A/N: So – yeah – muse hit me in the head & came up with this one – a bit inspired by johnsarmylady's fics in the Helikean Series. Fic title and chapter titles taken from Tori Amos song Selkie, which should give you an idea of what's up with John (or at least one of the things). Now that is a lovely, melancholy sort of song and this story is going to dark places. If that's not your thing I understand.

Thanks to johnsarmylady and mattsloved1 for checking out my flawed works and putting up with the fact I have 3 stories on the go – again!

1. Battled Tide

"This is your Captain, Roger Douglas speaking. We will be landing at Stanfield International Airport shortly. Please ensure your tables are folded, and your chairs are in an upright position. The temperature in Halifax is a pleasant 24 Celsius, and the tower is reporting clear skies. On behalf of Air Canada, I would like to thank you once again for flying with us and we hope you enjoy your stay in Nova Scotia. Cabin crew, please prepare for landing."

John leaned over and gently shook Molly awake. "Sweetheart, you need to wake up now. We're almost there."

"Tired Daddy."

"I know, love. Once we're there, you can sleep all you want, but I need you awake when we land and go through customs." He leaned in further and whispered in her ear. "You're better at it than I am. Come on, kiddo."

Molly rubbed her eyes and stretched. She blinked sleepily at her father. John's heart clenched. Her colouring and the shape of her face were all his, but her eyes and nose was her mother through and through. He shoved the thought of Mary way down inside. Now was not the time to become distracted. He began gathering up their items and stowing them in the two backpacks they'd brought on board; books, toys, a nearly empty box of biscuits.

Cookies, he thought, you need to get used to calling them cookies. Other words flitted through his head, words he'd been speaking for ten years or more as he blended in with the average English citizen.

Blending in was something they had taught him and something he usually did well. Here it would be easier because here was home, but that didn't mean he wouldn't slip up. He was running on empty fumes fuelled by bad airline coffee and adrenalin. He hoped Mike had got his message and was waiting for him at the airport. He needed some place safe to collapse until he could make other arrangements.

Arrangements that included contacting his father.

Now there's something to look forward to. I'm sure I'll be welcomed with open arms. 'Welcome, home son! Pull up a chair. Kettle's on. Oh, using your gifts for evil were we. Get out of my house.' Or something.

After reaching under the seat for one of Molly's shoes kicked off during the fight he put it back on her foot, gave it a pat and smiled at his daughter. She smiled back.

"Love you, Daddy."

"Me too," he whispered, tears closing his throat. Dammit! Stop this right now!

The flight attendant passed through checking seatbelts. She paused at John's seat. John flashed her a brilliant smile and projected calm thoughts around Molly and him.

The attendant's smile widened. John could see her attraction to him almost immediately. He dampened down the charm a little. He must be out of sorts. He didn't need the added headache of trying to get rid of unwanted company.

"Will you be needing any help disembarking from the plane, sir?" The level of emotion fell off a bit and now he could handle this better.

"Thank you, but no. I think we will be all right." He fell into to the rhythms of his old accent without much effort.

"Will you be staying here long or is it just a visit?"

John sighed internally. He didn't need to call attention to himself. So he lied.

"Just a visit. Seeing family for a few days and then on to other parts."

The attendant's face fell. "Oh, that's too bad. Well, enjoy your stay. Halifax is lovely. Maybe I'll see you around. I'm in town for the week."

John just smiled and gently shoved the woman off. It wasn't hard to give her a push as she had duties to see to before they landed and securing the cabin was at the forefront of her mind. It made him tired, though. Mary had been so much better at this.

After the plane stopped at the terminal and passengers began to move, he stood up from his seat and pulled down the small overnight bag from the compartment above. Slinging his backpack on, he helped Molly with hers. He picked her up and grabbed the other bag with his free hand. The line to disembark moved fairly smoothly. Molly put her head down on John's shoulder. He murmured to her. "Remember no falling asleep. You need to get us through."

"All right, Daddy."

"Same as at Heathrow, okay? "

"Yes." Her lisp was a little more present due to her tired state.

John walked quickly down the gangway and out into the international section of the airport. He waited for the next available agent. Being a small airport and a fairly quiet time of day, there were only two agents on duty. John projected calm, innocuous thoughts toward the woman while Molly smiled at her.

"Passports please." She looked at the passports and glanced at their faces with a slight frown. It should be too soon to have been placed on a watch list, but just in case John had shown Molly how to blur their names and faces. He felt a surge from Molly and the agent's face cleared. "This looks in order. Thank you, Mr. St. Clair and to you too, young Emily. Welcome home." She stamped their passports and waved them through.

The surge of adrenalin reduced once more as John made his way through the doors out to luggage claim. By the time he arrived, the carousel was moving, and suitcases began their decent. A seemingly endless wait and the nondescript bag holding what remained of their possessions circled past. John had put Molly down briefly so he could snag it.

"All right love, you'll have to walk for a bit, just until we get to where Mike should be waiting." Molly nodded resignedly.

"Does he know we're here?"

"He should. He got the message. I can't contact him to confirm, though. I had to ditch the phone."

She looked up at him with her ancient looking eyes. "'Cause of the bad men?" she asked. He and Mary had trained her since she could talk not to say certain things in public, but she, like him, was exhausted and forgot sometimes. That and the fact she was five.

He looked at what was left of his world and smiled. He didn't have it in him to scold her, and he doubted anyone had heard anyway.

"Yes love, but let's talk about it later, shall we?"

She nodded, the flexibility of her age, her mind already on other things.

Customs was just a fast as neither had anything to declare and the agents believed they were returning from a short vacation, not John returning after a ten-year absence with an added family member. Immigration would have been far trickier if they'd known the truth.

The doors to Arrivals slid apart, and John swept his eyes across the crowd waiting for passengers to come through. In amongst the various relatives were a few drivers with signs waiting for clients and there he was, near the edge, hiding in plain sight. John could see Mike projecting, but no one else would even notice him. A surge of relief so intense it was almost painful flooded his body. Mike's familiar face clouded with grief but upon spotting John, it cleared momentarily and his big friendly grin shined like a beacon at John and Molly.

John reached his side and threw an arm around his friend in a one handed hug with Molly as part of the embrace. "Mike, thank God you came."

Mike's big beefy arms went around them. "How could I not come? Ah, my friend, it's so good to see you again. I'm sorry it's under such horrible circumstances. I know. Okay? You can't talk here, but I know. We all do."

John grimaced, but the news had always travelled fast through the family. He nodded shortly and wiped at his face, trying to clear the cobwebs of travel, sorrow, and fear. He couldn't say anything even if he wanted to. Being home, even though they weren't yet safe was such a relief.

Mike continued talking as if he hadn't noticed the struggle his old friend was going through. "Gretchen's waiting with the car. Here, let me take that bag." He turned to smile at Molly, who was looking at him with quiet curiosity. "You must be Molly. How do you do?"

Molly solemnly shook his hand. Mike chuckled and then turned to John. "Good Lord, she's the spitting image of you as a boy." He led the way to the airport parking, pushing through crowds with practiced ease.

John picked up Molly again and followed after. Eventually reaching the car, he saw Gretchen, and through the hug she gave him, heard her whispered, "I am so sorry, John. We were both devastated when we heard the news. But you're home now. We'll get it sorted. You're with family." She glanced at the child in his arms. "We'll protect you."

John shook his head at her. "I appreciate it Gretchen, but not now and not here, okay?" He was shorter with his cousin than he meant to be, but it had been a long trip, and he was nearing the end of his tether. She recognized the signs of exhaustion in him and merely smiled. "Come on, let's get you guys some place safe."

John nodded again and looked at Gretchen with eyes drowning in misery. "I don't know if there's any place like that left in the world."

She hugged him again and whispered. "There's one. There's always been one." He let her take Molly from him so she could buckle her into the car seat. "We borrowed it from the Odell's. Do you remember them? Their youngest is old enough to go about without one now. Good timing that. Here you go, Miss Molly." Gretchen was talking just to make conversation. It was her way when things were tense or strained. She had to fill in the silences.

John slipped into the back of the car on the other side of Molly. He checked on her before doing up his seatbelt. She was already asleep and would likely remain so until they reached the seclusion of the cottage at Narrow's Basin. With his luck, she'd be wide awake after all the rest and as good as she had been on the flight, she'd be ready for some activity.

The engine purred to life, and Mike backed out of the parking space. John wasn't even aware of reaching the highway. He too fell asleep, his first real rest since Mary had been killed in front of him three days before. It took over an hour from the airport to the exit at Mahone Bay. He didn't wake again until the car climbed the gravel driveway of the old cottage.

The sound of the tires on the gravel shook him out of dark dreams. Lifting his head from his cramped position he saw out the car window the moonlight on the basin. The smell of the ocean called and sang to him, and there was a level of intimate awareness surging through his blood, into his bones and he shivered. This, even more than Mike's face or Gretchen's assurances, gave him the knowledge he'd arrived back at the house he'd grown up in and told him he was home.

oOo

"Sir? Sir?" The sound of young, fresh legs racing after him, made him feel momentarily old. He turned, a cold smile at the ready. He considered a reprimand to the young aid racing up the quiet halls after him. Really what was with young people these days? Where were decorum and manners? Did they teach nothing in the public schools anymore?

He merely raised an inquiring eyebrow, acknowledging the aid with his usual emotionless stare. The aid at least recognized the signs of having crossed the line.

"Sir, you said you wanted to be informed, sir, they got away. Lost at the airport."

Incompetents. He heaved an internal sigh but remained unruffled on the surface. Bad business when one of the few people who could have detained Watson and his daughter, was Watson himself. The aid was practically shaking in his shoes. Bearer of bad news, indeed. He took the sheaf of papers George was waving around.

"Please inform my brother I wish to speak with him. Immediately."

George paled. "Your brother, sir?"

"Yes. Problem?"

He knew the young assistant was close to bolting. No one in their right mind would wish to speak to his brother. But it was a fair and just punishment for not behaving appropriately. Perhaps if George survived the encounter with his emotions intact he would learn a little decorum. If not there was always another waiting to take his place, in spite of the inconvenience of having to train someone new.

Without another word, Mycroft Holmes made his way to his office, a seemingly modest affair, a suitable cover for a minor position in Her Majesty's government. He didn't require the trappings that others sought. He was and would always be far more in control of the lives and liberties of ordinary British citizens than many knew.

It helped him sleep well at night to know he held lives in his hands.

He crossed the floor to sit behind the desk as he continued to shuffle through the papers in his hand. After a thorough study, he placed them neatly on the desk and rang through to his secretary.

"Please step into my office, my dear."

Anthea arrived promptly.

"Pull the files on John Watson and his daughter, Molly. Might as well bring me Mary's as well."

"Sir, will you be wanting the confidential files or the fabricated ones?"

"The confidential files, please. Thank you."

She nodded; a small knowing smile graced her lovely face. What would he do without her? As she was about to leave the phone on his desk rang. He rolled his eyes. Knowing who was on the other end caused difficulty and he really didn't have time for the histrionics Watson's escape was bound to create throughout the halls of the upper echelon.

Anthea smiled at him and answered the phone for him.

"Mycroft Holmes, Anthea speaking. Yes, sir. Yes, sir, he is available. Right away, sir." She passed the phone to Mycroft and raised her eyebrows at him. He merely grimaced and answered.

"Yes, sir. Yes, he managed to escape but we believe we know where he's headed." A convenient lie to stall for time. "Yes, he has the girl as well. No sir, we did not intend for…yes, I am aware of the cost. No, I will have my best tracker on it right away. Yes sir, I do mean him. He is the best. Yes, a bloodhound. Once he has them in his sights, they will not escape. Right away. I will keep you informed." He hung up without any further acknowledgement. It grated when he actually outranked the man on the other end, who was a complete idiot, but appearances were everything.

"When Sherlock arrives, send him in immediately. And Anthea?"

"Sir?"

"Prepare the documentation and pack a kit for him."

"Sir," she turned and walked out the door.

A short time later a commotion in the outer office alerted him to the fact his brother had arrived. The door burst in, and a tall, pale, unruly individual flew through. There were few who could fathom how the two were related and even fewer realised how close they actually were, both alike in thinking, certain skills and ruthlessness.

"Sit down, Sherlock. I have an assignment."

"I prefer to stand."

"Very well. Here are the files. His name is John Watson. He has left the organization without permission and has taken his daughter with him."

Sherlock picked up the file on John Watson and glanced through it.

"Always enjoy how you assume I will do your bidding. Ah, the husband of the agent killed three days ago. How careless of you, brother dear."

"Sherlock, it is imperative you bring them back, preferably alive, especially the girl. Her father is also important, but if you have to choose, then kill him, bring his body back at all costs and get the girl."

Sherlock looked up from the file. "She has both characteristics, does she? Intriguing. Molly; named for a friend. Tedious. Mycroft, the minutia your clerks keep on file."

"Yes, but it is often the minutia which speaks the most eloquently. You may wish to start with the friend. That little bit of information may help you discover where they went."

"Do not tell me how to do my job. So it's true then? Not just one of your genetic experiments?"

"I wouldn't dream of it. No, he is the real thing. When he entered our program, the DNA he provided, forced the changes through much more quickly. And then we paired him with his wife and their daughter was born. She is the real prize. Sherlock, it is the girl we want. Her genetic markers and the potential of what she could become makes her very, very valuable. Watson is too, for different reasons. He was one of our best. More controlled that his wife and less likely to turn himself over to the enemy."

Sherlock smirked. "Yes, I see he missed that, too."

"Love is a chemical defect, Sherlock. Clouds judgment and impairs one's ability to think and be objective."

"Thank God we're both above that."

"Quite. Speaking of which I do note, he is rather your type."

Sherlock looked at his brother; a hard smile played on his generous mouth. "I do not fuck every person who is my type, nor every assignment."

"Vulgarity, brother. You come very close, though, don't you. It seems to be a trademark of yours. You might consider it your reward if you succeed."

His mind back on the file in front of him, Sherlock answered with feigned indifference. "I always succeed."

The only other person who could truly read him duly noted the expression of artificial disbelief upon his face. Mycroft knew his brother would not say no. "How soon will you start?"

"Anthea already has my kit packed and documentation. I will start immediately."

"And when will you be back?"

"Give me a week, two at the most and I will have them."

"I count on it."

His brother started to leave the room but turned back and smiled. It did not reach his eyes. "Oh and I am afraid I may have damaged your other aid. Glenn was it? But he disturbed me when I was in my mind palace."

Mycroft just nodded and turned back to the paperwork on his desk. There was nothing that could surprise him anymore.

He sincerely hoped Watson would be caught alive. There was still valuable material there, but if not, he mentally shrugged, the daughter was young enough, with the right training she would make the perfect agent.