Chapter Four: Twenty-Six Days Old

Sherlock was awake when they reached the hospital and listening as John read out the paper; the headlines of which were about him and the events of the night. He had more colour in his cheeks than the previous day and his hair was flat from sleeping in the hospital bed and slightly greasy but not as noticeable to the average eye. He was wearing what seemed to be only some pyjama bottoms, leaving his chest completely uncovered with only a bandage over his stab wound; small dots of blood dotted the white rectangle, not enough to be worried about. It was the only colour to his brother at this particular moment, even his eyes were less bright than usual but no longer fogged over with the effect of the drugs; in fact he had turned his morphine pump so that it was practically off. And though he showed no discomfort, it was obvious that he was in some pain. John had dark circles beneath his eyes and looked too stiff in his chair from having slept in it all night.

Both sets of eyes settled on him the moment the door opened and the Lestrade children piled in.

"You're late," Sherlock sniffed.

"Traffic, brother mine." Mycroft responded as he followed them in and placed the changing bag on the floor beside the two seats that the three children were occupying, Chloe on her older brother's lap.

"Give me," Sherlock demanded with the voice of the petulant child, he reached up with both arms and winced at the movement. John immediately moved forward in his seat, forgetting about the newspaper and Mycroft raised a concerned eyebrow. Sherlock noticed and rolled his eyes, refusing to drop his arms, "stop fussing."

Chloe giggled and jumped from Jordon's lap, she bounded over to the side of the bed and stood next to the consulting detectives head. She watched intently as Mycroft shifted Maeve to face her father and then lifted her into his waiting arms. Sherlock managed to suppress the pained sounds and instead only grimaced slightly as he brought her down towards his body and allowed her to sit high on his chest, supporting her with one large hand on her chest and the other on her back, high enough that two fingers were resting on her head.

Maeve's blue eyes twinkled and she gurgled enthusiastically at the sight of her father.

Mycroft took a step back and stood at the end of the bed.

Chloe told Sherlock with a matter of fact tone, "She sleeps a lot."

Sherlock refused to take his eyes from Maeve, "yes."

"Mycroft let me hold her."

"That was nice of him," John responded with a warm smile.

"Would you like to get something to eat?" Mycroft asked. It hadn't been long since breakfast but it would be better than sitting in a hospital room until their father arrived. "There's a café across the street."

"Sure," Alex responded, standing up and hooking her bag over her shoulder.

Mycroft gave her some money and the unspoken 'look after your sister', and they left. When the door shut Sherlock sighed loudly in obvious relief. "Why did you bring them here?"

"Insect day," Mycroft replied nonchalant.

"Besides you love Lestrade's children," John added.

"Like," Sherlock corrected, "and I can barely put up with you right now."

The last part was directed at the pair of them, they exchanged a look.

"But your daughter is fine?" John asked, not annoyed. He continued to surprise Mycroft.

"She doesn't talk," Sherlock grumbled.

"But she does cry," the blonde responded.

Sherlock's eyes flicked to Mycroft and back to Maeve, he changed the subject. "She woke up last night."

"Quite distressed," Mycroft sniffed.

"You managed to calm her," if Mycroft hadn't of known his brother so well, he would have thought Sherlock sounded proud. But he knew his brother, and there was no pride in his voice, merely mild astonishment.

"A few moments in the rocking chair," was all that the auburn haired man gave in answer.

Sherlock gave a small nod and smiled at his daughter, a tired kind of smile that was obviously faked but worth faking in this case. She sneezed twice, nose scrunching up and drool hitting her father on the face.

"Bless you," Mycroft said at the same time Sherlock, looking rather appalled at his daughter, said, "thank you."

John snorted and grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and carefully wiped over his partner's face while Maeve watched intently as though it was the most interesting thing she'd ever seen.

"They're ready to discharge him," John informed Mycroft, "he's insulted every nurse that has walked through the door and some of the doctors. The doctor will be here on his rounds soon."

"Can you help me move her?" Sherlock asked, looking at John.

The blonde nodded and stood up, he lifted Maeve up. Sherlock shifted himself to allow room on his uninjured side and lowered the bed slightly so that he was at a soft incline; John walked around the other side of the bed to avoid leaning over his partner. He placed Maeve beside Sherlock, lain on her back with her head was resting just below his armpit, he had lifted his head up enough so that she could glance up at him with little difficulty.

Mycroft looked up as Chloe skipped into the room closely followed by her older brother and sister, Jordon was holding a disposable cup with coffee in and Alex with a hot chocolate. She was also carrying a bottle of water which was for Chloe, who had stopped in front of Mycroft and then waited for his approval before situating herself on his lap. When she was comfortable and only then did she speak her voice was almost a whisper, "Alex said we're going shopping late."

"Do you want to go shopping?" Mycroft asked. Chloe nodded.

There was a quiet knock on the door and it opened to reveal his parents with Anthea, she opened the door and stepped aside to let them in and then with a quick look at her boss closed the door again, leaving them all in piece. Chloe smiled widely at the older arrivals.

"Good morning; Chloe, Alex and Jordon." Violet greeted with a friendly smile. She embraced each of the children with a small hug and kiss. She kissed Chloe's forehead then turned her attention to her eldest son and kissed his cheek with a small smile.

Siger nodded in greeting at both Mycroft and then John, who returned the nod.

Sherlock did not open his eyes or even move to acknowledge their arrival. He was resting, something that all his doctors had insisted on and though he was unable to sleep he could enjoy the company of his dozing daughter. The room was rather crowded and he would rather not have to be pleasant to all of them at this time.

"We are aware that you are not asleep," Mycroft drawled after a moment.

Sherlock creaked one eye open to glare at him, "I am aware you're aware."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and shifted Chloe into a more comfortable position on his lap, she went willingly with a quick look over her shoulder at him.

Sherlock abandoned pretence and opened both his eyes. He immediately looked down at Maeve with a satisfied expression; she was slumbering serenely in the gap provided between his body and arm. Her eyes were fluttering behind her closed eyelids causing her long dark lashes to flutter against her cheeks; her mouth was parted and soft sounds escaped it with every breath she took. Once he was satisfied he glanced at the other occupants of the room with a small critical look; his mother and father; Mycroft and Chloe, Alex and Jordon, and of course John, forever reliable John.

"Really, a hospital is no place for children," Violet commented after a moment.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and closed them again, as though it would solve the problem.

"It's a passing visit," Mycroft informed her.

"I like it here," Chloe announced.

"Yes, well, that's lovely darling" Violet stroked a hand over the younger girls hair, "but I was talking about Maeve."

"She should be with her daddy," Chloe shrugged.

Sherlock re-opened his eyes at that and smiled at the youngest of the Lestrade's children.

"Can I sit with you?" She asked. It was no secret that Chloe practically worshipped the ground that the consulting detective walked on, it was the same with Mycroft, they treated children as though they were adults (but not idiots) and they respected that.

Sherlock nodded and she hopped off of Mycroft's lap, with his help she clambered onto the end of the bed and sat with her legs under her body. When she was settled she craned her neck to get a better look at Maeve.

Mycroft rubbed small circles on Maeve's back with his palm. She was resting on his lap with a muslin across her front and held up by his free hand that was strategically placed beneath her chin, supporting her head. She burped and he continued.

"You should go home John," Siger told him with a small smile of concern and thanks.

"We'll stay with him," Violet added.

Sherlock frowned, obviously not happy with the idea. "That is not necessary."

Siger continued to address John, "You've been here all night, and you should go home and rest."

John still did not look convinced. Mycroft looked up from his niece for a moment, eyes fixed firmly on Johns, "You'll be no good to my brother if you've worn yourself out."

Mycroft refocused his attention on Maeve and rubbed her back a little harder. She burped again.

"You're right," John scrubbed a hand over his face.

"I'll need my doctor in tip-top condition," Sherlock told him.

John raised an eyebrow as he got to his feet and lent towards his partner, he placed a chaste kiss on his forehead and warned, pulling back. "Don't push it." He turned to Mycroft, "I'll see you back at the flat."

The government official gave a curt nod.

"You're bringing him back, right?" John asked.

"We'll bring him back the moment he is discharged," Mycroft informed him.

Maeve burped and some milk dribbled down her chin. Mycroft took his hand off of her back and lifted the muslin to dab at the small trails of sick. John ran his hand over the soft hairs atop of her head and placed a soft kiss there when he removed his hand.

"See you later."

Mycroft remained with Sherlock for the rest of the day. Lestrade has come and gone taking his kids with him, Chloe quite reluctantly until Mycroft promised that she could chose the takeaway for dinner, and his parents had left. Maeve was positioned on her front beside her father, the bed completely reclined and their noses practically touching. Mycroft was tapping away on his phone while Sherlock trailed a long finger over Maeve's forehead, down her cheek and stopped at her mouth. They opened and traced the small pink lips with the pad of his finger, the bottom first and then, the top.

"Mr Holmes," the doctor greeted, clearing his throat from the doorway. He looked up from the chart as he stepped into the room, eyes flicking over his patient in the bed with a baby lain out beside him and Mycroft sat in the chair, legs crossed elegantly and now looking up from his phone.

"You must be the brother," the doctor guessed. Mycroft nodded and the young doctor continued, "And this must be…"

"Maeve," Mycroft substituted.

Sherlock added, "My daughter."

The doctor nodded and placed the chart on the small table, he crossed the room and stood on the side of the bed beside Maeve and gestured to her, "perhaps, can we move her?"

Mycroft pocketed his phone and climbed gracefully to his feet, he reached over his brother and lifted Maeve towards him – she squirmed and whined, bothered by the movement – he hushed her and pulled her close. Sherlock shifted back into the centre of the bed carefully and the doctor raised the bed into a seated position. He took his stethoscope from around his neck and listened to Sherlock's heart.

"Still there?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock snorted and the doctor smiled, "yep, beating and everything. I going to check your wound now."

Sherlock paid him little attention, he instead focused on Maeve – supported against his brothers chest, her small hands exploring the material of his suit – as the doctor peeled away his bandages to reveal the angry red stab wound, stitched up with small amounts of dried on the surface.

"Everything seem fine," the doctor decided and placed a new bandage over the wound.

"He can go home?" Mycroft asked glancing over his niece's head.

The doctor gave an unsure nod, "it's unusual to discharge patients this early after such a traumatic wound but, we are happy to discharge you if you promise to rest, no strenuous activities. You'll need to get checked over at a local surgery to make sure there is no infection and in a few weeks to get your stitches removed."

"My partner is a doctor," Sherlock told him.

"Then I'm sure you'll be in safe hands." The doctor decided with a smile. "I'll have the nurses draw up your discharge forms and then you can be on your way."

"Thank you," Mycroft smiled – a small fake polite smile – at the doctor and watched his movements as he left the room, bowing his head slightly and closing the door behind him.

"I trust I'm not to return home in my underwear," Sherlock commented.

Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes, "you've left the house in worse states."

Sherlock snorted and pushed himself up into a sitting position, in a slow movement that pained him, he swung his legs out of the bed in a measured movement. Mycroft held Maeve with one arm, large hand across her back and picked up the bag beside his chair that he had ha Anthea collect for him. He placed it on the bed beside his brother. Sherlock considered it for a moment before opening the zip with one hand, and placing the other across the bandage on his torso, stopping himself from moving too much and straining his wound.

"Are you just going to stare?" Sherlock snapped.

Mycroft ignored him and retook his seat. He took Maeve's small hand in his own and craned his neck to get a better view at the infant, she was awake, her eyes switching between his suit and the skin of his neck. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand in soft movements. She did not react but her eyelids fluttered slightly and she yawned.

"All set Mr Holmes," the nurse said with a cheerful smile, "I just need you to sign here."

"And him?" Sherlock titled his head towards Mycroft.

"He'll need to sign too," she informed him. "We'll be signing you out into his care."

Sherlock dropped the pen onto the counter and turned to his brother in a faster movement that he should have, and held his arms out slightly. "Give me," Sherlock instructed, eye trained on his brother.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and handed Maeve to his wounded brother. Sherlock took her eagerly and brought her towards his chest in a precise movement, she stirred but didn't wake.

"You could have asked for her," Mycroft told him. He picked up the pen and signed in the small box.

"You wouldn't have given her to me," Sherlock pouted and placed his nose atop of her head, inhaling and allowing the hairs to tickle his nose.

"She's adorable," the nurse commented, pointing to the next box that Mycroft had to sign. "Your brother is right though, you should take it easy."

"I need to go home," he told her.

"That's often the way with new parents," the nurse nodded and continued to smile.

Sherlock eyed her attentively for a moment before nodding.

"Have a good day Mr Holmes," she focused on Mycroft, "and good luck, Mr Holmes."

"Thank you," Mycroft returned and picked up both bags, he followed his brother from the hospital. The consulting detective walked slowly from the building, with great care and without his usual purpose and Mycroft walked a pace behind him. He stopped in the reception at the sight of Molly, the consulting detective managed a small smile and Mycroft a polite one. "Miss Hooper."

"Mycroft," she smiled, which fell slightly at the sight of Sherlock. "Sherlock."

"Molly," Sherlock greeted, out of breath and wincing slightly.

"I ran into John earlier," she informed him, "he told me you were being discharged and I stopped by Baker Street, I made a lasagne."

"That's nice of you," Mycroft smiled.

"I'll let you go," Molly told them, "I just wanted to check you were okay."

"Thank you," Mycroft said and moved around the pair of them.

Sherlock smiled and followed.

"You need to be careful," Mycroft told him.

Sherlock opened his eyes and studied his brother, "I hardly invited her into my home -"

"That is not what I am referring to," Mycroft interrupted, Sherlock closed his mouth with a clank of his teeth and kept his eyes on his elder brother, imploring him to continue. "Rest."

"Dull." Sherlock commented.

Mycroft ignored him, "It is in your best interest to rest and recover for Maeve."

"I know."

"And try to be pleasant, John may have the patience of a saint when it comes to you, but you can still push him away," Mycroft informed him.

"I hardly need relationship advice from you," Sherlock scoffed.

"Something to bear in mind."

The front door opened the moment he stepped out of the car and Mrs Hudson stepped out with a beaming smile and open arms. "Welcome home."

Sherlock managed a lopsided smile and turned to take Maeve from Mycroft's arms, she squirmed but quickly settled down when he placed her against his chest, and face nestled in the juncture where his shoulder and neck met. He climbed the step, allowing his brother to collect both of the bags, and stopped in front of her. She embraced him, her hold loose, wary of both his injury and the infant in his arms. She let him go almost as quickly as she hugged him and stepped aside to allow him access to the flat. He walked in and stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

"Mr Holmes," she greeted Mycroft as he stepped inside, "nice to see you again."

"Lovely to see you too Mrs Hudson," he greeted with a smile, "and Mycroft is fine."

She smiled and closed the door behind him.

They walked up the stairs slowly – Sherlock first in slow practiced movements, followed by Mycroft and Mrs Hudson, they chatted politely as they walked – he paused for a moment at the top of the stairs, took a steadying breath and then stepped into the room. John immediately appeared from the kitchen, with a worried smile, and approached him.

"Are you ok?" His eyes flitted over the detective, searching him in doctor mode.

"Fine," Sherlock dismissed without any of his usual coldness and bite.

"You should sit and I'll get you some tea," he fussed.

"Stop it," the raven haired man told him. He placed a hand on the arm of the sofa and lowered himself down gradually, wincing slightly at the movement.

"I could get you a cold drink if that's what you want," John continued.

"Stop fussing." Sherlock snapped with no real bite, pale eyes focused on the blonde.

"I'll make some tea." Mrs Hudson announced.

Mycroft took a seat in Sherlock's chair.

"Ice tea," Sherlock told her.

"Just this once." She raised an eyebrow.

"Do you want something to eat?" John asked. Sherlock glared at him. "Or, I could sit down."

Sherlock nodded. The blonde sat beside him on the sofa and the taller man lent towards him purposely, John got the hint and placed his arm around him. Sherlock practically melted into the smaller man, turning his body so that his back was pressed into John's side and he was leaning on him in a reclined position, Maeve still sleeping on his chest. John shifted slightly so that he was turned towards Sherlock and allowed his partner to use him as a pillow.

"You tired?" John asked.

Sherlock made a sound at the back of his throat in response.

"You leaving?" John asked.

"He's in capable hands," Mycroft answered.

"Thank you for bringing him home."