Midnight Ride

With Mary refusing private flats with both Seb and Jack, there was no choice when she was discharged but to take her, and her not-talking-to-any-of-you-attitude, back to the cottage. She was too quiet. She handed over her phone without a word. She didn't get dressed much, and the window seat was her permanent residence, even when she was asleep. Without any of them near her. Alone.

Sherlock spent several nights, turning into weeks, fretting in bed with John. Decades now sharing the bed with his lover had made it odd to sleep without him. The ex-insomniac was cured of such affliction after one daughter, another nephew, and finally a son. A beautiful precious, wholly his and John's responsibility, son.

Finally after a third night of staring at the ceiling, Sherlock looked over at John, sighed, and rolled out of bed. He pulled on his housecoat, a deep burgundy that looked dashing with his silver threaded hair, and padded into the den.

He stood, arms crossing, watching Mary in her perch.

"Go away," Mary sighed, her eyes gazing out the window.

Sherlock sighed, pacing to snag a quilt from the sofa to nudge her over. "Budge up," he demanded.

"No," Mary replied, leaning her forehead on the glass.

Sherlock tossed the quilt over her, slipping his arms beneath her and moving her himself.

"You're too bloody thin," he complained as he slipped in behind her, pressing his cold feet against hers. "You're just going to pine yourself away then?"

"You're too thin. You're the one that's thin," Mary murmured, sniffing. "I've eaten. I had an orange."

"Keeping it down?" Sherlock asked worriedly, wrapping his arms around her to pull her against his chest. He had lost some weight with the hospital issue, but he'd never carried it much anyway.

"No," Mary sulked. He was warm, and the window was drafty, but she wasn't ready for this talk. At least, that's what she told herself. "Shouldn't you be with John? You know how he's been lately."

A nightmare. A raving doctor on a quest to lock up the princess.

"Impossible," Sherlock muttered. "I'm considering sending him back to Baker Street. Spencer's.. paramours aren't taking very good care of him, and I'm growing weary of John's attempts at-" He sighed. "I'm worried about our son, and he won't have it to see me."

"He'll get over it. Children are like rubber. So very good at bouncing back," Mary replied, trying to keep her tone light. She felt guilty. Guilt was eating her inside, gnawing at her stomach.

"No, unfortunately, this debacle is very much my fault," Sherlock sighed. "One, for leading you on with promises of murder, and two, for not observing and deducing your hallucinations."

"Oh, Sherlock, let's face reality, you were never going to kill me and I was perfectly aware of that fact. If anyone has led anyone on, it's been me with you," Mary said frankly, wrinkling her nose. "This was not your fault. I'll text Spencer, he'll see you. Because I asked him to."

"His pride won't allow it," Sherlock sniffed, pulling Mary tighter to him. He shifted so that she was practically in his lap. "Not at his age. Now your pride - damaged, bruised, and hurting, I imagine. Spencer did say one thing in one of his verbal rages."

"Oh? What might that be?" Mary asked, wondering what the point in this stupid little chat was. She wished he would just go away, go away and leave her alone.

Well, as alone as she got.

"That I was your favorite, despite everything," he said softly. "That can't possibly be true." Could it? Sherlock had been round and around in his head trying to rationalize it.

"Is that all he said?" Mary asked, avoiding the question.

"Of course not, but it was difficult to tell between the oxygen mask and his drugged ramblings. Really, I hope I was never as obnoxious as that child," Sherlock barked. "He also said he was the son of a ghost, and that I was a murderer." He paused. "Unfortunately, the latter is true."

"I'll have a word with him. Or several," Mary replied, very uncomfortable. "I hope you weren't offended. If you were, he shall find himself a new place to reside until he apologizes."

Sherlock laughed softly. "I'm too old to be offended," he said. "I'm not too old to miss my Marybird."

"I'm not your whatever-that-nickname was," Mary replied, wriggling out of his arms. Her leg was numb again, and it made movement awkward. "Just go."

"Peter pan, Wendy," Sherlock said, pressing against the window frame. Mary had taken most of the blankets. "I used to read it to the children when they were little. Mary, if there is somewhere- anywhere out there - that would make you happier than right here..."

"What do you want from me, Sherlock?" Mary asked, curling the blankets tighter against her body. "For fuck's sake, I'm here. I could have been dead and less trouble if-"

"If-?" Sherlock pressed, stroking her hair.

"If I weren't here," Mary finished, looking up at him. "Much less trouble. I had to end James. Why won't you end me?"

"Because I love you," Sherlock whispered. "Spence said I didn't love you enough. Do you think so?"

"You're listening to the most emotionally unstable child that's ever lived excepting yourself," Mary replied with a weary look. "What do you think?"

"I think you believe it," Sherlock said, leaning in to try to kiss her.

"You loved me exactly as much as you could," Mary whispered. "Spencer was wrong to tell you something like that. It's not true. I didn't even say that."

Sherlock placed his hand against the cold glass. "But it wasn't enough," he said, swallowing. He was inches from Mary's face. "I'm sorry. I wish-" He looked down at Mary's mouth. Pale from illness and cold.

"Don't- I can't stand it when you look at me like that. Like I'm sick, or weak," Mary whispered, those white-tinged lips moving around poisoned words. "I- I should be dead. I was supposed to die. I didn't think I'd even make it to Russia with Jim. I just- I just wanted-"

"To make me happy," Sherlock said, brows furrowing with heartbreaking realization.

"Why are you bringing all this up now?" Mary asked, tearing up. "I don't want to be old. I don't want to be paralyzed again. It shouldn't have been Spencer in that room with me. I should've been alone."

Sherlock gathered Mary back up, kissing her trembling soft lips. "Spencer wasn't in that room with you," he whispered.

"Yes, he was," Mary lied, placing a hand over his heart. "But so was Jim."

"No, well, possibly," Sherlock said, tipping his head the way he did as he considered. "You believed Spencer was me."

"I most certainly did not," Mary said, her dishonest words feeling hollow. She knew the logic didn't match up. If she'd realized her child was in the room rather than her child's father, she'd never had let him take the medicine. "Would it have mattered?"

Sherlock rubbed his nose against hers. "You wouldn't have let him take it if you'd realized," he whispered. "He never said what he said to you.."

Mary swallowed, her green eyes tilting away from his inquisitive grey ones. "I don't remember."

"It doesn't matter," Sherlock said. "It was supposed to be me."

"No. It wasn't supposed to be either of you. It was supposed to be me," Mary said, pulling out of his grasp.

"Limping off before any of us noticed?" Sherlock snarled. "Leaving me again? For fuck's sake, Mary, it seems like offing me would be a kinder thing."

"What in my life isn't about you!?" Mary hissed back, eyes flashing. "Name one damn thing that hasn't revolved around the absolute happiness of Sherlock Holmes? Everything I've ever done has been for you! Poor Sherlock with his army boyfriend, poor Sherlock with his drugs. Poor Sherlock, sure he left me but he seems sorry but oh, John is back and everything is about John. And then you have to, just have to, play deadly games with a madman, and the only thing I cared about was saving you. Poor damn Sherlock."

"And I fell!" Sherlock shouted. His voice loud in the quiet house. He seethed. "I fell for you. And you married my brother, then became my life's rival. You!" He clenched his fists, lips thinning. "Bloody hell, I made a million mistakes, but loving you was never one."

"And the only time you ever looked at me like I was at all as interesting as John is if I were blowing something up!" Mary responded. "Even when you finally figured out my last damn secret, you didn't look like you cared. You looked like I was a puzzle. I'm not an experiment for you to figure out."

Sherlock scowled, face darkening. He grabbed Mary, blanket and all, hauling her off the window 'bed'. He headed for the front door.

"W-Where are- put me down!" Mary said, writhing in his arms.

"Not a damn chance," Sherlock bit off. "The only way to get you is kidnapping." He managed to get the front door open and out it with the bundle of Mary. "Not everything is about bloody John Watson. Namely, Mary Morstan. If I hear one more thing about committing you, I might shoot him myself!"

"I don't want to go back to that place," Mary murmured, continuing her kicking. "You can't kidnap me. I'm unkidnappable."

"Only because you chose to grow up," Sherlock growled back. He pulled open the passenger door to the SUV, plopping Mary inside, quilts and all. He shut the door, locking it. The keys were left in the ignition - for emergencies - and Sherlock hopped into the driver's seat, bare-footed. He had the vehicle in drive and flying down the pavement.

"Sherlock! Where do you intend to take me?!" Mary asked, nervous and fussing with the blankets.

"Neverland," Sherlock replied, driving. "Why'd you shoot Jim?" He was flying down the old country road.

"Because he was mad! Because he had to be stopped," Mary said, her white skin bleaching paler at the sound of his name. Afraid that, like Beetlegeuse, he could be summoned from the depths of her imagination. "He wanted to kill you!"

"You loved him!" Sherlock accused. "You fought my brother and won him back!" They swung around a curve.

"He was mad," Mary replied. "He needed to be stopped before he hurt someone. Just like I need to be stopped."

"You aren't mad," Sherlock said. "You are experiencing a perception of an external visual stimulus where none exists. You know he isn't real. Not any more real than my Mind Palace! Less real!"

"Sane people don't see dead men," Mary argued, probably only because she was determined to be on the opposite side of Sherlock's logic. "I know he's not real. Doesn't make him not there! Why does it matter why I shot Jim?"

"Because you loved him!" Sherlock said, hitting the steering wheel. "You loved him enough to keep him safe. Safe from me, safe from himself! Seb said he was mad, insane. Then those stolen nights with you - he was placid, calm! He could've killed himself!"

"I still don't understand your point," Mary said, crossing her arms over her chest.

He slung the vehicle into some farmer's dried out field. "Why did you kill him?!" he roared, not staring at her. Instead looking out at the vast stars, brilliant in the English countryside. "I could never kill you! No matter how mad, how cruel, how insane, how- how- I could never."

"I could never kill you either." The words were shattered, spoken through broken gasps of air. She leaned forward, elbows on the dashboard, burying her face in her arms. "I couldn't kill you."

"I don't understand," Sherlock said, deep voice small. "You had the gun. You had the gun on John."

"What don't you understand, Sherlock?" Mary asked, her chest pained with regret and poison.

"You could've killed any of us, all of us on that cliffside," he said, head hanging. "John and Jim - I would've been yours forever."

"And what would you have done to me, if you'd found out I'd killed John?" Mary lifted her head to look at him.

"I don't know," Sherlock admitted. "I hadn't thought about that." He hadn't. "I've only spent ages imagining what I would've done in your place. I was repulsed at myself, but I knew I would've done it, if I had been you."

"You would have killed your rival? Or you would have killed Jim?"

"Both," he whispered. He closed his eyes, watching in his mind's eye. "I wouldn't have known it was you. I didn't know it was you. Not until Mycroft-."

"This has no bearing on anything, Sherlock. It doesn't matter. It was thirty years ago," Mary sighed, always the one to give in. This time just because she was tired, not because the conversation had given her any revelations or offered any comfort. "So what if I killed Jim? Aren't I punished enough by seeing him on a daily basis? If I'd told any of you, the children would've been kept from me. And you got to spend decades upon happy decades with John and Spencer and Ford. And I have Jack and Seb and Finch. And Freya. And no one even noticed. This reminiscing doesn't fix anything or change or solve or absolve. It does nothing."

"I had decades upon decades missing you," Sherlock said, leaning back in his seat, eyes clenched closed. "Before John, after him. During him. You brought this tiny red-faced - thing -" Tears fell down his face. "And you just left him with me. Me! Mary, for God's sake, I don't even remember if I was really sober then or not. And yes, I - cannot thank you enough for the life I've had, but I thought - in the end, we would have the life you wanted."

He brought out a bottle, two white pills inside. He sat it on the dash.

"Don't be stupid," Mary sighed, sitting back, watching him. "This isn't a case for the blog, Sherlock. I'm not doing this with you."

"A couple dead in a field? Expensive vehicle, double suicide," Sherlock said, smiling. "It would've been interesting. An eight at least. They're sleeping pills. Normal zolpidem. I thought I'd lay down the backseats and we'd sleep under the stars."

Mary shrugged. "You take them. I've had enough sleep."

"We could do something else," Sherlock suggested, licking his lips.

"No, thanks," Mary declined. "It's not really our style, this."

Sherlock's shoulders dropped. He laughed slightly. "What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'? This hasn't been a romantic gesture. This hasn't made me feel any better about anything. I'm not even sure what the point of all this was," Mary replied, examining her split ends. "You- I don't know. Something feels off."

Sherlock pulled the bottle back off the dash, pocketing it. Misery settled in his stomach.

"I can't undo the past," he said, dropping his hands in his lap. "I can't fix the present. I'm uncertain about the future. I suppose I've missed the obvious. Do you love me anymore, Mary?"

Mary turned to look at him, her hand reaching up to touch his face. "Of course I do."

"Are you quite certain?" Sherlock asked. He look at Mary, holding her hand to his face. "I'm frightened."

"Why are you frightened?"

"You're dying," Sherlock whispered, hand over hers beginning to tremble. "It's become real."

"I-" Her voice broke, and her lips twitched, eyes glazing over. "Yes. It has. And I'm afraid, too."

"I love you," Sherlock said, leaning over to hug her awkwardly across the front seat. "I love you and for God's sake, one last request - don't make this happen any sooner than it must."

"That's the part I'm afraid of. I don't," she gulped, squeezing him back. "I don't want to live through all that again. I already did it once, I'm not- I can't be the happy crippled girl on the first floor anymore. I hate it. I can't control it. I've got nothing-"

"You have me," Sherlock said. "I know it's not much, an aging mostly retired consulting detective, but I want- to be there. For God's sake, I brought you here because we haven't a room to 'ourselves'. Everyone else has their rooms. Besides, there is no bloody second floor. I wanted you even with your legs immobile. I can never make up for being a frightened child, never, but I can be here now. Please, please let me be here. And if I'm not enough, then for our children. For them."

Mary turned her face towards his neck, burying her face. Her mind already twisting his words apart. "I'm trying, Sherlock. I'll try."

"Mary, Finch needs to know there's life after diagnosis," he whispered in her ear. "She's only just begun to really live, to love. Don't let her watch her mother wither like you did yours. Live, live for her."

"Yes, I will continue to live for everyone else," Mary remarked dryly, shivering at his words. "For you and Finch and Spencer and Seb. Not for the hollow existence my life is about to become without even the pleasure of being able to walk through it."

Sherlock nodded. He turned the car back on, feeling defeated. "I can't fix that for you," he said, pulling out of the field. "I never could. I'm sorry."

"It's alright. It is nothing for you to feel sorry for," Mary replied.

Sherlock was silent on the ride back. He kept giving Mary worried looks until they pulled back in the drive. Sebastian stood waiting on the porch, shotgun in hand.

"Well, that can't be a good sign," Mary sighed. feeling about ready to bang her head against a wall.

Sherlock got out of the car, heading around to get Mary. He scooped her up, keeping an eye on Seb. The man was a statue until Sherlock had Mary on the porch. Seb eyed them.

"Back to work," Seb grunted. "Because I'm going to bloody kill your protege."

"I'm retired, as per your request. All of you, actually," Mary said, her voice dripping with sweetness. It was rare moments like these that she seemed too much like Mycroft.

"You were," Seb said, brows raised. "Until that brat got my daughter up the duff with his spawn!"

Mary blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Finch's pregnant," Seb said, handing Mary the phone. The text from Finch herself on the screen. "She called a bit later, asking after you."

"I'm sure I explained to her how birth control worked, it's your fault if she didn't have the brains to puzzle it out," Mary said meanly, taking the phone from Seb to read the text.

"Or she did it on purpose," Seb sighed, dropping open the barrel to remove the shells. "You did."

"Either way, they'll sort it out. Text her back congratulations and you love her, and leave the children to their own problems. Unless you have an objection to your daughter having a child?" Mary asked, raising her eyebrow.

Seb's teeth nearly cracked as he gritted his teeth. He reached for the phone. "Put her down and let her walk to the bloody bed," he said. "You aren't wheelchair bound yet. Don't let him carry you."

Mary patted Sherlock on the arm. "Come along, best do as he says. He's only cross over Finch. Poor old grandfather."

Sebastian practically hissed as Sherlock set Mary on her feet, taking up the quilts in one hand as he let her use his other arm as a brace.

"Okay, Grandmummy," Sherlock teased softly. "Or will you go by something different?"

"I should think Mary is an appropriate name for a child to call me," Mary shrugged, pulling a face. "I should put the tiger to sleep." Just to be mean, she tipped up and pecked Sherlock on the cheek. "Come along, Sebastian."

Seb shoved the shells into his pocket, then shoved the gun at Sherlock before taking Mary's hand. Their walk to the bedroom was slow, but Seb took the time to let the tension drain out of him. It wasn't going fast.

"Mare-mare," he said.

"What?" Mary asked with a tired sigh.

"What the baby will call you," Seb said. "It was good enough for Freya's whelp. You're gonna be there for the thing's birth too, because like hell am I doing it alone. I'll put your brain in a tank if I've got to, but no more suicide talk. You're not dying, and I've had it with Holmes. My baby girl is having a baby and she needs her mummy. Papa ain't nobody to be birthing no babies, I hope you remember."

"Why Sebby, that's practically bossy of you," Mary cooed sarcastically. She shivered, though, for once appreciating it. She chewed her lip, pondering. "And the madness?"

"What madness?" Seb grumbled. "Ain't like he can't do nothing, can he?"

"No, I s'pose not," Mary replied thoughtfully. "Wait, who are you talking about? John's talking about having me sectioned, Sherlock- I don't even know what Sherlock is talking about and I'm not convinced I haven't hallucinated Jack because where is he anymore? And, and, and Jim has bullet holes in his head and wants me to die. And! My daughter is stupid. I'm very disappointed."

"I'm in bed," Jack complained. "Waiting for your skinny arse since he went to get you."

"Dr. Watson doesn't have power of attorney," Seb added. "And Sherlock, well, darling, he's always been out of his mind. Jim does have a hole in his head, but it's your own mind telling you you want to die. Tell your brain to shut up, we don't have time for Jim. Besides, you had two babies, so Finch isn't doing anything you didn't."

"Except she's young, stupid, and not married to her lover," Jack added. "But you know, choose your battles. C'mere."

"Jack, Jack, Jack," Mary chanted his name curling up in his warm arms, "I never had a baby to keep anyone close to me. What if she's trying to trap him? Just because I adore her doesn't mean she does smart things all the time."

"Mate's a bit trapped anyway," Jack sighed, snuggling up to her. "At least she doesn't snore!"

"I don't snore," Seb grumbled, taking off his tee shirt.

"Does too," Jack whispered. "It was an accident, heat of the moment. Moron only heard the first half of her babble before losing his head and going to look for you. I picked up the rest of the call. Vance is apparently thrilled."

The huge bed dipped under the weight of Sebastian's bum. He stretched out on his side, curling in towards Mary. "We'll go up to London in a day or two," Seb said. "They'll be alright."

"Yes, yes, I'm not worried," Mary lied, pulling Seb's arm over both her and Jack, like a blanket. "Don't leave."

Seb sighed out a rumbling noise of contentment. "Not going anywhere," he said. "And no more late night drives with Holmes. I don't trust 'em. None of 'em."

"Me either. Not anymore," Mary agreed, turning over to kiss Sebastian. "Spencer upset him. It was just a parent to parent conference. I even turned down sex."

Seb kissed her warmly. "Mmm," he hummed deeply. Jack cuddled closer to Mary, wedging right up to her back. "Any time you're interested."

"Grandparents don't have sex," Jack giggled into Mary's hair. "You'll have to shag me instead."

"I'm not some old man!" Seb countered. "I'm a virile bloke with a daughter who's passing on the next generation!"

"Yes, yes, wanker," Jack giggled again.

"If only I were younger I could have you both at once," Mary sighed wistfully, teasing them. "I remember this one time with both of the twins-"

Seb rubbed his hands down Mary's body. "Oh? You think only pretty young things can manage that?" he said, grinning over Mary's head at Jack. Jack's inhale was super loud. "Listen to him, practically panting and drooling like a dog."

Jack whined for effect.

"Are you offering?" Mary purred to her husband, guiding his hand between her legs, rubbing his fingers over herself. "It takes an awful lot of stretching, and preparations."

"We've got all the time in the world," Seb murmured, leaning in to kiss her heatedly. He slipped his fingers beneath her pajamas, finding her skin, her folds, her cunt. Jack slipped away enough to find a tube of lube and hurry back. Seb and Mary were deeply kissing. It would take awhile, but once they got there, the lasting power of the two of them would draw out so much more from Mary than two experimenting twins.