Sleep
For once Sherlock and John were sprawled out in their bed. The couch having been abandoned for an overdue night in their room, John dragging the detective away from his laptop with little argument. Sherlock’s limbs characteristically twisted around John’s, his face burrowed into the doctor’s shoulder. A peace had fallen over the apartment, a strange sort of quiet that made you believe the world was asleep with you, certainly if Sherlock Holmes could be pulled to bed. Both men jumped alert at the sound of the door opening. It’s creak shattering the calm like a rock to the window reverberating an unshakeable tension. Margo looked tired. She held her pillow to her chest, tucked under her chin. As if she could rest her head on it and fall asleep there in the doorway.
“Oh Margo,” John already had his arms open for her, Sherlock having already released him in anticipation of John’s need for them.
She climbed up on the mattress and plopped onto John’s chest. A tired sigh expelled into his t-shirt. John wrapped his arms around her back looking at Sherlock over her head with worried eyes. Sherlock held the hand dangling off John’s shoulder, rolling circles into the soft skin. She wimpered as she clung to his fingers. “I can’t stop thinking . . . “ John mumble comforts to her all the while his mind raced with possibilities and treatments. She buried her face into the soft cotton shirt and cried until her breathing evened and her hand went limp with sleep.
“This is the fifth time this week.” He whispered to his partner. “It’s getting worse.” Sherlock nodded. He reached over to the side table for his phone, typing something and sending it with a deliberate push of the keys. “Who did you just text?”
“Mycroft.”
“Do you think he knows someone who could help?” John was still looking at him curiously. Sherlock wasn’t one to run to his brother, not that he wouldn’t when it came to the children, but a reference was a strange thing to ask for at Three in the morning.
“Myrcoft had the same problem.” Sherlock explained his eyes on Margo’s exhausted face. “When he was younger. Couldn’t sleep for weeks. I could hear him pacing around. Always getting up to write something down and then back to his bed to toss and turn and up again to the desk.“
John’s eyes went wide with curiosity. He was very fond of the older Holmes but knew very little about him. Very little about the whole family, though he slowly got pieces of information. Mycroft was someone so put together, so in control it was a strange image to conjure up -a tired, pacing Mycroft Holmes who dreaded attempting sleep. He imagined Mycroft, Margo’s age, lying awake in his room with no one to crawl into bed with. He held Margo tighter. “How did he get over it?”
Sherlock shrugged wearily. “I don’t know. At some point he started looking better. And I could no longer hear him walking around his room at night. I never asked and he never told me.”
“Well now seems like a good time to ask.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mycroft knocked on the door to 221 Baker Street with a concerned frown, which quickly turned to an open smile as the door flung open to reveal his niece with dark bags under her eyes but a large grin on her face.
“Uncle Mycroft!” She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the apartment. “Cynric is at Aunt Harry’s. Daddy said that we get to spend the day together!” He didn’t think it possible but her smile grew, squinting the otherwise large Watson eyes. Then it dropped suddenly as she considered him very seriously. “Do you have the time? It was on the news that the Prime Minister has been setting up an important-“ but he interrupted her with a scoffing laugh.
“The Prime Minister,” He waved a dismissive hand in the air. “I told him I couldn’t attend because I had a date with my favorite niece.”
She wrinkled her nose at him but the grin had returned with a vengeance, threatening to take over her entire face. “Uncle, I am your only niece.”
“Just because I only have one doesn’t mean that you wouldn’t be my favorite.” He lifted her up in a swoop. “You are my favorite female at any rate. Anthea is terribly jealous you know.” Margo laughed into her hands. “But she concedes that we are cut from the same cloth. And she can’t stand between us.”
“That’s what Poppa says.” Her eyes were squinted again. “He says genetically I inherited just enough of Daddy to be loveable and just enough of you to be a pain!” Mycroft was laughing heartily now as John came clunking down the stairs.
“Two peas in a pod is the cliché I usually go for.” John piped up, grabbing his coat and keys and smiling at the pair. “Ok, I’m off to work. Sherlock is out showing up Lestrade. We’ll have-“
“Yes, yes John. I’m sure you’ll be checking your cell phone every few minutes and Sherlock (more discreetly) will be doing the same. And I’m sure you also have numbers posted on the fridge or somewhere else as equally assessable and quaint even though I have an entire workforce at my disposable and the best-“
“Alright. You have it under control!” John interrupted the rambling Holmes with a wink at Margo. “Have fun Margo, keep him out of trouble!” He kissed the giggling girl on the cheek and dashed out the door.
“So my dear,” Mycroft turned to the smiling girl her eyes seeming to droop a bit with her draining adrenaline. “what do you say we take a walk?” She nodded at him with a smile. Sliding out of his arms to take his hand.
It wasn’t until halfway to the park, after talking about Cynric’s new obsession with various molds, and Aunt Harry’s new wallpaper, and Sherlock and John having an argument over the gun in the house that they lapsed into a comfortable quiet. Still hand in hand Mycroft chewed over his next few words. “How are you sleeping Margo?” She looked at him curiously. Her uncle never called her by her name. It was always ‘my dear’ or ‘darling’ or any other sweet pet name.
“I’m not.” She said wearily. Mycroft nodded understandingly.
“Can you pinpoint why?” Margo sighed and followed Mycroft to a bench.
“I can’t get my mind to stop . . . going.”
“In what way?”
“Like all I can think about is what’s going to happen. Like I can predict it or like there are all these probabilities for each outcome and I can’t stop calculating.” She dropped her face in her hands wearily. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I have the same problem you know.” Margo’s head popped up to look at her uncle who was smiling sadly at her.
“When I was younger I use to make myself exhausted so that I could drop into bed at night but that wasn’t always successful.” Margo nodded knowingly. “Then around the time my mother became sick I couldn’t sleep for weeks, calculating all the different ways she might die. It was terrible. Worse than nightmares because I knew I was right. I never had Sherlock’s gift of focusing my mind so strictly. I see too much all the time.” Margo nodded desperately now clinging to her uncle’s arm like a lifeline. “What do you see? What’s keeping you up now, dear?”
Margo hesitated a moment before continuing. “Daddy’s protectiveness to Poppa’s carelessness. The increase in instances either one has come home with some sort of injury. Diagnosing Cynric-“ Margo looked up at her uncle apologetically but he just smiled reassuringly. “Almost like he has some form of autism or worse. He’s detached. And Aunt Harry is showing signs of a manic depressive.” Margo leaned her forehead into Mycroft’s arm. “Then when I’ve thoroughly exhausted the family I have to move to the government, and your responsibilities and what every underhanded comment means. The between the lines of what’s said on the telly. Compare that to what I’ve read in the paper.” She shook her head. “It goes on forever.”
Mycroft took her hand again and directed her off the bench. “I have a solution. Something I came to when I was a little older than you and that I still utilize to quiet my mind.” Margo looked at him hopefully. “It is top secret.” He teased and she smiled. “Not even Sherlock knows.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John shoved half of the grocery shopping in Sherlock’s hands. “It wouldn’t kill you to do the shopping once.” He shut the door behind him with his foot. “Though it may kill me from sheer shock.”
“John, if I did any shopping you would be complaining that I forgot to get something or got too much of something else so I think it is much easier to just let you do it.”
“You know you’re so sure that you know how I would react but really you aren’t taking into account your record of having never stepped foot in a supermarket except for the few instances there was a dead body inside. I would be so impressed by the action I wouldn’t complain if you brought home nothing but sardines and a box of donuts.” Sherlock looked at him as if accepting a challenge. “Don’t you dare.”
“Well John, If-“ But both men stopped short at the scene before them, grocery bags still hanging from their hands. Mycroft Holmes was sleeping on the couch. His long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His hands folded over his stomach. Margo was sleeping peacefully at his side her arms wrapped around his. And drooling a bit on his expensive jacket. There was a pile of science fiction/fantasy books on the coffee table and Lord Of The Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring still open on Mycroft’s lap.
John let out a relieved breath and Sherlock took the gaping doctor’s share of the groceries and continued quietly to the kitchen a smile on his face. “So that’s how he does it.” He mumbled tossing the milk absently in the fridge.
“Sherlock” John’s head popped into the kitchen. “Where’s the camera?!”
“Oh Margo,” John already had his arms open for her, Sherlock having already released him in anticipation of John’s need for them.
She climbed up on the mattress and plopped onto John’s chest. A tired sigh expelled into his t-shirt. John wrapped his arms around her back looking at Sherlock over her head with worried eyes. Sherlock held the hand dangling off John’s shoulder, rolling circles into the soft skin. She wimpered as she clung to his fingers. “I can’t stop thinking . . . “ John mumble comforts to her all the while his mind raced with possibilities and treatments. She buried her face into the soft cotton shirt and cried until her breathing evened and her hand went limp with sleep.
“This is the fifth time this week.” He whispered to his partner. “It’s getting worse.” Sherlock nodded. He reached over to the side table for his phone, typing something and sending it with a deliberate push of the keys. “Who did you just text?”
“Mycroft.”
“Do you think he knows someone who could help?” John was still looking at him curiously. Sherlock wasn’t one to run to his brother, not that he wouldn’t when it came to the children, but a reference was a strange thing to ask for at Three in the morning.
“Myrcoft had the same problem.” Sherlock explained his eyes on Margo’s exhausted face. “When he was younger. Couldn’t sleep for weeks. I could hear him pacing around. Always getting up to write something down and then back to his bed to toss and turn and up again to the desk.“
John’s eyes went wide with curiosity. He was very fond of the older Holmes but knew very little about him. Very little about the whole family, though he slowly got pieces of information. Mycroft was someone so put together, so in control it was a strange image to conjure up -a tired, pacing Mycroft Holmes who dreaded attempting sleep. He imagined Mycroft, Margo’s age, lying awake in his room with no one to crawl into bed with. He held Margo tighter. “How did he get over it?”
Sherlock shrugged wearily. “I don’t know. At some point he started looking better. And I could no longer hear him walking around his room at night. I never asked and he never told me.”
“Well now seems like a good time to ask.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mycroft knocked on the door to 221 Baker Street with a concerned frown, which quickly turned to an open smile as the door flung open to reveal his niece with dark bags under her eyes but a large grin on her face.
“Uncle Mycroft!” She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the apartment. “Cynric is at Aunt Harry’s. Daddy said that we get to spend the day together!” He didn’t think it possible but her smile grew, squinting the otherwise large Watson eyes. Then it dropped suddenly as she considered him very seriously. “Do you have the time? It was on the news that the Prime Minister has been setting up an important-“ but he interrupted her with a scoffing laugh.
“The Prime Minister,” He waved a dismissive hand in the air. “I told him I couldn’t attend because I had a date with my favorite niece.”
She wrinkled her nose at him but the grin had returned with a vengeance, threatening to take over her entire face. “Uncle, I am your only niece.”
“Just because I only have one doesn’t mean that you wouldn’t be my favorite.” He lifted her up in a swoop. “You are my favorite female at any rate. Anthea is terribly jealous you know.” Margo laughed into her hands. “But she concedes that we are cut from the same cloth. And she can’t stand between us.”
“That’s what Poppa says.” Her eyes were squinted again. “He says genetically I inherited just enough of Daddy to be loveable and just enough of you to be a pain!” Mycroft was laughing heartily now as John came clunking down the stairs.
“Two peas in a pod is the cliché I usually go for.” John piped up, grabbing his coat and keys and smiling at the pair. “Ok, I’m off to work. Sherlock is out showing up Lestrade. We’ll have-“
“Yes, yes John. I’m sure you’ll be checking your cell phone every few minutes and Sherlock (more discreetly) will be doing the same. And I’m sure you also have numbers posted on the fridge or somewhere else as equally assessable and quaint even though I have an entire workforce at my disposable and the best-“
“Alright. You have it under control!” John interrupted the rambling Holmes with a wink at Margo. “Have fun Margo, keep him out of trouble!” He kissed the giggling girl on the cheek and dashed out the door.
“So my dear,” Mycroft turned to the smiling girl her eyes seeming to droop a bit with her draining adrenaline. “what do you say we take a walk?” She nodded at him with a smile. Sliding out of his arms to take his hand.
It wasn’t until halfway to the park, after talking about Cynric’s new obsession with various molds, and Aunt Harry’s new wallpaper, and Sherlock and John having an argument over the gun in the house that they lapsed into a comfortable quiet. Still hand in hand Mycroft chewed over his next few words. “How are you sleeping Margo?” She looked at him curiously. Her uncle never called her by her name. It was always ‘my dear’ or ‘darling’ or any other sweet pet name.
“I’m not.” She said wearily. Mycroft nodded understandingly.
“Can you pinpoint why?” Margo sighed and followed Mycroft to a bench.
“I can’t get my mind to stop . . . going.”
“In what way?”
“Like all I can think about is what’s going to happen. Like I can predict it or like there are all these probabilities for each outcome and I can’t stop calculating.” She dropped her face in her hands wearily. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I have the same problem you know.” Margo’s head popped up to look at her uncle who was smiling sadly at her.
“When I was younger I use to make myself exhausted so that I could drop into bed at night but that wasn’t always successful.” Margo nodded knowingly. “Then around the time my mother became sick I couldn’t sleep for weeks, calculating all the different ways she might die. It was terrible. Worse than nightmares because I knew I was right. I never had Sherlock’s gift of focusing my mind so strictly. I see too much all the time.” Margo nodded desperately now clinging to her uncle’s arm like a lifeline. “What do you see? What’s keeping you up now, dear?”
Margo hesitated a moment before continuing. “Daddy’s protectiveness to Poppa’s carelessness. The increase in instances either one has come home with some sort of injury. Diagnosing Cynric-“ Margo looked up at her uncle apologetically but he just smiled reassuringly. “Almost like he has some form of autism or worse. He’s detached. And Aunt Harry is showing signs of a manic depressive.” Margo leaned her forehead into Mycroft’s arm. “Then when I’ve thoroughly exhausted the family I have to move to the government, and your responsibilities and what every underhanded comment means. The between the lines of what’s said on the telly. Compare that to what I’ve read in the paper.” She shook her head. “It goes on forever.”
Mycroft took her hand again and directed her off the bench. “I have a solution. Something I came to when I was a little older than you and that I still utilize to quiet my mind.” Margo looked at him hopefully. “It is top secret.” He teased and she smiled. “Not even Sherlock knows.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John shoved half of the grocery shopping in Sherlock’s hands. “It wouldn’t kill you to do the shopping once.” He shut the door behind him with his foot. “Though it may kill me from sheer shock.”
“John, if I did any shopping you would be complaining that I forgot to get something or got too much of something else so I think it is much easier to just let you do it.”
“You know you’re so sure that you know how I would react but really you aren’t taking into account your record of having never stepped foot in a supermarket except for the few instances there was a dead body inside. I would be so impressed by the action I wouldn’t complain if you brought home nothing but sardines and a box of donuts.” Sherlock looked at him as if accepting a challenge. “Don’t you dare.”
“Well John, If-“ But both men stopped short at the scene before them, grocery bags still hanging from their hands. Mycroft Holmes was sleeping on the couch. His long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His hands folded over his stomach. Margo was sleeping peacefully at his side her arms wrapped around his. And drooling a bit on his expensive jacket. There was a pile of science fiction/fantasy books on the coffee table and Lord Of The Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring still open on Mycroft’s lap.
John let out a relieved breath and Sherlock took the gaping doctor’s share of the groceries and continued quietly to the kitchen a smile on his face. “So that’s how he does it.” He mumbled tossing the milk absently in the fridge.
“Sherlock” John’s head popped into the kitchen. “Where’s the camera?!”