What Lies Beneath

“It’s Hamish’s birthday,” John sighed into his phone, plugging his free ear from the noise as he leaned further into the corner, struggling to hear the temp on the other line. The woman – more of a girl, actually- fretted back immediately.

“They’re really, really insistent,” she almost cried. “They want Dr. Watson and they won’t even let Dr. Ashcroft give them a once over. They’re demanding you.”

Again John sighed, glancing over his shoulder. The gathering was stationed at the London zoo, Mycroft having rented them their own party room and scheduled a private feeding for the ducks as his present to his godson. The elder Holmes had left early for “official business”, but feeding the ducks had made up for his absence. The group had just returned from their walk around the zoo grounds, and at the moment, the room was crowded. Hamish sat at the end of the table, his bright blue eyes shimmering with excitement as Lestrade dimmed the lights.

“Trisha, I’ve really got to go, they’re bringing the cake out-“

“Just please come in, Dr. Watson, I don’t know what to tell them-“

John stopped listening as he watched the door open, and his heart swelled a bit at the look on Hamish’s face when he saw the cake brought out. It was a large, rectangle slab of yellow sponge cake slathered in frosting, decorated to Hamish’s liking. Across the top was a lovely park scene with a family of plastic toy ducks perched in the frosting lake, with Happy 3rd birthday Hamish! scrawled in Laicee’s delicate writing.

Hamish clapped his hands together as Laicee placed the cake in front of him. His eyes studied her for a moment, tracing the perfect curls of her brunette hair down her shoulders, his eyes drinking in the happiness that shimmered in her green gaze. He would have studied her a moment longer, but Trisha’s insistent voice cut in.

“Can you please be here? I can’t get them to leave-“

“Yes, fine,” John shot out, a little harsher than he meant in his endeavor to get himself off the phone. “Tell them I’ll be there shortly.”

With that, he hit the end button, tucked his phone into his pocket, and turned his attention back to the party. Mrs. Hudson sat on one side of the table, with Mr. Lawrence beside her. Molly sat across from her, and Mycroft’s empty chair was on her right. Lestrade had abandoned his chair in order to take pictures for John; his and Laicee’s chairs were up on either side of the birthday boy.

John moved to the head of the table, standing behind Hamish and resting his hands on his son’s shoulders. Hamish tilted his head back and grinned up at his daddy, and then snapped his attention back to his cake as Laicee pulled out the lighter.

“Are you ready Hammy?” she mused, and Hamish nodded vigorously, clapping his hands together. As Laicee lit the three duck candles, the room burst out into a chorus of happy birthday. Hamish immediately blew out the candles as soon as the song came to an end, and Laicee led the group in a flurry of cheers.

Hamish clapped harder, and immediately snagged the ducks off the cake and placed them on his plate.

“Honestly, weasel, give me a moment,” Laicee laughed, slicing off a piece for Hamish just in time to satisfy his urge. Hamish dug his hand into the slice and shoved everything into his mouth, grinning wildly. Laicee and the others burst into laughter, and John’s heart twisted a bit as he watched the scene. His eyes flicked to the side, and Laicee caught his gaze; she knew the reason behind the glimmer of sadness.

Four years. Four years to the day since Sherlock Holmes committed suicide. John swallowed hard; had it really been four years since he lost his best half? His closest friend? Had four years gone by without Sherlock Holmes at his side?

He hadn’t noticed Laicee come up beside him until two arms wrapped around his middle, and the scent of honey wreathed around him. He buried his face into her hair for a moment, taking in a slow breath as he pushed the emotions aside. Later that night, they’d visit Sherlock’s grave, as they had every year. They would remember him today, but right now, he had to focus on his son.

It was only after Hamish had opened every last gift and was beginning to grow tired that John finally stood up from the table and ran a hand through his hair. Laicee, who had been perched right next to the birthday boy (playing a rousing game of go fish with the new animal playing cards Mr. Lawrence had bought for him) stood up and went to meet him as he slipped on his jacket.

“I thought you took today off,” she asked, helping him into his jacket and then zipping it up for him. He gave a small smile and shrugged.

“Illness doesn’t take vacation, so I can’t either. You don’t mind taking care of him-”

“I’ll have him down for a nap, and when you get home we’ll go see Sherlock. Yeah?”

“Sounds like a plan,” John said, kneeling to give Hamish a hug and a kiss on the top of the head. The birthday boy tilted his head back and stared up at his daddy, puzzled as to why he was leaving.

“I’ve got to go make people feel better,” he explained, his heart sinking a bit as he stood back up. “But stay here with Laicee, and I’ll see you soon. Okay?”

Hamish nodded, scrambling up and wrapping his arms around John’s legs as his goodbye. Laicee stooped beside him and gently guided him back to his new toys so John could make his escape. He said a quick goodbye to the others, and then slipped out into the chilled February air.

The cab ride seemed to rush by; for once, John was truly dreading having to go into work. When the cab pulled up outside the office, he paid the good man and shoved his hands into his pockets. At first he paid little attention to his surroundings; he shoved into the main lobby and began to take the stairs two at a time. But when John reached to open the door into the waiting room, his hand froze over the knob.

The door had been forced open; the wood beside the dead bolt was chipped away, and now that he took a step back, he realized no light came from under the door. John listened for a moment, and only heard one muffled male voice. Immediately, his hand reached back for his gun.

Only, John had left his gun in the flat, because why bring a gun to a child’s party? Silently cursing, John had begun to glance around desperately for a type of weapon – anything he could use to defend himself – when the door opened.

John spun around, hands empty but balled and ready for a fight, when Mycroft stepped into the hall. John’s hands dropped to the side as confusion spread over his face. The look in Mycroft’s eyes set him on edge; a mixture of pity and uncertainty swam in the elder Holmes’ weary gray gaze.
“My apologies for pulling you away from Hamish’s party,” Mycroft began, folding his hands over the top of his umbrella. “But we have a matter than cannot be kept in the dark any longer.”

“What’s this about? Trisha called-“

Another person came out of the shadows; it was Trisha, yes, but she echoed Mycroft’s professional dress, and John let out a sigh. Another assistant, another trick from another Holmes.

“Right. I’m assuming this is important, otherwise it could have waited until we got home-“

“Had you returned home unhindered, you would have walked into the trap Moran had laid for you. Six men, armed, ready to shoot the next to walk through the door.”

John’s face said all that Mycroft ha expected; he gave a solemn nod and moved aside.

“Step into your office, we have things we need to discuss.”

John obliged immediately, the image in his head fueling him to move without consideration. Because he knew he would have held the door open for Laicee, who would have had a sleeping Hamish tucked against her chest. She would have gone up to the flat ahead of him, would have pushed the door open with her hip, would have turned to see a gun lifted at her-

John shut off his thoughts, shaking his head slightly as Trisha shut the door behind the men, keeping herself in the hall to give them their privacy. Mycroft took a seat behind Laicee’s desk, and John sat across from him, clasping his hands and leaning forward.

“Why’s Moran moving? Why now?” John pressed; Mycroft’s face tightened just a bit. “Moran at my office, shooting at Laicee. Oliver showing up after three years, and then the man breaking into the flat- it’s as if Moriarty’s men have suddenly woken up, as if-“

“As if they’d come back to life,” Mycroft interjected, and the words that had been on the tip of John’s tongue melted away. What? What had he just said? He swallowed hard, his heart skipping two beats as Mycroft’s stare intensified. John gave a nervous laugh, the corner of his lip twisting up, his eyes darting back and forth uncertainly.

“You’re not-“ John began; Mycroft quirked a brow. John’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. His hands had grown clammy, and his vision had begun to swim, just a bit. Mycroft leaned forward ever so slightly.

“I’d begun to pull my watch off Baker Street,” Mycroft said, very quietly. “I’d begun to move on, but one person refused to. He insisted I double the watch, he said an attack was coming. And it’s because of him that we caught the men going into the flat. You owe him your life.”

“Well,” John breathed, his words catching in his throat, trying to keep his heart inside his chest. “He’s got all my gratitude, that’s for sure.”

“Thank him, then,” Mycroft urged; and John felt the eyes on the side of his head. He felt the burning intensity of a stare he’d nearly forgotten. And John sat frozen, sat on the edge of his seat for many, many moments before someone shifted out of the shadows. Someone clad in a long coat in the presence of a short friend.

And slowly, uncertainly, John turned round in his seat, and his heart came to a crashing halt.

“Hello, John.”

***

“Thanks again Molly,” I cooed, hugging one of my closest friends as she headed home for the evening. The sun had begun to sink behind the clouds, and a chill took over the day. Hamish was tucked sleepily against my chest, holding tight to his stuffed duck, smears of cake still present on his cheeks.

“You sure you don’t want us to take him for the night?” Mr. Lawrence asked, his arm around Mrs. Hudson. They were off to the opera, and though Hamish went with them usually, I knew they’d like a night alone.

“Nah, s’okay,” I promised, bundling Hamish a little tighter as I hailed a cab. “I’ve got to get him cleaned up, and then we’re off to see Sherlock.”

“Tell him hello for me, dearie,” Mrs. Hudson asked, giving me a kiss on the cheek as she allowed herself to be guided down the street towards the opera house. It had been a good day; Hamish was happy, and we’d seen all our friends.

“Seepy,” Hamish murmured as a cab pulled up in front of the zoo. I patted his back gently as I opened the door and slipped in.

“I know, weasel. We’ll get home and take a nice nap until daddy gets home.”

Hamish nodded into my shoulder. I shifted the bag of gifts off my shoulder as I got comfortable in the seat; the cab pulled away from the front gates and began to wind down the road. I tucked Hamish into the seat beside me and then bundled my coat up a bit.

“Baker street,” I said, glancing out the window as a car blared it’s horns. The cabbie was silent for a moment, not acknowledging he’d heard me at all. He turned off the main road one street too early, and he began to wind steadily further away from the road we needed. I sighed and leaned forward, tapping on the window.

“Pardon,” I began. “We’re going to Baker Street-“

“I’ve got a route I need to take, mum,” the man said, refusing to look at me. I frowned and leaned back.

“I’ve only got so much change, so it can’t-“

“Free of charge, mum, I assure you.”

“If it’s a hassle, I can just get another cab-“

“Nonsense, mum.”

Frowning at the back of his head, I ignored his assurances and leaned back to cuddle Hamish. So long as we got home, I couldn’t complain, I supposed. I’d been drifting into daydreams, watching the people as they made their way along the sidewalks, until the cab turned up into an alleyway and came to a stop. I knew for a fact we were way too far from Baker Street.

“Normally I wouldn’t mind walking, but he’s really tired and I can’t carry everything-“

“Just got to pick someone up is all,” the man said; his voice had tightened, and I saw his shoulders shake. My brows furrowed in concern, and I pushed the separating glass aside.

“Are you alright? I’m sorry to-“

“I’m sorry mum,” he barked out, turning to look at me. His face was contorted into anxiety, and tears flowed down his cheeks. Before I could ask what was going on, he reached to his jacket and pulled it aside. A vest of wires was secured around him.

“What-“ I gasped, grabbing Hamish as I simultaneously threw the door open.

“They made me do it!” he cried as I wrestled Hamish from the cab. “Run! Run, they’ve got guns, mum, they’ll-“

A single, silenced gunshot went off, and the man’s face landed heavily on the wheel. The horn blazed around the alley as I tucked Hamish to my chest and made a run for it. Sebastian had found us. He had us trapped.

A hand latched onto my arm and jerked me to a rough stop.

“No! I screamed. Hamish, awake and wide-eyed, tried to scramble from my arms. I let him go and he slid down my jacket, landing awkwardly at my feet. The person holding tight to me tried to reach for him, but I shifted and threw myself back, giving my little weasel as much time as I could. “Go, Hammy!”

He was up and racing for the street faster than I’d spoken. He disappeared around the corner as another body lunged from the shadows. I threw myself to the side, knocking into him. Myself and the two men hit the ground hard; my head smacked the brick wall and my vision swam for a moment.

“Get the kid!” the man beneath me hollered to the shadows. More men raced out, and though I tried to stop them as well, I was pinned between the two men.

The man on top got to his feet and yanked me up after him, then wrapped an arm around my neck. I felt the cold barrel of a gun press into my neck as the other man scrambled up.

“Moran can’t even do his own dirty work?” I snapped, struggling in his hold. The second man squared up to me, hardening his jaw.

“He’s preoccupied with other arrangements,” he growled, shoving his face into mine. “Makin’ sure your homecomin’ is as painful as we can make it, I reckon. Even got a place dug out back do dump your body when we’s through with it.”

He cracked a wide smile, and that was the last I saw that day. Just the image of cracked, yellow teeth, the feel of the cold gun and my attacker’s hot breath on my face as a blow came to the side of my head. I slumped over in my captor’s arms and my vision went blank.

I won’t get to visit Sherlock, my mind reminded me as I hit the ground. I don’t get to say goodbye.