"Who are you?" Bran asked, brow furrowed.
The girl was sitting on the counter, a sweet young thing, who looked a bit like Finch, actually, only her hair was redder and she had more freckles. She looked up from the bag of marshmallows she'd been inhaling. "Oh! You must be Brandon. I'm Ari, I'm staying at the next cottage over."
Spencer was walking with Sherlock when he stopped to stare at the girl.
"Da?"
"Experiment of Mycroft's," Sherlock said, still not looking directly at the girl. She'd been around - constantly - but Sherlock had mostly dismissed her. "You'll get used to it."
Spencer ignored his father who went to the coffee pot, seemingly always full now. He turned to the girl.
"Spencer," he said, holding out his hand.
"I'm Ari. Your, um, sister," the girl blushed, kicking her feet a little as she shook his hand. "My father is your uncle, but we share mothers. Oh, that sounds awful."
"I'm guessing not Sherrinford," Spencer said, with a wry grin. "Thank god you don't look a bit like Uncle Mike. I've seen pictures." He snarled his nose.
"Surrogate," Sherlock muttered.
"He's cross that I've come to learn about my mother. I'd hoped to meet her, but I'm unfortunately too late," Ari told Spencer with a sly smile. She ducked her chin. "You're very like your father, if I may say so."
"You're sitting on my countertop," Brandon said, placing his bags on the island. His voice was without any kindness.
"Brandon," Spencer said, eyes turning sharp. "Manners."
Sherlock continued muttering as he left the kitchen, this time glaring at the Mary-like creature.
"I'm ever so sorry about your father," Ari said, sliding off the counter to grin up at her son, stepping aside so Bran could get to work. "I didn't mean to upset him. I offered to leave but he wouldn't hear of it for some reason."
"Pig-headed," Spencer said with a roll of his shoulders. "Knows you're family at any rate. I wouldn't hear of it either. We don't talk about Mycroft Holmes in this family. Well, they don't. I dislike not knowing things. But seeing as we're all practically bastards, except Finch, of course, we haven't the room to talk about my - well, our - mother's tactical marriage."
"She's not your sister," Bran said dryly, cracking eggs into a bowl. Ari started at the words.
"What?"
"Mary wasn't the type to leave kids behind," Bran told her, glaring as hard as Sherlock had.
"She d-didn't know about me. My father was rather secretive," Ari told him. He shook his head, white hair flopping around.
"Nope. Smartest woman in the world, nothing was a secret from her," Bran snapped. "You are not our family."
Spencer just shook his head. He held out his hand to Ari silently. Hesitating, Ari put her hand in his. Spencer lead her out into the den.
"Apologies for him," Spencer said. "He's taken her death very hard. I'd like to punish him for his behavior, but I'm uncertain how much is grief and how much is his general nasty habits." He looked at Ari. "However, Mother was disinclined to leave behind children. She wouldn't have left you."
"I'm told she wasn't aware I existed," Ari told him, blushing prettily. "I was very closely watched as a child, kept at Baskervilles with my foster parent, Dr. Desmond. Miss Murphy, Mr. Moran and Mr. Kincaid have been very kind to me. Dr. Watson doesn't say much."
"Dad often doesn't say much. He feels a great deal though," Spencer said, squeezing her hand.
"Spencer, Ari," Freya said, coming out from her room. She stood up to kiss them both on the cheek. "Making friends?"
"Yes, yes, but I'm afraid I upset the other one," Ari nodded her head towards the kitchen. "Perhaps, Mr. Holmes, you would be so kind as to walk me back to my cottage? I'd love to ask about our Mother, but I don't want to make the day any harder for Brandon."
"Of course," Spencer said, keeping hold of her hands.
"Watch that one, Ari," Freya said. "He's a naughty boy." She winked, and Spencer turned an awful shade of red.
Ari laughed, squeezing Spencer's hand. "I'm sure he is. If you would, Mr. Holmes?"
Spencer ducked away from his 'aunt', pulling Ari along behind him. Freya headed to the kitchen where she already smelled delicious things.
"Brandon," she sighed. "No kiss for Mummy?"
Dutifully, Brandon bent to kiss her head. "Am I cooking extra for that little con artist?"
"Spencer's gone to escort her home," Freya said. "She may not be Mary's daughter, but she's been harmless."
"So you don't believe that shite either, then? Smart Mumzie," Brandon said, practically glowering.
"That she's her daughter? Absolute rot," Freya said. "That she's some part of Mary? Yes, I believe she is. She's lovely, darling. I like spending time with her. She makes most of us happy."
"Mum," Brandon said in a disapproving tone. "She's a con artist. Clearly wants somethin' off you and if you don't get rid of her, I'm going to call the police. Don't give her any money or anything, yeah?"
"Not a dime. She pays for her own cottage down the way," Freya sniffed. "Don't ruin your old Mum's happiness. Frankly we're all tired and old and bloody lonely without her! If it helps-" She choked, putting her hand to her mouth.
Brandon sighed and wrapped his mother in his arms, holding her tight. "Don't cry, Mum. I know you loved her. But that person, she's not Mary. I don't want to worry about you getting close to someone who's just going to hurt you."
"She's not hurting anyone," Freya cried. "So she says she's Mary's daughter. She hasn't asked for a thing, just company sometimes. I haven't said a word about your problems in ages, let me handle mine in my own way." She griped Brandon's shirt, knowing she shouldn't lean so hard on her son.
"Mum, I worry about you," Brandon said softly, rocking her back and forth. "You're all I've got of my family now. I don't want you to get hurt."
"On my head be it, if so," Freya said. "You've got Spencer and Finch. And your dad, love, I know he cares. And well, you seem so fond of that little boy you two have taken in."
"It isn't my mother, though," Brandon sighed. "Now, go on and sit down, you're making me burn the muffins."
Freya went to the island. "I'm not asking you to call her Mum. Or Mary. She's just a girl, love," she said, leaning on her elbows. "A cousin or niece, possibly. If she finds happiness here, how can I tell her to go. It would break Seb and Jack's heart. She and Seb hunt together. Brought back some lovely rabbits I bet you could barbecue beautifully. Would you care to run a special at the cafe?"
"Um, I'll ask Finch about it," Bran replied, shrugging. He started to mix together eggs for a scramble. "I meant that of course I have Finch and Spencer and Liam, but it's not you. They can't replace you."
"Sweetheart, I haven't gone anywhere. I know I can't ever replace your Mare-mare, but I did try very hard to be a good mummy. People don't keep their parents forever."
"Alright, alright, shut up then, and tell me all about how bad Uncle Sherlock's been. Spencer's worried," Bran replied, flailing his hands around.
"His theories now involve de-aging chambers or robotics," Freya snorted, rolling her eyes. "He's like a mad scientist, but she keeps him entertained. It's better than when he was drug searching..."
***
Spencer held Ari's hand as they headed outdoors.
"Which way?" he asked, tilting his head.
"Oh, just this way down the lane," Ari said, turning left. "He's very handsome, your boyfriend. Looks like his mother."
"Has his father's attitude, and submissive side," Spencer snorted. "He's my cousin."
"Shocking!" Ari giggled, looking up at the unusually clear sky. "It's so nice today. Cold, but nice. You're not cold, are you?"
"A bit," Spencer admitted. "Are you? Cold?"
"No, I have a pretty high tolerance. I find it invigorating," Ari said with a sweet smile. "But I like to ask just to be sure. I can't always tell when other people are uncomfortable. Tell me about you. We're practically family, according to your uncle."
"Which one?" Spencer asked. He had a niggling feeling their conversation was multi-layered with meaning. "Ari - excuse my bluntness, but what do you want from my family?"
"Nothing," Ari replied, her smile turning more approving. She clasped her hands behind her back, hair tumbling in the gentle breeze. "I wanted to know more about your mother, I wanted to meet her, and she's dead. I've already leased the cottage for a few months, having prepared to spend time with her, and so I might as well stay until the lease runs out."
"Do you understand the emotional damage you've likely inflicted upon my already mentally unstable father?" Spencer asked. "What do you imagine the man will do when your lease is up? Did they tell you how he refused to let go of her body? Did they tell you how he's tried to die again and again?"
Ari turned to Spencer, looking up at him. "He's not tried to kill himself in the time that I've been here."
"No, because you present a challenge," Spencer said. "A mystery. You look like my mother, down to this freckle here." He touched her face. "What then after you've satisfied you're curiosity? My dad has been troubled over Mary's hold over my father for their whole lives. I love my mother deeply, I wished very much," Spencer's voice had dropped to a whisper. "Very, very much to have her in my life, but instead of my dad getting my father's whole heart, he remains split, obsessed, addicted." Spencer's words turned harsh and angry.
Ari angled her head, keeping her face brushing against his fingers. "I'm sorry for your father's troubles, although I refuse to believe the situation was as much her fault as you seem to say. Have you ever considered that John was happy how things were? Because he got you?"
"But he never got you- her!" Spencer said, pulling his hand back. "Her." He coughed, looking away. "I'm asking you to just be careful. My father isn't well, and we're all still very much grieving."
Ari reached up to brush imaginary dust of the lapels of Spencer's jacket, straightening the lines and then fussing with his hair. Like a mother. "I would never do anything to hurt your father, Spencer. Even if you don't know me, you believe that. I'm treading very carefully."
Spencer caught her hands, holding them in front of his face. It was warm, despite the cold. "How are they? From an outsider's perspective?" he asked.
"Sebastian and Jack are very well," Ari replied. "Freya is sweet. John is too quiet, but he's always too quiet, isn't he? Sherlock is still searching for your mother. He doesn't believe she's dead."
Spencer's lips quirked. "Is she?" he asked.
"What do you think?" Ari asked, tilting her head to the side.
"I think you're more than you seem, Miss Ari," Spencer said. "And I imagine I'll spend a lot of time picking apart our conversation. Now, I should get back before Bran makes someone cry. You'd think a day away from my boy, I'd get to stop playing caretaker." He laughed softly.
"I've heard he had a nasty shock for which I am truly sorry," Ari said in a soft tone. "If you see Sebastian, send him towards my cottage. He does wander away so." Ari gave a little skip and went down the lane, watching birds fly around the sky.
Spencer trudged back to the house. Seb was leaving as he came up the stairs.
"Ari said-"
"Yeah, just headin-"
They both paused, nodding before continuing on their way. Neither one had room to talk. Spencer found his father spread out with sheets of paper, high math and chemistry marks written out all over the place.
"Father?" Spencer asked.
"Not now, Spencer - case," Sherlock said, waving him off. He had more silver in his hair than the last time Spencer saw him and his dressing gown had spots of dried coffee on it.
It was sad to see his brilliant father reduced to this.
John sighed from his chair, and closed his book with a firm snap. He stood, heading over to take Spencer's arm, steering him away from the damn genius. "Hello, dear. Didn't know you were coming by. Don't mind him, he's always cross this early."
"Dad," Spencer said, hugging John's shoulders.
"Yes, yes, he's a mad bastard, isn't he?" John turned around to growl at Sherlock. "You're upsetting the child, git. Stop it."
"Leave him, Dad," Spencer said. "I'm worried about you. We all knew he was barmy, but this is a bit much. What's your theory on the girl?"
"She's alright. I don't like to talk to her too much, but she seems nice enough. Friendly. Always around, for some reason. She-" John shook his head, giving a sad smile. "Well, she looked like your mother a bit. When I'd proposed. Silly to remember it now, I s'pose, but-" He glanced back at Sherlock. "We were all happy together. I only wished she'd stayed with us, but if she had've, we wouldn't have Jack and Sebastian. She saved me so often-" John shook his head, not liking to remember his gambling days. "Well. Maybe the girl is Mary's way of looking out for us from beyond."
Spencer reached out to touch his dad's shoulder. "I hope so," he said. "She seems to only want to know who Mum was. Not Moriarty, just- Mum. Dad, I mean this in the nicest way-" Spencer said.
"What is it, Spencer?" John asked, smiling at his son.
Spencer leaned in close. "Go drag him off and shag the livin' daylights out of him, would you?" he whispered. "Remind him where he's meant to be, yeah?"
John gave a high, nervous giggle. "We'll see, son. Go on, I think Brandon's making a wreck of the kitchen."
"Hardly," Spencer drawled. "Do what I said, Dad!" He padded off to the kitchen.
Sherlock was scribbling notes in the corner of something that looked like the rough sketch of a human. "Schematics would have to be obtained from photographic evidence as well as genetic. Genetics can compromise a variety of outcomes-"
John huffed and wished desperately to throw a book at his lover. "Sherlock, you're going mad. You know that, right? This isn't a case, this isn't a project- this is lunacy."
"It's bloody science fiction!" Sherlock said, shooting straight up. "It doesn't exist, the technology doesn't exist!"
John breathed in through his nose, closing his eyes for a long moment before whirling on Sherlock, "Alright. If it is so important to you, I will allow you to explain what you think must be going on because I'm going to disagree with you either way and I might as well know what I'm disagreeing with but before you do, let me remind you, that I'm your partner. The other father of your son whom you've been ignoring because you're chasing a dead girl. I won't lie, of course there have been times I've been jealous of Mary, but you know as well as I that I was just as in love with her as you, but let me point out that she died, Sherlock, and I haven't, but I might as well have for all the attention you've been giving me because you're not the only blasted one who has been hurt. Now what, pray tell, light of my life, is so bloody important?!"
Sherlock looked nervous, diminished.
"She's Mary," he said, voice exceedingly quiet. "Somehow. The science doesn't add up, but she woke up, in a new form. A phoenix from the ashes, and she's trying to come home. Just say she isn't dead." Sherlock's face twisted, ugly and hurt, red and blotchy.
"We buried her, Sherlock. We had decades to come to terms with the fact that her body was failing. We brought her here to die, didn't we?" John asked. "Why is that so hard for you to accept? Why are you pretending I'm not here?"
"Because she promised me her death," Sherlock said. "It's stupid. I know." He sank down onto the couch. "I asked her for one promise, John. Just the one."
John sat next to Sherlock, placing his hand on Sherlock's leg. "I just wish that in a time we should've been relying on each other that I hadn't had to do this alone. Because that's how I feel right now. Alone."
Sherlock's limbs practically twisted around John. "She's really..?" he asked.
"She's dead, Sherlock," John said, his voice cracking. "And I feel like she took you with her."
"John," Sherlock's voice burst out of him, nearly a sob.
"That's alright, then, there, there," John said, hugging Sherlock tight, patting him on the back. "It's alright, Sherlock. Get it all out."
Sherlock cried onto John's shoulder, practically sitting in his lover's lap. "John, John?" he managed through wretched tears. "Could you-" he hiccuped, covering his mouth. "Would you-"
"What, love? What do you need?" John asked, his eyes looking misty.
"Marrmeh?" Sherlock mumbled into John's neck.
"What?" John asked.
"Marry me?" Sherlock whispered even softer. "Just the papers. Make it real."
John sighed, patting Sherlock's back. Of course it had been too good to be true, hoping that he'd be mature for once in his grown adult life. "Timing, Sherlock."
"How much more time?" Sherlock asked, rubbing at his nose.
"A bit. I'm trying to have a real, honest moment with you. This is not a good moment for proposals," John said. "I've been patient with you, over all this. Can't it be my turn for a little while?"
"What-what d'you want?" Sherlock asked, slowly realizing his own self-absorption. Slowly.
"Just a bit of time," John said, sighing and putting his head back, closing his eyes. He felt old, weak in his bones, and tired. "With you."
Sherlock nuzzled underneath John's ear, puffing warm breath into it. It still wasn't clear of tears, but he pressed an unsteady kiss to the skin there. He wormed one of his hands up John's shirt, settling across his stomach, warm and soft with just a bit of hair. He snuggled close like an annoying cat. John smiled, tightening his grip on the feline detective. This was good enough for right now.
In the kitchen, Spencer sighed over Brandon.
"Have you baked all your emotions out?"
"Piss off, Spencer," Freya murmured.
"Love you, too, Aunt Free."
"I'm taking care of your stubborn parents because they don't make themselves food, it had nothing to do with emotions," Brandon sneered, taking another tray of muffins out of the oven to cool. "Enjoy your walk?"
"Yes, thank you," Spencer said.
"Do you two need a room?" Freya drawled.
"Mummerz, I think he's more interested in his sister right now than he is me. Oh wait, which sister?!" Brandon said with mock horror in his tone.
Spencer face morphed into fury.
"Spencer," Freya said. "A good Dom doesn't react in anger, no matter how much his sub baits him. Brandon, remove the things from the stove and step away."
Brandon, always the disobedient one, did no such thing. "Mother, his fantasy life is none of your concern. Why should I alter my behavior just because he decides to throw a hissy fit-"
Freya got up from her stool, turning off the burner he was using.
"I wasn't asking, Brandon," she said, voice calm. "I said, step away." Brandon rolled his eyes and took a step back, hands raised in sarcastic surrender. Freya took his hands, twisting them behind his back. "March, young man. Bedroom, now."
"Mother, for fuck's holy sake-"
"Unless you'd rather the whole house hear?" she said.
Brandon blushed, sending furious glares in Spencer's direction, but he marched as Freya told him into the bedroom.
"Hands on the wall," Freya said. She saw Spencer lurking in the hall. She leaned in against Brandon's back. "Would you rather Spence watch and learn?"
Brandon placed his hands on the wall, but his voice pitched low. "Are you going to strike me, Mother? Going to teach him how to punish me? If either of you lay a single finger on me, I'll walk myself back to London-" By way of every pub from here to there.
Freya nodded, closing the door on Spencer's face. She sat on her bed, admiring the long line of her son's back. "Does he strike you?"
"Sometimes. If I let him," Brandon replied slowly.
"Do you desire it?" Freya asked, voice low and soothing. "Don't look at me. Eyes on the wall."
"When I let him," Brandon replied, embarrassed beyond belief.
"Do you ask for it?" she asked, tuning into her teacher mode. Mad Mary's had been her baby before she had a child. "Do you crave his pain? Or are you lashing out for a master's hand to comfort you? There's nothing wrong with submitting, my boy. Subs hold the power. Master's live to serve you."
"He's not abusive, Mum. No matter what you and that blockhead that lives with Finch imply. He's fine. I'm- I'm the rotten one," Brandon told her.
Freya stood, running her hands up his stretched back, and down again, pressing in lightly. "Do you ask him for what you need?"
"I don't need anything, Mum. I'm fine," Brandon said, turning his face back to look at her.
Freya pushed his cheek. "I didn't say you could look," she said. "You're bullheaded, Brandon. You're reckless, you're hurting." She raised her hands up to his neck, massaging. "How much have you spoken with him? Really spoken?"
"We live together. We talk," Bran said tensely. He hung his head. "He has Abby."
Freya's hands trailed up into his hair. "You want him for yourself?" she asked.
"No, I don't mind her. I'm just sayin', we don't need to talk. Not like that," Brandon replied with a shrug. "Mum. I'm fine."
"Turn around," she said. Brandon rolled his eyes before dropping his hands, turning around.
"Mum?"
"Talk, Brandon. To Spencer. You've lost your mother. Both of you. You both have needs that dear Abby cannot provide. Spencer's been in Mad Mary's again. Three times since the funeral," Freya said.
"Isn't that the club? What's he doing in there?" Bran asked, folding his arms over his chest.
"Watching, for now," Freya said. "Be careful, sweetheart. Talk to him."
"Alright, Mumzie, I'll talk to him," Brandon said, folding her in his arms. "I'm going to go home now if you're through embarrassing me. The baby needs to eat soon anyway."
Freya hugged him back, patting his chest. "Be-have, Brandon," she said. "And take care of that boy." She squeezed him once more. "I love you, darling."
"Love you, too, Mum," Bran said with a sigh before he pulled away. He opened the door, wondering if Spencer was still in the hall.
He was, but far away enough to give them privacy. He looked up, worried and expectant.
Brandon huffed and went into the kitchen for his messenger bag, leaving the mess for the adults to clean up. He twirled the keys around his index finger. "Coming back with me?"
"Mm," Spencer said, catching sight of his parents curled up - quite intimately - on the sofa. "Best leave them," he said softly. "Alright?"
"Yeah," Brandon said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Mummerz just wanted a chat to make sure you weren't beating the ever living shite out of me." He jogged down the little ramp to the front of the house. "Why were you in Mad Mary's?"
Spencer flushed lightly. "Work," he said. "I got an invitation. I don't trust one of the more well known Doms. I've seen a few subs go missing."
"Are you being careful? You've got a family to consider now," Brandon said, taking the driver's side of the car. Spencer ducked into the passenger side, flopping in like a sullen teenager.
"Of course I'm careful, I'm always careful," he drawled. "You're one to talk about careful! If you're jealous or something..."
"I'm not jealous. I just don't trust that woman. She's taking advantage of our parents, and she needs surveillance. I don't like her near my mother," Brandon snapped, pulling out of the driveway too roughly.
"I'll speak to Jack. He may not be entirely indoctrinated into that madness. He's intelligent, even when it does come to Mother," Spencer said, ignoring his seatbelt. "Your mother. Possessive."
"They're getting older, Spencer. I have to look out for her," Brandon said, one hand on the wheel. "Don't tell me you aren't worried about Sherlock. It's the same. We're taking care of them now."
"They're our parents though. Not yours or mine," Spencer said, reaching for Brandon's free hand. "Even the weird ones like Jack and Seb. I'm worried for Father, but only because he's upsetting Dad. It's not fair. Not fair to Dad. He's been Sherlock Holmes's partner for bloody ever! And Father just goes off the deep end like Mum's was his soul mate or something!"
"Maybe they were. Can't you be soul mates and still end up happy with someone else? Or have more than one soulmate? Mary loved everyone, and out of all the men she picked your father for you. Maybe..." Bran trailed off, pausing for a few moments. "I mean, if you can only have one soulmate, which one is Abby and which one am I? Am I John or am I Mary?"
Spencer pressed his face against the glass of the window in misery. "Do I have to be Sherlock in this scenario?" he mumbled.
"Which would you prefer?"
"I'd rather be Mum," Spencer sighed. "I dunno, Bran, I love Abby. But for God's sake, don't make me choose. I'm afraid of the answer."
"I would never make you choose. I'm just trying to get you to ease up on Sherlock," Brandon said with a frown. "Maybe understand your mum and John better."
"I understand Mum," Spencer whispered. "She said, she was always lonely. I don't want to feel that way. I don't go to Mad Mary's to play, Bran. Just for work. I come home to not be lonely. But sometimes - you aren't there. And I'm lonely then."
"Just be careful, Spencer. I don't want something happening to you because you were stupid," Brandon said, glaring at the road ahead.
"My parents were geniuses," Spencer sniffed. "So long as I keep the work away from my emotions, I'll be fine."
"See that you are," Bran replied.
"Oh, just this way down the lane," Ari said, turning left. "He's very handsome, your boyfriend. Looks like his mother."
"Has his father's attitude, and submissive side," Spencer snorted. "He's my cousin."
"Shocking!" Ari giggled, looking up at the unusually clear sky. "It's so nice today. Cold, but nice. You're not cold, are you?"
"A bit," Spencer admitted. "Are you? Cold?"
"No, I have a pretty high tolerance. I find it invigorating," Ari said with a sweet smile. "But I like to ask just to be sure. I can't always tell when other people are uncomfortable. Tell me about you. We're practically family, according to your uncle."
"Which one?" Spencer asked. He had a niggling feeling their conversation was multi-layered with meaning. "Ari - excuse my bluntness, but what do you want from my family?"
"Nothing," Ari replied, her smile turning more approving. She clasped her hands behind her back, hair tumbling in the gentle breeze. "I wanted to know more about your mother, I wanted to meet her, and she's dead. I've already leased the cottage for a few months, having prepared to spend time with her, and so I might as well stay until the lease runs out."
"Do you understand the emotional damage you've likely inflicted upon my already mentally unstable father?" Spencer asked. "What do you imagine the man will do when your lease is up? Did they tell you how he refused to let go of her body? Did they tell you how he's tried to die again and again?"
Ari turned to Spencer, looking up at him. "He's not tried to kill himself in the time that I've been here."
"No, because you present a challenge," Spencer said. "A mystery. You look like my mother, down to this freckle here." He touched her face. "What then after you've satisfied you're curiosity? My dad has been troubled over Mary's hold over my father for their whole lives. I love my mother deeply, I wished very much," Spencer's voice had dropped to a whisper. "Very, very much to have her in my life, but instead of my dad getting my father's whole heart, he remains split, obsessed, addicted." Spencer's words turned harsh and angry.
Ari angled her head, keeping her face brushing against his fingers. "I'm sorry for your father's troubles, although I refuse to believe the situation was as much her fault as you seem to say. Have you ever considered that John was happy how things were? Because he got you?"
"But he never got you- her!" Spencer said, pulling his hand back. "Her." He coughed, looking away. "I'm asking you to just be careful. My father isn't well, and we're all still very much grieving."
Ari reached up to brush imaginary dust of the lapels of Spencer's jacket, straightening the lines and then fussing with his hair. Like a mother. "I would never do anything to hurt your father, Spencer. Even if you don't know me, you believe that. I'm treading very carefully."
Spencer caught her hands, holding them in front of his face. It was warm, despite the cold. "How are they? From an outsider's perspective?" he asked.
"Sebastian and Jack are very well," Ari replied. "Freya is sweet. John is too quiet, but he's always too quiet, isn't he? Sherlock is still searching for your mother. He doesn't believe she's dead."
Spencer's lips quirked. "Is she?" he asked.
"What do you think?" Ari asked, tilting her head to the side.
"I think you're more than you seem, Miss Ari," Spencer said. "And I imagine I'll spend a lot of time picking apart our conversation. Now, I should get back before Bran makes someone cry. You'd think a day away from my boy, I'd get to stop playing caretaker." He laughed softly.
"I've heard he had a nasty shock for which I am truly sorry," Ari said in a soft tone. "If you see Sebastian, send him towards my cottage. He does wander away so." Ari gave a little skip and went down the lane, watching birds fly around the sky.
Spencer trudged back to the house. Seb was leaving as he came up the stairs.
"Ari said-"
"Yeah, just headin-"
They both paused, nodding before continuing on their way. Neither one had room to talk. Spencer found his father spread out with sheets of paper, high math and chemistry marks written out all over the place.
"Father?" Spencer asked.
"Not now, Spencer - case," Sherlock said, waving him off. He had more silver in his hair than the last time Spencer saw him and his dressing gown had spots of dried coffee on it.
It was sad to see his brilliant father reduced to this.
John sighed from his chair, and closed his book with a firm snap. He stood, heading over to take Spencer's arm, steering him away from the damn genius. "Hello, dear. Didn't know you were coming by. Don't mind him, he's always cross this early."
"Dad," Spencer said, hugging John's shoulders.
"Yes, yes, he's a mad bastard, isn't he?" John turned around to growl at Sherlock. "You're upsetting the child, git. Stop it."
"Leave him, Dad," Spencer said. "I'm worried about you. We all knew he was barmy, but this is a bit much. What's your theory on the girl?"
"She's alright. I don't like to talk to her too much, but she seems nice enough. Friendly. Always around, for some reason. She-" John shook his head, giving a sad smile. "Well, she looked like your mother a bit. When I'd proposed. Silly to remember it now, I s'pose, but-" He glanced back at Sherlock. "We were all happy together. I only wished she'd stayed with us, but if she had've, we wouldn't have Jack and Sebastian. She saved me so often-" John shook his head, not liking to remember his gambling days. "Well. Maybe the girl is Mary's way of looking out for us from beyond."
Spencer reached out to touch his dad's shoulder. "I hope so," he said. "She seems to only want to know who Mum was. Not Moriarty, just- Mum. Dad, I mean this in the nicest way-" Spencer said.
"What is it, Spencer?" John asked, smiling at his son.
Spencer leaned in close. "Go drag him off and shag the livin' daylights out of him, would you?" he whispered. "Remind him where he's meant to be, yeah?"
John gave a high, nervous giggle. "We'll see, son. Go on, I think Brandon's making a wreck of the kitchen."
"Hardly," Spencer drawled. "Do what I said, Dad!" He padded off to the kitchen.
Sherlock was scribbling notes in the corner of something that looked like the rough sketch of a human. "Schematics would have to be obtained from photographic evidence as well as genetic. Genetics can compromise a variety of outcomes-"
John huffed and wished desperately to throw a book at his lover. "Sherlock, you're going mad. You know that, right? This isn't a case, this isn't a project- this is lunacy."
"It's bloody science fiction!" Sherlock said, shooting straight up. "It doesn't exist, the technology doesn't exist!"
John breathed in through his nose, closing his eyes for a long moment before whirling on Sherlock, "Alright. If it is so important to you, I will allow you to explain what you think must be going on because I'm going to disagree with you either way and I might as well know what I'm disagreeing with but before you do, let me remind you, that I'm your partner. The other father of your son whom you've been ignoring because you're chasing a dead girl. I won't lie, of course there have been times I've been jealous of Mary, but you know as well as I that I was just as in love with her as you, but let me point out that she died, Sherlock, and I haven't, but I might as well have for all the attention you've been giving me because you're not the only blasted one who has been hurt. Now what, pray tell, light of my life, is so bloody important?!"
Sherlock looked nervous, diminished.
"She's Mary," he said, voice exceedingly quiet. "Somehow. The science doesn't add up, but she woke up, in a new form. A phoenix from the ashes, and she's trying to come home. Just say she isn't dead." Sherlock's face twisted, ugly and hurt, red and blotchy.
"We buried her, Sherlock. We had decades to come to terms with the fact that her body was failing. We brought her here to die, didn't we?" John asked. "Why is that so hard for you to accept? Why are you pretending I'm not here?"
"Because she promised me her death," Sherlock said. "It's stupid. I know." He sank down onto the couch. "I asked her for one promise, John. Just the one."
John sat next to Sherlock, placing his hand on Sherlock's leg. "I just wish that in a time we should've been relying on each other that I hadn't had to do this alone. Because that's how I feel right now. Alone."
Sherlock's limbs practically twisted around John. "She's really..?" he asked.
"She's dead, Sherlock," John said, his voice cracking. "And I feel like she took you with her."
"John," Sherlock's voice burst out of him, nearly a sob.
"That's alright, then, there, there," John said, hugging Sherlock tight, patting him on the back. "It's alright, Sherlock. Get it all out."
Sherlock cried onto John's shoulder, practically sitting in his lover's lap. "John, John?" he managed through wretched tears. "Could you-" he hiccuped, covering his mouth. "Would you-"
"What, love? What do you need?" John asked, his eyes looking misty.
"Marrmeh?" Sherlock mumbled into John's neck.
"What?" John asked.
"Marry me?" Sherlock whispered even softer. "Just the papers. Make it real."
John sighed, patting Sherlock's back. Of course it had been too good to be true, hoping that he'd be mature for once in his grown adult life. "Timing, Sherlock."
"How much more time?" Sherlock asked, rubbing at his nose.
"A bit. I'm trying to have a real, honest moment with you. This is not a good moment for proposals," John said. "I've been patient with you, over all this. Can't it be my turn for a little while?"
"What-what d'you want?" Sherlock asked, slowly realizing his own self-absorption. Slowly.
"Just a bit of time," John said, sighing and putting his head back, closing his eyes. He felt old, weak in his bones, and tired. "With you."
Sherlock nuzzled underneath John's ear, puffing warm breath into it. It still wasn't clear of tears, but he pressed an unsteady kiss to the skin there. He wormed one of his hands up John's shirt, settling across his stomach, warm and soft with just a bit of hair. He snuggled close like an annoying cat. John smiled, tightening his grip on the feline detective. This was good enough for right now.
In the kitchen, Spencer sighed over Brandon.
"Have you baked all your emotions out?"
"Piss off, Spencer," Freya murmured.
"Love you, too, Aunt Free."
"I'm taking care of your stubborn parents because they don't make themselves food, it had nothing to do with emotions," Brandon sneered, taking another tray of muffins out of the oven to cool. "Enjoy your walk?"
"Yes, thank you," Spencer said.
"Do you two need a room?" Freya drawled.
"Mummerz, I think he's more interested in his sister right now than he is me. Oh wait, which sister?!" Brandon said with mock horror in his tone.
Spencer face morphed into fury.
"Spencer," Freya said. "A good Dom doesn't react in anger, no matter how much his sub baits him. Brandon, remove the things from the stove and step away."
Brandon, always the disobedient one, did no such thing. "Mother, his fantasy life is none of your concern. Why should I alter my behavior just because he decides to throw a hissy fit-"
Freya got up from her stool, turning off the burner he was using.
"I wasn't asking, Brandon," she said, voice calm. "I said, step away." Brandon rolled his eyes and took a step back, hands raised in sarcastic surrender. Freya took his hands, twisting them behind his back. "March, young man. Bedroom, now."
"Mother, for fuck's holy sake-"
"Unless you'd rather the whole house hear?" she said.
Brandon blushed, sending furious glares in Spencer's direction, but he marched as Freya told him into the bedroom.
"Hands on the wall," Freya said. She saw Spencer lurking in the hall. She leaned in against Brandon's back. "Would you rather Spence watch and learn?"
Brandon placed his hands on the wall, but his voice pitched low. "Are you going to strike me, Mother? Going to teach him how to punish me? If either of you lay a single finger on me, I'll walk myself back to London-" By way of every pub from here to there.
Freya nodded, closing the door on Spencer's face. She sat on her bed, admiring the long line of her son's back. "Does he strike you?"
"Sometimes. If I let him," Brandon replied slowly.
"Do you desire it?" Freya asked, voice low and soothing. "Don't look at me. Eyes on the wall."
"When I let him," Brandon replied, embarrassed beyond belief.
"Do you ask for it?" she asked, tuning into her teacher mode. Mad Mary's had been her baby before she had a child. "Do you crave his pain? Or are you lashing out for a master's hand to comfort you? There's nothing wrong with submitting, my boy. Subs hold the power. Master's live to serve you."
"He's not abusive, Mum. No matter what you and that blockhead that lives with Finch imply. He's fine. I'm- I'm the rotten one," Brandon told her.
Freya stood, running her hands up his stretched back, and down again, pressing in lightly. "Do you ask him for what you need?"
"I don't need anything, Mum. I'm fine," Brandon said, turning his face back to look at her.
Freya pushed his cheek. "I didn't say you could look," she said. "You're bullheaded, Brandon. You're reckless, you're hurting." She raised her hands up to his neck, massaging. "How much have you spoken with him? Really spoken?"
"We live together. We talk," Bran said tensely. He hung his head. "He has Abby."
Freya's hands trailed up into his hair. "You want him for yourself?" she asked.
"No, I don't mind her. I'm just sayin', we don't need to talk. Not like that," Brandon replied with a shrug. "Mum. I'm fine."
"Turn around," she said. Brandon rolled his eyes before dropping his hands, turning around.
"Mum?"
"Talk, Brandon. To Spencer. You've lost your mother. Both of you. You both have needs that dear Abby cannot provide. Spencer's been in Mad Mary's again. Three times since the funeral," Freya said.
"Isn't that the club? What's he doing in there?" Bran asked, folding his arms over his chest.
"Watching, for now," Freya said. "Be careful, sweetheart. Talk to him."
"Alright, Mumzie, I'll talk to him," Brandon said, folding her in his arms. "I'm going to go home now if you're through embarrassing me. The baby needs to eat soon anyway."
Freya hugged him back, patting his chest. "Be-have, Brandon," she said. "And take care of that boy." She squeezed him once more. "I love you, darling."
"Love you, too, Mum," Bran said with a sigh before he pulled away. He opened the door, wondering if Spencer was still in the hall.
He was, but far away enough to give them privacy. He looked up, worried and expectant.
Brandon huffed and went into the kitchen for his messenger bag, leaving the mess for the adults to clean up. He twirled the keys around his index finger. "Coming back with me?"
"Mm," Spencer said, catching sight of his parents curled up - quite intimately - on the sofa. "Best leave them," he said softly. "Alright?"
"Yeah," Brandon said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Mummerz just wanted a chat to make sure you weren't beating the ever living shite out of me." He jogged down the little ramp to the front of the house. "Why were you in Mad Mary's?"
Spencer flushed lightly. "Work," he said. "I got an invitation. I don't trust one of the more well known Doms. I've seen a few subs go missing."
"Are you being careful? You've got a family to consider now," Brandon said, taking the driver's side of the car. Spencer ducked into the passenger side, flopping in like a sullen teenager.
"Of course I'm careful, I'm always careful," he drawled. "You're one to talk about careful! If you're jealous or something..."
"I'm not jealous. I just don't trust that woman. She's taking advantage of our parents, and she needs surveillance. I don't like her near my mother," Brandon snapped, pulling out of the driveway too roughly.
"I'll speak to Jack. He may not be entirely indoctrinated into that madness. He's intelligent, even when it does come to Mother," Spencer said, ignoring his seatbelt. "Your mother. Possessive."
"They're getting older, Spencer. I have to look out for her," Brandon said, one hand on the wheel. "Don't tell me you aren't worried about Sherlock. It's the same. We're taking care of them now."
"They're our parents though. Not yours or mine," Spencer said, reaching for Brandon's free hand. "Even the weird ones like Jack and Seb. I'm worried for Father, but only because he's upsetting Dad. It's not fair. Not fair to Dad. He's been Sherlock Holmes's partner for bloody ever! And Father just goes off the deep end like Mum's was his soul mate or something!"
"Maybe they were. Can't you be soul mates and still end up happy with someone else? Or have more than one soulmate? Mary loved everyone, and out of all the men she picked your father for you. Maybe..." Bran trailed off, pausing for a few moments. "I mean, if you can only have one soulmate, which one is Abby and which one am I? Am I John or am I Mary?"
Spencer pressed his face against the glass of the window in misery. "Do I have to be Sherlock in this scenario?" he mumbled.
"Which would you prefer?"
"I'd rather be Mum," Spencer sighed. "I dunno, Bran, I love Abby. But for God's sake, don't make me choose. I'm afraid of the answer."
"I would never make you choose. I'm just trying to get you to ease up on Sherlock," Brandon said with a frown. "Maybe understand your mum and John better."
"I understand Mum," Spencer whispered. "She said, she was always lonely. I don't want to feel that way. I don't go to Mad Mary's to play, Bran. Just for work. I come home to not be lonely. But sometimes - you aren't there. And I'm lonely then."
"Just be careful, Spencer. I don't want something happening to you because you were stupid," Brandon said, glaring at the road ahead.
"My parents were geniuses," Spencer sniffed. "So long as I keep the work away from my emotions, I'll be fine."
"See that you are," Bran replied.
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