Chapter Text
Week 1
The layout of the support group was exactly what John had expected; a cluster of chairs in the centre of a brightly lit meeting room in the community centre.
As the clock ticked closer to eleven, the room gradually filled with an uneasy hush as the attendees took their seats in the circle of mismatched chairs. Some seemed apprehensive, others reluctant, likely having been sent there by a therapist or psychiatrist. John didn’t blame their anxiety. It was a PTSD support group, after all.
It had been a few months since he’d moved into 221b Baker Street, and, after chasing the taxi through London that first night, John's limp was barely even there anymore. The nightmares had also eased a little. Sarah seemed to be helping, so did living with Sherlock rather than sitting in a flat alone, but he knew he couldn’t rely on others to ease his pain. So, he settled into a chair beside a fidgeting, auburn-haired woman and offered her a friendly smile.
Olivia Wainwright, her curls cascading down her back, returned the smile, then continued to stare off into space, fiddling with the sleeve of her star embroidered jumper, her foot bouncing, until the door creaked open and a woman entered.
She introduced herself as Alice, the group facilitator, then started the session with what John thought was the perfect level of control; enough to make the group feel structured and comfortable, but not enough to make anyone feel like they were trapped.
"Let's start with introductions," she suggested, her gaze moving around the circle. "You can share as much or as little as you like. No judgment."
The room fell into silence as the attendees contemplated where to begin. Olivia, her voice steady despite her anxiety, spoke first.
"I'm Olivia,” she offered her fingers stilling momentarily. “But most people call me Ollie. I'm currently doing my PhD on Herbig-Haro Objects, which are essentially bright patches of light that are associated with newborn stars. They're found in star-forming regions like nebulas. They–" she stopped and blinked, then flushed and lowered her gaze. "Yeah. I'm Ollie."
John, both encouraged and amused by Olivia's opening, followed suit.
"Er, I'm John. I was an army doctor in Afghanistan. I moved back to London not too long ago.”
There was another round of nods.
As the group continued, John was surprised by how comfortable he felt, just in the two hours he’d been there. There was something about the raw vulnerability of some of the more open attendees, and the way Alice spoke to them as if they were people, not patients, that left him feeling uplifted.
He found himself smiling slightly as he left the room. He passed Olivia in the corridor and gave her another smile, then stepped outside, en route to Baker Street.
Week 5
John had been attending the support group for over a month now, and he had grown intrigued by Olivia Wainwright. There was something so fascinatingly odd about her. When they were discussing things in group, she’d occasionally break into elaborate, space-themed metaphors, then trail off and blush when she realised she was going on a tangent. It was endearing.
One afternoon, he found himself stepping into the cold, London street beside her. Fumbling with his words, he blushed slightly, then cleared his throat. Olivia looked up at him.
"Uh, Ollie, I was wondering if you'd like to grab a coffee?” he paused and winced. “Not – as a date or anything, just, you know, coffee. To chat. As friends. I mean, it's not like... Well, you get it."
Olivia chuckled and gave him a small smile.
"John, you're adorable. I'd love to grab coffee with you ‘as friends’. It’s nice to have someone to talk to."
John smiled and motioned down the street.
“I know a place that sells great cinnamon scrolls a few blocks away. How about that? My treat.”
Olivia chewed her lip, then swung her backpack over her shoulder and nodded.
“Sure, but don’t worry about paying, it’s fine.”
“I’m a GP, and you’re a PhD student surviving on a stipend,” John pointed out. “Let me pay.”
“I’m not getting out of this, am I?”
“No.”
Olivia laughed.
“Okay then, Doctor Watson. Lead the way.”
Week 10
"Fuck. I forgot my umbrella again," Ollie's voice came as she and John stepped out onto the rainy street. The sky was dark, and the downpour was heavy, with no intention of stopping. "I swear my brain leaks out my ears while I'm sleeping."
"You know, I don't live far from here," John said. "Why don't you come back to my place? It's dry, and I can make us a cup of tea."
Olivia frowned, wrapping her arms tighter around her thin frame and shuddering.
"Oh, I wouldn't want to intrude, John. It's fine. I'll have a warm bath when I get home."
John smiled reassuringly.
"Ollie, you're not intruding. Besides, I'd be a terrible friend if I let you walk home in the rain. Come on, we can have cuppa. You were giving a talk to the undergrads about dark nebulas, weren’t you? You can tell me how it went.”
“Nebulae,” Olivia corrected with a small smile. “And you may regret letting me talk about space.”
“I’ll take my chances,” John chuckled. "Just a warning, my flatmate can be a little… extreme, but he means well."
John wondered how Sherlock would react to him bringing another strange woman into the flat, realising the detective would likely make a worrying number of unwarranted deductions.
“I have a feeling I can handle extreme,” Olivia assured him. “You should see some of the people I hang around with. Astronomers aren’t the most normal bunch.”
They set off towards Baker Street. As they neared the flat, John mentally listed the similarities he'd noticed between Olivia and Sherlock over the past two months, and wondered whether they would make Sherlock more or less likely to be irritated by her presence. Ollie was intelligent and sharp, her observations sometimes unnerving. Just as Sherlock had, she'd deduced things that he'd never shared with anyone at the support group.
However, unlike his detective flatmate, Olivia knew when it was appropriate to voice them. He had also noticed that Ollie also had a habit of getting lost in her own thoughts, seemingly distracted and sometimes completely unaware of what was going on around her to the point where he worried for her safety.
When they reached 221b, John opened the door and stepped back to let her in. He hung his coat up and helped Ollie out of hers before leading her upstairs.
"My flatmate can be blunt, and occasionally rather rude,” he warned her. “Try not to let anything he says get to you."
They reached the door to the living room, and John gave her a reassuring smile before opening it. He stepped inside and Olivia followed hesitantly, then glanced around. The room was stuffy and cluttered with books, papers, and a random assortment of objects including a skull. A moment later, her gaze landed on the room’s only occupant, who was sitting in an armchair, completely engrossed in a laptop screen. She froze.
The man looked up and gave her a fleeting examination, before returning to his computer, dismissing her presence and missing the look of surprised recognition on her face.
Sherlock Holmes.
Olivia Wainwright recalled herself as the chubby, inquisitive child who used to follow Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes around, asking questions and deducing things, keeping up with the Holmes children in a way that no other kids could.
"I’ll get the tea," John called over his shoulder as he headed in the direction of the kitchen, completely oblivious to the stunned look on Ollie's face. “One sugar, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” Olivia replied distractedly. She stood silently, tugging at her sleeves, her mind buzzing with questions about how on earth it was possible that Sherlock Holmes was sitting in front of her.
After a few moments of quiet, the only noise the sound of the kettle boiling in the background, Sherlock spoke.
“Astronomy or astrophysics?” he asked, his eyes still fixed on the laptop. Olivia wasn’t particularly surprised by the deduction – her converse had embroidered stars on them and she had an astrophysics book in her half-open bag – but she still blinked.
“Er, both."
“Dull,” he droned, before turning his attention back to his laptop again. "What's this, John, another failed attempt at dating?"
John, who had re-entered the room with a tray of tea and biscuits, rolled his eyes.
"Sherlock, be nice. This is Ollie. She’s from group. I was walking her home, but it's pouring, so I invited her in for a cup of tea."
"Clearly."
Ollie wasn’t fazed by his dismissiveness. She accepted the teacup from John, who motioned for her to sit. She obliged, placing her bag on the floor and settling onto the sofa, crossing her legs and bouncing her foot as she took a sip of tea.
"I'm sorry,” John said apologetically. “You'll have to excuse him. He's a detective and he's even more of an asshole when he's not on a case," he gave Sherlock a pointed look.
Sherlock scowled before turning his attention back to Olivia and narrowing his eyes.
"You're not from London,” He observed.
Olivia raised an intrigued eyebrow. Had he figured it out? Did he recognise her?
"Not originally, no. I moved to London for my PhD. I'm about to submit my thesis."
Sherlock continued.
"Your accent is... odd. It's as if you were raised in several places."
"Good ear."
Sherlock's expression turned curious, and he tilted his head, studying her.
"Are you from London? Originally, I mean."
"No. I was born in New York, moved to England when I was six, then went back to New York, and now I’m here doing my PhD. I've also spent time in Edinburgh, Dublin, Prague, and Paris. I'm an academic. Well, I was. I've been out of a job for a while. Trying to finish my doctorate quicker."
"What's your specialty? What were you teaching?"
"Astronomy, mostly.”
"Fascinating,” Sherlock said dryly.
John shot Sherlock a look, then glanced at Ollie.
"Sorry, he's not interested in these kinds of things."
“These kind of things being?”
“People.”
“Ah. I’m sure he’ll warm up to me. I can be rather charming, you know."
"Yes, of course you can. That's why all the guys in the support group are so obsessed with you."
Ollie's foot stilled and she flushed.
"Are they?" She squeaked.
John smirked and nodded.
"Definitely."
Olivia shifted in her seat and pulled at the sleeve of her jumper.
"Ah. Right. Um." she grimaced, making Sherlock raise a curious eyebrow. However, he said nothing and went back to typing on his laptop.
“So,” John said, snapping Olivia’s attention away from the detective. “Dark nebulae?”
Ollie smiled. As the afternoon wore on, she realised that, though Sherlock might not remember her, his presence brought the same sense of comfort it did almost twenty years earlier.
Still, she wouldn't tell him. Not yet. She wanted to see just how long it took for the great Sherlock Holmes to figure it out for himself.
Ollie's visits to Baker Street became more frequent, with her and John opting to have their weekly chats there, rather than in the coffee shop down the street.
Sherlock seemed to have warmed up to her presence a little, and John could tell that the woman's clear genius intrigued him, even if he was reluctant to admit it.
On this particular afternoon, John and Ollie had popped down to Speedy's to grab coffee and a pastry after John discovered that Ollie hadn't eaten since the previous afternoon. Ollie had reluctantly obliged, and the two stood chatting while they waited for their drinks.
"I'm just saying, John, the amount of sugar in those things can’t be healthy," Ollie was saying.
John chuckled.
"Well, it's a good thing I don't eat them often, then," he replied, earning a slight grin from the redhead. "However, as a doctor, I assure you it would do you some good to eat more of them. You eat next to nothing, and that's coming from someone who knows Sherlock's habits."
Ollie laughed softly.
"I'll make sure to keep that in mind," she promised. "You should have seen me as a child. I was the chubbiest kid you've probably ever seen."
"Really?"
"Trust me. Most people thought it suited me – a cute, chubby kid toddling around – but my dad reminded me constantly. It wasn't until I hit puberty that I finally grew into it."
"And now you barely eat enough."
Ollie shrugged and flicked a few stray curls out of her face.
"Considering we met at a PTSD support group, I think we can both agree that that sort of thing fucks you up big time."
John nodded solemnly.
"I'll say."
Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of their drinks.
"Thanks, Mr. Chatterjee."
"Anytime, John."
As John took his drink, Mr Chatterjee leaned towards Ollie, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
"This one's for you," he said quietly.
"Uh, thank you."
Ollie looked down and spotted a small heart drawn on the side of her cup, along with a phone number. She looked back up at him, and he winked and grinned.
Ollie glanced at John, who said nothing, simply giving Mr Chatterjee another nod of thanks and leading Ollie out of the cafe, his hand wrapped around her bicep. They stepped out into the street again, Ollie's cheeks burning, John chuckling beside her.
When they entered the living room again, Ollie could see that Sherlock wasn't alone. There was another man sitting in the armchair opposite him with his back to the door. Sherlock looked up as John and Ollie entered. Noticing Ollie's face, he raised an eyebrow.
"What have you done to the poor woman, John? She looks traumatised. Did you finally try to make a move on her?"
John rolled his eyes.
"Mr Chatterjee," he said, as if it explained everything. Judging by Sherlock's expression, it did.
"Oh. Well, I suppose having multiple wives isn't enough for him. At least we know how he's been spending his evenings," Sherlock murmured.
Ollie's face, which was beginning to return to its normal shade, reddened again.
"Sorry," John mumbled, taking a seat and motioning for her to sit beside him on the sofa. "Sherlock has no tact. He also tends to say whatever the hell comes to mind, no matter how inappropriate or embarrassing,” he added, shooting the detective an accusatory look.
"Yes, well, thank you for the splendidly graphic image, Sherlock. Luckily, I’m already attending a support group, because if I wasn’t, I think I’d have to go find one," Olivia said dryly, taking a seat on the sofa.
"What's on the cup then?" Sherlock asked, eyeing her.
"You noticed the heart?"
"Of course."
"Um, it's his phone number," Ollie answered, her voice lowering in embarrassment.
Sherlock gave her a look of sympathy, then glanced at John, who was trying his hardest not to laugh.
"I'm sorry. I swear I'm not laughing at you," he assured her. "It's just, well, you should see your face."
Ollie frowned and touched her cheek.
"Is my face red?"
"'Red' may be an understatement," Sherlock drawled before turning his attention back to the man sitting across from him, who was drumming his fingers on the handle of an umbrella impatiently. "Now, are we going to discuss this case or are you just going to sit there glaring at me?”
"I do apologise, brother mine. It seems you’re a little distracted by your new... friend," he said, and Ollie couldn't help but notice that the word 'friend' contained a hint of a sneer.
She frowned and her attention settled on the stranger. The man finally turned to look at her, and Ollie’s heart froze. Oh, god. Not both of them.
"Mycroft Holmes," Mycroft greeted, his eyes boring into hers. Those eyes. How could she forget the irritating boy who always talked down to her.
"Doesn't ring any bells, sorry," Ollie said, smiling sweetly.
Sherlock couldn't suppress a soft chuckle at that, and she heard a similar chuckle coming from John. Mycroft's lips twitched upwards. Ollie couldn't tell whether he recognised her or not. She wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. It had been nineteen years since they'd last seen each other and she looked completely different, having transformed from a cute, chubby ginger kid to... whatever she was now.
"I'll show myself out," she muttered. She couldn’t be in the room with both of them. Not now.
She took a final gulp of her drink and left the cup on the coffee table, ignoring John's protest that Mrs Hudson would be furious. She grabbed her coat and bag and left, only stopping briefly to wave at John and Sherlock, and shoot Mycroft an insincere smile. As she walked down the stairs, she could hear John bickering with Sherlock, followed by Mycroft's derisive voice.
"I presume that was your girlfriend?"
John spluttered.
"Ollie Wainwright," Sherlock explained, his voice laced with boredom.
"Wainwright," Mycroft murmured, the tone making Olivia pause and listen intently. "I knew a Wainwright when I was a child. She used to follow me around, asking questions about the solar system."
That made John raise an eyebrow and look over at him, but Mycroft ignored the unspoken question.
"That's a rather specific description," Sherlock commented.
"Yes, well, I had an exceptional memory, even at a young age."
"Was she a ginger, too? Tall? Curly hair? Got yourself a type? I mean, the fact that you're asking anything about the woman speaks volumes in in itself," Sherlock replied, a hint of mockery creeping into his tone. Mycroft ignored him.
"I believe the girl was called Olivia,” he said thoughtfully. “Yes, the more I think about it, the more positive I am. Her mother worked for the university. I'm quite sure they lived next door to us."
"If she did, I've deleted her," Sherlock dismissed, his voice returning to its normal monotone.
Mycroft didn't reply. Olivia sighed, then continued down the stairs and out the door.
It didn't take long for Ollie get back to her flat, and, as she unlocked the door, her phone buzzed.
It was a text from an unknown number.
Apologies for the delayed response. The solar system is the sun, 8 planets, and the dwarf planet Pluto.
Ollie stared at the message and a small smile crept across her face. She typed a quick reply and hit send.
Thanks, Mr Solar System.
Within seconds, she received a response.
The pleasure is all mine, Ms Wainwright.
As Mycroft exited 221b Baker Street, he pulled out his phone, quickly typing a text.
Locate information on Wainwright, Olivia.