Chapter 3: Tit for Tat

In which John Watson has the last laugh. With thanks to Ellis_Hendriks for the invaluable beta reading and feedback.

"Aaaaah! This is the life," said John Watson as he eased onto the sun lounger, close beside that of his traveling companion - or, really, one of his four traveling companions.

Cate Rushbury smiled in agreement, but didn't otherwise move, not even to lower her sunglasses.

She might look relaxed, but appearances were deceptive and he knew Cate was keeping an eagle eye on the children.

Cate's ten-year-old Jenny seemed to be taking good care of the toddlers, though. Two-year-old Jack Rushbury and John's own darling Rosie shrieked with laughter as the edges of the cool, foamy waves caught their bare toes, while a half-finished sand castle stood waiting a few feet away, beside the enormous Finding Nemo beach towel that served as picnic, play, and nap venue. A green and white striped umbrella stuck in the sand provided shade for one side of the area, and its twin protected Cate and John from too much exposure to the tropical sun.

John reached over to take up his second fruity rummy concoction of the day. He said to Cate, "I feel a toast coming on."

"Excellent." Cate took her eye off the children long enough fetch her own tall, fruit-trimmed glass. "Fire away, Dr. Watson."

"I may have done this one before, but it's a good one. To new friends and unexpected holidays."

"Hear, hear!"

Glasses were raised and cooling sips taken.

But then Cate added, "And to Mycroft Holmes, too. The man behind all this…" Cate waved a hand in a gesture encompassing sea and sand, green grass and waving palms, and their children's simple delight.

John raised a brow, but agreed after only a moment's hesitation. "Alright. To Mycroft. May he continue to be less of an arse and more human than one would have thought possible."

"Amen," Cate agreed, with great solemnity.

John would have chuckled, but knowledge of Cate's situation kept his expression to a slight, crooked smile. Two months ago he'd known her only as Jack's mother, just another parent with whom he had a nodding acquaintance at the nursery. But that was before Sherrinford, and before Cate's husband, a top MI6 agent, met an untimely demise.

The one event had nothing to do with the other, of course. But Mycroft, who'd known the now deceased Rushbury, and was, of course, aware that the dead man's son and John's Rosie were mates at the Westford Little Becomers Academy, had actually uttered the words "kill two birds with one stone" when he'd suggested that John, Cate, and the children would benefit from a complete change of scenery at government expense. Then he'd actually coloured up with mortification at his use of such singularly inept phraseology and explained the details of the plan with much more care and consideration.

Sherrinford really had thrown Mycroft off his stride, John thought at the time. Lady Smallwood and Mycroft's PA Anthea were both doing their best to provide stability and comfort in the difficult aftermath, but John was strongly of the opinion that Mycroft himself stood in decided need of a Tahitian holiday.

Not that that would ever happen.

In any event, both John and Cate had been told in separate interviews that they would each be doing the British Government an enormous favor in accompanying the other on holiday. There was a 97.8% probability that they and the children would quickly mesh as a quasi-family unit (and how Mycroft had come up with that number John didn't want to know), and they would doubtless return to London quite refreshed and ready to take up the reins of their lives with renewed energy.

That 97.8% probability had certainly come to pass, and not only because of the inevitable exigencies and the cooperation needed when traveling halfway round the world with three children. True, Jenny was ten and quite mature for her age, but Rosie and Jack were infants. However, after everything that had happened in the last year, Cate and John agreed that this new adventure seemed small potatoes. They would get through it, and be better for the experience. And so it proved.

He and Cate were friends, not lovers, which made the whole thing much easier. Neither of them was ready for a new, serious relationship. But it turned out they did have a lot in common, and the areas where they differed seemed potentially complementary. Certainly young Jenny was encouraging the two of them to go off to dinner and enjoy the moonlit nights after Jack and Rosie were settled in their beds at night, but girls were like that, seeing romance around every corner. Not that Cate wasn't pretty, small and slim, with wide green eyes, neatly cut copper curls, and a scattering of freckles. And not that she hadn't shown signs of appreciating John's appearance, too – he was a little greyer, maybe, than he'd been at his wedding, but he'd lost those seven pounds Sherlock had accused him of putting on, and he'd taken care to keep himself fit even after Mary… well.

He looked over at Cate now. She was quite different from Mary (Oh, Mary! My darling torment…), yet she, too, had a strength about her, and a calm way of dealing with whatever came up. And a sense of humor. It was coming out, now that they were feeling more settled in this strange, delightful place.

Two weeks down, and two to go.

Going back to London would be a culture shock and no mistake.

Which reminded him…

"Ah! I see you got your phone charged," Cate said with a grin as John retrieved his mobile from the pocket of his beach jacket.

"Yeah. Haven't missed it, but it won't hurt to check and see if anything's been going on." He pressed the button and the phone began to boot up. "They know they can send anything really important through the front desk of the resort."

"Yes," Cate agreed, and took another sip of her drink. She leaned back, her eyes on the children again.

But a minute or so later, John's brows rose. "Sherlock called. Two days ago. And left a voicemail!"

"Really?" Cate said in surprise. "I thought you said he never calls, just sends texts."

"He doesn't call unless it's bloody urgent." John quickly accessed his voicemail as a shiver went down his spine. His worry deepened as the message came on, but gradually cleared and finally he had to exclaim, "I'll be damned!"

"What is it?" Cate demanded.

"It seems… no wait, I'll just let you hear it," John said, and putting the phone on speaker he hit play again.

John! I suppose you've turned your phone off. Very irresponsible of you. What if there were some emergency? Well, we'll speak of that later. I just called… that is, I just wanted you to know that I will be… that Molly… that I… um… we're getting married. Lestrade suggested I should let you know right away, and indeed, he is the only person who knows – though I daresay Mrs. Hudson has guessed. And possibly Mycroft, you know what he is. In any case, Molly has made me the happiest man in the world, as the saying goes, and we're off to shop for an engagement ring after brunch – and after this murder investigation Lestrade's conducting. John Steed, murder made to look like suicide – I'll give you the details when you return. I… I was going to suggest that, as Best Man, you begin making some plans, but… well, I do trust… that is… let me know if you would be willing… to… ah… In any case… enjoy your time away. Text me. If you like. Or call! It would be good to hear your voice."

Cate had tipped her glasses down her nose and was staring at John by the time this convoluted and, finally, somewhat wistful voicemail had come to an end. "So… he's marrying Dr. Hooper? I met her, you know. When she came to the nursery, once, to pick up Rosie. I take it from your expression that this is something of a surprise?"

"Yeah. I mean… it's not entirely unexpected… they've known each other a long time. She's his pathologist at Barts."

Cate gaped a bit. "He has his own pathologist?"

"Basically, yes, that's the situation. She does him favors, has done since they first met, years ago. She fell head over ears for him back then, and never really recovered, though God knows he gave her plenty of time and opportunity – he can be a real berk, to put it mildly. But her unrequited love for Sherlock is practically a Barts tradition. Probably has its own exhibit in the museum by now."

Cate laughed. "Poor little pathologist! But now… apparently it's not unrequited?"

"Apparently not," John mused. "You know, Mary thought… that was one reason she wanted them both to be Rosie's godparents. Along with Mrs. Hudson – Sherlock's landlady."

"Yes, I've met her as well. And her Aston Martin."

John grinned, but went on, "Nothing came of it, though. Being co-godparents. Or so it seemed. Sherlock, for all he's the smartest man in the room, is pretty slow in some areas. But then… well… there was this incident between them. During the… ah… Sherrinford thing. Can't really give you the details. Sherlock would murder me, and maybe you, too - with Molly's assistance."

"I see." Cate looked quizzical.

"Do you really?"

"No."

John laughed. "It is what it is. But now I suppose I'd better call him back. Wish him happy and all that. And tell him I will be his Best Man."

"Yes, from the sound of it he's probably been anxiously awaiting your reply. When did he call?"

"Two days ago." He looked up the exact time. "Or, hang on, two nights. It was two in the morning here when he called!"

Cate smiled. "From what I've gathered, he can be a bit scattered? Probably had no idea."

"Sherlock? Oh, no. That's the sort of thing he would know." John considered, his eyes narrowing. "Would've been pleased as punch to have awakened me at two in the morning – not to mention you and the kids. Bastard."

"John!" Cate sounded shocked.

"Well, he is! Or can be, even now. I mean, he's a lot better than he used to be. But still…" An idea occurred. "What time is it right now in London?"

"They're ten hours ahead? Or is it eleven?"

"So two or three in the morning!"

"John, you're not going to call him now!"

"Oh yes I am." He hit Return Call.

"You might be waking Dr. Hooper, too," Cate pointed out. "And it's even possible they're … in the middle of something."

"Oh, yeah!" John gave an evil chuckle. "All the better. And it serves her right for agreeing to marry him." The phone in distant London began to ring and John, the enormity of the occasion really sinking in, said to his now resigned and even amused companion, "Tell you what, this'll be worth every penny of the roaming charges! Every bloody penny!" And then the call was connected, a sleepy voice muttered something unintelligible from half a world away, and John, grinning, shouted with hearty cheer, "Hello, Sherlock!"

~.~