Fic: The Cuckoo's Lullaby, 13/17
Aug. 13th, 2014 11:06 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
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.
See Chapter One for additional notes
Read Chapter Thirteen on AO3
Jass - it turns out it's spelled with a j, not a y - is pretty complicated. It's not just the rules that make the game difficult, though; there are also all these unfamiliar cards. There's a king and an ace like in a normal deck, but instead of a queen and a jack there are two boy cards called 'over' and 'under'. There's a banner instead of a ten, and there are no cards under a six. Plus one of the nines is called Nell and she can beat the kings, and one of the unders is called The Peasant and he's even more powerful than the aces. Irene says there are several variations, but she only knows the one.
Tristram is intrigued, but not very good at it. Irene takes the last trick to win the game. Again. She's won every single hand they've played so far. Which makes this her ninth victory. Tristram wonders how much longer they're going to keep playing.
Emily must have a similar thought, because she asks, "When's my dad coming back?" for about the hundredth time.
She's not really interested in the game. She's pretty much been watching the door ever since John and Father left. It's clear she isn't very happy about the situation. Not that it would have taken a genius to figure that out, the way she pouted and protested when her father told her she was going to have to stay in the room with Irene and Tristram while he and Father went out to run an errand. (Tristram knows it's a case, not an errand. He's not stupid.) To her credit, at least she didn't cry. Even if Tristram could see she wanted to.
Tristram, surprisingly, isn't nearly as stressed about the whole thing as he perhaps might have expected to be, given everything that's been going on lately. Maybe it's because he's used to Father going out on potentially dangerous errands and leaving him behind. Or maybe it's because, despite the fact that the last time he was left in the care of a woman he only knew fleetingly, he ended up strapped to what he thought was a bomb, he feels relatively safe with Irene. She's his mother, after all. Something about that simple fact gives him enough confidence that he's able to sit here and concentrate on whether bells or acorns are trump this round. He wouldn't go out of the room with Irene, of course. But just sitting here at the table with the curtains drawn, trying to remember whether all the aces have been played yet... that's fine.
Emily and Irene seem to be having something of a standoff over the question of when John and Father are coming back. Tristram knows grown-ups don't like it when you ask the same thing over and over. That's not just a quirk of his father's. Some of his teachers at school would also get a pained look on their face when one of the other children needed something explained more than two or three times. So he expects Irene will get exasperated and say, 'When he and Sherlock are done with their errand,' the way she has the other ninety-nine times. Instead she checks her watch.
"Why don't I call him and see?" she offers.
Emily perks up. "Okay," she says. She looks surprised, but she's not about to argue.
Tristram's surprised too. Father is never to be interrupted when he's on a case. Least of all for something like to check when he's coming back. He'll be back whenever he's done, and he can't know when he's done until he is. But Irene wouldn't know that. Tristram's not about to point it out to her, either. He's getting a bit anxious himself, even if it hasn't even been an hour.
Irene goes into the bedroom and closes the door all the way, which is odd. Why doesn't she want Tristram and Emily to hear her calling John, if all she's going to do is ask how much longer they'll be?
"We should have come up here yesterday or even earlier, had a look around," John says grimly as he trudges behind Sherlock up the path. It's too narrow for them to walk side by side. There's snow up either side of the ravine, but the rocky path itself is merely wet. "We've no idea what we're walking into."
"He's hardly going to have some sort of armed ambush set up," Sherlock scoffs. "This is a public path, hikers walk through here every day." It's another overcast day, and the mountains are shrouded in mist that hangs heavy and grey like cobwebs.
"This is still incredibly stupid. You never go into an area you haven't scouted first. If I'd known about this earlier-"
"You would have left," Sherlock says shortly.
John stops. His jaw clenches and his nostrils flare. "You can't-" He falls silent as his phone buzzes. He and Sherlock exchange a look.
"Go on," Sherlock says.
John takes his phone out of his pocket and checks the screen. The corners of his mouth pull down. "It's Irene."
"Either scenario three, four, or five then. Answer it." Sherlock steps in close and puts his head next to John's.
John taps the screen to accept the call then holds the phone up between his and Sherlock's ears. "Yeah," he says. "How bad is it?" he asks after hearing her opening gambit. He raises his eyebrows at Sherlock when they hear the answer, but Sherlock shakes his head. "Yeah, he... I know it's upsetting," John tells Irene, "but he won't actually come to any harm. Have him lie down on his side and make sure his clothing's not constricting him. Emily knows how to-" He stops talking at the sharp, rapid interruption on the other end. "I'm not trying to- Of course I'm concerned, but-"
Sherlock yanks the phone away from John and pushes the mute button.
"You need to go," Sherlock snaps.
"There's nothing I can do for him, and anyway it'd be over by the time I got back," John says stubbornly.
"This is scenario four, John," Sherlock says, as if speaking to a recalcitrant child. "She's not going to give up. Go now before it turns into three." He thrusts the phone at John and pushes the button again to un-mute it.
John glares at Sherlock but takes the phone. "Yeah, I'm... Yeah, sorry, still here. Just dropped the phone," he tells Irene. As she speaks, he closes his eyes and looks decidedly unhappy. "Yeah. Yes," he finally says. "I'm on my way." He ends the call and promptly tells Sherlock, "You're not going."
"John." The word is reproach and plea all at once.
"No," John says flatly. "Nope. I mean it. You're not- You're coming back too."
"I'll be fine."
"You'll be-" John looks around as if seeking confirmation from the rocks of how utterly unreasonable Sherlock is being. "You'll be fine? The last time you did something like this you ended up on your knees with a pistol two fucking inches from your skull." He holds his thumb and forefinger together to demonstrate.
"And - I'm - fine," Sherlock grits out.
John points an accusing finger at him. "You're only fine because I was there to take Moran out. If I leave you up here-"
"He's not going to hurt me. He wants me for his plans. He'd hardly have gone to all this trouble just to blow my brains out. Anticlimactic," Sherlock sniffs, as if personally affronted that John would think him capable of giving so much as the time of day to someone with so little imagination.
"Right, so I guess he just wants a tooth, then, what do you think? A finger maybe? An eye? I hear kidneys will bring in a bit of cash."
"John, you have to trust me."
"Yeah, that's..." John looks like he wants to say something else, but he stops himself, shaking his head. "Yeah. I have to, don't I? Because trust is the basis of our relationship, isn't it? Or whatever the hell this is. I don't even... " John holds both hands up as if to ward Sherlock off and takes a step back.
Sherlock reaches toward John, but lets his arm fall again without touching him. "I trust you, John," he says fiercely. "I trust you wholeheartedly and without reservation. You are the only person..." He closes his eyes, as if pained. "I have to go," he says, his voice low and tight.
"Yeah, me too," John says. The statement is laced with bitterness. "I have to go rescue our children from your creepy ex who's holding them hostage so that you can have a chat with your even more creepy... I don't even know what. Internet date? Archenemy? Do people still have archenemies?"
"If they did, mine would be a meddlesome, self-righteous, mid-level bureaucrat with a prop umbrella and an overinflated sense of his own importance."
John's eyes are hard and unyielding. "Not funny."
"It was a bit funny," Sherlock cajoles.
John still doesn't crack. "At least Mycroft has his priorities straight," he says, his voice as frigid as the snow around them. Then he turns and starts picking his way back down the path. He doesn't look back.
Sherlock watches him until he disappears around a bend and he's left alone amidst the barren rocks. Then he starts up the path again.
"How is he?" are the first words out of John's mouth when he bangs the door open, startling all three of them where they are still sitting at the table. "Tris, are you all right?" John makes a beeline for Tristram, kicking the door shut behind him.
"Daddy!" Emily jumps up, her relief evident, and throws herself at him.
John wraps one arm around her and pulls her along with him toward Tristram, who looks around him at the empty space behind John. What's going on? Where's Father?
John crouches in front of Tristram's chair and puts his fingers around Tristram's wrist to check his pulse. "Did he lose consciousness at any point?" The question's obviously meant for Irene, who's stood up now and is drifting away toward the window.
"No," she answers, sounding distracted.
"How are you feeling, Tris?" John asks him, peering into his eyes in a doctor's examination kind of way even though he doesn't have his instruments out. Emily leans against his side, looking back and forth curiously between Tristram and her father.
"I'm fine," he answers, but he's confused. Why should he have fainted? Does John think he's sick?
"That's good," John says, and it sounds like he's relieved too. He lifts himself up into the chair that Emily vacated, then scoots it closer. He rests one hand on Emily's waist and pulls her down onto his knee. "Now," John says to Tristram once they're settled. "Do you want to tell me what set it off this time?"
"What set what off?" Tristram asks, not following.
John frowns a bit and glances at Emily, then Irene, as if checking whether anyone at all knows what he's talking about. Irene is standing at the slit in the curtains, parting them just enough with her red-painted nail to catch a glimpse outside. Tristram's heart flutters.
"Your panic attack," John prompts him.
"I didn't have a panic attack," Tristram says, watching Irene nervously. She really shouldn't be standing right in front of the window.
"You said he was having a panic attack," John says. His eyes are on Tristram, but he must be speaking to Irene. He doesn't sound happy. "And step away from the window if you don't want there to be another one."
Irene drops the curtain with an air of put-upon resignation. "He was very anxious," she says. "I may have been overcautious, as a new, inexperienced mother." She sounds neither cautious nor inexperienced, in Tristram's opinion.
John turns his face down and away, but Tristram doesn't need to see his expression to know he's angry.
"You... " John takes a moment to get himself under control. "You knew, didn't you? You know." He raises his head and fixes Irene with a look that's simmering with contempt, but also hurt.
"He'll be fine, John," Irene says, perhaps aiming for reassurance, but at her words John springs out of his chair, narrowly missing dumping Emily on the floor. He has Irene pressed up against the wall with his arm across her throat almost faster than Tristram can register that he's moved.
"You are going to fucking tell me right now where he's taking him."
"Daddy!" Emily shrieks. Her fists come up to her cheeks. Tristram's not sure whether she's more shocked by the expletive or the attack.
Tristram isn't shocked by either one. He's heard John swear before, and he wants to see what's going to happen. He especially wants to know where his father is, and it looks like John thinks Irene has the answer. He doesn't think John's really going to hurt her. She looks perfectly at ease with his weight pressing against her windpipe, at any rate.
"I do like it rough, but perhaps not in front of the children," Irene purrs. Her red-painted lips curl into a smile, like she knows she's won, which is odd because it's John who has the upper hand.
John slowly lifts his arm and takes half a step back. "It's all right, Ems," he says, but his voice doesn't sound reassuring at all. He flexes his hand at his side and continues to watch Irene. His eyes are like knives and fire.
Comprehension slowly - too slowly, why is he so slow? - dawns on Tristram, and as it does, icy tendrils of uncertainty snake into his gut.
"Where's my father?" Tristram asks, because it's the one question no one seems to be answering, and John said his questions were important. This one's very, very important.
John tilts his head tightly in Tristram's direction, raising his eyebrows at Irene in a gesture that's both challenge and query.
"He's meeting someone," Irene says. "A private business meeting." She lets her long, graceful fingers linger on her neck and doesn't let her gaze waver from John's.
"When's he coming back?" Tristram asks. His mouth is dry. Because of course Father's coming back. He always comes back.
"I'm sure I haven't the faintest," Irene says, rather shortly, as if she's tired of the topic. She steps around John. "And now if you'll excuse me, I have some things to take care of before tonight."
John takes a step back and holds his hands up to show he's not going to stop her. His face looks like he's smelt something unpleasant. Tristram, on the other hand, lurches after her.
"You can't just leave!" he blurts out. She can't, not without telling them where Father is! She obviously knows where he went and who he's with; more than John knows, anyway. If she tells them, John can go and get him. He can help him. Why did John come back without him anyway?
Irene stops in her tracks, looking startled. "I'll be back," she says, sounding almost flattered that Tristram wants her to stay. He doesn't want her, though, he wants his father.
Frustrated, Tristram rounds on John. "Why didn't you stay with him?" he pleads.
John's glares at Irene, his nostrils flaring. "I tried to. Seems some people had other plans. You and him," John all but spits out at her. "Did you plan all this together? Hm?" His mouth twists in an ugly way. "Let me think I was going to be able to help just to play me for a stooge? Why even bother? Why not just tell me from the beginning?" He jabs a finger towards Emily, who's watching the exchange as wide-eyed as Tristram is. "I wanted to take Emily home yesterday when I found out about all this, but he stopped me. Asked me to stay one more day, to go with him today. Why? If you were just going to call me to heel."
Tristram gets a tingly feeling in his head and stomach. A bad tingly feeling. John was going to take Emily and leave? Is that what the shouting was about? What was it that John found out that made him want to leave? Is he angry at Father? Are they really not boyfriends anymore? Is that why Father was sitting out in the living room in the middle of the night? All of a sudden, Tristram feels sick. Somehow he feels like this is his fault. He's not sure how, but somehow it has to do with him. John was going to take Emily and go back home and leave Tristram behind. With Father, of course, but he was still going to leave him behind. Maybe he wasn't even planning to say good-bye. Maybe he was going to wake Emily up in the middle of the night and sneak out like they did from Uncle Mycroft's.
"I don't know what he told you, John," Irene tells him calmly, "but there was no agreement between myself and him. I have no agenda other than protecting Tristram. And Emily, by extension," she adds.
"Why the hell did you call me back then?" John demands. "You knew there was nothing I could do for him, even if he was having a panic attack, which he wasn't."
"Because I..." She glances at Tristram, then turns to face John tall and straight. "I made a deal."
"Ohhh," John says, long and drawn-out, and it almost turns into a laugh at the end. "Of course. You made a deal. You're working with him, Sherlock said you were. So, what, if I hadn't come back you would have-" John presses his lips together and doesn't finish the sentence.
Irene seems to understand what he was going to say anyway, even if Tristram doesn't - who is the 'him' that Irene's working with? - because she says, "But you did come back, John, and now you're free to take your daughter and go back to England."
"And Tristram?" John points at him.
"He'll come with me, of course," she says haughtily. "He is my son."
The prickliness in Tristram's stomach turns even more sour at that, because he doesn't want to go with Irene! Father is going to come back, and he has to be here. He can't leave. He's about to tell Irene that when John groans.
"Oh, God. No. Now I see. Get Sherlock out of the way so you can take Tristram. Yeah, that's not going to happen. Over my dead body." The way he says it gives Tristram shivers all over again, but this time they're good shivers. John understands, at least. He knows that Tristram can't go anywhere without Father.
Irene clicks her tongue reproachfully. "I'm not going to kidnap him, for God's sake. I'm just going to make sure he gets home safely."
"I'll do that," John tells her. It's not an offer. It's a statement of fact, and Tristram is surprised to find how enormously relieved he is to hear that John doesn't want to leave him behind after all. However, it seems he really has missed the salient fact:
"I'm not leaving without my father," Tristram says firmly. And so there won't be any confusion, he explains, "Sometimes he has to go undercover for a day or two, but he always comes back. And I'm not supposed to go with anyone else. He said." Well, technically he did say that Tristram could go with John, but he doesn't think Father meant going to a whole other country with him. That was more for taking the Tube to Emily's aunts' house, or going to the park on Sunday morning.
All of a sudden, Irene is beside him, kneeling on the floor in her pretty yellow dress. "Tristram," she says, taking his good hand between hers. Her hands are cool and smooth and her skin is soft like the little squares of coloured silk Uncle Mycroft sometimes wears in the breast pocket of his suit jacket. "Everything is going to be fine," she says. Her dark brown eyes are clear and deep, and even though Tristram knows Father and John don't trust her, something tells him that this is the truth. "Your father's one of those people who always lands on his feet. Yes, of course he's coming back. But as you said, it may be a day or two. You can't stay here."
"Why not?" It seems like a perfectly reasonable thing to do, in Tristram's opinion.
"Because it's not safe," she says. Just like that, frank and without preamble; Tristram's a bit shocked. He thought the whole point of coming here to Switzerland was because it was safe, because no one knew where they were. Although Irene found them - Tristram's had his doubts for a while now as to whether it could truly have been a coincidence that she's here too - and the man that Father's meeting with found them as well. Unless Father found him? Either way, people know they're here. Maybe they should have stuck with being the Rathbones and the Browns after all.
All of a sudden, Tristram remembers the way Father peeked out the window that first morning, when he thought Tristram saw something outside. The same way Irene peeked behind the curtain just now. An awful thought occurs to him: has someone been here, watching them this whole time? Did Father know it, or at least suspect? But Father said none of them were in danger, and he let them all go out, to restaurants and museums and the tops of mountains. He wouldn't have done that if he so much as suspected there was another man with a gun out there, waiting for an opportunity to shoot one of them. Of course he wouldn't.
Before Irene can say anything more, John steps forward, holding out a hand like he's going to stick it right in between Irene and Tristram. "All right," he says sternly, "that's enough. There's no need to-"
But Irene won't be put off. Her eyes are large and earnest, searching Tristram's face as she continues. "No, John," she says. "He deserves the truth. Ninety percent of fear is not knowing." She speaks to Tristram again: "You're a big boy and you understand these things. The people your father is dealing with aren't very nice."
They rarely are. But Tristram is aware there are different shades of not nice. There are people who simply find it easier not to follow the rules, and there are those who don't care whether other people get hurt as long as they get what they want... and then there are those who try to hurt other people. Who like it. Tristram thinks Irene means those ones. But that doesn't change his mind.
"No, I'm not... I can't..." Tristram flounders for a way to convince Irene and John that he can't leave.
Before he can say anything more, help comes from an unexpected direction when Emily speaks up. "We can't leave without Sherlock," she insists. "We have to wait for him. If it were you," she says to her father, "we wouldn't leave without you. Sherlock wouldn't."
Tristram is fairly sure she's right. If John had gone off by himself to meet with some bad people - and from everything Tristram's heard today, it's pretty clear that's exactly what his father's done - Tristram think it highly unlikely that Father would leave the country without him. John's important to Father. Really important. Tristram can see that. He knows that. Father would do everything he could to make sure John was safe. The same way he makes sure Tristram is safe.
He's slightly surprised that Emily's able to predict Father's behaviour so well, though, and even more surprised that she's sticking up for him against her own father. Father and Emily haven't really interacted much; not as much as Tristram and John have, anyway. At least Tristram doesn't think so. Aside from that one time when Emily went down to get Father to read to them back at their flat - and she was only alone with him a couple of minutes that time - Tristram can't think of any other opportunities they might have had to have any sort of meaningful conversation outside of Tristram's earshot. But even so, she seems to have Father figured out fairly well; and for the first time, Tristram suspects maybe Father is important to Emily too, the same way John's become important to Tristram.
John sighs. "All right, look. It's only been a couple of hours. We may be making something out of nothing here. Before we all panic, why don't I text him and see how things are going." He takes out his phone and starts composing a message as he talks. "He'll probably be back by dinner. And in the meantime we'll go ahead and pack so we're all ready to go when he does show up. All right? Everyone agree?" He raises his eyebrows hopefully and looks around at them.
Emily appears to be satisfied, and Tristram agrees readily and with an immense sense of relief. They're going to wait here for Father. That's all he wanted. Irene says it's fine with her too, and that John should let her know as soon as Father answers his text. Tristram is a bit suspicious of how easily she's been convinced - especially as she was just insisting moments ago that it wasn't safe to stay - but she doesn't make any further mention of taking Tristram with her and leaves the room without a fuss. Tristram is nonplussed and confused by her behaviour; she was so concerned and protective before, and now it's as if she doesn't much care.
It bothers Tristram more than he thinks it should. Given the choice between staying with John and waiting for Father or going with Irene, it's obvious that he would stay. But for some reason, he's a little bit disappointed that Irene gave up so easily. Just a teensy bit.
As soon as the door closes behind Irene, John tells Tristram and Emily to start gathering their things and pack as much as they can while he takes care of the stuff in the bedroom.
Emily gets both of their suitcases out of the closet and lays Tristram's on the couch so he can put his things in.
"I wouldn't have left without you," she says as she starts transferring clothes from the closet to her own suitcase.
Tristram blinks at her. "What?"
Emily's eyes flicker in the direction of the bedroom. The door's open, and they can hear John moving around. She lowers her voice and explains, "My dad said he almost took me and went home last night. But I wouldn't have let him leave without you." She's perfectly solemn as she delivers this information, but also adamant, and Tristram absolutely believes that she, all of nine years old and barely thirty kilos, could make her former soldier of a father do anything at all she set her mind to. And she set her mind to Tristram.
Tristram is... Something wells up inside him that's warm and bright and he actually gets a lump in his throat, which is stupid because it's nothing to cry over. It's just that it makes him feel really good. Not just the declaration of solidarity, but the fact that she wanted Tristram to know, that she must have seen how glad he was that John said he wasn't going to leave Tristram behind this time and that she wanted to reassure him that it would never have happened in the first place. Tristram swallows a few times and pretends the trousers in his hand need re-folding.
"Do you think he's angry with my father?" he asks, even though it seems pretty clear the answer is 'yes'.
Emily, however, has a different opinion. "I think he's angry with your mother," she corrects him. "She's the one who tricked him into coming back."
"But there was something else, before that," Tristram argues. "I heard them rowing last night.
Emily comes over and sits on the edge of the mattress, her packing forgotten for the moment. "What did they say?"
Tristram sits down too and leans in close so he can keep his voice low. "I couldn't hear very much. But your father sounded angry. And then with what he said, that he was going to leave... I don't think that was because of Irene because that didn't happen until today."
Emily considers this for a few seconds, but finally says, "Well, whatever it was, it can't have been that bad because my dad ended up staying anyway. And they didn't look angry when they left this morning," she points out.
That's true. Although there was still something off. There was none of the casual talk and easy smiles that have come to mark their fathers' interactions. Instead, they were short and to-the-point. Not angry, just businesslike. Tristram assumed it was because they were focused on their 'errand', but with all the other evidence it's beginning to look like something else.
"They didn't seem very happy either," Tristram says glumly. "And my father didn't spend the night in the bedroom. He was sitting out here-"
"Hey, Tris," John calls out, interrupting them. He comes out of the bedroom, looking a bit red in the face. "Do you know where your passport is?"
"No. Maybe my father has it."
John looks grim. "Yeah, I think he must."
It sounds like John doesn't think that's a good thing. But surely it's good if his father has his passport. That way it won't get lost. They're waiting for his father to come back anyway before they leave. But John disappears back into the bedroom, leaving the passport question open. Tristram doesn't have a chance to worry about it either, because beside him, Emily starts talking again.
"My parents..." she says, fiddling with the zipper of Tristram's suitcase. She sighs a little, a kind of a resigned sound, and looks at Tristram. "When my mum was still alive, they'd argue sometimes. Not proper rows, but sometimes they'd yell a little or ... I don't know. Just argue."
"About what?" Tristram is immensely curious about this new information. He was always under the impression that Emily's mother and father loved each other a lot. But then they wouldn't have argued, would they?
"I don't know..." Emily looks away and twists on the zipper some more, but she doesn't stop talking. "I was littler so I didn't really pay attention, and I usually went to my room and put my pillow over my head anyway so I wouldn't have to hear them. But one time my mum came in and found me like that, and she said just because they didn't always agree didn't mean they didn't love each other, and me." She says all of this practically in one breath, and when she's finished, she blinks her blue eyes up at Tristram as if she's not sure how he's going to take what she's said.
But Tristram understands that she's not really talking about her parents. Well, she is, but she's also talking about their fathers. She's trying to tell him that two people can argue and still love each other. But do Father and John love each other in the first place? Do you have to love someone to be their boyfriend? They fancy each other, certainly; Emily said her father told her that, and Tristram agrees with the assessment based on all the evidence he's seen. Kissing and hugging is pretty much the definition of fancying someone. But they're not married, and John said it wasn't something they were considering. And don't people who love each other get married?
On the other hand, there's the way they look at each other sometimes, that secret way when they think no one's watching. Is that love? And there's also the fact that Father tries to protect John the same way he tries to protect Tristram. Does that mean he loves them both? Tristram knows it's possible to love more than one person, so the thought doesn't make him jealous. In fact, it makes him feel stunned, almost, like when something's really obvious and you didn't see it and all of a sudden it clicks. Like everything is perfectly right and aligned, at least for the moment. It's almost easier for Tristram to call what's between Father and John 'love' than to apply the same label to Father and Tristram's relationship, if only because he's spent so much time thinking about Father and John lately, and it seems that he's being inexorably pushed toward that conclusion.
But if people who love each other want to live together (with or without getting married) and spend time together and protect each other and do what they think is best for each other and make each other happy ... Tristram starts to get a bit dizzy with the implications. Father does all of those things for Tristram, or tries to, at least. Even the part about wanting to live together - which someone else might say is simply the result of circumstances rather than a conscious decision or desire on Father's part, whereas in actual fact, Tristram lives with Father because Father wants him there.
Uncle Mycroft would have taken Tristram if Father hadn't wanted him - the guardianship makes that clear. And maybe Irene would even have come back for him, if Father had told her he didn't want to be stuck with a baby. But Irene left him with Father because she knew he'd take good care of him. Father said himself it wasn't easy; certainly, Tristram can see now how much of a hindrance it must have been for Father to care for Tristram before he could walk and talk and dress himself and cook and know better than to touch human brains without gloves or mix sulfuric acid and ammonia. Even now, it's sometimes a bit of a shuffle to get Tristram properly supervised when Father's working on a case. But Father's put up with the inconvenience for years, which must mean - Tristram's mind boggles a little - that in some way, he is more important to Father than his work. He almost shies away from the thought, it's so fragile, but it seems almost incontrovertible that Father must, in fact, love Tristram. Quite a lot.
Just then, John comes bustling back out and starts collecting the things that are lying on the table. "You two still working hard or hardly working?" he jokes, looking over at them where they are both still sitting on the couch bed beside Tristram's practially empty suitcase. "Tris, you need any help?"
Tristram takes a deep breath, trying to shake off the emotions crowding in on him. "No, I can do it," he says, picking up a stray sock from the floor as proof.
"I called your uncle and told him about the passport," John says as he closes and unplugs Father's computer. "He said he can have another one expressed by tomorrow, so there's nothing to worry about."
Tristram wasn't worried. Because Father apparently has Tristram's passport, and they're waiting for him anyway. Unless he loses it - he's fallen into bodies of water a couple of times and lost his wallet and keys to the sludge, so perhaps it's not such a bad plan to have a backup passport on the way.
They have everything packed by dinner time. John decides to order room service rather than go out - not even to the hotel restaurant - in case Father comes back.
He doesn't.
After dinner, John says he thinks it would be a good idea to take Tristram's stitches out now, especially if they're going to be travelling soon. Tristram is very happy about that; not only because taking the stitches out should make his back itch less, but also because it means that he's halfway done with getting better. Tristram can't wait to show Father.
John says that Emily can be his assistant, if it's okay with Tristram, and of course it is, especially because Emily looks so enthusiastic at the prospect.
So all three of them go into the bathroom and Emily gets to scrub up just like a real doctor and put on a pair of gloves, even if they do dangle dangerously loose at the ends of her fingers. Then she hands her father the things he needs from his medical bag and holds the basin so he can deposit the little stiff black threads into it after he snips them and pulls them out of Tristram's skin with the tweezers. It tickles and pokes but Tristram tries really hard not to move.
When he's done, John takes a picture with his phone to show Tristram. Tristram's not expecting the bright red lines still criss-crossing his back. He thought the skin would all be smooth and pale again. He realises with a sinking heart that he still has a ways to go before he's fulfilled his end of his deal with Father. Of course, his cast won't be coming off for a few more weeks, but maybe this is going to take even longer.
"How much longer is it going to take to get better?" he asks, staring at the image on the screen.
John peels his gloves off and drops them into the bin. "What do you mean?"
"You can still see all the cuts."
John sits back down on the edge of the bathtub. He rests his elbows on his knees and folds his hands. "The cuts are healed up, but yes, you can still see where they were," John agrees. He's speaking in a slow, careful way that Tristram's never heard from him before. Maybe it's his official doctor voice. "It's all new skin and I've been poking at it," John explains, "so that's why it looks so red. The colour will fade eventually. It will get pink and then white, but it could take a couple of years. The cuts were pretty deep, Tris. They're going to leave scars."
Tristram moves over to stand in front of the mirror and tries to twist his neck around so he can see his back. His disappointment over what he thought was a delay in the healing process has turned into glee. He's going to have honest-to-goodness scars, just like Father. Not just little ones like on Father's hands that you have to hold really still and find the right angle to see them either. "Cool," he breathes out. Although no one will really be able to see them under his shirt, which is a bit of a shame.
"Maybe they'll end up looking like a map of the Underground!" Emily says. "Like on Dumbledore's knee. Look, this could be the Jubilee Line right here!" She traces her finger down Tristram's back. It tickles, and he twists away, laughing.
John's eyebrows rise and his face opens up, all the concern-creases turning around to go the other way. "And here I was, trying to break it to you gently. Should have known." He reaches out and ruffles Tristram's hair. Tristram grins.
They go back out to the living room and John lets them order a movie in English from the pay-per-view channel. It looks kind of like the Wallace and Gromit movie he and Emily watched at her house a few weeks back, but it's about some pirates and a dodo bird instead of a funny man and his clever dog. Tristram likes it, but it also makes him think about that poem again, about the man going to sea - the poem that is now indelibly associated with his father in his mind. And that, in turn, reminds him that Father still isn't back. He also hasn't responded to John's text. John doesn't say this, but he keeps checking his phone and making increasingly unhappy faces at the empty inbox.
When the movie's over, they put their pyjamas on and John sits on the bed with one arm around each of them and reads three chapters of the Goblet of Fire. Tristram can tell it's both to distract them from Father's continued absence and to give Father just a little longer before John has to admit he's not coming back that night. Tristram dares to snuggle in against John just a little bit, and is rewarded by a squeeze and the rub of John's thumb on his shoulder. It makes him feel traitorously content, with Father still out there talking to those bad people. Hopefully just talking. Tristram turns that thought off and concentrates on the Harry's first task with the golden egg instead.
Finally, John makes Tristram and Emily get under the covers and turns off the light. Rather than retreating to the bedroom, though, he settles himself in the same chair Father sat in the previous night.
"Are you going to wait for Sherlock?" Emily asks.
"Yeah, might do."
"Did he ever text back?" Tristram asks. He can see the faint glow of John's phone in his hand as he turns it on.
John clears his throat. "No. But don't worry, I'm sure he's fine. He's probably just busy." Tristram can't see his face, but his voice sounds like he's trying to be optimistic. Trying and not entirely succeeding.
Because it's almost midnight, and the person or people Father went to meet aren't very nice. Possibly they are even the people they came here to get away from in the first place.
Father always comes back, Tristram reminds himself. Always. And they still need to go to Angelo's when his hand is better (his back being ticked off now). That was a promise. A vow.
John keeps his phone on. Maybe he's sending another text. Tristram keeps his eyes on the glow as long as he can, but he's asleep before John turns his phone off.
John is waiting at the door when the light tap sounds.
"Quiet, the kids are sleeping," he whispers as Irene slips in.
He leads her through the living room by the light spilling out from the open bedroom door. Tristram and Emily don't stir.
As soon as they are in the bedroom, John closes the door and hands Irene his phone so she can see the text: 'May be a couple of days. Take kids home. Properly. SH'
"Anyone could have got hold of his phone," Irene says scornfully and gives the phone back to John.
"Yeah, it's..." John clears his throat and looks down at the screen. "'Properly'. It's something... No one else would know about it."
Irene eyes John, this time with interest. "Really. Well, be that as it may, that isn't a legally binding document. You can't transport him. I can."
"I'll get something from Mycroft," John argues. "He's sending the replacement passport anyway." He starts to bring up the directory on his phone.
"I'm beginning to suspect you don't trust me." The statement is teasing, but there's a warning behind it that demands attention.
John returns it with a not-so-subtly veiled warning of his own. "Now why would that be, I wonder?"
Irene's hand darts out to cover the screen of John's phone so he can't make the call. She drops all pretence, her eyes turning hard and her next words coming out clipped and precise. "You're going to have to. We have a small window - a very small window - to get back on British soil. Whatever small powers of protection you believe Mycroft Holmes might have - they don't reach far across the Channel, and they certainly don't reach outside the EU. You don't know Jim Moriarty, and believe me, you don't want to. Capricious doesn't even begin to cover it. Sherlock's message-" She nods at the phone between their hands. "That says he's bought us some time to get Tristram and Emily to safety. It may not even be 24 hours. You need to stop trying to second-guess me and get your daughter out. Now, on the next plane."
"We'll travel together then."
Irene returns his stare, apparently weighing the offer. Finally, she acquiesces. "Fine. See if you can get four seats out of Zurich tomorrow. If nothing's available, try Geneva."
"And what will you be doing?"
"I think you'll be happier not knowing. But John... no matter what you may think of me or what may happen, I'd like you to remember my first priority is Tristram's safety. And I'll do the best I can for you and Emily too."
"And yourself, of course," John says sourly.
Irene's lips spread in a smug smile. "Well, that goes without saying."
Chapter note: The movie they watched was Pirates: An Adventure with Scientists, in which Martin Freeman voiced one of the characters.
Author:
swissmargBeta readers:
ruth0007, 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.
See Chapter One for additional notes
Read Chapter Thirteen on AO3
Chapter Thirteen
Jass - it turns out it's spelled with a j, not a y - is pretty complicated. It's not just the rules that make the game difficult, though; there are also all these unfamiliar cards. There's a king and an ace like in a normal deck, but instead of a queen and a jack there are two boy cards called 'over' and 'under'. There's a banner instead of a ten, and there are no cards under a six. Plus one of the nines is called Nell and she can beat the kings, and one of the unders is called The Peasant and he's even more powerful than the aces. Irene says there are several variations, but she only knows the one.
Tristram is intrigued, but not very good at it. Irene takes the last trick to win the game. Again. She's won every single hand they've played so far. Which makes this her ninth victory. Tristram wonders how much longer they're going to keep playing.
Emily must have a similar thought, because she asks, "When's my dad coming back?" for about the hundredth time.
She's not really interested in the game. She's pretty much been watching the door ever since John and Father left. It's clear she isn't very happy about the situation. Not that it would have taken a genius to figure that out, the way she pouted and protested when her father told her she was going to have to stay in the room with Irene and Tristram while he and Father went out to run an errand. (Tristram knows it's a case, not an errand. He's not stupid.) To her credit, at least she didn't cry. Even if Tristram could see she wanted to.
Tristram, surprisingly, isn't nearly as stressed about the whole thing as he perhaps might have expected to be, given everything that's been going on lately. Maybe it's because he's used to Father going out on potentially dangerous errands and leaving him behind. Or maybe it's because, despite the fact that the last time he was left in the care of a woman he only knew fleetingly, he ended up strapped to what he thought was a bomb, he feels relatively safe with Irene. She's his mother, after all. Something about that simple fact gives him enough confidence that he's able to sit here and concentrate on whether bells or acorns are trump this round. He wouldn't go out of the room with Irene, of course. But just sitting here at the table with the curtains drawn, trying to remember whether all the aces have been played yet... that's fine.
Emily and Irene seem to be having something of a standoff over the question of when John and Father are coming back. Tristram knows grown-ups don't like it when you ask the same thing over and over. That's not just a quirk of his father's. Some of his teachers at school would also get a pained look on their face when one of the other children needed something explained more than two or three times. So he expects Irene will get exasperated and say, 'When he and Sherlock are done with their errand,' the way she has the other ninety-nine times. Instead she checks her watch.
"Why don't I call him and see?" she offers.
Emily perks up. "Okay," she says. She looks surprised, but she's not about to argue.
Tristram's surprised too. Father is never to be interrupted when he's on a case. Least of all for something like to check when he's coming back. He'll be back whenever he's done, and he can't know when he's done until he is. But Irene wouldn't know that. Tristram's not about to point it out to her, either. He's getting a bit anxious himself, even if it hasn't even been an hour.
Irene goes into the bedroom and closes the door all the way, which is odd. Why doesn't she want Tristram and Emily to hear her calling John, if all she's going to do is ask how much longer they'll be?
&&&&&&
"We should have come up here yesterday or even earlier, had a look around," John says grimly as he trudges behind Sherlock up the path. It's too narrow for them to walk side by side. There's snow up either side of the ravine, but the rocky path itself is merely wet. "We've no idea what we're walking into."
"He's hardly going to have some sort of armed ambush set up," Sherlock scoffs. "This is a public path, hikers walk through here every day." It's another overcast day, and the mountains are shrouded in mist that hangs heavy and grey like cobwebs.
"This is still incredibly stupid. You never go into an area you haven't scouted first. If I'd known about this earlier-"
"You would have left," Sherlock says shortly.
John stops. His jaw clenches and his nostrils flare. "You can't-" He falls silent as his phone buzzes. He and Sherlock exchange a look.
"Go on," Sherlock says.
John takes his phone out of his pocket and checks the screen. The corners of his mouth pull down. "It's Irene."
"Either scenario three, four, or five then. Answer it." Sherlock steps in close and puts his head next to John's.
John taps the screen to accept the call then holds the phone up between his and Sherlock's ears. "Yeah," he says. "How bad is it?" he asks after hearing her opening gambit. He raises his eyebrows at Sherlock when they hear the answer, but Sherlock shakes his head. "Yeah, he... I know it's upsetting," John tells Irene, "but he won't actually come to any harm. Have him lie down on his side and make sure his clothing's not constricting him. Emily knows how to-" He stops talking at the sharp, rapid interruption on the other end. "I'm not trying to- Of course I'm concerned, but-"
Sherlock yanks the phone away from John and pushes the mute button.
"You need to go," Sherlock snaps.
"There's nothing I can do for him, and anyway it'd be over by the time I got back," John says stubbornly.
"This is scenario four, John," Sherlock says, as if speaking to a recalcitrant child. "She's not going to give up. Go now before it turns into three." He thrusts the phone at John and pushes the button again to un-mute it.
John glares at Sherlock but takes the phone. "Yeah, I'm... Yeah, sorry, still here. Just dropped the phone," he tells Irene. As she speaks, he closes his eyes and looks decidedly unhappy. "Yeah. Yes," he finally says. "I'm on my way." He ends the call and promptly tells Sherlock, "You're not going."
"John." The word is reproach and plea all at once.
"No," John says flatly. "Nope. I mean it. You're not- You're coming back too."
"I'll be fine."
"You'll be-" John looks around as if seeking confirmation from the rocks of how utterly unreasonable Sherlock is being. "You'll be fine? The last time you did something like this you ended up on your knees with a pistol two fucking inches from your skull." He holds his thumb and forefinger together to demonstrate.
"And - I'm - fine," Sherlock grits out.
John points an accusing finger at him. "You're only fine because I was there to take Moran out. If I leave you up here-"
"He's not going to hurt me. He wants me for his plans. He'd hardly have gone to all this trouble just to blow my brains out. Anticlimactic," Sherlock sniffs, as if personally affronted that John would think him capable of giving so much as the time of day to someone with so little imagination.
"Right, so I guess he just wants a tooth, then, what do you think? A finger maybe? An eye? I hear kidneys will bring in a bit of cash."
"John, you have to trust me."
"Yeah, that's..." John looks like he wants to say something else, but he stops himself, shaking his head. "Yeah. I have to, don't I? Because trust is the basis of our relationship, isn't it? Or whatever the hell this is. I don't even... " John holds both hands up as if to ward Sherlock off and takes a step back.
Sherlock reaches toward John, but lets his arm fall again without touching him. "I trust you, John," he says fiercely. "I trust you wholeheartedly and without reservation. You are the only person..." He closes his eyes, as if pained. "I have to go," he says, his voice low and tight.
"Yeah, me too," John says. The statement is laced with bitterness. "I have to go rescue our children from your creepy ex who's holding them hostage so that you can have a chat with your even more creepy... I don't even know what. Internet date? Archenemy? Do people still have archenemies?"
"If they did, mine would be a meddlesome, self-righteous, mid-level bureaucrat with a prop umbrella and an overinflated sense of his own importance."
John's eyes are hard and unyielding. "Not funny."
"It was a bit funny," Sherlock cajoles.
John still doesn't crack. "At least Mycroft has his priorities straight," he says, his voice as frigid as the snow around them. Then he turns and starts picking his way back down the path. He doesn't look back.
Sherlock watches him until he disappears around a bend and he's left alone amidst the barren rocks. Then he starts up the path again.
&&&&&&
"How is he?" are the first words out of John's mouth when he bangs the door open, startling all three of them where they are still sitting at the table. "Tris, are you all right?" John makes a beeline for Tristram, kicking the door shut behind him.
"Daddy!" Emily jumps up, her relief evident, and throws herself at him.
John wraps one arm around her and pulls her along with him toward Tristram, who looks around him at the empty space behind John. What's going on? Where's Father?
John crouches in front of Tristram's chair and puts his fingers around Tristram's wrist to check his pulse. "Did he lose consciousness at any point?" The question's obviously meant for Irene, who's stood up now and is drifting away toward the window.
"No," she answers, sounding distracted.
"How are you feeling, Tris?" John asks him, peering into his eyes in a doctor's examination kind of way even though he doesn't have his instruments out. Emily leans against his side, looking back and forth curiously between Tristram and her father.
"I'm fine," he answers, but he's confused. Why should he have fainted? Does John think he's sick?
"That's good," John says, and it sounds like he's relieved too. He lifts himself up into the chair that Emily vacated, then scoots it closer. He rests one hand on Emily's waist and pulls her down onto his knee. "Now," John says to Tristram once they're settled. "Do you want to tell me what set it off this time?"
"What set what off?" Tristram asks, not following.
John frowns a bit and glances at Emily, then Irene, as if checking whether anyone at all knows what he's talking about. Irene is standing at the slit in the curtains, parting them just enough with her red-painted nail to catch a glimpse outside. Tristram's heart flutters.
"Your panic attack," John prompts him.
"I didn't have a panic attack," Tristram says, watching Irene nervously. She really shouldn't be standing right in front of the window.
"You said he was having a panic attack," John says. His eyes are on Tristram, but he must be speaking to Irene. He doesn't sound happy. "And step away from the window if you don't want there to be another one."
Irene drops the curtain with an air of put-upon resignation. "He was very anxious," she says. "I may have been overcautious, as a new, inexperienced mother." She sounds neither cautious nor inexperienced, in Tristram's opinion.
John turns his face down and away, but Tristram doesn't need to see his expression to know he's angry.
"You... " John takes a moment to get himself under control. "You knew, didn't you? You know." He raises his head and fixes Irene with a look that's simmering with contempt, but also hurt.
"He'll be fine, John," Irene says, perhaps aiming for reassurance, but at her words John springs out of his chair, narrowly missing dumping Emily on the floor. He has Irene pressed up against the wall with his arm across her throat almost faster than Tristram can register that he's moved.
"You are going to fucking tell me right now where he's taking him."
"Daddy!" Emily shrieks. Her fists come up to her cheeks. Tristram's not sure whether she's more shocked by the expletive or the attack.
Tristram isn't shocked by either one. He's heard John swear before, and he wants to see what's going to happen. He especially wants to know where his father is, and it looks like John thinks Irene has the answer. He doesn't think John's really going to hurt her. She looks perfectly at ease with his weight pressing against her windpipe, at any rate.
"I do like it rough, but perhaps not in front of the children," Irene purrs. Her red-painted lips curl into a smile, like she knows she's won, which is odd because it's John who has the upper hand.
John slowly lifts his arm and takes half a step back. "It's all right, Ems," he says, but his voice doesn't sound reassuring at all. He flexes his hand at his side and continues to watch Irene. His eyes are like knives and fire.
Comprehension slowly - too slowly, why is he so slow? - dawns on Tristram, and as it does, icy tendrils of uncertainty snake into his gut.
"Where's my father?" Tristram asks, because it's the one question no one seems to be answering, and John said his questions were important. This one's very, very important.
John tilts his head tightly in Tristram's direction, raising his eyebrows at Irene in a gesture that's both challenge and query.
"He's meeting someone," Irene says. "A private business meeting." She lets her long, graceful fingers linger on her neck and doesn't let her gaze waver from John's.
"When's he coming back?" Tristram asks. His mouth is dry. Because of course Father's coming back. He always comes back.
"I'm sure I haven't the faintest," Irene says, rather shortly, as if she's tired of the topic. She steps around John. "And now if you'll excuse me, I have some things to take care of before tonight."
John takes a step back and holds his hands up to show he's not going to stop her. His face looks like he's smelt something unpleasant. Tristram, on the other hand, lurches after her.
"You can't just leave!" he blurts out. She can't, not without telling them where Father is! She obviously knows where he went and who he's with; more than John knows, anyway. If she tells them, John can go and get him. He can help him. Why did John come back without him anyway?
Irene stops in her tracks, looking startled. "I'll be back," she says, sounding almost flattered that Tristram wants her to stay. He doesn't want her, though, he wants his father.
Frustrated, Tristram rounds on John. "Why didn't you stay with him?" he pleads.
John's glares at Irene, his nostrils flaring. "I tried to. Seems some people had other plans. You and him," John all but spits out at her. "Did you plan all this together? Hm?" His mouth twists in an ugly way. "Let me think I was going to be able to help just to play me for a stooge? Why even bother? Why not just tell me from the beginning?" He jabs a finger towards Emily, who's watching the exchange as wide-eyed as Tristram is. "I wanted to take Emily home yesterday when I found out about all this, but he stopped me. Asked me to stay one more day, to go with him today. Why? If you were just going to call me to heel."
Tristram gets a tingly feeling in his head and stomach. A bad tingly feeling. John was going to take Emily and leave? Is that what the shouting was about? What was it that John found out that made him want to leave? Is he angry at Father? Are they really not boyfriends anymore? Is that why Father was sitting out in the living room in the middle of the night? All of a sudden, Tristram feels sick. Somehow he feels like this is his fault. He's not sure how, but somehow it has to do with him. John was going to take Emily and go back home and leave Tristram behind. With Father, of course, but he was still going to leave him behind. Maybe he wasn't even planning to say good-bye. Maybe he was going to wake Emily up in the middle of the night and sneak out like they did from Uncle Mycroft's.
"I don't know what he told you, John," Irene tells him calmly, "but there was no agreement between myself and him. I have no agenda other than protecting Tristram. And Emily, by extension," she adds.
"Why the hell did you call me back then?" John demands. "You knew there was nothing I could do for him, even if he was having a panic attack, which he wasn't."
"Because I..." She glances at Tristram, then turns to face John tall and straight. "I made a deal."
"Ohhh," John says, long and drawn-out, and it almost turns into a laugh at the end. "Of course. You made a deal. You're working with him, Sherlock said you were. So, what, if I hadn't come back you would have-" John presses his lips together and doesn't finish the sentence.
Irene seems to understand what he was going to say anyway, even if Tristram doesn't - who is the 'him' that Irene's working with? - because she says, "But you did come back, John, and now you're free to take your daughter and go back to England."
"And Tristram?" John points at him.
"He'll come with me, of course," she says haughtily. "He is my son."
The prickliness in Tristram's stomach turns even more sour at that, because he doesn't want to go with Irene! Father is going to come back, and he has to be here. He can't leave. He's about to tell Irene that when John groans.
"Oh, God. No. Now I see. Get Sherlock out of the way so you can take Tristram. Yeah, that's not going to happen. Over my dead body." The way he says it gives Tristram shivers all over again, but this time they're good shivers. John understands, at least. He knows that Tristram can't go anywhere without Father.
Irene clicks her tongue reproachfully. "I'm not going to kidnap him, for God's sake. I'm just going to make sure he gets home safely."
"I'll do that," John tells her. It's not an offer. It's a statement of fact, and Tristram is surprised to find how enormously relieved he is to hear that John doesn't want to leave him behind after all. However, it seems he really has missed the salient fact:
"I'm not leaving without my father," Tristram says firmly. And so there won't be any confusion, he explains, "Sometimes he has to go undercover for a day or two, but he always comes back. And I'm not supposed to go with anyone else. He said." Well, technically he did say that Tristram could go with John, but he doesn't think Father meant going to a whole other country with him. That was more for taking the Tube to Emily's aunts' house, or going to the park on Sunday morning.
All of a sudden, Irene is beside him, kneeling on the floor in her pretty yellow dress. "Tristram," she says, taking his good hand between hers. Her hands are cool and smooth and her skin is soft like the little squares of coloured silk Uncle Mycroft sometimes wears in the breast pocket of his suit jacket. "Everything is going to be fine," she says. Her dark brown eyes are clear and deep, and even though Tristram knows Father and John don't trust her, something tells him that this is the truth. "Your father's one of those people who always lands on his feet. Yes, of course he's coming back. But as you said, it may be a day or two. You can't stay here."
"Why not?" It seems like a perfectly reasonable thing to do, in Tristram's opinion.
"Because it's not safe," she says. Just like that, frank and without preamble; Tristram's a bit shocked. He thought the whole point of coming here to Switzerland was because it was safe, because no one knew where they were. Although Irene found them - Tristram's had his doubts for a while now as to whether it could truly have been a coincidence that she's here too - and the man that Father's meeting with found them as well. Unless Father found him? Either way, people know they're here. Maybe they should have stuck with being the Rathbones and the Browns after all.
All of a sudden, Tristram remembers the way Father peeked out the window that first morning, when he thought Tristram saw something outside. The same way Irene peeked behind the curtain just now. An awful thought occurs to him: has someone been here, watching them this whole time? Did Father know it, or at least suspect? But Father said none of them were in danger, and he let them all go out, to restaurants and museums and the tops of mountains. He wouldn't have done that if he so much as suspected there was another man with a gun out there, waiting for an opportunity to shoot one of them. Of course he wouldn't.
Before Irene can say anything more, John steps forward, holding out a hand like he's going to stick it right in between Irene and Tristram. "All right," he says sternly, "that's enough. There's no need to-"
But Irene won't be put off. Her eyes are large and earnest, searching Tristram's face as she continues. "No, John," she says. "He deserves the truth. Ninety percent of fear is not knowing." She speaks to Tristram again: "You're a big boy and you understand these things. The people your father is dealing with aren't very nice."
They rarely are. But Tristram is aware there are different shades of not nice. There are people who simply find it easier not to follow the rules, and there are those who don't care whether other people get hurt as long as they get what they want... and then there are those who try to hurt other people. Who like it. Tristram thinks Irene means those ones. But that doesn't change his mind.
"No, I'm not... I can't..." Tristram flounders for a way to convince Irene and John that he can't leave.
Before he can say anything more, help comes from an unexpected direction when Emily speaks up. "We can't leave without Sherlock," she insists. "We have to wait for him. If it were you," she says to her father, "we wouldn't leave without you. Sherlock wouldn't."
Tristram is fairly sure she's right. If John had gone off by himself to meet with some bad people - and from everything Tristram's heard today, it's pretty clear that's exactly what his father's done - Tristram think it highly unlikely that Father would leave the country without him. John's important to Father. Really important. Tristram can see that. He knows that. Father would do everything he could to make sure John was safe. The same way he makes sure Tristram is safe.
He's slightly surprised that Emily's able to predict Father's behaviour so well, though, and even more surprised that she's sticking up for him against her own father. Father and Emily haven't really interacted much; not as much as Tristram and John have, anyway. At least Tristram doesn't think so. Aside from that one time when Emily went down to get Father to read to them back at their flat - and she was only alone with him a couple of minutes that time - Tristram can't think of any other opportunities they might have had to have any sort of meaningful conversation outside of Tristram's earshot. But even so, she seems to have Father figured out fairly well; and for the first time, Tristram suspects maybe Father is important to Emily too, the same way John's become important to Tristram.
John sighs. "All right, look. It's only been a couple of hours. We may be making something out of nothing here. Before we all panic, why don't I text him and see how things are going." He takes out his phone and starts composing a message as he talks. "He'll probably be back by dinner. And in the meantime we'll go ahead and pack so we're all ready to go when he does show up. All right? Everyone agree?" He raises his eyebrows hopefully and looks around at them.
Emily appears to be satisfied, and Tristram agrees readily and with an immense sense of relief. They're going to wait here for Father. That's all he wanted. Irene says it's fine with her too, and that John should let her know as soon as Father answers his text. Tristram is a bit suspicious of how easily she's been convinced - especially as she was just insisting moments ago that it wasn't safe to stay - but she doesn't make any further mention of taking Tristram with her and leaves the room without a fuss. Tristram is nonplussed and confused by her behaviour; she was so concerned and protective before, and now it's as if she doesn't much care.
It bothers Tristram more than he thinks it should. Given the choice between staying with John and waiting for Father or going with Irene, it's obvious that he would stay. But for some reason, he's a little bit disappointed that Irene gave up so easily. Just a teensy bit.
As soon as the door closes behind Irene, John tells Tristram and Emily to start gathering their things and pack as much as they can while he takes care of the stuff in the bedroom.
Emily gets both of their suitcases out of the closet and lays Tristram's on the couch so he can put his things in.
"I wouldn't have left without you," she says as she starts transferring clothes from the closet to her own suitcase.
Tristram blinks at her. "What?"
Emily's eyes flicker in the direction of the bedroom. The door's open, and they can hear John moving around. She lowers her voice and explains, "My dad said he almost took me and went home last night. But I wouldn't have let him leave without you." She's perfectly solemn as she delivers this information, but also adamant, and Tristram absolutely believes that she, all of nine years old and barely thirty kilos, could make her former soldier of a father do anything at all she set her mind to. And she set her mind to Tristram.
Tristram is... Something wells up inside him that's warm and bright and he actually gets a lump in his throat, which is stupid because it's nothing to cry over. It's just that it makes him feel really good. Not just the declaration of solidarity, but the fact that she wanted Tristram to know, that she must have seen how glad he was that John said he wasn't going to leave Tristram behind this time and that she wanted to reassure him that it would never have happened in the first place. Tristram swallows a few times and pretends the trousers in his hand need re-folding.
"Do you think he's angry with my father?" he asks, even though it seems pretty clear the answer is 'yes'.
Emily, however, has a different opinion. "I think he's angry with your mother," she corrects him. "She's the one who tricked him into coming back."
"But there was something else, before that," Tristram argues. "I heard them rowing last night.
Emily comes over and sits on the edge of the mattress, her packing forgotten for the moment. "What did they say?"
Tristram sits down too and leans in close so he can keep his voice low. "I couldn't hear very much. But your father sounded angry. And then with what he said, that he was going to leave... I don't think that was because of Irene because that didn't happen until today."
Emily considers this for a few seconds, but finally says, "Well, whatever it was, it can't have been that bad because my dad ended up staying anyway. And they didn't look angry when they left this morning," she points out.
That's true. Although there was still something off. There was none of the casual talk and easy smiles that have come to mark their fathers' interactions. Instead, they were short and to-the-point. Not angry, just businesslike. Tristram assumed it was because they were focused on their 'errand', but with all the other evidence it's beginning to look like something else.
"They didn't seem very happy either," Tristram says glumly. "And my father didn't spend the night in the bedroom. He was sitting out here-"
"Hey, Tris," John calls out, interrupting them. He comes out of the bedroom, looking a bit red in the face. "Do you know where your passport is?"
"No. Maybe my father has it."
John looks grim. "Yeah, I think he must."
It sounds like John doesn't think that's a good thing. But surely it's good if his father has his passport. That way it won't get lost. They're waiting for his father to come back anyway before they leave. But John disappears back into the bedroom, leaving the passport question open. Tristram doesn't have a chance to worry about it either, because beside him, Emily starts talking again.
"My parents..." she says, fiddling with the zipper of Tristram's suitcase. She sighs a little, a kind of a resigned sound, and looks at Tristram. "When my mum was still alive, they'd argue sometimes. Not proper rows, but sometimes they'd yell a little or ... I don't know. Just argue."
"About what?" Tristram is immensely curious about this new information. He was always under the impression that Emily's mother and father loved each other a lot. But then they wouldn't have argued, would they?
"I don't know..." Emily looks away and twists on the zipper some more, but she doesn't stop talking. "I was littler so I didn't really pay attention, and I usually went to my room and put my pillow over my head anyway so I wouldn't have to hear them. But one time my mum came in and found me like that, and she said just because they didn't always agree didn't mean they didn't love each other, and me." She says all of this practically in one breath, and when she's finished, she blinks her blue eyes up at Tristram as if she's not sure how he's going to take what she's said.
But Tristram understands that she's not really talking about her parents. Well, she is, but she's also talking about their fathers. She's trying to tell him that two people can argue and still love each other. But do Father and John love each other in the first place? Do you have to love someone to be their boyfriend? They fancy each other, certainly; Emily said her father told her that, and Tristram agrees with the assessment based on all the evidence he's seen. Kissing and hugging is pretty much the definition of fancying someone. But they're not married, and John said it wasn't something they were considering. And don't people who love each other get married?
On the other hand, there's the way they look at each other sometimes, that secret way when they think no one's watching. Is that love? And there's also the fact that Father tries to protect John the same way he tries to protect Tristram. Does that mean he loves them both? Tristram knows it's possible to love more than one person, so the thought doesn't make him jealous. In fact, it makes him feel stunned, almost, like when something's really obvious and you didn't see it and all of a sudden it clicks. Like everything is perfectly right and aligned, at least for the moment. It's almost easier for Tristram to call what's between Father and John 'love' than to apply the same label to Father and Tristram's relationship, if only because he's spent so much time thinking about Father and John lately, and it seems that he's being inexorably pushed toward that conclusion.
But if people who love each other want to live together (with or without getting married) and spend time together and protect each other and do what they think is best for each other and make each other happy ... Tristram starts to get a bit dizzy with the implications. Father does all of those things for Tristram, or tries to, at least. Even the part about wanting to live together - which someone else might say is simply the result of circumstances rather than a conscious decision or desire on Father's part, whereas in actual fact, Tristram lives with Father because Father wants him there.
Uncle Mycroft would have taken Tristram if Father hadn't wanted him - the guardianship makes that clear. And maybe Irene would even have come back for him, if Father had told her he didn't want to be stuck with a baby. But Irene left him with Father because she knew he'd take good care of him. Father said himself it wasn't easy; certainly, Tristram can see now how much of a hindrance it must have been for Father to care for Tristram before he could walk and talk and dress himself and cook and know better than to touch human brains without gloves or mix sulfuric acid and ammonia. Even now, it's sometimes a bit of a shuffle to get Tristram properly supervised when Father's working on a case. But Father's put up with the inconvenience for years, which must mean - Tristram's mind boggles a little - that in some way, he is more important to Father than his work. He almost shies away from the thought, it's so fragile, but it seems almost incontrovertible that Father must, in fact, love Tristram. Quite a lot.
Just then, John comes bustling back out and starts collecting the things that are lying on the table. "You two still working hard or hardly working?" he jokes, looking over at them where they are both still sitting on the couch bed beside Tristram's practially empty suitcase. "Tris, you need any help?"
Tristram takes a deep breath, trying to shake off the emotions crowding in on him. "No, I can do it," he says, picking up a stray sock from the floor as proof.
"I called your uncle and told him about the passport," John says as he closes and unplugs Father's computer. "He said he can have another one expressed by tomorrow, so there's nothing to worry about."
Tristram wasn't worried. Because Father apparently has Tristram's passport, and they're waiting for him anyway. Unless he loses it - he's fallen into bodies of water a couple of times and lost his wallet and keys to the sludge, so perhaps it's not such a bad plan to have a backup passport on the way.
They have everything packed by dinner time. John decides to order room service rather than go out - not even to the hotel restaurant - in case Father comes back.
He doesn't.
After dinner, John says he thinks it would be a good idea to take Tristram's stitches out now, especially if they're going to be travelling soon. Tristram is very happy about that; not only because taking the stitches out should make his back itch less, but also because it means that he's halfway done with getting better. Tristram can't wait to show Father.
John says that Emily can be his assistant, if it's okay with Tristram, and of course it is, especially because Emily looks so enthusiastic at the prospect.
So all three of them go into the bathroom and Emily gets to scrub up just like a real doctor and put on a pair of gloves, even if they do dangle dangerously loose at the ends of her fingers. Then she hands her father the things he needs from his medical bag and holds the basin so he can deposit the little stiff black threads into it after he snips them and pulls them out of Tristram's skin with the tweezers. It tickles and pokes but Tristram tries really hard not to move.
When he's done, John takes a picture with his phone to show Tristram. Tristram's not expecting the bright red lines still criss-crossing his back. He thought the skin would all be smooth and pale again. He realises with a sinking heart that he still has a ways to go before he's fulfilled his end of his deal with Father. Of course, his cast won't be coming off for a few more weeks, but maybe this is going to take even longer.
"How much longer is it going to take to get better?" he asks, staring at the image on the screen.
John peels his gloves off and drops them into the bin. "What do you mean?"
"You can still see all the cuts."
John sits back down on the edge of the bathtub. He rests his elbows on his knees and folds his hands. "The cuts are healed up, but yes, you can still see where they were," John agrees. He's speaking in a slow, careful way that Tristram's never heard from him before. Maybe it's his official doctor voice. "It's all new skin and I've been poking at it," John explains, "so that's why it looks so red. The colour will fade eventually. It will get pink and then white, but it could take a couple of years. The cuts were pretty deep, Tris. They're going to leave scars."
Tristram moves over to stand in front of the mirror and tries to twist his neck around so he can see his back. His disappointment over what he thought was a delay in the healing process has turned into glee. He's going to have honest-to-goodness scars, just like Father. Not just little ones like on Father's hands that you have to hold really still and find the right angle to see them either. "Cool," he breathes out. Although no one will really be able to see them under his shirt, which is a bit of a shame.
"Maybe they'll end up looking like a map of the Underground!" Emily says. "Like on Dumbledore's knee. Look, this could be the Jubilee Line right here!" She traces her finger down Tristram's back. It tickles, and he twists away, laughing.
John's eyebrows rise and his face opens up, all the concern-creases turning around to go the other way. "And here I was, trying to break it to you gently. Should have known." He reaches out and ruffles Tristram's hair. Tristram grins.
They go back out to the living room and John lets them order a movie in English from the pay-per-view channel. It looks kind of like the Wallace and Gromit movie he and Emily watched at her house a few weeks back, but it's about some pirates and a dodo bird instead of a funny man and his clever dog. Tristram likes it, but it also makes him think about that poem again, about the man going to sea - the poem that is now indelibly associated with his father in his mind. And that, in turn, reminds him that Father still isn't back. He also hasn't responded to John's text. John doesn't say this, but he keeps checking his phone and making increasingly unhappy faces at the empty inbox.
When the movie's over, they put their pyjamas on and John sits on the bed with one arm around each of them and reads three chapters of the Goblet of Fire. Tristram can tell it's both to distract them from Father's continued absence and to give Father just a little longer before John has to admit he's not coming back that night. Tristram dares to snuggle in against John just a little bit, and is rewarded by a squeeze and the rub of John's thumb on his shoulder. It makes him feel traitorously content, with Father still out there talking to those bad people. Hopefully just talking. Tristram turns that thought off and concentrates on the Harry's first task with the golden egg instead.
Finally, John makes Tristram and Emily get under the covers and turns off the light. Rather than retreating to the bedroom, though, he settles himself in the same chair Father sat in the previous night.
"Are you going to wait for Sherlock?" Emily asks.
"Yeah, might do."
"Did he ever text back?" Tristram asks. He can see the faint glow of John's phone in his hand as he turns it on.
John clears his throat. "No. But don't worry, I'm sure he's fine. He's probably just busy." Tristram can't see his face, but his voice sounds like he's trying to be optimistic. Trying and not entirely succeeding.
Because it's almost midnight, and the person or people Father went to meet aren't very nice. Possibly they are even the people they came here to get away from in the first place.
Father always comes back, Tristram reminds himself. Always. And they still need to go to Angelo's when his hand is better (his back being ticked off now). That was a promise. A vow.
John keeps his phone on. Maybe he's sending another text. Tristram keeps his eyes on the glow as long as he can, but he's asleep before John turns his phone off.
&&&&&&
John is waiting at the door when the light tap sounds.
"Quiet, the kids are sleeping," he whispers as Irene slips in.
He leads her through the living room by the light spilling out from the open bedroom door. Tristram and Emily don't stir.
As soon as they are in the bedroom, John closes the door and hands Irene his phone so she can see the text: 'May be a couple of days. Take kids home. Properly. SH'
"Anyone could have got hold of his phone," Irene says scornfully and gives the phone back to John.
"Yeah, it's..." John clears his throat and looks down at the screen. "'Properly'. It's something... No one else would know about it."
Irene eyes John, this time with interest. "Really. Well, be that as it may, that isn't a legally binding document. You can't transport him. I can."
"I'll get something from Mycroft," John argues. "He's sending the replacement passport anyway." He starts to bring up the directory on his phone.
"I'm beginning to suspect you don't trust me." The statement is teasing, but there's a warning behind it that demands attention.
John returns it with a not-so-subtly veiled warning of his own. "Now why would that be, I wonder?"
Irene's hand darts out to cover the screen of John's phone so he can't make the call. She drops all pretence, her eyes turning hard and her next words coming out clipped and precise. "You're going to have to. We have a small window - a very small window - to get back on British soil. Whatever small powers of protection you believe Mycroft Holmes might have - they don't reach far across the Channel, and they certainly don't reach outside the EU. You don't know Jim Moriarty, and believe me, you don't want to. Capricious doesn't even begin to cover it. Sherlock's message-" She nods at the phone between their hands. "That says he's bought us some time to get Tristram and Emily to safety. It may not even be 24 hours. You need to stop trying to second-guess me and get your daughter out. Now, on the next plane."
"We'll travel together then."
Irene returns his stare, apparently weighing the offer. Finally, she acquiesces. "Fine. See if you can get four seats out of Zurich tomorrow. If nothing's available, try Geneva."
"And what will you be doing?"
"I think you'll be happier not knowing. But John... no matter what you may think of me or what may happen, I'd like you to remember my first priority is Tristram's safety. And I'll do the best I can for you and Emily too."
"And yourself, of course," John says sourly.
Irene's lips spread in a smug smile. "Well, that goes without saying."
Chapter note: The movie they watched was Pirates: An Adventure with Scientists, in which Martin Freeman voiced one of the characters.
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Date: 2014-08-14 10:12 am (UTC)I always love the way you voice Tristram's thought processes and this one was wonderful.
I think the phrase now is "the plot thickens"!!
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Date: 2014-08-14 10:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-18 10:35 pm (UTC)I've only just started reading this and it's brilliant. I love how fatherly John is with Tristram as well as Emily and how they're like a proper family. It's interesting to see Irene added to the mix, too. :)
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Date: 2014-08-19 05:09 am (UTC)