Summary: five times Rosie Watson was everything Mycroft Holmes needed, and once he was finally useful to her.
Words: 4k+
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Rosie Watson had followed her father’s footsteps exactly as predicted, while keeping her mother’s grace and intelligence. She was the sweetest baby anyone could ever have seen, specially in that family of weirdos where no one escaped any kind of weird mind, not even John himself. She was a normal baby, with a happy smile and rosy cheeks and a laugh that made everyone coo. Rosie was the light of that place, of their world, and they couldn’t be more thankful for her.
Weirdly enough, as she grew, she also turned to the person that no one expected her to. Not John, her dad and who loved her more than all; not Sherlock, her weird uncle/dad that played with her and told impossibly unimaginable things; not Molly, her aunt who loved walking around in parks and talking about flowers; not miss Hudson, her granny, who made her special food and always bought her new dresses; not even Lestrade, her far apart uncle, who barely visited but when did, brought the most wonderful gifts and played with her all afternoon. None of them could take the little girl’s attention like Mycroft Holmes, the Ice Man, the British Empire.
He, in all humanity, was the person that Rosie liked the most.
It was easy, the first times around, when Mycroft saw her, because she was still a baby and they all thought she was just fascinated by the stranger that talked hard words. She was always staring at him with her bright blue eyes, sometimes giggling and sometimes serious. All the times it happened, Mycroft freaked out a bit because he did not know what to do to take that little human’s eyes off him.
And worst yet, a part of him didn’t want her to look away.
But the thing was obvious to everyone that had eyes, something even Lestrade could figure out (like Sherlock loved to say), and obviously that he was exactly the one that did make the first attempt to bring the two closer.
Mycroft should have realized sooner and just left the room before it was too late. However he was worrying over some very important British documents on his computer when Inspector Lestrade made his way through the living room, holding the baby on his arms and quickly placing her over Mycroft’s computer without asking any kind of permission. The fact that all of them were invited for the Holmes’ special Christmas dinner that year made nothing to Mycroft’s nerves, and everything had just become even harder when a baby was put between him and his work.
“I have to go off to find Sherlock and John is doing groceries. Take care of her for a second. The rest are all outside in case you really don’t want to spend time with her” the Inspector said, winking at the taller man who was still staring to a baby’s eyes while he should be staring at a computer screen. Only after Lestrade had left the house that Mycroft was able to slowly pick the baby up and slide the computer away, only to place the baby again on his legs.
Oh well…
“Hello, Rosemund Watson” he said, cordially, because even though he had a bit of experience with babies, he hadn’t had to carry one since he was eight years old, which was a long time ago. She stared back at him, no words or sounds coming from her mouth, her blue eyes reminding him a lot of both Mary and John. It was a shame to have lost an agent like Mary in such a stupid way, but he understood her motives.
After everything they had gone through, he finally realized he wasn’t the only one willing to die for his little brother anymore.
Not realizing he had lost himself in thought, he felt surprised when Rosie reached out to touch his cheek. Fighting back the want to pull away, he let the small child feel his face, even though he had guessed she would be just like the others kids he had seen: dirty, ruthless, unorganized and indelicate. However, as her small fingers continued to trace pathless ways through his cheeks, he noticed that she was being extremely careful, almost as if she felt his discomfort of being touched. Then, after she was done, she bopped his nose with one of her little fingers, probably like John or Lestrade had taught her, before letting out giggles of joy, staring at him with those blue bright eyes.
Right there and then, she did not look like John or Mary, but just like Sherlock and Eurus when he had first held them and those bright blue eyes stared at him with wonder.
And besides all of them knowing his heart was not made of ice at all, at that moment he felt something else crack, and a warmness filling his lungs. Something that gladly soon ended with John’s arrival and his series of apologies for bothering Mycroft’s work. He did not say anything, but he accompanied the little girl’s eyes as she left in her father’s arms, always watching Mycroft.
After that first glance, Mycroft really felt like that was something worth keeping. He knew what was sibling love and he knew that wasn’t it, but it was love all the same, and now at least he could try to make it right what he couldn’t before, because now he was older and wiser and he owned Britain. Still, he could not see Rosie too much, and only in his spare visits and the Christmas parties they could actually interact. That was, of course, until once when he was on vacation (or as much of a vacation as the British Government can get) and Sherlock called, telling him he should look at his front door.
Confused and not slightly amused, Mycroft did as asked, and his eyes widened as he saw a small girl wrapped in blankets, snoring over a car seat for babies. When he asked, Sherlock said she would spend some days in her uncle’s Mycroft house because John and him were in the middle of a dangerous case that involved anyone else. So slowly and not gladly, Mycroft took the baby inside and called Andrea so she could bring everything a baby might need. Then, he ordered a crib and sat down on his chair with the small baby still on her own, placed carefully over the couch.
Sherlock and Watson were going mad, and they were turning to him to take care of a baby. He wondered, for a moment, if death would be as bad as this.
Not soon after that, Rosie woke up with a soft yawn and looked around, confused for a second until her eyes met Mycroft. He stood still, staring, until she started to giggle and reach out for him.
“Myc! Myc!” she squealed, contently, and for a second Mycroft was frozen in place. That was Sherlock’s nickname for him when they were children. They had taught Rosie how to say his name.
He stopped himself of going further into the sentiment and got up, slowly unlocking her and picking her up on his arms.
“Your father gives me headaches” he complained, raising an eyebrow when she started to giggle again, holding tightly onto his suit. Then, he let a small smile appear on his face. “You really aren’t that bad. Soon enough, I’ll have toys to amuse you. For now I think I will tell you a story”
Her wide smile was more than enough evidence of her silent ‘yes’.
After the day she spent there (which was supposed to be a week or two when John actually found out with who he had left Rosie with), the two became close, but obviously not even as close as Mycroft wanted. Luckily, for some reason, the little girl felt quite safe in his hands, and trusted him for almost anything. Still, she was a child, and very likely to forget everything quickly, specially after spending months without seeing him. So he was not hoping for anything when the Christmas day came and they were all reunited once again.
It was now a tradition, one he was slowly but surely getting used to, specially when he saw his parents and Sherlock’s happiness to see all their ‘friends’ reunited.
Quickly enough, the exchange of gifts came, and with them came the games. It was also a tradition now to give presents to Sherlock and Mycroft so they could find out through deductions from who the present was, what it was and whom it was for. Usually Mycroft would win, but it didn’t spoil the fun for some reason, specially for little Rosie, who loved to watch them deduct everything at all times.
“There is one less present for you two to figure out” Mommy said as she reached for a small present under the tree. She winked at small Rosie, who was really learning fast the power of speech, before she placed the flat present on the table in front of them. Obviously both Mycroft and Sherlock knew who it was from, because Mommy had given it away, however the present was flat and could be anything from a piece of paper to a joke of a simply folded present paper.
Mycroft and Sherlock begun their deductions, obviously making some things up to pretend they didn’t know it was Rosie, and Mycroft let his brother win on that one just to see the little girl giggling as she squealed ‘uncle Shewlock!’ in that sweet voice of hers. Then, they began the real deductions to what it was and for who it would be.
Mycroft’s first guess would be a drawing made by Rosie to her father John, but soon discarded it as he saw John’s face. He was clearly amused, curious. All of them were, except Mommy. She knew everything because Rosie trusted her to tell. Mommy would have told John right away. It wasn’t for him. It was someone Mommy really wanted to surprise. Which left him with Sherlock and himself.
“My deductions are over, little brother” he said, crossing his arms and smirking. Sherlock rolled his eyes and stared at him, waiting for his answer, clearly not amused that he hadn’t been quick enough. “This is a drawing made by Rosemary Watson to give to her favorite uncle, you” he said, nodding to Sherlock and making him chuckle softly.
“Is he right?” John asked, curious, to his daughter, and she stared at Mycroft for a long time before shaking her head and rushing to grab the present.
“He is wong” she said, loudly, and then giggled to herself at Mycroft’s perplexed face. She walked to him and reached out, handing him the gift. “Happy Chwismas uncle Myc”
The revelation did not only leave Mycroft in shock, but everybody in the entire room. The little girl was holding out the present expectantly, her eyes wide and blue and bright, and it took Mycroft’s entire being to move and reach down to take the small present in his hands. She waited anxiously for him to open it up, and he did, delicately, like any rip or uncaring touch could break the small girl in front of him. Once he was done, he noticed at least something was right. It was a nicely folded paper, and as he opened it, a drawing came to view. A drawing of a big man holding an umbrella and a small girl wearing a floral dress. The drawing was terrible, a child’s drawing, but his heart tightened and the warmth filled his chest once again.
“It is you an me” she said, slowly, trying to make all the words sound perfect, because she knew Mycroft wasn’t fond of incorrect pronunciations. Then, she moved a bit closer and hugged one of his legs. “Love you, uncle Myc”
There were no coos, no words or sounds proffered in that room. After a long moment of painful silence, Mycroft kneeled down to stay face to face with the small girl and hold her small hands.
“I do not know why, but I trust your words” he said softly, a small smile creeping up on his face. “I love you too, little Rose. My wonderful niece”
At that, the girl let out a happy and full of warmth giggle, jumping on him and hugging him tightly. She nuzzled against his shoulder, content, and smiled wider when he rose to his feet while holding her up. He tried not to notice the rest of the room while everyone inside stared at him like they had just seen a puppy barking for the first time. This was not about his personal embarrassment but about the small girl in his arms that had finally, finally Christmas mean something for him.
And he couldn’t be gladder that she didn’t leave him alone for a second after that.
After that Christmas, Mycroft tried to make more visits to 221B Baker Street or to invite Sherlock and John out for a family dinner. He didn’t even make excuses anymore, knowing that they would send Rosie anyway even if they were busy. His limousines would pick her up either way.
The two became really close really fast, because she was just as smart as Mary, but just as sweet as John, which made the perfect combination for Mycroft, because even though he knew she would never truly learn like himself or Eurus or even Sherlock did, she would learn eventually, and he could teach her slowly and tell her curiosities that no one had wanted to know before. After all, even when Sherlock was amazed by everything Mycroft did, they still had brotherly rivalries. With Rosie, he was nothing more than a huge encyclopedia that talked and made up stories.
She looked up to him, wanted to be like him, was interested in politics and always wanted to participate in his reunions or working days more than she wanted to watch her father and uncle/dad (and she called Sherlock) solving crimes.
And most important, Mycroft finally had a distraction for too stressing days.
“Uncle Mycroft! I learned how to divide today!” Rosie said as she ran from the kitchen of Mycroft’s house. He watched her from his chair, over the book he was reading, as she ran to him and stopped with a bar of chocolate in her small hands. “One divided by two equals half!” she said proudly, and then handed her uncle half of the bar before she took a huge bite of her own.
“Do not exaggerate” he said, his voice warning, but that only made her giggle and sit in front of him, eyes wide as she ate piece after piece of her half bar or chocolate. “You are just as bad as me”
“Uncle dad said that when you were young you were over… over weight… overweight. That you got thinner when you were a teenager. Was it because you wanted a girlfriend?” she asked, wondering, and Mycroft had to hold back a laugh of amusement as he placed the bar next to him on a small table.
“I did not have friends when I was a teenager, neither girlfriends or boyfriends. I did not have the interest to die soon because of an avoidable disease like diabetes. Nothing about the major public” he explained, and she nodded, continuing to eat her chocolate.
“I want a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend” she said, slowly, almost as if she was considering it all. He smiled and waited for her to reach her own conclusion. “Or maybe just girlfriends”
“You are too young to think about such matters. It is not because your father cannot keep one woman that you should worry about get one for yourself” he said, wisely, and she nodded, eyes sparkling.
“You still think that dad and uncle dad should be together?” Rosie asked, and Mycroft laughed before nodding slowly to the small girl in front of him.
“They are almost married, aren’t they? The time will come, sweetheart” he said, before standing up and putting his book down. “Now I think it is time for you to go to bed. Tomorrow we have a big day in the palace”
Rosie didn’t have to be told twice before she rushed to her bedroom, being followed by a slow but content Mycroft that simply watched as the small thing ran to the room he had made just for her.
Weirdly enough, Rosie ended up loving exactly the contrary of his little brother. While Sherlock had always had a fascination for pirates, Rosie loved watching The Little Mermaid and wished she could be a mermaid herself. And it was fun for him to watch, in those short moments when the family was reunited, Sherlock pretending to be an enchanted pirate, in love with the little mermaid that always ran after him.
She would be a wonderful mermaid. She had already conquered Mycroft’s heart of ice. The rest would be ridiculous for her.
“Uncle Myc!” the young girl said as she ran to him from teh Holmes’ kitchen. He looked up and smiled, putting his book away. “Uncle! Take me to the lake!”
“Rosie. Do not bother Mycroft” he heard John saying, and soon he was coming out of the kitchen with a strict face. Mycroft stood up and quickly shook his head.
“No problem, doctor. Come on Rose” he said, making her giggle at the nickname that only he called her. She took his hand without being asked and pulled him through the house to the door. He followed with no complain, not looking back to avoid John’s fond smile. He still hated when people treated him like a softy, even though that was exactly what he had become after that seven years old wonder.
They walked to the lake talking about nothings, Mycroft teaching the small girl about the plants and animals they saw on the way. She was always keen to learn, her curious eyes and ears taking everything in and her skillful mouth asking always the right questions. She was very smart. Mycroft never got bored of teaching her.
“Uncle Myc… Do you think mermaids will or were, once, real?” she asked as they reached the lake, both sitting by some dry rocks and staring at the calm water. Mycroft thought for a bit before he nodded.
“All stories have a drop of truth, don’t they?” he asked, raising an eyebrow to Rosie, who giggled contently and nodded back, picking a pebble and throwing it on the lake.
“You have already told me a lot of stories. About wonderful places and beasts, about dad and father, about my aunts and uncle Greg, about grandma and grandpa. But you never tell me about you. Why is that uncle?” she asked, curiously, staring at him as if he was the answer to all of her questions.
He really hoped he could be, if she ever needed.
“Well… I am not used to telling people things about me. They are never interested in the Ice Man” he said, smiling down at her, no resentment in his voice. He understood. Indeed, he wasn’t very interesting. She frowned at that and shook her head, moving closer and leaning against him.
“Well, you can start telling me. Or we will never come back home” she said, firmly, and after a soft sigh, he nodded. Well, soon she would be bored anyway.
“Fair enough. When I was born…” he started, staring at the lake as he told his little niece his entire story, the parts no one knew, the parts he had kept to himself. He made everything ten times lighter than it actually was, but she was only seven. There were things she wasn’t ready to listen, obviously. Yet, she listened carefully, asking questions and giggling or frowning. She reacted to it all like it was a very interesting story, and that warmed him a bit. The sun was already low when he finally finished. “And now we are all here, and I am telling my story to my favorite niece” he said, and she giggled, looking up at him with bright eyes and red cheeks.
“I am your only niece” she said, and he nodded, shrugging.
“Still my favorite” he said, and she giggled before hugging him and sighing contently.
“You’re my favorite uncle too. You should tell people your story more often. It is very amusing” she said, calmly staring at the lake while still hugging her uncle. “You are really cool”
And he knew that, to the contrary of that affirmation, he felt very warm as he hugged the little girl back.
“Time to go back home”
Mycroft sighed as he waited for Rosie outside from her school building. The twelve-year-old girl was probably talking to her friends or teacher, because she was taking long and several students had already left. He continued leaning against a tree next to his car (a normal one, for once), keeping his distance in a place he knew she would see but could easily avoid if she didn’t want to be seen with him around her friends.
He remembered Sherlock doing that quite often, so he couldn’t be more careful.
After another few minutes of waiting, he cursed John and Sherlock for being in a case and not being able to pick their daughter up at school. Obviously that one of the others could have come, or he could simply ask Andrea to pick her up in the limousine, but she was his niece and he really didn’t trust any of his subordinates that much. He just wished she would come out quick and all of that would be over.
Soon enough after he complained, she appeared outside the building with three other friends, two girls and a boy, all of them laughing and talking. He straightened himself up but kept quiet, waiting for her to see him. And when she did, he expected her to say goodbye or just pretend she hadn’t and move along.
He did not expect Rosie to smile like she did or call her friends over to where he was.
“Uncle Myc! Uncle Myc!” she said, from far away, being followed by her confused but excited friends. He held back from deducing anything as she jumped on him and hugged him tight before pulling back and nodding at her friends. “I told you! This is my uncle, Mycroft Holmes!”
“Wow… The legends are true” the boy said, eyes wide, and then he groaned when one of the girls slapped his head.
“He’s no legend, dumbass” she complained, and then all of them turned to stare at him. “It is a pleasure to meet Britain’s head man. I am Charlotte” the girl that slapped the boy said, grinning.
“I am Alice” the other girl said, waving contently.
“Michael” the boy said, while still rubbing the back of his head. “Pleasure”
“It’s my pleasure” Mycroft said politely, before turning to his niece. “Time to go, Rose. You will spend the afternoon in my house and your parents will pick you up at eight” he said, and she bit her lip, silently moving her foot over the dirty. He raised one eyebrow. “Your friends can come, if you wish” he added, a bit hesitantly, and she squealed, nodding and smiling at them. “Do you want me to call their parents?”
“Already did” Rosie said, shrugging and smiling. “Thanks uncle!” she added as she climbed inside with her friends, all of them giggling and talking about seeing inside Britain’s house. Mycroft chuckled as he got in, driving off in silence and letting Rosie put whatever song she wished on the radio.
And he could only smile as he watched the way she smiled at him, like he was the most important man in the world (even though he actually was).
Mycroft had been working for the entire afternoon and now he was finally resting. The book he was reading was so interesting that he hadn’t realized he hadn’t eaten dinner and neither that it was past midnight already. It was very hard to see him as relaxed as he was at the moment, but there he was, in a calm night, enjoying a good book by the fireplace.
That was, obviously, until he heard the doorbell.
With a light frown, he stood up and walked to the door, checking the window. It was raining. It meant that it was probably a very desperate co-worker or maybe Sherlock needing something for a case. When he opened the door, however, he was face to face with his seventeen-year-old niece, all drenched, clothes filled with mud, face red and eyes puffy.
That surely wasn’t good for his old heart.
“Uncle Myc?” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes as she sniffled. “Sorry that I jumped over the porch. It was raining and I just really wanted to see you” she continued, biting her lip, clearly holding back more tears. Mycroft nodded slowly, letting her inside with a worried face. He asked nothing right away, simply letting her go upstairs to change while he made some hot chocolate for her. When she came down, wearing some pajamas and wrapped in a blanket, he sat next to her on the couch, giving the mug to her. She sipped on it quietly, curled up against him, leaning against his shoulder.
“Rose. Why are you here?” he asked, and she already knew what he meant. ‘Why here and not at your father’s? What did you do? What did they do?’. She sighed.
“I can’t go home. Dad will be angry. He told me to be careful, but I didn’t listen” she said, sniffling again and closing her eyes while Mycroft gently rubbed her arm. “You probably already know what happened. You can deduce” she added, biting her lip.
“Yes I can, though I would rather have you tell me” he said, knowing that sometimes speaking about it was better than holding back. Rosie took a deep breath before sitting up and looking down at her hot chocolate.
“I was meeting Lindsey today, to surprise her” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes as she remembered. Mycroft kept staring at her, but said nothing. “After all, she is travelling tomorrow to her birthday party. But when I arrived at her house, she was… She was with someone else” she mumbled, her eyes filling up with tears again. “I didn’t wait for an explanation. I should have listened to dad” she whimpered, putting the mug away to cry against her hands. Mycroft watched her before pulling her to a hug. She held onto him like a lifeboat and cried against his shoulder.
Mycroft said nothing, because there was nothing to be said, and when she finally fell asleep, he texted his little brother to assure him Rosie was safe. Then, he took her to her bed slowly, glad he was still strong enough to hold her up, and tucked her in just like he did since she was small. He watched her for a while before going to his own bed.
And he swore that if she wanted, Lindsey would never have any other lover for the rest of her life, because no one that hurt his little niece would get free easily. But knowing that she was safe was enough for now.
After all, Rosie could always count with her uncle Mycroft, just like he knew he could always count with that blond wonder to make the world a bit brighter.
Hey for the sarcasm prompts could I request 43 and 71 or 120 with Sherlock please I really need some Sherlock in my life right now after my mock exam 😥 :333
43. “Sarcasm is the body’s natural reaction to stupidity.”
71. “I didn’t do it!” “Then why are you laughing?” “Because whoever did it is a freaking genius.”
120. “This is fun.” “Seriously, we’re trying to hide a body.”
TW; MENTIONS OF A DEAD BODY, POST-MORTEM MUTILATION (ALLUDED TO), SET IN A ROOM FULL OF DEAD CATTLE.
word count: 529 words.
“I didn’t do it!”
“Then why are you laughing?”
“Because whoever did it is a freaking genius.”
Wondering what John and Sherlock respectively were laughing about, you walked over to where they were stood at the back of the crime scene.
You couldn’t see much of anything at first and confusion was the only thing that met John and Sherlock’s obvious amusement - much to the disapproval of all those around them because they were at a crime scene and giggling like schoolgirls over who knew what.
The crime scene itself was a large industrial butcher’s freezer, full to the brim of cattle in various stages of being processed for consumption. At the end of the first long line of fifty strung up cattle, there was a distorted lump of something that looked like it had been strung up to resemble cattle.
It was over this that your boys were giggling unprofessionally.
It took a moment of staring for you to realise why this something looked different:
The cattle wasn’t cattle, but a human being.
Or, it had been.
The person had been killed here and then wrapped in muslin cloth and strung up just like the cattle around it. By the rate of decomposition, the body hadn’t been there for very long - though an accurate time was hard to guage because the body itself was frozen. It would have taken days for the body to have been found, and even longer because it was at the very back.
A shocked noise escaped you and Sherlock looked to you with just a raised eyebrow. You answered his unvoiced question - okay? - with a small nod.
The subject of humour for Sherlock and John was a small kink within the wrapped corpse. John deftly cut the muslin cloth and it appeared to be a finger that had refused to stay within the cloth while being bound, and it had poked out of the cloth. The perpetrator had tried to snap it into place but alas, rigor mortis had taken hold and it was too late to stage the murder as an animal like it was originally intended.
It was genius, really. Horrifying, but genius nonetheless.
“We have to stop giggling, we’re at a crime scene!” You tried to hush the boys, but to no avail.
”This is funny!”
You had to admit that it was funny, though not for the recently deceased and certainly not for whoever had to cut this person down at the end of Sherlock’s deductions, which would be coming any moment soon.
“Yeah, Sherlock,” John lightly tapped his hand against Sherlock’s to get his attention. He was rewarded with a ‘hm?’ for his efforts, and John huffed in further amusement. “Do you think this will stop the man,” He pointed to the corpse, “from mooving around too much?”
He burst into laughter and you shook your head at John.
Sherlock, wryly, drawled, “Sarcasm is the body’s natural reaction to stupidity.” as he tried and failed to hide his amusement.
Only at a crime scene could you three have fun and if that didn’t say something about your friendship and tight bond, then what did?
Fifth years stood in silence, staring at the wardrobe as they listened to Professor Lupin explain today’s lesson, as well as why it would be held in the staffroom. A few students sat on the old, mismatched chairs in the long room, having claimed to their friends that they had a better view. One mister Sherlock Holmes was one of them. A Ravenclaw with curly black hair, eyes that shifted colour, and long, lanky limbs, he had a reputation for talking back to teachers, as well as his peers, and claimed to be able to read everything about a person in five minutes at most, twenty seconds at least. There were rumours floating around that he was psychic. When the wardrobe wobbled, instead of jumping back like the other students, he narrowed his eyes and climbed down from where he sat, perched up like a bird on the chair, and took a few long strides forward.
“Mister Holmes, care to assist me in the first part of this demonstration?”
The boy shook his head. “No. It seems infantile, Professor. But I’m sure John Watson would love to help you out.”
Professor Lupin blinked, seemingly shocked, but he recovered quickly. “Very well then.” He said calmly. He looked up, scanning the crowd. “John? Care to come up?”
Young mister John Watson was much shorter than his companion, mister Holmes, and his hair was far more tame and blond. He had the makings of a mustache on his upper lip, and a small jam stain on the shirt hidden beneath his robes. He wore a small pin on his robes with the likeness of a badger. “Yeah, sure.” He nodded to Professor Lupin as he began to make his way towards the wardrobe. “Of course.”
“Excellent, John. Thank you.”
John nodded in acknowledgement of his Professor’s statement.
“Now, before we begin, who here knows what a boggart is?”
Sherlock raised his hand.
“Mister Holmes?”
“A shapeshifter. It takes on the form of the worst fear of the person before it.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
“Therefore,” Sherlock continued, “We don’t know what it truly looks like because nobody has had the bright idea yet to just stick a camera in a wardrobe like this with the timer and flash turned on.”
Professor Lupin smiled. “Well, perhaps when I’m done using this boggart in particular for teaching purposes, and before we dispose of it, you and I could do just that.”
“No thank you, it sounds dull.”
The smile quickly became much less enthusiastic. He turned to the rest of the class. “So, the boggart is sitting alone in a dark wardrobe, and does not yet know what will terrify us most. This means that we have two huge advantages over it. Does anyone know what those advantages might be?”
“Is one of them that we know what will terrify us most, Professor?” John asked.
“Wonderful! That’s one of them, Mister Watson. Anyone else?”
A Ravenclaw girl with her long brown hair tied back in a ponytail named Molly Hooper raised her hand. “There’s so many of us, that it won’t know what to turn into.”
“Precisely. That is exactly why it’s always best to have company when dealing with a boggart. The boggart will become confused, not knowing what to turn into.
“The charm that repels a boggart is simple, you see, but it requires a lot of willpower. What really finishes them off is laughter, so we just have to take our worst fear and find a way to make it laughable.
First, I want for all of us to practice the charm without our wands, so if anyone with their wand out could quickly put it away.” Professor Lupin waited for a moment. “Now, repeat after me . . . riddikulus!”
“Riddikulus!” the class echoed.
“Good. Now that we’re through with the easy part, you need to understand that the incantation alone is not enough. And this, John, is where you come in.”
John, as well as the rest of the class, looked away from Professor Lupin as the wardrobe shook once more.
“Right then, John,” Professor Lupin said, regaining the attention of his class, “What frightens you most in the world?”
It took John a moment to respond. “Well, there was that time Sherlock had the bright idea to stand up to a hippogriff while I was the one standing in front of it, which led to-”
“A fear of hippogriffs.”
“Exactly, yes.”
“I see. And I believe that I saw you pushing Sherlock down the hall in a pair of muggle roller skates?”
“Yes, you did, and he ended up in the hospital wing with a broken leg because he fell down the stairs.”
The class laughed. All except for Sherlock, that is.
“Now, I want you to focus on the memory of Sherlock losing control of his skates. Imagine that happening to a hippogriff, and if all goes well, the boggart will be forced into that form. After that, it will turn it’s attention to each of us in turn, so I want everyone to form a line behind John and think about a way to make your worst fear laughable.”
Sherlock slipped in behind John, practically breathing down his neck. They both noticed, but drew no attention to, when the little hairs on the back of the blond boy’s neck stood on end.
“Everyone ready?” Professor Lupin asked.
Sherlock stared straight ahead for a moment, seeming to look right through the back of John’s head. Whatever it was, he could make it funny by turning it into Philip Anderson falling over repeatedly. He nodded along with everyone else as he rolled up his sleeves and took out his wand.
Professor Lupin stood off to the side of the wardrobe, pointed his wand at the wardrobe doors, and began to count. “One -- two -- three -- now!”
There was a small flash, a jet of sparks, and the doorknob turned itself. The door slammed open. For a moment, all anybody saw were shadows inside the wardrobe, but then something stepped forward. It had surprisingly human legs, and long, lanky ones at that. It stepped out of the wardrobe and onto the floor, where everyone identified it as Sherlock Holmes, covered with his own blood, dying.
“It’s not real, John.” Sherlock whispered in his friend’s ear as he stared at the figure. It collapsed on the ground, coughing and spluttering. “Just say it. It’s a simple spell. Riddikulus.”
John couldn’t speak. He pulled at his collar, moving it away from his neck.
“That’s not me, John. I’m right here. Cast the spell.”
“I-I can’t.” John replied quietly.
“Yes, you can. Just do it before I have to do it for you.”
John’s dark grey eyes spilled over with tears. “Dammit, Sherlock, it just had to be you.”
“The roller skates, John, remember the roller skates.”
“How the bloody hell is that supposed to make this funny?”
“Punch me in the face.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I always hear that when you speak, and that joke’s only funny once.”
“No, not me, the boggart.”
John bit his lower lip and straightened his wand arm. He imagined Sherlock doing the most ridiculous things, closing his eyes and shouting “Riddikulus!”
The boggart on the floor sat up, hitting itself, walking around on wobbly legs, and falling on the floor repeatedly. John forced a laugh, and so did the other students.
“Mister Holmes,” Professor Lupin said so that only the two boys at the front of the line could hear him, “I think you should take Mister Watson to the hospital wing. Somewhere he can calm down, at the least.”
Sherlock nodded. “Understood, Professor. He put one hand on John’s back, between his shoulderblades, and led him away from the boggart and the staffroom.
“Did you know that was going to happen?”
“We’ve been friends for three years, John. Of course I knew it was going to happen.”
“What do you think your boggart would have been?”
Sherlock was silent.
“Thanks for walking me out of there, but I think I’m just gonna go down to the Hufflepuff dorms until next period.”
“Alright.”
John and Sherlock walked downstairs by the kitchens in comfortable silence.
“Are you planning on following me into the Hufflepuff dorms?”
“Yes.”
John forced a small smile. “Come on, then. Let’s go.”
You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
You both like mythea, Sherstrade, Johnlock, Mystrade, kid!Lock, Fem!Lock, Mpreg, Lestrolly, Johnstrade, and Parent!Lock.
Stranger: Primary school teacher + Pregnant = What the fucking fuck am I supposed to do if I start to have contractions. VWH
You: Ideally, you would have stopped working by now. Most people take their last month off. -Mx
Stranger: Yeah, but I wanted more time at home with the babies after they come. VWH
You: And now you're having contractions in front of babies. -Mx
Stranger: Yeah, I'm frantically trying to get a substitute as we speak. VWH
You: If I knew it would help, I'd come in. -Mx
Stranger: Can you be my substitute teacher? I mean, I know you don't have a teaching licence, but, you know. VWH
You: Well, technically I do have my license. Just not for primary school, and it's been awhile since I thought about it. -Mx
Stranger: I've been told I can shove my kids into my neighbour's classroom until I can get a sub if I can't find one. VWH
You: Well, if they don't mind me not being exactly qualified, I'll come in. The day's likely mostly over anyway, isn't it? And Greg made me take the day off anyway. -Mx
Stranger: But don't you want to help deal with me whilst being in pain? VWH
You: If you can't find anyone else, I'll take care of your kids. If you find someone else, I'll take care of you. -Mx
Stranger: Great. You're great. I just left my usual go-to sub a message that was quite literally 'PLEASE WORK FOR ME I AM IN LABOUR PLEASE' followed by sobbing noises. VWH
You: Do you need me to pick you up? It'll be better than taking a cab, most likely. -Mx
Stranger: Nah, I have a car. It's fine. I can drive. VWH
You: No, you are not driving while you're in labour. -Mx
Stranger: What, not allowed? VWH
You: Precisely. I've done it, it's not pleasant. -Mx
Stranger: It doesn't sound pleasant but I mean, I could do it. VWH
You: And cause a wreck. No. -Mx
Stranger: Also, I'm frantically looking at the baby name list Alex and I have picked, because, fuck, we don't have names. VWH
You: You still have time. Your parents didn't decide on your name until after you were born. -Mx
Stranger: We both want to do something that pays homage to our heritage. I want African names, Alex wants French. VWH
You: African? And Alex is French? That, I didn't know. -Mx
Stranger: Yep. I'm half Congolese and half Sudanese. Alex is 100% French. VWH
You: Oh. Learn something new every day then. Regardless, my advice is the same. You have time. When you're holding them, you'll think of something. -Mx
Stranger: I, personally, like Ata or Atsu. But apparently I shouldn't name my twins what roughly translates to twin.VWH
You: Who says? -Mx
Stranger: Says Alex. VWH
You: Well, tell him that's rubbish. -Mx
Stranger: Okay, I have a substitute. I'm crying. VWH
You: I'm almost there. Have you been able to get in touch with anyone but me? -Mx
Stranger: Yeah, I texted Alex. He replied with 'OH FUCK I AM IN FUCKING ITALY FUCKING FUCK.' VWH
You: And your parents are out of town on a case. -Mx
Stranger: So basically, as my oh so lovely husband put it, fucking fuck. VWH
You: Well, since you have a substitute, you have me. And if you asked your uncle would likely show up too. -Mx
Stranger: Thank you so much. I'll try to call dads, tell them what's going on. VWH
You: You're welcome. What else did you expect when you texted me? -Mx
Stranger: I was hoping for this, but I was expecting 'we're out of town too', seeing that that's all I've been getting. VWH
You: No. Greg's working, he actually went with your parents, but I promised to take today off and I didn't want to go with them. -Mx
Stranger: Well thank god for that. VWH
You: ...Yes. -Mx
Stranger: Because, holy shit, I'd be screwed. VWH
You: I know, which is the only reason I'm grateful. -Mx
Stranger: Oh? VWH
You: It's nothing. -Mx
Stranger: I want to know. VWH
You: Greg just worries too much, I'm fine. -Mx
Stranger: Greg and Alex should have tea and worry about stuff together. VWH
You: Exactly. We had a row, which did wonderful things, and he ran off with Sherlock and John after making me promise to see a doctor. -Mx
Stranger: Ah, lovely. VWH
You: Yes. -Mx
Stranger: I'm still crying. I'm officially crying whilst laying on my desk. Victoria Watson-Holmes = winner. VWH
You: It'll be fine. I'm here now, do you want me to come in? -Mx
Stranger: Yeah, sure. VWH
You: Okay. I'll be there in a few minutes. -Mx
Stranger: You know where the classroom is, yeah? VWH
You: I've come to visit you before. -Mx
Stranger: Just making sure. VWH
You: I know my way around. -Mx
Stranger: Again, just making sure. VWH
You: I know. -Mx
Stranger: Still laying on the desk. VWH
You: I'm almost there. -Mx
Stranger: I have no more children, they're in another classroom now. Praise the lord. VWH
You: Well, you have two children on the way. -Mx
Stranger: Well, yeah, they're probably not coming too horribly soon. I hope they're going to wait until their daddy shows up. VWH
You: It depends. Since this is your first pregnancy, it can take longer. Sometimes though, the babies are in a rush and don't wait around. -Mx
Stranger: Their daddy's coming before they do. VWH
You: We'll hope so. -Mx
Stranger: How awkward would it be if my husband missed his children's birth. VWH
You: Ask Greg, he nearly did the same. Or Mycroft. -Mx
Stranger: Oh, man, awkward. VWH
You: Extremely. Greg got there just as the action started, thankfully. -Mx
Stranger: Thankfully, Alex has access to a private jet. VWH
Stranger: So I just need to not start pushing for like.... 2.5 hours. VWH
You: Tell that to your twins. -Mx
Stranger: I did, twice. VWH
You: Well, let's hope they listen. -Mx
Stranger: Praying that they do. I have an instructional assistant talking to me. VWH
You: Well, tell them to help you off of the desk, I'm two doors away. -Mx
Stranger: I'm scooting. VWH
You: Good. At the rate we're moving, I'll get to the door by the time you're halfway there. -Mx
Stranger: Rude. VWH
You: Truthful. -Mx
Stranger: ...Yeah. VWH
You: See? -Mx
Stranger: But not in the nice way. VWH
You: I could apologize. -Mx
Stranger: But it's too late. To apologise. Too laaaaaate. VWH
You: Mm. -Mx
Stranger: Do you not appreciate my 2000's boy bands reference. VWH
You: No, sorry. -Mx
Stranger: Wow. I thought the one in labour was always right. VWH
You: That's if you're talking to men, dear, especially the one who did that to you. -Mx
Stranger: Yeah, Alex is sort of wrapped around my finger right now. VWH
You: Exactly. No need to have me agreeing with you too and letting you get a big head. -Mx
Stranger: I already have a big everything else. VWH
You: It's just baby weight. You're gorgeous. -Mx
Stranger: Shall we open this can of low self esteem while I'm in labour? VWH
You: We might as well, we'll need something to discuss. In person, however, since I'm here. -Mx
Stranger: Hurrrrrrrrrrrry. VWH
You: Calm. -Mx
Stranger: Huuuuuuuuuuuuurry. VWH
You: [no response]
Stranger: Please? Are you like, right outside my door? VWH
You: Yes, I am, which is why I didn't respond. -Mx
Stranger: I'm sitting here on my desk. Almost standing now. VWH
You: See? Perfect timing. -Mx
Stranger: Where even were you? Did you just stop to chat with my kids? VWH
You: Yes, they have a card for you. Apparently, the person watching them had planned for this eventuality. -Mx
Stranger: Awwww! VWH
You: Yes, I thought you'd appreciate it. -Mx
Stranger: That's so sweet. VWH
You: It is. -Mx
Stranger: My kids are great. VWH
You: They are. -Mx
Stranger: Now. Hurry. VWH
You: I am. -Mx
Stranger: I'm officially standing. VWH
You: I'm opening the door. -Mx
"I'm not going to tell you much more of the case, Doctor. You know a conjurer gets no credit when once he has explained his trick; and if I show you too much of my method of working, you will come to the conclusion that I am a very ordinary individual after all."
"I shall never do that," I answered; "you have brought detection as near as an exact science as it ever will be brought in this world."
My companion flushed up with pleasure at my words, and the earnest way in which I utter them. I had already observed that he was sensitive to flattery on the score of his art as any girl could be of her beauty.
- Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, from A Study in Scarlet
aaaand here we have Sir Arthur Conan Doyle providing us brilliant fanservice with his words. This man is a genius.
Guys! My mom told me to write the saddest thing I could think about...
They stood there, just watching each other. Neither of them uttered a word. And just... stared.
Sherlock noticed all the details of John, things that weren't there two years ago. The new stress line on top of his forehead. The new crinkle by the side of John's mouth that indicated happiness. And something... new. There's a new twinkle in his eye. Something good has happened then. Sherlock coming back? No, it's been there for a while. Then it came to him. John's engaged.
"I'm sorry, John. I'll explain everything to you. I'm sure you want to know how I did it-"
"No! I don't care how you did it, I want to know why," John said. He battled with himself, trying to keep the tears from spilling.
Sherlock stood there, taken aback from John's words. Clearly not the reaction he was expecting. "If I could just tell you how-"
"Why?! Why did you do it, Sherlock? Two years. It's been two years. What did you expect to get out of it?"
His words were mumbled, but John made out," For you. What would I get out of it? Your safety." Sherlock had his head down, thinking if he did that, then he didn't actually say those words.
"Sherlock. I've moved on with my life-"
"What life?! I've been away!" The Consulting detective said, looking up to meet his, no, not his, the doctor's eyes.
John scoffed. Sherlock barely cracks a smile, the scoff is so familiar, so... reassuring. "Did you expect me to become a hermit? I wasn't going to sit around your flat all day and wait for you to return! That is, if you didn't die! I needed to get a life, away from the pain, away from 221b, and away from you."
The smile from his face is now vanished and, now, he has a face like he's been stabbed while being shot. "I thought we could-"
"No, Sherlock. You think that after two years, everything could go back to normal? No..." John said, staring hard at Sherlock. He hadn't even noticed he'd been crying.
"But I-" Sherlock couldn't finished his sentence. He didn't know how.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I just... No." And with those words, John left.
~~~
And my mom didn't understand why I was crying over two gay guys. She said, "I told you sad story, not gay story."
From a Scandal in Belgravia -
Have you ever wondered what Sherlock and John were doing when Ms.Hudson called them to attend to the man that stumbled in wile she was clearing the fridge?
