What Lies Beneath

​For once, the London sun shone bright enough to heat the day. Instead of spending the day coloring with Hamish and watching John rearrange the flat, I’d convinced everyone to spend the day outdoors.

​Hamish hadn’t been hard to convince; at the first mention of the lake, Hamish abandoned the book and crayons and had scrambled around to find his shoes. John was a little harder to convince, but after a few puppy dog eyes from both myself and Hamish (and a promise of fish and chips for lunch) John abandoned his rearrangement and came with.

​For the first time in quite a while I’d left the jacket behind and only wore my jeans and a simple long sleeved shirt. John strolled beside me, his arm brushing mine, a content smile on his face as he watched his son.

​Hamish toddled along ahead of us, one hand clutching his juice box, the other holding the bag of breadcrumbs we’d gathered for him to feed the ducks. If there was one thing he loved more than ice cream, it was ducks.

​Every now and then, Hamish would glance back and make sure we were following him. Every time he did, his face would brighten a bit, and he’d hurry his walk.

​“He’s adorable,” said one passing young couple, a young child in the stroller they pushed. John and I had given up correcting the public a long time ago. On some days, it bothered John to have me mistaken as Hamish’s mum, especially on the days that he missed Mary terribly. But today, he gave a small smile and nodded.

​“Well, I guess we are technically a family,” I mused, looking up at John. He had an unreadable expression on his face; not one of anger or pain, but one of amusement mixed with a deeper emotion I couldn’t place. I was about to ask what was on his mind, when Hamish let out a squeal and raced forward towards the water.

​“Hamish, no, walk to the duckies!” I called after him, racing forward. My long legs easily pulled me to him and I scooped Hamish up in my arms before he could run head-long into the water. I wouldn’t have been concerned, but he’d done it before, and a toddler with soggy pants and wet socks is not very pleasant.

​“Remember, we sit on the shore and we let the duckies come to us.”

​I settled down on my haunches and Hamish squatted at the edge of the water. John came up beside us and settled down on the rock beside me; we both grinned watching Hamish fish out a handful of crumbs. He tossed them out onto the water, and the ducks came forward. One large duck led the way, her gathering of ducklings following eagerly.

​Hamish let out a peal of laughter and clapped, watching the ducks pick at the crumbs. His laugh warmed me to the core, and I laughed along with him. As I laughed, a swift, dark movement caught the corner of my eye. My head snapped up and to the left, but I only saw trees. For a second, for just half a moment, I’d seen Sherlock.

​No, I all but snarled at myself. Don’t bring that up. We’re having a good day. Focus on the here and now.

​I turned back to Hamish and let his infectious laughter sooth away the small ache that was welling in my heart. As we sat there, a little girl hardly older than Hamish came up to the shore. She crouched down as well, watching the ducks with fascination. Hamish looked up, furrowed his brow, and studied the girl. It wasn’t that he was bad with other children, it was that most other children weren’t kind to him.

​“Can I feed the ducks with you?” she asked, and Hamish stared at her. John and I both watched him intensely. “I just was asking a question,” she said defensively as Hamish refused to speak.

​Slowly, he reached into his bag and pulled out a handful of his crumbs. Both John and I exchanged a glance; he almost never socialized with other children, at all. He never did anything with him, and now he was willing to share his breadcrumbs. This was unheard of.

​John and I exchanged a glance of excitement. This was progress.

​The girl held out her hand, and just as Hamish began to dump them into her palm, the girl was pulled up and away from him. The crumbs scattered down onto the dirt, and I saw Hamish’s shoulders tense.

He turned to me; he didn’t need to speak for me to understand the level of upset he had reached. His duckies food had just been tossed onto the dirt. The one child he’d actually tried to connect with had just let him down, and now a very obnoxious woman was beginning to chastise us. The moment the ducks began to skitter away was the moment Hamish began to cry.

“Hey little weasel, it’s alright, come here,” I said softly to him as thick tears raced down his cheeks. I swept him up into my arms as John stood, his hands balled into fists. I stood up beside John, cradling a sobbing Hamish to my chest as I turned to glower at the woman.

My eyes widened. It wasn’t a woman. It was a girl, my age. It was Jeanette. She stood across from me, the little girl’s hand clutched tightly in hers. She held the girl back, and a man standing a little farther away held another little girl in his hands. My eyes flicked down, and I almost laughed. She was pregnant. Again.

“Teach your kid not to hand my daughter trash,” she snapped, her face bright with anger. I tensed; Sherlock had taught me long ago how to read people, and Jeanette’s message was loud and clear. She wasn’t mad at Hamish, she was mad her daughter had nearly socialized with me, with my “family”, with the Sherlock believers.

I turned to John, and I must have had a venomous expression on my face. He took Hamish and held his crying son tight, murmuring to me,

“No jail time. Lestrade won’t be happy to bail you out again.”

“No promises,” I growled, turning back to Jeanette. “Well you’ve sure been busy since I last saw you,” I said cheekily. “A third one. Do we know who the father is, or will it be a surprise for everyone?”

“You’ve room to talk,” she sneered. “One kid with that suicidal freak-“ she jerked her head at Hamish. “And one on the way with the whining soldier.”

​“He’s not my son, and I’m not pregnant,” I snarled, balling my fists. Jeanette laughed.

​“Could’ve fooled me. Is that really the best you can do, a lying psychopath and a washed up doctor?”

​“Oh, so your mix of unknown men and ten children are admirable?”

​“I know who the father is-“ she began hotly; I’d found her button.

​“Who? The mailman? That sleazy office worker who used you for a good night and went home to his loving wife and respectable home?”

​Her face flushed, and I pushed on.

​“The family I have is the family I chose,” I said dangerously to her. “The family you’re stuck with is the result of your stupid decisions and your inability to keep your legs shut.”

​The man behind Jeanette sat the little girl down and came forward, his face bright. I did a quick once-over, and though my instincts told me to keep my mouth shut, the side Sherlock had unlocked just couldn’t hold back.

​“Oh, and this must be the latest business man. Tell me, how long have you known she’s been cheating on you?”

​Jeanette’s face paled, and the man glanced back at her. I snickered.

​“Oh, my bad. Surprise, she’s got another one. But that’s really no surprise at all-“

​“Shut your mouth!” the man snapped, turning back to me and shoving me back roughly. I stumbled, and John’s steady hold caught me.

​“We’re done here,” he said in a strong voice, making even my own anger dwindle out. The man turned haughtily and stormed past Jeanette, leaving her to drag one kid after her, hoist another up awkwardly into her arms, and waddle after him calling apologies.

​I turned to John.

​“Sorry, I got a bit carried away,” I apologized. He gave me a heavy look.

​“It was brilliant, really, but I’m not in the mood to fight off angry businessmen.”

​“I’ll reign it in until you’re ready,” I promised cheekily, turning my attention to Hamish. He was still crying hard, having not even looked up at the raised voices. I turned back to the lake and grabbed up the crumbs. I sprinkled a trail leading from the water, up into the dirt where the spilled crumbs sat.

​Not even a minute later, the ducks came back with a vengeance. They started at the water, and in a moment, they were waddling up onto shore to peck at the crumbs.

​“Hamish, your duckies found their bread,” I told him in a soft voice. At the mention of his favorite animals, his head snapped up and he stared at the ducks, his eyes widening. John sat him down and Hamish came forward slowly, kneeling beside me.

​“Duckies,” he breathed, and I nodded eagerly.

​“Duckies.”

​Hamish giggled, the tears forgotten. I reached up and wiped his cheeks dry, and we put the incident behind us. John chuckled and watched his son, and Hamish continued to toss breadcrumbs.

​I sat back on my knees, my eyes locked on the ducks as what Jeanette said replayed in my head. I didn’t care what she said about John or Sherlock; she said that out of anger.

​But it dawned on me then that I’d never had a son of my own. I didn’t want to date anyone else; I’d tried a couple of times, and each time I went home alone. No one would be Sherlock, and that meant I would never be happy with anyone.

​I’d lost the rest of my life when Sherlock jumped; I had Hamish and John, but as I’d just been reminded, Hamish wasn’t my son.

​I had no one to call my own anymore, and for the first time in a long time, I felt alone.