Ficlet: A Lost Corner
Title: A Lost Corner
Author: ghislainem70
Word count: 745
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but I just like to play with them.
Note: This was my entry for Round 3, Cycle 4 at Thegameison_sh, theme: "Lost and Found."
"Are you going to tell me what's troubling you, John?" Sherlock said, fidgeting with his bow in a threatening fashion, scowling at Mycroft. Mycroft looked serenely back.
John stared out the window of 221b at nothing but thick fog hugging the panes.
"What? Ah, no. Forget it," John said uncomfortably.
The Holmes brothers traded knowing glances, cocked eyebrows.
"Not finding the clinic to your liking any longer, John?" Mycroft intoned.
John delivered a scowl of his own in Mycroft's direction.
"I suppose you know why, too. I'll thank you not to -- to meddle," John said, and stomped off before either brother could retort to this interesting outburst.
* * *
Sherlock found John at his local. He placed his pint carefully next to John's and sat silently beside him. If John was astonished that Sherlock had actually followed him to the pub, he concealed it well. At any rate, his thoughts were otherwise occupied.
"You may as well tell me. If you're as unhappy as this, it can only be to do with Sarah Sawyer --"
John groaned, but the sound was muffled by the raucous football game.
"She's not speaking to you."
John turned eyes full of guilt on Sherlock.
"She feels a little more strongly than that, Sherlock."
"Ah. The Black Lotus affair, Moriarty, the swimming pool--- I thought she had more spirit than that; but there you are."
"She's quit her job. She's moved away, Sherlock: away from London, altogether. And it's all my fault."
"Don't be absurd. It's Moriarty's fault, John. I fail to see the difficulty. You, at any rate, still have the job at the clinic, if you want it? Yes?"
John's head sank and he mumbled into his pint.
"What, John?"
"I said, she didn't even say goodbye. No forwarding address. We were-- good friends. Very good friends, I thought."
Sherlock regarded at John's bent head and bit back whatever snappish remark he might otherwise have made.
They sat together companionably until the game was over; but neither could have said who played, or who won.
* * *
Some months later, Sherlock watched John stump off down the stairs. After waiting to hear the street door slam, he picked up his mobile.
"Are you sure?"
"If I say a thing, I am sure, Sherlock."
"Have you a photo?"
"Naturally."
Sherlock sighed dramatically into his mobile until it pinged. He scrutinized the photo with fierce concentration.
When he was finished, he was still for a long time.
Then, an inscrutable smile wreathed his lips.
* * *
In a park near Oxford, Sherlock sat at a respectful distance and discreetly watched as John tentatively approached a woman pushing a baby carriage.
The woman embraced John.
And then John looked into the carriage. She nodded, and John gently picked up the precious bundle.
The woman beckoned to Sherlock.
"It's all right, Sherlock," Sarah said. "Come and meet little Alice."
The baby girl did look remarkably like Sarah, except for something about the eyes, wise beyond infancy. Those eyes, Sherlock knew, could only be John's.
Sarah said, "I know you can't understand, but . . .it was much too dangerous. Everything changes, you know, when you are bringing a child into the world. I just wanted her safe. You-- and Sherlock -- were anything but safe! They nearly killed me, too, that night."
"And now?" Sherlock asked.
"I met your brother."
John and Sherlock exchanged a surprised, and on Sherlock's part, outraged look.
"Mycroft!"
"Yes, Mycroft. He is the most delightful person. He said that-steps -- have been taken, and I - we -- needn't worry. And . . . I'm getting married, John. He's a doctor, too; nothing like you, John, he's not . . .adventurous. I've told him you’ll want to share in raising Alice. Am I right, John?"
John had eyes only for the tiny face peering up into his. "Nothing could stop me," he said, his voice choked with emotion.
"Then -- you forgive me?"
In response, John planted a chaste kiss on Sarah's forehead, and another on his daughter's. "Nothing to forgive."
Sarah turned her bright eyes on Sherlock's. "Sherlock-- I hope you are prepared to become an uncle. I'm quite resigned to the fact that where John goes, you go. And vice versa."
Sherlock's expression was nearly indescribable; but later, John decided it had been the shock of discovering a lost corner of his heart.
And finding there was room there.
Author: ghislainem70
Word count: 745
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but I just like to play with them.
Note: This was my entry for Round 3, Cycle 4 at Thegameison_sh, theme: "Lost and Found."
"Are you going to tell me what's troubling you, John?" Sherlock said, fidgeting with his bow in a threatening fashion, scowling at Mycroft. Mycroft looked serenely back.
John stared out the window of 221b at nothing but thick fog hugging the panes.
"What? Ah, no. Forget it," John said uncomfortably.
The Holmes brothers traded knowing glances, cocked eyebrows.
"Not finding the clinic to your liking any longer, John?" Mycroft intoned.
John delivered a scowl of his own in Mycroft's direction.
"I suppose you know why, too. I'll thank you not to -- to meddle," John said, and stomped off before either brother could retort to this interesting outburst.
* * *
Sherlock found John at his local. He placed his pint carefully next to John's and sat silently beside him. If John was astonished that Sherlock had actually followed him to the pub, he concealed it well. At any rate, his thoughts were otherwise occupied.
"You may as well tell me. If you're as unhappy as this, it can only be to do with Sarah Sawyer --"
John groaned, but the sound was muffled by the raucous football game.
"She's not speaking to you."
John turned eyes full of guilt on Sherlock.
"She feels a little more strongly than that, Sherlock."
"Ah. The Black Lotus affair, Moriarty, the swimming pool--- I thought she had more spirit than that; but there you are."
"She's quit her job. She's moved away, Sherlock: away from London, altogether. And it's all my fault."
"Don't be absurd. It's Moriarty's fault, John. I fail to see the difficulty. You, at any rate, still have the job at the clinic, if you want it? Yes?"
John's head sank and he mumbled into his pint.
"What, John?"
"I said, she didn't even say goodbye. No forwarding address. We were-- good friends. Very good friends, I thought."
Sherlock regarded at John's bent head and bit back whatever snappish remark he might otherwise have made.
They sat together companionably until the game was over; but neither could have said who played, or who won.
* * *
Some months later, Sherlock watched John stump off down the stairs. After waiting to hear the street door slam, he picked up his mobile.
"Are you sure?"
"If I say a thing, I am sure, Sherlock."
"Have you a photo?"
"Naturally."
Sherlock sighed dramatically into his mobile until it pinged. He scrutinized the photo with fierce concentration.
When he was finished, he was still for a long time.
Then, an inscrutable smile wreathed his lips.
* * *
In a park near Oxford, Sherlock sat at a respectful distance and discreetly watched as John tentatively approached a woman pushing a baby carriage.
The woman embraced John.
And then John looked into the carriage. She nodded, and John gently picked up the precious bundle.
The woman beckoned to Sherlock.
"It's all right, Sherlock," Sarah said. "Come and meet little Alice."
The baby girl did look remarkably like Sarah, except for something about the eyes, wise beyond infancy. Those eyes, Sherlock knew, could only be John's.
Sarah said, "I know you can't understand, but . . .it was much too dangerous. Everything changes, you know, when you are bringing a child into the world. I just wanted her safe. You-- and Sherlock -- were anything but safe! They nearly killed me, too, that night."
"And now?" Sherlock asked.
"I met your brother."
John and Sherlock exchanged a surprised, and on Sherlock's part, outraged look.
"Mycroft!"
"Yes, Mycroft. He is the most delightful person. He said that-steps -- have been taken, and I - we -- needn't worry. And . . . I'm getting married, John. He's a doctor, too; nothing like you, John, he's not . . .adventurous. I've told him you’ll want to share in raising Alice. Am I right, John?"
John had eyes only for the tiny face peering up into his. "Nothing could stop me," he said, his voice choked with emotion.
"Then -- you forgive me?"
In response, John planted a chaste kiss on Sarah's forehead, and another on his daughter's. "Nothing to forgive."
Sarah turned her bright eyes on Sherlock's. "Sherlock-- I hope you are prepared to become an uncle. I'm quite resigned to the fact that where John goes, you go. And vice versa."
Sherlock's expression was nearly indescribable; but later, John decided it had been the shock of discovering a lost corner of his heart.
And finding there was room there.