Chapter 14

February 2015

Sherlock walked into Abigail's hospital room some three hours later, wearing his long, dark coat and his stoic demeanour. She smiled weakly as he approached, attempting to sit up.

"So? Did you find the body, yet?"

He shook his head, stopping just at the foot of her bed. She frowned while trying to make herself more comfortable.

"Well, he can't have gotten far. Having no head and all."

Sherlock cracked a small smile, his eyes dancing in the light.

"How are you feeling?"

"Well, you know… I thought I'd go for a run later. Get in shape for St. Valentine's Day, the usual."

She grinned, sitting back and sighing.

"Did he say why he did it? Why he came back for me after all this time?"

"Not precisely, but he did say he was waiting until you'd 'reached your potential.'"

She scoffed, shaking her head.

"Nothing like hearing from a psychotic serial murderer that you've peaked. But still… I never would have thought Mr Andrews was capable of something like this."

"You knew him?"

"Old family friend. Came to every Christmas and Easter gathering. Always brought gifts and things. Mum always thought he'd paid a bit too close attention to me. When he asked me to be his beard, I thought that confirmed it, but this… never saw this coming."

"Everyone is capable of incredible feats. It's whether or not we act on them."

"Ah, there's that cheery optimism in humanity I've always missed!"

Sherlock gave a soft chuckle, finally smiling completely.

"What will you do now? Find another ring to wear?"

"No. Not for me. I think the 'marriage for hire' thing has somewhat lost its appeal at this point. But I can't stay here. If anything, this entire experience had proven that it's time to move on. Professionally and geographically. I have some real estate property in Sydney. An old gift from husband number two."

"More 'independent threat analysis?'"

She shook her head, but stopped rather abruptly, wincing.

"No. I think it's time for me to try something new. Once you've 'peaked,' it's time to move on. Besides, I think Detective Inspector Bunting will have a nice ring to it, don't you?"

"You can call me for a consult anytime."

"I'll hold you to that. You've stayed away too long, Holmes."

He sighed, lowering his eyes.

"Yes, well… Abigail, I'm not great at apologies -"

"Stop. You've saved my life three times. All you owe me is a text once in a while."

His brow furrowed.

"Three times?"

She nodded, beaming brightly.

"Three times. Now, off with you. I need my beauty sleep, and I'm sure Watson will be dying to show off that new baby girl of his."

With a nod, he started for the door, but stopped just before it, turning back.

"Abby, I -"

She held up a hand to silence him.

"I know, Sherlock. Me, too."

Another nod, and he closed the door behind him.

Just before reaching the entrance to the maternity ward, Sherlock heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Wait! Wait up!"

He turned to face the Detective Inspector.

"Lestrade! Tell me you found the body."

Several people around them stared at Sherlock for a moment in horror, but he neither noticed nor cared. Slightly out of breath, Greg reached his friend and lowered his voice.

"We did. Single gunshot wound to the head. DNA matches the blood at the Poplar flat. DNA also confirms identity as Edward P. Andrews, respectable businessman, or so everyone thought."

"I have to see the crime scene immediately. Just let me pop in here, and -"

"You can't."

Sherlock's brow creased and his voice raised to almost a shout.

"What do you mean, I 'can't?!'"

Lestrade lowered his voice, looking around at the staff and patients now openly staring at them.

"I mean, the body was found in Dartford, a mile outside of London Metropolitan limits."

Sherlock scoffed loudly, which grew to a growling roar. He began to violently bang his ankle, baring the tracking device, against the wall, causing severe alarm throughout the ward. Lestrade had to flash his badge and shove his friend into the hallway. The disgruntled consulting detective began to pace the stairwell landing as he ruffled his hair, angrily.

"How - ? When - ?"

"About an hour ago. We received an anonymous tip-off that the body was in an alleyway, behind a dumpster. The body was recovered and is being examined now."

"I have to see it, all the photos I can get, speak to the coroner -"

"As soon as Kent clears access, it's all yours. I've already made sure Molly is the one handling it. But, that could be hours from now. "

Sherlock growled again, balling his fists like a child.

"During which time, valuable evidence may be destroyed after passing through so many hands!"

"I'm sorry, it's out of my control! The fact that I let you at crime scenes is a breach of protocol. There's no way Kent will allow you near this investigation until it's back in our court."

Sherlock stared at the wall for a long moment, trying to keep himself in check. With a deep breath he turned around.

"The gun. The original crime scene. That's still in your immediate purview, yes?"

"Yes. Speaking of the gun…"

He dug into his pocket for his phone, pulling up images of the rifle.

"No prints, no registration, but it's standard -"

"Standard British Army issue from 1986 to present day. Yes, I know all that! What did you find?"

Lestrade sighed, flipping to a photo of the red letters.

"A message to the victim. This was personal. Revenge."

But Sherlock shook his head, speaking under his breath.

"No. Not a message to Andrews."

"Then… who was it for?"

Instead of answering his colleague, he took a deep breath, his face relaxing.

"Thank you, Lestrade, I'll be in touch."

"But, what does -"

Sherlock left the DI behind in the stairwell, open-mouthed and stuttering.

In a matter of moments, he was knocking lightly on the Watson's hospital door, which opened quietly. John beamed the moment he saw his best friend, ushering him into the room. He followed awkwardly, making his way to yet another hospital bed. A small bundle of pink lay cooing in Mary's arms, who was also beaming brightly. John placed a loving hand on his exhausted wife's shoulders.

"Sherlock, I'd like you to meet my - our - baby girl."

But he couldn't hear the doctor's words. Instead, his attention was completely focused on the tiny blonde wisps of hair peeking from the blanket. Soft words from Mary finally pierced through the fog.

"Would you like to hold her?"

The detective's stammering response was immediately stopped as the infant was placed in his arms. At first, Sherlock wasn't quite sure what to do, stiffening to ensure a secure hold on the girl. But the moment he saw that face - that sweet, angelic face - a great calm entered his mind. Her features matched that of John and Mary, perfectly. Cradling the child was all Sherlock needed to conclude that she was every bit as precious to him as John and Mary were. And, in that moment, only one thought resounded in the great palace that was his mind: I must protect her.

He wasn't quite sure how long he'd been cradling the small figure wrapped in pink, when a nurse came in and announced it was feeding time. Reluctantly, Sherlock handed over the infant and headed just outside the door with John. Still staring at the door, he heard his best friend's voice as if from a long distance away.

"Sherlock, Mary and I were wondering... Well, I was really wondering... Though I'm sure this goes without saying, you must already know..."

"John, I'm sure they won't be all day with feeding her, so why don't we just skip to the point."

Sherlock was smiling as he turned to face the doctor, greatly amused by how flustered fatherhood had made his blogger.

"Yes, well, fair enough. Will you be our little girl's godfather?"

Sherlock's face went blank. He simply stared at the doctor, barely blinking.

"Not religiously, of course, though we would like you to be at the christening. It's more of a symbolic thing. Anyway, it only seems appropriate, you being the best man at our wedding…"

He continued to stare blankly as John spoke. His mind was dealing with the images and events of the past twelve hours. How two of his dearest friends had been put in harm's way simply by knowing him. Finally, the buzz of his mobile gave him more than enough excuse to break his gaze.

"Look, Sherlock, I know it's not something you normally do…"

Sherlock looked at his phone, his face remained blank as he read a simple text from Mrs Hudson: Has the baby arrived, yet? Can I come and see? John continued, slightly annoyed.

"But having a baby isn't something I'm used to, either, so…"

"I'm sorry John, I cannot accept."

His words came out so abruptly that John was shocked into silence. He blinked several times, attempting to process the impossible sentence that had just exited the thin-lipped mouth. Disbelief was written all over the doctor's face as he stared, gape-mouthed.

"You can't be serious!"

"I'm sorry, John, I have to go."

"But Sherlock! Sherlock!"

Sherlock made his way to 221B, the words still reverberating around his mind: I must protect her.

End.

Story continues with "Those We Thought We Knew."