The Tree Fairy

They squabbled over who would drive to the cottage, but in the end, Brandon got the keys and Spencer sulked as best one could with a still healing body. His stitches had come out and rib bindings taken off, but he was still careful to move with conscious effort and not let Liam fly into his arms.

"Li's got his first class today," Spencer said. "Just a couple of hours to judge how he's coming along, if there's more we need to work on before he starts nursery school in another year or so."

Brandon sulked, hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. He'd barely managed a day away from the busy cafe, and he was worried about his mother, but damn, he did not want to deal with that crazy person living with them, pretending to be Spencer's mother. "He'll like it. Bein' around other kids and all."

"That's the part I'm worried about," Spencer managed. "Other kids. He's grown up around adults. He hardly thinks or acts like children his age. Then again, neither did we. Parents always taught us too much."

"He's social," Brandon replied, jaw flexing. Things had been tense since Spencer came home, and with the worry gnawing at him, all Bran wanted was another damn drink. But, but his little buddy- "Do I have to come in? Can't I just drop you and you can call me when you're done? I'll take my mum into the village for lunch or something."

Spencer sighed. "Are we on about this again, Bran? Can't you just accept that this is how things are?" he said. "No one's seen much of you since I.. came back, and I know my parents miss you. Besides, I'd like to see my aunt. She never comes up anymore."

"I've been busy," Bran grumbled, slumping down in his seat as the cabin came into view. That creature was sitting on the porch, bare feet brushing frosty grass. Bran practically snarled. Just a little harder on the gas and he'd have her-

"Brandon," Spencer growled. "Stop. If you say one thing, I'll flay you with your own kitchen knives."

Brandon braked, hard.

Spencer hissed, clutching his side. "Fuck," he hissed.

"Whoops," Brandon said with an innocent shrug, opening his door. The barmy intruder was at Spencer's side in an instant.

"You alright, darling?" Mary asked.

"Fine, Mum," Spencer said, getting out of the car. "Someone's got his knickers in a twist. I'm half ready to kill him. 'Oh, yes, thank you, BRANDON, for the whiplash to go with my BROKEN RIBS'." He growled, reaching out to hug Mary. "Inside, it's too cold out here, even if you can't feel it."

"Ah, yes, the shoes. I always forget," Mary said with a shrug, assisting her son while Bran stormed the castle in search of his own mother. "The heart pumps warmer and adjusts my core to suit the- y'know, never mind, it's boring."

"Nonsense. It's fascinating," Spencer murmured. "Especially since your old heart.. well.." He tilted his head sadly. "You've got a stronger one this time around. Means you can love that much harder."

"My baby!" Freya squealed in joy, running for her tall son.

"Mumzers!" Bran swooped her up into a swinging hug. "What d'ya want for elevensies, Mum, I'll make you anythin'."

Freya nuzzled her boy. "Biscuits! Any kind. I'm dying for sweeties," she sighed. "The dear doctor is going on about my sugar levels or something. Awful man."

Spencer smiled at Mary, before pitching his voice low. "You can eat?" he asked.

"A bit. I've had an awful craving for oranges, but we haven't any. I sent John to market," Mary sighed, leaning her head on Spencer's shoulder. "Are you hungry?"

"Not really. I snacked with Liam before his class," Spencer said, kissing her head. "We've been doing our best with him, but we're having him evaluated to see if he's missed out on learning the core bits. Frankly I'm feeling a bit nauseated from the car."

"After watching him pull in, I can't say I blame you," Mary said, lingering in the sitting room, not wanting to upset time with Bran and Free. "Why don't you go on in? I'll have a sit in John's chair and wait for him to come back with my oranges."

"Mum, it's not fair," Spencer said. "For fuck's sake, we can't have a cuppa in your own kitchen? If Dad can get over your.. change, so can Bran. He loves you."

"He loves Mary," she whispered, looking down. "Her body. Not this one. It's alright, I'm not awful cut about it." A lie.

Spencer took her hands in his. "Yeah you are," he said. "It's still you. Come on. I'll be awfully put out if I can't spend time with my family." He sniffled a bit.

Inside the kitchen, Freya had propped up on a stool, grinning like a loon. She missed her kids. All of them. She'd never had much luck doing things the 'proper' way, but she'd loved all of them. Brandon was her special one though, her own flesh and blood.

"How's the cafe, love?" she asked. "Sod the biscuits. Make me something special."

"Biscuits are special. If I make you some healthy ones, maybe we can keep your sweet tooth in check and please the bad doctor scoldin' you over some sweets," Bran teased, chopping up some expensive baking chocolate. "Peanut butter oatmeal with dark chocolate chips?"

"Mmm," Freya hummed. "Yes, absolutely. I think there's some dried cherries left in the cabinet too. Talk to me while you cook, love. As much as I love seeing your pretty arse, you hardly say much when I see you."

Brandon reached up into the cupboard, pulling out the near-empty bag of dried cherries. "Seems there is a bit of a mouse-"

"Ah, my fault, m'afraid." Mary hesitated when Spencer half-dragged her through the door. "They were tasty."

Bran glowered at her. "'S fine. Hope you paid for 'em."

"I did," Mary promised, hand on Spencer's arm.

"Wouldn't matter if she did," Spencer snarked. "I don't make Abby pay out for things. Cuppa, Mum?"

"Oooh, yes," Freya beamed. "There's some new tea in the rack. Should go lovely with the biscuits."

Mary gave a small smile and went to sit at the breakfast nook, away from the kitchen island where the family was gathered. Brandon was too bristly with her near him.

"Anyway," Bran said, clicking his tongue. "Cafe's busy, Liam's busy, life is busy. That's really all there is, Mum, not much to tell."

"Hardly! Li's gone to his first class today. Evaluations," Spencer said.

"Aww, baby! Mary, do you remember when Finch went for the first time? Poor love cried. I was horribly pregnant then," Freya remembered, touching her stomach. "About to burst."

Brandon slammed the knife down a little too hard on the remainder of the chocolate, causing shards of it to spill off the cutting board. "Finch is doing well. Sends her love, speaking of."

"Good, good. Nearly any time now for her, huh?" Freya smiled. "Still can't believe you two had one before her!"

"Technically he's Abby's, Aunt Free," Spencer said. "Nothing official yet."

"Tsk, tsk," Freya said. "Nonsense, you three were all ours. Papers or not."

"He's a treasure," Brandon murmured, mixing up the batter with a large wooden spoon. He shook his head. "What about you, Mum? Anything going on?"

"Morning walks with Mary. Shooting practice with John in the afternoon. Discussions about magic versus science with Sherlock in the evenings. He'd dead set on the fact that everything can be explained with science," Freya sighed.

"I worry about your belief in the Fae," Bran said, shaking his head, with a glare at Mary. Didn't matter that with his pale skin and white-blond locks he looked more ethereal than any actor in a film. "Everything can be explained with science and rationality. Not robots and gods."

"Robotics is a genuine branch of technology, Brandon," Spencer said, handing a cup of tea to Freya, heading for the breakfast nook with Mary with the other two.

"But no one has real answers to everything love, like what makes us live or how we began," Freya said. "There's something greater than ourselves. If it is science, so be it, but I believe in setting out the lights on Solstice and sending up prayers. Karma, darling, is a bitch goddess, along with Success. You ought to please them both, instead of snubbing them."

Brandon blinked at his mother with a sour pull to his mouth. "Thinly veiled advice, Mumzers? How refreshing. Fantastic. Let me just make you your cookies and then I'll bow down and kiss the arse of that thing just like the rest of the family."

"Do not talk to her like that!" Mary quipped from the nook.

"Do not call her a thing," Freya hissed. "Whether god or science, it's brought back the one thing I've bloody lost, and no imitation in the world can blind me from what she is."

Brandon practically threw the mixing bowl in the sink, storming through the living room. "I told 'im not to drag me in 'ere, I'm going to get the car. I'll be back to pick up his royal highness later."

"No!" Mary darted after him, grabbing his arm. "I'll go, please stay, she misses you-"

Brandon yanked his arm away from her in horror, causing her to stumble and fall forward. "Don't touch me!"

"Brandon!" Freya and Spencer both shouted.

Freya stormed after her son, snatching him back. "How dare you! How dare you," she seethed. "After the hell you've put us through-"

Spencer helped Mary to her feet. "Mum, he doesn't understand.."

The digital screen on the telly flickered to life. Mary's eyes stayed down on the carpet, cheeks turning pink. "Sorry, I don't- I can't control-"

"Why's the boy crying like a child?" Ford's voice asked as he came into Freya's old living room, holding  a glass. 

"Use your brain, moron. He's just had a classmate die, and then the same week his uncle dies. I mean, I know it's Mycroft, but try, Ford, to just-"

"Shut up, I don't need you to teach me how to raise a child," Ford snapped, plopping down next to Bran on the sofa. The boy curled out of view, hugging in the direction where Mary's voice was coming from, away from his father. "Here, have some of this and stop crying."

"Ford!" Mary scolded. "You can't give that to a seven year old!" 

But Ford was already dumping the brandy down his son's throat, smirking when he coughed. "It'll make him man up. Besides, it's only Mycroft."

"Mum.." Spencer breathed.

Freya watched in horror, hands still tight on Brandon's arm.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Mary said, tapping at her forehead. "Sometimes I can't control- like when I sent those texts because of Jim, and I was so-"

"Moron! Fool!" Mary's voice shouted, glass shattering. A new set of images, fuzzy and flickering. Beakers and test tubes being hurled at an older Ford's face. He reached out, capturing her hands. A daring move, with a new android he assumed she didn't know her strength. 

"He needs you," Ford shouted back, face full of fury.

"I begged you to leave me dead!" Glass shattering on the wall. "I asked you, told Mycroft, do not revive- I don't want to be this just because you think Sherlock needs a babysitter-"

"Not Sherlock! My fucking son, you troll!" Ford roared. He turned away, running a hand through his curls. "You're the only one, and they need you. Sod Sherlock, I'm worried about my family! I can't do what you do."

"Neither can I, now that I'm-" another beaker. "I'm this thing! What have you done to me?" 

Ford steadied her shoulders, pulling her in and darkening the picture. "For once in your life, just stop being selfish so I can be. I can't be a part of a family. I hate it. But that doesn't mean I don't love them, and you can be there, and I need you to be there. For them." 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Mary said, streaking past Bran and taking off at a run for the woods.

Tear tracks raced down Freya's face. "Mary-" she said, hand reaching out ineffectively after her. She sniffed, sobbing down a breath of air.

Brandon gulped, hyperventilating. "It's her, innit?"

"Of course it is," Freya half-shouted. "Do you think I'm stupid?! Ford was never meant to be your Da, you brat. You were mine and Mary's! I loved him, as a friend, as a lover, but never as my heart!"

"I- I'm going to go. I'll go. She'll come back if I leave," Bran said numbly, feeling a little like he was dealing with a frightened animal. "Leave some kibble on the porch for her." He turned for the door.

"Go," Freya said, heart sinking. "I know where's she's gone. I'll go for my coat." She turned, looking older and exhausted as she patted Spencer on the shoulder as she passed.

"You just couldn't believe," Spencer whispered.

Brandon just shook his head, blinking back tears. He snagged his keys from the bowl, passing John on the way.

"Oh, Bran, you're here! I should've let you do the shopping, these oranges are heavy-" John watched as the silent boy went out without a word. He looked back at Spencer. "He alright?"

Spencer shook his head, reaching out to hug his dad. "No," he gulped. "He's just figured out Mum is ..Mum. Sorry, Dad, I'll call later, okay?"

"Okay, son. I hope she comes back, she's been fussy lately," John sighed, like this was just another day. Which, when it came to the temperamental artist android, it was. "Go deal with that. Love you."

"Love you, too. Look after her, alright? She's upset," Spencer said, heading out to the car, hoping it was still there. He just kept seeing Brandon choking on brandy, then his mother - angry. He half jogged to get into the passenger seat.

Brandon's head was resting on his hands on the steering wheel, hair blocking his face. "You should stay. I'll send Abby up to get you tomorrow."

"You shouldn't be driving," Spencer said, resting his hand on the back of Brandon's head. "Besides, she still doesn't legally have her license."

"Doesn't stop her when you're not about," Bran snarked, but his voice held no venom. "Besides, I've got some dinner plans with a friend. It was a bad idea to come today."

Spencer's hand slowly slid away. "A friend," he said, suspicious.

"Yeah," Brandon pushed his head back up, turning the key in the ignition. "What's the matter? Ain't like you'll be around, what with Liam's busy day. He'll want to tell you all about it. Unless you're staying to comfort M-Mary."

"Right, of course. Go enjoy your.. friend," Spencer said, opening the car door. "Don't forget to use protection," he said right before slamming it closed and heading for the house. The car started and pulled off, driving down the lane.

Spencer picked up his phone, pressing Abby's name in his contacts.

"Hullo, Spence! Just picked Li up from school," Abby said. "Didn' 'spect to 'ear from you."

"Don't let Brandon back in the house," Spencer said, voice dull.

"Sorry? I have to let 'im in, Li's been askin'," Abby said, putting some baby food in the microwave.

"Lock the doors, and put a chair beneath the doorknob. I don't trust him tonight," Spencer said. "He's left me here at the cabin after figuring out my Mum is really who she is, and not some impostor playing with my parents. Call it a danger night. I won't have him around Li, but I've got to smooth things over here."

"We could come up, if you like," Abby said, brow furrowed. She wasn't afraid of Bran, after all, she'd murdered more people than he'd fucked, and if word 'round the club was right, he's fucked plenty. "If you're worried. Maybe your mum would like to see Liam."

"Yes," Spencer said, nodding. "Yes, I think it would help a lot. Be careful, and don't get pulled over."

"'Course not. Not with Li in the car," Abby bent to put a smacking kiss on the boy's forehead. "Li-li, we're going to go tell Mare all about your school!"

Spencer heard the excited scream and giggle. He let himself smile sadly. "Alright, love, see you soon," he said over the phone. He was starting to get cold outside.

"See you soon, babe." Abby ended the call.

Spencer blinked his eyes against the roiling emotions. Of course Brandon always hated to see him cry, hated to see him weak.. he headed for the house.

"Dad?"

"In here, cleaning up after Bran. I thought you'd gone," John called back, rinsing dirty dishes and placing them in the dishwasher. "Bloody marvel, this thing. You know how many years I had to clean up after Sherlock's experiments, and this, just washes the mold straight off."

"He left. Went to meet a friend," Spencer's voice cracked. "Abby's on her way with Liam."

"Ah, well that's lovely. Sherlock is fond of that boy," John said, chuffed himself because who didn't love Liam. "Are you alright? Don't fret, Spence, he's just as overdramatic as any of the Holmses. It'll all blow over. Sherlock and I used to have terrible rows, and don't get me started on Ford and Sherlock-"

"Dad, it was Ford's fault," Spencer choked, putting his hand to his mouth.

"What was, son? We haven't seen Ford in ages," John asked, closing the door on the dishwasher.

"All of it, Dad," Spencer said. "Bran's drinking, Mum becoming.. alive again. It's all his fault."

John sat in a stool at the kitchen island, hands on the counter in front of him. "Tell me what happened."

"M-mum got upset. Lost control when Bran stormed off. I just wanted him to see it was her, Dad," Spencer said, distressed. "A-and memories, or something flickered onto the telly. Remember that kid who died in his class around the time Uncle Mike died?"

"Oh, um, just a little boy who had leukemia, if I recall. We were all busy with Mycroft's funeral arrangements and then Mary's surprise wedding with Sebastian, but I think Free mentioned it in passing. Brandon was sad about it, of course, for ages," John said, scratching his chin. "We let him stay the night with Finch a few times, and then he didn't seem so sad anymore."

"Ford forced brandy down his throat. Could've been whiskey, but doubt it," Spencer frowned. "Then Mum lost control worse. Memories showed her in the lab. Ford brought her back, not Mike. It was all him. She hated it, but he said we needed Mum." Spencer started to cry again. "We did need her, Dad, but she hated it! She hates it!"

"Hush, hush," John sighed, coming over to hug his son, pulling him tight. "To be honest, Spencer, your mother hates pretty much everything that happens to her, I think it's her default setting. It'll be fine, she's here now and we're taking care of her, well, except she's been quite cagey to your Father. It's going to be alright."

"He always fucks up," Spencer sniffed into his dad's neck. "All Holmeses do."

***

Meanwhile, Freya picked through the woods as the sun began it's descent. 

"Mary! Mary, c'mon, love, I'm cold," she called out.

"So go back," Mary said from her position in the tree above Freya. She wiped the tears from her eyes. Sometimes she considered letting the extra water out so she didn't have to cry. "I'll just stay a bit longer. Do you know the way or shall I take you?"

"You'll come with me. He's gone off in a snit," Freya said. "Come down, sweets, please. Please, Mary. You can't both just go off and leave me alone."

Mary rolled and landed on her feet, like a cat, on the ground. She was like a tree fairy with leaves stuck in her tangled red hair and her bare feet covered in dirt. "I'm sorry about what happened, Free. I keep getting a system error. I'm trying to fix it, I shouldn't be projecting things like that."

"Have you talked to Jack?" Freya asked, holding out her hand.

"It's nothing," Mary said, putting her hand in Free's, childlike in a way. "I'll get it sorted, I'm just not used to this. Energy being diverted to sections of my body- I'm," she shrugged. "I'll learn. I'll adapt, at least. I always do."

"I thought he was a safe choice," Freya said as they walked. "Sherrinford. Thought he wouldn't want to be involved, y'know?"

"Well, you were right," Mary said. "At least he cares about you, though. Enough to resurrect your girlfriend. It wasn't all him. Mycroft and Dr. Desmond were there, they did it. He just... helps them, sometimes."

"You aren't just my girlfriend," Freya said softly. "He hurt my son, too. I should've asked to borrow John or something." She laughed bitterly.

"But then we wouldn't have had Brandon. And he is quite brilliant," Mary replied. "Ever so good for Spencer, don't you think?"

"Mary, really? You think that'll last?" Freya sighed. "Especially not with Spencer practically married off. I adore Liam, and Abby is a sweet girl, but my son is not straight. He's a six on the Kinsey scale! Bran's been good for Spence growing up, but I don't know how to help my baby, Mare. He's so.. broken up."

"I like to hope it will last. Who else is smart enough for someone like Brandon?" Mary asked, swinging their hands. "I'm sorry I didn't try to stop Ford. I've always felt responsible for Bran's drinking."

Freya paused, yards from the house. She turned to her lover, holding both her hands. "Mary, they're related, closely so. A beautiful taboo when faced with Sherlock and Sherrinford, but you see the damage their love has cost them. That our love has cost us all. I like to believe in love, magic, and that the gods out there will smile on us, but the world is harsh and the body unkind." Tears started to fall again. "I want to live here in our world, our cottage. I want to believe in the fantasy of peace. That we've fought our way from the bottom, and we can be happy."

"Free! Free, don't cry," Mary said, pulling the smaller woman into her arms. "Shh, you're freezing. You're going to live here, in our cottage, and I'll be here for you until- well, I'll be here for you as long as I can be because I love you, and you're my best friend, and we finally have a chance for a tiny sliver of calm. Lord, trying to keep the calm is the only reason I haven't bloody suggested moving back to London."

Freya sniffled. "He loves you so much, Mare," she hiccuped. "He'll come around. I promise." She squeezed Mary, then pulled her to the house. "You need a warm shower."

"Only if you're coming in, too," Mary said and this time she did shiver. The energy being diverted to the software malfunction was causing her to feel the cold. "I really should've worn shoes this time."

"You should wear'em all time," Freya teased.

They went inside, only to see Liam running around Spencer in circles.

"Bri and Vi-o-let was very fun and we played cops'n'bad guys," Liam exclaimed, zooming around.

Spencer was laughing even though his face was still red and blotchy. A high pitched squeal exited the little boy who nearly lost his footing as he ran headlong into Mary. "Mum," Spencer sniffled, smiling as he pinched his lips.

Mary lifted the child easily, smiling at him. "I hear you went to school! Did you have fun?"

"He was very good, Missus Mary. The teacher says he's go' manners and was the most polite lil' boy."

Liam counteracted this accusation by blowing a raspberry.

Freya laughed, going to hug the boy and Mary at once. "Where's Bran?" she asked, nervous. Spencer frowned and shook his head. Freya's face fell. "I've got some calls to make," she whispered, stroking Liam's hair.

"Go on, darling," Mary replied softly, kissing Free's head. She bounced the little boy in her arms. "Liam'll keep us all entertained, won't you?" She looked at Spencer with a need for family apparent in her eyes. "I need a shower, I was climbing trees. Will you still be here in about ten?"

Abby nudged Spencer with her elbow. "We can wait for her to have a visit with Liam, yeah?"

"We're kipping over," Spencer said, taking the boy back carefully. "Li-li, go get your granddaddy John. Remember he promised you toys." Liam's eyes lit up as he squirmed down.

Mary smiled, trying to hold back the joy she felt. "I'm so happy to hear you're staying. I mean, I know I shouldn't be, and I really think you'd be alright at home, but- Actually, aren't you worried about what would happen if he came back to an empty house? At least text him to warn him."

Spencer went to hug his mother, whispering in her ear. "They're kipping over, I wanted them safe and to make sure you were alright," he breathed, then kissed her cheek. "Go get your shower, Mum."

Mary touched his cheek and then skipped towards the bathroom, leaves falling from her hair. "Be right back!"

Spencer moved to sit with Abby again. He pulled her in for a hug and kiss. "Stay here tonight, okay?" he asked.

"Are you sure that's wise? Won't he be, I dunno, upset like?" Abby asked, leaning on him, listening to Li's babbling in the other room and John's delighted laughter.

"Bran? He'll be upset, angry, and more to the point - drunk," Spencer said. "Liam doesn't deserve to see him like that. I can't even be sure he won't pull some bloke to shag. He doesn't make good decisions while he's drunk."

"Yeah, I wouldn' wan' Liam aroun' 'im if he's going to act that way. I just, you know, I don't like Bran much but he's good to Li, so I worry. If he 'as a family and suddenly makes a mistake and don't have a family no more, don't you think that migh' make it worse?" Abby squeezed his hand.

"I don't know, but there's a lot I don't know about him, Abs," Spencer said. "I mean to find out where we stand. I won't have him repeating the mistakes of his own father."

"Alright, Spence, you do what you think is good. Mary looked happy to see the boy. Bran must've beet up on 'er pretty hard," Abby said, snuggling in. "Your Dad, he don't like me much, but he was pleased as punch to see Liam, too. Weird, ain't it, how one little boy can make so many people happy?"

Spencer thought about his mother, and how she's made so many of them fall in love, be happy, have families that otherwise would've broken to pieces. "Yeah, weird," Spencer said, turning to kiss her.

***

Spencer drove home, promising to get Abby and Liam as soon as things had been settled. He went up the stairs, the same seventeen stairs he'd climbed a million times. In joy, in sadness, in grief, in anger. Tonight, he tried to let it all fall away. He needed a cool mask tonight over a warm heart.

He stoked the fire, leaving it as the only light source. The two chairs that had always sat side-by-side in front of the fireplace had been pushed back, pushed aside for a new love seat, a cozy little thing, to sit in the center. Spencer sat on it, watching the wood crack and pop.

The downstairs door opened slowly, and shut, heavy footsteps climbing up. They paused on the landing, unsure.

"Might as well come in," Spencer said, not looking back. He wished he had a drink himself at the moment.

"I'm tired," Brandon's cracked voice replied.

"Let me rephrase," Spencer said, standing. "Come here. Now."

"I didn't drink, 'kay?" Brandon snapped, coming in to stand in the doorway. His eye was black, though, and his lip was split and bleeding. "I didn't drink, and despite your earlier advice, I managed to control my libido long enough not to shag a stranger. So I'm going to bed now."

"Bed's through there," Spencer pointed towards his own room.

"The kid-"

"Is at the cottage, with Abby," Spencer said.

"You didn't trust me, then? After I told you I wouldn't, not around the kid?" Bran tossed his head, pressing his lips together. "Thanks. I appreciate the support."

"I still don't trust you," Spencer said. "I can't smell you."

"You're an ass," Brandon spat, turning for the bathroom. He hadn't actually seen his face yet, and it hurt.

"All's fair in love and war," Spencer quoted. "You didn't trust me when I told you Mum was for real."

"Rightly so!" Brandon replied, still feeling utterly embarrassed about that. He winced at the person in the mirror, probing the black skin around his eye. He looked like a stupid raccoon. "I stand by being skeptical, instead of just bending over and accepting whatever story gets shoved up their arse."

"I know my own Mum," Spencer said. "And I know you're a wanker. Liam got to spend time with Mum, and I get to force you to talk to me."

"Yeah, what for?" Brandon asked, dabbing some cream on his lip. "Nothing to talk about. Your mum is back, hurrah for all, story over."

Irritated, Spencer smacked the cream out of Brandon's hand, taking his wrists to pin him against the sink with hands and hips and teeth on a split lip, breaking it open again to force blood into Spencer's mouth.

Brandon tried to bite back the moan, tried to think of anything that wasn't arousing. "Spence, what are you-"

"Having that snog," Spencer growled. "Do you have any idea how long it's been?" He ground his hips against Brandon's, sucking at his lip again. "Sleeping with- a-" Kiss. "Baby in the room." He pulled Brandon's hair, bringing the tall bloke closer.

"No, I don't want to do this with you. You couldn't even trust me around that kid, like I'd ever do anything to hurt him," Brandon complained, shoving back at Spencer. "This ain't talkin'."

Spencer's back hit the wall of the small bathroom. He almost cried out, hissing. "Fine, let's talk," Spencer said, unbuttoning his shirt. Slashes of red-pink scarring appeared. "Where were you?"

"Pub," Brandon said, glaring at the scars on Spencer's chest. He gulped, fingers itching to touch.

"What was the kid's name?" Spencer asked, pulling the shirt down his arms. More scars, wrists that wouldn't look the same for months.

"I wasn't with anyone," Brandon said, angling his chin up. Spencer gritted his jaw, slapping Brandon across the face.

"So a door just caused your black eye? I meant the kid that died," Spencer snarled. "I was too young!"

"Oh. Haven't thought about it in ages, don't worry. Nothing to be jealous over. Some bloke in the pub called me a pouf, I had to prove him wrong," Brandon said, looking away. Spencer took his chin, forcing Brandon to look at him.

"So you're saying you aren't?" Spencer asked.

"Not the way he meant it. I slipped out, blighter got himself arrested for disturbances," Bran sneered, although the truth of the matter was Lestrade, a friend of Sherlock's, had seen Bran and let him free.

"If you'd wanted a fight, you could've asked," Spencer hissed. "I'm scarred up, not damaged."

"You were a bit busy, hiding your family from the big bad lush," Brandon snapped. He was starting to feel caged in.

"I was giving myself space," Spencer corrected, letting go of Brandon. "What was the boy's name?"

"What does it matter, he's dead!"

"Because the dead matter," Spencer said. "Especially to the living. His name, Brandon. Dad said he died of leukemia."

Brandon huffed out, sitting down on the closed toilet lid, crossing his arms over his chest. "Ransom. His name was Ransom, and he died. You happy?"

Spencer refused to let him wallow, wedging his arms apart and sliding onto Brandon's lap. "No, you cared for him," he said, stroking through Brandon's silky locks. "Cared so much you cried, and cried."

Brandon huffed again, an irritated stallion sort of noise. Then the huff turned into a sniff. "He's the only one that knew, about my liking boys. He didn't like me back, but he was my friend. And he died."

Spencer kissed his forehead. "Grief hurts," he said. "And your father's treatment.. the Holmeses never know what's really proper. Father's buggered up with Mum, even though he knows it's her. I screw up with you, and you.." He stroked Brandon's scalp, over and over until he cupped his chin, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. "You hurt where we can't see it."

"I didn't- don't get on with my father," Brandon whispered, looking up into Spencer's eyes. "It's not that I didn't want it to be your mum, Spencer. I missed her, too. I found her, for fuck's sake. I just didn't see how it could be."

"An experiment," Spencer said. "A successful one. Father gave me Dad's analogy. Imagine her body now, is like her wheelchair or her cane. It's carrying her inside it, so that we might have more time. She hates that she died, Bran. Hates that you found her. It wasn't meant to happen like that, but she lives. Lives on in a different way, but she's still the same. She feels alive."

Brandon nudged his way under Spencer's jaw, tucking his head into the hollow space near his throat. "I'll try. I'll try to get used to her like that. For you and Finch. I still feel like you don't trust me."

"We've got a child now," Spencer whispered. "And before.. before I was taken, I asked Abby if- well, she is a girl after all." He couldn't quite bring himself to say it.

"If she- oh. Oh like, another one," Brandon replied, a strange fluttering in his stomach. He blinked back the emotion welling up, and cleared his throat. "I s'pose you'll be needing the spare room upstairs, then."

"A bit more than that," Spencer said, holding Brandon to him. "Liam can't sleep in our room forever. Of course, if you'd be keen on another. It's not a singular decision, love."

"You'd want me to stay on, then?" Bran asked, hugging Spencer tight.

Spencer nuzzled at his ear. "I'd be cross if you ever left me," he breathed hotly. "I want to destroy whoever touched you this evening. I was more afraid you'd find comfort in the arms of someone else than of the drink." He pressed his face against his cousin. "Abby still hasn't.. seen all of me. Yet."

"I want it. I want to see you," Brandon replied, shivering. "I want to see the marks they left on you."

Spencer pulled back, standing to pull Brandon towards the bedroom. "It's not pretty," he whispered. "I would've died if Mum hadn't come for me. Moriarty - the real one - he didn't care about what was happening while he had me."

"We thought you already were dead. She's the only one who didn't give up," Brandon replied, licking his lips.

Spencer turned, skin tensing and jerking as terror flooded through him. Clothing made him powerful. This made him exposed, vulnerable. His back was much worse than the front. The front was full of wrap around scars, but his back had taken it all. "I'd never use a whip," Spencer whispered. "Never leave marks like this."

Brandon's tender fingers brushed feather-light touches over the marred skin. "Spencer, you- You're so strong. To have survived this."

"I'll never get that back piece I'd talked about with Finch," he laughed bitterly. "Can you believe I asked Mum if I'd ever have another scene again?" Tears had started to fall. One, two.

"Just wait, you don't know how well it'll heal. It's not," so Bran apparently couldn't lie, "Don't be upset, Spencer. I think it's beautiful."

"I wanted to die," Spencer said, looking up with eyes so grey they nearly glowed. "I was ready to die, and all I could think was what would happen to you and Abby and Liam." Spencer's mouth was twitching into a smile. "You slept with her."

"I slept, in a place where she also happened to be asleep," Brandon corrected, sniffing. He didn't mention how they'd all three clung together and cried, waiting for Spencer. "You were busted up. We were worried."

"Could you sleep with me?" Spencer asked.. no, begged. His body was crying out for pleasurable touch. Brandon pressed up behind him, holding the younger boy so gently, like his bones were glass and breakable.

"Yeah, Spence. I'll sleep with you," Brandon whispered tenderly.

Spencer closed his eyes, head leaning back into Brandon for once. He breathed a shaky sigh of relief. No drugs, no infidelity, just a black eye and a busted lip. He'd never trust that a drink would never pass Brandon's lips again, but tonight, he curled around, pulling his lover down to drink in his lips, hot and wet, and tasting of nothing but the flesh and blood of the man himself.

Changeling

The girl, John could not bring himself yet to call her Mary, excused herself early the second morning that they were back in the cottage. He hadn't left Spencer for a week, and his son was still laying low at Finch's flat while his ribs healed. There was, there was much to discuss, really, so once the girl had taken off down the lane, the day cloudy and threatening rain, John made a tray of tea and took it into the living room where the other adults were assembled.

"So, all of you knew?" he asked, once he'd taken his cup and settled in his tray.

"More or less," Jack said.

"More than less," Seb scowled. "I know every inch of that woman."

"I told you she was alive," Sherlock smirked, plucking a cup from the tray.

"It's magic, John," Freya said, curled up in the window seat. She was watching for Mary to come back, worrying over her. "Someone should've gone with her. Looks like rain."

"We're just, what, going to pick up like normal and pretend she's not a twenty year-old version of herself? She was dead," John said, trying to keep calm while sipping his drink, but sarcasm seeped into his voice.

"Don't see why not," Seb said, pouring himself a cuppa. Black. "She's not anymore. We grieved, she died, and now she's better. Younger. Healthy."

"Inhuman," Sherlock corrected.

"Alive," Seb growled.

"He has a valid point. That thing, it's a thing. It's not a person," John replied, pursing her lips. "It's not really her."

"She feels, she hurts, she bleeds," Seb said. "Her memories, her emotions, her goddamn soul is inside that 'thing', except now, she's not going to die unless she chooses."

"And for fuck's sake, she can tap into a phone, I'd imagine she can hear you if she wanted," Jack said. "You did say your brother claimed she was fully functional. Just because there may be a chip where a brain should be, doesn't mean she's not alive? Human beings run on electrical pulses, anything alive does, Watson. A doctor ought to know that."

John nodded thoughtfully, wrinkled brow furrowed, deepening the lines. "I s'pose if you look at it like that, it's no different than her chair. Except instead of wheels she has legs."

"A medical device," Sherlock hummed, setting aside his drained cup to steeple his fingers. "She did say biological matter had been re-animated, at least before my dead-to-me brother interrupted her explanation of the process."

"I don't know why you have to ruin it with details," Freya sighed. "She came back to us because she loves us. Whoever gave her a second chance, whether it was god or fairies or a mad scientist, I don't care. She's back home. You should be happy, you idiots. You've all got a twenty year old girl with the hots for your old wrinkly bollocks."

"That is a bleedin' miracle," John agreed with a teasing smile. He leaned his head back, still twirling thoughts around. "Of course, there is the other thing, too. The other person that came back. He won't get her this time, agreed?"

"I'll shoot him in the head myself this time," Sebastian grumbled. "Or one of us will. Go for the head. Can't bring 'em back without it."

"She told you that?" John asked, calmer eyes meeting Seb's. "Shot to the brain it is then."

Seb nodded. "S'how it works. If she'd had a stroke, she'd probably not be back at all," he said, feeling the hairs on his arms rise. "Heart valve failure. Weak heart, probably from too much love." He smiled a bittersweet smile back at John.

"The children are also happy about it, which is good. I worry about Spencer," John replied with a smile. "So we're just back to being a family. Just like that. I wonder what the neighbors will think."

"What the hell are they payin' her!?" Jack cackled. "You took good care of him, doc. Just let the boy heal up with his family. They'll call if they need us again. No offense, but he wasn't made up to be a hero."

"Oi, that's my son you're talking about," John snorted, picking his book up from the side table. "He's just not ready yet. He'll be just fine."

"Not saying he hasn't got a good heart," Jack said. "Just leave the legwork to someone else."

***

It was drizzling by the time Mary got back to her little cottage, and she hurried inside without thinking. The place was cold from not being lived in, and even she felt it, though her power source kept her adequately warm. She'd almost walked outside without shoes again, and she was going to have to be more careful about those things. 

Stepping into the dim house, she went for her bedroom, taking out spare clothes from her closet, placing the articles on her bed for packing. A smile tugged at her lips when she thought about the fact that she wasn't going to be alone anymore. She reached for the handgun under her pillow...

and found it missing.

"Looking for something, princess?"

Mary whirled, wet hair sticking to her surprised face. Her eyes were wide. She blinked. "Who are you?"

"Oh now, don't do that," Jim said, face turning angry. "Mike liked to talk, exchange information. He was very forthcoming."

The dumb expression fell away from Mary's features, and she raised her hands. "Why are you here?"

"Because I was told you were dead," Jim said. "Obviously the facts have been skewed. I was expecting little Sherly to come after his boy."

"I would come back from hell to rescue one of my children," Mary ground out, blinking. She could send a text, but she didn't want the others coming here. Too dangerous. "I am not the girl you think I am. She did die. That much is true." Remembering Sherlock's words that she'd heard through their phones, she added, "I'm not even human anymore."

"You didn't come for me," Jim snarled.

"I did. But whatever they handed me threatened my empire. I couldn't have you ruining the work, or killing Seb. You threatened Sebastian, Jim," Mary said lowly, eyes flashing. Her hands still in the air, she angled her chin up. "You have me now. Will you kill me?"

"I would have never killed Sebastian! Or you! Are you mad?!" Jim said. "I took that piece from your pillow to keep you from shooting me!"

"The person that I shot, the person that Seb buried, threatened both of us, James. Perhaps it wasn't you, but that's why I killed them," Mary said, continuing her steady stare.

"I was still out there, in there, for years," Jim hissed. "I want revenge. I'm going to tear the Holmes family limb from limb and you're living with them! You've corrupted Sebastian."

[I am at an impasse. - MM]

"I won't let that happen, James. I love them, and I love Sebastian, and if I had to choose between you I would choose my husband every time," Mary replied, letting a tear slide from her eye.

Jim recoiled. "YOU!" he shouted, disbelieving. "Marriage?" he hissed.

"Yes. Seb and I are married, and we're planning to be together for a long while yet," Mary said coolly. "Would you have married me, I wonder?"

"You left with me to avoid marriage," Jim said. "You were meant to be on my side. You did my work, my work!"

"Good enough to fuck but never good enough to keep," Mary sighed, lowering her hands. She shook her head. "I'm not surprised. You never really keep your promises, to anyone. I did my work, James. I might have used your name, but I did my own work. I was on my side, and I'm the only one that ever has been."

[If I'm not human, how come I'm finding it so hard to ask for help? Why must I feel so many things? These are questions I don't expect answers to, but I find myself asking. It's true, of course. I'm not human. But I feel like one, and it hurts so much. -MM]

"Marriage, children, normal," Jim spat. "You never did answer me. Are you happy?"

"I think I was, for a time. And I could be again," Mary said, taking a step towards him.

[I wasn't grateful, but I like to think I was happy. Do you think so? - MM]

Jim looked... frightened.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked, continuing to back away. "What am I -"

"I'd like to think we're happy," Seb's calm voice came from the door, a .45 aimed at Jim's head. Seb's grey hair was plastered to his skull, leather jacket shiny with rain. "I'd be a lot happier with him dead."

"How do we know this is the right one?" Mary asked, her eyes wide. "We shot him once before."

"Jim?" Seb said.

Jim's head whipped around. His eyes were wide as his hands rose, dropping Mary's gun. "Sebby," he said. "Look at how she's spoiled you. Mary, you made him think he's people, but look.." he added smugly. "He still can't do it."

"Don't you talk about him like that," Mary said, taking a step forward. "James-"

"What?" Jim said. "It's true. He can't. He'd have done it already." Jim laughed. "He's still the same submissive little bitch!"

Seb's gun wavered. It was Jim. He took a step back. It really was Jim. He felt his scarred body flare with anger and fear. Mary shook her head.

"You're wrong about him. You don't control him, I do," Mary said, but she wasn't sure of herself. She wasn't- she wasn't sure. "He's mine now. He promised."

Seb looked between them. He nodded.

"But I can't-" Seb croaked, begging with his eyes. Command me. "Mary, please."

Jim laughed, tension drawing out of his shoulders. "See! Pussy cat. And you call him tiger."

Mary stepped up behind Jim, eyes cold. "You're trying very hard to discredit him. Are you proposing that you're a better partner? Why were you waiting for me? I will not let you hurt the Holmes's. I won't let you hurt Seb. So the only thing left standing between you and your goals is me. Hurt me, Jim. I dare you."

Jim turned back around, back-handing Mary easily.

Away from those eyes, hearing the slap, Seb's finger twitched. Enough pressure to kick back the pistol, turning Jim's head from a living thing to an exploding mess of brain matter and blood. Seb fell against the doorjamb, hands trembling as he dropped the gun.

"Good shot," John said from the other room, holstering his gun in his waistband. He'd been waiting for Mary to get Jim one step further, but he hadn't needed to. Mary was cupping her cheek, hand covering the only part of her not coated in blood.

"Alright, Tiger?" she asked in a squeaky voice, beginning to shake.

Seb shook his head. "Get away from him. Now," he demanded. "Get out! Get out!"

"Come on, Mary," John said, taking her elbow, helping her step over the body. She shook her head.

"I can handle it. I'm- I'm a killer. I know," Mary whispered, looking down at the body on the floor. She let John pull her. Seb shoved her from behind, closing the door behind them.

"I'll call a clean up crew," he whispered. "We've got the only thing that can't be replaced out of there."

"I'll text Vance," Mary said, doing so with just a thought. "I've never liked men that go for the face. Just like Frank."

Seb was silent as they stood in her sitting room. He grasped her wrist. "John, we'll be a moment," he said.

"I'll call the others. They'll be worried," John said, stepping outside to give them privacy. Mary was still shaking, looking a bit dazed.

Seb pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her face. "I hesitated," he said, looking ashamed.

"It's alright," Mary said, blinking up at him with glassy eyes. "I hesitated, too. I should've killed him before you got here."

"Humanity is overrated," Seb replied. "You've got brain in your hair."

"I would like to take a shower," Mary said, shivering. "We should go. Should I get my things?"

Seb shook his head. "I'll have them brought over," he said. "I don't- I don't want you near him. Not even dead. Come on before John freezes out there."

"I love you, Tiger," Mary whispered, looking pale. She let him lead her out, with John at her other side. "Thank you, gentlemen. I wasn't sure when I sent those messages, you understand."

"It lit up the telly," Seb said. "Sherlock called it a 'unique emotional reaction'. I smacked him before I grabbed my coat."

Mary nodded. "He said I wasn't human. I didn't like it."

"I'll dump one of his experiments in the bin later," Seb promised.

The walk was dismal, and without looking at the others, Mary stepped into the bathroom. Shower first, washing the bits of Jim from her hair. Then drain, and fill the bath, sliding down into the hot water. Even though her muscle structure was pseudo organic, the heat was nice. It didn't make her feel better. Too many memories were replaying, on strange circuits, unfamiliar with her own new brain processes. Jim's hand across her face had hurt. His violence, so out of character, had also hurt. She also... missed him, a little. She had no idea why. She slid under the water, holding her breath, letting her hair fan out around her face.

Jack had snuck in after Seb told him what happened. Seb wanted the time alone to clean his gun (and likely process the twice-killing of his old boss), but Jack knew Mary. He swirled his finger through the water above her face. She graced him with a sad smile, pushing up out of the water.

"Jack," Mary breathed.

"Hey," Jack said softly. "Looks like the plan we hatched went off sooner than expected."

"He was waiting for me. Took my gun," Mary whispered, her head resting on the porcelain tub. "Tiger killed him."

"I know," Jack said, sitting cross legged on the tile floor. "You're still sad though. Jim dead again. You cared about him."

Mary shrugged. "I spent the last thirty years thinking he was dead, so what does it matter now? And he tortured Sebby. He was the worst- you shouldn't sit like that. It'll hurt your hips, and you won't be able to get back up-"

"Hush, young whipper-snapper," Jack teased. "I can still bend like this! I'm younger than half those old geezers. Besides, I'm not grey or white headed yet." Only because as a natural ginger, Jack had merely lightened with time. He certainly still had laugh lines, crows feet, and roughness to his face. "Sherlock didn't mean his little comment. Well, he did, but not like you think."

"He's always right. My brain is mapped into a computer system. How do I know I'm even feeling anything? And then Jim, he-" Mary closed her eyes, knowing Jack would understand the significance, at least, if he'd been watching her since high school. A high school where the only thing blacker than her bruises was the plaid in her uniform. "He backhanded me. It shouldn't have hurt but something, something hurts inside. How could he do that? I used to protect him."

"Abused children are significantly more likely to become abusers," Jack said, stroking her cheek. "As you said, it's been years. He wasn't the boy he used to be, or even the man he was. Sherlock was also right, what are our brains but complex biological computers? So someone found a way to hack them, download them, and place them somewhere else." Jack smiled wryly. "What I would've done to have been on that research team."

"I want to keep Seb, and he's come around to the idea. But everyone else says no, like I'm some kind of nightmare. And I'm used to it because, because I was that for a long time. I was Moriarty, I ruled the world, but this? I don't know how to be this," Mary whispered, leaning into his touch.

Jack's finger trailed down her collarbone.

"Oh, Mary, I think you do," he murmured, eyes lidded. "You're in the blush of youth, with the knowledge of a woman three times your age." He licked his lips slowly. "I'll be whatever you want me to be, love, but you? I never got you like this.. I'm rather eager to see more." His hand dipped beneath the water.

"Jack," Mary said, arching. "You are so very good at distracting me when I need it." She leaned over the tub to kiss him, licking the seam of his mouth. Jack opened his mouth to kiss her, fingers finding old patterns on new skin.

"Pleasure to serve," he murmured, wriggling two fingers to hook and crook inside. "Could I tempt you into my bed for once?" He kissed her again, slow and sweet and just a little rough.

"Yes," Mary said, nodding eagerly. "Take my mind off of it."

"Out of the tub while I get my old arse up," Jack laughed. He groaned in a combination of an aching back and trapped erection. No help needed there, no little blue pills or injections - all the rage these days. He grabbed a towel, holding it out for Mary. She wrapped his arms around her instead, her wet body leaving a definite mark on his dry clothes.

"Jack." Mary kissed his jaw. "Not too old. You still look as good as you did the first time we shagged."

"We weren't nearly so young as you are now," Jack said, used the towel to stroke down her wet back, coming to settle over her pert bum. He brushed his nose with hers. "I lost track of you when you ran, picked back up when you went on Holmes radar."

"I bet you made up for lost time. You like research," Mary chuckled, hands stroking over his chest. She leaned her head forward to suck at his throat. "You knew me when I looked this way. From a distance, but you knew."

"And younger," Jack agreed with a hum. He was backing up, heading out for his own room. He winked at Seb as they took the three turns of doorways it took to go from one side of a wall to the other - Jack's room. He'd nearly complained about his lack of personal lav until he realized how much time he spent in the 'big bed' anyway. "Mmm, they're the heroes, and I get the girl," Jack grinned, pulling Mary against him as he kicked his bedroom door closed.

"You're a hero," Mary laughed, shivering as his hands touched her. "I just killed my brother. You're comforting me. That's heroic. I could worship that-" Mary tugged at his shirt, her hands tracing his stomach. "You're so beautiful."

Jack laughed, spinning her around, her skin against his. "Flatterer," he said, catching her lips as he fell onto the bed, bringing her down with him. "Holmes claims you're fully functional. He keeps using those words - let's see how right he is." Jack's eyes flashed with mischief.

"Going to give me a baby robot, Jack?" Mary teased, spread out next to him. "Prove your virility, I mean, you are terribly elderly-"

Jack growled. "I got your virility, right here," he laughed, kissing her face as he unbuttoned his damp jeans, kicking them away. "We'll name it Apple, boy or girl." He growled again, biting at her neck. Her skin certainly felt real, warm and indenting beneath his teeth, a rapid pulse fluttering as he flicked over her folds. A sweet blush spread on her cheeks.

"We'll have a whole fruit salad. I hardly sleep anymore, I'll have time to look after them," Mary laughed, but her giggles were turning breathless with his touches. "I do love you. I believe that."

"I love you," Jack said, staring into her eyes. His chocolaty brown irises held none of Jim's oily black madness, only love and affection and true joy as he leaned in to kiss her, taking her back from the world that didn't deserve her.

***

Spencer loved his sister. LOVED his sister. But after over a week of being on bed rest with her, he couldn't stand another minute in her flat. Thaddeus and Vance sniped, Vance bossed, and Thad whinged, and Finch simpered, and Spencer was going to shoot himself in the face himself if he didn't escape.

So with his ribs still taped up, he hobbled to the main road to find a cab, riding back to Baker Street. He still had a few stitches, but most had come out. He was scabbed, black, blue, purple, green, and yellow.

By the time he made it up the stairs, he was puffing for breath and craving pain medicine worse than an alcoholic wanted a drink. He tilted his head, listening for Abby and Liam - likely still at one of the functions they'd worked on getting him in. He was so intelligent, and they hardly wanted to stifle his learning anymore than it had been..

Spencer sighed in relief as he grasped the knob of his door pushing it open.

Blond hair splayed across Spencer's dark sheets.

"Bran," Spencer said. The lizard-like giant lifted his head, cracking open his tired, red-rimmed eyes, dry and sore from crying rather than drinking.

"Spence," Bran's voice rasped, and he cleared his throat. "You aren't meant to be back."

Spencer still had a vice grip on the door. "I was gonna either shoot Finch or myself if I didn't get out of there," he replied. "But now I need bed." His ribs were screaming.

Bran was up in a flash, gingerly reaching for the broken boy. "C'mon then. I'll tuck you in."

Spencer hissed. "No tucking, just.. pyjamas," he said, letting Brandon help him down onto the bed with a groan. "Don't ever break your ribs," he tried to laugh.

"Are you supposed to be talking with broken ribs?" Bran asked tensely, his stormy eyes searching for soft clothes for Spencer. "Just rest. Don't talk."

"Piss off, everyone else has done their talking," Spencer sighed. "Anyone ever find my phone?"

"No. I think that girl got you a new one before they left," Brandon replied, holding out the flannel clothes with a sneer. "Need me to change you?"

Spencer snatched them away, flushing. "I'm not a fucking invalid. That girl is my Mum."

"No, you're a fucking moron is what you are. And don't say that. There's no proof, people don't just turn into robots when they die," Brandon replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

Spencer flailed a dismissive hand at Brandon. "Don't care, proof enough," he said, struggling with the pants. "If anyone found a way, it'd be her. Besides, she came for me."

"Yeah? And what the fuck were you thinkin' on that whole mess?" Bran asked, slipping into a bit of Freya's cadences. "You were right lucky she did get you out. You could've been killed, and for what? So you could be a hero? You are a hero, to a little kid who you just brought in here without a thought and damn near killed the only dad he's got right now-"

Spencer winced. Liam.

"How is he?" he asked.

"Right shaken up," Bran hissed. He tossed his messy hair with a shake of his head. "You disappeared, and then you came back all broken up, and then just when we finally get him to understand about Mary you drag along this woman pretending to be her. He's confused, Spencer. You've probably damaged the poor thing."

"I was trying to HELP!" Spencer roared. "Leave off my MUM!"

"She's not your mum! I touched your mum, I saw her body, she is dead!" Brandon shouted back, a tear sliding over his sharp cheek bone. "And you almost went with her!"

Spencer fell back on the bed, clutching his ribs as he panted from pain. "She brought me back," he said breathlessly.

"I can't do this with you if you won't see reason, Spencer," Brandon said, looking away, clenching his jaw. "We were all fuckin' mad with worry over you. This is-this isn't how it should be-"

"How what should be?" Spencer asked, voice dull. "I wasn't supposed to be weak. I was taught to escape, to fight back. I can't work, can't commit, can't escape. Every time I close my eyes, I breathe and I'm there again."

Brandon cringed into himself, not even sure how to respond to that. Those weaknesses, those awful feelings, were too close to the surface of his own mind. "I can't right now. I'm so angry with you-"

"So piss off and have a drink," Spencer said, barb intending to hurt. "I bet it's been killing you."

Bran's sharp intake of breath showed how close to home the statement was. Words that cut like a knife to his heart. He clenched his jaw, eyes bright with tears, and snarled. "Yeah. Sounds like a fuckin' plan." And he turned and started out, quicker than Spencer was with his injuries.

"Bran!" Spencer shouted, head dropping back as the tears started to flow. He blindly reached around, dropping his glasses on the side table and finding the new phone.

[Mum? - SH]

[Yes, angel? - MM]

[I messed up. Come see me? - SH]

Liam's delighted screech echoed up the stairs. "BANDON!"

"Little guy!" Brandon's wrecked voice replied, trying to laugh at the boy. "You hungry?"

[Of course, darling. Love to. - MM]

[James is dead. Seb shot him. - MM]

Spencer started crying harder, body hurting, but relief making it better.

[good riddance. soon, mum? - sh]

[baby is home. g2g - sh]

[Soon, dearest. Love to Liam. - MM]

[I love you, Spencer. Even if Brandon is right about me. -MM]

[not a chance. love you - sh]

Spencer struggled upright again. Damn his ribs. He wanted his family. Liam was babbling quickly, half words, half sounds as he recounted the latest 'Mummy and Me' class.

"Pen!" Liam said, eyes going big.

"Heyy, little man," Spencer said, aching to hold him, but knowing he couldn't.

"Spence, you ain't 'sposed to be 'ere! An' up, walkin'!" Abby scolded, helping him to the sofa. "C'mon, sit down, sit down. We missed you."

"Some of you," Spencer said, pulling her in to kiss her gently on the cheek. "I was going mad at Finch's. They're all barmy as housecats."

Brandon clattered around in the kitchen and Abby raised an eyebrow, gathering from Spence's words that there was some trouble in paradise. She tsked. "Well, the ones that count missed ya. You're in so much trouble! Should we um, go to play somewhere so you can work it ou' with himself?"

"Nope," Spencer said, glaring towards the kitchen. "Because if he drinks around the kid, he's out on his arse. No if's and's or butt's. Fuck, Abs, I hurt. I know - trouble - but torture was torture enough."

Abby brushed her fingers over his face, gently, trying not to agitate his bruises. "You was lucky to ge' out. And we was lucky to get you back. I don' think your pretty boy in there would drink 'round the baby. He loves Liam, probably more'n you."

"Good," Spencer sighed. "Because I can't deal with anyone who refuses to believe that's not my mum." He leaned into her touches. "I'm not glass."

"I dunno, she seemed li' your mum. I mean, it's weird, an' I don' understand it, but she brought you back to us. Can't hate 'er for that," Abby said, leaning down to kiss him sweetly. She sat next to him, watching Liam play with his toys, cuddled close to Spencer. "What do you think, Li-li? We like that lady?"

"She pretty," Liam said, zooming around a car. "An' like Batman girl and go ZZOOOOMMM!!!"

Spencer smiled, eyes still teary. He swiped at them, two of his fingers still in a split. "She said Jim was dead, properly this time," he breathed. "Seb killed him. They were never slow about taking out enemies." He lowered his voice. "How has Brandon been? Really." He took Abby's hand.

"Quiet. And sad, he was upset over you," Abby whispered, bringing his fingers up to kiss them. "Works 'imself to death when 'e's not babysittin' for me. Sleeps in your bed whether I'm in there or not."

"He looks red-eyed," Spencer said. "I swear if there's been a whiff of even rubbing alcohol.."

"He's been cryin'," Abby said harshly, shaking her head. Her voice dropped even lower. "Thinks I can't 'ear him, but he cries. Late. Before comin' to bed."

"Coming to bed?" Spencer said, equally as quiet. "Where have you been sleeping?"

"Like I said, he sleeps in your room whether I'm in there or no'," Abby replied. "I have to sleep in there. It's where we put the baby cage."

Spencer laughed. "It's a crib," he whispered, brain whirling with the news. "Can you pick Liam up a sec? I want a cuddle, but I don't think my ribs can handle it."

"Oi, Lil' Batman," Abby called swooping in to scoop up the child. "Let's give Pen a cuddle, yeah? Gently, gently, 'e's all beat up from fightin' the Joker."

Liam gasped. "Pen beat Joker?" he said, reaching for Spencer.

Spencer made a pained face. "Of course, but I had help," he said, reaching to stroke the boy's hair and baby-soft skin. He was beautiful, innocent, and Spencer was killing himself inside for thinking anything else was worth losing this. "Always ask for help, Li. It's a good thing to have people on your side. Like Superman and Wonder Woman."

"Wuuun Wuman! Hair, gib me 'trength!"

Spencer had to cover his laugh with a kiss to Liam's head. He reached up to stroke Abby's hair too.

"I would say too much telly, but I know for a fact that's comic books. Raising the kid right, are we?" he laughed. He gently hugged Liam again, who reached up to plant a wet, mushy kiss against Spencer's 'boo-boo' before going back to his toys.

"He's talkin' so nice," Abby sighed, smiling and leaning close to Spencer. "We missed you. Don' go doin' such bad things again, yeah?"

"I was trying to do something good," Spencer whispered. He kissed Abby once more, happy he could finally do so. "I may have.. been a bit.. rude to Brandon. If you could keep Li out of our room, I need to try to apologize." He coughed. "With words."

"An' sex?" Abby said with an eyeroll. "He ain't the only one havin' a dry spell!"

"Broken ribs," Spencer grunted as he got up. "Give me a day or two, besides I'm supposed to move regularly as I can." He held his side as he headed back for the noisy kitchen. "Bran."

"I'm busy," Brandon snapped quietly, watching his pans simmer on the stove.

"I'm trying to apologize," Spencer countered. "It's going to make sleep really awkward tonight otherwise."

"Why? You can't climb up the second set of stairs," Brandon said, stirring some simmering veggies.

"Because you've been tattled on," Spencer said. "You could've just said you missed me, jerkface."

"Who missed you? You're pompous and stupid and reckless and you snore like a fuckin' monster," Brandon replied with a careless shrug.

"Language," Spencer said mindfully of little ears. "You love me. You were scared. Brandon, come here."

Brandon looked over his shoulder, embarrassed at being caught. He ducked his chin, but wrapped his arms around Spencer. "At least you're home."

Spencer gingerly hugged him back, turning his face to kiss Brandon's neck. "I know," he whispered. "I love you, too. I'm sorry. Won't happen again. I swear it. And I'm sorry for what I said. You've been very strong, Bran, very strong. Don't break now."

Brandon hummed noncommittally, but his hands lingered on Spencer's shirt, gripping him close. He cleared his throat. "I'm burnin' the brat's dinner. Sit down, I gotta cook."

"We'll snog later," Spencer said, making it not a request. He wanted to feel good, even if it hurt. He headed back to the sitting room. He wanted Abby and Liam close again. He gingerly sat back beside her, breathing her in. She smelled like home. She sighed contentedly, holding his hand.

"Love you, Spence," Abby whispered, never tiring of watching her son.

"Love you, too, Abby," he breathed. "I'm sorry to you, too. I'll be better. I guess I should find a new job.."

"Or maybe jus' a new approach to your current one. You're clever, Spence. You'll find your way," Abby said. She smiled up at him. "Besides. If you take a few months off, you can babysit while I earn a livin', yeah? I'm teasin' you!"

Spencer bit his lip, squeezing her hand. Guilt trickled through him as he turned his head to the side.

"Uhm, you know I don't get paid for it or anythin'."

"I know, you're rich as princes," Abby sighed. "'S'why I need to work. 'Cause I need to know I can support us, if I've need to."

"And I need to work so my brain doesn't stagnate," he hummed. "But I suppose I can play dad for a few months. I've got at least three more weeks on my ribs, if not more, but I should be able to take him on more and more. He's really at a pivotal learning point. He'll start nursery school soon enough as well, and after that.. well these are the moments to remember, to hold onto when he turns himself into a teenager."

Abby reached up to brush his hair back, giving him a serious gaze. "I know you need to work. You're a smart man, you can't jus' waste away, I know. I'm tryin' to cheer you up, is all."

Spencer gave her a wane smile. "I'm trying," he whispered. "I thought I was a goner, and all I could think is what would happen to you three." He grasped her hand turning it over so he could kiss her palm. He'd seen his father do it to his mum in secret many times. She always seemed so.. in love when he did it. Abby grinned, her eyes shining at him.

"Well, you're home now, ain't ya? You don't have to worry what'll 'appen to us no more, because you're here," Abby whispered, leaning her head close to him. Spencer leaned in too, catching her lips even as his ribs twinged. He slide his hand behind her head, pulling her closer as their lips-

"Ewww! Mama!" Liam said. Abby snorted, smiling into Spencer's kiss.

"C'mere, you little bugger, I'll give you some, too," Abby laughed, making smoochy noises at the boy while she swooped closer to tickle his ribs. Liam giggled and laughed, squirming closer as she picked him up. Spencer had to catch a flying foot to keep it from knocking into him, but he was smiling, trying not to cry tears of happiness.

***

Spencer assured Abby that he could take care of the boy for the day. He was up and about more often and he still wanted to see his own mother.

[Mum? Now a good time? - sh]

[Please. It's dreadfully dull here. - MM]

[I'll start getting Li ready for a nap. Any time - sh]

Liam was still bounding through the house, playing some strange game of touch all the things that belonged to Sherlock. Then all the things that belonged to John. And so on. Spencer was exceptionally surprised at the boys observation, but it's also possible his mind was just drawing conclusions from random data.

"Li-li, want some lunch?"

"Nuh," Liam said, playing with a cord on the blinds. "Lunch mean nap. No nap."

"What about lunch, then nap, then Mare-mare?" Spencer asked.

The boy seemed to consider this. His weirdly light eyes roamed the room in consideration as he put the cord into his mouth. Brandon and Abby often went flying for him when Liam did things like that, but Spencer figured the boy was merely adding 'taste' to his memory banks. He dropped the cord then toddled towards the kitchen in silence.

"Alright," Spencer said.

They'd had several talks about how Spencer couldn't pick him up for awhile. Thankfully one of the chairs had become 'Liam's' and was fitted with a sturdy booster seat. The boy was waiting to be pushed up to the table. Spencer fed him a mix of mushy peas, toast, and chopped up chicken leftovers that Brandon had made.

Midway through the shared lunch, the boy was rubbing his eyes.

"Want to sleep in the big boy bed?" Spencer asked.

"Really?" Liam asked.

"Hop to it!" Spencer said as he followed the little streak of lightning down the hall. Liam was crawling up the bed, nestling into one of the pillows. "Hang on, Batman. I'll get your toy." A stuffed bat, a gift from Sherlock and John, had become Liam's favorite 'teddy'. Spencer sang softly, stroking Liam's head as he watched dark lashes flutter onto cocoa-soft cheeks.

He slipped out silently to wait for his mother.

She slipped in like a ghost, taking the steps with slow and calculated grace. She'd really tried to look a mite older today, pulling her hair into a soft bun, with curls escaping to frame her face, tailored clothes instead of loose frills. At the top stair, feeling a little too nostalgic at the scenery, Mary smiled. "Spencer?"

"Mum," Spencer said, holding out his arms. Mary stepped into them, hugging him gently, breathing him in.

"My dear, how are you?" she asked softly, pulling back to get a good look at him. "You're terribly pale."

"Healing, Mother," he said. "And taking care of my boy. He's an handful. I thought I was ready to take him on all by myself. Please, come sit with me. Tell me everything without Dads or madmen, or my ruddy cousin."

"Yes, well, Brandon's current attitude is rather my fault, I'm afraid," Mary said quietly, perching on the sofa. Everything looked so familiar here. "Unfortunately. What do you want to know? I'm avoiding your fathers and other than that I've been shagging Jack and Seb on any surface I can get them to sit still on. It's been wretchedly boring."

"Care to switch it up? I haven't had more than a snog in ages," Spencer griped, not that he could bare to let them look at his body. He sat gingerly beside Mary, reaching for her. "Bran doesn't believe its really you - it is, isn't it? In there?" He tapped her forehead.

"Not according to Sherlock," Mary griped, biting her lip. "Well, sort of. General consensus is that I am Mary, but not human. Not good enough, I s'pose. I've been through it with them but since you missed it, all her memories downloaded onto a computer brain, same life, same hopes, same feelings- well, I find your father rather repulsive right now, so that's new. Perhaps I'm not Mary. But I want to be. I like to think I am. I love you, if that helps."

"What does Father know about being human?" Spencer drawled. "I think you're my Mum. No one else would've gone so far to save me," he added in a whisper.

"I should like to think that is true," Mary hummed, laying her head back, looking up at the ceiling. "I was heartbroken and furious when I found you were missing. And possessive. I would've gone through hell and back to get you."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "You were gone, and I was trying to get back on with my life.." He shook his curls as he ducked his head. "I thought I could put away a murderer, or at least a bad person."

"It's alright. It's good, actually. I mean, not for you, and I'm still ever so cross with you, but John- well, we weren't going to tell John. He's taking it much better than I expected, even helped Sebby take out James, which was kind of him," Mary replied. She scooted closer and threaded her hand through his hair, fluffing it up. "No regrets, dear."

"See, that's my mum," Spencer said, smiling. "Da's a pisser. Why'd you ever-?" He shook his head. "Everything's about John, John, John, Mum. I just don't understand it.."

"You know, Spencer, I don't understand, either. It's so strange, but right now I don't even like him. We were alright- in fact, I waited until I knew he'd be alone to see him when I came back. I just wanted a moment, alone, with him. When I woke up in the lab, I was wretchedly lonely," Mary said softly, looking over at her son, touching his face. "But when he said I wasn't human, when he said he didn't want to be like me- I'd never even considered making him into this! But something just clicked. He's just as bad as Jim. Our love wasn't some flash in the pan that wouldn't last- he just never wanted it to. He never wanted to work for anything, put the effort in. I'm grateful that because of him I have you, but I can't believe I wasted so many years pining for someone who is clearly not worth my time. I deserve better."

"You do, Mum. You really do," Spencer said, leaning into her touch. "I-" He felt tears prickle at the edge of his eyes. He was more prone now than ever to it, though he tried to hide it even more. "Before, before-" He shook his head trying to organize his thoughts the way John had taught him before speaking. "Brandon compared us, the three of us to you and Dad and Father. I'd rather be you, Seb, and Jack. Can it work, Mum?"

"Oh, I should hope so, dear. Otherwise why am I even bothering this time around," Mary replied, brow furrowing. "You can do anything you set your mind to, Spencer. Just don't be lazy. Sometimes you have to, as I said about your father, work for the things you love. It's not at all easy."

Spencer nodded. "I needed you," he whispered. "I needed you to come back. I.. prayed." Their family had never really been religious. Freya's opinions on the supernatural notwithstanding.

"I didn't mean to go. I was just suddenly not there anymore," Mary replied, curling closer so she could hold him. "I just wish- I wish I could stop feeling so- unsure. When I was alive, I was sure about everything."

"You're younger now," Spencer said, leaning against her. "You're.. different. In a way, you're only weeks old. I'd be a lot less sure of myself if I were too, and I'm pretty piss scared of everythin', Mum! Especially these days."

"Tell me all about it, darling, and I'll tell you what to do," Mary teased, grinning. "That's what mums are for, isn't it?"

"There's.. scars," Spencer said, gesturing to himself, curling into her. "And the.. nightmares."

"I miss my scars. They were like proof that life had happened," Mary sighed, stroking her hand over his back. "Do you dream about the people who hurt you? I could find them, if you like. Hurt them back."

"Seb killed the one who hurt me worst," Spencer sighed. "He haunted you, too. It's awful. I'm worried about scaring Liam, and for fuck's sake, I was a Dom. A damned good one."

"Little boys bounce back quite well, I think," Mary said with a soft laugh. "You did, at any rate. The nightmares will pass, darling. And you'll let your more submissive partners see a weaker side of you, which will only make you look stronger when you take care of them. It sounds mad as anything, but trust me, it works."

"Bran doesn't like it when I'm weak," Spencer whispered.

"No, Bran doesn't like himself when he's weak. He likes you just fine," Mary said. "It's his father's fault, really. I'm afraid there's nothing for it."

"Fuck all the Holmeses," Spencer swore. "You should've had me with Jack."

"You'd've been ginger. I like your hair the way it is," Mary snorted. She held Spencer tight. "You're doing so well, Spencer. You really are. I'm very proud of you, getting kidnapped being the exception, but James was always hard to escape."

Spencer shuddered. "He planned for everything. He never came by again. Not that I saw. It was always strangers. I don't think it had to do with me. Father always said he came to gloat."

"Yes. You know, I've seen him shot in the head in front of me twice now, and I'm still not even really sure he's dead," Mary laughed, although there was a nervous echo in it. "I was foolish to think I'd done it the first time. I should've protected you, protected Seb, better."

"Protected Seb?" Spencer asked, pulling back slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I s'pose we never told you," Mary trailed off, meeting his gaze. "Seb sort of belonged to James. We didn't always get on like we used to. In fact, even though he would probably not admit to it now, Seb used to hate me. And then, when we thought he was dead, when we were the only two people left and I was a boss and he was my gun, we sort of just thought, eh, what the hell?"

"Mum!" Spencer said, surprised and a bit scandalized. He remembered the little one sleeping in the next room and lowered his voice. "So you just hijacked Moriarty's right hand man?"

"He was in jail, what was he going to use him for? Besides, he was rather cruel to Seb and Seb was fairly dishy. I didn't have anyone in the world, and employees are much more loyal than lovers because you pay them to be," Mary shrugged. "Somewhere in there I sort of fell for him, even though I never told him, and then I decided to have Finch with him. Which was about the time when he told me he loved me, too, and it worked out. He was ever so cross when I started sleeping with your father again, though."

"Why'd you do it?" Spencer wondered. "I mean, you'd had Finch. You had a family. What made you go back to him - them. I mean, I love my dads, Mum, but sometimes they're idiots."

"I love them. So very passionately. Love doesn't get used up," Mary replied with a shrug. "Maybe I'm greedy. Flawed that way, but God, every time Sherlock would look at me, like cared, like I was something special." She pressed her lips into a thin line, shaking her head. "Not anymore. I'm through with that callous, calculating, mean-spirited-"

"Mum," Spencer said, touching her cheek. "Can I be the one to offer advice this time?"

"You can certainly try, but I warn you, I don't usually listen," Mary said with a wry smile.

"Do we ever?" Spencer laughed. "If it were Dad, I'd say tell him how it was done - but Father's probably got it all figured out. Tell him you wouldn't want an.. android body? For him. You know how vain he is. He probably just doesn't want someone else being Sherlock Holmes, even if it's himself. Or y'know, sod 'em all and come move back home with me." He beamed.

Mary smiled at him, but her eyes were still sad. She never wanted to keep Sherlock, not like she had Seb, but her heart was still broken over the idea that he didn't want to come, too. That he rejected her so completely. That she wasn't enough again. "You know, if John and Free weren't so dependent on everyone staying together, I probably would have plucked up my two and brought them back here, leaving Sherlock to rot in that mouldy old cabin. You'll just have to put up with frequent visits, I'm afraid."

Spencer's smile turned sad too. "Damn shame," he whispered. "But it makes sense. I mean, I'm a bloody.. foster parent. I got this kid and a live-in girlfriend. And that thing upstairs." He rolled his eyes. "And- can you keep a secret?"

"Of course I can!" Mary said, leaning closer.

"Abs and I have talked about having one once Li's a little older," he whispered. "You know, a sib."

"Oh my! You get quite industrious without me around looking out for you. Being kidnapped, another baby," Mary teased. "Next thing you'll have picked up a few stray dogs or something."

Spencer blushed. "Nah, just a few of Father's irregulars," he said. "And it was just talk, y'know? She hasn't seen any of, well, how it's healed.. You think I'll ever have a scene again?"

"I'm sure you're not supposed to ask your mother questions like that," Mary replied, mischief glinting in her eyes.

"Whoelse'mItoask?" Spencer mumbled. "Finch would turn red and go into labor!"

"Ah, Finch. I should probably drop in and see her sometime, except I shouldn't like to upset her," Mary said, giggling at her son's discomfort.

"I'll talk to her," Spencer said. "Vance is sure of you, I know. Mum, you have to know your grandkids."

At that, a tiny figure appeared, stuffed bat in his clutches as he rubbed his eyes.

"Looks like Batman is awake," Mary said with a loving smile.

"Mare-mare," Liam gasped, running headlong to her. Spencer tried to dodge, but still got a little foot in his thigh.

"Oof! Careful, Bruce," Spencer snorted.

"Mare-mare," Liam said, gulping air. "Pen went away and got boo-boos an' an' Bandon cried and was sad. And Mama was sad." Mary picked him up to settle him on her lap.

"And Liam? Were you sad?" Mary asked, making her eyes big and innocent.

Liam nodded, big pout on his little lips. He leaned in to Mary's ear. "Pen gives best hugs," he whispered loudly. "Mama likes him best cos he hugs good."

Mary had to bite back a laugh, sending a dimpled smile to Spencer. "And Pen hugs Mama in front of Batman, does he?" Mary squeezed Liam. "Pen's all better now, so Brandon doesn't have to cry."

"I do no such thing," Spencer said, eyes practically bugging out of his head. "Mum, broken ribs!"

Liam tossed his arms around Mary's neck, snuggling tight.

"Besides, Liam gives the best hugs, right?" Spencer said, smiling at her. "He's the sweetest cuddle-bug."

"Ah, yes, the best little hugger in the world," Mary beamed, cheeks dimpling. "Makes me miss when you were little. You loved to be held."

"Everyone was so tall," Spencer pouted. "I hated having to look up." And only seeing Mary once in awhile meant he clung all the tighter. "Anyway, I promised Batman here that if he ate and napped he could visit with you. Yeah, Granmummy?"

"Yes, please, I don't want to go back yet," Mary agreed. She patted Liam's little back. "What trouble shall we cause, Liam?"

"Space ships!"

"Ah! No!" Spencer said. "It's not what you think he means. How about the memory game, Li? Can you point out everything that was alive?"

Liam hopped out of Mary's lap and went to point at skulls, a taxidermy mouse box display.. uncertain, Liam stopped by the fireplace. He pointed at the wood.

"Dis?"

"Yes, very good," Mary hummed approvingly. "That was a tree."

Liam's eyes lit up. He hurried over to the old writing desk, grabbing a handful of papers. "Dis!"

"Also trees, very good!" Mary said, watching him closely.

Liam wandered the room, looking around.

"He follows logic very well, Mum."

Liam picked up Spencer's phone, face uncertain. "Dis?" he said, voice small.

Mary looked over at Spencer, a little uncertain herself, before looking back at Liam. "No, that wasn't alive."

"It talked," Liam complained.

Spencer gestured the boy over. "People on the other side talked," he said. "This is just a tool. It doesn't think." Liam nodded.

"Think. Tree thinks?"

"Trees breathe," Mary suggested, not wanting to say if trees could think or not. "Alive things can breathe."

"Mare-mare breathe!" Liam said. "Pen breef, an Ban, an Mama." He began to wander back away with Spencer's mobile in his hand.

"See? Follows logical patterns. Self learning," Spencer said, proudly.

"Brilliant," Mary agreed, just as pleased as Spencer. "Just like you."

"I may need some help putting him through school," Spencer said. "He's going to need more than just the structured ones, and I'm not sending him to boarding school. You're going to stay around, right? This isn't temporary?"

"I- I don't like to make promises. But I'm trying to stay. I would like to stay," Mary replied uneasily. In her life, it was never too good to get attached to situations.

"Stay in touch at least," Spencer whispered. "I know you can text. Promise me you will."

"I will text, I promise," his mother agreed. "I should probably go soon. I heard a whisper about Seb getting worried."

"Nosy, Mum," Spencer laughed. "Don't go listening in on me."

Mary giggled and wrinkled her nose at him. "I would never!"

"Sooo would," he replied smartly. "Li-li! Say bye-bye to Mare-mare."

Liam's lip wobbled as he looked at her with wide round eyes. She opened her arms to the little boy. Liam was back in her arms in an instant, hiccuping. Spencer rubbed his back. "Shh, shh, it's okay," he soothed. "She'll be back. He's awful attached, afraid of us leaving."

"You shall have to come out, too," Mary soothed, rocking the baby boy in her arms. "Would you like that? You can out and we'll take a walk in the woods, and Seb and Jack and John and Free will cuddle you and tell you all about tanks and guns. Would you like that, darling?"

Liam nodded, big watery eyes looking at her. "Promise?"

"Of course, sweetheart, I promise," Mary said, kissing his forehead. "Now if you don't go, Sebby won't eat his dinner because he'll be worried. Can't have him going hungry, can we?"

Liam's hair flew about as he scrambled into Spencer's lap.

"Bye, Mare-mare," he said, sticking his fingers in his mouth in worry. Spencer soothed him with pets and soft kisses. He held out an arm towards his mother.

"Bye, Mum," he said softly. "Come again soon. We'll make it out at some point, even if it's just Abs and I."

She kissed them both on the head, hugging Spencer with Liam wedged between them. "Alright, darling. Be safe, text me. Bye-bye, precious boys."

Spencer held the boy who flopped bonelessly against him as Mary left.

"Guess it's just you and me, kid," he said, looking down. Liam looked up, eyes practically glowing with swirling colors. People called them hazel. Spencer half wondered if his sister had brought him a changeling child, brilliant and magic - and he was a man of science. At least, until he'd become a parent.

Familiar Faces

Thaddeus stood with his arms over his chest, back against the front door.

"Bed," he said, glaring down at his little lover. Well, not so little these days.

"Don't want to," Finch replied with a huff, glaring at him. "I want to go to work."

"You've gone into your second trimester according to Vance, who keeps readin' them books," Thad said, chin jerking. "Which was our 'greement that you'd ease your workin'. Ain't happenin'. Bed."

"I have been sulking in this flat ever since M-m- ever since. I'm tired of being in here, I want to go to work. Please?" Finch looked up at him with big green eyes. "How am I meant to have a shop if I'm never there? Not to mention Bran is at work and according to him, his mother said my father has a new girlfriend already and she's some vicious little guttersnipe who wants all his money and is pretending to be my cousin. Without work, how are we supposed to-"

"Just because Brandon, healthy, not-pregnant Brandon is at work, does not mean you ge' t' go back on your word to rest. Three days a week, six hour nights," Thad said. "And don't think you kin give me them big eyes with Vance outta town and old Thad's just gonna roll over."

"You're not my keeper. I can go wherever I like. Now, if you please, move away from the door," Finch said, angling her nose up primly.

Thaddeus sighed, his street face obviously not working. He switched gears, mouth quirking.

"What if I gave you a bit of incentive to crawl back into bed?" Thaddeus purred. "If you please."

"Like what? You've fed me half to death, you've given me tea, I'm bored, please can't I go out?" Finch asked, sulking. "Please, Thad? If I stay here, I just think about it. I don't want to think about it anymore."

Thaddeus reached out, trailing his hand down Finch's rounded tummy. It wasn't overly large - just enough to show she was in the family way. He licked his lips. "What if you didn't go back to bed alone?"

Finch blushed, turning a bright red. "What on earth are we going to do in bed together?"

"I can think of a few things," Thaddeus smirked. "Boyfriend is out of town. Aren't you feeling a trifle naughty, little bird?"

The pregnant girl turned away with a sigh, heading for the sofa. "Fine. I'll watch telly, if you're not letting me go anywhere."

"Oi," Thaddeus whined. "I wanna shag." He pouted.

"No you don't. You just don't want me to go anywhere," Finch replied, sitting down on the sofa with a little huff of air. She looked around at the place her mother had built, with every inch marked somehow with art or books she'd left behind. No one had come to claim anything. Finch felt like she could feel her mother's ghost with her. And she was going mad from it. "I'm giving you what you want."

"Are not," Thad said, tossing himself down beside her, winding his arms around her possessively. He nuzzled behind her ear, his long black hair draping down her shoulder as he kissed her neck. "Vance, Vance, Vance," he sulked. "What's so bloody great about Scarface?"

"I love him. He's intelligent. He reads books and takes care of me," Finch replied. My mum gave him to me like a favorite toy. She whined, rubbing her hand over his leg. "Besides, I'm all puffy and weird. And a baby keeps using my intestines as a rattle. You can't want me like this."

Thaddeus laughed, reaching around to cup her stomach.

"Serious? It's cute, and a wee bit sexy," he murmured. "Sides, I'd put bets on that little thing being made the night I kipped over. Angry sex! She'll be a spitfire." He cupped her breast with his other hand. "And your tits are amazing." He licked up her neck to nibble her ear. "I bet you're hotter than anything at your core."

Finch felt like there was a fire creeping over her skin. She licked her lips, turning her head to look at him with bright eyes. "Did you listen? That night?"

Thad's grin was positively wicked. "With my hand down my pants," he said, tongue between his teeth like a child caught. He used the distraction to wriggle his hand beneath Finch's tunic. "Oops, now it's going for yours."

"You are so ridiculous," Finch replied, not sure of what to do. She gasped, her skin so sensitive. "How is sex resting? You're- You're getting my heart all up and beating-"

"Exercise?" Thaddeus asked innocently as he kissed along her jaw. He wriggled happily against her back, closer to her warmer body. "Doc said exercise. Turn about, want to kiss you."

Finch twisted in his arms, her lips surging forward to meet his. It still felt wrong, even with all the agreements and truces (and that threesome after her mother's funeral). Thaddeus moaned, touch starved. A usual sex fiend, he'd been with no one, but Finch and, by extension, Vance since he'd moved in. He stroked Finch's body, pulling her closer.

"Yesss," he hissed, flicking his tongue out against her lips.

"Th-Thad,"  Finch gasped, her own mouth devouring his. "T-Touch me." She was nervous. In a house that felt like she was being watched, she was so afraid to want. "Take me. If you want."

"Bloody hell, I thought you'd never ask!" Thaddeus said, pulling her off the sofa. "Proper bed, for fuck's sake, you're better than a sofa." His eyes were wide and grin wicked, luring the sweet-hearted girl into his den.

"Says you," Finch replied, ever contrary. She let him take the lead, her hand in his.

Thaddeus had been waiting so long - longer than he ever had for a bird. He undressed Finch like he was unwrapping a present he wanted to savor. Her body was different - not coked out, waxed within an inch of its life, overly muscled, three times his size or even simply average. She had the unique swell along different places of her body, but all rounded, all soft, smooth and warm.

He laid her out, kissing her as he quickly covered her with his own nude body. He hissed as their skin touched. "Do you think he's watching?" he whispered into her ear.

"If not, he can press rewind," Finch replied. The flat, thin planes of his body reminded her of a long dragon, something dangerous, something to be savored. She licked over his throat and his jaw. "He was my first."

"What, really?" Thaddeus asked, shivering. He rubbed back against her for her warmth, his heavy cock bobbed against her leg. "Tell me you're joking."

"No. I'm not. I never had boyfriends. Or friends. Just my family," Finch whispered, for the first time feeling like that statement gave her power. "He rescued me on a night I shot my first person. And I knew then that I wanted him with a rawness I never felt before."

"The little death," Thad said, amused as he tucked away a curl to kiss her again. "My body must seem odd to you. Do I shock you?" He took her hand and brought it to curl around himself. Vance hadn't let him.. touch. He slipped his fingers down. Every one of his lovers had been different.

"I studied art. I know about bodies," Finch said, stammering over the words. She let her fingers touch the soft skin, hard as well as smooth. She kissed him, lips lingering.

Thad's breath caught as he felt her. "Yes, well I studied bodies," he gasped. "Maybe you can teach me to make art." He brushed their lips together. "Want you. Can I?" He bucked his hips forward.

"Isn't that what we came here for?" Finch asked, her innocence showing through the pretend toughness for a moment, genuine confusion puckering on her brow.

Thad took his hand away from her slick cunt to wrap around her hand. "Always polite to ask when shagging someone new," he said with a smile as he leaned in, nudging himself against her. He licked his lip, leaning in to kiss her as he thrust forward, biting gently at her bottom lip. She moaned, sensitive and over stimulated from his teasing and touches.

"Thad," she breathed, tilting her head back so he could kiss her more.

"Finch," Thad replied, taking over her mouth as he rocked, feeling slick ease his way. "Better than work?" he asked cheekily.

"Eh, at least you're only flirting with me instead of the whole bloody block," Finch quipped. She brushed a curious hand over his nipple, down his sweat-drenched sides. Thaddeus jerked slightly, hissing as he pressed deeper.

"Ah! Tease," he moaned.

Sex with Finch was surprising. It was loving, sexy, but also fun and teasing. There wasn't the hurried shag of the unknown, or the repetitive moments of people who knew one another too well. Instead it was like having the most wonderful intimacy with someone Thaddeus had grown to truly love. Once they'd both been brought to completion, Finch more than once (Thad was an overachiever), he lay playing with her curls as he hummed in happiness.

"Thad," Finch said his name, a high note at the end like a question was coming. "You'd do anything for me?"

"Hmm?" he asked, opening his almost shaped eyes. "What do you want, little bird?"

"Can't you go get that girl away from my parents? I don't trust her," Finch said, cupping his jaw, kissing his sweet mouth again. "You're smart. You could do it. Better than Bran, even."

"You want me to try," Thad sighed. "I'll look into it - if you promise to stick to our agreement. Less work. Abby needs the hours anyway."

"Yes, yes, fine. I'll play couch potato if you can please try to get that money-grabbing tramp away from my parents," Finch replied, nosing his cheek. She fell back on the pillows, sunset colored hair spread out beneath her.

"I'm half-Irish. I love potatoes," Thad giggled, curling towards her. "...Finch?"

"Yes?"

"I love you," Thad said quietly, almost shyly.

Finch's breath caught, and she turned her face to look him in the eye. "Really?"

Thad's eyes flicked down then back to her. "Yeah," he said, certain of it. "Thanks for bringing me home."

Finch wrapped her arms around him, curling close to his body. "Don't ever leave."

"You'd have to kill me first," Thad promised, holding her close, finding he meant it.

***

Spencer was irritated at everyone's accusations about him going to Mad Mary's. It was just a club. Sure, some of the demonstrations were a little grittier. The clientele a little more kinky and people more likely to gasp in pleasure at the sight of blood than horror. He tottled Liam on his knee before passing him off to Brandon. 

Usually Spencer took the boy at night if Abby worked, but tonight they were both on the clock. Spencer had slicked back his hair, donning a slick suit and cufflinks, little platinum M's he'd purchased. A silly indulgence, but he fingered them as he was let into the club.

Tonight he went deeper.

The club was like an onion. Outer rooms contained less kink and more burlesque show girls. A long curving bar hosted patrons who could walk in - at the right price. To be invited into one of the inner rooms meant you knew someone, a Dom who was on the hierarchy. Of course, there was always someone else. Someone mistreating a pet well past play.

Spencer had to be careful when offering up his rescue services, but he retained a good set of lawyers willing to work 'pro bono' for subs who wanted away from their Masters. However, Spencer had begun noticing a pattern of missing subs - men and women both in many of the circles, both online and in the clubs. 

It was a carefully cultivated selection that had gone missing. Never on the same day, never spaced apart like some trigger was involved. A tricky one. No bodies had come about in the morgues, Spencer had checked.

Word was spreading about a man, a Dom - very exclusive. He was older, a sugar daddy to all the subs he took on. Distinguished, but a man without a name. Online, he went simply by The Master.

An usher tapped him on the shoulder, pulling Spencer back into one of the rooms he'd visited prior. He'd gotten a few offers from subs last time. A few he might've not turned down if he hadn't had a family waiting at home. However, tonight, the usher (bouncer) led him through the room and into another, this one posher than the last.

Victorian furniture, swirling light and dark woods with pale tapestries and blood red velvets lining the seats, fainting couches and St. Andrew's crosses littered the room. Heavy curtains mimicked windows in the inner room. Pretty subs dressed up like play things, dolls and ponies, kittens and pups milled about while Doms in leather and spiked heels, suits and masks chatted with one another.

Nudity was on the menu back here. Bodies were exposed, arching in pleasure as mouths and bits met one another, bowls of tasteful condoms sat on pillars.

 A smaller bar was open in a corner, no longer the center stage. 

Spencer felt eyes on him from a throne near the bar. 

A man in a red king's cape with three women at his feet, one dark, one light, one ginger. They all cooed for his attention, caressing one another. He waved his scepter at them, murmuring, until Spencer had grown closer. The 'king's' head tilted up as a strange smile lit on his face.

"Good evening, Mr. Holmes."

Spencer's eyes widened, terror striking him in his chest.

He had seconds to register the oily black eyes of an older, very much alive - James Moriarty.

Then the lights went dark. People screamed in surprised, and Spencer felt people jostling him and then a heavy thunk landed across the back of his head, dropping Spencer to the ground.

***

Spencer woke, groaning. His arms were aching as he rolled his head. Concrete floor was beneath his bare feet and expensive trousers. His shirt and jacket were gone, hair falling out of its mimicry of Jim's coif. He struggled to find he couldn't really relax enough to take the pressure off his arms, but standing grew just as exhausting. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out. He was underground, that much was for certain.

Pricks on his arms said that the blow to the head wasn't the only thing that had put him out. He felt weak, drunk almost.

"Hello?" he called out.

"Hola?" a woman's voice returned.

Spencer's chains rattled as he spun around. "Hello? Where are you?"

"No entiendo! Ayuadame!"

"Fuck, fuck, Spanish," Spencer swore. "Why didn't I pay attention- Es- Esta bien! Donde- donde.. fuck." He jerked against his chains before he heard the slap. Leather against skin. He knew that sound. It went on, and on, and on. The woman's screams and cries echoed in the cement chamber. 

It reminded Spencer very much of ...kennels.

Shadows appeared, growing nearer to his cell. His grey-green eyes were wide with panic as the padlock was undone. A man - a stranger - holding a whip grinned at him. He promised himself he wouldn't scream. Afterwards, he only promised himself, he wouldn't break.

***

Seb hated to rouse her when she was sleeping. She did so so rarely. 

"Mary," he whispered imperatively. "Mary, wake up."

Her eyes opened, quicker and without blinking. "Something's wrong. Your voice is funny."

"Spencer is missing," Seb kept his voice low. "Two days. Haven't told Sherlock or John. Vance can't locate him. Found his mobile crushed in a skip."

"Get up," Mary was scrambling over the bed. She slid jeans over her silky thighs, shouting over her shoulder. "Freya! FREE! GET UP!" She turned back to Seb, reaching for someone's discarded sweatshirt to pull over her naked breasts. "Get out of bed. You're going to go babysit. You and Jack, go to Finch's and hole up there until I tell you. Idiot children."

"Babysit!" Seb grumbled. "Jack!"

Freya tumbled out of her room, draped only in her comforter. "Wha?" she said, squinting.

Mary stormed out of the room, tucking one of Seb's guns in her waistband, a bleary eyed John opening the door to Sherlock's room. "Free, Spencer is missing. I'm going for him but you and John and Sherlock have to get to Baker Street. Seb will give you something to carry, you must go sit with Abby and Bran. Keep them together-"

Jack had on his battle gear, quickly followed by Seb (still tucking in his shirt).

"Oi, I am not letting you go off on your own, you little blighter," he said.

"Spencer is missing?" Sherlock said, tugging his dressing gown around himself. "Where, when?"

"Jack! Out of the two of us, which appears to be indestructible? Stupid boy, he should've stayed out of that god damn club!" Mary snapped at him. She pointed her finger at the red-haired man. "Finch needs you. I will go get my son back."

"Your son?" John growled, still not quite realizing.

"Our son!" Sherlock countered. "None of us are indestructible. Not even you."

"I've a sight better chance than the rest of you," Mary said, tugging her hair up into an elastic. "Besides, if I'm going after Spencer, who is going to look after the other ones?"

"We've worked together before," Sherlock said, heading for his clothes. "There's six of us, and there's no need to keep them separated!"

"Sherlock," Mary stomped after him, pushing past a bewildered John. "Please. Please, can't you just for once do as I say? Can't you see reason-"

"My son missing is a reason!" Sherlock said. "How do you expect to find him without a detective!?"

"Oh, I don't know, I'm a criminal! Crime is sort of what I do!" Mary shouted back before throwing up her hands. "Oh, oh! Don't even start that your son- he's still my son, Sherlock!"

John listened to their argument with wide eyes. "Fuck."

"Oh don't you start," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes at John as he pulled on his trousers. "I'm not going to sit on my thumbs while you go off into danger while I'm left to wonder if either one of you is coming back."

Mary crossed her arms. "I know what I'm doing, Sherlock. You'll get Spencer back. I don't want any of the McCanady's seeing Spencer's disappearance as an excuse to make a move on Abby and the baby, or Finch and her child. We have to keep the ones we have safe. I'm faster than you."

Sherlock glared, mouth pinching. "I'm still smarter," he hissed. "I expect updates. Constantly!"

His phone pinged on the dresser.

"While you've been speaking I've been running footage from the club for the last week, I've found something that shows Spencer disappearing into the upper level and not coming back down. You'll have your updates," Mary turned on her heel, calling over her shoulder. "I've got WiFi."

"Hey," John said, in a voice so stern it made Mary pause in her steps. She glanced back at him. "Come back. After."

Mary smiled at him. "Of course, John. Where else have I got to go?"

And with that she went out the door.

"Wifi?" Freya asked, still in her comforter.

"Everyone dressed! Freya, you'll be actual-baby sitter. John, you're on Brandon duty. Keep him out of the drinks," Sherlock said. "I- will attempt to make nice.. with the girl."

***

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Spencer's knees scraped the floor, arms and hands numb as blood trailed down the slashes left on his back. Whip marks over welts, paddle imprints over reed cane. His face even ached from open handed hits. His chest felt like a carving board. He whimpered when he heard the cage door swing open, but he still tried to push himself to his feet - defiant - even if he couldn't stand to open his eyes.

"Steady him, I'll work on the locks," a female voice whispered. "Don't let him drop."

"Anywhere I touch is going to hurt," the deeper male voice echoed. Spencer almost cried when he felt warm hands touch his waist.

"No! No, no," he begged. "Stop!"

"Shh, shh, Spencer," the woman soothed. "You must calm yourself. We're taking you home." The chains clinked together, metal links scratching together. "Ah, good old-fashioned. None of that digital nonsense."

Spencer's eyes were puffy and clouded from tears. Strong arms and a familiar scent enveloped him.

"Got it?" Jack whispered.

"Jah-"

"Shhh."

Mary's fingers were quick at the locks. There were several, holding the boy up. As the last one popped open, the chains sagged. "There, there. Do you need me to take him, Jack?"

"Yeah, can you?," Jack said. "I'll take point. We'll have to go back out another way, in case there's more security who gets across the ones we took out."

"It's not a problem, I'm equi- I'm stronger," she said, ducking under Spencer's arm, hand wrapped around his waist. She could've cried from the relief of touching him again. "You are so grounded, darling. Not even a question."

"Mum?" Spencer whimpered, trying to open his eyes. He hiccuped slightly, tears streaming what they could.

"Yeah, yeah, reunion later. Out of here first," Jack said, gun back in hand. "This way."

Jack took her around a zigzag way, checking once in awhile when Spencer's soft cries turned into sharp hisses or moans. Finally they broke out from the underground, hope was welling up in his chest as they neared the door. Just beyond, their car waited - safety, freedom.

Jack held open the heavy industrial door for Mary and Spencer.

"Go, go," he urged.

Mary half-dragged Spencer out the door, trying to keep him upright. "Come on, darling, come along. We're almost-"

"Free?" Jim said, sitting like a fashion model on the hood of the car. His brows rose quickly. "Oh. Ooohhh!" His voice rose. "Oh, this is precious."

Jack had his gun trained on the madman's head before the press of a pistol to his head made him freeze. The brunette from the club had him pinned.

"Mary," Jim said, rolling his head as he slipped off the car. "Mary, Mary, darling."

Mary blinked. "Jack, is he-"

"Real," Jack gritted out.

Jim laughed, pulling a gun from his jacket, shooting Mary in the shoulder supporting Spencer.

With a grunt, she fell forward, dropping her son on the ground. Her hand started to twitch uncontrollably. It hurt. She hadn't expected it to feel so real the first time she was injured, it was a shock. "No- k-killed you-"

"Unfortunately darling, not well enough," Jim said, stepping closer.

Spencer panted as the cold ground made him shake. Jim pointed his gun at Spencer.

"You didn't think he'd just hand me off like a lost puppy, did you, princess?" Jim said, tsking. "But it looks like you're dead."

Mary tried to scramble over Spencer's body, a blood-like substance oozing from her wound. Systems were shutting down quickly, protecting the core. "N-No. N-not possible. J-Jim-"

"He's got old, Mare," Jack said. "Look at him!"

"Pissant, kill him!" Jim snarled.

"No!" Mary shouted, but she couldn't bring herself to tear away from Spencer. Her legs felt like they were locked in place. "W-what do you want? What g-good is his death?"

Jim knelt down, drawing close to Mary.

"What good was mine? Oh, you did well, Mary love, you did well, but Sebastian? Over me?" Jim said, twirling upright as he spun, turning back to glare. "And the great detective!? WERE YOU HAPPY?"

"Y-you- system error read 6766603 dash 2," Mary said, eyes twitching. Her hand continued to twitch and her gaze became unfocused. "J-James-"

Jim tsked. "She's broken," he sighed, like a favorite toy had become useless. "Run away, little boys. Take your dolly with you." His leather shoes scraped the ground as he passed Jack, still being held hostage. "Oh, and tell Sherlock, I'm baaack," he sang, waggling his finger in the air. "Down, Candy."

Jack darted to Mary as the two walked out of sight.

"Mary, Mare-" he said, cupping her face. "You're bleeding."

Her eye twitched. "Spencer, take, take, take, take, Spencer, home, error. Erro-"

And then her eyes rolled up into the back of her head, and her body went limp. Jack caught her before she landed on the poor boy. He managed to get them both into the car, Mary feeling lighter than she ought to. He linked into the car's voice to text system, finding out where everyone was. It seemed Sherlock had ignored even his own orders and gathered everyone at Finch's apartment as it was better fortified than Baker Street.

John was waiting at the door, hands stretched out for his son. "We've set up the big bedroom for him, sterilized everything. Should we take him to the hospital?"

"You'd know better than me, doc," Jack said. "I'd say stitch him up here, but we didn't do hospitals. I need a.. doctor, a mechanic, and a computer programmer. Mary's been shot."

Seb was shoving past them to the car.

"Get them both in, we'll decide what to do," John said, grunting under the weight of his son. "Sherlock!"

Brandon was the one who stepped forward, assisting John in half-carrying the boy. His eyes were glazed with tears. "Fuck, you moron, you stupid kid- if you die-"

"He better not," John muttered.

Spencer furrowed his bloodied brow. "No' all my," he managed to get out.

"Shh, don't talk, it looks like you've damn near broke your jaw," John instructed, propping Spencer up with some pillows on the clean bedding. He started working an IV into the boy's arm, a makeshift stand mounted on the wall. "Bran, go get some water, for drinking and for washing. He's filthy."

"Yes, Dr. John," Bran said, turning to rush from the room.

Spencer reached for his Dad, gripping John's shirt sleeve harder than he ought to.

"It's alright, Spencer, you're alright. I won't let anything happen to you," John promised, smoothing his hands over his son's hair.

"Dah," Spencer said. "Jmm."

Sherlock was hovering in the doorway."What did he say?"

"I believe he said 'Jim'," Mary's voice came from his back pocket. Sherlock picked up his phone.

"Mary?" he said, looking bewildered. Spencer nodded his head, letting his hand fall and his puffy eyes fall closed. Everything hurt, even the bed. "What does he mean 'Jim'? You know you, erm, your body is down."

"I've got video," Mary's voice said. "I was shot, in the arm. Someone will be along to fix it, the system shut down. It's flawed that way. Shock sends it spiraling into panic mode." The screen came to life with the events in the alley, sound muted, through Mary's eyes.

"Doesn't seem like the sort of thing that would've been a good idea going to rescue our son," Sherlock said, watching the screen. "Wait, rewind-"

"It's not a trick," Mary said, pausing the frame. The image of Jim wavered, her emotions interfering with her playback. "It's him."

"You shot him," Sherlock breathed. "Seb-"

"I buried him," Sebastian filled in. "How's Spence?"

The phone switched off.

The doorbell rang.

"He's fine in John's capable hands," Sherlock said, both of the men heading for the door. Jack was going to open it.

"Wait," Sebastian said, pulling out his gun. "Alright."

Jack rolled his eyes, and opened the door.

The man standing there had been dead for several years, but his smirk and quirked eyebrows were still in tact, though his features were more youthful than they'd been at his funeral. In Mycroft's trademark silky tones, he said, "I believe you need something fixed?"

"Piss off, Mycrof-"

"Shut up, Sherlock," Sebastian said. "Yes. Please. Her arm is badly damaged."

"If you would, lead the way," Mycroft angled his head, a small plastic bag in his hand.

"She's on the sofa," he said, leading him the short distance. "We've got a young kid in the other room, and Spencer in the master. Is the fluid running her toxic?"

"Not particularly," Mycroft hummed, looking around the apartment with disdain. He knelt next to the sofa, taking instruments from the bag, as well as what looked to be a small cooler. He began to work.

"You're doing it wrong," Mary quipped from Sherlock's back pocket.

"Would you care to have a go?" Mycroft sneered back, his magnifying goggles letting him see into the inner workings of the body in front of him. "If you're going to go rogue, you should really learn to repair yourself."

"If you're going to continue body snatching, I suggest warning people before you turn them into monsters!" Mary snapped.

"Mary, behave," Sherlock said into his phone. "Spencer got doused in your life juice. Seb was right to ask."

"Mr. Holmes," Vance said, poking his head out of the hall. "Mr. Seb?"

Mycroft tugged the bullet out in a less than gentle fashion before starting a tool that appeared to be a miniature battery-operated welder. Sherlock was leaning in to watch, but Sebastian turned, pushing Vance back into the hall.

"Children back in their rooms," Seb said.

"I'm twenty-s-"

"Aluminum skeleton?" Sherlock asked, clutching his phone. "How do you bring the mind over?"

"Classified, I'm afraid," Mycroft replied coolly, but Mary's voice answered, "Machine. Reanimates dead tissue and-"

"Shut up," Mycroft hissed, welding wires together in her shoulder. "I'll replace the pseudo-flesh next, you'll have to keep it clean and dry for a week for the life compound to seal itself."

"Blood. You could at least use words they understand," Mary said, this time her eyes opening, turning to look at him. "Or ones I do."

"If only healing humans were quite so easy," Sherlock muttered, thinking of his son.

"Yes," Mary whispered, biting her lip. She watched Mycroft peel the moist tissue-like substance from wax paper in the cooler, cutting a piece to fit the hole the bullet had left in her shoulder. What he hadn't managed to repair would knit itself back together, she was already receiving system updates that indicated as much. "I hate this."

"I know," Mycroft said happily.

"I believe the reason was worth it," Sherlock said. "Are you finished?"

"I am. You know, my dear, if you would return to the lab, we could-"

"No," Mary ground out, trying to push herself up to sit. Frizzy, filthy hair tumbled around her face. "I'm not coming back for you to poke at me. Especially after what I've seen tonight."

"No, tonight, you're going to explain yourself, brother dear," Sherlock said acidically, turning the frozen mobile phone towards Mycroft. "Why has my son been tortured by a dead man? A dead man who is very much alive."

Mycroft sighed, sitting next to Mary on the sofa, who immediately shifted away from him. "She shot a duplicate. The real one had too much information to hand over so easily, regardless of the agreements. He was in prison until recently. Released into the wild, as it were."

"So why not snatch his brain?" Sherlock seethed.

"Cos they couldn't do it," Vance said, stepping out of the shadows. "Evenin', Miz Mary."

Mary started to say something but then her jaw clicked back closed. "Hello, Vance. How are you, darling?"

"Worried somethin' fierce. Spence doesn't look too great, and Finch is worryin'. I won't let her look at him til Doc gets him patched up," Vance said. "Why didn' they just put him down when they were through? It's been long enough. Man can't survive on the outside after this long. They always gettin' locked back up."

"There was a small miscalculation-"

Mary interrupted Mycroft, "He escaped."

"I didn't say that," Mycroft told her. Mary shivered, standing up, rubbing her hands over her arms.

"It's what you meant, isn't it?" Mary asked, trying to keep her voice low. "He's not going to stop at just some clubs, Mycroft. And I'm not going to leave them to go looking for him. It's not safe."

"No one asked you to," he replied smoothly.

"Oh, but you know I want to. I hate you. I hate what you do to me," Mary said, turning her back on him.

Vance's shoulders tensed and he crossed the living room.

"Sir, I'mma have to be askin' you to leave now," he said.

"I understand. Of course, I'm more their family then you are," Mycroft said, gliding towards the door. He glanced back at Mary with a Cheshire cat smile on his face. "Do protect yourself, my dear. You are fully functional."

Vance opened the door, staring as he watched the stranger leave them. If the door was shut a bit hard - well, it wasn't his fault.

"You're not goin' after him," he said.

"You don't even know what we're talking about," Mary scolded. She paced restlessly. "I failed. I failed at my entire life. This is what failure looks like. I can't even stay properly dead."

"I 'magine there're people who are happy about that," Vance replied.

Sherlock though, usually many steps ahead, was still niggling over Mycroft's words. "Fully functional."

"I couldn't protect my family when they needed it. I unsuccessfully killed the absolute most psychopathic man I've ever met," Mary griped back at Vance, before noticing movement in the hall. Finch stood there, watching the whole conversation with wide eyes. Mary looked back at Vance. "I'm apparently the worst at keeping secrets."

"Mum?" Finch asked. Bran was behind her shaking his head.

"No, it's that girl-"

"No it isn't," Vance said. "Go back to your boyfriend. We're doing business. Finch, you were supposed to stay in our room."

Freya had Liam on her hip. "Sorry, he had to pee," she said sheepishly.

"It's alright." Mary smiled at the little boy. "He's gotten bigger."

"B-But she's dead," Finch said, reaching out for her mother, a single hand in the air. Vance caught it, turning to block off Mary from her daughter.

"Not as such," he murmured as Freya slipped around them to bring Liam over to Mary. "Don't get attached or involved, bird. We're not as safe as we thought we were."

"Mum-"

"It's alright, Finch," Mary said, raising her green eyes to meet her child's. They could've been twins. "Nothing to stress over. Your uncle just did a bit of necromancy and-"

Finch had pulled away from Vance, pulling Mary in for a tight hug. Mary looked surprised, but she patted the child on the back. Finch sniffled on her shoulder, "You're the stupid slag Papa has been shagging? We were going to break you up!"

"I'd be most grateful if you didn't, sweetheart," Mary murmured, rocking her gently with her good arm. "There's a girl, now, go in and say hello to your brother."

Freya laughed. "I just wanted to see you too, Mare," she said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Hasn't he gotten so big?" She hefted Liam up. He rubbed at his eye. "Gone a bit quiet since Spencer disappeared, but we didn't want to frighten him. Can you say hello, lovey?"

"Hello, Liam! Have you learned any more colors?" Mary asked, patting Finch again before the pregnant girl wandered in the direction of Spencer's makeshift hospital room. She picked up one of his little hands. "How are you, Batman?"

"Mare-mare?" Liam asked, head tilted.

Sherlock gasped in the background, lighting striking.

Liam stuck out his arms, wanting Mary. Freya had to catch him. "Easy love, she's got a boo-boo," she said. "How bout you give her a kiss g'night?" She looked at Mary. "He's terribly sleepy, but none of us could rest."

Mary gave him a soft kiss, trying to smile for him. "Go on, go with Free now. I'll come visit really soon, alright?" Promises could be made to children who would forget them anyway.

"Mkay, Mare-mare," Liam said, giving her a sleepy smile. Vance brushed the boy's fly-away hair as Freya carried him away.

Sherlock padded the distance to stare at Mary. "Fully functional?" he repeated. "That cannot possibly be possible."

"Sherlock, we have problems here, I don't have time for you to experiment with how long I can go without food or air. Here's a hint- it's a while," Mary said, blinking at him.

"He meant children!" Sherlock hissed. "Have you used an ounce of protection while you were...?" He made frustrated wild hand gestures that Vance made confused faces at.

"I don't even want to know what that gesture means, and I'd like to give that second one a shot," Mary said, blushing as sweetly as Finch usually did. "But Sherlock, I'm -" her lips pulled tight and she forced herself to say the word in a low, low voice, "I'm a robot. We don't have babies."

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mary, while I realize I love you and you have been in our lives for a very, very long time, you have yet to truly learn to speak Holmesian," he said. "That is precisely what he meant. You aren't simply a machine, but some sort of mixture of biological matter and electronics. It would be just like him to make that full functional, the pervert."

Vance bit his finger trying not to laugh at the two of them. If he'd had questions about whether it was really Mary or just a good simulation, he was certain now.

Mary's teeth clenched tight and she seethed while trying to count backwards in her head to keep from killing him. "Sherlock. That would be impossible. Really consider the idea with logic. Besides, I doubt if I could get- I'm not even saying that because it's not true- it would probably have to be with Mycroft. I doubt just a human male would work."

Sherlock's face turned into a mask of horror.

"Ew!" he said, flailing off. "Tea! I need tea!"

Vance burst into heaving chuckles, eyes almost teary with emotion as he took over Sherlock's spot. "Scuse me, Miz Mary," he said, wrapping her in his strong arms. Mary smiled, hugging him back.

"I missed you, too," she whispered.

"I know you feel responsible, m'um, but I'm the Moriarty now. Alive, dead, robot or ghost, you're retired. Besides, I got a family to protect too," Vance said. "I'll need your help with a plan, but the rest of them are goin' right back to the cottage where they belong. I migh' send Finch with you if she doesn't listen more." He scowled.

"I should like to see you try," Mary chuckled, feeling misty like she should cry only she didn't think she had enough extra liquid. "To send Finch, I mean. I-I will have to go to the cottage with them. They're so much... older. They need protecting, too. I would be happy to help you plan, but Vance, you're one of mine. Don't get killed. I can't bring everyone back, you know."

Vance shook his head. "I don't want coming back," he said, taking her hands.

"Me either," Sherlock said, a cup of steaming tea in his hand. "Here. I imagine you need something. You do drink."

"I didn't want coming back either, if I might point that out. Again," Mary whispered, feeling like her current state was something she should be ashamed of. She took the tea from Sherlock. "Thank you. I lost fluid during the shooting."

"Can you make sure-" Sherlock said, looking guilty. He looked back to the hall. "Neither John or I come back?"

Mary's expression turned sour and she very nearly threw her tea at him. She gave him a stiff smile, heading for the front door. "Yes, Sherlock, whatever you desire. I'm going out for air. Go check on your flesh and blood son."

"Our son," Sherlock corrected.

Vance shook his head at the older man, following Mary out to talk with her.

Spencer was finally resembling less of a slasher fixture and more of a human being. He was finally warm, but he was still shivering.

"Dad, f-fl-saline's cold," he complained.

"You'll survive," John replied, checking the bandages again before letting Abby perch on the edge of the bed next to Finch. "Careful, girls, don't shake him. He's broken a lot of ribs, he'll have to stay very still."

Spencer scowled, waving him off to reach for Abby with bandaged fingers. Only one of which was broken, but his wrists were wrapped to hide the raw skin.

"You are in so much trouble," Abby whispered, her voice crackling under stress. "We was all so worried over it. Liam wouldn't even sleep 'cause you wasn't there."

"Sorry," Spencer rasped. He looked at John. "Mum?"

"Are- Are we still calling her Ari or are we all on the same page now?" John asked, looking to Sherlock for answers.

"We know. I don't understand it, but we all know- well, except Bran but I expect he's sorted most of it. You want me to get her?" Finch offered.

"Yeah," Spencer said, holding Abby's hand. "Stop hoverin' like I'm dead," he complained, jaw aching. His tongue felt thick in his mouth.

"You nearly were, kid," Jack said, sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed.

"We were sure you weren't comin' 'ome, Spence," Abby whispered, squeezing his hand. "Don't you dare tell us not to hover. We earned hoverin' privileges while we was waitin' for you."

"Quite," John agreed, checking for the thousandth time that Spencer's bandages were in place.

Spencer hissed. "Dad, hurts," he whined. "Water would be better'n poking at me. Where's Mum?"

"She's coming," Seb laughed. "She got a bit banged up, too."

"Know that," Spencer did his best to glare. Mary appeared in the door, leaving Finch and Vance in the hall for a moment of privacy.

"You asked for me?" Mary said, looking shy at all the people in the room. All the people who suddenly knew something she'd tried to keep secret.

"Mum," Spencer sobbed out, starting to cry again, tears sliding out his eyes. His chest spasmed as his sudden movement jarred his ribs. "Ow."

"Shh, don't fuss, Spencer, John worked very hard patching you up," Mary said, rushing for him, fluttering around him. She wiped the tears from his face, perching gingerly next to him. "Don't cry, sweetheart, don't cry. You don't even know if I'm your Mum. I'm just a very nice copy, don't cry, please-"

Spencer grabbed her hand with his free one, pulling it to the side of his face that was less beaten.

"I know," he said, sniffing. "What took you so long?"

"You were very well hidden," Mary replied, her thumb rubbing over his cheekbone. "I only have so much processing power, and then we had to kill ever so many guards-"

"No, meant comin' back," Spencer said.

Mary swallowed, blinking at him. She carefully leaned forward and put her head on his shoulder, hardly touching him. "Hell was loathe to let me go. They waited so long to get me."

"Missed you, Mum," Spencer whispered. "Don' leave. I hurt."

"I'm not going anywhere just yet," Mary promised, feeling Finch settle behind her, rubbing her back. "Try and get some sleep. We'll be here when you wake up."

Spencer tried to nod, sighing. He tugged at Abby to lay down beside him, eyes closing and breathing evening out.

Seb nodded, as though satisfied a job well done. He leaned down to his wife and daughter. "C'mon you two," he said. "We all need rest. Is there still a bed in Jack's shanty?"

"It was a perfectly respectable flat," Jack countered with a scowl.

"Without a door or kitchen?"

Jack rolled his eyes.

"He spent most of his time in our room anyway," Mary sighed, fingers reaching for Seb's. "A moment in the hall, if you please?"

"Let me go make sure Thad isn't asleep on that bed. He can kip on the floor so you and Mum can have it-" Finch wandered down the hall in search of the missing lover.

Seb held Mary's hand as he let her lead him outside. It was hard to find privacy in the crowded flat. Once the door closed, she turned to hug him fiercely, rubbing her cheek over his clothes, trying to crawl into him.

"He was angry, at us, oh, oh Seb, Sherlock said the most wretched things and Jim, and I just don't even feel human. Everyone's so happy to see me but no one would want it for themselves, I feel dirty," Mary said in a gush of words. "Filthier than I ever did hooking or killing. Why aren't I the same? Why couldn't I just be the same?"

Sebastian turned, huddling her against a wall. He ducked his head, nuzzling into her hair, her skin, her body, "I want it," he murmured. "I'll be very cross if you leave me behind."

"You should let me be in front. He might try to kill you. I failed to protect you once, I'm not failing again," Mary swore, fingers twisting through his hair, petting and smoothing. "I won't leave you behind. You're mine."

"Yours," Seb promised, kissing her deeply. "We'll get him this time, for real, and then we'll have all the time in the world."

"And where do I get off on this?" Jack said, sulking on the opposite wall.

"She can put you in an mp3 player," Seb snorted. Mary reached for Jack.

"Sherlock was so cruel," Mary complained. "I find I don't like him as much in this lifetime as I did in the last."

"You didn't really like him in the last," Jack said, moving from one wall to the other. He huffed when Seb pulled him into the hug, still playing up the embarrassment of it.

"Love doesn't make sense, Mary," Seb murmured. "But loyalty does. We're with you. Forever."

"And ever," Jack snorted. "Alright mushy faces, I've had one too many guns pointed at me today. Find our bed?"

"Mmm," Mary hummed in agreement, knowing she wouldn't sleep. But she'd watch them sleep, and that was alright. "You know, Sherlock thinks I can have children. We should try sometime."

"We can try all you like," Jack teased.

"Enough, Jack," Seb said, shoving him off a bit before taking Mary by the elbow, heading back for Jack's old space. "We've got enough children to worry about for one night."

"Alright, old man," Jack snickered.