Fic: The Cuckoo's Lullaby, 2/17
Jul. 4th, 2014 08:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
swissmargTitle: The Cuckoo's Lullaby
Author:
swissmarg
Beta readers:ruth0007 , 
dioscureantwins , special thanks to ladyprydian for medical advice
Rating: R
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Other characters: Irene Adler, OCs
Word count: ca. 85K when complete
Summary: Sequel to 'Cracks in the In-Between Places'. A Swiss holiday seems to be the perfect way for the Holmeses and the Watsons to recover from their recent troubles and deepen their attachments to each other, but when Tristram's mother and the bogeyman both turn up, loyalties are put to the ultimate test.
*Now with bonus images at the end of the chapter!*
See Chapter One for additional notes
Read Chapter Two on AO3
They have to take two trains to get to the town they're staying in. Tristram dozes for a good portion of the journey on the first one, leaning his head against the cold window. It's too dark to see anything outside other than the occasional light, and much of the route takes them through tunnels anyway.
When they switch to the second train, Emily shares out the sandwiches and the rest of the biscuits. Doctor Watson goes to the restaurant car - it turns out there is one - and comes back with drinks for them all, carefully balanced in a cardboard tray. There are little bottles of apple juice for Tristram and Emily. Tristram drinks some of his, but it's fizzy, which he wasn't expecting, so he puts the lid back on and sets it on the little tray by the window.
Father makes a face and complains about his coffee a bit too, but he drinks it. Doctor Watson leans back in his seat across from Father, sipping his coffee and watching him. Father does the same, only with less sipping of his coffee. They both look like they might start laughing at any moment. Tristram wonders whether something funny has happened that he didn't notice. Maybe there is something peculiar about the coffee.
Father's legs are long enough that his knees almost touch Doctor Watson's, but they don't actually touch. Doctor Watson takes another sip of his coffee. He grins at Father, then looks away, out the window, even though there's nothing to see there because of the darkness, trying to hide his grin in his coffee cup. Tristram looks up at Father, beside him. He's still watching Doctor Watson. He must feel Tristram's eyes on him, though, because he turns his head and looks at Tristram instead. His eyes click into focus, like he's just seen something.
He reaches across Tristram to set his cup down next to Tristram's juice, raises the arm rest between their seats - Tristram didn't even know you could do that - and unwraps the scarf from his neck. He then wads the scarf up and lays it on his leg, over his coat.
"Lie down," he says, patting the scarf.
Tristram doesn't understand. Why should he lie down?
As if Father's heard Tristram's thoughts - he probably has, somehow - he explains, "You're exhausted, and we have over an hour still to go. Lie down." He raises his arm to give Tristram room. Tristram is tired, it's true. Father's never offered to let him lie down on his lap before, though. At least not that Tristram can recall. Maybe he did when Tristram was very little. He's acting now as if it's nothing unusual, anyway.
"Me too," Tristram hears Emily say. He looks over at the seats facing them. Emily has also raised the arm rest between her seat and her father's. Doctor Watson looks surprised as she drops onto her side with her head cushioned on his leg. Her legs are too long to curl up onto the seat, so they dangle somewhat awkwardly down toward the floor.
"Here, wait... Sit up a moment." Doctor Watson takes his jacket off and folds it over his lap. Emily lies down again, using the jacket as a pillow.
Tristram mirrors her, resting his cheek on Father's soft blue scarf. It's not entirely comfortable with his back twisted, but Tristram doesn't care. He especially doesn't care when Father lowers his arm to rest it on Tristram. Father sometimes puts his coat over Tristram when Tristram falls asleep on the couch at home. This is ten times better. Across from them, he sees Doctor Watson is back to watching Father. He slides his foot forward, just enough so that it makes contact with Father's, and gets a soft look in his eyes. Tristram sees shades of the fourth picture from the photo booth and closes his eyes.
The gentle motion of the train is soothing; the weight of Father's arm on the side of his torso even more so. Tristram dozes for a while - possibly even falls asleep - until he's jolted back to wakefulness by a squeal from Emily.
"Ooh, look, snow!"
Tristram sits up. Emily is so excited she is bouncing in her seat. He looks out the window. Indeed. They are stopped at a station, and although the platforms have been cleared, just beyond them on the edge of the glow from the lonely station lamps, Tristram can see huge, lumpy piles of white lurking in the shadows. Doctor Watson says it's a shame they're not coming through during the day, because this is apparently a famous route with some spectacular views.
Tristram doesn't lie down again after that, but he does dare to lean back against Father's arm. Father doesn't say anything. Tristram's angled so he can see out the window, although there's nothing to look at except the station lights when they pass through. Emily stays where she is, with her nose practically glued to the window, eagerly monitoring the snow levels.
The station they finally get off at - Meiringen, according to the blue signs hanging on the lampposts - also has snow, but it's just a thin layer, and already disappearing where people have walked through it. There's nothing more coming down at the moment, but it's cold and dark. The train tracks are outside, and Father zips up Tristram's jacket for him as soon as they are off the train. There's not even a proper station, more of a long shed really, with a ticket window and some racks with brochures inside, and a vending machine for snacks and drinks on the back side toward the tracks.
Hardly anyone else gets off the train, and the street in front of the station is almost empty. There are a couple of taxis idling and occasionally a car will drive slowly past, its tires squelching wetly through the slush. The buildings are all very square and very neat and the same off-white colour, their tops barely visible in the low street lights, and all of them have the same kinds of shutters and balconies. They aren't exactly copies of each other, but they somehow all look like they belong to the same family. The trees lining the street are all precisely the same height, and Tristram has the impression that their bare branches are all lined up at the same angle.
It doesn't really look like the kind of place where exciting things are likely to happen. Tristram wonders how in the world they ended up here. He can't imagine his father voluntarily choosing to holiday in a place like this. But then, this wasn't originally meant to be a holiday.
Their hotel, luckily, is just down the street from the station. Luckily because it means they don't have far to walk. Tristram feels guilty every time his father has to stop and right their suitcases when they tip due to the uneven weight distribution.
Father tells them their hotel is called the Englischer Hof. The way he says it rhymes with 'loaf'. He tells them that Hof can mean either 'farm' or 'court'. Like the place where a king sits, not a judge.
When the building comes into view at the end of a driveway set back from the street, it definitely looks more like a place for a king than for a farmer or a judge. It's big, for one thing: four stories tall and probably as long as their entire block on Baker Street. It has shutters on every window, and balconies all over, just like the other buildings in the town, but the dramatic nighttime lighting makes it more elegant and theatrical. Fairy lights twinkle in the manicured bushes set in pots along the driveway - again, all exactly the same height. Unlike the trees out on the street, these bushes still have their leaves, and the identical balls of greenery look to Tristram as if someone has copy-pasted them.
There are pine boughs with red bows wound around the pillars holding up the roof over the broad stairs leading up to the entrance of the hotel. Suitcases are being unloaded by a man in a red uniform from a car that wouldn't be out of place in Uncle Mycroft's garage. Tristram's still not sure it's the sort of thing his father would have chosen, given his druthers, but it looks very much like the kind of place Uncle Mycroft would stay. For his part, Tristram doesn't care much, as long as it has beds.
"We're staying here?" Doctor Watson asks in a strangled voice as they walk up the driveway, which has been cleared of snow right down to the black macadam.
"No, I thought we'd just stop in here and ask directions to the next Travelodge," Father says in a way that means Doctor Watson's just asked a stupid question.
"Yeah, but- Jesus, five stars?" Doctor Watson hisses when they get to the stairs. "When you said Switzerland, I thought you meant some little pension in the Alps, not the place where bloody Will and Kate go on holiday!"
"Who?" Father sends a quick frown in Doctor Watson's direction.
"The point being, I can't actually afford this, just so you know," Doctor Watson mutters.
"Which is why you're not paying."
Now it's Doctor Watson's turn to frown. "Looks like we'll be discussing that later."
Inside, the hotel reveals itself to be much more quirky than the cookie-cutter outside indicated. There's wrought iron and gold, wood panelling whose varnish is cracked with age, marble-topped tables with angels worked into the metal legs, and intricate plasterwork decorating the high ceilings. Doctor Watson gives his and Emily's passports to Father, and the three of them - Tristram, Emily, and Doctor Watson - plop down onto the stiff blue couch and chairs in the entry hall while Father goes to the main desk.
Emily looks around with round eyes. "It's like a castle," she whispers.
"Not far off," Doctor Watson mutters. He sighs and rubs his hands on the thighs of his jeans. "How you doing, Tris?" he asks.
"Fine." His back's pretty sore, actually. He thinks the bandaging may have slipped, going by the way his shirt is kind of sticking to his shoulder blade.
Doctor Watson looks like he's not quite convinced, but he doesn't press the issue. "Are either of you still hungry? Maybe want to try and find a burger or something?"
Tristram isn't. Truth be told, he just wants to go to bed.
"Do they even have McDonald's here?" Emily wants to know. She doesn't look very hopeful.
Doctor Watson laughs. "In this country, yes. No idea if they have one right here in this town. But there are other places you can get a burger. Better burgers. Or whatever it is they serve here."
When Father returns, a short, moustached man is following him with a trolley. Father says something to the man in another language, gesturing at their luggage.
The man replies something that ends in a word that sounds like 'missiure' and starts loading their suitcases and backpacks onto the trolley. Tristram recognises the 'missiure'; he's not sure exactly where he knows it from, but he knows it's French.
"Suite three-oh-nine," Father says, handing a plastic card to Doctor Watson along with their passports.
Doctor Watson gawps at him a bit, then says, "You- No, you can change that. No suite. No, wait, please," he says to the luggage man, gesturing for him to stop loading the bags onto the trolley. "Excuse us. Excoozay." Doctor Watson pulls Father aside out of earshot, looking rather grim.
Clearly, there is some problem. Does he not want any sweets? Vikram, one of the boys in his class, isn't allowed to have sweets, but Tristram never noticed Emily being under any such edict. Although just what the connection between sweets and their hotel accommodations might be escapes him entirely.
The luggage man gives Tristram and Emily a knowing smile. "It is your papas' first time here?"
He speaks English! Tristram realises with a start. Not the way Tristram speaks it, so he must speak another language too. Doctor Watson did say that nearly everyone here speaks English as well as German. (Or French. Tristram still isn't sure.) It makes him wonder why his father didn't speak English to the man in the first place.
"Yes," Emily answers the man's question matter-of-factly. "Well, it's my papa's first time here. I don't know about Sherlock. He's Tris's papa. He and my dad are boyfriends."
Tristram is startled by that statement. Is Father Doctor Watson's boyfriend? It almost seems ludicrous, and yet it must be so. They kiss and hug and want to sleep in the same room. Does that mean they're going to all live together from now on? The idea is too huge to consider.
"Your papa is the short one," the luggage man is saying to Emily, "and your papa," he says to Tristram, "is the tall one? I see it." He nods contentedly, looking over at Father and Doctor Watson.
Tristram is very uneasy about the man's curiosity regarding their fathers. The man who shot him also pretended to be nice and asked about his father and Doctor Watson. Tristram looks over at them, feeling anxious. They have finished their discussion and are coming back. Doctor Watson still looks grim, so Tristram supposes that Father won.
Father says something to the man - again in what Tristram supposes is French - and then the man finishes putting their luggage on his trolley and they all get into the lift. He doesn't ask any more questions.
&&&&&&
Their room, it turns out, is not a room, but an entire flat. There's a living room with an angular, uncomfortable-looking couch, two armchairs around a coffee table, and a big, flatscreen television mounted on the wall. Through another door is a bedroom with a big double bed, and yet another door yields a bathroom with a big, round bathtub and a separate shower stall. There's no kitchen, but there is a little refrigerator in the corner of the living room, along with a countertop that houses a coffee machine and a microwave. The entire place is sleek, modern and minimalistic, all stone and wood, precise lines and no carpets, and it - like the rest of the country so far - doesn't exactly make Tristram feel welcome. The only good thing as far as he can see is that the curtains are drawn over all the windows.
Emily is the first to realise the problem of this arrangement. Tristram chalks it up to him being so tired that it didn't occur to him at once: there is only one bed.
Doctor Watson, though, quickly points out that the couch can be pulled out into a second double bed, and sets about doing so, with Tristram and Emily assisting while Father busies himself getting his electronics set up and logged into the hotel's network.
The next problem, however, soon becomes apparent. "Which do you want, the bedroom or the couch?" Emily asks Tristram.
Tristram considers. The bedroom is probably going to be quieter. Tristram knows from experience that it's harder to sleep in a living room, simply because people keep walking in and out. The bedroom will also be more private. Tristram doesn't particularly need privacy, but that means that Father and Doctor Watson will want it for themselves. And if only for that reason, it doesn't really matter what preference he - or Emily - has.
"Here is fine," he says, therefore, as they half carry and half slide the coffee table aside to make room for the couch.
"Okay, then how about me and my dad can use the bedroom tonight, and tomorrow you and your dad can have it. Is that okay, Dad?" she asks him. "That way it's fair."
Tristram looks from Doctor Watson to his father, because he's sure that's not how things are supposed to go. He thinks of his father curled up on the cold floor of their living room with his head resting on the couch next to Doctor Watson, and of Doctor Watson coming out of Father's room the next morning after that. Father said he hadn't slept at all that night, but that doesn't mean he wasn't in his room at some point. With Doctor Watson. He does not think about the two of them together in his father's room at Grandmother's. But it's a piece of evidence nevertheless.
Doctor Watson straightens up and glances at Father, and Father stares back for a moment, then shrugs like it doesn't matter to him, only Tristram knows that's not true. Doctor Watson must know it too, because he takes a breath and looks at Emily then puts on a smile, the kind of smile that means he's going to say something she probably won't like. His mouth opens, but then he stops before he even says anything, and almost looks sad. "Yeah, that sounds good, Em," is what he actually ends up saying, to Tristram's mild surprise. "We'll try it that way tonight. Maybe we can switch around tomorrow."
Tristram almost wants to say something, but what? Emily will be anxious if she and her father sleep in different rooms. He thinks of her going downstairs at their flat to find her father when it wasn't even properly morning, and at the safe house bringing her blanket down from the bedroom so she could curl up on the living room floor at his feet. No matter how they arrange it, someone will be unhappy. And to tell the truth, having himself and Father together in the living room is probably the best possible outcome for Tristram. It will be just like those nights at their flat when Tristram sleeps on the couch and Father sits at his desk or falls asleep in one of the armchairs. With the additional bonus for Tristram of being able to sleep on a spacious mattress rather than on the narrow couch. So he doesn't say anything.
He wonders if Emily knows what just happened - that she won - but she nods blithely, no trace of triumph, and goes to bring her things into the bedroom.
Father, meanwhile, has moved on and begun setting up his computer on the coffee table, unravelling the power cord and attaching a funny-looking plug on the end. Tristram wanders over to watch.
"What's that for?" he asks.
"They have different plugs and sockets here," Father says as his eyes skim along the baseboard. He finds what he's looking for in the corner by the window. "Here, you see?" He bends down and points at the wall socket.
Tristram hunkers down next to him. Indeed. Instead of the normal three slits arranged in a more or less equilateral triangle, there are three round holes arranged in a kind of flat isosceles triangle, deep in a hexagonal recess. A normal plug would never fit. Father hands Tristram the power cord. The attachment he stuck on the end has three round metal prongs in the same pattern as the holes in the wall, protruding from a hexagonal piece of plastic that should fit neatly into the recess.
"Go on, plug it in," Father tells him.
Tristram does. It slides in smoothly. "Why'd they make it like that?" he asks. It seems silly not to just make the sockets normal like back home.
"Because people are idiots," Father scoffs, going back to the table. He sits down in the armchair Tristram was in before - the other one being full of cushions from the couch - and turns on his computer.
"I don't think that's quite the reason," Doctor Watson says with a wry smile. He's sitting on the end of the couch bed, which is now all set up. It's also a double, although not as wide as the bed in the bedroom. "I think it's more that back when they were first wiring houses for electricity and inventing things that needed to be plugged in, no one thought they might want to take their lamps and toasters with them on holiday. So everyone invented their own ..." Doctor Watson stops. Father is leaning back in his chair watching him with an amused expression. Doctor Watson grins, first at him, then at Tristram. "Your dad's right, Tris. It's because people are idiots."
Tristram grins too.
Emily comes out of the bedroom, already wearing her pyjamas. She skips over and leaps onto the couch bed. "Can we see what's on the telly?" she asks.
"Sure, why don't you have a look while Tris and I go check his back," Doctor Watson says. He takes down the remote control from its holder on the side of the television screen and tosses it to Emily.
It turns out that one of Tristram's bandages did come loose, but there was no harm done and it's easily re-bandaged. Doctor Watson didn't have room to bring the big medical case he had on the night Tristram was shot, but he's managed to fit quite a lot in the smaller kit he has with him now.
"We haven't really had a chance to talk about everything that's happened," Doctor Watson says in a quiet voice as he checks the rest of Tristram's cuts too. The stitches are still in and have to stay in for a couple more days. They're starting to itch, which Doctor Watson says is a good sign; in fact, that's probably how the bandage came loose, from Tristram rubbing his back against the seat in the aeroplane. He didn't mean to; it must have just happened. He knows better than to rub his back.
"Did you get to talk to anyone while you were in hospital?" Doctor Watson asks. His hands are warm and almost tickle where they contact Tristram's skin. Tristram has the odd sensation of both wanting to flinch away and lean into the touch.
"You mean like a social worker?" Tristram asks. He's had to deal with social workers before. The last time was just before he transferred schools, when Father said something to his old teacher that must have raised a flag. He knows what to do: play dumb, look them in the eye, and smile.
Doctor Watson nods in response. Tristram can just see the movement in the corner of his eye over his shoulder. "Yeah, like a social worker or some kind of counsellor. Did someone come by to see you?"
"Yes, but I didn't tell him anything," Tristram assures him.
"What do you mean? Why not?" Doctor Watson's hands pause.
Tristram understands it's the social workers' job to make sure that children are safe and well taken care of. Which he is, of course. But he also understands that his living situation is unorthodox, and that the unfamiliar is often viewed with prejudice. And that his living situation, of late, has careened past unorthodox into alarming. Being kidnapped was bad enough, albeit clearly not his father's fault. Neither, to be fair, was him nearly eating a hacked-off finger and being stalked and shot by a hitman. But if anyone who doesn't know Father very well should piece all the bits together, a fairly unflattering picture of the chances of his continued health and well-being would emerge. That's all it would be, of course: a picture. He's fine, and Mister Tonga was never after him anyway. It was all a big mistake. But Tristram knows that other people have a way of not understanding that kind of thing.
Quite aside from all that, however, Tristram knows better than to start giving away details of an ongoing investigation. He slipped up when he talked to Mister Tonga in Grandmother's stable and told him all sorts of things he shouldn't have. Of course, that was before he knew the man wanted to kill Doctor Watson, but it was still a beginner's mistake. Does Doctor Watson actually think he's that stupid? For all he knows, it was the social worker who planted the skin and teeth on his dinner tray. It's a good thing he didn't tell him anything, or who knows what might have happened!
"You're not supposed to talk to anyone about an ongoing investigation. You might prejudice a witness or pervert the course of justice," Tristram informs Doctor Watson earnestly. He supposes Doctor Watson might really not know how these things work. He has to remind himself that he's just a doctor and has little practical experience in criminal matters.
Doctor Watson shakes his head and mutters, "Jesus, I forgot who I'm talking to. Okay, no, you're right Tris... if you're the police!" His voice gets louder on the last part and he puts his hand on Tristram's shoulder and turns him halfway round so he can look Tristram in the eye. He actually seems rather agitated, for some reason.
"But that's not your responsibility. You know that, right? That you don't have to worry about any of that? It's up to the police to gather the evidence and question the witnesses. It's not even really your father's job, although that's another issue. But all that aside, Tris..." And now his voice becomes softer again, as if he's reminding himself to remain calm. "It's not going to hurt anything for you to talk to a counsellor about what's going on with you inside. How you feel, what you're afraid of, if you're angry or sad, or even what makes you happy. Do you understand?" His eyes are really intense, almost like Father's get sometimes when it's imperative that Tristram understand something, only not as piercing and insistent. More sad, in a way.
This thing with the talking seems really important to Doctor Watson. Not just now, either. He told Tristram almost exactly the same thing when they went along to Emily's meeting with the lady she got to play games with. Mrs Daniels, that was her name. Tristram doesn't really get how talking about anything is supposed to help. It's just words, and they can't change anything that happened, or make you forget it. Plus, there's something that Doctor Watson apparently hasn't thought of.
"What if he was one of the bad guys?" Tristram whispers. He kind of doesn't want to say it any louder, as if doing so would make one of those very bad guys come out of the woodwork. Which doesn't make any sense whatsoever, but it doesn't change the fact. "What if he was just trying to trick me?"
Doctor Watson freezes a bit, and Tristram can almost see the colour drain from his face. He gets paler, anyway, and says, "Oh God." Then he blinks and frowns and shakes his head as if it hurts. "Sorry, sorry," he says, closing his eyes. "I'm just... " He takes a big, deep breath through his nose and looks Tristram square in the eye again. "Tris, okay, how about this. All right. What if." He holds up a finger as if what he's about to propose is right there on the tip of it. "What if I find someone for you to talk to? About anything you want. Like Mrs Daniels. Right?" He makes a face that means he thinks that's a pretty good idea. "I don't know if it will really be Mrs Daniels, but when we get back... You trust me, right? Like with the paramedics. You were worried they might be trying to play a trick on us, but they weren't. They were really paramedics, and I told you that because I was sure, and you trusted me. Remember?"
Tristram does remember. Nisha was nice. Although she might still have been a bad guy, but she didn't dare to do anything because Doctor Watson was with them. But Tristram nods, because Doctor Watson only wants to know if he remembers, not if he trusted Nisha or if he thinks she might have done something awful given the chance.
Doctor Watson smiles a bit and looks a little less intense. "Okay, that's great. That is really, really great. Because then you know that you can trust me in this too. I will find someone for you to talk to, and I will make sure your dad makes an appointment for you with them, and that he takes you. And if you want, I'll make sure he stays right there in the waiting room the whole time, just like we did during Emily's session. Okay?"
That does sound okay. Especially the part about Father staying there, because that means there's less chance of the person - the counsellor or whoever it is he's supposed to talk to - doing something unpleasant, or taking him away. (Although, he has to remind himself, Father said there weren't going to be any more kidnappings. And that's proven true so far.) Tristram does wonder how Doctor Watson hopes to make Father do all that. But maybe that's part of the trust thing. He has to trust that Doctor Watson will make good on his promise.
"Okay," Tristram agrees.
Doctor Watson looks pleased, which makes Tristram feel good. "That's great. Thank you," he says, and squeezes Tristram's shoulder. "All right, turn around again and let me finish this up."
&&&&&&
Tristram's supposed to be sleeping. He wants to. He's so tired, though, that he's past tired, and his brain won't slow down enough for him to drift off.
Emily is in the bedroom, by herself at the moment as Father and Doctor Watson are writing messages to each other on Father's laptop. She's probably asleep, though, so she won't notice.
Father and Doctor Watson have pulled both armchairs in close to the coffee table and are bent forward so they can both see the screen. They take turns typing. It took Tristram a while to figure out what they were doing, but they must be writing those messages to each other. Either they're trying not to disturb Tristram - unlikely - or else they're discussing something they don't want Tristram to hear.
They're not paying any overt attention to Tristram, but Tristram's certain that Father at least knows he's awake, so he doesn't feel bad about watching them. It's not as if they're doing anything interesting, but there's not much else for him to do while he waits to fall asleep.
Both of them look like they're going to start shouting out loud at one point, and there's a bit of shoving over whose hands have control of the keyboard. Father wins and types what must be a whole page, while Doctor Watson's face goes from furious to annoyed to unhappy. Then he puts his hand over Father's, making him stop typing. They turn to look at each other. Tristram thinks they're going to kiss, but they don't. Instead, Doctor Watson puts his hand up on the back of Father's neck and rubs it. They sit there like that for a few moments, watching each other, with Doctor Watson's hand on the back of Father's neck. Tristram wonders whether they are actually able to read each other's minds.
Then Doctor Watson takes a sharp breath, breaking the silence, and turns back to the computer to type his response. He types slowly, much slower than Father, and Father leans forward with his elbows on his knees and his fingers pressed together in front of his mouth, watching the screen. He sits there even after Doctor Watson stops typing, so he must be thinking. Then he blinks as if returning from his mind palace, reaches forward, and enters his answer. He hasn't even finished typing before Doctor Watson's expression changes to look like a struggle between smiling and remaining stern.
He's reaching for the keyboard again when a voice sounds from the direction of the bedroom.
"Daddy?"
Tristram turns his head. Emily is standing in the doorway to the bedroom in her pyjamas.
Doctor Watson looks up from the computer. "Yeah, Em, what is it?" he says softly.
"When are you coming to bed?"
"You don't need to wait for me. I'll be there in a bit."
"I can't sleep." Tristram has to hand it to her: she knows exactly the pitch to use, not quite whining but hinting at trouble if she doesn't get her way.
"Okay, well... I'll be there in a minute, all right?"
It's clear that he expects Emily to go back into the bedroom without him, but she stands her ground, equally clearly not going to move until he goes with her.
"It's all right, John," Father says. "There's not much we can do until that reply comes back. It can keep."
Doctor Watson gets a funny little frown on his face, like he's not sure whether that's a good or a bad thing. Then he says, "Yeah. Yeah, all right." And then he turns to Father and says, a little awkwardly, "Erm, good night then," pushes himself halfway up out of his chair and kisses him on the mouth. Like he did at the Watsons' house the night Tristram was shot. Not like in the photo booth. Short and gentle, and without any sound.
At first, Father reacts much like he did at the Watsons' house: like he's not sure what he's supposed to do. But he figures it out quickly. His face softens almost but not quite into a smile and says, "Good night," in a rumbly voice - the one Tristram thought would make a good voice for reading Dumbledore - and kisses Doctor Watson back. Twice. The second one goes on so long Tristram is afraid it's going to turn into a photo booth kiss. He wants to look away but he's unable to. But before Tristram can blink again, Father's moved his head away and is looking determinedly at the screen of his computer again.
Doctor Watson straightens up and grins. "Properly," he states, pointing at Father. Tristram's not sure what that's supposed to mean. A proper kiss perhaps? It seemed like a proper enough one to Tristram. More than enough.
Father makes a grumbly sound, but he doesn't sound displeased.
Doctor Watson pushes his chair back and straightens his jeans, then steps away from the table. On his way past the couch, he leans over and squeezes Tristram's foot through the cover. "Good night, Tris."
Tristram replies automatically, watching as Doctor Watson disappears into the bathroom and Emily finally goes back to the bedroom to wait for him. Tristram closes his eyes and waits too. He doesn't want to chance being overheard. After a couple of minutes, Tristram hears the sounds of Doctor Watson going into the bedroom, followed by his and Emily's voices. Although Doctor Watson left the door open, their voices are low and indistinct enough that he can't make out what they're saying. That's good, because it means that they probably won't be able to understand what he and Father are saying either. There are things he needs to know, but he can't ask them in front of Emily and he doesn't want to in front of Doctor Watson. Even though Doctor Watson probably - certainly - knows more than Tristram, and would be able to answer Tristram's questions himself.
Tristram waits until he hasn't heard any talking from the bedroom for several minutes before he opens his eyes again and ventures to speak.
"Father?" he whispers.
His father makes a questioning noise.
"Why are we here?"
"We're on holiday," Father murmurs absently.
"You're working on a case though." It's a bit of a stab in the dark, but Tristram doesn't think he's wrong.
Father doesn't contradict him either. "I'm always working," he says. Tristram sees that he's going to have to be more explicit.
"Did you find the-" Tristram stops himself before he says 'bogeyman'. Father doesn't like calling him that. "- the man who sent Mister Tonga?" he decides on instead. He tries to keep his voice pitched soft and low. Emily, especially, is not supposed to know the truth of everything that happened. Especially that her father was the sniper's target, not Tristram.
Father stops what he's doing on his computer and looks over at Tristram. His face looks eerie and distorted in the yellowish glow from his screen.
"No one is coming after you, Tristram. I promise."
Tristram believes him. He has faith in his father. He was right about there being no more bombs and no more kidnappings too. But he didn't say anything about being shot. And Mister Tonga wasn't trying to hit Tristram at all. He was trying to hit Doctor Watson. So even though no one is coming after him, that doesn't mean that nothing will happen to Tristram. Or to Father. Or Doctor Watson, or Emily, Tristram finds himself mentally adding, to his slight surprise. He doesn't want anything to happen to them, either. So even though Father's reassurance is, on one level, well, reassuring, Tristram has experienced enough to know that it's no guarantee any more. His father does not, in fact, know everything, no matter how much it sometimes seems that way.
Tristram understands that this is Father's way of ending the conversation. But it's also clear, both from what he and Doctor Watson were doing on the computer before, and from the fact that Father is giving him reassurances rather than a straight answer, that there is an investigation. A case. A threat that isn't yet banned.
Tristram turns his head away and watches his father's oversized shadow moving on the wall. The dull click-click of the mouse pad starts up again. Tristram's eyes drift shut.
A short while later, something else occurs to him that he'd wanted to ask about. He can't say exactly why he gives voice to it. Maybe he's already half asleep and his brain is gearing up for the what ifs of dreams.
"Is Doctor Watson your boyfriend?" he asks.
The clicking stops. Father doesn't answer. Tristram wants to turn his head and open his eyes to look at him, but it seems like an enormous effort so he stays where he is with his eyes closed. Just when he thinks Father hasn't heard him after all - or has decided not to respond - he says, "Go to sleep, Tristram."
&&&&&&
Chapter note: The Englischer Hof was the hotel that Holmes and Watson stayed in in "The Final Problem". It was made up by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but was based on the real "Parkhotel du Sauvage" in Meiringen, so I've done the same thing, basing my descriptions on actual pictures of the hotel, its lobby and rooms from the website: http://sauvage.ch/de/Angebote/Aktuell/Willkommen The Parkhotel du Sauvage has 4 stars, but I bumped the Englischer Hof up to 5 just for fun.
Here is what Meiringen looks like with its similar houses:
Here is the Parkhotel du Sauvage with Christmas decorations by night:
And here's what one of the suites looks like:
Go to chapter three
Author:
swissmargBeta readers:
ruth0007 , ladyprydian for medical adviceRating: R
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Other characters: Irene Adler, OCs
Word count: ca. 85K when complete
Summary: Sequel to 'Cracks in the In-Between Places'. A Swiss holiday seems to be the perfect way for the Holmeses and the Watsons to recover from their recent troubles and deepen their attachments to each other, but when Tristram's mother and the bogeyman both turn up, loyalties are put to the ultimate test.
*Now with bonus images at the end of the chapter!*
See Chapter One for additional notes
Read Chapter Two on AO3
Chapter Two
They have to take two trains to get to the town they're staying in. Tristram dozes for a good portion of the journey on the first one, leaning his head against the cold window. It's too dark to see anything outside other than the occasional light, and much of the route takes them through tunnels anyway.
When they switch to the second train, Emily shares out the sandwiches and the rest of the biscuits. Doctor Watson goes to the restaurant car - it turns out there is one - and comes back with drinks for them all, carefully balanced in a cardboard tray. There are little bottles of apple juice for Tristram and Emily. Tristram drinks some of his, but it's fizzy, which he wasn't expecting, so he puts the lid back on and sets it on the little tray by the window.
Father makes a face and complains about his coffee a bit too, but he drinks it. Doctor Watson leans back in his seat across from Father, sipping his coffee and watching him. Father does the same, only with less sipping of his coffee. They both look like they might start laughing at any moment. Tristram wonders whether something funny has happened that he didn't notice. Maybe there is something peculiar about the coffee.
Father's legs are long enough that his knees almost touch Doctor Watson's, but they don't actually touch. Doctor Watson takes another sip of his coffee. He grins at Father, then looks away, out the window, even though there's nothing to see there because of the darkness, trying to hide his grin in his coffee cup. Tristram looks up at Father, beside him. He's still watching Doctor Watson. He must feel Tristram's eyes on him, though, because he turns his head and looks at Tristram instead. His eyes click into focus, like he's just seen something.
He reaches across Tristram to set his cup down next to Tristram's juice, raises the arm rest between their seats - Tristram didn't even know you could do that - and unwraps the scarf from his neck. He then wads the scarf up and lays it on his leg, over his coat.
"Lie down," he says, patting the scarf.
Tristram doesn't understand. Why should he lie down?
As if Father's heard Tristram's thoughts - he probably has, somehow - he explains, "You're exhausted, and we have over an hour still to go. Lie down." He raises his arm to give Tristram room. Tristram is tired, it's true. Father's never offered to let him lie down on his lap before, though. At least not that Tristram can recall. Maybe he did when Tristram was very little. He's acting now as if it's nothing unusual, anyway.
"Me too," Tristram hears Emily say. He looks over at the seats facing them. Emily has also raised the arm rest between her seat and her father's. Doctor Watson looks surprised as she drops onto her side with her head cushioned on his leg. Her legs are too long to curl up onto the seat, so they dangle somewhat awkwardly down toward the floor.
"Here, wait... Sit up a moment." Doctor Watson takes his jacket off and folds it over his lap. Emily lies down again, using the jacket as a pillow.
Tristram mirrors her, resting his cheek on Father's soft blue scarf. It's not entirely comfortable with his back twisted, but Tristram doesn't care. He especially doesn't care when Father lowers his arm to rest it on Tristram. Father sometimes puts his coat over Tristram when Tristram falls asleep on the couch at home. This is ten times better. Across from them, he sees Doctor Watson is back to watching Father. He slides his foot forward, just enough so that it makes contact with Father's, and gets a soft look in his eyes. Tristram sees shades of the fourth picture from the photo booth and closes his eyes.
The gentle motion of the train is soothing; the weight of Father's arm on the side of his torso even more so. Tristram dozes for a while - possibly even falls asleep - until he's jolted back to wakefulness by a squeal from Emily.
"Ooh, look, snow!"
Tristram sits up. Emily is so excited she is bouncing in her seat. He looks out the window. Indeed. They are stopped at a station, and although the platforms have been cleared, just beyond them on the edge of the glow from the lonely station lamps, Tristram can see huge, lumpy piles of white lurking in the shadows. Doctor Watson says it's a shame they're not coming through during the day, because this is apparently a famous route with some spectacular views.
Tristram doesn't lie down again after that, but he does dare to lean back against Father's arm. Father doesn't say anything. Tristram's angled so he can see out the window, although there's nothing to look at except the station lights when they pass through. Emily stays where she is, with her nose practically glued to the window, eagerly monitoring the snow levels.
The station they finally get off at - Meiringen, according to the blue signs hanging on the lampposts - also has snow, but it's just a thin layer, and already disappearing where people have walked through it. There's nothing more coming down at the moment, but it's cold and dark. The train tracks are outside, and Father zips up Tristram's jacket for him as soon as they are off the train. There's not even a proper station, more of a long shed really, with a ticket window and some racks with brochures inside, and a vending machine for snacks and drinks on the back side toward the tracks.
Hardly anyone else gets off the train, and the street in front of the station is almost empty. There are a couple of taxis idling and occasionally a car will drive slowly past, its tires squelching wetly through the slush. The buildings are all very square and very neat and the same off-white colour, their tops barely visible in the low street lights, and all of them have the same kinds of shutters and balconies. They aren't exactly copies of each other, but they somehow all look like they belong to the same family. The trees lining the street are all precisely the same height, and Tristram has the impression that their bare branches are all lined up at the same angle.
It doesn't really look like the kind of place where exciting things are likely to happen. Tristram wonders how in the world they ended up here. He can't imagine his father voluntarily choosing to holiday in a place like this. But then, this wasn't originally meant to be a holiday.
Their hotel, luckily, is just down the street from the station. Luckily because it means they don't have far to walk. Tristram feels guilty every time his father has to stop and right their suitcases when they tip due to the uneven weight distribution.
Father tells them their hotel is called the Englischer Hof. The way he says it rhymes with 'loaf'. He tells them that Hof can mean either 'farm' or 'court'. Like the place where a king sits, not a judge.
When the building comes into view at the end of a driveway set back from the street, it definitely looks more like a place for a king than for a farmer or a judge. It's big, for one thing: four stories tall and probably as long as their entire block on Baker Street. It has shutters on every window, and balconies all over, just like the other buildings in the town, but the dramatic nighttime lighting makes it more elegant and theatrical. Fairy lights twinkle in the manicured bushes set in pots along the driveway - again, all exactly the same height. Unlike the trees out on the street, these bushes still have their leaves, and the identical balls of greenery look to Tristram as if someone has copy-pasted them.
There are pine boughs with red bows wound around the pillars holding up the roof over the broad stairs leading up to the entrance of the hotel. Suitcases are being unloaded by a man in a red uniform from a car that wouldn't be out of place in Uncle Mycroft's garage. Tristram's still not sure it's the sort of thing his father would have chosen, given his druthers, but it looks very much like the kind of place Uncle Mycroft would stay. For his part, Tristram doesn't care much, as long as it has beds.
"We're staying here?" Doctor Watson asks in a strangled voice as they walk up the driveway, which has been cleared of snow right down to the black macadam.
"No, I thought we'd just stop in here and ask directions to the next Travelodge," Father says in a way that means Doctor Watson's just asked a stupid question.
"Yeah, but- Jesus, five stars?" Doctor Watson hisses when they get to the stairs. "When you said Switzerland, I thought you meant some little pension in the Alps, not the place where bloody Will and Kate go on holiday!"
"Who?" Father sends a quick frown in Doctor Watson's direction.
"The point being, I can't actually afford this, just so you know," Doctor Watson mutters.
"Which is why you're not paying."
Now it's Doctor Watson's turn to frown. "Looks like we'll be discussing that later."
Inside, the hotel reveals itself to be much more quirky than the cookie-cutter outside indicated. There's wrought iron and gold, wood panelling whose varnish is cracked with age, marble-topped tables with angels worked into the metal legs, and intricate plasterwork decorating the high ceilings. Doctor Watson gives his and Emily's passports to Father, and the three of them - Tristram, Emily, and Doctor Watson - plop down onto the stiff blue couch and chairs in the entry hall while Father goes to the main desk.
Emily looks around with round eyes. "It's like a castle," she whispers.
"Not far off," Doctor Watson mutters. He sighs and rubs his hands on the thighs of his jeans. "How you doing, Tris?" he asks.
"Fine." His back's pretty sore, actually. He thinks the bandaging may have slipped, going by the way his shirt is kind of sticking to his shoulder blade.
Doctor Watson looks like he's not quite convinced, but he doesn't press the issue. "Are either of you still hungry? Maybe want to try and find a burger or something?"
Tristram isn't. Truth be told, he just wants to go to bed.
"Do they even have McDonald's here?" Emily wants to know. She doesn't look very hopeful.
Doctor Watson laughs. "In this country, yes. No idea if they have one right here in this town. But there are other places you can get a burger. Better burgers. Or whatever it is they serve here."
When Father returns, a short, moustached man is following him with a trolley. Father says something to the man in another language, gesturing at their luggage.
The man replies something that ends in a word that sounds like 'missiure' and starts loading their suitcases and backpacks onto the trolley. Tristram recognises the 'missiure'; he's not sure exactly where he knows it from, but he knows it's French.
"Suite three-oh-nine," Father says, handing a plastic card to Doctor Watson along with their passports.
Doctor Watson gawps at him a bit, then says, "You- No, you can change that. No suite. No, wait, please," he says to the luggage man, gesturing for him to stop loading the bags onto the trolley. "Excuse us. Excoozay." Doctor Watson pulls Father aside out of earshot, looking rather grim.
Clearly, there is some problem. Does he not want any sweets? Vikram, one of the boys in his class, isn't allowed to have sweets, but Tristram never noticed Emily being under any such edict. Although just what the connection between sweets and their hotel accommodations might be escapes him entirely.
The luggage man gives Tristram and Emily a knowing smile. "It is your papas' first time here?"
He speaks English! Tristram realises with a start. Not the way Tristram speaks it, so he must speak another language too. Doctor Watson did say that nearly everyone here speaks English as well as German. (Or French. Tristram still isn't sure.) It makes him wonder why his father didn't speak English to the man in the first place.
"Yes," Emily answers the man's question matter-of-factly. "Well, it's my papa's first time here. I don't know about Sherlock. He's Tris's papa. He and my dad are boyfriends."
Tristram is startled by that statement. Is Father Doctor Watson's boyfriend? It almost seems ludicrous, and yet it must be so. They kiss and hug and want to sleep in the same room. Does that mean they're going to all live together from now on? The idea is too huge to consider.
"Your papa is the short one," the luggage man is saying to Emily, "and your papa," he says to Tristram, "is the tall one? I see it." He nods contentedly, looking over at Father and Doctor Watson.
Tristram is very uneasy about the man's curiosity regarding their fathers. The man who shot him also pretended to be nice and asked about his father and Doctor Watson. Tristram looks over at them, feeling anxious. They have finished their discussion and are coming back. Doctor Watson still looks grim, so Tristram supposes that Father won.
Father says something to the man - again in what Tristram supposes is French - and then the man finishes putting their luggage on his trolley and they all get into the lift. He doesn't ask any more questions.
&&&&&&
Their room, it turns out, is not a room, but an entire flat. There's a living room with an angular, uncomfortable-looking couch, two armchairs around a coffee table, and a big, flatscreen television mounted on the wall. Through another door is a bedroom with a big double bed, and yet another door yields a bathroom with a big, round bathtub and a separate shower stall. There's no kitchen, but there is a little refrigerator in the corner of the living room, along with a countertop that houses a coffee machine and a microwave. The entire place is sleek, modern and minimalistic, all stone and wood, precise lines and no carpets, and it - like the rest of the country so far - doesn't exactly make Tristram feel welcome. The only good thing as far as he can see is that the curtains are drawn over all the windows.
Emily is the first to realise the problem of this arrangement. Tristram chalks it up to him being so tired that it didn't occur to him at once: there is only one bed.
Doctor Watson, though, quickly points out that the couch can be pulled out into a second double bed, and sets about doing so, with Tristram and Emily assisting while Father busies himself getting his electronics set up and logged into the hotel's network.
The next problem, however, soon becomes apparent. "Which do you want, the bedroom or the couch?" Emily asks Tristram.
Tristram considers. The bedroom is probably going to be quieter. Tristram knows from experience that it's harder to sleep in a living room, simply because people keep walking in and out. The bedroom will also be more private. Tristram doesn't particularly need privacy, but that means that Father and Doctor Watson will want it for themselves. And if only for that reason, it doesn't really matter what preference he - or Emily - has.
"Here is fine," he says, therefore, as they half carry and half slide the coffee table aside to make room for the couch.
"Okay, then how about me and my dad can use the bedroom tonight, and tomorrow you and your dad can have it. Is that okay, Dad?" she asks him. "That way it's fair."
Tristram looks from Doctor Watson to his father, because he's sure that's not how things are supposed to go. He thinks of his father curled up on the cold floor of their living room with his head resting on the couch next to Doctor Watson, and of Doctor Watson coming out of Father's room the next morning after that. Father said he hadn't slept at all that night, but that doesn't mean he wasn't in his room at some point. With Doctor Watson. He does not think about the two of them together in his father's room at Grandmother's. But it's a piece of evidence nevertheless.
Doctor Watson straightens up and glances at Father, and Father stares back for a moment, then shrugs like it doesn't matter to him, only Tristram knows that's not true. Doctor Watson must know it too, because he takes a breath and looks at Emily then puts on a smile, the kind of smile that means he's going to say something she probably won't like. His mouth opens, but then he stops before he even says anything, and almost looks sad. "Yeah, that sounds good, Em," is what he actually ends up saying, to Tristram's mild surprise. "We'll try it that way tonight. Maybe we can switch around tomorrow."
Tristram almost wants to say something, but what? Emily will be anxious if she and her father sleep in different rooms. He thinks of her going downstairs at their flat to find her father when it wasn't even properly morning, and at the safe house bringing her blanket down from the bedroom so she could curl up on the living room floor at his feet. No matter how they arrange it, someone will be unhappy. And to tell the truth, having himself and Father together in the living room is probably the best possible outcome for Tristram. It will be just like those nights at their flat when Tristram sleeps on the couch and Father sits at his desk or falls asleep in one of the armchairs. With the additional bonus for Tristram of being able to sleep on a spacious mattress rather than on the narrow couch. So he doesn't say anything.
He wonders if Emily knows what just happened - that she won - but she nods blithely, no trace of triumph, and goes to bring her things into the bedroom.
Father, meanwhile, has moved on and begun setting up his computer on the coffee table, unravelling the power cord and attaching a funny-looking plug on the end. Tristram wanders over to watch.
"What's that for?" he asks.
"They have different plugs and sockets here," Father says as his eyes skim along the baseboard. He finds what he's looking for in the corner by the window. "Here, you see?" He bends down and points at the wall socket.
Tristram hunkers down next to him. Indeed. Instead of the normal three slits arranged in a more or less equilateral triangle, there are three round holes arranged in a kind of flat isosceles triangle, deep in a hexagonal recess. A normal plug would never fit. Father hands Tristram the power cord. The attachment he stuck on the end has three round metal prongs in the same pattern as the holes in the wall, protruding from a hexagonal piece of plastic that should fit neatly into the recess.
"Go on, plug it in," Father tells him.
Tristram does. It slides in smoothly. "Why'd they make it like that?" he asks. It seems silly not to just make the sockets normal like back home.
"Because people are idiots," Father scoffs, going back to the table. He sits down in the armchair Tristram was in before - the other one being full of cushions from the couch - and turns on his computer.
"I don't think that's quite the reason," Doctor Watson says with a wry smile. He's sitting on the end of the couch bed, which is now all set up. It's also a double, although not as wide as the bed in the bedroom. "I think it's more that back when they were first wiring houses for electricity and inventing things that needed to be plugged in, no one thought they might want to take their lamps and toasters with them on holiday. So everyone invented their own ..." Doctor Watson stops. Father is leaning back in his chair watching him with an amused expression. Doctor Watson grins, first at him, then at Tristram. "Your dad's right, Tris. It's because people are idiots."
Tristram grins too.
Emily comes out of the bedroom, already wearing her pyjamas. She skips over and leaps onto the couch bed. "Can we see what's on the telly?" she asks.
"Sure, why don't you have a look while Tris and I go check his back," Doctor Watson says. He takes down the remote control from its holder on the side of the television screen and tosses it to Emily.
It turns out that one of Tristram's bandages did come loose, but there was no harm done and it's easily re-bandaged. Doctor Watson didn't have room to bring the big medical case he had on the night Tristram was shot, but he's managed to fit quite a lot in the smaller kit he has with him now.
"We haven't really had a chance to talk about everything that's happened," Doctor Watson says in a quiet voice as he checks the rest of Tristram's cuts too. The stitches are still in and have to stay in for a couple more days. They're starting to itch, which Doctor Watson says is a good sign; in fact, that's probably how the bandage came loose, from Tristram rubbing his back against the seat in the aeroplane. He didn't mean to; it must have just happened. He knows better than to rub his back.
"Did you get to talk to anyone while you were in hospital?" Doctor Watson asks. His hands are warm and almost tickle where they contact Tristram's skin. Tristram has the odd sensation of both wanting to flinch away and lean into the touch.
"You mean like a social worker?" Tristram asks. He's had to deal with social workers before. The last time was just before he transferred schools, when Father said something to his old teacher that must have raised a flag. He knows what to do: play dumb, look them in the eye, and smile.
Doctor Watson nods in response. Tristram can just see the movement in the corner of his eye over his shoulder. "Yeah, like a social worker or some kind of counsellor. Did someone come by to see you?"
"Yes, but I didn't tell him anything," Tristram assures him.
"What do you mean? Why not?" Doctor Watson's hands pause.
Tristram understands it's the social workers' job to make sure that children are safe and well taken care of. Which he is, of course. But he also understands that his living situation is unorthodox, and that the unfamiliar is often viewed with prejudice. And that his living situation, of late, has careened past unorthodox into alarming. Being kidnapped was bad enough, albeit clearly not his father's fault. Neither, to be fair, was him nearly eating a hacked-off finger and being stalked and shot by a hitman. But if anyone who doesn't know Father very well should piece all the bits together, a fairly unflattering picture of the chances of his continued health and well-being would emerge. That's all it would be, of course: a picture. He's fine, and Mister Tonga was never after him anyway. It was all a big mistake. But Tristram knows that other people have a way of not understanding that kind of thing.
Quite aside from all that, however, Tristram knows better than to start giving away details of an ongoing investigation. He slipped up when he talked to Mister Tonga in Grandmother's stable and told him all sorts of things he shouldn't have. Of course, that was before he knew the man wanted to kill Doctor Watson, but it was still a beginner's mistake. Does Doctor Watson actually think he's that stupid? For all he knows, it was the social worker who planted the skin and teeth on his dinner tray. It's a good thing he didn't tell him anything, or who knows what might have happened!
"You're not supposed to talk to anyone about an ongoing investigation. You might prejudice a witness or pervert the course of justice," Tristram informs Doctor Watson earnestly. He supposes Doctor Watson might really not know how these things work. He has to remind himself that he's just a doctor and has little practical experience in criminal matters.
Doctor Watson shakes his head and mutters, "Jesus, I forgot who I'm talking to. Okay, no, you're right Tris... if you're the police!" His voice gets louder on the last part and he puts his hand on Tristram's shoulder and turns him halfway round so he can look Tristram in the eye. He actually seems rather agitated, for some reason.
"But that's not your responsibility. You know that, right? That you don't have to worry about any of that? It's up to the police to gather the evidence and question the witnesses. It's not even really your father's job, although that's another issue. But all that aside, Tris..." And now his voice becomes softer again, as if he's reminding himself to remain calm. "It's not going to hurt anything for you to talk to a counsellor about what's going on with you inside. How you feel, what you're afraid of, if you're angry or sad, or even what makes you happy. Do you understand?" His eyes are really intense, almost like Father's get sometimes when it's imperative that Tristram understand something, only not as piercing and insistent. More sad, in a way.
This thing with the talking seems really important to Doctor Watson. Not just now, either. He told Tristram almost exactly the same thing when they went along to Emily's meeting with the lady she got to play games with. Mrs Daniels, that was her name. Tristram doesn't really get how talking about anything is supposed to help. It's just words, and they can't change anything that happened, or make you forget it. Plus, there's something that Doctor Watson apparently hasn't thought of.
"What if he was one of the bad guys?" Tristram whispers. He kind of doesn't want to say it any louder, as if doing so would make one of those very bad guys come out of the woodwork. Which doesn't make any sense whatsoever, but it doesn't change the fact. "What if he was just trying to trick me?"
Doctor Watson freezes a bit, and Tristram can almost see the colour drain from his face. He gets paler, anyway, and says, "Oh God." Then he blinks and frowns and shakes his head as if it hurts. "Sorry, sorry," he says, closing his eyes. "I'm just... " He takes a big, deep breath through his nose and looks Tristram square in the eye again. "Tris, okay, how about this. All right. What if." He holds up a finger as if what he's about to propose is right there on the tip of it. "What if I find someone for you to talk to? About anything you want. Like Mrs Daniels. Right?" He makes a face that means he thinks that's a pretty good idea. "I don't know if it will really be Mrs Daniels, but when we get back... You trust me, right? Like with the paramedics. You were worried they might be trying to play a trick on us, but they weren't. They were really paramedics, and I told you that because I was sure, and you trusted me. Remember?"
Tristram does remember. Nisha was nice. Although she might still have been a bad guy, but she didn't dare to do anything because Doctor Watson was with them. But Tristram nods, because Doctor Watson only wants to know if he remembers, not if he trusted Nisha or if he thinks she might have done something awful given the chance.
Doctor Watson smiles a bit and looks a little less intense. "Okay, that's great. That is really, really great. Because then you know that you can trust me in this too. I will find someone for you to talk to, and I will make sure your dad makes an appointment for you with them, and that he takes you. And if you want, I'll make sure he stays right there in the waiting room the whole time, just like we did during Emily's session. Okay?"
That does sound okay. Especially the part about Father staying there, because that means there's less chance of the person - the counsellor or whoever it is he's supposed to talk to - doing something unpleasant, or taking him away. (Although, he has to remind himself, Father said there weren't going to be any more kidnappings. And that's proven true so far.) Tristram does wonder how Doctor Watson hopes to make Father do all that. But maybe that's part of the trust thing. He has to trust that Doctor Watson will make good on his promise.
"Okay," Tristram agrees.
Doctor Watson looks pleased, which makes Tristram feel good. "That's great. Thank you," he says, and squeezes Tristram's shoulder. "All right, turn around again and let me finish this up."
&&&&&&
Tristram's supposed to be sleeping. He wants to. He's so tired, though, that he's past tired, and his brain won't slow down enough for him to drift off.
Emily is in the bedroom, by herself at the moment as Father and Doctor Watson are writing messages to each other on Father's laptop. She's probably asleep, though, so she won't notice.
Father and Doctor Watson have pulled both armchairs in close to the coffee table and are bent forward so they can both see the screen. They take turns typing. It took Tristram a while to figure out what they were doing, but they must be writing those messages to each other. Either they're trying not to disturb Tristram - unlikely - or else they're discussing something they don't want Tristram to hear.
They're not paying any overt attention to Tristram, but Tristram's certain that Father at least knows he's awake, so he doesn't feel bad about watching them. It's not as if they're doing anything interesting, but there's not much else for him to do while he waits to fall asleep.
Both of them look like they're going to start shouting out loud at one point, and there's a bit of shoving over whose hands have control of the keyboard. Father wins and types what must be a whole page, while Doctor Watson's face goes from furious to annoyed to unhappy. Then he puts his hand over Father's, making him stop typing. They turn to look at each other. Tristram thinks they're going to kiss, but they don't. Instead, Doctor Watson puts his hand up on the back of Father's neck and rubs it. They sit there like that for a few moments, watching each other, with Doctor Watson's hand on the back of Father's neck. Tristram wonders whether they are actually able to read each other's minds.
Then Doctor Watson takes a sharp breath, breaking the silence, and turns back to the computer to type his response. He types slowly, much slower than Father, and Father leans forward with his elbows on his knees and his fingers pressed together in front of his mouth, watching the screen. He sits there even after Doctor Watson stops typing, so he must be thinking. Then he blinks as if returning from his mind palace, reaches forward, and enters his answer. He hasn't even finished typing before Doctor Watson's expression changes to look like a struggle between smiling and remaining stern.
He's reaching for the keyboard again when a voice sounds from the direction of the bedroom.
"Daddy?"
Tristram turns his head. Emily is standing in the doorway to the bedroom in her pyjamas.
Doctor Watson looks up from the computer. "Yeah, Em, what is it?" he says softly.
"When are you coming to bed?"
"You don't need to wait for me. I'll be there in a bit."
"I can't sleep." Tristram has to hand it to her: she knows exactly the pitch to use, not quite whining but hinting at trouble if she doesn't get her way.
"Okay, well... I'll be there in a minute, all right?"
It's clear that he expects Emily to go back into the bedroom without him, but she stands her ground, equally clearly not going to move until he goes with her.
"It's all right, John," Father says. "There's not much we can do until that reply comes back. It can keep."
Doctor Watson gets a funny little frown on his face, like he's not sure whether that's a good or a bad thing. Then he says, "Yeah. Yeah, all right." And then he turns to Father and says, a little awkwardly, "Erm, good night then," pushes himself halfway up out of his chair and kisses him on the mouth. Like he did at the Watsons' house the night Tristram was shot. Not like in the photo booth. Short and gentle, and without any sound.
At first, Father reacts much like he did at the Watsons' house: like he's not sure what he's supposed to do. But he figures it out quickly. His face softens almost but not quite into a smile and says, "Good night," in a rumbly voice - the one Tristram thought would make a good voice for reading Dumbledore - and kisses Doctor Watson back. Twice. The second one goes on so long Tristram is afraid it's going to turn into a photo booth kiss. He wants to look away but he's unable to. But before Tristram can blink again, Father's moved his head away and is looking determinedly at the screen of his computer again.
Doctor Watson straightens up and grins. "Properly," he states, pointing at Father. Tristram's not sure what that's supposed to mean. A proper kiss perhaps? It seemed like a proper enough one to Tristram. More than enough.
Father makes a grumbly sound, but he doesn't sound displeased.
Doctor Watson pushes his chair back and straightens his jeans, then steps away from the table. On his way past the couch, he leans over and squeezes Tristram's foot through the cover. "Good night, Tris."
Tristram replies automatically, watching as Doctor Watson disappears into the bathroom and Emily finally goes back to the bedroom to wait for him. Tristram closes his eyes and waits too. He doesn't want to chance being overheard. After a couple of minutes, Tristram hears the sounds of Doctor Watson going into the bedroom, followed by his and Emily's voices. Although Doctor Watson left the door open, their voices are low and indistinct enough that he can't make out what they're saying. That's good, because it means that they probably won't be able to understand what he and Father are saying either. There are things he needs to know, but he can't ask them in front of Emily and he doesn't want to in front of Doctor Watson. Even though Doctor Watson probably - certainly - knows more than Tristram, and would be able to answer Tristram's questions himself.
Tristram waits until he hasn't heard any talking from the bedroom for several minutes before he opens his eyes again and ventures to speak.
"Father?" he whispers.
His father makes a questioning noise.
"Why are we here?"
"We're on holiday," Father murmurs absently.
"You're working on a case though." It's a bit of a stab in the dark, but Tristram doesn't think he's wrong.
Father doesn't contradict him either. "I'm always working," he says. Tristram sees that he's going to have to be more explicit.
"Did you find the-" Tristram stops himself before he says 'bogeyman'. Father doesn't like calling him that. "- the man who sent Mister Tonga?" he decides on instead. He tries to keep his voice pitched soft and low. Emily, especially, is not supposed to know the truth of everything that happened. Especially that her father was the sniper's target, not Tristram.
Father stops what he's doing on his computer and looks over at Tristram. His face looks eerie and distorted in the yellowish glow from his screen.
"No one is coming after you, Tristram. I promise."
Tristram believes him. He has faith in his father. He was right about there being no more bombs and no more kidnappings too. But he didn't say anything about being shot. And Mister Tonga wasn't trying to hit Tristram at all. He was trying to hit Doctor Watson. So even though no one is coming after him, that doesn't mean that nothing will happen to Tristram. Or to Father. Or Doctor Watson, or Emily, Tristram finds himself mentally adding, to his slight surprise. He doesn't want anything to happen to them, either. So even though Father's reassurance is, on one level, well, reassuring, Tristram has experienced enough to know that it's no guarantee any more. His father does not, in fact, know everything, no matter how much it sometimes seems that way.
Tristram understands that this is Father's way of ending the conversation. But it's also clear, both from what he and Doctor Watson were doing on the computer before, and from the fact that Father is giving him reassurances rather than a straight answer, that there is an investigation. A case. A threat that isn't yet banned.
Tristram turns his head away and watches his father's oversized shadow moving on the wall. The dull click-click of the mouse pad starts up again. Tristram's eyes drift shut.
A short while later, something else occurs to him that he'd wanted to ask about. He can't say exactly why he gives voice to it. Maybe he's already half asleep and his brain is gearing up for the what ifs of dreams.
"Is Doctor Watson your boyfriend?" he asks.
The clicking stops. Father doesn't answer. Tristram wants to turn his head and open his eyes to look at him, but it seems like an enormous effort so he stays where he is with his eyes closed. Just when he thinks Father hasn't heard him after all - or has decided not to respond - he says, "Go to sleep, Tristram."
&&&&&&
Chapter note: The Englischer Hof was the hotel that Holmes and Watson stayed in in "The Final Problem". It was made up by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but was based on the real "Parkhotel du Sauvage" in Meiringen, so I've done the same thing, basing my descriptions on actual pictures of the hotel, its lobby and rooms from the website: http://sauvage.ch/de/Angebote/Aktuell/Willkommen The Parkhotel du Sauvage has 4 stars, but I bumped the Englischer Hof up to 5 just for fun.
Here is what Meiringen looks like with its similar houses:
Here is the Parkhotel du Sauvage with Christmas decorations by night:
And here's what one of the suites looks like:
Go to chapter three
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Date: 2014-07-04 07:44 am (UTC)But wanted to let you know I'm very excited about this!!!
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Date: 2014-07-05 05:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-04 08:28 pm (UTC)Oh bless him!! What a wonderful moment! It’s also great seeing things like different languages and different electrical sockets through children’s eyes, for the first time. You describe it all with so much wonder . . .
”So even though no one is coming after him, that doesn't mean that nothing will happen to Tristram. Or to Father. Or Doctor Watson, or Emily, Tristram finds himself mentally adding, to his slight surprise. He doesn't want anything to happen to them, either.”
I think John’s right to suggest some help for Tristram; he’s obviously a very worried little boy, but having a father like Sherlock, there’s no way for him to let it out.
Well, the sleeping arrangements will do for tonight, but I guess they’ll change very soon!
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Date: 2014-07-05 05:26 am (UTC)I think it shows that Sherlock and John are thinking of their children first when they agree to the sleeping arrangements this way. At least that's how I intended it. The first night in this strange place, the kids need the reassurance of their primary caregiver close at hand.
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Date: 2014-07-29 08:59 pm (UTC)Favourite images from this chapter: Tristram resting his head in Sherlock's lap, John grinning into his coffee cup on the train, the thing about the different plugs and how people are idiots, John talking to Tris (and the "forgot who I was talking to"), the kiss goodnight (or rather kisses). Was a bit saddened by Sherlock not answering Tris' questiona about them being boyfriends, but the kisses and the little gestures made up for that. Sherlock's obviously learning a lot and becoming more touchy-feely (although that is really overstating it).
Anyway, great! Thank you! Am so enjoying this! :)
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Date: 2014-07-29 10:01 pm (UTC)