Bedtime Stories

The next few days were full of cautious avoidance. Spencer had a hard time looking Brandon in the eye when they did cross paths. He remembered running salve down striped welts. He'd done well, not a single bit of broken skin. There wasn't any sex - Spencer had promised, but they'd touched and kissed, keeping their faces close, bodies closer. One moment would be calm, the next would be charged and Spencer would press Brandon back into submission with a bite or something fiercer.

Of course the night had to end. Spencer had combed Bran's long locks back to their lustrous white blond shine, stroking them until Brandon fell into a fitful sleep.

But the aftermath was awkward. Spencer didn't feel like the entitled Dom anymore. He felt like Kid Spencer. Baby cousin, little brother.

He dressed in dark clothes, thumbing his healing ink - still a bit shiny - before zipping his trousers. 

His lower lip still tingled with memories. Some things weren't about sex, but they were intimate enough to rip through his feelings.

The tattoo place seemed both the same and muted. Spencer bit the inside of his cheek as he let himself inside. It was close to closing time.

"How can I help- oh, it's you," Abby said, giving him a hesitant grin. Again, she'd refused to pay the local gang and had suffered; not a single customer had come in all day. At this rate, she'd lose the place. "How've you been?"

"Complicated," Spencer said with the same hesitant smile. Damn. Double damn. Sentiment, he heard his father drawl. "You?"

"Been alrigh'. Workin'," Abby replied, sliding up onto the high stool behind the counter. "What's complicated? Your sister send you 'round to beg for her job back?"

Spencer frowned. "I don't mess with Finch's job, and she doesn't know about mine. Work is work. Of course, I blame myself for getting involved so close to her's. No I had a ..scene the other night," he said. "Still processing."

"Ah. Finally fucked your brother?" Abby guessed, wrinkling her nose.

"Ew," Spencer said wrinkling his own in return. "No." He shuffled further in, not looking at her. "I spanked him."

"OhmyGod," Abby breathed, eyes wide. "Really?"

Spencer's smirk was slow in spreading, but he couldn't help the grin that burst out. "Yeah," he said, cheeks tinting. "He got himself arrested. I told him it was either that or I call his mum. Who wants to send him to rehab, by the by." He leaned on her counter. "So instead, he took a wicked lashing. Still not sure if he loved it or hated it, but he hasn't left the flat yet. He's three days sober too."

"That's a good sign, though, ain't it? It's what you wanted," Abby replied, biting her lip. "If he ain't gone yet, that's a good sign."

"I hope so," Spencer said, looking at Abby through his lashes. "I was kind of thinking about another tat. If you aren't too busy. Just a simple one. No um, other strings attached."

"What sort of ink were you lookin' for?" Abby asked, picking at her fingernails.

Spencer had to bite his lip. "A crop," he breathed. "A riding crop specifically. Along my bicep."

"I s'pose I got time before I close up. Going to be covered if you keep this up, though. Not sure you want to look like that, what with your job an' all," Abby said, hopping down from her perch.

Spencer laughed. "Trust me, the days of cam whoring are already fading. My face is recognized too much," he said, shrugging as he began unbuttoning his shirt. "It's about the code now, finding my way deeper into the tunnels. You know they auction off kids?"

"Yeah," Abby said quietly, and she moved to flip the closed sign and lock the door. "Yeah, I know. It's rotten luck, that."

"I'm all about changing one's luck," Spencer said. He slipped off his shirt, laying it on the tattoo table before stopping Abby. "You haven't had a customer all night."

"Sure I 'ave, I've got you," Abby told him with a fake bright smile. "C'mon, get comfy. I'll draw you up somethin' nice."

Spencer sat and waited awhile, finally, he lost patience and came up behind her. He slid the envelope over top of her drawing.

"For the work," he said.

"You're a friend. I ain't gon' charge a friend," Abby replied softly.

"It's Brandon's bail money, plus his hidden stash for tequila. Trust me, I owe it to him," Spencer said, stroking the back of Abby's hair. "Bout done?"

"Yeah, I think this'll be good. What do you think?" Abby said, motioning to the drawing she'd been working on.

"Perfect, nice, clean, simple," Spencer said, leaning back for her to work it into a stencil. "My sister's dad has a huge tiger on his back."

"Oh yeah?" Abby asked, focusing in on her work. "I heard this rumor once abou' a man with a tiger on 'is back. Wicked sniper."

"Funny," Spencer said, somewhat deadpan. "My mum though - she's got a few tattoos herself. Not sure why she was upset at Finch for choosing the profession. Maybe because my sister's contrary. My mum has an old fashioned looking magnifying glass for my dad. An old style stethoscope for his lover." He snorted. "I don't get that one."

"A stethoscope because he's a doctor," Abby told him, applying the stencil. "What's not to get?"

Spencer laid back, tucking his hand under his head.

"Why get something for my dad's boyfriend - husband practically - dad's too English to marry a man though," Spencer said, knowing he was running his mouth, but he wanted to trust Abby.

"You seriously don't know the answer to that question? Finch's last name, it's Morstan, ain't it? And your mum, what's her name?" Abby pressed, starting the tattoo on his arm. "Come off it, you're a smart boy."

"Mum's last name is Morstan, and her dad's is Moran. Mum never took any of her husband's last names, and I know she was married to someone before Finch's papa," Spencer hissed. "And it wasn't my dad. Trust me, he fiddles with a box sometimes. There's rings it in. Girly rings."

"No, no, idiot. Her first name. It's Mary, ain't it? Mary Morstan?" Abby asked, wanting to smack some sense into the boy. Well, she guessed he had someone for that now. "You never googled your own Dad? Dr. Watson was engaged for a long time to a girl named Mary. Mary Morstan."

Spencer gasped. "Pause!"

He waved at her tattoo machine, sitting up. "What?"

Abby held the machine away from him, startled. "Mary Morstan. I seen your mum, she ain't aged much since the engagement photos were taken. The whole post is archived on your Dad's old blog. He don't say what 'appened to break 'em up, though."

"You know what happened - Moriarty," Spencer said. "Oh my God, poor Dad." He laid back down, covering his face with his other hand.

"Yeah. Look up those photos, sometimes. They looked real happy, an' your mum, she don't look like that now," Abby said, resuming the tattoo. "Sorry, I just though' you knew."

"No, not really," Spencer replied with numb lips. It made his stomach and head swirl. Why Sherlock then? Why was Sherlock his dad? Was his dad that angry with his mum? They seemed so happy at the cottage and during Mum's birthdays. Not as disgustingly in love as his mother and his father, but happy, affectionate.

The spray of disinfectant shook Spencer from his thoughts. Abby's gloved fingers smoothed over his bicep and wrapped him in cling film. He sat up in a daze, refocusing on the purple haired girl.

"Love is weird," he said, tilting his head.

"Love is so weird," Abby agreed, peeling her gloves off once she finished. She patted his sweat-damp hair. "That's why I try not to fall in it. Sticks to ya, an' gets everywhere."

He looked down at his arm. It was perfect.

"Thank you," he said, standing to put on his shirt. He wasn't even mad at Abby. She was just - real. Truth. "I uh, won't have to worry about getting kidnapped again, will I?"

"Workin' on avoidin' it," Abby said with a grin. "I'll keep ya posted. Take care, Spencer. Best of luck."

Spencer stroked her hair once more leaning in to peck her cheek. He wasn't fully back to his Nobody persona, nor his Dom one, but he was floating somewhere in the middle.

***

Left with these new revelations, Spencer decided Brandon would be the last person on earth wanting to talk to him about their parentage. It had been too long since he'd been by his sister's flat, and thought it was late, he rang her doorbell anyway. Finch opened after a moment, hair sticking up, sleep bottoms and a hoodie in place. She blinked, surprised at his visit.

"You alright? Oh, fuck, Bran's not dead, is he?" Finch asked.

"Not yet," Spencer smirked. "Lover boy home?"

"Yeah, he's asleep, I think," Finch said, looking over her shoulder before she stepped aside to let him in. "You alright, anyhow? It's late."

"I know, I just- had some life changing reveals lately," Spencer said. "And another tattoo." He grimaced. "Sorry."

"I could've done it," Finch sulked, heading into the kitchen. "You want some water? Tea?"

"Nah, just company," Spencer said. "Wasn't sure you'd approve of the subject matter. Sofa or Loft?"

"You mean where Vance is? I think he's in the loft. We were asleep," Finch said with a deep blush. Nice and asleep. Warm, worn-out and asleep. She pulled out a glass and filled it with juice for herself. "You want to sit on the sofa?"

Spencer headed there, reaching for the blanket on the back of the couch as he kicked off his shoes. He laid his head on the back of the couch. "Finch," he said. "Did you know Mum was engaged to Dad - John?"

"Um, no!" Finch's eyebrows shot up as she settled down close to her brother. "There's no way. My mum loves my Papa." And Sherlock. And Free. And Jack.

"Yeah," Spencer whispered. "I don't get it. She was engaged to Dad and then.. nothing - then she was married to someone else - Jim, maybe - I know that because she fought with your dad a few times."

"How did you hear she was engaged to Dr. John?" Finch asked, sipping her drink.

"Erm," Spencer said. He went to pull of his shirt. "I went to the only other tattoo artist I knew. She said it was on the blog. Dad's blog." He showed her the tattoo first.

"Why a riding crop?" Finch asked, ignoring the person who'd done the work. "It's pretty, at least. You know, I always thought it was weird that they all moved out there together. I know Mum loves Sherlock, but I didn't understand."

"I uh, had a thing with Bran," Spencer said flushing. "He got arrested."

"For that fight? It was all a huge blur," Finch replied, grimacing. "Is he okay?"

"Not sure, really," Spencer said, scooting closer to pull Finch into a cuddle. "I um, found Father's riding crop. I was.. angry at him."

"Oh my God, that kind of thing!" Finch hugged her brother, although it felt kind of awkward. "Um. So did you? I mean, with Bran?"

"Not what you think," Spencer said, face warm. "He.. probably would've gone for it, but it felt wrong at the time. I patched him up and put him to bed. We didn't talk about it again. I'm trying to find something other than the liquor, Finch. He's better than that."

"Yeah. I wish I knew what makes him do it," Finch agreed, hugging her brother. "He's just always been like that. Since we were younger."

Spencer nodded. "Would you look at Dad's blog with me?" he asked, pulling his phone from his back pocket. "I wondered if you could make sense of it either."

"Yeah, sure. You've peaked my interest," Finch said, feeling both excited and nauseated. "I-I can't understand what they were thinking. What could've happened."

Spencer shook his head, pulling up the old blog. It took going back, pretty far back to find the engagement post. "Father's not in most of these pictures," Spencer said, noticing it first off. "Look, there he is."

"Oh, your father was so dreamy," Finch sighed, looking at the dramatic curls and the sharp features. "Like some sort of hero."

Spencer snorted, hating how true it was. "Look at Mum though," he sighed. She looked so young, so happy. "Is that- Finch - " He zoomed in with his phone. "Finch, Mum's in a chair."

"I mean, I knew she had trouble with her legs before, but this is," Finch looked at the old-fashioned wheel chair, using her finger to slide to the next photo. "I didn't realize."

"I need to talk to Mum," Spencer said.

"Yeah." Finch fiddled with the ends of her hair nervously. "This is all weird, yeah? I mean, weirder than usual."

Spencer pulled back on his shirt. "Finch, I'm going to talk to Mum." He got out from under the blanket pulling his shoes back on. "Go back to Van. Go sleep. I swear I'll text you everything."

"I can come with you," Finch said, standing. She looked worried. "If you want, I mean. I mean, she's my mum, too."

"It's up to you," Spencer said. "Get dressed if so. I want answers. Tonight."

"Give me five minutes," Finch told him, and she hurried back to her bedroom. In the dim fairy lights, she pulled out a pair of soft jeans and some socks, picking up her tennies on the way out. She was careful to try and not wake up Vance, although she debated for a moment, wondering if she should tell him where she was sneaking off to at two in the morning.

"Finch?" came the sleepy murmur. Vance was used to her getting up in the middle of the night, but she was hardly the only restless one.

"Hey," she said softly. She hopped up the loft stairs, pressing a loving kiss to his warm forehead. "I'll be back. Driving Spence out to the love shack."

Vance tilted up for a kiss. "Careful," he said.

"Promise," Finch replied, kissing his lips sweetly.

***

Spencer felt like an action star as he kicked open the cottage door. Admittedly, it was less cool that he'd used a key. He made a quick mental map, and realized in the end, he had no idea which room his mother could be in on any given night, so he solved it with a simple - 

"MUMMY!!!!"

There was a gunshot.

Followed by John shouting, "Christ on Earth, where did she get that!"

"Damnit, Mary!" Sebastian's lower voice rumbled. "Not in the house."

"Muuuum," Spencer whined.

"I was startled," Mary sniffed, coming out of one of the rooms, tying Sherlock's robe around her. She held out her hands to her son, noticing her daughter hovering nervously in the doorway. "My children. At nearly four in the morning. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Spencer fidgeted, feeling small in front of his mother. He'd felt so many things all in one night.

"Answers, Mum. We need them," Spencer said. "They couldn't wait."

Mary tutted, pulling Finch inside and closing the door. "What sort of answers?"

"Is everyone alright?" John asked, startled to see his son there as he exited their bedroom. "Sherlock!"

"No!" Spencer said. "I want answers from Mum."

Sherlock was coming out though, running his hand through his mussed hair. It was greying more at the temples, going outward now. Thin streaks ran through his coils.

"Answers about what, my darling?" Mary said, and she limped as gracefully as possible over to the soft couch, sitting down. She patted the cushions next to her. Finch waved at the other two parents with a shrug.

Spencer stalked, trying to maintain the indignation.

"Why didn't you marry Dad?" Spencer said, sitting beside his mother, arms crossed. "What was wrong with him? You were happy!"

"Um, Sherlock loves John more," Mary said, and John tapped her head sharply before sitting in his own chair.

"No, Mum, we saw pictures. You were with Do-doc-I mean, John," Finch said, sitting down on the sofa with her brother and mum. "You were-" She couldn't say crippled. "Young."

"And in love," Sherlock said, sitting across from John. "The feelings went three ways, darling, but I was not going to commit to either Mary or John more than the other. At the time." He said swiftly before Spencer opened his mouth.

Spencer scowled at his father. "But you were happy, and you were getting married. And I know you were married to someone before Seb. Why would you do that?! Why wouldn't you marry Dad or Seb?!"

"There were many reasons," Mary said, looking down at her hands. "I don't even know all of them. Sometimes, love doesn't make up for some things."

"Why bring all this up now, anyway?" John asked, trying his best to look stern. "Does it matter?"

"It matters to me," Finch whispered, feeling a little forgotten in her baby brother's theatrics. "I mean, I'd like to know."

"Why was I born?" Spencer asked, touching his mother's hand. "Why Sherlock? Why Seb?"

Mary looked slightly at a loss for words. "I- I don't think there are really, um, clear answers to those questions, darling. I-I wouldn't even know where to start."

"Spencer," Sherlock sighed. "Your mother and I - we were never meant to be together. If my family had their way, she would have had an early grave, a name lost to the underworld. Until a man's guilt and a facsimile of love pulled her back. Your mother left us-"

"You left them," Spencer shot back. "Great Detective dies. Man falls at the Falls. An angelic detective goes over the-"

"Stop it," Sherlock barked much harsher than he ever had with his children. "You children will never understand what was at stake." Finch gulped, eyes wide.

"We all make poor choices. I could have stayed with John and Sherlock, but I would've been left behind. Before I was thirty I'd already had a bypass surgery and a stroke," Mary said softly, placing an arm on her son's head. "Or I could go with Moriarty. I thought I was going to die either way, but then he fixed the damage done by the stroke and taught me to survive. So I picked Moriarty."

"Papa's boss," Finch whispered, blushing as she remembered the story her own father had told her.

"Just so," Mary said. She licked her lips nervously. "I was jealous. Of John."

Sherlock's eyes were full of old hurt.

"Jim was losing grip on reality," Seb said from the shadows. He, Jack and Freya came into the central room. "Schizophrenia. His delusions were grand, and I'd only known the life of a soldier. A blooded one, but I followed a leader. I spent your mother's recovery with her." He gestured for Finch to get up.

"Hi Papa," Finch whispered, hugging her father.

"I- I was mad, too. James didn't- didn't do anything without leaving a mark. I believed in him," Mary told Spencer, her eyes going misty. "I didn't have to share him. It was nice."

"Mary," John said her name, almost as though he didn't believe her and she just shook her head.

"It's alright, John, it's the truth. I'm not a good person. I've never been a good person," Mary said. She looked like a queen, sitting with her back rigidly straight, her hands folded in her lap. "They should know that."

"I wasn't one either," Sherlock murmured. "I was jealous of your daughter. Coveted you, Finch."

Spencer's face twisted.

"Jumping ahead a bit, aren't we, Sherlock?" Mary teased weakly, fanning at her face. She sniffed, pressing her lips together. She reached over to touch Spencer's face. "I spent two years with Seb. I worked non stop, and he was always there. Taking care of me, like your John takes care of your Papa. And I- I didn't know how to tell him. I thought I didn't love anything anymore. I did the only thing I could think of. I gave him Finch." She caressed her son's cheek. "And when I saw how much Sherlock loved her, and I knew how much I've always, always loved him, even when I was his enemy, I knew I had to give him something. Him and John. I never wanted to fully give you over, but you were safer with them."

"You're not telling all of the story either, Mary," Jack piped up. "You children changed things for all of us. Made us all families. We weren't enemies or lovers. We were parents."

"There had been so much pain, so much torn apart," Freya said, curling up by Mary's knee. "Most days, the lines drawn were stepped over and back so many times."

"Spencer," Seb said. "I love you mother. As my wife, the mother of my daughter." He kissed Finch's temple, pulling her to sit in his lap. "But after the joy of Finch's birth, then Brandon. I didn't question her."

"All I did was question her," Sherlock barked a laugh, trying not to cry. "It's months since I heard from her. We saw each other only weeks, months, once a year apart. Then one day, she's on our doorstep with an angry pink bundle. Your Dad and I struggled," he reached for John's hand. "Finding our own love again without your mother was so hard. I'm still never sure he's forgiven me."

"Don't be stupid, you over-dramatic prat," John said, squeezing Sherlock's hand. "Of course I forgave you."

"You both, and Brandon as well, wherever he might be tonight, were all so completely wanted," Mary said, pulling at her son for a hug. "I'm sorry I wasn't a better mother to you, and that you found those wretched old photos, but they were a bit of a lie, when you think of it."

"How can you love so many people at once?" Finch asked, snuggled down on her father.

"Love isn't used up, sweetheart," Seb said. "It just.. grew. And Sherlock and I realized it was time for the fighting, the hatred to stop. With you kids, it was always a different world, hiding away to celebrate birthdays or Christmas. We always worried you think something was missing, but it was us. We were missing each other."

Mary held Spence close, looking over his shoulder for Jack and Freya. Her family. She sniffed. "Is that a good enough answer for you? Did you want anything else?"

"I wanted to talk alone, Mum," Spencer said, trying to keep his face calm and not let the tears spill over.

"Alright, darling. Shall we go into the kitchen? Or my room?" Mary suggested, stroking his back.

"Your room?" Spencer said, helping her up in a way that wasn't as obvious as carrying her. He helped her back to the warm bed, sitting with her before throwing his arms around her and sobbing into his mother's shoulder.

"Oh, good Lord, darling, are you quite alright?" Mary asked, holding him as tightly as she could, trying to be comforting. "Tell me."

"Why him?" Spencer croaked out. "Why not John or Seb? Why did it have to be him, Mum? He would've taken any kid you gave him."

"Because I love him best," Mary said, and she did start to cry. "He's the love of my life and you're the only part of him I'm ever going to have. I've killed for him, just to keep him safe. Did I choose wrong? Are you so unhappy with Sherlock for a father?"

Spencer shook his head, lip trembling.

"Brandon got arrested," he blurted out, eyes full of tears.

"Whatever for?" Mary asked.

"Drun'n'disorderly, assault," Spencer sniffed, trying to breath through the hyperventilating. "He's not- not- he's addicted, Mum. Addicted, like Father. And I can't stop him. And he hates our parentage. He wants to be one of us, one of yours. He loves Finch, and I-I-" He couldn't say it.

"Oh, darling, I know. I know all of that," Mary took his hands in hers, squeezing gently. "He'll work through it. He won't get better until he wants to, and you're doing everything you can for him. I know you are." Mary cupped his face with both of her hands. "You'll tell me if you can't handle it, won't you? I'll take care of it for you."

"Just don't let him go to jail," Spencer said, breathing heavily. "Please, Mum. Or Abby. I'm worried, Mum. I'm scared. I-It's like you said. It never stops. Even when they're there. I'm not strong enough to be Mor-you. I'm not as good as you or Dad or Father. Please don't let him get sent down."

"Shh, I promise, my baby, that everything works out in the end. Something will break, and he'll work it out," Mary said, and she hoped she wasn't lying. "Come on, you're sleepy. Get under the covers and we'll have a snuggle. Too much of this worrying and not enough rest."

"Mummy, I miss you," Spencer said curling up with her. "I -I wouldn't have minded seeing you more. I love my dads, but-but I miss you. I didn't care that you were the villain, you're my mum."

"I'm sorry, Spencer," Mary hummed, pulling him in. "I love you, baby. I miss you, too. Hush now. Try and rest. You're too much like Sherlock, up at all hours of the night. I love you, I love you, I love you, my darling son."

"I love you too, Mum," Spencer said, crying out all his mixed up emotions. It took awhile, but he finally passed out into an exhausted slumber.