athena ➢ sherlock's daughter

Chapter 28

Memories of Sherlock

Athena was lying in her bed at Mycroft's that night, staring at the ceiling. She still didn't sleep much. Or, well, she didn't sleep almost at all these days- just when she completely gave out. Most nights she just tried to suppress the memories of Sherlock.

Tonight, she was failing. She watched in her head on repeat the image of his body plummeting to the ground. He didn't yell, he just fell. No, falls happened on accident. He jumped.

Now, she was crying again, mumbling for him to 'just hold on one more day, I promise it'll be alright.' He couldn't listen, but she spoke to him anyway. Just like non-religious people prayed, she spoke to Sherlock.

She laughed to herself when she remembered him talking very seriously to her about religion. He spoke so quickly and monotonously about it, proclaiming his particular dislike for it- only stopping when she shook her head at him as if saying that no matter what he said, she'd still believe it. He was exasperated, but accepted it nonetheless.

After a few moments, her mind drifted to the time he took her to Ireland for a case. She was convinced that she was going to find a leprechaun, no matter how hard she had to look. One thing led to another, and by the end of the trip, Sherlock was in a leprechaun get up and Irish dancing. The memory made her giggle slightly, but it was more of a tearful laugh.

Then there was the time he and John took her to West End to see Les Mis, mostly because she was madly in love with Carrie Hope Fletcher. Even though both men would deny it to hell, they were crying along with her- she was sure of it.

And there was also the time he tried to teach her how to play violin. Unfortunately, Sherlock had never been a patient man. This memory was still fresh and vivid, and it went somewhat along these lines:

"No, no, no," he said frustratedly. "Don't press your fingers down, let gravity do it for you!"

Athena rolled her eyes. "I hardly see why it's necessary when both methods work."

"Just trust me, okay?" he said, taking a hand through his curls.

They were standing in front of the living room window, Athena holding the violin and bow while Sherlock did his best to guide her fingers and arm. They were working on Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, and she just wasn't getting it.

"Let's go one more time," he said, trying to soften his voice. He understood how sensitive she was and didn't want to upset her.

She nodded, and they got fairly far through the song before a loud screeching noise emitted from the instrument, causing Athena to stop and frown defeatedly. Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek while Athena grieved over her failure before taking the violin gently and placing it on the coffee table.

"It's a useless thing anyways," he said. "Mycroft made me learn it."

Though Athena was doubtful of that, she smiled up at her father and sat with him on the couch, where they watched telly until John got home.

Athena smiled to herself. God, she missed him, even the times when he acted like a child. That's what made him Sherlock- that's what made him her dad.

She sort of missed John too. That hadn't spoken much since the incident, and it was upsetting her. Why wasn't he talking to her? Did she do something wrong? Certainly she wasn't so much like Sherlock that he couldn't even look at her.

With a frown etched on her face, she hopped out of bed and grabbed her phone. The clock on it read 6:32, which made sense because bits of sunlight peeked through the spaces between her dark curtains. Sure, it was a Saturday, but she knew John would be up.

So she did something she'd been avoiding for weeks and called him. He answered on the second ring. "Athena," he said in a surprised tone. "Is everything alright?"

Inhaling slowly, she spoke quietly. "I miss you. I keep thinking about you and Sherlock and-"

"Sweetheart, I'd love to chat, but I have an emergency meeting at the hospital that I have to go to," he said, though he sounded doubtful of it even to himself.

"O-oh. Okay, I'll- um, bye," she said as he hung up.

It's not that he didn't want to be there for her, it's that he felt like he couldn't. He knew the second he let her back in, everything inside him would've shattered completely, and he'd never be able to pick up the pieces. John wasn't a stand up man, that much was true. He once said he wouldn't leave her, and he meant it. But maybe they both just needed a little time to heal on their own. Just enough time for his resolve to become stronger, then he'd speak with her.

Because she brought too many memories of Sherlock, and those were already haunting him late into the night as it was.