Resurrection

It hit Sherlock like a ton of bricks. In the middle of the night, unable to sleep for days after Seb had trashed his medicine - and Sherlock became reacquainted with the knife Sebastian slept with under his pillow - the thought bludgeoned him awake.

The detective sat up in bed quickly, eyes wide in the darkness.

"John!"

"Speaking to me now, are we?" John mumbled, after he'd woken up. He'd never taken well to being startled awake, even though his reactions had softened over the years.

"She's not dead," Sherlock said, pulling back the covers.

Alright, Freya might've talked him into smoking quite a bit of their marijuana stash to calm him down, but he always worked best when high.

"Sherlock, please," John begged, his heart breaking at the hurtful words. He flopped back down onto his pillow, putting another one over his face. "Don't do this. It's too much."

"No - no, see you're all wrong," Sherlock said. "I've been dead before." He started rifling through his things. "Feel free to call me crazy, John, but trust me, she's not anymore dead now than she was when she left with Moriarty. Became Moriarty. She's not dead. No open casket? Strange, isn't it? For a woman so beloved? She died simply? No autopsy? Blasphemy!"

"Maybe," John said, voice dripping with acid and words muffled by his pillow, "it hurt too much to see her that way. She had a family, Sherlock, children. Or were you too engulfed in your own pain to notice our son was grieving for his mother!"

"You don't believe me," Sherlock said, straightening with a pair of old worn jeans. Something that he had only grown to love after they moved into the cottage. Messing about in the garden in couture trousers? No way.

"No, Sherlock, I don't believe you. What proof have you got that she's not dead?" John asked, pushing himself up on his elbows to look at the man. John had aged years in just a few short weeks since Mary's death. He missed her, even the crazy version of her, and his heart broke for the children. Especially Bran, the poor unfortunate soul. "We buried her, Sherlock. She's gone."

"She promised me!" Sherlock said, gripping the denim. "She bloody promised me! It was my choice, not hers and I haven't figured it out yet, but I know it. I'd know it!" He turned around to pull on the jeans. "I missed the clues."

"There are no clues, Sherlock," John said, trying to go back to sleep. His gray hair blended into the expensive blue-gray sheets on the bed. "I hate to see you like this. It's sick."

"I'm not sick," Sherlock said, voice dripping with acid. He slammed through drawers, hunting a plaid shirt and sweater. His coat - unfortunately a new style of Belstaff - was in the hall. "I've got research to do."

He was out of their room and into the den when a gun met him.

"What did you say?" Jack's voice, low and deadly, asked in the darkness.

"She's not dead."

"How?" Jack said, pointing the gun closer to Sherlock.

"I-" Sherlock started. "I don't know." He swallowed. He didn't know. He didn't have the science, the facts, the clues, only the gut feeling. "I don't know, but something is wrong."

"You're not convincing me, Holmes."

"Sebastian asked you to watch me."

"We're all meant to be watching."

"She isn't dead," Sherlock repeated with the belief of a man who would curse the existence of God to his dying day, but believed in his very bones that Mary Morstan, such as she was, was out there - somewhere.

***

Three weeks pass since his revelation. Sherlock asked for coroner's report - woefully lacking. Police write up. Mary's will. He pulled her old medical records, half of which were in Russian. More than half which didn't contain her real name. Even more that were [redacted].

He knew John was furious with him. It hurt that his lover didn't believe him. Maybe he was crazy, but - he just - needed.

He wasn't sleeping, wasn't eating. It was the case of a lifetime. Mary's lifetime.

There was a knock on the front door. Sherlock scowled, scrubbing at his face as he left the latest batch of notes to the side. He was wearing too much of a grey-brown-red stubble this morning. He opened the door anyway.

It was Mary. Well, the girl standing there was a perfect copy of Mary. Even more so than Finch. Right down to her freckles on her nose, the vibrant red hue of her hair, her pale skin and bright green eyes. Except she was young. Twenty at best. The girl gave him the same gorgeously bright smile. "Hello, I'm looking for a Mary Morstan."

Sherlock's eyes watered. He dropped to his knees, clinging to the door. He stared. She was so.. young. "Mary..." he breathed.

"Oh, um, yes, that's who I'm looking for. I'm Arabella, or, Ari, as they call me," the girl said, holding out her hand. "I'm her daughter."

Sherlock struggled back to his feet. He looked at her hand as though it were an alien thing. He reached out for it. "According to popular belief, Mary Morstan is dead," he said, stroking her hand - entirely inappropriately - marveling at the warmth.

"What a shame," the girl said, frowning. "I'd never met my mother. I should've liked to know her."

"Please," Sherlock said. "Come in-" he offered the door.

The girl's walk was ... Mary's. She looked around with curious eyes. Her graceful steps were the same as they had been before the late Mrs. Moran-Morstan-Holmes had her stroke. "What a charming place you have here. Do you live alone now that she's gone?"

"I'm flattered you assume I was hers," Sherlock replied. "No, Sebastian and Jack have gone to visit her- other daughter. John, my lover, is about somewhere. My watcher for today is Freya, Mary's best friend. You say you're her daughter - the likeness is - remarkable. May I ask, if an old man may, how old are you, darling?"

Ari flushed prettily (copycopycopy) and she grinned at him, nose wrinkling. "Sounds cozy, all of you living together. Especially in a time of need. I'm.." Ari frowned, like she was concentrating on something, puzzling it out, "twenty-two."

"Impossible," Sherlock said, shaking his head. "No offense, intended, but biologically, impossible."

"It isn't," Ari insisted with a darling smile. Her cheek even dimpled in the same place as... "I believe the word you're looking for is test-tube baby. My father had a sample of Mrs. Morstan's DNA and the rest is simple."

"Father?" Sherlock choked. "And who...?" His hands were shaking. She was like Mary had just stepped out of the past. Only without the memories of the touching of their lips, the mingling of their tears, their hearts- he shook his head.

"Um, Mr. Holmes, her late husband," the girl said, clasping her hands in front of her. She shrugged. "He wasn't very paternal. Handed me over to a scientist, a Mr. Algernon Desmond."

Sherlock barked out a laugh. "Mycroft!" he sneered. "Never touched her, still managed to-" His eyes were only off her a minute. "Mary-" He winced. "Arabelle. You look, very much like your mother." He moved to sit on the sofa, pulling out his file on his lover. "Do you know who I am?"

"I'm going to assume from Mr. Holmes' personal artifacts that you are Sherlock or Sherrinford," Arabelle replied sweetly, following to sit across from him. On the edge of the window seat.

"Sherlock," he murmured. "Mary's lover and arch rival. We have a son - Spencer. About your age." He had to wipe away sudden tears. "Excuse me," he said.

The girl waved her hand graciously. "Is there anything I can get you Mr. Holmes? You seem most disturbed. Perhaps I should go?"

"No, please," Sherlock said, reaching out. "It's just- you look. Well, you make me forget I'm not a young man anymore. Almost like I've stepped back in time."

"Sherlock?" Freya called out. "D'you need another smoke?"

"Mr- excuse me, Dr. Desmond told me often that even though he'd only seem my mother in a photograph that I was a very nice copy," Ari said, shrugging her shoulders. "Had I know of her passing, I never would've presumed-"

"Nonsense," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock," Freya said.. "Sher-oh." Freya's tired eyes fell on the girl. "Oh that's just cruel."

The girl stood, taking a step towards Freya with her hand extended. "I'm sorry, miss. I'm Ari. I came looking for my mother."

Freya's hand was at her mouth. She bypassed the girls hand and wrapped her into a fierce hug.

"Oh!" Ari exclaimed, hugging the woman back. "Well, that's a lovely welcome, then. I was worried I should go."

"Only if you run away with me!" Freya teased. She sat beside the girl, cupping her face. "Oh sweetheart. Where were you hiding?!"

"I was just explaining to Mr. Holmes that I'm her daughter, with Mr. Mycroft Holmes. He left me at Baskervilles for most of my life," Ari said. She looked hesitantly towards Sherlock and back again at Freya. "Apparently I only just missed her. I never knew Mrs. Morstan."

"By about five weeks or so, I'm afraid," Freya said gently. "We're all only just starting to come back from it."

"She's not dead!" Sherlock insisted.

Freya shook her head. "She had a big family though. One that is more than willing to add one more," she said, stroking the girl's red-red hair. "Aren't you a doll?! You look so much like my Mary. She was beautiful. And strong and incredible. A good thing you took after your mother so much, Mycroft was a nasty bastard."

"Who never got a leg over!" Sherlock said, continuing to flip through his papers while glancing back at young Ari. He finally found a picture from Mary's birthday.

"Is Sebastian back?" John asked, wondering who all the voices were. He stopped short, gasping at the sight of Mar- the girl. "Who is this, then?"

"Mycroft's attempt at procreating with his arranged marriage," Sherlock said.

"This is Ari, Mary's daughter," Freya said, hands holding the girls. "How about some tea, love? Biscuits? I think my son left some dark chocolate cherry.."

"Oo, I love chocolate and cherries," Ari replied, giving Freya's fingers a warm squeeze. "If it's not too much of a bother-"

"I'll- I'll get tea," John said, clearly shaken at the sight of the girl. "You just- You all just stay here." He turned on his heel in a military style.

"We've all taken Mary's passing hard," Freya said, looking longingly at the girl. "She was much loved. I wish you had the chance to meet her. She loved children. She loved love. John and Sherlock, Mary gave them Spencer, your um, well cousin brother? about twenty years ago. Finch was about five years earlier, darling girl. Born right in the midst of the biggest crime take over."

Freya giggled, a bit hysterical.

"Brandon, my son - well, our son. I had a bit of help-"

"Sherrinford," Sherlock filled in without looking at the not-Mary.

"Hush," Freya said, flapping her hand at him. "He's a love, but we would've been blessed to have you around."

"I'm sure that's true. Perhaps, it's a bit like Harry Potter. One cannot exist while the other lives or something like it," Ari told her. "I've taken a house nearby. I'd hoped to spend time with her, but in light of her absence, perhaps I can just visit with you? Meet your beautiful family?"

"Of course, sweetheart," Freya said. "Absolutely. I had hoped Bran would be a little girl. We loved Finch so much. Alas, two boys!" She leaned in closer. "Maybe you would be good for Sherlock, too. He's taken this worst of all, I'm afraid." She made a pitying face as Sherlock mumbled over his work. "Let's move to the chairs, love. This is where she.. was found."

"Certainly, I'm sorry, I didn't know," the girl said, but her eyes didn't look very sorry at all. She stood, waiting to be directed into a chair. "A large family sounds lovely. I only had Dr. Desmond growing up, although a few years ago he had the most lovely twin boys. They're about five, named Julian and Dare. Sweetest things."

Freya's face bloomed. "Spencer just adopted a boy, Liam, well I say adopted," she waved a hand to Sherlock's chair, sitting in John's. "And Finch is expecting! Her father is in London seeing to her now. They're getting new ultrasound pictures today. Little girl. Bless her."

"How lovely. But then, children are always lovely," the girl sighed wistfully. She sat primly and straight up in a royal manner that Mary had also possessed. Like a woman in charge of the world. "And your excited for them. But surely they're all too young to be reproducing."

"Nonsense. Finch is nearing twenty six, engaged and all," Freya giggled. "Spencer's a bit young, but the boy's a foster. Brandon, my boy, I say boy. He's a chef of a lovely cafe. All professionals. Mary and I were really a bit late taking on parenthood."

"Baskerville," Sherlock said, looking up.

"And how do you like living in the country? I only just got here yesterday and it seems very peaceful," the girl asked, as though Sherlock hadn't spoken.

"Dreadfully dull - if not for the garden," Freya said. "I miss my shop, but I've retired. I still keep up with the blog, or had before Mary.. passed. I've been keeping a weathered eye on my son. I took a rather paternal role with him. Mary was such a better mother."

"Yes, mother," Sherlock interrupted. "Baskerville. Mycroft. Who in the world would he choose for a surrogate? Raised in such a place, you much have mounds of paperwork about the procedure."

"I really haven't. I believe all my files are classified," the not-Mary said, angling her chin at him when she finally deigned to look in his direction.

Sherlock felt a strange compulsion to go back to listening. Observing her too closely hurt. Like looking at the sun.

"It doesn't matter," Freya said, shaking her head. "You're healthy though? Have you been checked for Mary's little um, heart matter?"

"Oh, my heart is no trouble. I've been very closely monitored," Ari assured her. She watched John shakily set a tea tray on the coffee table. "I'd heard she had a history of stroke. Was that what killed her, do you think?"

"Likely," Freya said softly.

Sebastian was pulling off his gloves as he entered the den. "We requested no autopsy. Mary had been cut upon enough in her life," he said, dropping the gloves into his coat pocket before pulling it off his broad shoulders. "Sebastian Moran."

"I'm Ari. Mary's daughter," the girl said, standing, hand extended as it had been with everyone. She gave him an appreciative, appraising stare. Like a hungry animal, grinning. "How do you do?"

"Pleasure," Seb rumbled, taking her hand. "Ari. No last name?"

"Holmes. Arabella Holmes," the girl said after a moments consideration. "Mr. Mycroft Holmes is my father."

"My condolences," Sebastian said, hand still wrapped around the girl's. "John, tea for two more please. Jack's got the pictures of Finch's girl. My daughter's having a child, impulsive thing. Mary was like that. Decided to have Finch in the middle of a war."

"Miss Murphy was just telling me," Ari said, her smile only growing wider. "She sounds like quite a canon."

Sebastian laughed. "Quite," he hummed, leading her back to the window seat. "You favor her. I hope for your sake you are a very careful girl. Did Mr. Holmes think to train you in the arts of self-defense? Mary Morstan was not a woman without enemies."

"Of course he got the girl schooling. The best of the best and then some," Sherlock said from his perch.

Jack hovered, silent. His dark eyes soaked in the tender way Sebastian handled the girl. The loving look that passed over the older man's face.

"I can shoot a coin out of the air, if that's what your asking," Ari said to Sebastian with sparkling eyes. "Or drop a deer in the wood, if need be. But if you're offering a refresher lesson, Mr. Moran, I'm sure there are many things you could show me."

"It would be my honor," Sebastian murmured. "We've got plenty of woods out back, so it's safe to shoot. You're welcome to my gun safe any time."

"She's staying nearby," Freya said, voice pitched up. "Whereabouts did you say, darling?"

"I'm renting the cottage next door. It was such a lovely day I walked over," Ari replied sweetly. "I should be getting back. Would it be alright if I were to call again? Tomorrow, perhaps?"

"Yes, of course," Sebastian said. "Hares are common this time of year. Maybe we could try a bit of hunting, if you're inclined."

"I should like that a lot, Mr. Moran. You've been most kind," Ari said, patting his cheek. She stood and shifted her bag on her shoulder. "Thank you. I know this must have been difficult for all of you."

"You could say that," John sniped under his breath.

"Let me see you to the door," Seb said, standing to take her by the arm. "We've got a few ill-tempered hosts," he said as he lead her through to the foyer.

Ari looked pleasantly surprised. "Ah, how kind of you. I'm sure it's hard for everyone, if I do so closely resemble my mother, as everyone has said I do. I didn't realize that she had passed-"

"Yes, it may have been her time," Seb said, pausing by the door. He paused, a man uncertain. He leaned close, pressing a soft kiss to Ari's cheek. "I only wished I had the chance to say goodbye, and thank you."

Ari's smile went from Cheshire cat to soft and genuine, her eyes looking a little misty. "She would've liked that as well, I think. Tomorrow, Mr. Moran?"

"It's a date, Miss Holmes," he said, opening the door for her. "Don't be a stranger."

While Seb was taking the girl out, John was looking at everyone with a bewildered expression. "What the bleeding hell was that?"

"Mycroft's meddling," Sherlock swore, scribbling more notes into a notebook. "Experiment. Disgustingly perfect result."

"Perfect result, blimey, she's practically a clone," Freya swore.

"Clones don't have parents. Their lives are also relatively shorter than their mothers-" Sherlock continued.

"Shut up, Sherlock," Freya sighed. "How's she just coming to find us now?"

"Mycroft always was secretive," John told her, giving a disturbed shake. "I can't- I mean-" He shook his head. "I'm a doctor. Even if she'd been Mary's twin, there would've been some deviation, something... else. There is something wrong. She was too similar."

"Maybe your psycho-boyfriend was right," Jack said, arms crossed. He'd watched the entire exchange between Seb and Ari.

"Don't," John said with a frustrated glare. "Don't call him that."

"Mary always wanted a healthy body," Jack said, sizing John up.

"Science fiction," Sherlock turned around to sneer.

"But you'd be right," Jack said. "She's not dead."

"Impossible," Sherlock reiterated.

"Impossible," John agreed with an eager nod. "She's just- She's Mary's look-a-like daughter. That's the most likely."

"And no matter what your theories, impossible, improbable, or otherwise," Seb said, re-entering the room. "You will treat her like glass, or else."

Freya faked a shiver. "Ooo scary," she purred. "She's a doll, Sebby. Sherlock, keep your theories off the girl, and John, take your happy pills and we'll all be fine."

"I can't take them," John sneered at her. "We flushed everything because Sherlock can't be trusted."

"I've got them in my safe under the bed," Freya said, unfolding from John's chair. She tipped up to kiss his cheek. "Someone said baby pictures!?" she asked brightly.

Jack and Seb's expressions both changed, nearly fighting over the tiny print-outs of Finch's wee little daughter. Not-Mary was briefly forgotten in the clammer, until Seb stepped away to look out a window. Names meant little. His Mary was still out there. Sherlock, for all his insanity, was right -when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

***

Jack, like Seb, like Sherlock, had spent his life with Mary. However, unlike the two of them, he spent a good deal of it from afar. 'Ari' as she called herself was a photo-copy of young Mary. Literally matching pictures Jack himself had saved. 

Seb had told him he was going to bed - pointed look not withstanding. Jack had pretty much abandoned his room, sleeping with Seb every night since Mary's death. Tonight, however, he waved the old sniper off and said he'd be along. He slipped into some of his old gear, pocketing his lock picks and took off on foot to the neighboring house. 

Process of elimination meant Ari was living in a smaller cottage off to their left. The right house was owned by a lovely elderly couple who bred Airedales in their retirement. Jack cased the house like it was any house he might break into in the past.

Front door was obvious, too obvious. Intruders were rarely so dumb. Most people barracaded their front doors while forgetting to lock the windows. He circled the house trying a few. He took a screw driver until one popped up. He wedged it under, silently raising the window up, and climbing inside.

She sat, cross legged, on a large Victorian bed, gun leveled at his face. "May I help you, Mr. Kincaid?"

Jack smiled, raising his hands.

"I think you might be able to," he said. "Mary."

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean, sir. I know you weren't present at the meeting this afternoon, but I'm sure someone would've told you. My name is Ari," said the girl. "Why are you breaking into my home?"

"Present? Yes," Jack said. "Participating, no. Observation is always done best from the shadows. No need to stand on manners, Ari. I do believe we're a bit past that."

The girl cocked her head to the side, regarding him with the same green eyes he'd once loved. "You still didn't answer the question. What did you hope to find by entering in this manner?"

"Hope? I've learned quite a bit. One, you're armed, two, you were prepared for someone to come upon you this evening," Jack said. "Which of us were you expecting?"

"After meeting the lot of you I think everyone except Freya or John, perhaps," Ari said, quirking up an eyebrow. "But they strike me as too sensible. I'm armed because, as your Sebastian pointed out, my mother had many enemies. Perhaps enemies who would harm me, upon learning of my existence."

"I promise I came unarmed," Jack said, hands still in the air. "You're welcome to check." He waggled his eyebrows invitingly.

"Oh, I don't think that would be necessary. You wouldn't hurt me, I'm sure of it. Your Sebastian would have something to say," Ari replied with a wave of her hand. She danced the gun in the air like she was bored with it. "What makes you think-"

"I don't do the thinking," Jack laughed. "Mary did. You did."

"What makes you think I am her? You saw her body lowered into the ground yourself, didn't you? Weren't you there when they discovered her on the windowseat? Dead and gone," Ari asked, getting up to her knees to edge forward on the bed. Her white nightgown was like mist in the moon light. "How would she even be able to come back? I'm afraid all this talk is madness, isn't it, Mr. Kincaid?"

"Mary was madness," Jack breathed. "I saw a box lowered into the ground. I saw a headstone. I saw grief and a name end. But I know you. I've always known you." He dropped the screwdriver, stepping closer. "Holmes will want to know how you've done it."

"It's good for someone to wonder, isn't it?" Mary asked, biting her lip in a familiar gesture.

Jack pushed away the gun, grasping for her hair and pulling her into a soul-crushing kiss. Her lips responded in kind, eagerly pushing back at his, her hands twisting into his hair. Jack's sighed into the kiss, relief infusing his body as he stroked her young body through the gauzy dress, nipping and biting at her lips as he groaned. He broke off to pant.

"Oh thank god," he said.

"Were you worried?" Mary asked, rubbing their noses together, fingers feeling over his cheek.

"Desperately," Jack admitted. "Don't- I'm all old now." He took her hand away from his face. "Look at you. Beautiful, young - healthy again."

"I'm old. I'm old where it counts. I'm all alone, Jack. Let me touch you," Mary begged sweetly, putting her hand back where it had been.

Jack leaned back in to kiss her. "I feel like a dirty old man," he laughed. "Don't tell me how it's done. Don't tell me you aren't her."

"I-I believe I'm her. Can that be enough for you?" the girl asked, looking on the verge of being heartbroken. She blinked back wetness in her eyes. "I feel I'm her. I want to be myself again."

Jack was holding back tears himself. "Tell me, tell me something only she knows," he asked. "And only I know."

"The first time I let you see me, you'd kidnapped Freya and I told you if you ever called me a beautiful bitch again I would show you how good a shot I am," the girl whispered, rubbing their noses together. "You took me for ice cream the first day that we had sex, and you're the only one I could trust after I tried to kill myself. You're the only one I never had to share."

Jack pushed off the carpet, pressing Mary to the bed. His lips were on her young, soft throat, marking it, scraping his gingery stubble across it as he took her hands in his.

"Mary," he breathed. "Oh my God, Mary, Mary, Mary." He stroked over her face, her body. "I am always yours." She kissed him, desperately, like she would be gone in the morning.

"My own Jack," Mary breathed, holding him tight.

Jack stroked her face, pale pink cheeks smooth, green eyes brilliant, lips cherry colored from kissing. "Should I call you Ari?" he asked. "To make it easier?"

He wasn't making it easier though, stroking his hand up her nightgown. Her legs were.. smooth. No scars, no tattoos.

"No, I want to be myself again," Mary repeated, aching inside. Her fingers pulled gently at the buttons on his shirt. "Nothing in this life is easy."

"No, never," Jack said. "Do you remember the pain?" he asked, tugging the loosened shirt over his head, moving back between her legs this time. He wanted to look at all of her. "Seventeen cuts. It was the worst video next to your stroke. I watched you, love. All your life. You've twenty something years of life I don't know."

"You're so very wrong," Mary said, brushing her little youthful hand over his graying red hair. "I remember everything. The terror, how weak I felt. How the weakness was so much worse than the pain. My body is clean, but my memories aren't."

"But you remember the love," Jack said, hooking a finger through the elastic of her underwear. "I never had your body like this."

"I do remember the love," Mary agreed, watching him. Her expression turned innocent. "You'd be the first this body had."

Jack paused, finger loosening its hold. He sighed, crawling back up to curl around the girl. "Come here," he murmured. She pushed into his waiting arms, both happy and disappointed. Her soft lips kissed him.

"Do you not believe me?" Mary asked.

"I do, Mary," he breathed, kissing her back. "I do, that's the problem." He stroked her beautiful curls. "If you remember, then you remember this is not my place, not my place to be the first with any of your body. I was never first. I was yours, body and heart, but never first, nor favorite."

"Despite the question of favorites," Mary's voice said gently, "You and Seb were the most important. I hope that counts for something."

Jack smiled, a true smile. "I know. We were the ones who got to keep you. You've got a whole life ahead of you now. A gaggle of old men? I know you want to come home, Mary, but I don't want you to watch us age and die."

"I don't want to be anywhere else. There isn't a life without you," Mary replied, nudging closer into his arms. "It's not fair. I didn't ask to die, not then. I didn't ask for this, either. I just want to come home. Of course, I know I can't. But I thought if maybe I called myself something else, lived where I couldn't be so easily observed, that I could-" She hiccuped, sniffling, a tightness growing in her throat. "I thought I could at least-"

"Mary," Jack said, holding her closer. He kissed her forehead. "Shh, shh, love. Don't leave us again, but don't come back to be the little wife, the criminal. Find yourself something new. And besides, if you're going to have it off with an old bloke, Seb'll have my bollocks if I tried taking that from him! I wasn't sure what to believe, but when I saw him with you - I knew."

"Yes, he's always been much quicker than most people," Mary hummed, kissing Jack's cheek. "Even if he's dumb as a post sometimes. And too stubborn, Finch gets that from him. This is my second chance, Jack, and I'm more than aware how good a chance it is, but what good is it without the people I love? Not worth a damn, that's what. I just wanted to see you."

"We're here. Bitter, lonely, and trying to keep your Sherlock from offing himself, but we're here," Jack said, stroking her. She felt soft and warm against his chest. "Let me stay the night."

"Alright. I would like that. It's been lonely without you," Mary whispered, her fingers as eager as his. "But I promised Seb I'd be over tomorrow, so don't let them see you sneak back in. John might have a heart attack from the shock, and we don't need to trigger anything in Sherlock."

"He's been better since he believed you were alive. It began three weeks before you showed up," Jack murmured. "He refused to believe you were gone. Do you -" He paused. "Mary, do you remember dying?"

"Yes," she whispered, cringing into him.

"Were you in pain?" he whispered. "Free said she was only away from you moments."

"No. It isn't a feeling I can describe, but I wouldn't call it pain," Mary replied, only lying a little. "Why do you ask?"

"One of us should've been there," Jack sighed. "Been there for you, been there to protect Brandon from finding you. He hasn't been the same."

"I didn't know," Mary said. She stroked his neck, holding him. "Can I be there when you die?"

"You don't want to be there," Jack said, shaking his head. "You'll have gone off, made a new life."

"I will never not be there for you, Jack. Don't ask it of me," Mary replied, catching his lips again. "Don't make me. I don't want it."

Jack sighed into her mouth. "Yes then, fine, whatever you wish," he agreed too readily. "Just promise you aren't angry we weren't there when you.."

"You were there. In our home, just steps away. No regrets, Jack. No apologies," Mary said. "Go to sleep. I'll be here."

"A little longer," Jack begged of her. "I just want to look at you. Robbin' the cradle I am. You're young enough to be my daughter now."

"Ooo," Mary grinned appreciatively. "There's some kinky role play we could try. Take me, Daddy Jack-"

Jack cackled. "Naughty girl. You go to sleep," he murmured. "Seb'll want to take you hunting. And likely shag you in the woods. I swear if he tries to feel me up one more time in my sleep.. I haven't got tits!"

Mary giggled softly, stroking over his face with her smooth fingers, down his throat, over his chest. "Well, you're mostly safe from being felt up here. And you need rest. It's been an emotional day."

"You've no idea," Jack sighed. The best, the worst - she still smelled like Mary. He sighed, relaxing into her body. He ached to be young again. To have her for himself. The damage they could cause. For now, he would content himself with simply being selfish, having her close as the curtains blew softly where he'd forgotten to close them completely.

***

Seb was timely, of course, knocking on Ari's door early in the morning.

When she opened it, her long red hair had been bound in a loose braid, hanging over her shoulder. She wore jeans, but her shirt was blousy and had gentle flowers over it. Her feet were bare. And her lips tilted up in the sweetest smile when she saw his face. "Hello, Mr. Moran."

"Miss Holmes," Seb said, nodding. He had a few guns strapped visibly onto his person. "Weather's a bit cold. I reckon you might want something a little warmer for hunting." He looked at her feet.

"Oh, of course. I was only just finishing getting ready," Ari said, moving to the side so he could come inside. "Won't you come in?"

Seb stepped inside, feeling much too tall for the cozy cottage.

"Ours looked like this before," he murmured.

"I'm sorry, would you rather wait outside? I wouldn't like to cause you pain, Lord but you're large," the small woman said, looking up at him. Without the high ceilings of his own cottage, he did look especially big. She sat down on a soft sofa, tugging on polka dotted socks and leather boots. "I shouldn't like to cause you any pain."

"No, it's comfortable," Seb murmured. "Simple. Not a massive thing that grew and grew to accommodate the merging of three families. Hardly a cottage anymore, is it?"

"You mean the place where you live? No, I'm sure there are many who would agree that it's no cottage," the girl told him, grinning up. She pushed herself to her feet. "Let me just fetch a coat."

"I've got a permit, too. In case we find a buck," Seb added. "No shootin' does this time of year, but well, I know a few good things to do with a bit of deer meat. Got a deep freezer too, which you're welcome to keep meat in."

"You are most accommodating, Mr. Moran," Ari told him, sliding a thin jacket over her arms. "I'm glad to be spending time with you. If it's not too painful, perhaps you can regale me with stories of my mother. I would like to- Oh, do I have to with you? Jack said you figured it out, didn't you?"

"Pretend if you like, but it's not necessary," Sebastian murmured. "There were only three people in that Russian cottage. Two of whom are dead."

"Are you very cross with me?" Mary asked, stepping towards him.

"Depends on what the truth is," Seb said. His guns clinked as he shifted. He was uncertain. She was so- small. She's always been small, but after her surgery, she's gained muscle and weight again. She's grown larger than her physical self. "Will you tell me?"

"Jack begged me not to tell him, but you want to know. What if you don't agree with him when I'm finished? What if you say I'm not her?" The girl asked, ceasing her movement. Like a deer caught in sights, she held perfectly still.

"Wouldn't it still be pretending if you didn't know for certain?" Seb asked.

"Perhaps. Perhaps you're right, Mr. Moran. I'll just be Ari instead, and we'll go out to the forest and you can teach me. And I'll follow you this time," the girl said, tilting her chin down, her eyes away.

"As you say," Seb agreed. "Do you have your own weapons?"

"Do handguns count?" the girl answered sweetly.

Seb snorted. "For bigger game." He pulled a pellet shooter out. "For smaller ones. I don't fancy pulling a .45 out of rabbit's eye. Come along, kid." He headed for the door. Seb spent a lot more time in the woods after they moved out here. The garden was fine, but they'd truly purchased several acres of wild woods. "These woods are ours. No one else should be hunting in them. If you fancy it, you'll come to the house and get Jack or me."

"Yes, sir," Mary-Ari replied with a sweet time. Without taking out a phone, she sent a text message.

[Jack. He's decided not to play along without me telling him everything. I'm still Ari. He just called me Kid. This is problematic. :-( -- Ari]

[Give him time. A sniper never does anything in a hurry - Jack]

"We've got a shooting range set up aways out, too," Seb continued. "But I hunt further. Think you can keep up, princess?"

"I certainly think so, old man," Mary poked, skipping beside him. She wasn't even breathing hard. "It's a very pretty day out."

[He doesn't look as happy as he did last night. If I end up with bullet wounds I will be very put out we didn't shag first. Of all the things, to die a virgin. - Mary Ari]

[love you - Jack]

Seb walked silently, watching. He stopped several times to check for signs of wildlife.

"Another five hundred yards," he grunted out. Orange leaves wooshed beneath their feet as they walked. "Stop texting."

"I'm not texting. I haven't even got a phone in my hand," Ari pointed out.

Seb looked back. He could've sworn... He shook off the strangeness, heading for his tree house. He wasn't entirely certain Mary had been there. He knew of Sherlock's little cove that had been dug out for a fire pit, but the tree house was a little shack, sniper shack. It was Seb's home away from home.

He brushed away the vines and mess hiding the ladder.

"Up ya git," he said, gesturing for her to go up first.

Her little body shimmied up the ladder, jeans clinging to a firm behind. A few strands of hair pulled loose. "This is a sweet place."

"Mmhmm," Seb agreed, closing the hatch. "Have to keep the birds out in spring." He reached up into a shelf, pulling down two soft blankets and a mat from overhead. "Make yourself comfortable. It's easier to hide up here and wait for them to come to us. At least this early in the day." He pulled open the sliding window, slitted like a sniper's keep.

[We're actually hunting. We're actually hunting right now. - Ari]

She settled down on the mat, looking up at him with big eyes. "Sounds pretty. Have you ever thought of taking up bird watching? Instead of shooting things, I mean."

Seb raised an eyebrow at her, long gone white and grey. He kept his hair shorn military short still, a bit longer on the top. "I like shooting things," he said. "I liked raising things too. My daughter grew up."

"She did, according to the kind lady at your house. Freya, was it?" Ari said. "She's having a child and everything. That sounds very exciting. You must be happy."

"You know who Freya is, don't play games," Sebastian said, setting up his gun in the window. "And she isn't kind. She's a little bitch with a sharper bite than her bark. I like her."

"So do I," Ari said. "Sebastian-"

Seb sat on the mat, back leaning against the wood of the tree house. "I'm old, Mary. I'm old, and I've buried the only two people I've ever loved. If you've come to taunt us, you've won. If you've come for something else, I'm not your detective, I'm not a blind follower. I'm your husband, the father of your child, and I want to know if it's really you."

"I know how old you are, Sebastian. That doesn't bother me," Mary said, scooting closer. "I didn't mean to die. It wasn't how I planned it, at all. I don't want to taunt or torture you. I told Jack if you wanted I would go, but there is no point to being alive without you. You're the love of my life. I know all that bit about Sherlock being my favorite, but even he used to agree, that you were what kept me going."

[He's hunting something. It's not game - Jack]

"I put you in the ground," Seb said, eyes red as he watched her. "You weren't meant to go alone."

"You buried me. Heart something, by the way. Broken valve or something- not a stroke. If the brain had been damaged further I wouldn't be here now," Mary told him, her voice cracking. "I'm exactly the same as I was, only stronger. Do appearances mean so much to you? Am I hurting you so much more by being here?"

Seb made a wordless gesture, opening his arms as he stretched his legs the length of the mat. Mary curled into his embrace, settling against him. Seb's chest shook as he breathed.

"I can't keep you like this," he croaked out. "What would the children say?"

"Are you going to make me leave?" Mary whispered. "What does it matter what they say? Do you want to be apart?"

"Never, never again," Seb panted, hand shaking as he cupped Mary's cheek. "You're really in there?"

"The harvested my brain, and put it in a machine that made it alive again, and then mapped the neurokinetics or something and downloaded me into a fresh body. I have every feeling, every memory, every wish and dream- although they claim we don't dream, I do- that she had. I'm her," the girl told him, tears sliding over her cheeks. All water reservoirs had been prepped for this moment, so she could prove it to him. "Please? Can't I come home?"

"Are you- human?" Seb asked, touching her cheek. It felt warm, it felt like - skin and tears. He brought a tear to his lips.

"I feel human. But the body, that's different," Mary said, blushing. "I have very human responses. There is little that I do not do or feel."

Seb pulled her closer, urging her to straddle his lap. He leaned up, pressing his lips to hers. "It's very real," he said.

"I suddenly know how Pinocchio felt," Mary teased, kissing back, her lithe young body pressed close to his. She brushed her hands over his chest. "You're so beautiful. The process took ages, and I missed you, so very much, Sebastian, I love you, I love you, I never got to tell you enough-"

Seb silenced her with another kiss. "You never had to say a word, Mary," he murmured. "Not a word. I knew. I always knew. I loved you when you were Jim's, I loved you when you were John's, I loved you when you were yours."

"I'll always love you," Mary promised. She pressed her fingers to his cheek, looking sly. "I couldn't talk you into letting me keep you, could I?"

Seb blinked, feel heat rise on his cheeks. "No one would want to put the work into a broken down soldier-" he said, looking away.

"I would. Think it over, don't spoil this, not right now. I sold my first time, you know. Never had it with someone who loved me, who knew what I like," Mary kissed him again. "Seb. Show me."

Seb brows raised. "Here? With me, like this?" he asked, ashamed of his age. His muscles gone softer despite continuing to work to keep in shape. Running, lifting, sparring with John and Jack. There was only so much one could do.

"Does it matter where? We've not been apart in thirty years and I haven't seen you for five weeks. Two of which I was dead for, and let me tell you, that's not comfortable. Did you want to come back to the cottage with me?" Mary asked. She kissed him, not trusting her own words.

"No, no, here," Seb said, hands curling around her back. Inside the hutch, it was dimmer. He had his weapons and it was safe. Colder, but safe. No possibility of cameras or interruptions. This was his space. The only person he ever shared everything with was Mary. He kissed her again, aching with the sweetness of it. Her body was so warm and soft.

"Tiger. My sweet tiger," Mary whispered, caressing his jaw. She tugged at the buttons on his coat. "You aren't too cold?"

Seb reached out to close the opened window. "Russia was worse," he hummed. He unzipped her jacket, pushing it from her shoulders. He grazed his teeth over her neck. "If I damaged you, would you bleed?"

"Sort of," Mary shrugged. "I don't really know. Haven't tried yet." She shivered, the sweet pain-pleasure of his bite. Her hair was pulling loose from it's braid, curling around to frame her face. "Let's find out."

"Want to see you first," Seb said. "Will you be cold?"

"Only a little. Not like you," Mary told him, worrying with every syllable that the spell would be broken.

"Undress for me then," Seb breathed. "Store your things up there. It's clean. Let me get off my boots." It was quickly growing warm simply from their body heat and the wool blankets. He'd made the tree house with insulation too. He'd intended to hunt in deep winter.

Mary stood and slid her soft blouse over her creamy shoulders without a bra to cover her perfectly formed breasts. She toyed with the button on her jeans shyly. Seb had unzipped army surplus boots and moved to put them on the shelf. His breath hitched.

"Good lord," he breathed, turning back to her. He reached out - just to touch. Mary touched him back, too, a gorgeous dance building between them. She cupped his jaw, her signature move.

"Sebastian," she breathed. Seb surged up to kiss her, thumbs stroking across her nipples to feel them tighten - his cock jumped in his jeans. Horrid thoughts sprung to mind until his sliced Mary's lip with the edge of his sharp canine. Copper tang released beneath it. He gasped.

"Ah, that's my Tiger. My brute, as Freya calls you," Mary said, dabbing at the tiny cut oozing reddish liquid. She kissed him again, letting the fluid mingle in their kiss. "Love you, Tiger."

"Mary, boss - you're back," Seb said, heart soaring. He pushed her back, down onto the mat, covering her with kisses. He nipped and sucked and popped the button on her jeans with deft fingers. She was primed with anticipation, her pleasure centers firing in her brain.

"I'm back," she whispered, fingers in his short hair, curling up to kiss his head.

"I hope you aren't in a hurry," Seb murmured. "These things take time with older men. Are you certain, my heart?"

"Take all the time you need. I have it," Mary said, wishing she could just curl up and crawl inside him and live in his heart forever. "I've never been more certain."

Seb leaned down, kissing her body. If he ever worshiped anything, it would be Mary. Her body. Her love. Her mind. He spent hours making love to her, finding his Mary in all the little places in between. Sated and exhausted, he curled around her, stroking her hair.

"When I die," Seb murmured. "If it pleases you. Do whatever you wish with me. I'm yours."

"Good. Because life without you is nothing," Mary told him. "Nothing but torture." She drew sweet little doodles over his chest, the grey-blond hair tickling the pad of her finger. Seb sighed, dozing.

"Don't leave me, Mary," he whispered, eyes closed. "Not again."

Death of a Saint

The ride to the cottage was foggy. It was a good drive, though. Bran reflected with a smug sense of joy on the havoc he'd wreaked in Finch's flat. That moron Thad that she let move in would be all a-twitter and really, he'd probably end up giving Finch the best make-up sex ever and she needed it.

Bran hummed to himself, taking the plastic grocery bags into the cabin. He saw Mary dozing in the window seat, eyes half open. "Hullo, Mare-mare!"

She didn't say anything back and he shrugged, placing the bags in the kitchen. When he was on his way back to the car for the second load, he glanced back at Mary. She hadn't moved. Bran took a few slow steps towards her. "Mare-mare? You alright?"

Shaking, he stretched out his hand and touched her cold skin.

"Mary!" he shrieked, jumping back like he'd touched fire.

Freya's little feet came running, half her hair sticking up.

"Bran?" she said, slightly hoarse as she crossed the den. "What's going on?"

"Mary?" Sherlock echoed.

"She's-" Bran fanned at his face, a gesture learned from the cold woman on the sill. "She's not- she's-"

John strode forward to touch the body, gritting his teeth against the tears in his eyes. After a few moments that felt like an eternity, shock settling in around his bones, he said, "She's dead."

Sherlock pushed past Freya and John. His hand flying to her throat, to her heart. "No," he said, pulling her away from the window. "No, no, no."

"Sherlock, we should-" John swallowed, hard, trying to think through the grief that was clenching down on his mind. He looked back at the mute Brandon. Someone should take care of the boy. Someone should- "Call someone. An ambulance, something-"

Bran could do nothing more than stare in horror as Mary's head lolled back in Sherlock's arms. Her skin was the most unnaturally pale shade, all her blood through flowing. His lip quivered, and he whispered, "Mare-"

Sherlock pulled her body from the seat, curling around it before letting out a completely broken and utterly heartbroken wail.

Freya turned, grabbing her son by the arm and yanking him away, tears streaming down her face.

"Sherlock," John said his name, voice cracking. He sat next to his lover, the body of their fiancee between them. He reached out to brush Sherlock's curls. "Sherlock, you- you have to put her down-"

"No," Sherlock sobbed. "No-."

Sebastian and Jack had come out at the shouts. Sebastian put the phone to his ear. Sherlock cried into Mary's hair, stroking her face as if trying to rub the warmth and life back into her.

"She's- She's gone, Sherlock. Please," John's eyes pleaded with the tall man, so full of his own hurt, begging to be the one being held. "Come here."

Sebastian rumbled quietly, beneath Sherlock's sniffles and choked sounds. Jack went to his side.

"Give it over, Holmes," Jack said. "She's not there anymore. Let us take care of what she wanted, yeah?" His brown eyes were red and glassy. Sherlock's face was a mask of pain-terror-agony as Jack shifted to take the entirely too light woman from him. Sherlock's long hands continued to grasp for Mary even as Jack took her.

"Be-be- c-areful," Sherlock said, hand sliding away from Mary's cold cheek. John leaned in to pull Sherlock towards him, burying his face in Sherlock's throat.

Brandon let Freya tug him away, turning for the kitchen with a numb set of legs guiding him. Without a word, he set to making a pot of coffee. Too many memories flashed through his mind to make sense of, and he was too upset to even think about speaking.

Freya was making little whimpering noises as fat tears slipped down her cheeks. "That wasn't her," she said.

"Mum," Brandon whispered, reaching back to grip her like a soft toy. "M-Mum-"

Freya practically clawed him. "That wasn't her, don't you dare remember her like that," she gasped. "This wasn't fair to her." She pressed her face into her son's chest. So tall.

He didn't say anything else, he just rocked her gently, kissing her head, tears spilling into her white-white hair.

***

In the end, Jack was the one to give the call. Spencer had gone entirely still while Liam ran about the sitting room, babbling nonsensically, mashing together words and phrases. His mouth dropped open and heart seemed to stop. 

"I understand," he said, hanging up on Jack.

Abby looked over from watching Liam play, the smile fading from her face when she saw his. "Wha' happened? You look li' death."

"My mum's dead," he said, voice empty. "They've put my Father on suicide watch."

"Mary's dead?" Abby asked, her eyes welling up. Even though she hadn't known Mary well, and Moriarty had always been a sworn enemy, she knew Spence loved his mum. And as a mother, it hit her rather hard. "Oh, Spencer, when?"

"This morning sometime," Spencer said. "Heart failure, probably. Seb's not asking for an autopsy. She was just, gone. No explosions, no gun shots, nothing. Just - gone."

Liam had stopped his play to watch, ears perked.

Abby stood, wrapping her arms around Spencer, sniffling on his shoulder. "Spence, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Spencer couldn't find tears. For the soft-hearted boy who'd stopped his mum from committing suicide, he couldn't find them. "She's alright," he said, staring off into the middle space. "She's not hurting anymore. It's the rest of them.."

"Pen?" Liam said, touching his knee. "Mama is sad?"

Spencer looked down. He reached for the boy, pulling him up into a tight hug. "Mama and Pen are both sad, Liam," he whispered. The soft young scent of the boy was comforting. His mum had held him only so much as a child. He's grown so much closer to her as an adult.

"Mama is very sad," Abby sniffled, kissing the young boy's face. She smoothed back his hair, leaning close to Spencer. "Someone has gone away an' won't come back, and we're goin' to miss her lots and lots."

"Go too?" Liam asked.

"Abby, he's too young to understand. Children can't understand death as irreversible until at least age six," Spencer said quickly. "He'll be lucky to remember her at all. Memory making at this-"

Liam touched Spencer's mouth. "Pen cry?"

"Don' tell me what kids know, Spencer," Abby said, wiping her eyes. "I weren't much older'n' 'im when me own Da died and I remember it."

"Jack said, Aunt Free had been sitting with her, reading, then went off to take a nap," he sniffed. "We were supposed to- to have d-d-dinner Fr-friday."

"Shh, shh," Abby said, trying to soothe him. "I know it 'urts, love. Should we- Should we go 'round Finch's? Would that make you feel better?"

Spencer nodded silently.

Liam patted his other shoulder, mimicking his mother.

***

Finch couldn't feel her fingers. She blinked rapidly, tears already sliding down her face. She settled on the sofa, still in her pyjamas from earlier. She was going to have a heart attack.

Oh, but she couldn't-

She couldn't because- because the baby-

Finch gasped in a breath.

Thaddeus was coming out from getting dressed, still drying his long hair.

"Vaaaance!" he called over his shoulder. "She's go' that look 'bout her again."

A series of thumps and swears, Vance hurtled down the hall in nothing but his pants. He was at Finch's side in seconds, cupping her face. "Can you breathe, baby girl?" he asked.

"Don't ask her to talk durin' a spell. Hurts her," Thad said.

"M-Mum," Finch gasped out, trying to knead her chest with one hand, the other on her stomach. "D-Dead-"

Vance paused like his strings had been cut. He thumped down beside her, pulling her in. He wrapped her up tight against his chest. He reached out for Thad, who fell behind Finch, reaching around to press his palm over her hand on her chest.

"Breathe through it," he said. Vance's face had gone an uncomfortable shade of colors. Lips pale, cheeks blotchy. "Oh for fuck's sake, you too. Breathe, damnit!"

Finch's shoulders heaved with sobs that she couldn't cry. Her mum, her mum was gone. She clung to Vance as best she could. Her head was starting to feel light, and she tried to take a breath, like Thad wanted her to. The baby- "M-m-mum!"

Spencer let himself in. He wasn't certain he stopped at a single red light. He let Abby get Liam from the car. He needed Finch. He needed her. Finch looked up at the noise, her swollen, reddened face stained with tears.

"M-Mum-" she croaked.

"I kn-know," Spencer said, voice equally as wrecked as he half-ran towards her. Thaddeus gracefully moved away so the siblings could embrace. "She went easy, at home, with everyone."

Finch shook in her brother's arms. "Was her b-birthday next m-m-month. Bran was b-baking cake- she was s'posed to be here! How could she! I need her!"

Abby stood in the doorway, watching the scene, her son in her arms. She pressed a kiss to his head, holding him close. Thaddeus watched, standing back.

"Wh-where's Bran?" Spencer asked, swiping at his eyes.

Vance stroked over Finch's stomach. He shook his head. "Left this morning from here-"

Spencer's eyes closed in pain. "He found her.." he breathed.

Finch nodded, "That's what Papa said. Oh, oh God, Papa. We need to-" she gasped. "We need to be there."

Spencer nodded, kissing her head. "Jack said they've had to sedate Sherlock," he felt weird saying his own father's name. "He's.. unstable. I think it would be good for you to see him."

"Yes," Finch said, trying to keep breathing, leaning back into Vance's waiting arms. She tugged his hands around her body. "Yes, let's go."

"Anyone got an SUV? I'll drive," Abby volunteered.

Spencer tried not to laugh and failed. "She's only sayin' that because I drove here," he sobbed through a laugh. "Might want clothes, first, sister dear. Mum loved Vance, but I doubt she'd appreciate him in his pants.." He laughed again. "Or maybe she would!"

Finch touched her brother's cheek, gulping. "Spence, we can't- we can't go to pieces. They already are. They need us."

"F-fine, fine," he said clearing his throat. "I'm fine. Just- clothes. Here, I'll help you find something."

Thaddeus turned to Abby, surprised at her lack of dry eyes. Liam had his hand in his mouth, sucking on three fingers for comfort. "That the uh, kid?" he asked awkwardly.

"Yeah," Abby said, bouncing Liam. "He's uh, bit shy 'round men n' all. C'mon Liam, say hello to Thad."

"Lo," Liam said around his fingers, pinkie sticking up as he said it.

Thad caught the boy's eyes. His face melted just a bit. "Oh, Abs," he sighed. "You said he was yours."

"He is mine. He's all mine," Abby said, grip on the child tightening. "Ain't you, Li-li?"

Liam giggled, turning to hide his face again.

"Course 'e's yours, I meant," Thaddeus said. "Lizzy had him. You'd done better by him than she ever would. Definitely not mine, that's for sure. No offense. Coloring's wrong for that."

"A bit," Abby agreed, rocking Liam back and forth. "If it weren't for Finch and M-M- her m-mum, I'd never've got 'im back." Abby sniffed. "Hope she knows how much I 'ppreciate it."

Thaddeus nodded. "Her mum hated me, I think," he said. "But can't please everyone."

Spencer returned, using a handkerchief with keys in the other hand. "Vance said he has a van checked out," he said.

"Checked out?" Thad asked.

Spencer just ignored him. "Meant to carry some stuff to the airport tomorrow, but it'll carry us," he continued. "Finch is comin'. They're having a moment." He shot a look at Thad when he didn't move. "Earth to idiot.."

Thaddeus jumped, and headed down the hall.

Spencer shook his head. "Trade ya?" he asked, offering up the keys for Liam.

Abby shifted, sliding the boy into Spencer's arms with a practiced motion, taking the keys from him. "Hey. Sorry 'bout your mum, Spence. It's going to be alrigh'."

"Yeah, I know," he said. "I know. Better than anyone really. She'd bitch at me for crying. Man up, she'd say. I can hear her saying it. Problem is, none of us know who to be angry at. An enemy killing her is one thing - life? How're you supposed to be angry at life? Besides, my dads- they're not going to be well. They may not stay at the cottage. It might be time to start looking for some place for us."

"Well," Abby looked down the hall, grimacing. "Maybe it's for the best. Maybe, um, should look for somethin' near here. Y'know, nest of our own, an' all. Without Mary, I worry about the others comin' for Li. Might be good for us to star' actin' like a clan."

"Come on, let's get the car seat moved over," Spencer nodded. "Da's gonna be so pissed about the lack of autopsy." He'd said this twelve times already.

"I know, love, I know." Abby squeezed his hand, leading him outside. "We'll make them feel better, yeah? Just hug Liam and relax. Everythin' will be alrigh'."

***

The funeral was small - family only. Sherlock had been hospitalized for 72 hours, released just in time for the affair. He still had a medical bracelet around his wrist. Spencer had noticed more grey in his father's hair than ever before. He looked nearly broken, except for his hand, white knuckled on John's. Even Seb had a strong hand on Sherlock's shoulder during the service.

The adults had seemed to move as a unit, hands constantly touching, shoulders, heads leaning.

Liam had worn his first ever suit. Spencer wasn't sure he understood that 'Mare-mare' was gone, but the boy remained solemn throughout the affair. Even if he was mimicking, Spencer was proud of his intelligence.

They returned to Baker Street, surprisingly alone. A little family, once again. Albeit a bit smaller.

Liam had dozed off on the drive home, and now fussed quietly on Spencer's shoulder. "Do you think he's hungry?" Spencer asked Abby softly.

"It's been a few hours," Abby whispered back, squeezing Spencer's hand. "Probably 'bout due for a snack. Are you hungry? You should eat."

"Couldn't stomach it," he said, carrying Liam to his booster chair. "Finch is supposed to be coming after-" He made a gesture. "Seb needed more time with her. Finch, that is. I think they're all putting Father on watch, or at least aren't leaving him alone."

"He looked righ' awful," Abby agreed. "Almos' worse than Mr. Seb." She moved to the fridge, pulling out a tupperware container of homemade Liam food from Bran. She almost didn't want to mention the blond boy. "How's um, our cousin takin' it all? He- he ain't said much."

"Dunno," Spencer said. "He's been with Free. Hasn't left her side. Not sure if he's coming back here or to the cottage. He- loved Mary. It was complicated. He wanted to be 'one of us', y'know? Mary's kids."

"He prob'ly was, knowin' your mum. I mean, she took to Liam righ' away, didn't she?" Abby stood waiting for the microwave to beep, tapping her foot. "She was an int'restin' person, your mum."

"She was the best," Spencer said. "The best there was. She held the world together. I always wanted to be like her, and she left me with those two idiots."

"Those two idiots who love you," Abby teased gently, pulling the tiny Batman plate out and blowing on it before placing it in front of Liam. She regarded Spencer with a sad look. "What can I do for you, Spencer? Let me 'elp you."

Spencer held out his arms, wrapping her in them. "You're doing it, Abs," he whispered. "You're doing it right now. This? Family. I need this. You'n'him," he nodded at Liam. "I still wanna be his da. I want to be your- anything, everything. This is what mum fought for. For me and Finch to have our lives, our choices. I wish she were here for me to ask what to do about Bran, but this- caring for you and Li? I can do this."

"I jus' want to make sure someone is takin' care o' you, too," Abby replied, nuzzling into his warmth. "One day at a time, Spence. We're here for you."

"I know, Abby. I love you for it," he breathed out, watching Liam carefully take bites of his food. He'd gotten better, more delicate about eating. Brandon's choices of meals helped. "I don't regret my awkward attempts at seducing you." He kissed her head and smiled.

"Oi, you ain't awkward. I jus' can't shag ya in front of a b-a-b-y!" Abby giggled, squeezing his side.

Spencer laughed in response. He nuzzled near her ear. "Would you ever think of havin' another?" he asked.

Abby snorted. "But we jus' go' this one. Why? You think you'd-" She turned her face and saw the look in his eyes. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah?" Spencer said, a strange smile on his face. "Might take a bit of time, course."

"Let's um, let's get Liam into nursery school before we go addin' any more," Abby said, looking pale. Interested in the possibility, but pale at the thought. She leaned their foreheads together. "You know, enjoy 'im. He's such a gift, Spence. I don' want to miss anythin'."

"Not a bit," Spencer agreed. "But I love my sister. And Bran, but well, the s-h-a-g came later, but we were family first. I want the best for him." He kissed Abby. "Just think on it?"

"Alrigh' I will." Abby watched Liam flinging some food about. "Besides, two would be too many at this age."

"Ah, ah," Spencer said, turning. "Food goes in our mouth!"

Liam let out a loud raspberry.

"Manners!" Spencer said sharply.

"Maaaanners," Liam echoed back at him.. before flinging a handful directly at Spencer's suit.

Spencer sighed, pinching his nose. "I suppose he used them all up during the service."

Abby picked the food off of Spencer's jacket and flung it back at Liam. "How'd you like it?"

Liam's face screwed up. Disbelief, anger, and indignation. "ABA!"

"Yes, Aba, please remember toddler suits aren't as cheap as one would imagine," he said. "Alright, Li, wash up and nap time. I imagine you're knackered."

The boy squirmed, but eventually plastered himself to Spencer's chest. Spencer had noticed that in the weeks since they had him, he was very touch starved. The cot only worked about half the time, because the rest of the time, Abby and Spencer had him sleeping in the bed with them. It was hard not to.

***

Back at the cottage, Sherlock was coming down from the cocktails of mood stabilizers they'd been feeding him.

"John!" he said, still sitting in his suit.

"Yes, Sherlock?" John asked, sitting across from him, staring warily at his partner.

"I want my pills. They said I could have them. It's been precisely six hours. I want my next dose. I know you've hidden them," he said quickly, scratching at the plastic bracelet. "And this-" He stuck out his arm.

"Can't you just try? Without the pills?" John sighed. He leaned forward with one of his keys in hand, sawing the plastic off. He didn't want blades around Sherlock. "You aren't even putting in an effort, and it's not like the rest of us-"

Sherlock turned dead-eyes on his lover. "I'm not like the rest of you," he seethed. "I want my next dose."

"Shut it, Holmes," Jack spat. "Fuckin' junkie."

"I'll go get your bloody pills," John said, feeling too old and too tired to bother dealing with him. "Maybe I'll slip you extra so you can bloody well be together, then." He pushed himself up with a small grunt.

Seb caught John on his way. "Don't encourage him," he said, catching the old doctor by the elbow. "He needs to learn to live again. I've buried the only two people I've loved, Dr. Watson. There is life after. He needs you."

"Yeah, sure." John looked back at Sherlock, shivering at the thing he saw in his partner's chair. "Her own daughter is handling this better than him."

"You aren't handling it much better, soldier," Seb grunted. "She was my wife. Longer than anything else."

John pursed his lips, looking away, nostrils flaring. With one little head shake, he looked back up at Seb. "She was our friend. The mother of our son. We should be sticking together, but no, this is what he does. Sod that, this is what she does. She leaves and he becomes a crack addicted zombie. It's all the same."

"An' from the looks of it, you enable him," Seb said. He took the bottle of pills from John's hand, upturning it into the kitchen sink and hitting the garbage disposal switch. "Cold turkey. He'll live. Mary was my wife, my lover, my friend. And she loved Sherlock Holmes. She didn't want him following her nowhere, and it's still my job to keep him from doing that. You helping or not?"

"I-" John looked at Seb with glassy eyes. "Yeah. I'm helping. Thanks."

Seb patted him on the shoulder again. "Good man," he said. "Go get him out of that monkey suit and into something comfortable. I'm going to cut the power to his little project."

John didn't even want to know what that was. He just gave a nod and went back to the sitting room, pulling Sherlock up by the arms. "Bedroom. You need different clothes."

"But-" Sherlock complained, body still limp and compliant.

Jack was sitting in the window seat. He'd installed just a single camera to watch her. He'd gone back over his footage. She was there one moment, then gone. He hadn't really agreed with Sebastian at first. Sherlock was a piss-shit arsehole and Jack had been incensed by his interference forever.

Freya had cried. And cried. And cried. Until her face was puffy and hurt. She'd tried reaching Ford, but was met with voicemails and receptionists.

"Brandon," she said, sitting in the middle of her bed. Her white dress had been left in the middle of the floor, swapped for Mary's own sleep clothes - stolen, meant to return. Still smelled of her.

The boy had changed into sleep clothes kindly lent to him by Sebastian, swimming in the extra fabric. He edged closer to the bed. "Mum."

"Your father still isn't answering his calls," she said softly. "It used to not matter much. Always fall in love with your best friend. And don't get confused with friendship, it can be love."

"I know, Mum," Brandon whispered back, twisting the hem of his sweatshirt. "You told me that bit." Brandon crawled up on the bed. "Love you, Mum."

"I love you too, sweetheart," she said. "Come here." She laid back. "When did you get so big?"

Brandon snuggled up to his mother, enveloping her in his long arms. "I didn't get big. You're just short."

"You did," Freya sighed with a smile. "You came out, this angry little pink thing. I had no idea what I was doing. Mary just picked you up and showed me how to hold you. I didn't even ask your father, just stopped taking my pills. Mary had Finch, and she and Seb were over the moon. I showed her her girlfriend could give her family too.

We laughed, darling, and giggled, and held you for ages. The Holmeses weren't supposed to have any more kids, end the family line. I was so naughty."

"I miss her, Mum. I don't-" Bran swallowed, thin skin over his jaw flexing. "I wish I hadn't found her."

"No, sweetie, you shouldn't've-" Freya said, nuzzling him. "I should've been with her. I'd been reading, getting one of my headaches. She had been listening, but I thought a nap might knock it. I should've just curled up with her in the window. We always left her alone too much."

"You didn't, Mum. You're perfect. You moved out here to be with her," Bran objected, holding Free tight. "You don't have to stay here. You could come back with me. We could get a place. You could see Liam more-"

"Sweetheart, I don't know," Freya said, heart aching. "John is struggling with Sherlock, and Sherlock never handled Mary being sick well. You live with Spence, honey. Are you- are things alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we're all good. Everything is fine. I just don't want to worry about you out here," Bran choked out, trying not to cry. "He could go postal and take out the whole house with one bloody bomb. P-Please don't make me lose both my mothers."

"Oh, love," Freya said, turning into him. She kissed his face, holding him as much as he was holding her. "I'll think on it, but they need me, too. You can stay here, Bran. Our doors have always been open. If you need some time-"

"I know, I know. I'll think about it, Mum." Brandon tried to hold back his tears but he was failing miserably. He pulled the blankets up over their heads, hiding his face. "Shall we sleep?"

"Yes, love," Freya whispered. She'd pretend to sleep, and let him cry. It was the best she could do. Mary always was the better mother, and Freya played 'father'. They made a game of it - no regrets.

Motivations

Like star-crossed siblings, Spencer and Finch had spoke little since she'd rescued Liam. The boy had taken up so much time, effort and energy, Spencer hadn't been able to do much but let his world get soaked in what Liam had done next. Missing his sister one Sunday, Spencer picked up a bunch of flowers and carried a packet of Brandon-made banana muffins.

He sadly rang the doorbell instead of letting himself in.

Thaddeus opened the door, to Spencer's scowl.

"Jus' leavin', mate," Thad said, scooting around Spencer. "Later, Finch!"

Spencer grumbled, going into the apartment.

"Sis?"

"Couch," Finch called back sleepily. The baby growing inside her took so much effort and Sundays were good days for sleeping. Especially if Vance wasn't home. "Watching telly and dozing."

Spencer smiled. He carried in the bundle of things, setting the flowers where she could see them.

"Brought you some 'Bananadon' muffins," he murmured. "Liam helped, of course."

"Oh gorgeous," Finch said with a stretch and a yawn, coming out of her little blanket cocoon. "Shall I make some tea? You're getting thin like Sherlock, I think you need some muffins, too."

"No, no, sit, sister mine," Spencer fussed. "I'd rather join you in that blanket nest you've got going on." He shimmied out of his coat and kicked off his shoes with a sigh. "Frankly I'm knackered."

Finch snickered, hair sticking up all over her head, like a gold-red halo. "Brandon keeping you up? Or is it that little boy?"

Spencer tucked his chin, wrapping his arms around his older, but smaller sister. He sat his chin in those curls. "Liam," he sighed. "Mostly. I wish it were merely Bran. Well, no I don't. I don't at all. It's just - children are so very much work."

"Try growing one," Finch complained, hugging him back as tightly. It was pleasantly and very warm under the blankets. "You know, I don't think we've done this since we were little. It's nice."

"You mean since I was little!" Spencer laughed. "You're still short. Going to explain the thing bolting out the door?"

"I don't even know. It seems they've both decided to live together for my sake. I've hardly had any word in the matter," Finch replied, pinching his side. "It's alright, though. I'm not a good cook, but Thad is, so I don't even have to worry about what to make for dinner. I make him do it."

"Live together?" Spencer continued giggling. "That was sex-guilt face if I've ever seen it. You're shagging him."

Finch blushed and she shook her head. "I mean, I haven't. Well, there was once, but um, Vance was there and I- I-I mean, I don't know why I'm telling you that! Oh, don't tell them I told you. Vance wouldn't like it."

Spence snorted. "Naughty Finch. No wonder you're up the duff," he said, patting her stomach. "Besides I'm not too thin. I just simply wind up wearing half my meals instead of eating them. Li is not very fond of my cooking. Or me in general. Loves Brandon, loves his mama. He's a people person though, a little Casanova when it comes to winning women's - oh and Dad's - hearts."

"Mum told me you took him to meet John. That's awfully brave of you. I'm glad he warmed up to him. I shall have to come 'round and have a look," Finch replied. "I'm sure he loves you. You should've seen how they kept him, it was wretched."

"Oh I can imagine," Spencer said, reaching to open the tupperware of muffins. He handed one to Finch and took another for himself. "Gaps in social expectations, fondness for being bribed, and too much telly - he fusses when we turn it off, but we're getting him used to books. You should've seen everyone. They were all in love with him. Dad picked him up and put him on his knee!"

"Did you take pictures? Next time you take pictures. You are so competitive. I can't even have the first grandchild, dammit," Finch teased, taking a bite of muffin with gusto.

"Oi! I didn't mean to," Spencer giggled. "I didn't know I was askin' Mum to go on and make me a dad, but the little bugger, he's so - infectious! I should've taken pictures, but Abby was afraid- no, no, no, intimidated. Intimidated by meeting the family. Don't worry. You'll have your little girl and everyone will go to mush. Girls are always the most spoilt."

"Puh-leeze, you are so much more spoiled than me! Mum worships you," Finch replied with a roll of her eyes. "You're her own mini-Sherlock shrine. You even saved her life. Every time she calls or comes 'round all I get are lectures and looks of disapproval."

"Disapproval? You're marrying her golden bloke," Spencer said, licking crumbs from the corner of his mouth. "Probably cause she thinks you're risking your health. Mum's getting scared. Her legs, y'know?"

"I wish there were something we could do about that," Finch whispered. She rolled a piece of banana around in her mouth. "I'm afraid, too. I don't want to be in hospital, or lose my legs. Or die."

"Mum's nearing sixty, Finch. Her own mum didn't make it out of her thirties. Medical science is leaps and bounds past where it was," Spencer said. "They can't fix Mum - again. Damage is done, but take your meds, keep up with your doctors, and no offense, don't decide to have a brood of children! You'll be fine."

"Easy for you to say. You lucked out, all you got was poisoning," Finch giggled. She toyed with the ends of her hair. "How are you feeling, by the by?"

"Stomach upsets sometimes," Spencer said. "My baby fat'll never come back, and I'll keep seeing Da in the mirror, but other than the occasional check up and shot, I've been alright. You heard the news yet?"

"About Bran, you mean? Of course, he came into the shop after he closed up and told me," Finch said, reaching for another muffin.

"Yeah," Spencer breathed, a smile on his face. "He's healthy, sis. Or will be once he gets off those drugs that are making him ill. I just- never thought I'd have a future with him. It was all-" Spencer swiped at his eyes that had begun to tear up. Finch reached over and squeezed his hand, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"I know, I'm so happy for you guys," Finch said dreamily. "I never thought Bran would settle down for anyone."

Spencer cupped Finch's cheek, pecking a kiss on her head. "He's perfect with Liam. Gets him to eat, baths him, knows stuff I haven't a clue about. And Abby, you've taken her back on and she's happier. It's like a queer little family, but I love it, I love it. Tell me you're happy, Finch."

"I'm always happy," Finch said with a smile. "I mean, how could I not be with those two getting on, and you and Bran so settled. And I'm even forgiving Abby for all those wretched things she said about Vance."

"She didn't mean them," Spencer said. "Vance takes care of you, takes care of the family. And you love him. Are you waiting until the girl is born before the wedding?"

"Yes, because I blinking well refuse to waddle down the aisle," Finch replied with a disdainful sniff. "Besides, Mum would rather the pretty dress and flowers and all that, and I'd like to make sure she has it because it would be a good memory for her. She'd enjoy it. Me, I don't even really care if we get married. I mean, I want to marry Vance, but I don't need that whole big affair with churches and vicars and things."

"Mm, Sherlock's gonna push for that. He's quite sore about Mum and Dad's wedding, and even worse about Mum and Seb's. 'Outside? For a wedding?'," Spencer mocked his father, having heard the phrase a million times. "He abhors religion, but expects a marriage done up in a church."

"But Mum and Papa weren't going to do anything traditionally," Finch laughed, remembering the look on Sherlock's face when he'd heard about the second Morstan marriage. "I'm so glad they finally did get married. Papa is more sentimental than he lets on and he was awfully soft over the whole thing."

"Your papa is much more sentimental than he lets on - mental in fact. I'm a bit jealous though, a wedding," Spencer said, taking her hand to admire the ring.

"You don't think you'll ever-" Finch let the question trail off.

Spencer shook his head. "How the hell would I pull that off?" he asked.

"I dunno. Abby and you? Although I'm sure Bran would wear a dress if you asked him," Finch replied with a shrug.

"You can't do three-way weddin's, and I don't know how Bran would feel- what he would do if I asked Abby," he said, swallowing thickly. "Or if Abby would even want to. First cousins can't marry, neither, Finch. Don't forget that little gem. I'm still trying to make sure Brandon doesn't take off while we figure out how to handle a growing boy in Baker Street."

"Ah, I had forgotten the cousins bit. I mean, he always says we're cousins, but technically we aren't blood or anything," Finch said with a frown. "Well, anyway, you'll have to be my best man because I don't have any other friends. That's something, isn't it?"

"Really?" Spencer practically squeaked. "Me?"

"Of course, who else would I ask?" Finch said, blinking.

"I dunno, Thaddeus? Mum? Aunt Free?" Spencer said. "For fuck's sake, at least let me make an arse of myself before you go throwing titles at me."

"Well, Vance is my best friend next to Bran, and I'm marrying one and I'd like the other to cater. Thad is... it's complicated, but no. Abby isn't my close friend, and Mum and Freya will be too busy crying. So it's up to you, and besides, you're much more like a friend than Mum. And Papa will be walking with me, so he can't do it either. Don't you want to? Be my friend, I mean?" Finch asked, her voice going small at the end, like she wasn't sure.

"Absolutely," Spencer said, stomach still feeling strange. He looked nervously at his hands. "If you still want me - after I ask you a favor."

"Me? What sort of favor do you want from me?" Finch wondered.

"Don't- don't take him from me," Spencer plead in an equally quiet voice. "I don't know how you feel, sister mine, but Brandon - he's going to be feeling a lot of things. I'm on my toes already, but Finch, is there any way, in any way, you would have Brandon as a lover?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, if one more person-" Finch pushed the blankets off of her and padded towards the kitchen in search of something to drink. "No, brother, thank you for your inquiry but I'm not accepting any more applications for fuck partners. I'm full up. No room at the inn! And, even if I did, I went and got your girlfriend's child back for you at the risk of myself and my own child being shot. Brandon would be fair trade- NOT THAT I WANT HIM BECAUSE I DO NOT!"

"Finch!" Spencer said, following her. "I'm not accusin' you of taking him! I'm only afraid of what a diagnosis of life means for him! One minute you're dying, a pre-built family is fine, but healthy, young successful chef? For fuck's sake, no matter what he says, he adores you! You're not cousins!"

"That doesn't mean I want to marry him or sleep with him or have little blond curly children with him!" Finch replied, slamming the kettle down on the stovetop. "For one thing, I'm still sick! For two, I have enough complications with just the two overbearing males and one overprotective father and further more, he is in love with you. YOU!"

Spencer looked a strange blotchy color, eyes still a bit red. "Me?" he asked, still uncertain as a single tear spilled. He swiped at it quickly. "I told you, you'd be cross."

"I'm just -" Finch screwed up her face, teeth clenched, "put off that you'd think I'd even try to steal your boyfriend. I've never taken anything from you. Not even toys."

"But Bran's not a toy. He's a bloke, with feelings and free will, and he loves you. Always has. And you- love him. In your way. I just- I never felt it was my place to ask what way it was, and I'm scared, Finch, of losing him. It's been hard, lots of fights, lots of.. physical-" Spencer had to take several breaths to keep from being overwhelmed. "He's got a lot to process with the news, and shagging his cousin? I don't know if I'll still make the list."

"Yeah, well, he loves you, too, and as I've said, no intention of stealing my baby brother's boyfriend," Finch said, looking away from him, hurt that he'd even think her capable of it.

"I know I'm not really a good man, Finch. I'm selfish and jealous, and hell, I hate that you two got each other growing up. He got you, too. My sister, my blood sister," he sighed. "I'm not a good man. Do you still want me for your best one?"

"Yes, I do," Finch mumbled, cheeks turning pink.

Spencer slid his arms around her, hugging her tight. "I always miss you, y'know?" he said. "You could come see Liam sometimes. He misses his Batman lady."

"I miss you, too," Finch said, leaning her head on her brother's chest. "Beastly man, picking on a girl while she's pregnant. I'll come visit Liam. Maybe I'll bring him a treat."

"Told you, I'm awful," Spencer sighed. His hand drifted to Finch's stomach without thinking. "Oh," he gasped softly.

Finch's blush deepened, ears burning. "Um, yes. That happens. When you're um, y'know."

Spencer's face was red as he stepped away.

"Right well, I missed out on that part, what with you bringing my kid near grown. I swear he's getting mouthier every day," Spencer said, not looking at his sister. "What's it like?"

"Really, really weird and really, really uncomfortable," Finch replied, giving a nervous cough. She turned back to the hot water, pouring it into her waiting mug. "I mean, it's basically a parasite. I mean, a cute parasite, but a parasite."

"Squashing all your organs," Spencer said, looking back at her while she was turned away. "Wonder if Abby would go for another.."

"Don't you think you should slow down? You only just got the one," Finch told him, handing him a mug without looking back.

"Do not tell her I said that," Spencer said, looking mock-horrified. He smiled though. "The one is brilliant. He'll be off to nursery school soon, then primary. Besides, he calls me Pen. Pen, Finch."

"So? What's wrong with that? Pens are brilliant," Finch said, sipping at her tea. "Ink pens, penguins, pencils, lots of things have pen in it."

"Papa wouldn't be much harder," Spencer said, looking at her from under his lashes. "He feels like mine, Finch. Even though he looks nothing like me, it's just- the moment I saw him on your hip. I thought 'this is, Abby is gone' and Bran brought up that she might want me to be a parent to the boy and I- I wanted it. More than I wanted the police academy, that's for certain."

Finch looked back at him, face serious. "I believe you. Give him time, Spencer. He'll learn who you are to him."

"I wonder if this how Father felt, and Dad. When Mum brought me to them," he whispered. "It's like this tiny thing, it's a person. I can't wait for your daughter to get here. Now as best man, I must insist. Spill all your secrets about baby names!" he cackled.

***

It started behind Finch's back. Of course it did. Vance wouldn't let his growing pregnant girlfriend hear of it. Vance was worried. Was he cheating? Absolutely not. Who had time? Who had the want? With a beautiful girl waiting with a home for him? Accepting Thaddeus hadn't meant he wanted a piece on the side.

If anything Finch herself was an affair from the job. 

But the paranoia began to pick at the criminal. He couldn't prove he wasn't cheating. He couldn't prove there was no affair. There wasn't! Proving a negative was much harder than simply saying 'look here is my lover'.

Speaking of-

"I have to leave in the morning," Vance said, cornering Thaddeus one early morning. He'd gotten up early, earlier than any of them were usually up.

"Christ on a cracker, you fucker," Thad swore, jumping. "Nearly shat myself."

"Come off it," Vance hissed. "I said I'm back out again for two days. Got a thin' in Switzerland."

"Oh and it might go long, lover boy?" Thaddeus smirked, heading for the kettle.

Vance reached for Thad's long, long hair and twisted hard, pressing him against the cabinets. Thaddeus winced, eyes practically closing in pain, mouth open in a mock gasp.

"Ain't nobody else out there, here?" Vance hissed into his ear. "We done, done this. No one else."

"There's me- ain't there?" he replied viciously. "Can't keep 'er on your own. She pines like a broken thin' for your ugly fuckin' scarred face."

"Yeah, well she's got you t'look at, don't she?" Vance said. "We both do, eh?"

Thaddeus tried to squirm out of Vance's hold. "I'm here for her, you soddin' ape, leggo," he said, starting to panic a bit. Finch had been padding gently down the hall, rubbing her eyes like a sleepy child. The noise in the kitchen gave her pause, and she stopped just outside the door, listening. It was a rare that they talked without her, and she wanted to know how they interacted together. Not well, it would seem.

"You plant that idea in her head?" Vance growled, voice deep but quiet. "That I'm seeing someone else?"

"Of course not," Thaddeus replied. "I tol' her you're comin' home for her, every goddamn time."

"Liar," Vance breathed hotly into Thaddeus's ear. Thad blushed at the on-slaught. It was bringing up too much. Vance was tall behind him, body heat seeping through their clothes as he was pinned.

"What do I care if you're fucking the Queen herself or some Russian goat, ain't got any bearing on me," he panted.

Finch frowned. What Queen was Vance fucking? That filthy liar!

"We 'aven't got a queen, you idiot," Vance said, pushing away from Thaddeus.

"Wot, really?" Thad asked, rubbing at his head.

"Are you really that dense?"

Finch's lower lip wobbled, and her breath caught in her chest. Well, if Vance was going to go 'round fucking goats and Queens...

Thaddeus shrugged his shoulders. "Like I said, don't care who you're shagging. Jus' don't ask me to go bumming for you."

Vance raised an eyebrow. "Really. Is that why you're dartin' out of here every morning?"

"I do not," Thaddeus said, affecting a posh accent.

"You're running from me, not tryingta push me out so you kin have her all for yourself?" Vance said, advancing on the shorter bloke again.

"She's swolle up with your brat," he replied. "Nu-huh! Your job to do the raising of brats and marriage and - "

"Except you'll be the one here," Vance said, amused.

Finch's stomach grumbled hungrily and she couldn't help but sniff, holding back indignant tears. She leaned against the wall, sulking.

"And I won't be. Not nearly enough," Vance said, voice going hushed - upset. "Smy daughter, mate."

Thad put down the tea bag. "Oh for fuck's- you'll be here."

"What if I'm not? What if she goes into labor or I miss my girl's first steps or -"

"You'll be out there keeping her safe," Thad scowled. "And if not..."

He looked at the 'hardened criminal'. He'd demonized Vance in his mind. Vance was younger than Thad realized. Younger than himself anyway. He let out a shuddering breath.

"And if not, then well, you've got a second to send out for legwork, yeah?"

Finch's brow furrowed, and she turned her head back towards the kitchen. What?

"You're joking," Vance said, mouth dropping.

"Blah, blah, Swiss bankers - Bruno Fouty and Eva Roethlisberger - sign the documents, schmooze at their party, turn down the illegal caviar, and smoke the Cuban cigar. I know the drills, Moriarty, I just chose not to play the game," Thad said, face curiously blank.

"And you'd just go- like that?" Vance asked, suspicious.

Finch's heart gave a funny beat. She blinked rapidly, even as she wondered who the bleeding hell was going to run her shop without Thad.

"Well of course not that," Thad said derisively. "Third trimester, when the thing begins to form memories and the like, first day of school.."

Vance brows grew higher and higher.

"Not your bloody wedding, you work that one out. Ain't going to that."

The red-gold haired woman bounced from one foot to the other. She risked a glance around the edge of the wall, watching the two men together.

Vance reached out, this time to pull Thaddeus into a hug.

"Oi, oi, wha-"

"Shutup," Vance said, arms wrapped tightly around his.. friend?

Thaddeus scowled, and gave Vance an annoyed pat on the back. When the hug didn't seem to be ending, he forced himself to relax and wrapped his arms around the guy. "Alright, alright, love you too, Scarface," he mumbled.

Finch grinned, biting her lip, not wanting to interrupt the sweet moment.

Vance let him go after several pats on the back.

"You stay for breakfast."

"I've got things to-"

"You stay for breakfast," Vance repeated more firmly.

"Oh, is there breakfast?" Finch asked, leaning out further.

Vance and Thaddeus seemed to leap further apart.

"There will be," Vance said. "What's your poison?"

"Pancakes. With apples," Finch said with a nod. She took a step into the kitchen. "That is, if you're not too busy shagging the Queen."

"Oi, the only Queen's your cousin, and I won't touch his arse with a ten foot pole," Vance huffed. "Tell him to stay out of my kitchen."

"Your kitchen? Your pancakes are shite, fix the apples while I do up the pancakes," Thad responded. "The goat however is going to be very put out. Meeehhh," he bleated as Vance hit him in the arm.

Finch giggled, sliding up onto one of the stools at the kitchen island. She leaned her chin on her hand, watching them work. "Mmm goat cheese."

Vance turned around to lean over the island giving her a kiss. He winked. "So my little bird? When did you turn into a little mouse?"

"I'm not a mouse! Just because I like cheese," Finch said, sulking. She reached up to touch his face, stroking gently over his scar. Vance tilted his chin down, looking at her from beneath his lashes.

"Ah, then you admit, little bird, you're dropping eaves," he said slyly.

"Excuse you, I would not stoop to something so petty," Finch lied, pulling him in for another kiss. "If I wanted to know something, I would ask you."

"Alright, alright, stop snogging in the kitchen," Thaddeus said.

"Aw, darlin', he's jealous," Vance said, rushing over to peck Thaddeus on the cheek.

"Oi! Boss! Make 'im stop! Assault! Harassment! I can't work under these conditions!"

"You're not my problem when you're not at work," Finch said, hearing the door open and close.

"Baby slut!" Brandon called out, strolling in like he owned the place. He pressed a kiss to Finch's forehead.

Vance had the knife he was slicing the apples with in his hand. "Excuse you," he said, going quite cold.

"Oh, that's what he always calls me. It's a joke," Finch said with an unimpressed look on her face and a wave of her hand.

"Mmm, yes, a terrible mean joke," Brandon said, leaning too close to her, plucking at the tight sweatshirt she was wearing. "I'm going to visit your mum today. You want me to take her anything? You, perhaps?"

"No, thanks. I've got enough going on here, and she's coming by Friday, anyhow," Finch sighed.

"Which I will be back for," Vance added. "I'm supposed to bring her those papers to look over."

"Stop bothering her with work," Bran complained, leaning his head on Finch's shoulder. "We're going shopping for you tomorrow. Your mum's orders per a phone conversation. You might want to remove the camera over the cooker."

"What?!" Finch shrieked, looking up.

"Yeah, she said you're gettin' podgy," Bran told her.

"She is not," Vance seethed. Thaddeus laid his hand over Vance's where his knuckles were nearly while on the knife. Thad took over cutting the apples and putting them in the pan to cook. He could practically hear Scarface's teeth grinding.

"Shouldn't you be at home at this hour?" Vance said, looking pointedly at Finch.

"Wha' for? He's busy pampering the baby prince and Abby's asleep so I can't be loud," Bran sulked. Finch was trying to decipher the look on Vance's face when Bran patted her on the head. "Don't think so loud, you'll bust a vessel. Anyway, I'm going to go. Ah, ah, wait, I remembered what I wanted."

"A map to the door?" Vance snarked.

"What did you need?" Finch asked. Bran pouted up at her.

"Well, you know how you bought the building for your shop and the cafe," Bran asked. "Which includes the flats above the shop? I just thought-"

"No! I'm not letting you chicken out and move away from Spencer. No. Get away, be gone with you," Finch snapped. Bran laughed and leaned in to kiss her cheek.

"Alright, alright, fine. See you tomorrow for shopping extravaganza, baby slut!" Brandon said, hitting the 't' just for Vance's sake. He sauntered towards the door.

Vance's palms hit the counter hard as he went around to fluff Finch's hair, petting her down as if to wipe away the touch of her 'cousin'.

Thad hadn't turned around.

"I think that's probably getting a bit brown," Vance offered.

"Right," Thaddeus said, flipping the first pancake.

"I don't know why you don't get on with him. He's ever so sweet," Finch said, letting Vance clean her like a dirty pet.

"Cameras are for my benefit. He touches you.. entirely too much. He ought to be at home with your brother," Vance said.

"Or apparently looking at flats. Above your shops," Thaddeus said.

"Oh, I'd quite forgotten about those," Finch said, trying to look innocent. She shrugged. "I think they're rented. I'm sure I'm supposed to be getting checks or something, I don't know, I've hardly bothered."

Thaddeus walked out of the kitchen (after removing the skillet from the hot burner). Vance heard the bedroom door slam.

"Oh, I see," he hummed. "That's what Brandon wanted."

"What?" Finch asked, confused. "He was alright a moment ago, what's happened to him?"

"Darling bird, do you trust me?" Vance said, cupping her cheeks.

"Of course I do," Finch breathed, looking up at him with a raw worship sort of look in her eyes.

"Go after him. Tell him you meant for him to come live with us. Tell him. Use the word us," he said, stroking her cheek. "Tell him you let him attempt to manipulate you, but you were simply getting your way."

Finch blushed and looked ready to grumble at him. Vance kissed her head, her nose, then her lips.

"Go. I'll finish breakfast," he said. "I can manage to flip a pancake."

Finch sighed, but she slipped off the stool and padded into the other room, opening the door Thad had taken such great pleasure in slamming. "Drama queen."

Thad was shoving things into a backpack. "Am not," he grumbled. "Do you know how many nights I killed my back on that sofa?"

"What are you doing?" Finch asked, watching his movements with curiosity. She blinked. "You're leaving? You only just got here."

"For what? To work for you? For your Mum? For bloody Moriarty? If there are flats, then there are flats I can rent," he said.

"So it wasn't true. When you said," Finch felt her heart seize up in her chest. The tears that had threatened her earlier were back, pricking painfully at the back of her eyes, "Y'know, that you l-loved me. It wasn't true."

"Of course it's fucking true," Thaddeus said, tossing a pair of his underwear across the room. "But why this?! Why make me suffer for it?! I could've rented the flat upstairs! What? Why!"

Finch flinched from him, ducking her chin. She turned away, rubbing her hands over her arms. Thad crossed the room, taking her by her arms.

"Answer me," he demanded. "You could've had your normal life. You can't have simply forgotten flats. Oh yeah, they're rented - bullshit!"

"Y-You-" Finch was shaking, and she hiccuped in a breath. She didn't want to say it, but Vance had asked her to. "You would've never come back."

"I'd've been at work. I haven't missed a day, unless you've kicked me out," Thad said, missing the point.

"Well, you deserved it," Finch said, tears spilling down. She gave another hiccup-cough. "You were so cruel and you made me all mixed up inside. And- and you didn't mean it b-b-because you would've left and n-never come home-"

"Home?" Thaddeus said, his own eyes welling up as he pulled Finch to him.

"I-I-I don't know what you want me to say," Finch cried into his shirt.

"Am I home?" Thad asked. "Is this what you wanted?"

Finch couldn't tell him the whole truth, and she didn't want to lie. But, but if it was just a partial truth... "I think so. I-I think I wanted you here all along."

Thaddeus hugged her tighter. "I know he's your family, but tell him to bloody use the bell," he sniffed. "Ruint our breakfast."

"I'll take his key away," Finch sighed, wondering why everyone was always so up in arms about Bran. She smoothed her fingers over Thad's chest, unfamiliar with his body even though she saw him every day. She continued to sniff. "I'm still hungry."

"Oh hell, you left him with the food," Thad said, kissing her head. "I'll- I'll clean this up later." He gestured towards the room with things strewn everywhere. It was amazing how quickly he'd managed to amass things once he'd kipped down.

"What? He can cook! He makes me eggs!" Finch protested, rubbing her belly, shirt riding up a little. "At least Bran wants to go shopping. He always knows just what to buy, and I'm wretched at it."

"Vance can make eggs, and that's about it," Thad huffed. "An' you've never asked me to go shopping. I might be brilliant at it. You've never let me try." He tossed his nose in the air, holding Finch's hand. "Besides, your little belly is cute." He ran his fingertips across her exposed skin. "There's a baby in there."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, all you skinny blokes keep saying that. Meanwhile, I'm the one who is edging towards whale," Finch complained, scowling at him. "I'd skip breakfast but y'know, feed the parasite and all."

"Snot a whale. Think of it more like.. I dunno, a baby pouch," Thad offered.

"All made up?" Vance asked, setting out three plates, one of which hosted Thad's over-brown pancake along with two other normal ones.

"She manipulated me," Thaddeus sniffed.

"We manipulated you," Finch muttered dutifully, squinting a smile out at Vance.

"Quite right," Vance said. "Now, breakfast. I'll get your meds and vitamins, too."

"Buzzkill," Thad snorted. "We could've just shagged instead."

"Contrary to popular belief, one cannot live on shagging alone," Vance said, reaching up into the cabinet for glasses.

"It would be nice if you could. I've got so much to catch up on," Finch said, drawing little lines on the work top with her finger. "And now I'm going to be someone's mother- no more throwing me up on the island and shagging me senseless-"

"You've got a brother who is quite capable of babysitting. He'll be an old hat at it by the time she's here," Vance said, pouring her milk. "His wee adoptee will love the company. And we'll shag - everywhere. After breakfast."

Finch brightened at the promise and dug into her pancakes with a happy hum. "Food for the baby, sex for the mummy. I like it."

"Maybe I should stick around," Thaddeus hummed.

"Maybe, you never know what happens around here," Vance said, taking a bite of his own food. "Course I do. The flat's riddled with cameras."

Thaddeus choked.

Vance just gave him a sly smile.