The boys upstairs

Deduce

"Oh for goodness sake"

You look at Watson who looks back exasperatedly.

"Where's he gone? He was right here" You say, spinning in a circle. You had left for the body to be cleared out and had originally been following Sherlock- only here you were on the side of a very empty street.

"Taxi!" Calls John and one pulls over. You both jump in with John still shaking his head.

"Is he always like this?" You giggle

"Like what? Elusive? Belligerent? An idiotic genius?.... Yeah pretty much" he catches your eye and you both snort slightly.

"So, where's he gone?"

"Heaven knows"

"Okay where are we going?"

"Back to Baker Street, I left Molly with Rosie"

"Who with what now?"

"I left my daughter with a friend" says John, gazing out the window distantly.

"I'm sorry you have a daughter?!... and if Molly is a friend... I mean.... I know you said you and Sherlock weren't...?"

"What? No! No I was married. A lovely woman named Mary"

The name is familiar and you remember Mrs Hudson mentioning her with a still-fresh sadness earlier.

His face is drawn and you don't want to ask what happened to her. He sighs and tells you anyway.

He tells you how she died for Sherlock, how it was only a few months ago and how he was still struggling to come to terms with it. He then laughs a little, joking in a pained way that everyone in his life seems to die. You point out Sherlock and he just smiles a tired smile. You get the sense he is exhausted, and when the cabbie pulls up outside Baker Street flat 221B, you embrace him in a long hug. He doesn't resist, but simply leans against you.

"I'm sorry that happened to you Watso- John" you say and he nods, unlocking the door.

"I'm a soldier- and a doctor funnily enough. I keep moving" he says, leading you up to his flat. He pauses. "Please, call me John though"

He pushes open the door and you are met with the cooing of a young woman over a pink fluffy thing.

"Sorry about that Molly" says John, relieving her of the bundle. She smiles a crinkly smile and stands, Turning so you can see her face. It is very pretty, shrouded by a loose ponytail. You exchange pleasantries and she is gone, with what you may imagine to be one last smile at you.

"Hello love daddy's back, yes- are you hungry? Hang on I need the toilet" he mulls and you snicker. You extend your arms offeringly and he places her with you after hesitating. You raise your eyebrows and he nods, deciding you won't murder his child while he visits the bathroom. She is heavier than expected and has that lovely baby smell. John disappears and you hold her close, marvelling at her tiny eyelashes covering her sapphire eyes.

You begin to walk with her, careful not to touch anything but staring profusely all the same. She goes to sleep at some point and then John returns, taking her from you and settling on the sofa where she snuggles into his chest, undisturbed. He begins to nod off, his gentle snores filling the room as you sit back, reading Macbeth in your head. Naturally you had glanced at the first twenty or so pages for this exact reason.

You are on the last page you have memorised when Sherlock enters, smiling like it's Christmas. He goes to open his mouth and you shush him, pointing at John and Rosie. He looks and stills. He doesn't move for quite sometime and honestly, you have no idea what he is thinking.

"So did you find anything?" You wonder into the silence. "Uh... Sherlock?" You say and he snaps back

"Hmmm? Right yes but that's not important right now"

"It isn't?"

"No, we can't proceed until morning so for now I have questions." He makes himself comfortable on the other armchair and fixes those astonishing eyes on yours "About you"

"Right...."

"Tell me who you are. You're clever, you've got a photographic memory and a troubled expression"

"Very clever Sherlock Holmes" you say, rolling your eyes and sitting back in your own armchair. "I could have told you that myself." You hope he understands your tone and from his grin he does. It's a challenge.

"(Y/n) (l/n)" he starts, unblinkingly. "age somewhere between twenty two and twenty four. A weakness for the vulnerable as evident by your attitudes to both Rosie and Mrs Hudson. It took you only one trip from the cab to the front door when you arrived so you travelled light, yet you intend to live downstairs permanently. Perhaps your belongings were stolen or perhaps you were preparing them in a rush so took only the necessities. You knew our names judging by your reaction when we met so you know our reputation and more importantly you know what we do. You're not here for a case, you're not a spy and you're not police. That means you're here for protection, for safety. Or to keep an eye on someone. You've picked our side for reasons I don't know. You have trust issues hence the penknife up your sleeve. You asked John if the bell would ring at the school because you don't like loud noises and were trying to make the correct impression on us. Perhaps these trust issues came from sibling trouble, not parental or you would have compensated and been unhealthily attached to Rosie. Someone hurt you and you sought revenge. It backfired and now you're here, fighting on the side of the angels. Oh I don't know you yet (Y/n), but you're clever and morally driven. So yes, we'll keep you safe- won't we Doctor Watson?"

"Of course"

There is a tepid silence as you feel them both stare at you. You hadn't noticed John wake up; more likely he had never been asleep. Strangely, you feel the urge to cry. Instead you smile.

"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock says softly and you shake your head. No, he read you like a book- and you hate it.

Now you really do cry.

There is a shuffle of movement and Rosie is placed with Sherlock as John holds you while you snuffle.

"No one gets in here without us knowing (Y/n). And if they do... I'm a crack shot" he says and you laugh slightly, then frown.

"Actually you did get one thing wrong"

Sherlock's smile fades. "Seriously? What?" he demands like a toddler and you sense he hates not knowing.

"You said I'm here for protection, for safety."

"... and you're not?"

"Well I am, but for your safety as well as my own"

Sherlock raises his arched eyebrows.

"Is that so? And in what way is our safety compromised?"

"Because there's someone who wants you dead. And you John. And me. But I'm probably top of the list." You smile a watery grin and they look a little perplexed. "You've met him before. You might say you know him. But not nearly as well as I do"

"(Y/n). Who is it?" Says Sherlock.

"My brother" they don't react, just look a little confused. You take a deep breath and brace for impact.

"My brother, Jim Moriarty"