"How's the job?" he asked his sister. Her head tilted sideways to look at him.
"Busy," she said with a sigh. A rare day off in the spring sun. "Working two at once and all. But that's okay." That way she hadn't been too lonely.
"And how's um, Abby?" he asked, rolling his head to the side. "Still purple?"
Finch giggled. "Yeah, still purple. She's good. She leaves me alone more now, so that's cool. I don't know what she does when she's not there."
"Mm, she got a boyfriend? Girlfriend?" Spencer asked.
"Some bloke kept dropping around a few weeks back but she didn't seem happy to see him," Finch replied, oblivious to her brother's interest. "I don't know. One time she told me she was happier alone. She said people ask too many questions. I don't think she dates much."
"Hmm," Spencer replied. "How's your boyfriend? Haven't heard much outta Mum lately."
"He's been out of town for a while. She hasn't text me much, either," Finch replied, blushing at him. "I guess they're busy."
"I'm getting kicked out of school," Spencer said, turning his eyes back to the sky, blushing on his own. "Well, sort of."
"What?!" Finch asked, sitting up on her elbows, eyes wide. "How did you get kicked out? You were so excited!"
Spencer sat up, crossing his legs to huddle in on himself.
"Apparently my moral issues are causing some trouble. They've asked me to take some classes, I dunno, it's stupid. My academy adviser has said I'm probably not ever going to make beat-cop, much less detective," he said. "They don't think I can be trusted. Too much talk about how Holmeses can't follow the rules."
"Aw, Spencer," Finch sat up, too, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I know you were looking forward to it. Is there anything you can do?"
"Phillip, my adviser, said he's got some pull with the police commissioner. Said he might be able to get me on as a consultant," Spencer spat the word. "Kind of like what Dad did only in a real capacity. I'd still be with the police. Just not in the field."
Spencer was extra disappointed by this because he'd put on a bit of muscle and had gotten quite good at the obstacle course they were meant to be able to complete. His physicals were impeccable.
"That's better anyway," Finch said, biting her lip. "I mean, I think so. Your father was like, a legend. And without a proper detective title, he had so much more freedom in his investigations. He could do things the police couldn't."
"I know, I just- I wanted to do things right, be a real police detective," Spencer sighed. "Capture the bad guys - no offense."
"Why would I be offended?" Finch asked dumbly.
"Mum, Vance, Jack, your dad?" Spencer said, leaning against her. "They aren't holding tea parties in Afghanistan or Korea."
"Oh. OH!" Finch closed her mouth with a click, pouting. "You'd arrest Mum? Even Sherlock never did that."
"Of course, I wouldn't arrest Mum!!" Spencer said. "That's why they're kicking me out. 'Police don't have room for grey areas, Mr. Holmes'," he quoted in a snotty voice. "People are either good or they're bad according to them. Sometimes good people do bad things, sometimes bad people do a lot of good, but they're still bloody rotten."
Finch breathed a sigh of relief, leaning her head on her brother's shoulder. "I'm sorry. Mum causes us nothing but trouble sometimes. But I still love her."
"Me too. I miss them," Spencer murmured. "Though, Bran's not so bad to live with. He cooks better than Dad or Father. Not so much takeaway."
"I haven't seen Bran in ages. Is he in culinary or still cooking at that dive near his old flat?" Finch asked. She stretched out her toes, pointing them forward. "His mum said she was sending him to school."
"Both I think," Spencer said. "We don't really cross paths much. I hear him come in sometimes, mostly when he's brought some bloke home." He snarled his lip. "Fuckin' wanker."
"Anyone permanent?" Finch asked.
Spencer snorted. "As if! I've had to run off his conquests who are too bloody stubborn to leave sometimes," he laughed. "Can you keep a secret, sis?"
"I always keep your secrets," Finch said, watching his face. "You alright?"
"I kissed Brandon at Christmas," Spencer said, turning pink. "We don't talk about it, but it wasn't- he didn't exactly push me away, and it was.. good. But I don't know. Does that make me gay? Bi? I think your boss, Abby-" he sighed with a smile. "I think I fancy her."
Finch giggled, and knocked into him with her arm. "You picked the two most emotionally unavailable people in the world to fancy? No wonder you're so frustrated all the time. I don't think Abby is a good idea. She's very private. Never lets anyone in."
"I'm not anyone," Spencer said with a smirk. "I'm a Holmes."
"Ha!" Finch laughed, but she looked worried. "You're not going to get me fired, are you? Because I really like working there. It's nice."
"Nah, I haven't been back since- well, if she didn't tell you, I'm not telling!" Spencer said, covering his face. "You don't think I'm weird for the thing with Brandon though?" He peered over his hands at her.
"Of course I bloody think you're weird. It's Brandon!" Finch said, giggling. "He's so not interested, and he's practically family!" And he was definitely, definitely going to hurt her little brother.
"Fiiinch!" Spencer whined, then blanched. "He is actually family," he muttered. "Mine anyway. Shit. Fuck, shit fuck fuck!" He pulled his hair.
"Oh, I guess he is, cause of your dad and his brother, I forgot," Finch said, patting Spencer on the back. "Maybe start going out? Meet new people? I don't know, I don't even know how I managed the person I kind of have, much less other people."
"You know dad and uncle Ford," Spencer whispered, eyes wide.
"Please," Finch rolled her eyes. "Old news, everyone in the family knows about that. I thought you were trying not to be like Sherlock."
"So maybe I should just bring Abby a drink then," Spencer said, looking thoughtful. "Since she wouldn't come out. I'll bring the drink to her. Doesn't have to be a date, but if she isn't interested anyway, it wouldn't hurt to try out on someone who doesn't care."
Finch gave a helpless laugh and curled up, bringing her knees to her chest. "Please, Spencer, please do not get me fired because you need to harass my boss!"
"I'll bring her a nice bottle of wine I nicked from Moriarty's. C'mon! I helped you get in with her in the first place," Spencer said, playing with the grass.
"You did not!" Finch said, blushing. "I could've gone alone. You're a tagalong!"
"So were you! And look where it got your boyfriend," Spencer teased, ruffling her hair. "Well, I've got an appointment with Phillip again. Wish me luck, and please don't tell Mum!"
"She probably already knows," Finch replied with a glum smile. "But consider my lips sealed!"
Spencer got up, heading for the exit through Jack's flat. He briefly wondered why Mary hadn't just had Brandon moved in here instead of Baker Street. He'd never understand their parents meddling.
***
Spencer took two nights talking himself up. He actually found a better bottle of white wine in the cabinet that he assumed belonged to Brandon. He packed up some sort of cheese bread sticks Brandon had whipped up too.
He poked his contacts into his eyes, and tried not to look like a mini-Sherlock for once. It was hard with the hair. It was dark auburn brown in tousled curls. His grey-green eyes had blended perfectly from his mother and father. He didn't think he looked that bad.
He inhaled.
Confidence.
And entered the tattoo shop.
Abby came out of the back at the sound of the door bell. Her purple hair was in a loose french braid, framing her pixie-esque features. She wore a shop tee shirt and a long ripped up skirt that looked like it had once been old jeans. "Oh, it's you. Thought you was a customer for a moment."
"Nope, not tonight," Spencer said. "Thought I'd bring you a drink since you weren't up for going out for one." He grinned. "You busy?"
Abby looked around the empty shop, and then back at him. "I s'pose book keeping can wait until tomorrow." Especially when the neighborhood blokes had run off all her paying customers. "I shouldn't drink on the clock, though."
"Brought cheese bread sticks too," Spencer said, setting things on the counter. "A small glass shouldn't get you drunk. I've had wine with dinner since I was ten."
"Some liberal parents, you have," Abby said, perching on her stool behind the counter. Her stomach growled. She hadn't eaten in a while. "Cheese sticks sound good right now, too. Haven't seen you in a while. Finch is always on about her brother, the policeman."
Spencer winced. "Yeah, technical analyst. I won't be detective," he said, unpacking the cheese sticks and plastic wine glasses. Brandon's 'special dipping sauce' was Spencer's favorite. "Just got kicked out of academy two days ago."
He poured two small glasses, and raised one.
"To French parents and grey areas," he smirked.
"Whatever floats your boat," Abby replied, raising her glass in a toast. She took a sip of wine. "Did you ever get the piercing?"
Spencer shook his head. "No offense to your piercer. Wasn't about the piercing, I guess." He picked up one of the pieces of bread and broke it in half. "Try the dip, my flatmate's a chef - for real."
Abby could've moaned at the taste of the food. "Oh, Christ, can he be my flatmate? This is really good."
"You could always come around, sometime. He always cooks dinner," Spencer said, smiling as he sipped his wine. "Finch says you don't go out much."
"I work a lot," Abby said with a shrug, watching him warily. She didn't trust people who invited her out to dinner. "No time for anything else." She put her bread stick down. "And what do you, Mr. Penal Code?"
"Well before I was trying not to become Sherlock Holmes, but now I'm switching my studies over to coding and behavior analytics. Observation. Apparently they thought as a beat cop, I'd let people off," Spencer laughed. "And I spend time with Finch and my flatmate. She doesn't talk much about you, so I figured I'd come and ask how my sister is doing? Her other job isn't hurting this one is it?"
Abby seemed to relax. Barely. "Ah, concerned brother thing. Butter up the boss for information. She's doing well. Personally, I'd rather her leave the other place, if she were serious about her apprenticeship. She needs to make a commitment, but we've been slow and we all need to pay bills, so I understand why she hasn't."
"It's not the bills she's worried about," Spencer said. "It's her boyfriend. He travels for.. work. She likes to keep busy. Moriarty's is a family business, y'know. Our parents are in the process of retiring, so it's hard to let it go."
"Funny name for a pub, ain't it? Moriarty's," Abby said, lips twisted to the side. She kept her expression blank. "Is it a family name, too?"
"Not my family," Spencer said carefully. He narrowed his eyes. "Finch and I have the same Mum. Different dads. I grew up a Holmes, kind of like surrogate for my dads. Open adoption-ish. Now Finch's family - ..." He let himself trail off.
"Finch's family's side then? Bit o' the Irish in them?" Abby joked, but there was something not humorous in her tone. She leaned forward on her elbow. "Y'know what they say, about the name Holmes and the name Moriarty."
Spencer knew exactly, but he was curious. He leaned on the counter. "What's that?"
Abby shrugged. "Just that in the old days they were hardcore enemies. Until the real Moriarty was killed off by someone, and the name was taken over. Most people think it's a man, but if you look real close, if you pay attention, might be a woman."
"Might be," Spencer agreed. "Dad doesn't talk about it. Just what he wrote on the blog, and turned into a book. John Watson, my erm, other dad." He ran his fingertip around the rim of his glass. He reached to pour himself another. "Things change though. No one stays on top forever. My uncle Jack opened the bar himself. Used to belong to a friend of my mom's, but she had an accident, and the bar was closed. Uncle Jack's got a hand for business though."
Abby looked very interested in a very dangerous way. "Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes, your dads. So basically if you went missing someone would pay a lot of money to get you back."
"Why, you looking to kidnap me?" Spencer chuckled. "Father doesn't negotiate with kidnappers."
Abby snorted. "Yeah? What would he do to get you back then? Or Finch, for that matter?"
"Obliterate anyone, anything," Spencer said, leaning further over the counter. "That's if someone managed to keep a hold on us in the first place." He reached up to tug the end of her braid.
"What are you doing, stop that!" Abby said, looking for all the world like a confused cat. She blinked at him. "Kidnappings happen, though. To people."
"Yep, someone tried once. I broke their knee cap," Spencer said. "Before I started crying. I was seven."
"A seven year old broke a grown adult's knee cap? You're teasing," Abby said, shaking her head. "No way."
"Well, Dad was trying to get me into cricket at the time, and I was with Finch in the park," he shrugged. "I was a better shot at kneecaps than balls." He laughed, turning pink.
"Thugs. Some crooks have no finesse. You don't just let someone take out your kneecaps," Abby mused, sipping her wine. "You and Finch spent a lot of time together, then. Even though you've got different Da's."
"Yeah, like I said, open adoption sort of deal. I had a mum, two dads, aunts and uncles galore. Big family, despite only a few kids," Spencer said, smiling. "It was good though. Every parent taught us something different. I didn't go to primary at all. Well, they tried, but apparently I got in trouble a lot. What about you? Any family?"
"I-um, yeah. I mean, no. We're not too close," Abby told him, continuing to be a closed book. "Nothing big like yours."
"How'd you get into tattooing? Seems like most people who do have an interesting story," Spencer said, reading the difficult life in the strands of her hair, the lack of family in her youth and her flirtation with the darker side of life simply by her proximity of this side of London.
Abby shrugged, leaning forward, her hands clasped together and elbows resting on her knees. "Guess the way everyone does. Knew a person who was into it, started hanging 'round the shop when I was younger, got sort of good at it and then I got even better. Always liked to draw."
"Noticed that," Spencer said. "You noticed me." He grinned, leaning in closer.
"What?" Abby asked, eyes going wide.
Spencer reached to tug her braid again, this time pulling her closer.
"Saw your drawings," he murmured, stroking the end of her braid. "Fancied you saw something you liked."
Abby pulled away from him, frowning. "And you think it's just okay to go pawing through other people's things, do you? Oh, of course you do. That's what your dad did, so it's what you do."
Spencer swore internally.
"I just wanted to see your work," he countered. "It was good. You'd left it open on the counter, I didn't think it was a secret."
"Yeah, well, in the future, keep your sticky paws off my things," Abby said, turning her face away.
"Okay," Spencer said. Confidence was quickly dwindling. "Sorry. I was just curious. You're very.. hard to read. It's unusual for someone like me."
"I don't want to be easy to read. I don't want people to know things about me. Personal is personal and work is work," Abby told him. "How would you like it if I swung by your flat and just started pokin' about?"
Spencer shrugged.
"I don't have anything to hide," he said. "My dads used our flat as their office for decades, so people come in all the time. My flatmate brings people in all the time too. 221 Baker Street, if you're interested."
"Thanks, but no thanks," Abby said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She waved her hand at the food he'd brought. "This, this was nice. But trust me, we're not a match, kid."
"Yeah, I kind of figured you'd say that," Spencer said. "But the drink was nice anyway." He tried not to let his disappointment show. "If you ever need help with Finch, or, or well anything, you know where I am."
"Yeah, you'll be the first I call," Abby muttered sarcastically. "Nice try, anyway."
Abby came out of the back at the sound of the door bell. Her purple hair was in a loose french braid, framing her pixie-esque features. She wore a shop tee shirt and a long ripped up skirt that looked like it had once been old jeans. "Oh, it's you. Thought you was a customer for a moment."
"Nope, not tonight," Spencer said. "Thought I'd bring you a drink since you weren't up for going out for one." He grinned. "You busy?"
Abby looked around the empty shop, and then back at him. "I s'pose book keeping can wait until tomorrow." Especially when the neighborhood blokes had run off all her paying customers. "I shouldn't drink on the clock, though."
"Brought cheese bread sticks too," Spencer said, setting things on the counter. "A small glass shouldn't get you drunk. I've had wine with dinner since I was ten."
"Some liberal parents, you have," Abby said, perching on her stool behind the counter. Her stomach growled. She hadn't eaten in a while. "Cheese sticks sound good right now, too. Haven't seen you in a while. Finch is always on about her brother, the policeman."
Spencer winced. "Yeah, technical analyst. I won't be detective," he said, unpacking the cheese sticks and plastic wine glasses. Brandon's 'special dipping sauce' was Spencer's favorite. "Just got kicked out of academy two days ago."
He poured two small glasses, and raised one.
"To French parents and grey areas," he smirked.
"Whatever floats your boat," Abby replied, raising her glass in a toast. She took a sip of wine. "Did you ever get the piercing?"
Spencer shook his head. "No offense to your piercer. Wasn't about the piercing, I guess." He picked up one of the pieces of bread and broke it in half. "Try the dip, my flatmate's a chef - for real."
Abby could've moaned at the taste of the food. "Oh, Christ, can he be my flatmate? This is really good."
"You could always come around, sometime. He always cooks dinner," Spencer said, smiling as he sipped his wine. "Finch says you don't go out much."
"I work a lot," Abby said with a shrug, watching him warily. She didn't trust people who invited her out to dinner. "No time for anything else." She put her bread stick down. "And what do you, Mr. Penal Code?"
"Well before I was trying not to become Sherlock Holmes, but now I'm switching my studies over to coding and behavior analytics. Observation. Apparently they thought as a beat cop, I'd let people off," Spencer laughed. "And I spend time with Finch and my flatmate. She doesn't talk much about you, so I figured I'd come and ask how my sister is doing? Her other job isn't hurting this one is it?"
Abby seemed to relax. Barely. "Ah, concerned brother thing. Butter up the boss for information. She's doing well. Personally, I'd rather her leave the other place, if she were serious about her apprenticeship. She needs to make a commitment, but we've been slow and we all need to pay bills, so I understand why she hasn't."
"It's not the bills she's worried about," Spencer said. "It's her boyfriend. He travels for.. work. She likes to keep busy. Moriarty's is a family business, y'know. Our parents are in the process of retiring, so it's hard to let it go."
"Funny name for a pub, ain't it? Moriarty's," Abby said, lips twisted to the side. She kept her expression blank. "Is it a family name, too?"
"Not my family," Spencer said carefully. He narrowed his eyes. "Finch and I have the same Mum. Different dads. I grew up a Holmes, kind of like surrogate for my dads. Open adoption-ish. Now Finch's family - ..." He let himself trail off.
"Finch's family's side then? Bit o' the Irish in them?" Abby joked, but there was something not humorous in her tone. She leaned forward on her elbow. "Y'know what they say, about the name Holmes and the name Moriarty."
Spencer knew exactly, but he was curious. He leaned on the counter. "What's that?"
Abby shrugged. "Just that in the old days they were hardcore enemies. Until the real Moriarty was killed off by someone, and the name was taken over. Most people think it's a man, but if you look real close, if you pay attention, might be a woman."
"Might be," Spencer agreed. "Dad doesn't talk about it. Just what he wrote on the blog, and turned into a book. John Watson, my erm, other dad." He ran his fingertip around the rim of his glass. He reached to pour himself another. "Things change though. No one stays on top forever. My uncle Jack opened the bar himself. Used to belong to a friend of my mom's, but she had an accident, and the bar was closed. Uncle Jack's got a hand for business though."
Abby looked very interested in a very dangerous way. "Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes, your dads. So basically if you went missing someone would pay a lot of money to get you back."
"Why, you looking to kidnap me?" Spencer chuckled. "Father doesn't negotiate with kidnappers."
Abby snorted. "Yeah? What would he do to get you back then? Or Finch, for that matter?"
"Obliterate anyone, anything," Spencer said, leaning further over the counter. "That's if someone managed to keep a hold on us in the first place." He reached up to tug the end of her braid.
"What are you doing, stop that!" Abby said, looking for all the world like a confused cat. She blinked at him. "Kidnappings happen, though. To people."
"Yep, someone tried once. I broke their knee cap," Spencer said. "Before I started crying. I was seven."
"A seven year old broke a grown adult's knee cap? You're teasing," Abby said, shaking her head. "No way."
"Well, Dad was trying to get me into cricket at the time, and I was with Finch in the park," he shrugged. "I was a better shot at kneecaps than balls." He laughed, turning pink.
"Thugs. Some crooks have no finesse. You don't just let someone take out your kneecaps," Abby mused, sipping her wine. "You and Finch spent a lot of time together, then. Even though you've got different Da's."
"Yeah, like I said, open adoption sort of deal. I had a mum, two dads, aunts and uncles galore. Big family, despite only a few kids," Spencer said, smiling. "It was good though. Every parent taught us something different. I didn't go to primary at all. Well, they tried, but apparently I got in trouble a lot. What about you? Any family?"
"I-um, yeah. I mean, no. We're not too close," Abby told him, continuing to be a closed book. "Nothing big like yours."
"How'd you get into tattooing? Seems like most people who do have an interesting story," Spencer said, reading the difficult life in the strands of her hair, the lack of family in her youth and her flirtation with the darker side of life simply by her proximity of this side of London.
Abby shrugged, leaning forward, her hands clasped together and elbows resting on her knees. "Guess the way everyone does. Knew a person who was into it, started hanging 'round the shop when I was younger, got sort of good at it and then I got even better. Always liked to draw."
"Noticed that," Spencer said. "You noticed me." He grinned, leaning in closer.
"What?" Abby asked, eyes going wide.
Spencer reached to tug her braid again, this time pulling her closer.
"Saw your drawings," he murmured, stroking the end of her braid. "Fancied you saw something you liked."
Abby pulled away from him, frowning. "And you think it's just okay to go pawing through other people's things, do you? Oh, of course you do. That's what your dad did, so it's what you do."
Spencer swore internally.
"I just wanted to see your work," he countered. "It was good. You'd left it open on the counter, I didn't think it was a secret."
"Yeah, well, in the future, keep your sticky paws off my things," Abby said, turning her face away.
"Okay," Spencer said. Confidence was quickly dwindling. "Sorry. I was just curious. You're very.. hard to read. It's unusual for someone like me."
"I don't want to be easy to read. I don't want people to know things about me. Personal is personal and work is work," Abby told him. "How would you like it if I swung by your flat and just started pokin' about?"
Spencer shrugged.
"I don't have anything to hide," he said. "My dads used our flat as their office for decades, so people come in all the time. My flatmate brings people in all the time too. 221 Baker Street, if you're interested."
"Thanks, but no thanks," Abby said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She waved her hand at the food he'd brought. "This, this was nice. But trust me, we're not a match, kid."
"Yeah, I kind of figured you'd say that," Spencer said. "But the drink was nice anyway." He tried not to let his disappointment show. "If you ever need help with Finch, or, or well anything, you know where I am."
"Yeah, you'll be the first I call," Abby muttered sarcastically. "Nice try, anyway."
***
Mary sat on the steps of the cabin, looking out at the woods surrounding with a bored air about her. She'd bundled against the spring chill, but the sun was warming. She could've brought a book out. Or yarn for crocheting. Or her sketchpad, but those were things she'd done in the past. Back before, before the last twenty years had happened. She checked her phone. Mischief and mayhem ran itself without her these days, or as near as, especially with her little project in charge of things (even if he didn't know he was yet). No meetings scheduled for nearly two weeks. She was trapped in the forest.
And she was going to go mad in about ten seconds.
Sherlock carried out two mugs of cocoa and handed her one.
"You're hating this," he said with a smile.
Mary sighed, taking the cup from him. She gave a little smile at the marshmallows he'd added. "Sebastian is happy, though. So is John."
"I'm terribly bored," Sherlock said with a cat grin.
"This was your idea, though. No room to complain," Mary replied, sipping at the hot beverage. "I'm wretchedly bored. Why did we do this again?"
"Because I wanted to live with you again, and John did too," Sherlock replied. "Because our children are all of age and woefully pitiful at functioning on their own. And because it's time for me to have my Mary back." He leaned over to kiss her softly. "You've given me everything I could ever ask for in my life, Mary Morstan. I wanted you to retire with me, grow old with me."
"I don't want to be old," Mary complained, wrinkling her nose at him. "Mine is not a job most people retire from, Sherlock. And I worry about our children, out there, mucking up their lives while I'm stuck here in the country." She brushed a hand over his cheek. "This part isn't too terrible. The part with us."
"Maybe we should take a vacation from retirement?" Sherlock offered. "Paris is lovely this time of year, or Japan. The cherry blossoms. I've heard your protege is improving by leaps and bounds."
"And how is doing the exact same thing in a different location a break from retirement?" Mary teased. She gave a sad little noise. "My replacement, you mean. He better deserve it. If I find he's hurt one hair on Finch's head, or if he can't be trusted to take care of her, I don't care if he was one of yours first, I'll kill him."
"Mary, you weren't meant to take over for Jim," Sherlock said, pulling her against him. He kissed her head. "You are not Moriarty. Not anymore. Come back to me. Mycroft is gone, our children are grown, let's stop this game and let the world play on their own."
"I- I don't know what to say to that. Everyone keeps telling me to come back, that I'm not myself. But this is who I became, Sherlock. I feel like you're all asking me to be someone I'm not anymore," Mary whispered, hiding her face in his neck. She shrugged. "Maybe I wasn't meant to take over for Jim, but that doesn't change that I did."
"Then maybe..." Sherlock said, setting his cup to the side. "Maybe we need to learn to be someone new. A new chapter." He cupped her face and kissed her lips softly. "Mary, I made you a promise once.. do you remember?"
"You've made several," she pointed out, her eyes closing so she could just enjoy the way he was holding her face.
"The one about your life," Sherlock whispered, kissing her eyebrows one by one.
"You planning to end it for me? I must admit, I don't like the idea of being paralyzed again," Mary whispered, her lips parting at the contact of his on her face. "Oh, was the cocoa poisoned?"
"Not this time," Sherlock murmured. "It's not time yet, Mary. Not yet." He brushed his lips down her nose. "I'd tell you when it was time, didn't I?"
"Yes, you did," she replied softly, opening her eyes to look at him. "You promised."
"We'll make a grand show of it. A chase across the world, and I will make it explosive," Sherlock whispered with a smile.
"We're not going to have a chase if we're both secluded out here," Mary told him, eyes shining. "I feel like I've been put in a cage."
"Why did you come?" Sherlock asked, stroking her cheek.
"Because you asked me to," Mary whispered, leaning into his hand. "And to go behind my back and talk my husband into it means you must've really wanted me to come along."
"Don't call him that," Sherlock said, eyes hurt.
"What should I call him? We're married," Mary pointed out, and instantly she wished she could erase the hurt from his face. It was her turn to reach up and trace his features.
"You married Mycroft too," Sherlock said. "He's dead now." He scowled. "I'm forever trying to get back a life we lost a long time ago, Mary. We're both aging. We're never going to be immortal in anything but the stories we've left behind. I know we're both bored, but can you not give me this? This time, this.. safeness? for a time."
"I am giving this to you," Mary said, a frustrated pucker forming on her forehead. "I came when you asked me to. I am training my replacement. I'm retiring. What more can I give you? Take it. Take all of it."
Sherlock scooped her up, letting her cocoa drop off the porch as he carried her.
"Oh!" Her arms wrapped around his neck, holding tightly. It had been a long time since he'd done this. "Where are we going?"
"Shh," Sherlock whispered into her ear.
He ducked under one of the trees, heading past the garden and into the forest. His loafers snapped over twigs and branches grasped at them, but he had Mary wrapped tightly in the blanket. Birds called out. He was puffing slightly as he found the little copse in the woods. There was a large stone and trees with a deep divot of soft mossy earth.
He knelt down to sit Mary on the ground, pressing himself against her.
She blinked at her surroundings, taking in every detail of the moss and stone and leaves. "It's beautiful."
"I'd been saving it up for warmer weather, but you're just so impatient," Sherlock whispered, kissing her as he dragged his fingers through her hair, hands squirming beneath her blanket.
"I'm afraid the title of most impatient belongs to you," Mary replied, kissing him back. Her lips moved to that tender spot on his throat, leaving soft kisses in it's wake. Sherlock gasped, moaning.
"Mary," he rumbled deeply. He stroked her hips. "I want you."
"All of me?" Mary asked, her mouth whispering beside his ear. "Take it. Take all of it."
Sherlock had a full body shudder as they rearranged. He spread the blanket that had been around her shoulders across the ground and slipped her boots and leggings away. He covered her with his long body, letting his coat draped across them as their lips crashed.
"Warm enough?" he panted, stealing up one of her hands to pin over her head.
She nodded, delighting in his body smothering hers. "Yes, I'm alright. Are you?"
"Burning inside," Sherlock giggled, unzipping his trousers. "Don't let the world see my arse. Fuck, I haven't been this hard in ages." He squeezed himself. "Mary.."
"Sherlock," Mary pushed up, seeking his lips. She tousled his hair, running her fingers through it. "I love you."
"I love you, Mary," Sherlock said, burying himself in her. He kissed her, tongue and lips, and shallow thrusts growing deeper. He grasped her hip, trying to make sure the cool air wasn't coming up his coat too much. She wrapped her legs around his, keeping them under his coat while managing to hold him closer inside her.
"You- You're always so perfect," Mary said, even though that wasn't entirely true. He was demanding and selfish but so beautiful and her favorite lover.
"No, you," he laughed at her jaw, biting it lightly. "Feel everything okay?" he gasped. "Ah, not used to - th-this."
Mary gasped, tugging at his sensitive locks. "Oh, yes, yes, you feel so good. It's been so long, precious-"
Sherlock pulled their mouths back together, nipping at Mary's lip. He nearly came at the nickname, but tightened his arse and growled out loud. "Mine," he snarled in her ear. "Always been mine. Always come back to me, Mary. Come to me, come for me."
"I will, I will, just," she pushed up again to half-growl the word in his ear, "harder."
Sherlock thrusted, hips grinding as he fucked Mary harder into the mossy ground. The blanket would be done for, but all he could think about was how hot she was against him, how fucking beautiful she was, and how he had everything, everything back in his grasp.
Sherlock carried out two mugs of cocoa and handed her one.
"You're hating this," he said with a smile.
Mary sighed, taking the cup from him. She gave a little smile at the marshmallows he'd added. "Sebastian is happy, though. So is John."
"I'm terribly bored," Sherlock said with a cat grin.
"This was your idea, though. No room to complain," Mary replied, sipping at the hot beverage. "I'm wretchedly bored. Why did we do this again?"
"Because I wanted to live with you again, and John did too," Sherlock replied. "Because our children are all of age and woefully pitiful at functioning on their own. And because it's time for me to have my Mary back." He leaned over to kiss her softly. "You've given me everything I could ever ask for in my life, Mary Morstan. I wanted you to retire with me, grow old with me."
"I don't want to be old," Mary complained, wrinkling her nose at him. "Mine is not a job most people retire from, Sherlock. And I worry about our children, out there, mucking up their lives while I'm stuck here in the country." She brushed a hand over his cheek. "This part isn't too terrible. The part with us."
"Maybe we should take a vacation from retirement?" Sherlock offered. "Paris is lovely this time of year, or Japan. The cherry blossoms. I've heard your protege is improving by leaps and bounds."
"And how is doing the exact same thing in a different location a break from retirement?" Mary teased. She gave a sad little noise. "My replacement, you mean. He better deserve it. If I find he's hurt one hair on Finch's head, or if he can't be trusted to take care of her, I don't care if he was one of yours first, I'll kill him."
"Mary, you weren't meant to take over for Jim," Sherlock said, pulling her against him. He kissed her head. "You are not Moriarty. Not anymore. Come back to me. Mycroft is gone, our children are grown, let's stop this game and let the world play on their own."
"I- I don't know what to say to that. Everyone keeps telling me to come back, that I'm not myself. But this is who I became, Sherlock. I feel like you're all asking me to be someone I'm not anymore," Mary whispered, hiding her face in his neck. She shrugged. "Maybe I wasn't meant to take over for Jim, but that doesn't change that I did."
"Then maybe..." Sherlock said, setting his cup to the side. "Maybe we need to learn to be someone new. A new chapter." He cupped her face and kissed her lips softly. "Mary, I made you a promise once.. do you remember?"
"You've made several," she pointed out, her eyes closing so she could just enjoy the way he was holding her face.
"The one about your life," Sherlock whispered, kissing her eyebrows one by one.
"You planning to end it for me? I must admit, I don't like the idea of being paralyzed again," Mary whispered, her lips parting at the contact of his on her face. "Oh, was the cocoa poisoned?"
"Not this time," Sherlock murmured. "It's not time yet, Mary. Not yet." He brushed his lips down her nose. "I'd tell you when it was time, didn't I?"
"Yes, you did," she replied softly, opening her eyes to look at him. "You promised."
"We'll make a grand show of it. A chase across the world, and I will make it explosive," Sherlock whispered with a smile.
"We're not going to have a chase if we're both secluded out here," Mary told him, eyes shining. "I feel like I've been put in a cage."
"Why did you come?" Sherlock asked, stroking her cheek.
"Because you asked me to," Mary whispered, leaning into his hand. "And to go behind my back and talk my husband into it means you must've really wanted me to come along."
"Don't call him that," Sherlock said, eyes hurt.
"What should I call him? We're married," Mary pointed out, and instantly she wished she could erase the hurt from his face. It was her turn to reach up and trace his features.
"You married Mycroft too," Sherlock said. "He's dead now." He scowled. "I'm forever trying to get back a life we lost a long time ago, Mary. We're both aging. We're never going to be immortal in anything but the stories we've left behind. I know we're both bored, but can you not give me this? This time, this.. safeness? for a time."
"I am giving this to you," Mary said, a frustrated pucker forming on her forehead. "I came when you asked me to. I am training my replacement. I'm retiring. What more can I give you? Take it. Take all of it."
Sherlock scooped her up, letting her cocoa drop off the porch as he carried her.
"Oh!" Her arms wrapped around his neck, holding tightly. It had been a long time since he'd done this. "Where are we going?"
"Shh," Sherlock whispered into her ear.
He ducked under one of the trees, heading past the garden and into the forest. His loafers snapped over twigs and branches grasped at them, but he had Mary wrapped tightly in the blanket. Birds called out. He was puffing slightly as he found the little copse in the woods. There was a large stone and trees with a deep divot of soft mossy earth.
He knelt down to sit Mary on the ground, pressing himself against her.
She blinked at her surroundings, taking in every detail of the moss and stone and leaves. "It's beautiful."
"I'd been saving it up for warmer weather, but you're just so impatient," Sherlock whispered, kissing her as he dragged his fingers through her hair, hands squirming beneath her blanket.
"I'm afraid the title of most impatient belongs to you," Mary replied, kissing him back. Her lips moved to that tender spot on his throat, leaving soft kisses in it's wake. Sherlock gasped, moaning.
"Mary," he rumbled deeply. He stroked her hips. "I want you."
"All of me?" Mary asked, her mouth whispering beside his ear. "Take it. Take all of it."
Sherlock had a full body shudder as they rearranged. He spread the blanket that had been around her shoulders across the ground and slipped her boots and leggings away. He covered her with his long body, letting his coat draped across them as their lips crashed.
"Warm enough?" he panted, stealing up one of her hands to pin over her head.
She nodded, delighting in his body smothering hers. "Yes, I'm alright. Are you?"
"Burning inside," Sherlock giggled, unzipping his trousers. "Don't let the world see my arse. Fuck, I haven't been this hard in ages." He squeezed himself. "Mary.."
"Sherlock," Mary pushed up, seeking his lips. She tousled his hair, running her fingers through it. "I love you."
"I love you, Mary," Sherlock said, burying himself in her. He kissed her, tongue and lips, and shallow thrusts growing deeper. He grasped her hip, trying to make sure the cool air wasn't coming up his coat too much. She wrapped her legs around his, keeping them under his coat while managing to hold him closer inside her.
"You- You're always so perfect," Mary said, even though that wasn't entirely true. He was demanding and selfish but so beautiful and her favorite lover.
"No, you," he laughed at her jaw, biting it lightly. "Feel everything okay?" he gasped. "Ah, not used to - th-this."
Mary gasped, tugging at his sensitive locks. "Oh, yes, yes, you feel so good. It's been so long, precious-"
Sherlock pulled their mouths back together, nipping at Mary's lip. He nearly came at the nickname, but tightened his arse and growled out loud. "Mine," he snarled in her ear. "Always been mine. Always come back to me, Mary. Come to me, come for me."
"I will, I will, just," she pushed up again to half-growl the word in his ear, "harder."
Sherlock thrusted, hips grinding as he fucked Mary harder into the mossy ground. The blanket would be done for, but all he could think about was how hot she was against him, how fucking beautiful she was, and how he had everything, everything back in his grasp.
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