What Binds Us Together by Amaya Ramiel

Disclaimer: All recognizable content belongs to the Sir ACD, the BBC, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; otherwise, I'd be filthy rich.

A/N: Hello everyone! I'm trying my hand at writing something longer than a one-shot. It probably won't be too long, but hopefully it will be good! More family-centered than my usual h/c, but with a small dose of angst. I hope to update frequently, but remember, reviews feed the plot bunnies! Onwards and upwards; I hope you enjoy it ^_^!

Chapter 1

Sherlock Homes was back in London after three long years in hiding. He had finally been able to track down the splintered remains of Moriarty's organization, and now all that was left was to return home. Although his brother Mycroft has kept him up to date with the latest political and criminal news, the man had failed to keep him informed of the lives of his friends. During his hiding, Sherlock had accepted this as a blessing; if he didn't have to worry about the friends and colleagues he had left behind, then he could focus on hunting down Moriarty's organization. Besides, he had reasoned, everyone believed him to be dead, so their lives should proceed with little relevance to his own.

But returning to London now, he began to realize what his 'resurrection' would mean to those close friends. He therefore had to plan how he would present himself to John once more. Three years before, at the moment of his 'death', he had felt unexpected pain and sorrow at knowing the pain his death caused his best and closest friend. It had almost been enough to cause him to forgo all his carefully constructed plans and return to comfort John Watson. However, practicality and opportunity told him it was best, for himself and for John, if the doctor were kept in ignorance over his not-so-demise.

Sherlock knew he couldn't simply go over to John and say 'Hello, I'm not dead.' At best the man would punch him, at worse, he would actually make John faint or have a heart attack, and that would really be an inconvenient way of rekindling their friendship and partnership. He also knew that he couldn't just ask John to come back with him to Baker Street, for he didn't know anything about the doctor's life in the past three years. For all he knew, the older man had established a medical practice somewhere in town and would be reluctant to part with it now.

The detective decided the best course of action was then to watch the good doctor for a couple of days, deduce what he could from his comings and goings, and thus decide on the best course of action. In retrospect, he imagined it might have been best if he had done some 'fact finding' on John's life before going ahead with his plan. The most Mycroft had told him was that John was working double shifts at Bart's almost every day, therefore that was where Sherlock would begin his surveillance. Disguising himself as another patient, Sherlock arrived early in the morning and took a post near the clinic where he could watch the doctors rush back and forth. Soon he caught sight of his target; Dr. John Watson, donning his white coat, walked tiredly but determinedly to the nearest desk and asked the nurse on duty for the next patient folder. The first thing Sherlock noted was how tired the man looked, which was probably due to working through a long shift, seeing to who knew how many sick people. The second detail that the detective noticed was how much weight the doctor had lost. His cheekbones had become more pronounced, and his coat seemed to hang off his thin frame much more than he remembered three years before. In addition, his skin had that translucent tint to it that implied lack of food.

John, what have you been doing to yourself?

Sherlock then began noting other details on his friend's person such as dark bags under his eyes, lack of sleep, the finger-shaped stains on the bottom of his coat, child patients, the redness in his hands, has washed them constantly, and that was when he saw it. On John's left hand, a gold band adorned his ring-finger. For a moment Sherlock's brain stalled, before realizing that he was staring intensely and promptly resuming his act of common patient. Married? How could John be married? 'Why not?' supplied another voice in his head, 'You don't think he could have found someone after you died?'

This changed things; if before he only had to figure out a way to approach John in order to get him to renew their friendship and partnership, now he had to find a way to consider that John had other responsibilities, namely, a wife.

Sherlock felt anger, at himself because maybe if he hadn't left John wouldn't have gotten married, at Mycroft for not telling him, but mostly at John. And yet, the voice in his head questioned, should he really reproach John for getting married? Should he not be happy for his friend? These conflicting thoughts occupied Sherlock for most of the morning as he continued watching the doctor come back and forth between patients, each time looking more and more tired.

Sometime around midmorning the nurse at the station stopped John before he rushed back to another check-up room and informed him that he had a call. Sherlock saw John sigh and pick the telephone, and he strained to read John's lips and interpret the conversation. Despite John's obvious exhaustion however, there was a faint smile on his face that hadn't been there before, so Sherlock deduced the call must be from his wife.

"Hey sweetheart,… yes, I know, …. I'm almost done with the shift, … yes, I'm sorry I didn't come home last night, …, yeah, I'll take you for some ice cream later to make up for it, … I love you too, baby, see you this afternoon, ok. Alright, bye-bye."

John sighed as he put the receiver down and ran a hand through his face.

"That girl has you wrapped around her finger."

John broke into a small smile, "Come on, - he said as he picked up a file, "-the sooner I finish, the sooner I get back to my lady." John stepped away from the desk with a wink and headed back into the fray.

Sherlock sat there pondering the conversation; John's love was evident, for even despite being incredibly tired, he was actually happy to have received the call. The exchange had been puzzling, nonetheless, especially the part about taking her for ice cream later. However, Sherlock didn't want to let his mind wander into places that would make him create images of John's love life. He supposed that the most he could do was continue watching John, and follow him when he left Bart's. That way he would be able to see Mrs. Watson and determine how best to proceed based on his observation of their behavior.

Three in the afternoon approached, and Sherlock saw John make his way to the station with relief, sign out, and gather his things before exiting the hospital. Following at a safe distance, the detective tailed the doctor as he walked down several streets, finally arriving at a nearby park. He knew, from Mycroft's sparse information, that John lived fairly close to Bart's, so his detour through the park wasn't much of a surprise. The surprise came when, halfway through the park, John raised an arm in greeting to someone farther down the path. Sherlock continued walking, but quickly found a way to hide himself behind a tree, from which he could have a perfectly angled view of the doctor.

So, his wife decided to meet him here.

On the path approaching John, Sherlock noticed, was a youngish woman holding on to a tottering child. The child was bouncing up and down energetically, and pulling on the woman's arm. But the woman was too young, Sherlock thought. Surely this couldn't be John's wife. And who was the child? Had John actually waved to someone farther behind those two?

Sherlock's questions were answered a moment later by the shrill shouting of 'Daddy!' from the little girl's lips. A few feet away John dropped down his bag and crouched down arms wide just in time to receive the running bundle that crushed itself against his chest.

"Oh, my little girl! How are you, baby?" John straightened up, hoisting up the girl so that he held her tightly in his arms while he showered her with kisses. The child's peals of laughter reached Sherlock's baffled ears. A child? A daughter? His John was a father?

"I missed you, daddy." said the girl with a pout, laying her head on her father's shoulder, her arms still wrapped around his neck.

"I'm only gone for one night, sweetheart." Sherlock wondered whether that meant it was a common occurrence.

"I still missed you."

"I know, I missed you too." said John as he deposited a kiss on her forehead.

"Were you a good girl for Anna?"

"Oh, she was wonderful, Dr. Watson. A perfect angel, she is." The young woman smiled politely, looking fondly at the child.

"Thanks you so much. I don't know what I'd do without you. Here." John shifted his daughter so that she sat on his hip, while he extracted a check from his pocket and handed it to the young woman. "You're a lifesaver Anna."

The young girl took the check and said "It's no trouble at all. See you tomorrow. Be good to your daddy, sweety."

The little girl nodded, her reddish-blond curls bouncing everywhere. The three parted company, but Sherlock hardly paid any attention to the departing woman, his attention solely focused on his best friend. John picked up his medical bag, still holding on to his little girl.

"So, shall we go home?" said John with a teasing tone in his voice.

"But daddy, you said ice cream." Her eyes were big as saucers as she looked at her father in mock outrage.

"Gasp, so I did. Well I guess we must have some then!" The little girl burst into laughter once more as John tickled her lightly, proceeding down the lane through the park, and leaving a very shocked detective behind.

TBC

That's it for the first chapter! What do you think? Comments, suggestions, I welcome them all! Also, feel free to point out any grammar mistakes, sometimes dyslexia gets the better of me, despite how careful I try to be.

Cheers, more to come soon!

AR