Chapter 13 - Raison D'Être

May 18th 1870 - The Leeford's Manor, Kilburn

"I admit it took me a little while to find the correct records, but then you know that already, since you had them changed." Sherlock pressed his advantage at her stunned silence. "Adler wasn't your real maiden name, was it? It was your mother's. Not a terribly clever alias, but then that's not why you changed it."

He could see the debate in Irene's mind behind the pursing of her lips; the barriers she had carefully crafted over the years were being torn down before her eyes, and her reluctance to let them go with anyone warred with her respect with the man in front of her. The man who returned her child to her, seeking no profit but this information she held dear.

"It seemed more appropriate to take my mother's name, rather than the brute she happened to be married to." She admitted eventually "He wasn't my father, in fact he spent so much time inebriated, I very much doubt he could sire a child if he tried."

"So your mother took a lover." Sherlock supplied, prompting her along.

"A string of them, in fact. She was rather plain to look at, my mother, but she had a talent for seduction. It was her who taught me that looks will only get you so far, and that confidence and body language go far further. I was fortunate to have both of course." She backed this up by flashing Sherlock one of her most smouldering looks, but as ever he remained unmoved by it, waiting for something else entirely. "I don't see what this has to do with the case however, besides satisfying your limitless curiosity."

It was this that turned up a smile at the corners of Sherlock's lips, and he launched into explaining his deductions without further ado.

"While Oliver was in London I tracked him to an old man's house where he'd spent a night. Mr Brownlow was ever so disappointed that he'd moved on, on account of the resemblance Oliver holds to the man's long lost daughter. Though clearly not the same woman, you too bear a resemblance to Agnes Brownlow. My search at the records office turned up information that John Brownlow and his brother Matthew ran a small business together for a while in the same street where your parents lived at the time she fell pregnant with you."

"You mean-" Irene said breathlessly.

"Yes, it is entirely possible, nay, probable that the man Oliver stayed with is in fact your father, or your uncle. I favour uncle, as he was courting the woman who would become his wife at the time, and he still remains single after her death, so I highly doubt he's an adulterer... but either way, I'm certain he could give you answers."

The hopeful look in Irene's eyes hardened, as she locked it down under her walls once again.

"What makes you think I need answers? You think I couldn't have found this out myself were I interested? I never cared to know who my father was before, I never needed him, so why would I now?"

"I never said you did. But Oliver might." Sherlock replied, his voice soft but firm, pulling her along for every word. "There's something else I found out in the records office; you mentioned he lost his paternal grandparents, you didn't say it was less than a year ago. Now he's lost his father, and he's just seen his remaining uncle led away in chains. That's all the men in his family gone in the space of a year. I'm no expert in... well people really, but especially children. Yet something tells me a young man like that needs at least some kind of father-figure in his life, no matter how remarkable his mother may be." He paused to let Irene absorb his words, before reverting back to his usual callous persona. "Or perhaps I just want to know I'm right."

The spell of his words on Irene broke, and she let out a peal of laughter at his act. Her eyes drifted away in thought, before refocusing out the window, and then sliding back to Sherlock.

"Then I'll have to let you know. If you promise me one thing."

"Oh what now?"

"You be good to that wife of yours. Because she is good for you."

Sherlock didn't answer aloud, just turned to show himself out. The smile on his face and glint in his eye said it all though; I intend to.

When Sherlock rejoined Molly outside, she was all but buzzing with excitement, a spark he had not seen in some time dancing in her eyes and an uncontainable smile on her face. Of course, he pretended to ignore these things, not allowing her to properly catch his eye until he had shared some parting words and instructions with Lestrade, as he helped her up into the carriage that brought them and directed the driver to take them to the Watson's residence rather than their own. As soon as the carriage started rolling and silence fell however, her excitement bubbled over and burst out of her.

"Oh Sherlock, I have the most exciting news! Gregory offered me a job!"

"A job?" Sherlock scoffed, "What, at Scotland Yard?"

"Uh-huh, in the morgue!" Molly replied in unabashed glee "Their current coroner is retiring, and Gregory remembered how I used to help Michael at the one in Finchley so he persuaded his superiors that I would be a good fit. Isn't it great!"

Sherlock frowned. "But if you're working how can you assist me in my cases when I need you? And there's my experiments to consider, you know I trust their attention to no-one else. And what about when I don't have a case on?"

"Well, you can always come see me in the morgue. Maybe you could do your experiments down there, then I can still keep an eye on them. Most of them require body-parts anyway." She tried to appease him, optimism un-dented.

"And who will provide me with hot meals when I return from a hard day's investigating? My transport needs fuel, Molly."

"I'll still cook for you when I can, and if I can't I'm sure Mrs Hudson would be most happy to do it. I think she misses it actually... oh she'll be so pleased to hear about my job!"

"Hmm." Sherlock grumbled, turning to look pensively out of the window at the passing scenery. He heard the rustle of fabric besides him and a weight against his hip just before Molly planted a light kiss on his cheek. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and saw her settling into a more serious expression, though she still smiled warmly at him.

"Thank you." She said simply.

"For what? I didn't say you could take the job yet."

"Yes you did. To Lestrade." Her eyes twinkled with a got-you-mister mischief.

"He told on me?" Sherlock smirked, letting the act slide.

"No. I deduced you." Molly grinned smugly, before giving him his space again and straightening up in her seat with far-away eyes. "This will be good." She said decisively. "And I can be far more helpful at the morgue rather than making myself a nuisance of myself at home."

The hairs on the back of Sherlock's neck prickled, as if he were at a crime scene and danger were near. There was something loaded in her words, an emotional minefield lurking beneath his feet that he had been hoping to avoid by getting her this job in the first place. It seemed he had no choice but attempt to navigate it, though he feared the worst as his emotional compass was known to be wonky on occasion. More than on occasion if he were honest.

"You're not a nuisance." He ventured, though it didn't come across as casually as he'd have liked.

"It's okay, Sherlock." She said, in a voice a little too melancholy to be okay. "I know you don't like being fussed over, and it's my fault you didn't get Oliver back earlier because I was trying to force you to rest rather then letting you do your thing your way, and I've not been very good at -"

"If you think that's why I did this, you are wrong." Sherlock cut her off before she could work herself up any more. He wouldn't lie and say she hadn't set him back in the case, but he didn't hold it against her either.

"It isn't?" Molly asked uncertainly.

"No." Sherlock repositioned himself to face her better in the small space, playing for time while trying to choose his words. "You looked sad, when you thought I couldn't see. I always see you Molly, and what's more I know what that sad look means. I saw the same one on my face many times in the mirrors of Holmes Manor before you came along. Boredom is my old nemesis, but it goes deeper than that; it's the look of having worked so hard for something, only to have it ripped away by an injustice. Being a consulting detective is my raison d'être, and I think post-mortems is yours. You were never meant for sitting at home waiting to bear a child. Though-" Sherlock hesitated. This conversation had already required a great deal of sentiment and openness already, and to finish this sentence would be to hold absolutely nothing back. As uncomfortable as that made him, he couldn't disappoint the bright and hopeful look on Molly's face.

"-seeing you with Oliver today made me realise that when the time comes you will make a fine mother as well." Sherlock rushed it out, barely louder than a mutter as though hoping it wouldn't be heard

"Oh Sherlock!" Molly cried happily, lost for any other words to express how happy his words made her. Instead she leaned right out of her seat to smother him in affection, only to be stopped by Sherlock's hand on her sternum, pushing her away.

"Please Molly, this is still a semi-public place, you know how I feel about public affection." A fire sparked in his eyes as he lowered his voice in both volume and pitch. "When we get home though..."

Molly blushed almost scarlet, but behaved herself for the rest of the journey.

The cab dropped Sherlock and Molly off at the Watson's residence, where Mary was preparing a celebratory dinner for the finishing of the case. Almost as soon as Sherlock knocked on the door, a cry of "I'll get it!" erupted from an upstairs window. Seconds later the door swung open, Charlotte looking hopefully expectant behind it. Her hopeful expression dimmed to slight disappointment when she beheld the visitors however.

"Oh, hello Sherlock, Molly." She said in a far more casual tone, stepping aside to admit them, while already turning away. "Father! The Holmes are here!" She called to him as he came out of the side study.

"Yes dear, I can see that." He responded smiling, his smile slipping into a bewildered expression as she disappeared upstairs again without a second glance at her old heartthrob. Once she was well and truly out of earshot he turned on Sherlock. "Okay, what did you do?"

"What makes you think I did anything?" Sherlock defended, taking his wife's coat after removing his own and hanging both up as though it were his own home.

"Maybe because my daughter isn't jumping up and down at the sight of you like she usually does. I can only assume you've said or done something to upset her-"

"And here I thought your deductions had been improving." Sherlock shook his head and pulled a face of mock disappointment, "You are way off of course. She simply has a new object of her affections, and one whom reciprocates at that."

"She what?!" John erupted, in fatherly protectiveness.

"Yes, she's been exchanging love notes with the bakers's boy as he makes his morning deliveries for about a week now." Sherlock casually announced, though Molly detected a mischievous glint in his eye that spoke of how much he was enjoying himself.

"Well that just won't do! I won't have any of this cloak and dagger nonsense in my house, if a young man wants to court my daughter he must do so the proper way and to ask for my permission first-" John set off on a rant.

"Oh but he intends to." Sherlock took the wind out of his sails. "Why do you think Charlotte was so eager to answer the door? Do keep up, he's coming to dinner to introduce himself and ask you. Hardly a difficult deduction."

John's jaw worked inaudibly for a few seconds, seeking out a new avenue for his anger as the party made their way through to the dining room, where John spotted his inspiration. "Well that's an improvement, but really, turning up unannounced is hardly a good start. My poor wife has been slaving over a hot stove all day to make dinner, and now she'll have to worry about whether she'll have another for an extra person."

"Not at all, Mary already knows. See, she already laid out the extra table setting." Sherlock pointed out. John's eyes widened comically as he counted up the place settings.

"She knows? Of course she knows, why am I always the last to know anything?"

"If it's any consolation, I didn't know." Molly stepped in to comfort him before Sherlock could rub it in any further. "And personally I think it's lovely that Charlotte has found a suitor."

John seemed to settle somewhat, but he still grimaced as the a new knock sounded at the front door, and once again Charlotte shouted "I'll get it!" before pounding down the stairs. An idea seemed to occur to him and he leaned in conspiratorially to Sherlock.

"I don't suppose you could-"

"I already did a full background check on the boy and his family. It was incredibly boring, they're perfectly ordinary bakers, no hint of criminal activity. The lad is hardworking and well spoken of, and as the eldest child, stands to inherit the family business. A perfectly good suitor." Sherlock told him, sounding a little disappointed.

"Hmm." John huffed, with all the disapproval of a father who thinks no man could ever be good enough for his daughter. He quickly straightened out his expression though, as his daughter appeared, followed by the suitor.

"Father, I'd like you for to meet my friend, Tom. Mama said he could join us for dinner, if that's alright with you."

John's eyes scanned the boy from head to toe, taking in his long coat, scarf and dark curly hair, so similar to his friend's. He gave a strained smile, holding up a finger to ask them to wait a second, then turned his back to them, facing Sherlock.

"Something you forgot to mention in your description?" He murmured so his daughter wouldn't hear.

"I didn't want to spoil the surprise." Sherlock answered just as quietly, keeping a poker face though his eyes glittered with concealed laughter. John's answering glare was unamused, but when he turned back to face the youths he presented a smile again.

"Of course, sweetheart, the more the merrier."

As it turned out, the boy went a long way towards gaining John's approval when he mentioned over dinner how his entire family liked to read John's stories in The Strand Magazine. After that dinner was spent discussing the boy's favourites and filling him in on details that didn't make it to the printed page.

"And I suppose you'll be writing up this latest case for the weekend edition, John?" Molly asked.

"Oh yes, I'm sure people will want to hear about this one." John agreed. "Everyone loves a happy ending, especially when there's a child involved. I'm thinking of calling it 'The twisting tale of Oliver'."

"It's a bit long, don't you think Love?" Mary chipped in.

"Oliver's Twist?" John suggested.

"Oh for goodness sake." Sherlock groaned, "That's terrible. Besides, I doubt Irene will be happy with you using their real names in your piece. Let them have their privacy."

"Mm, good point. I suppose I will have to change some details..."

"Oh, you should make Oliver a prince!" Charlotte piped up, "And his uncle was trying to usurp the throne by killing his father, and Sherlock had to find the prince and bring him home so he could knock his uncle off the throne and take back his rightful place!"

"Well that is a bit of an extreme alteration, dear." John let her down as gently as he could, "Though 'The Lying King' does have a ring to it..."

The End

AN: That's all folks! Thank you all so much for reading, and especially to the four reviewers who stuck with me to the end: .Hamiltrash, Joycelyn. , Elbafo and LRRH17.

I currently have no plans to write any more fanfiction for a little while at least, though I'm sure should the muse strike me I'll be right back at it again. If you're at a loss for what to read next, I strongly suggest the 'After the Fall' series by the author Edhla, if you haven't already read her works. She is in my opinion, one of the best writers on here (if not the best) and definitely worth a look.

Until next time: Au revior!