get back you and I will go somewhere for the day, just us. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough.”
“And now I am a bit peckish, I think. Let’s see what’s in the fridge. I think I’ve got some catching up to do. Fill me in on how things are going with Mr. Lancaster, won’t you?”
So Sherlock flailed around the kitchen for a few minutes until Dad came back (looking a little red-eyed but composed), sat him down and took over, making some sandwiches. Mum returned from her office and we all sat round and briefed Sherlock on what had been going on in his absence. He couldn’t tell us what he’d been doing, so we’d fill that void with the minutiae of our normal lives.
After an hour or so it started feeling normal. But Sherlock was fading fast. Lord knew how long he’d been traveling to get home to us, or how long it had been before that since he slept. So he and Dad got up and we all traipsed through the lounge to the door of 221. Dad hugged me goodnight, then he and Sherlock went through to their place, arms slung about each other, and shut the door behind them.
I sighed. “I don’t know what to do with myself now,” I said.
Mum put her arm around me. “Let’s watch some crap telly and have ice cream.”
“God, yeah.”
We didn’t even use bowls. We just handed the carton back and forth and ate out of it with spoons. It wasn’t even late, only nine o’clock. I didn’t pay much attention to the telly. I was here with my mum, snug as a bug in a rug, and my dads were likely asleep in the next flat, together as they are always meant to be.
All was right with the world.
For now, anyway.
Genie's Blog will now be going on hiatus for awhile. Not saying there will never be more entries, but I'm going to call this one complete for the time being.
Author: MadLori
Length: 3600
Genre: Family, humor, shameless fluff, although quite angsty of late
Pairing: Sherlock/John (established), John/OFC (referenced, in the past)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Teenagerfic
Summary:
He’s home. Home home home. Dad is euphoric. I am euphoric. Sherlock himself is bloody exhausted. He’s like a limp noodle. But he seems happy, like really happy to be home, and that’s not a mood we often see him in. Usually even if he is really happy, he’ll make faces and act crotchety to hide it.
Genie's blog stars here: 1 September
The Blog of Eugenia H. Watson, Supercalifragalisticexpealidocious
4 January
Sherlock is home. I can’t even. I’ll be back later to explain. Must go now and revel in all the Sherlock-being-hominess.
later
Okay. Phew.
He’s home. Home home home. Dad is euphoric. I am euphoric. Sherlock himself is bloody exhausted. He’s like a limp noodle. But he seems happy, like really happy to be home, and that’s not a mood we often see him in. Usually even if he is really happy, he’ll make faces and act crotchety to hide it.
This afternoon after school let out, I came out to the pavement and there was a Man In A Suit standing there in front of a shiny brown car. He wasn’t one of Mycroft’s drivers, I know all of them, and when he hires a new one he introduces him to us so we know all the drivers. And all Mycroft’s cars are black. “Miss Watson?” he said.
I was instantly on alert. “Who wants to know?”
“Stradivarius.”
I think we need a new password. This one’s just been getting a lot of use lately, it’s starting to feel not so secure. But I accepted it, and I got in the car. We started driving. We got on the A40 like we were going out to Ruislip. The driver didn’t say anything. I was starting to feel a bit panicked. Then I got a text from Dad.
It’s okay. Mum and I are here waiting for you.
I felt a lot better then. The driver got off the A40 and we went under a sort of tunnel and came out onto a building near an airfield. I saw lots of RAF planes and some civilian ones. He pulled up to the building and came to open the door for me to get out. Mum and Dad came rushing out to meet me. “What’s going on?”
“We don’t know. They came and got me at the A&E and Mum at King’s. Nobody’s talking.”
“They’re not from Mycroft,” I said, keeping my voice low.
Dad shook his head. “No. But they know the password.”
“Where are we?”
“RAF Northolt. It’s the main RAF base near London. Lots of military traffic.” Dad was looking around. “I have no idea what we’re doing here.”
“Dad…do you think…”
“I’m trying not to think at all, Genie. I don’t want to jump to any conclusions.”
We waited for over an hour. RAF officers came and went, and some RAMC. Dad perked up when he saw them – he’d been one of them, after all – but nobody acknowledged us. Not until another man in a suit came and got us. “Follow me,” he said. He led us out to a golf-cart sort of vehicle. We climbed on and he drove us away from the little building. We crossed what seemed like acres of concrete until we came to a little out of the way spot where there was an RAF transport plane parked. It was making powering-down noise, it had just landed.
We got off the cart. There were other people hovering nearby, most of them soldiers and men and women in uniform. Dad and I kept exchanging glances. Was Sherlock on that plane? Why would he be on an RAF plane?
A ramp at the back of the plane lowered to the ground. Activity was going on inside. “No,” Dad whispered.
Soldiers were lifting coffins. Flag-draped coffins. Three soldiers on each side, they carried them down the ramp. I clutched at Dad’s sleeve. He was shaking all over and his knees were sagging. Mum and I were half holding him up. I wished somebody would hold me up because if Sherlock was in one of those coffins, I might need the help.
I looked away from the coffins, just because I couldn’t stand to see them anymore. There were people getting off the plane, coming down the staircase and onto the tarmac. As I watched, a figure appeared in the doorway and emerged. Tall and curly-haired, and for a moment I thought I was seeing things.
Sherlock.
He was still wearing the fatigues he’d been wearing in the video chats. He had a bag over his shoulder and was looking around. He didn’t seem to see us; we were a bit obscured by the military personnel milling about. He came down the stairs. I just stared, frozen, scarcely willing to believe it.
But it was true. He was there. He was here. He was home.
“Dad. Dad!” I yanked on his sleeve. “Look!”
He looked. Sherlock was off the stairs and coming across the pavement toward us by now, following the crowd, more or less. I felt Dad suck in a big breath. “Oh my God,” he said.
At that moment, Sherlock saw us. He didn’t smile. He didn’t wave. His face tightened up and he strode toward us with purpose. Dad took a few steps forward. Tears were already running down my face. Mum wrapped her arms around my shoulders from behind. I wanted to run to him, to jump on him and wind myself around him like a vine and never let go again, but I knew I should let Dad have his moment first. There’d be plenty of time.
Dad’s face. I’ll never forget how his face looked. Slack-jawed and wide-eyed, like he couldn’t be sure he wasn’t hallucinating, like he didn’t quite dare believe it yet because if it turned out to be a mirage then it’d be all the worse afterwards.
Sherlock didn’t take his eyes off Dad as he crossed the tarmac. Dad’s paralysis broke and he jogged forward to meet him. Sherlock didn’t break his stride, he just let his bag drop to the ground and walked right into Dad’s arms. I heard the breath huff out of both their chests as they collided, snapping shut around each other. Dad clutched his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders and a sort of choky groan came from deep in his chest. Sherlock didn’t say anything. He curled himself around Dad’s smaller body, his face pressed into Dad’s neck. I lifted my hands and held on to Mum’s arms to hold myself together. I heard her sniffing. “Mum,” I whispered, not sure what I even meant to say.
“I know, sweetheart,” she said, and I felt her kiss the side of my head.
Sherlock’s hands were clenching the fabric of Dad’s jacket like he was holding on for dear life. They just stood there for a few moments, not moving. Sherlock pulled back just far enough to grab Dad’s head in his hands and kiss his face, a half dozen short, quick kisses delivered without much attention to aim, until Dad finally got his hands up to hold him still and kiss his mouth. And that was some kiss. It went on long enough that I started feeling like a creeper, but then they separated and just stayed still, foreheads together and eyes shut, for a few more beats.
“John,” I heard Sherlock say. That was all. But that one word had a lot going on underneath it. He kissed Dad’s forehead one more time, then looked over at me. His face broke into a big smile, his real smile, and that was when I sort of lost it.
I pulled away from Mum and just ran at him. I jumped up like a little kid and got my legs around him and hung off his shoulders while I squished him as hard as I could. I may have been impeding his breathing. He staggered back a step from the impact and then hugged me back. “Sherlock,” I sort of half-sobbed, half-yelled.
“Genie,” he said, setting me down on my feet without letting me go. “Good to see you, too.”
“You…you…wanker!” I exclaimed, smacking him on the arm.
“Genie!” Dad said, sticking close to Sherlock’s side and lacing their fingers together.
“He is a wanker and a…a…cretin! You left me in New York all by myself and got yourself kidnapped and stuck with a bunch of Evil Overlords and you missed Christmas!”
“I’m afraid she’s right, John. I am a wanker.”
“I’ve been saying that for years,” Mum said, walking up for her turn. She hugged Sherlock tight; he could only hug her back with one arm because Dad wouldn’t let go of him.
He looked around at all the three of us, a strange expression on his face. “I’m…I’m quite…” He cleared his throat and sagged, like he was giving up the ghost. “God, I missed you all.” We all piled back on him. Family hug. I had both arms around his waist and I hung on as hard as I could, my face pressed against his chest, feeling like I might cry because everything was okay now, it’d all be fine because Sherlock was home. My father was home.
Dad stared up at him like he was still waiting for him to vanish in a puff of smoke. “I can’t believe you’re really here,” he said, his free hand lifting to touch Sherlock’s face.
Sherlock grasped Dad’s hand. “I assure you, I am really here, and I’m bloody exhausted. Can we get out of this Godforsaken place?”
“Yes,” Dad said, grinning a little giddily by now. “Let’s…oh. Blast. We don’t have a car. D’you suppose those goons who picked us up would give us a lift?”
“Um…John, I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Mum said. I followed her eyes across the tarmac and there, parked a few hundred yards away, was Mum’s car.
We didn’t even bother wondering about it. We hoofed it as fast as we could to the car and climbed in. Dad and Sherlock got in the back. Sherlock practically crumpled up against Dad the minute he was seated. I twisted around in my seat, afraid to take my eyes off him for more than a second.
“Sherlock, are you hungry? Do you want to stop somewhere for something to eat?” Mum asked as she started the car.
“I just want to go home, Grace,” Sherlock said, tucking his head down on Dad’s shoulder. Dad put both arms around him and held him, his fingers combing through Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock sighed, a long deep sigh like he was sliding into a warm bath after being out in the cold for months. His eyes closed and his whole body sort of melted, the tension leaking out of it. I watched them as Mum got us back on the road, heading for home. Sherlock opened his eyes a little and saw me looking. He extended one hand forward and I took it and held on to it the whole way home.
Mycroft was already there, of course. Sherlock actually seemed – well, not glad, exactly, but not pissed off to see him. The extent of their brotherly greetings was a handshake and a nod. Mum took Sherlock’s duffel bag and started unloading it. The first thing she pulled out was his coat. “Oh, yay!” I said. “The coat survives!”
Sherlock smiled. “I confess I had no idea what was in that bag. They just handed it to me as I got off the plane.”
“It looks like it’s the clothes you were wearing when you disappeared,” Mum said.
“Don’t be daft, Grace. I didn’t disappear, such a thing violates the laws of physics. I simply wasn’t where I was meant to be.”
“Where were you?” Dad asked. He still had this sorta-dazed look behind his eyes, and he was still semi-compulsively touching Sherlock.
“Alaska.”
The answer came so swift and certain that we were all a little taken aback. “Alaska?” I repeated. “Were there polar bears?” I blurted out, the first question that popped into my head.
Sherlock shot me a wry glance. “I wasn’t bivouacking in an igloo, Genie.”
“Jesus, come on, sit down,” Dad said, pulling Sherlock over to the couch. Mum was now puttering around the kitchen. Tea, no doubt. Cures all ills. Sherlock sort of flopped down in an untidy heap. Dad sat next to him, holding his hand. Mycroft perched elegantly on the edge of a side chair. I sat on Sherlock’s other side. “Alaska?”
He nodded. “Believe it or not, an underground base. Very confusing provenance. I was unable to determine who built it or when. The people I was with were of varying nationalities and affiliations. The whole situation was – fascinating, actually.”
Dad shook his head. “We’ve been here, fearing for your life, dreading bad news, missing you like crazy, and to you it was fascinating?”
“John, don’t take on so,” Sherlock said. “I feared for my own life for most of my stay.”
“Just most of it?” I asked. “How did you get away? What was on the flash drive?”
“Oh, it reached you. Excellent. And you passed it on to Mycroft?”
“It’s safe,” Mycroft said.
“I don’t think we’ll be needing it,” Sherlock said. “But it’s a useful backup plan.”
“How did you get them to release you?” Dad asked, quieter.
“How do you know I didn’t just escape?”
Dad gave him a look. “Their drivers came and collected us. You were on an RAF plane. How stupid do you think I am?”
“Quite right. My apologies. As to how I managed to secure my freedom, well – I knew I couldn’t escape. So my only option was to make myself indispensable. They couldn’t dispose of me if they’d need me again.”
Dad’s hand clenched on Sherlock’s a little. I saw it. “You agreed to work with them, didn’t you?”
Sherlock met his eyes, a sort of beseeching look in his own. “John. I had no choice. The price for my release was some of my time given back to them.”
“How much of your time?” Dad’s jaw was tight.
“Two weeks a year. At their discretion. But I’m to receive one week’s notice.”
Dad relaxed a little. “Well – I suppose that isn’t so bad.”
“Unfortunately the weeks need not be contiguous. They may require a day here, three days there, and so forth. The week’s notice always applies.”
“And you got them to agree to this? How?”
“By being very, very good at what they asked me to do.”
“And what was that?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it.” A little trepidation crept into Sherlock’s eyes. “You know it pains me to keep anything from you, John. But this silence was imposed upon me. I’ve discovered that having a family one actually cares about may have unforeseen rewards, but it also has unfortunate consequences. Leverage being foremost among them.”
He didn’t need to spell it out for us. His “hosts” had used us to force Sherlock’s hand. He’d keep his silence and comply with their requirements or harm might come to us. Dad’s face softened. He put his hand around the back of Sherlock’s neck and drew him close to press a kiss into the side of his head.
Sherlock looked at him. “No,” he murmured. “Don’t ever think that.”
Mycroft harrumphed. “I’ll just keep that flash drive safe, then?”
“Yes, please,” Sherlock said, not taking his eyes off Dad’s. “And you’re not to look at its contents, is that understood?”
For once, Mycroft seemed to understand the necessity of Sherlock’s request. “Very well.” He got up. “Sherlock, I imagine you and your husband might wish to spend some time alone together soon. I’d like to offer you the use of the house in the Cotswolds.”
Sherlock looked up at him. “May we go tomorrow?”
Mum and I shared a smirky little look. Clearly Dad wasn’t the only one who’d been pining over the past month. Dad looked surprised. “If you wish,” Mycroft said.
“John?”
“That’d be lovely,” Dad said, quietly.
Mycroft nodded. “I’ll send a car for you at noon.”
“I may just sleep until then,” Sherlock said, yawning.
Mycroft showed himself out. Mum handed tea around. Sherlock was still lolling on the couch, his head tipped back and his legs sprawled. “I can’t wait to get out of these infernal clothes. What do they make these fatigues out of, sandpaper?”
“We’ll burn them,” Dad said. He smiled down at him, then all at once his face pinched in a little and his lower lip trembled. “Sherlock,” he rasped.
Sherlock lifted a hand to Dad’s face. “I know,” he said. He drew Dad down into his arms and Dad hid his face in Sherlock’s chest. I got up and went into the kitchen with Mum. We knew a private moment when we saw one. I heard Dad sniffling a bit as I left.
Mum put the teacups in the sink and braced her hands on the countertop for a moment. “God,” she said.
“I know, right?” I leaned my butt against the counter at her side. “I feel sort of spinny.”
“I hope this is over.”
“I don’t trust these people he’s supposed to be working with now. Even if I knew who they bloody were.”
“I don’t either. But I’m sure Sherlock doesn’t trust them any more than we do.”
“It’s just – I can’t believe he’s really back.” Sherlock appeared in the kitchen doorway. He exchanged a glance with Mum.
“I’d better ring the lab,” she said, heading out. She squeezed his arm as she passed.
Sherlock cocked his head to one side. “You all right, crumpet?”
Hearing his pet name for me made me feel a bit wobbly. “Compared to what?” I said.
“Good point. I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed, myself. I find that I’m in an odd, strange situation.”
“What’s that?”
“I think I need something.”
“What, tea? The water’s still hot, I think.”
He shook his head, smiling a bit at my tiresome obtuseness. He came forward and pulled me into a tight hug, bowing his cheek down on the top of my head. I grinned and hugged him back. “Needed a hug, huh?” I said.
“Not exactly. I needed a hug from my daughter.”
I swallowed past the ginormous lump in my throat. “Did your little sabbatical turn you into a big mushball? Because it’s freaking me out a little.”
He chuckled deep in his chest. I felt it beneath my cheek. “If I am feeling uncharacteristically sentimental I think it might be understandable given my recent experience. Don’t worry, it’ll pass soon.”
“Good. I don’t think I could take Huggy!Sherlock all the time.” That wasn’t true, of course. If he stayed huggy it would be brilliant and I’d give him as many hugs as he cared to take. But he was right. It would pass.
He drew back and looked down at me. “I hope it’s okay with you, that your father and I are going away tomorrow.”
Frankly, it was a little bit not okay. He’d just gotten back and here he was, going away again. I just wanted to sit him in a chair and make him not move for a few days. I’d bring him books and food and whatever else he wanted, just as long as I could be certain that he would stay in that spot. This was of course a silly notion, but I did want him around. On the other hand, I got it. They were married, they were flat-out mad for each other, they’d probably both been gothic-heroine pining this whole month and then the whole “might never see each other again” aspect had to amp up the whole thing to eleven. They needed some time alone, like with more urgency than Sherlock wanted time with me.
“It’s okay,” I said, because part of being grown-up is just squaring up and taking it when things are a bit not okay.
Sherlock was not fooled. Why did I think he would be? But he’d take my word, because he knew I was trying to be adult about it and not throw a tantrum and cling to his leg like a three-year-old. “All right, then. It won’t be long, and when we get back you and I will go somewhere for the day, just us. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough.”
“And now I am a bit peckish, I think. Let’s see what’s in the fridge. I think I’ve got some catching up to do. Fill me in on how things are going with Mr. Lancaster, won’t you?”
So Sherlock flailed around the kitchen for a few minutes until Dad came back (looking a little red-eyed but composed), sat him down and took over, making some sandwiches. Mum returned from her office and we all sat round and briefed Sherlock on what had been going on in his absence. He couldn’t tell us what he’d been doing, so we’d fill that void with the minutiae of our normal lives.
After an hour or so it started feeling normal. But Sherlock was fading fast. Lord knew how long he’d been traveling to get home to us, or how long it had been before that since he slept. So he and Dad got up and we all traipsed through the lounge to the door of 221. Dad hugged me goodnight, then he and Sherlock went through to their place, arms slung about each other, and shut the door behind them.
I sighed. “I don’t know what to do with myself now,” I said.
Mum put her arm around me. “Let’s watch some crap telly and have ice cream.”
“God, yeah.”
We didn’t even use bowls. We just handed the carton back and forth and ate out of it with spoons. It wasn’t even late, only nine o’clock. I didn’t pay much attention to the telly. I was here with my mum, snug as a bug in a rug, and my dads were likely asleep in the next flat, together as they are always meant to be.
All was right with the world.
For now, anyway.
Genie's Blog will now be going on hiatus for awhile. Not saying there will never be more entries, but I'm going to call this one complete for the time being.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-07-31 09:20 pm (UTC)This might be my hormones speaking...
Date: 2011-07-31 09:34 pm (UTC)I'm ok. I really am. Because this is just fanfiction right? This is isn't so brilliant it hurts, makes you cry, laugh, root for an original character or spend your day thinking about what might happen.
No, I'm good. I'll just go outside to my car...
Re: This might be my hormones speaking...
From:Re: This might be my hormones speaking...
From:Re: This might be my hormones speaking...
From:Re: This might be my hormones speaking...
From:Re: This might be my hormones speaking...
From:no subject
Date: 2011-07-31 10:01 pm (UTC)More blog entries would certainly be welcome in the future. In the meantime, thanks for Genie's story.
no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 01:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-31 10:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 01:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-31 10:22 pm (UTC)Genie is one lucky girl. And we're very lucky readers. Thanks again!!
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Date: 2011-08-01 01:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-31 10:22 pm (UTC)Really looking forward the origins story.
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Date: 2011-08-01 01:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-31 10:30 pm (UTC)(There is a part of me that hears "secret goings-on in Alaska" and goes straight to Stargate. Which... would be very interesting.)
no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 01:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-31 11:21 pm (UTC)Anyway, I'm not an English native, so I just do my best here to express the feelings I have for this fic. Hope most of it makes sense.
Congratulations on successfully making all your dad settings become a part of my headcanon! I simply can't imagine otherwise now, since Genie-dad!John is almost definitely the best John I've ever read. You made him adorable even more than the BBC original, all that "not when I'm alive" and "that's my daughter" kind of things totally gains my whole heart for him.
And then, Sherlock. Before Genie's blog, I really couldn't think of him as a father without a bit OOC moments, but you did it well enough for me to actually picture him saying those lines and giving those hugs in my head. It is just AMAZING.
Your original characters - Grace, Genie, Adele, Ellie(yeah I suppose she's pretty original in your case) and Zack - are so alive to see and to feel. It must have been some hard work to create them and make Genie's world so dynamic, I truly appreciate your writing skills on that. Also, I'd very, very much like to read it if you can reveal more of Grace's past in the original story.
It's a family of happiness which I envy you of being capable to write about. And the coming smut? You might as well murder me to stop my craving.
no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 01:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-31 11:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 04:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-31 11:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 04:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 12:30 am (UTC)*brokenhearted sobbing* for "complete for the time being"--there are so many loose ends! What about Grace/Lestrade? Will Genie and Zach have sex and will they stay together? How will John and Genie deal with the knowledge that the disappearances are Not Over? And will Sherlock figure out a way to Take Evilco Down, because if they are not taken down none of them (not to mention the rest of the world) will ever be safe again...and what in heaven's name are these Evil Overlords having him do, and can they all live with what it is if they find out? AAAAAAAACCCCCKKKK!
(Don't think I'm not eagerly looking forward to the origin story and the Cotswolds story, because I totally am! But my wanting moremoremore is entirely your own fault for creating these wonderful new characters and new future life for the pre-existing characters that feels entirely solid and real, how can I not want more, how?)
no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 04:30 am (UTC)But yes, origin story and Cotswolds vacay are go!
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 12:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 04:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 12:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 04:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 01:02 am (UTC)In all seriousness though, thank you so much for writing this.
P.S. Does this mean more time for Performance in a Leading Role then???
no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 04:32 am (UTC)Your idea for the letter, that's interesting. SHERLOCK YOU ARE NOT DARCY SHERLOCK STOP IT RIGHT NOW. You will see the letter, I promise.
no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 01:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 04:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 02:40 am (UTC)Sad to hear you're putting this on hiatus (that second gif up there looks about right), but at least we've got the origins story and your other fic to look forward to. Silver lining =)
no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 04:36 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 02:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 10:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 03:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 10:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 03:40 am (UTC)Oh so much love for you and this fic. Oh so much love.
no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 10:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 04:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 10:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 05:03 am (UTC)A very good friend of mine recommended the series to me awhile back, and I resisted because I don't really do kidfics, but I had some downtime so I tried it. And I was hooked! You did such a fantastic job creating original characters as well as filling out John and Sherlock's relationship.
Thanks for such a wonderful story. :)
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Date: 2011-08-01 10:09 pm (UTC)I'm glad you enjoyed the series. I hear that whole "I don't usually like kidfic but..." comment all the time!
no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 06:33 am (UTC)(I don't think I commented much at all, sorry. I just often don't know what to say.)
no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 10:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 08:07 am (UTC)The reunion on the tarmac was done perfectly, imo; emotional without being ott or ooc.
Yay for Cotswolds \o/ I look forward to that one shot with glee :D
And hopefully for more from Genie in the future.
no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 10:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 10:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 10:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 11:59 am (UTC)Loving this entry, as I do all entries, I LOLed at mushball Sherlock, and Yay!ed at house in the Cotswolds - I knew Genie wouldn't be seeing him for a while after John got him back XD I also love how Sherlock calls Zack 'Mr Lancaster' it makes me squee with the cuteness and Sherlockyness of it.
I really really hope Genie's blog comes back soon :)
no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 10:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 12:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 10:14 pm (UTC)