![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Fic: Cracks in the In-Between Places (15/21)
Title: Cracks in the In-Between Places
Author:
swissmarg
Beta readers:
ruth0007, billiethepoet
Rating: PG-13
Relationship: John/Sherlock
Word count: ca. 93,500 when complete, this chapter 4,274 words
Summary: AU set in the universe ofnox_candida's Getting Better. John and Sherlock work together to flush out Mary's killers, and Tristram has to come to terms with what his father's new friend means for him. No series 3 spoilers (or series 1 or 2, for that matter).
See chapter one for the complete header with warnings, acknowledgments, disclaimers, and notes.
Chapter 15 on AO3
Chapter Fifteen
When Emily's done, they don't go back to Tristram's flat; they go to the Watsons'. Doctor Watson says Tristram's father will come and get him later on. Emily's father has already collected her things from Baker Street while they were at school, and tonight they'll be staying at their own house again. Emily puts up a token pout, but Tristram can tell she's relieved, too.
The unpleasant prickles from before have precipitated and solidified into a hard lump of unhappiness in Tristram's stomach. It's not so much that he'll miss Emily sleeping in his room or reading together at bedtime or having someone to eat with, but the knowledge that he's driven Doctor Watson even further away. Maybe he and Father won't even be friends now. Maybe he won't help with any more cases.
Tristram declines any of the biscuits and apple slices and milk that Doctor Watson gives them, saying he's full from the fizzy drink. His stomach really does feel a little queasy. Doctor Watson looks concerned and asks if Tristram wants to lie down, but he's afraid if he does that he'll cry, so he says no.
They clear off the kitchen table so they can sit there and do their homework. They have a double load to make up for the day of school they missed. Doctor Watson sits down with them and helps Emily with her maths while Tristram does his reading. It's a poem, something about a man going to sea. Tristram finishes it quickly - it's pretty short - but he sits there for a while looking the words over again, because it's funny how it makes him think of Father. Father has no interest in sailing that Tristram knows of, yet lines like 'I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely seas and sky' and the 'vagrant gypsy life' resound in a startling way. It's the call of adventure, the thrill of the unknown, the challenge of one man against nature (or against all the criminal underworld of Greater London). The last two lines, especially, give Tristram pause:
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
Tristram knows that a 'yarn' is a story. Father likes hearing Doctor Watson's stories, and sharing his own stories with him. They've laughed together several times, in a way Tristram never saw his father laugh before: hearty and genuine. And Father's tried twice now to sleep next to Doctor Watson - Tristram counts whatever it was he walked in on at Grandmother's, even though they weren't asleep, because he reckons they would have ended up asleep together there on the big bed if he hadn't interrupted them. Maybe, in the end, what it says in the poem is what his father's always been after, yet never found. Maybe, that's what he could have with Doctor Watson.
The sounds of paper shuffling and chair legs dragging on the floor bring Tristram back to the kitchen. Emily is now writing out sentences for her spelling words, and Doctor Watson pulls his chair round so he's next to Tristram.
"Do you have anything I can look at with you?" he asks as he scoots his chair in closer.
Tristram puts down the reading. He still has his maths and a science worksheet. He doesn't expect he'll need help with either of them, but Doctor Watson said 'look at', not 'help', so he gets out the worksheet and shows it to him. It's about the solar system.
"Looks pretty interesting," Doctor Watson says as he hands the paper back to Tristram. "Do you understand what you're supposed to do?"
Tristram nods. Of course. He points to the words on the page. "It says right there: 'Match each statement to the correct planet', and then..." He points at the sentence right above the big space at the bottom of the paper. "'Draw one of the planets using coloured pencils and write three sentences about it'."
Doctor Watson smiles, like he's pleased with the answer, when all Tristram's done is read what's written there black on white. Still, it makes him feel good.
Doctor Watson says, "Yes, exactly. Maybe you can kind of talk me through the answers as you do them?"
It feels a little silly, but he reads off the first sentence: "'This planet is closest to the sun'," and draws a line to the word 'Mercury'. Doctor Watson asks what else he knows about Mercury (it's smaller than the earth) and what he thinks it would be like to live there (nothing can live there, it's too hot), and then lets him read the next sentence. He'd be done with the worksheet much faster if he just did it himself, but by the time they get to the sixth statement, Tristram has become more interested in Doctor Watson's questions than in rushing to complete the exercise.
Doctor Watson is leaning in so he can see the worksheet, with his arm over the back of Tristram's chair. He's not touching Tristram, but he's close, and Tristram catches himself thinking about what it would feel like to lean against his shoulder. Would it be hard yet warm, like when he leaned against his father's side the other night looking out the window at Llanbroc? Would it make him feel safe in the same way? He doesn't feel unsafe now, certainly. Now that he knows there aren't going to be any more bombs and no one will try to kidnap him or Emily again.
Tristram reads the next sentence: "'This planet is surrounded by orbiting particles that look like rings'," and then they have a little discussion about whether that's Jupiter or Saturn, during which Doctor Watson has to look up the planets on Wikipedia and finds out that, yes, Jupiter also has rings, which he says he didn't know, and so do Uranus and Pluto, which Tristram didn't know. But then Tristram notices the next sentence, 'This planet is home to a storm called The Great Red Spot that's bigger than the earth,' which must be Jupiter, and settles the question.
By this time, Emily has finished her sentences and joined them too, resting her chin on her arm and asking how a storm can be bigger than the whole earth.
All in all, it's starting to get dark by the time Tristram's done, but his bad mood is gone, and when he and Emily run upstairs to her room, she's shouting about making adjustments to their time machine so that they can visit other planets as well as traveling through time.
She gets out some paper and colored pencils and spreads them across the floor, saying she's going to make a new set of blueprints.
"You can plot out the coordinates," she says. "We don't want to end up in the Big Red Storm."
Tristram isn't quite sure how she means him to do that, but he gamely sits down on the floor next to her and starts by drawing a map of the solar system, as he recalls it. As he draws, he remembers what Doctor Watson said earlier, about it sometimes helping when you have a bad feeling about something, if you draw a picture of it. He doesn't see how that's supposed to help, exactly, because that would mean you have to think about whatever it is that made you unhappy. Surely it would be better to forget about it. Even the thought of drawing a picture of … well, any of the various unpleasant, embarrassing, and scary things that have happened over the past couple of weeks makes him want to run out of the room. So he doesn't think about it anymore.
However, the nagging feeling that he should really, really tell Emily about their fathers has become nearly overwhelming. Especially now that he may have messed things up so thoroughly. Maybe she will have an idea of how to fix it. Because even though he wants things to go back to how they were before, with just him and his father and the cases, he's not sure if that's possible now. If his father stops being friends with Doctor Watson, that would be like Tristram ending his friendship with Emily (and in fact, it might really result in him not seeing Emily again), which would make him very unhappy indeed. And he doesn't want to be the reason for his father's unhappiness.
He lays down his pencil. "Emily..." he says tentatively.
She makes a questioning sound without looking up from her sketch.
"I think..." He's not sure how to start. He doesn't say anything for so long that Emily raises her eyes from her drawing and gives him a quizzical look. He forces himself to speak. "You were right. Our fathers … I saw them. Kissing," he adds, as that's pretty much the salient point.
Emily grins. "Yeah, I know." She looks down and keeps colouring.
Tristram is completely nonplussed. How could she possibly know that? She couldn't have seen them in his father's room at Llanbroc, since she was asleep in the other room. Maybe she saw them at the beach, but why didn't she say anything then?
"Did you see them too?" he asks.
She shakes her head and considers her drawing. "No, but my dad told me. He said he and your dad kissed a few times and decided they fancied each other and he wanted to know if it was okay with me, and I told him it was." She holds her drawing up. "What do you think? How's this?"
"It's good," Tristram says, without really looking at the picture, because her admission has thrown him into something of a tailspin. Her father told her? He asked her if it was okay? When did this happen? Why did no one tell Tristram? Although, he allows, maybe Doctor Watson was kind of asking if it was okay when he came to Tristram's room the other night to make sure he wasn't uncomfortable about himself and Emily being there. And Tristram had already seen them kissing by then, which Doctor Watson knew, so it would have been rather pointless for him to tell Tristram about it.
He is slightly mollified by this realisation, but he is still hurt that his father didn't see fit to say anything more to him than that it didn't concern Tristram. Although that is absolutely true, too. Tristram really has nothing to do with his father and Doctor Watson kissing, and doesn't want to have anything to do with it. So he's not sure, in the end, why the whole thing bothers him.
"Why didn't you say anything before?" Tristram asks Emily.
"My dad said you already knew," she tells him matter-of-factly. Then she throws the question back at him, mildly reproachful. "Why didn't you say anything?"
That is a very good, and fair question. "I … don't know," he answers, although that's not exactly true. "I thought maybe they wanted to keep it a secret," he tries, which is closer to being true. "What else did he tell you?"
Emily picks up a blue pencil to add some more details to her drawing. "Well, he said he wasn't trying to replace Mum, that no one could ever replace Mum. Which is pretty obvious, I mean, Sherlock's a dad, not a mum, and I already have a dad. And also that he thinks Sherlock's fairly special and he fancies him a bunch, and what I thought of that, and I said it was okay. I mean, he was really, really sad when Mum..." Emily falls silent for a bit as she colours something in very carefully, then continues, more quietly, "...when Mum died. But since he met your dad he's been better." Emily stops colouring and looks up at Tristram. "He never laughed. In ever so long. He used to laugh all the time, with Mum. And now he laughs again, sometimes, with your dad. So it's good like this. Mum's not coming back. And your dad's pretty cool, actually," Emily finishes with a shrug.
Tristram swallows over a big lump in his throat. "I think..." he starts, and has to clear his throat before continuing. "I think I might have messed everything up."
"What do you mean?"
"I walked in on them when they were kissing at my grandmother's house and they stopped, and I don't think they want to anymore. Because of me. Because they think I don't want them to or something."
Emily frowns. "But my dad told me about them after we got back from your grandmother's house. When we were getting our things to go to your house. And they were sleeping on the couch together, and my dad even slept in your dad's room last night."
"But my dad slept on the couch," Tristram reminds her. "And when they were both in the living room, as soon as we came in, my dad left. He didn't want us to see them together."
"Well, you just have to tell him you don't care," Emily tells him stoutly. "Tell him it's okay if they fancy each other."
It sounds so easy. It is that easy. Tristram doesn't know if he's going to be able to do it. He has to, though.
Emily's Aunt Harry knocks at the door then to tell them that dinner is ready. Doctor Watson has made spaghetti; Tristram has the feeling that the Watsons eat a lot of spaghetti. Not that he minds. He likes spaghetti.
While they're in the middle of eating, the doorbell rings. Doctor Watson goes to answer it, and Tristram hears his father's voice. Tristram can tell he's excited about something. He's speaking quite loudly, something about fingers, but his and Doctor Watson's voices fade to a muffled undertone as they go into the living room.
"Finish up, Tris, I'm sure your father will be wanting to leave soon," Emily's Aunt Clara says.
"Or not..." her Aunt Harry drawls meaningfully, swirling the last of her wine around before draining her glass.
"Harry," Clara scolds her wife, but it's playful.
Tristram picks at his spaghetti and exchanges a look with Emily. Are they arguing again? Or kissing?
&&&&&&
"What does it mean this time?" Sherlock paces the living room restlessly. "A five-finger discount? Are they going to steal something? But they only took three fingers. Slipping through our fingers? Are they teasing that they're going to get away?"
"They could just want to give you the finger," John suggests wryly.
Sherlock stops and grins. "Undoubtedly. But no, not deep enough. And there are multiple fingers." He whips out his phone and scrolls through a screen, reading off: "Fingers crossed, all fingers and thumbs, fingers in the till-"
"To finger someone," John interrupts grimly.
Sherlock looks up, nonplussed. "You think they're making a statement about what we get up to in the bedroom?"
John screws his face up. "What- " Then comprehension dawns and he laughs despite himself. "Oh God, what is the glory that is your mind? Is that something that you even-" He shakes his head sharply, looking bemused. "No, Sherlock, to finger someone in the sense of laying the blame." His amusement fades. "Me. They're going to turn me in."
"John, they can't possibly-"
"The hell they can't!" John speaks over him. "It'll be obvious to them by now that you weren't the one who pulled the trigger. You couldn't have, the shot came from outside. Add that together with both Tristram and Emily skipping school on Friday and me not showing up for my shifts at the hospital."
"That doesn't mean they have any evidence. For all they know, we were off for a dirty weekend-"
"Do you even believe half the shit that comes out of your mouth? They are going to implicate me." He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks toward the windows, black now that night has fallen. "Fuck," he adds under his breath.
Sherlock walks away, waving his hands around his head. "If they wanted to implicate you and have the evidence, they could have done so already. Why drag it out like this?"
"They're toying with us. They enjoy watching us squirm."
"Yes, but there must be more. This whole thing … It's been planned meticulously. Starting with the methylfentanyl device." He pivots and comes back toward John. "They had Tristram, they could have done anything with him to force me to back off the investigation, but they didn't. Why? The message was the important thing, not my compliance. But why send the message if they don't care whether I do what they say?" It's clear that he's talking more to himself than John at this point. "My street contacts are being targeted in much the same way. Shaken up a bit, but not put out of commission. Maybe they're trying to scare the others, stop them from sharing information with me, but then why the additional messages? An eye for an eye, revenge, yes, but it's specific. Why can't I see it?" he hisses in frustration and puts his phone away. "I have to go home and see if they've delivered the next message. Maybe the way the fingers are arranged will tell me something." He pushes his coat back so he can put his hands on his hips, staring down at John but not really seeing him as theories dance behind his eyes.
"Send me a picture, it might suggest the particular phrase to me." John chuckles then, not without genuine amusement. "God, I can't believe I'm asking for pictures of amputated fingers, much less looking forward to it." He tugs on Sherlock's wrist and steps in closer. "What has my life become." He says it wryly, but with something more meaningful underneath.
Sherlock's eyes focus as he comes back to himself, then darken as he takes in John standing at his side. "Come back with me," he says, sliding his hand around John's hip.
"Sherlock..." John shakes his head and looks down, but doesn't step away. "Don't make this more difficult. We already discussed it this morning. This is better, for both of them. They need as much stability as possible right now."
"You coming along to wait for the delivery doesn't pose a significant disruption for anyone."
"You want me to leave Emily here alone?"
"She's not a target and never was. We know that now."
"Would you leave Tristram alone right now? Leave him here with Harry and Clara while you're on the other side of the city waiting for mutilated body parts to be delivered by some nut job?"
Sherlock's eyes darken further, betraying his interest not only in the obvious but the prospect of something more dangerous. "Will you come with me if I do?" He leans in and breathes over the top of John's ear, skimming his hands up John's arms.
"Sherlock! No! Look, this is... Voice of reason, remember?" Sherlock nudges John in until they are flush against each other. John's hands find their way into Sherlock's coat to steady himself on Sherlock's hips. "No distractions. Oh, God," he exhales breathily as Sherlock's lips close around his earlobe. "After. After, God, we'll..." John gives up and twists his neck to kiss Sherlock properly. "I'm going to take you properly to bed," he vows and dips in for more.
&&&&&&
Father's and Doctor Watson's voices continue to rise and fall in the next room. Everyone is straining to hear them, not even pretending to eat anymore.
"Maybe they're waiting for us to finish and go in," Emily suggests.
Her Aunt Harry stands up. "Well, I'm done here anyway." She takes her glass and the empty wine bottle and goes to the kitchen.
Harry's wife watches her, a brief glimmer of sadness showing in her eyes before she gets up too, ushering Tristram and Emily out of the dining room and down the hall.
In the living room, Father's back is facing them, and Doctor Watson is standing very close to him. It looks like his hands are actually inside Father's coat. Father doesn't appear to mind that at all. Jealousy twists in Tristram's chest, and he immediately feels guilty. It doesn't concern him.
Emily's aunt clears her throat pointedly and says, "John..."
Doctor Watson pulls his arms back and tries to take a step away, but Father's hand on his upper arm holds him in place. "We're not finished discussing our plans for tonight," Father says without turning around.
"We really are, Sherlock," Doctor Watson says, making it sound like a warning. He looks around Father's shoulder. "Are you ready to go, Tris?" he says, making his voice cheerful. "Better go get your school bag. I think it's still in the kitchen."
"I'll get it," Emily offers quickly. "Go on," she adds in a whisper, giving Tristram a nudge before she goes. "Tell him it's okay."
Tristram feels three pairs of adult eyes on him and knows there's no way he's going to broach the subject now. And anyway, his father would know right away that he's not telling the truth. He wants it to be true, but deep down, his heart isn't convinced.
Father lets go of Doctor Watson and sighs, ruffling a hand through his hair. When he turns around, Tristram can see his face is flushed, especially around his mouth. So whatever is going on between them is, in fact, still going on. Father looks annoyed and frustrated - but that could be due to just about anything. It doesn't have to mean that he wants to be 'affectionate' but can't because other people are around. Because of Tristram.
Emily comes back with Tristram's bag, her eyes asking a silent question. Tristram shakes his head. She rolls her eyes, but hands him his bag without comment, which Tristram is grateful for.
They all go out to the door. Emily's aunt hands Tristram his jacket while Doctor Watson and Father are still talking.
"Send me that picture when you get it," Doctor Watson tells Father.
"You could still-"
Doctor Watson cuts him off. "No." At first, Tristram thinks he's angry, but then he steps in close, puts his hand on Father's arm, and kisses him. On the lips. Not long, but it's more than a chicken peck. "Good night," he says firmly, smiling.
Father looks like he's been caught off balance, and honestly, Tristram has too.
Emily, standing next to Tristram, pokes him. He turns to her. 'Tell him,' she mouths insistently, jerking her head at their fathers. Tristram makes a helpless face at her that's supposed to mean 'I can't'. He's not sure if she understands, but at least she doesn't press the issue any further.
"Is that the official announcement then?" Emily's Aunt Harry says smugly, having appeared silently next to Clara.
Father glares at her, and Doctor Watson says conversationally, "Shut up, Harry." He steps back and puts his hands in his pockets. "Go on," he says to Father, tilting his head at the door. "Get out of here. We'll see you tomorrow." He's still smiling.
Tristram shoulders his bag and goes to join his father. Doctor Watson puts his hand on Tristram's shoulder and rubs it as he goes past. "Good night, Tris," he says. His smile is so kind it makes Tristram feel unworthy. He mumbles something in return and follows his father outside.
There's already a cab waiting for them. Father stares out the window as the driver makes his way through the evening traffic, absent in a way that says he's thinking about a case. Tristram shouldn't interrupt him. Who knows how long this case will go on for, though. And maybe Father could use Doctor Watson's help.
Mrs Hudson once told Tristram about her husband, how he'd done something very bad and she'd had to choose between keeping his secret and turning him in to the police. Even though she loved him - too much, she said, sighing - she 'turned state's evidence', which is like turning Queen's evidence, only in the States. Mr Hudson was so angry when he found out that he threatened to do the same bad thing to her that got him in trouble in the first place. That's why Father had to make sure he never got out of jail. Mrs Hudson got really sad when she told Tristram that story, so he's never asked about it again, even though he's dead curious what Mr Hudson ever did that was so bad. But the point is, Mrs Hudson told Tristram that sometimes you have to do what you know is right, even if it hurts. This is one of those times.
"It's okay with me," Tristram says, his voice preturnaturally loud in the enclosed space. "You and Doctor Watson," he clarifies. "If you want to... I don't mind." Tristram's heart is pounding furiously. He clenches his hands on the seat next to him.
His father turns his head and observes Tristram silently for a moment. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. It doesn't concern him, after all. Finally, Father nods his head and says, "All right." There's a faint furrow between his eyes. Then he looks out the window again. Tristram lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding. Is it all better now? He doesn't feel like anything's changed, but at least he's tried.
&&&&&&
The poem quoted is Sea Fever by John Masefield. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thekumquat and bopeepsheep from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sh_britglish for directing me to the poet.
Go to chapter sixteen
Author:
Beta readers:
ruth0007, billiethepoetRating: PG-13
Relationship: John/Sherlock
Word count: ca. 93,500 when complete, this chapter 4,274 words
Summary: AU set in the universe of
nox_candida's Getting Better. John and Sherlock work together to flush out Mary's killers, and Tristram has to come to terms with what his father's new friend means for him. No series 3 spoilers (or series 1 or 2, for that matter).See chapter one for the complete header with warnings, acknowledgments, disclaimers, and notes.
Chapter 15 on AO3
Chapter Fifteen
When Emily's done, they don't go back to Tristram's flat; they go to the Watsons'. Doctor Watson says Tristram's father will come and get him later on. Emily's father has already collected her things from Baker Street while they were at school, and tonight they'll be staying at their own house again. Emily puts up a token pout, but Tristram can tell she's relieved, too.
The unpleasant prickles from before have precipitated and solidified into a hard lump of unhappiness in Tristram's stomach. It's not so much that he'll miss Emily sleeping in his room or reading together at bedtime or having someone to eat with, but the knowledge that he's driven Doctor Watson even further away. Maybe he and Father won't even be friends now. Maybe he won't help with any more cases.
Tristram declines any of the biscuits and apple slices and milk that Doctor Watson gives them, saying he's full from the fizzy drink. His stomach really does feel a little queasy. Doctor Watson looks concerned and asks if Tristram wants to lie down, but he's afraid if he does that he'll cry, so he says no.
They clear off the kitchen table so they can sit there and do their homework. They have a double load to make up for the day of school they missed. Doctor Watson sits down with them and helps Emily with her maths while Tristram does his reading. It's a poem, something about a man going to sea. Tristram finishes it quickly - it's pretty short - but he sits there for a while looking the words over again, because it's funny how it makes him think of Father. Father has no interest in sailing that Tristram knows of, yet lines like 'I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely seas and sky' and the 'vagrant gypsy life' resound in a startling way. It's the call of adventure, the thrill of the unknown, the challenge of one man against nature (or against all the criminal underworld of Greater London). The last two lines, especially, give Tristram pause:
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
Tristram knows that a 'yarn' is a story. Father likes hearing Doctor Watson's stories, and sharing his own stories with him. They've laughed together several times, in a way Tristram never saw his father laugh before: hearty and genuine. And Father's tried twice now to sleep next to Doctor Watson - Tristram counts whatever it was he walked in on at Grandmother's, even though they weren't asleep, because he reckons they would have ended up asleep together there on the big bed if he hadn't interrupted them. Maybe, in the end, what it says in the poem is what his father's always been after, yet never found. Maybe, that's what he could have with Doctor Watson.
The sounds of paper shuffling and chair legs dragging on the floor bring Tristram back to the kitchen. Emily is now writing out sentences for her spelling words, and Doctor Watson pulls his chair round so he's next to Tristram.
"Do you have anything I can look at with you?" he asks as he scoots his chair in closer.
Tristram puts down the reading. He still has his maths and a science worksheet. He doesn't expect he'll need help with either of them, but Doctor Watson said 'look at', not 'help', so he gets out the worksheet and shows it to him. It's about the solar system.
"Looks pretty interesting," Doctor Watson says as he hands the paper back to Tristram. "Do you understand what you're supposed to do?"
Tristram nods. Of course. He points to the words on the page. "It says right there: 'Match each statement to the correct planet', and then..." He points at the sentence right above the big space at the bottom of the paper. "'Draw one of the planets using coloured pencils and write three sentences about it'."
Doctor Watson smiles, like he's pleased with the answer, when all Tristram's done is read what's written there black on white. Still, it makes him feel good.
Doctor Watson says, "Yes, exactly. Maybe you can kind of talk me through the answers as you do them?"
It feels a little silly, but he reads off the first sentence: "'This planet is closest to the sun'," and draws a line to the word 'Mercury'. Doctor Watson asks what else he knows about Mercury (it's smaller than the earth) and what he thinks it would be like to live there (nothing can live there, it's too hot), and then lets him read the next sentence. He'd be done with the worksheet much faster if he just did it himself, but by the time they get to the sixth statement, Tristram has become more interested in Doctor Watson's questions than in rushing to complete the exercise.
Doctor Watson is leaning in so he can see the worksheet, with his arm over the back of Tristram's chair. He's not touching Tristram, but he's close, and Tristram catches himself thinking about what it would feel like to lean against his shoulder. Would it be hard yet warm, like when he leaned against his father's side the other night looking out the window at Llanbroc? Would it make him feel safe in the same way? He doesn't feel unsafe now, certainly. Now that he knows there aren't going to be any more bombs and no one will try to kidnap him or Emily again.
Tristram reads the next sentence: "'This planet is surrounded by orbiting particles that look like rings'," and then they have a little discussion about whether that's Jupiter or Saturn, during which Doctor Watson has to look up the planets on Wikipedia and finds out that, yes, Jupiter also has rings, which he says he didn't know, and so do Uranus and Pluto, which Tristram didn't know. But then Tristram notices the next sentence, 'This planet is home to a storm called The Great Red Spot that's bigger than the earth,' which must be Jupiter, and settles the question.
By this time, Emily has finished her sentences and joined them too, resting her chin on her arm and asking how a storm can be bigger than the whole earth.
All in all, it's starting to get dark by the time Tristram's done, but his bad mood is gone, and when he and Emily run upstairs to her room, she's shouting about making adjustments to their time machine so that they can visit other planets as well as traveling through time.
She gets out some paper and colored pencils and spreads them across the floor, saying she's going to make a new set of blueprints.
"You can plot out the coordinates," she says. "We don't want to end up in the Big Red Storm."
Tristram isn't quite sure how she means him to do that, but he gamely sits down on the floor next to her and starts by drawing a map of the solar system, as he recalls it. As he draws, he remembers what Doctor Watson said earlier, about it sometimes helping when you have a bad feeling about something, if you draw a picture of it. He doesn't see how that's supposed to help, exactly, because that would mean you have to think about whatever it is that made you unhappy. Surely it would be better to forget about it. Even the thought of drawing a picture of … well, any of the various unpleasant, embarrassing, and scary things that have happened over the past couple of weeks makes him want to run out of the room. So he doesn't think about it anymore.
However, the nagging feeling that he should really, really tell Emily about their fathers has become nearly overwhelming. Especially now that he may have messed things up so thoroughly. Maybe she will have an idea of how to fix it. Because even though he wants things to go back to how they were before, with just him and his father and the cases, he's not sure if that's possible now. If his father stops being friends with Doctor Watson, that would be like Tristram ending his friendship with Emily (and in fact, it might really result in him not seeing Emily again), which would make him very unhappy indeed. And he doesn't want to be the reason for his father's unhappiness.
He lays down his pencil. "Emily..." he says tentatively.
She makes a questioning sound without looking up from her sketch.
"I think..." He's not sure how to start. He doesn't say anything for so long that Emily raises her eyes from her drawing and gives him a quizzical look. He forces himself to speak. "You were right. Our fathers … I saw them. Kissing," he adds, as that's pretty much the salient point.
Emily grins. "Yeah, I know." She looks down and keeps colouring.
Tristram is completely nonplussed. How could she possibly know that? She couldn't have seen them in his father's room at Llanbroc, since she was asleep in the other room. Maybe she saw them at the beach, but why didn't she say anything then?
"Did you see them too?" he asks.
She shakes her head and considers her drawing. "No, but my dad told me. He said he and your dad kissed a few times and decided they fancied each other and he wanted to know if it was okay with me, and I told him it was." She holds her drawing up. "What do you think? How's this?"
"It's good," Tristram says, without really looking at the picture, because her admission has thrown him into something of a tailspin. Her father told her? He asked her if it was okay? When did this happen? Why did no one tell Tristram? Although, he allows, maybe Doctor Watson was kind of asking if it was okay when he came to Tristram's room the other night to make sure he wasn't uncomfortable about himself and Emily being there. And Tristram had already seen them kissing by then, which Doctor Watson knew, so it would have been rather pointless for him to tell Tristram about it.
He is slightly mollified by this realisation, but he is still hurt that his father didn't see fit to say anything more to him than that it didn't concern Tristram. Although that is absolutely true, too. Tristram really has nothing to do with his father and Doctor Watson kissing, and doesn't want to have anything to do with it. So he's not sure, in the end, why the whole thing bothers him.
"Why didn't you say anything before?" Tristram asks Emily.
"My dad said you already knew," she tells him matter-of-factly. Then she throws the question back at him, mildly reproachful. "Why didn't you say anything?"
That is a very good, and fair question. "I … don't know," he answers, although that's not exactly true. "I thought maybe they wanted to keep it a secret," he tries, which is closer to being true. "What else did he tell you?"
Emily picks up a blue pencil to add some more details to her drawing. "Well, he said he wasn't trying to replace Mum, that no one could ever replace Mum. Which is pretty obvious, I mean, Sherlock's a dad, not a mum, and I already have a dad. And also that he thinks Sherlock's fairly special and he fancies him a bunch, and what I thought of that, and I said it was okay. I mean, he was really, really sad when Mum..." Emily falls silent for a bit as she colours something in very carefully, then continues, more quietly, "...when Mum died. But since he met your dad he's been better." Emily stops colouring and looks up at Tristram. "He never laughed. In ever so long. He used to laugh all the time, with Mum. And now he laughs again, sometimes, with your dad. So it's good like this. Mum's not coming back. And your dad's pretty cool, actually," Emily finishes with a shrug.
Tristram swallows over a big lump in his throat. "I think..." he starts, and has to clear his throat before continuing. "I think I might have messed everything up."
"What do you mean?"
"I walked in on them when they were kissing at my grandmother's house and they stopped, and I don't think they want to anymore. Because of me. Because they think I don't want them to or something."
Emily frowns. "But my dad told me about them after we got back from your grandmother's house. When we were getting our things to go to your house. And they were sleeping on the couch together, and my dad even slept in your dad's room last night."
"But my dad slept on the couch," Tristram reminds her. "And when they were both in the living room, as soon as we came in, my dad left. He didn't want us to see them together."
"Well, you just have to tell him you don't care," Emily tells him stoutly. "Tell him it's okay if they fancy each other."
It sounds so easy. It is that easy. Tristram doesn't know if he's going to be able to do it. He has to, though.
Emily's Aunt Harry knocks at the door then to tell them that dinner is ready. Doctor Watson has made spaghetti; Tristram has the feeling that the Watsons eat a lot of spaghetti. Not that he minds. He likes spaghetti.
While they're in the middle of eating, the doorbell rings. Doctor Watson goes to answer it, and Tristram hears his father's voice. Tristram can tell he's excited about something. He's speaking quite loudly, something about fingers, but his and Doctor Watson's voices fade to a muffled undertone as they go into the living room.
"Finish up, Tris, I'm sure your father will be wanting to leave soon," Emily's Aunt Clara says.
"Or not..." her Aunt Harry drawls meaningfully, swirling the last of her wine around before draining her glass.
"Harry," Clara scolds her wife, but it's playful.
Tristram picks at his spaghetti and exchanges a look with Emily. Are they arguing again? Or kissing?
&&&&&&
"What does it mean this time?" Sherlock paces the living room restlessly. "A five-finger discount? Are they going to steal something? But they only took three fingers. Slipping through our fingers? Are they teasing that they're going to get away?"
"They could just want to give you the finger," John suggests wryly.
Sherlock stops and grins. "Undoubtedly. But no, not deep enough. And there are multiple fingers." He whips out his phone and scrolls through a screen, reading off: "Fingers crossed, all fingers and thumbs, fingers in the till-"
"To finger someone," John interrupts grimly.
Sherlock looks up, nonplussed. "You think they're making a statement about what we get up to in the bedroom?"
John screws his face up. "What- " Then comprehension dawns and he laughs despite himself. "Oh God, what is the glory that is your mind? Is that something that you even-" He shakes his head sharply, looking bemused. "No, Sherlock, to finger someone in the sense of laying the blame." His amusement fades. "Me. They're going to turn me in."
"John, they can't possibly-"
"The hell they can't!" John speaks over him. "It'll be obvious to them by now that you weren't the one who pulled the trigger. You couldn't have, the shot came from outside. Add that together with both Tristram and Emily skipping school on Friday and me not showing up for my shifts at the hospital."
"That doesn't mean they have any evidence. For all they know, we were off for a dirty weekend-"
"Do you even believe half the shit that comes out of your mouth? They are going to implicate me." He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks toward the windows, black now that night has fallen. "Fuck," he adds under his breath.
Sherlock walks away, waving his hands around his head. "If they wanted to implicate you and have the evidence, they could have done so already. Why drag it out like this?"
"They're toying with us. They enjoy watching us squirm."
"Yes, but there must be more. This whole thing … It's been planned meticulously. Starting with the methylfentanyl device." He pivots and comes back toward John. "They had Tristram, they could have done anything with him to force me to back off the investigation, but they didn't. Why? The message was the important thing, not my compliance. But why send the message if they don't care whether I do what they say?" It's clear that he's talking more to himself than John at this point. "My street contacts are being targeted in much the same way. Shaken up a bit, but not put out of commission. Maybe they're trying to scare the others, stop them from sharing information with me, but then why the additional messages? An eye for an eye, revenge, yes, but it's specific. Why can't I see it?" he hisses in frustration and puts his phone away. "I have to go home and see if they've delivered the next message. Maybe the way the fingers are arranged will tell me something." He pushes his coat back so he can put his hands on his hips, staring down at John but not really seeing him as theories dance behind his eyes.
"Send me a picture, it might suggest the particular phrase to me." John chuckles then, not without genuine amusement. "God, I can't believe I'm asking for pictures of amputated fingers, much less looking forward to it." He tugs on Sherlock's wrist and steps in closer. "What has my life become." He says it wryly, but with something more meaningful underneath.
Sherlock's eyes focus as he comes back to himself, then darken as he takes in John standing at his side. "Come back with me," he says, sliding his hand around John's hip.
"Sherlock..." John shakes his head and looks down, but doesn't step away. "Don't make this more difficult. We already discussed it this morning. This is better, for both of them. They need as much stability as possible right now."
"You coming along to wait for the delivery doesn't pose a significant disruption for anyone."
"You want me to leave Emily here alone?"
"She's not a target and never was. We know that now."
"Would you leave Tristram alone right now? Leave him here with Harry and Clara while you're on the other side of the city waiting for mutilated body parts to be delivered by some nut job?"
Sherlock's eyes darken further, betraying his interest not only in the obvious but the prospect of something more dangerous. "Will you come with me if I do?" He leans in and breathes over the top of John's ear, skimming his hands up John's arms.
"Sherlock! No! Look, this is... Voice of reason, remember?" Sherlock nudges John in until they are flush against each other. John's hands find their way into Sherlock's coat to steady himself on Sherlock's hips. "No distractions. Oh, God," he exhales breathily as Sherlock's lips close around his earlobe. "After. After, God, we'll..." John gives up and twists his neck to kiss Sherlock properly. "I'm going to take you properly to bed," he vows and dips in for more.
&&&&&&
Father's and Doctor Watson's voices continue to rise and fall in the next room. Everyone is straining to hear them, not even pretending to eat anymore.
"Maybe they're waiting for us to finish and go in," Emily suggests.
Her Aunt Harry stands up. "Well, I'm done here anyway." She takes her glass and the empty wine bottle and goes to the kitchen.
Harry's wife watches her, a brief glimmer of sadness showing in her eyes before she gets up too, ushering Tristram and Emily out of the dining room and down the hall.
In the living room, Father's back is facing them, and Doctor Watson is standing very close to him. It looks like his hands are actually inside Father's coat. Father doesn't appear to mind that at all. Jealousy twists in Tristram's chest, and he immediately feels guilty. It doesn't concern him.
Emily's aunt clears her throat pointedly and says, "John..."
Doctor Watson pulls his arms back and tries to take a step away, but Father's hand on his upper arm holds him in place. "We're not finished discussing our plans for tonight," Father says without turning around.
"We really are, Sherlock," Doctor Watson says, making it sound like a warning. He looks around Father's shoulder. "Are you ready to go, Tris?" he says, making his voice cheerful. "Better go get your school bag. I think it's still in the kitchen."
"I'll get it," Emily offers quickly. "Go on," she adds in a whisper, giving Tristram a nudge before she goes. "Tell him it's okay."
Tristram feels three pairs of adult eyes on him and knows there's no way he's going to broach the subject now. And anyway, his father would know right away that he's not telling the truth. He wants it to be true, but deep down, his heart isn't convinced.
Father lets go of Doctor Watson and sighs, ruffling a hand through his hair. When he turns around, Tristram can see his face is flushed, especially around his mouth. So whatever is going on between them is, in fact, still going on. Father looks annoyed and frustrated - but that could be due to just about anything. It doesn't have to mean that he wants to be 'affectionate' but can't because other people are around. Because of Tristram.
Emily comes back with Tristram's bag, her eyes asking a silent question. Tristram shakes his head. She rolls her eyes, but hands him his bag without comment, which Tristram is grateful for.
They all go out to the door. Emily's aunt hands Tristram his jacket while Doctor Watson and Father are still talking.
"Send me that picture when you get it," Doctor Watson tells Father.
"You could still-"
Doctor Watson cuts him off. "No." At first, Tristram thinks he's angry, but then he steps in close, puts his hand on Father's arm, and kisses him. On the lips. Not long, but it's more than a chicken peck. "Good night," he says firmly, smiling.
Father looks like he's been caught off balance, and honestly, Tristram has too.
Emily, standing next to Tristram, pokes him. He turns to her. 'Tell him,' she mouths insistently, jerking her head at their fathers. Tristram makes a helpless face at her that's supposed to mean 'I can't'. He's not sure if she understands, but at least she doesn't press the issue any further.
"Is that the official announcement then?" Emily's Aunt Harry says smugly, having appeared silently next to Clara.
Father glares at her, and Doctor Watson says conversationally, "Shut up, Harry." He steps back and puts his hands in his pockets. "Go on," he says to Father, tilting his head at the door. "Get out of here. We'll see you tomorrow." He's still smiling.
Tristram shoulders his bag and goes to join his father. Doctor Watson puts his hand on Tristram's shoulder and rubs it as he goes past. "Good night, Tris," he says. His smile is so kind it makes Tristram feel unworthy. He mumbles something in return and follows his father outside.
There's already a cab waiting for them. Father stares out the window as the driver makes his way through the evening traffic, absent in a way that says he's thinking about a case. Tristram shouldn't interrupt him. Who knows how long this case will go on for, though. And maybe Father could use Doctor Watson's help.
Mrs Hudson once told Tristram about her husband, how he'd done something very bad and she'd had to choose between keeping his secret and turning him in to the police. Even though she loved him - too much, she said, sighing - she 'turned state's evidence', which is like turning Queen's evidence, only in the States. Mr Hudson was so angry when he found out that he threatened to do the same bad thing to her that got him in trouble in the first place. That's why Father had to make sure he never got out of jail. Mrs Hudson got really sad when she told Tristram that story, so he's never asked about it again, even though he's dead curious what Mr Hudson ever did that was so bad. But the point is, Mrs Hudson told Tristram that sometimes you have to do what you know is right, even if it hurts. This is one of those times.
"It's okay with me," Tristram says, his voice preturnaturally loud in the enclosed space. "You and Doctor Watson," he clarifies. "If you want to... I don't mind." Tristram's heart is pounding furiously. He clenches his hands on the seat next to him.
His father turns his head and observes Tristram silently for a moment. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. It doesn't concern him, after all. Finally, Father nods his head and says, "All right." There's a faint furrow between his eyes. Then he looks out the window again. Tristram lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding. Is it all better now? He doesn't feel like anything's changed, but at least he's tried.
&&&&&&
The poem quoted is Sea Fever by John Masefield. Thanks to
thekumquat and bopeepsheep from sh_britglish for directing me to the poet.Go to chapter sixteen
no subject
It’s wonderful to see how John brings some stability into their lives. It’s obviously a completely different life than Tristram has ever known before, but even he can see there’s some good in it.
But it’s soooooo difficult to keep such a secret inside, even if it turns out that the other person knows anyway!!! Oh dear, poor Tristram, feeling – for no reason – that he’s messed everything up. But this really did highlight the difference between John and Sherlock and how they deal with their children. Not that one way is particularly ‘right’ and the other ‘wrong’, but John’s transparency doesn’t lead to so much worrying!
no subject
no subject
*cheers* YES PLEASE!! I hope we'll get to read about that in great detail... :DDDD
Oh, there was much to cheer about in this chapter - Sherlock and John kissing in full view of everyone *happy*, Tristram managing to tell his father that it's alright with him, after a long struggle to get to that point (even if Sherlock's reaction is quite Sherlock in its opaqueness...).
Also, Sherlock continues to be excited about the case *yay* and John is once more the rock that they all rely on.
But what I loved the most were the two lines from the poem and how Tristram saw some of his father in it. That was so amazing, great idea and I thought it worked so well. I loved that Tristram was able to make the connection and that it helped him realize things about his dad. :))))
Excellent! Thank you!
no subject
I loved loved loved that poem too! I was so happy when I found it. It is so perfectly Sherlock, especially when we know the little tidbit that 'he wanted to be a pirate'. :D
no subject
Well, it's not too late to change that. Or write a one-off once you are finished with this fic. :DDDDD
Yes! The pirate detail makes it even more perfect. :)