Chapter Text
Sherlock stared down at the paper held between his slender fingers. He read the words over and over again, as if they would some how change their meaning. Still they stayed the same. His mind filtered through scenarios to get rid of the evidence. Throwing the paper into the fire while he lounged in his chair, morbidly contemplating where to go from there. Perhaps burning the parchment to ash with a torch would be more gratifying. As if he could some how burn away the fact that the paper itself held. It wouldn't matter how he got rid of the evidence the facts would still remain unchanged. He knew as much.
Taking a cleansing breath he sauntered over to the fireplace, tossing the envelope by the fire wood for extra kindling. He folded the paper into quarters, and stuffed it inside the cavity of the skull on the mantle. He nearly chuckled to himself at the irony.
–
John eyed the clock on the wall, anxious to get home. He had a lull between patients, and was on the phone checking in with Mary.
“I keep having to go like a bloody race horse! This is getting ridiculous,” he heard his wife say on the other end of the line. He tried not to smile at the obvious irritation in her voice. He knew the toll the pregnancy was taking on her. He wanted nothing more then to be by her side, taking care of her like a doting husband and father-to-be should be. However, bills needed to be paid, and they both couldn't take time off for maternity leave. So here he was stuck in the surgery while Mary sat at home all day. It was taxing on them both.
“Well it isn't like this wasn't to be expected,” he mumbled mostly to himself. “I mean this is what happens at this stage in pregnancy, yeah?”
“John, I've been in the loo more than I have been in bed today.” The annoyance in Mary's voice was growing, and John knew he was wading on thin ice. Luckily he was saved by a change of subject. “You still going to stop by and see him after work?”
John leaned back in his chair, releasing an exasperated sigh. He wanted to see Sherlock, he really did. He hadn't seen him in weeks, not with the final stages of Mary's pregnancy so close. “Actually I think I'll just head home once I'm done here.”
“John.” Mary's tone had gone stern, almost threatening, and he knew there would be no arguing with her.
“Alright, yeah, I'll go. I'd rather be home taking care of you, but I'll go.”
“That's my good man.” He could tell by her voice that she was smiling, and the mixture of the sound and the praise warmed his heart.
With a beaming smile on his face he said his good-byes and hung up the phone. Suddenly he felt rejuvenated and ready to tackle the rest of the day.
–
John made his way up the old familiar stairs of 221b, and casually opened the door. “Sherlock?” He called out to the flat's only tenant, almost surprised that the lanky detective hadn't met him at the door. Somehow Sherlock had managed to get in the habit of greeting people at the door, nearly heading them off before they could enter the flat. It used to be that no matter where he was in the flat, Sherlock would let anyone waltz in uninvited. However, since his return from the dead, Sherlock had seemed more on guard, more leery of the people he let into his home.
Stepping farther into the quiet room, John chanced a glance into the kitchen, where he thought he'd find Sherlock bored and working on an experiment. Again to his bewilderment the detective was not there.
The whole flat seemed far too still for there to be the presence of the consulting detective within it's walls. John nodded to himself, of course the one time in weeks that he'd think to stop by and the mad man was probably out chasing down criminals. For a moment John thought about waiting for Sherlock to return, but he couldn't be too sure of when that might be. Not only that, but he had a pregnant wife at home.
Pursing his lips he came to a decision with himself. He'd come back on his day off, maybe next time calling ahead to make sure Sherlock was home. John turned to leave, and as he did something caught his eye. He froze, utterly perplexed at what he was seeing.
On the floor sticking out by the side of his old chair was a dark mass of curls. As John looked closer he could see a pale slender hand next to them.
“Oh god. Sherlock!”