Generation

[overonthisside.livejournal.com]

Title: Generation

Pairing: Sherlock/John (Platonic), John/Mary
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sherlock knocks at the door of 221B Baker Street, after 5 years, expecting to find John happily married to Mary Morstan. Instead, he finds a little boy who plunges at Sherlock, in excitement and can recite Sherlock's lifestory.

Chapter 3
Sherlock sat on the sofa, holding the ice pack to his nose, his eyes watery due to the pain from the sudden jolt.  He looked around the flat, noticing the changes. Though, his bookshelf still held his encyclopedias and other texts, there were several additions. On one side, the lowest shelf held children’s books: The mysterious Benedict Society, The Eleventh Hours: A curious mystery, Capital Mysteries: The Skeleton in the Smithsonian;and right above those were a few magazines and novels: The girl with the dragon Tattoo, Gone with the Wind, To kill a mockingbird and Nectar in a Sieve. His possessions on the fireplace, other than the skull, were replaced by photo frames. John and Ms. Morstan at the wedding, the two of them again with Molly, Mycroft, Lestrade, Harry and another young woman, a baby and Ms. Morstan, then, John, Ms. Morstan and Sherlock…Sherlock Watson and finally, a picture of John and Sherlock, himself in the hideous hat– a cutout from a newspaper.

“Good night.” Sherlock heard John close the door upstairs. Sherlock hadn’t known what to say to the boy when he questioned his father’s sudden act of violence, but John had taken him aside and murmured something that had made the boy giggle. John had then reminded him of the hour and taken the boy upstairs to put him to bed.

John walked into the room and stood behind the other sofa. Neither moved nor uttered a word, as they stared at each other.  Sherlock noticed John’s hands shaking and his eyes welling up, though barely blinking.

“John - ” Sherlock whispered, putting the ice pack down.
“You….” John cleared his throat, “You were dead,” he walked over and sat on the sofa. He leaned forward, raising his voice a little, “You jumped and…I took your pulse…you were…everybody saw you…you were bleeding…Jesus! Sherlock…”
The tears fell down John’s cheeks, and right away he leaned back into the chair, bringing his hands to his face. He rubbed his eyes, quickly but kept his face hidden behind his trembling hands.

Sherlock hadn’t expected this. He didn’t know what he had expected, perhaps he had thought John would do as he did at the door and then ask him to leave. He sat up, fidgeting a little in his seat. Suddenly, he felt strange, his chest a little heavier, his eyes unable to focus on one thing and his mind scrambled.
“I need to smoke,” He said to himself, forgetting John sat across him

“WHAT?!” John’s hand slammed the arms of the sofa, the anger back on his face, “You fucking bastard! I’m…shocked that you’re breathing, at all and you want to smoke!” He stood up, almost stomping across the room to the window. 

“Do you realize…” He turned, glaring at Sherlock “Do you realize that since you’ve arrived, that is the only thing you’ve said, other than…” He lowered the pitch of his voice and made a face, which in Sherlock’s opinion looked nothing like him, “ ‘John.’”

“I don’t know why I thought you would actually have a reasonable explanation for this. You…You bloody…” machine. John held the word on his tongue. The last time John had called his friend a machine, he had lost him…for what he thought was forever. He couldn’t afford the same thing to happen, again. 

Chapter 4
It wasn’t until his son walked into the room, rubbing his eyes that John realized he had spent the whole night talking to Sherlock.
John had made it clear that he was angry and that an explanation was required. Surprisingly, Sherlock had actually apologized and explained everything thoroughly. 

John’s hatred and if he was being honest to himself, fear of Jim Moriarty had grown when Sherlock had told him why he did this.“It was you for the price of my name.” Sherlock had said and a long, but warm silence had followed.

“Molly and Mycroft knew about this!!” John had been shocked when Sherlock had explained how Molly had helped him with the body and Mycroft had allowed for him to leave the country with a new identity, “And all this while they’ve been coming here and going on about how they miss you! Well, not Mycroft, but that’s normal for him; but Molly! That woman is more than she looks!”
Sherlock had smirked at that, “She is.”

Sherlock had explained how he had spent some time in Florence and Tibet, working at a Lab, until a case in California got his attention. There, with the help of an old acquaintance, he had spent most of his time helping the police force.
“They’re all the same, everywhere, John…” he had hissed, “bloody nitwits. They made Anderson seem canny! ” 
John had got up to get some tea, still laughing at Sherlock’s irritation at his memories. He noticed Sherlock walk up to the fireplace, observing the photos.

“I did stay in London for a year…” Sherlock had continued “…until you got married. At that, I thought it’d be best to not put the two of you in danger of any sort.”
John had fell silent, then. He had put the kettle down, as if his arm couldn’t hold it any more.
“I don’t think I have congratulated you, John” Sherlock had said hesitantly, “Where is Ms. Morstan, well Mrs. Watson?”

“John?” He had felt Sherlock’s hand on his shoulder, realizing he was still in the flat.  Mary’s memories had flooded his mind and he had swallowed to get rid of the lump in his throat.
“Mary...Mary passed away a couple of years ago.” He passed Sherlock a forced smile, lying that he was all right.
Another long silence had followed, but it brought a colder, a more empty feeling.

“I’m sorry, John. I didn’t know.” John had begun to feel like he didn’t know Sherlock, at all. The Sherlock Holmes, to whom sentiment was an alien concept and love a dangerous disadvantage, had apologized twice and now, looked as if he deeply regretted not being there for his friend, uncomfortable but distressed. John had smiled acknowledging Sherlock’s rare apology, but he had also worried. He had worried and wondered if he liked this change in Sherlock.

“I suppose you’re back at the hospital, now?” Sherlock had asked, walking back to the sofa.
John had picked up the kettle and poured both of them some tea, “Yeah. Mrs. Hudson looks after Sherlock when I’m at work.”
“AH! Yes, and where is Mrs. Hudson?”
“At her sister’s for - ”
That’s when John was interrupted by his son, “Dad?”

John turned around to look at his son. At first, ready to ask him why he was still up, but soon realizing that the sun was trying to seep through the dark curtains that hung on the windows.
“What time is it?"
“7.” Sherlock answered. For the first time since they’d begun talking, John realized how tired Sherlock looked. Another change. Few years ago, Sherlock could’ve stayed up for hours on end, even if he had been running about and shown no sign of lethargy. Right now, though the color seemed to have left his face, his eyebrows were raised as he tried to keep his droopy eyes open.
Just before John could ask Sherlock to sleep, he heard his son shout, “MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES!!”

His son ran to Sherlock and fell on him, clinging on to his legs, “The only consulting detective in the world!...” he beamed. John couldn’t help but smile, not only at his son’s excitement but at the smirk that grew on Sherlock’s face. “…until of course I grow up!! Then we could be a team! The only two consulting detectives in the world! Sherlock Holmes and Sherlock Watson” he savored the words.
“Have you taken our age difference into account? I think by the time you’d be eligible for any sort of job, let alone a consulting detective, I’d have aged and retired. So, any kind of possibility of us working together is quite improbable.” Sherlock’s words hung in the air, making it a little heavier.

John sighed, closed his eyes, resisting the strong urge to punch Sherlock, again. He slowly walked to the bathroom, leaving his son confused. The boy took a step back and sat on his dad’s sofa. He pulled up his feet to rest them on the sofa, brought his knees together, up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He then looked over at his namesake to make sure their posture matched. Pleased with himself mimicking Sherlock Holmes, he then began thinking about his words. First, He looked at the bookshelf and then back at Sherlock, who was smirking again.
“What’s retired?” he said.  

Comments

[laurtew.livejournal.com]

I am so loving this. I cannot stop smiling at the idea of John's son wanting to be just like Sherlock. (Your portrayal of John's son is not only adorable but I can see it in my head! Wonderful!) And now poor Sherlock is going to have to learn to be "Uncle" Sherlock. (grins). This is a lot of fun to read and I can't wait to see where you take it. (Thank you for the head's up on the new chapter!)

[overonthisside.livejournal.com]

Thank you! :) I'm glad you're enjoying it!