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I've thought about this for awhile and decided we needed a story that is told in sections as can happen at camp or sleepovers where 1 person starts then another continues where the 1st left off.  I'll start the story then the next person will continue where I left off and so on and so forth.  There are no specific character roles that a person will play (hence not being in the RPG area).  We cover all of them as we write the story together.  You can contribute a little or a lot. (And with the occasional 2+ people posting at the same time, the story could be very interesting rather quickly. Also there is no need to apologize if that happens.  The story will just be more interesting even if it does seem confusing at times.  We will make it work and have fun doing so. Because having fun is mandatory :D)

 

Starter summary:  

Story: This comes from the If John and Sherlock parented Baby Watson at 221B thread.  The story will start right after Mary leaves and before John moves back into 221B.  Sherlock and John will have cases both from NSY as well as private clients & John will have his medical practice.

 

Cast of Characters= Everyone that has been in an Episode of Sherlock and is alive is fair game (Sorry to anyone who liked CAM, he's dead and gone & so is Jeff the Cabby.  However, Moriarty is an option because he's in limbo [all debate on how he survived/not survived can be found in the Series 4 threads elsewhere on here] & I kind of want him back in some way, shape, or form on the actual show.) as well as Baby Watson (who will be named Sheralyn in this story as I like that middle name from sfmpco's fanfic The Blackbird series) and obviously they will have clients like old times.  So yes Mary can somehow be an option even though she left for some yet to be known reason.

 

So on to the start of the story in the next post. :)

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John arrived back home after taking Sheralyn out for a short stroll through the nearby park.  He had watched their daughter that afternoon so Mary could have a break.  She had done so much with watching the baby while John worked that she earned a little time for rest and relaxation.  He made sure that Mary had those times each week so she could be the best mom and wife possible.  He had seen enough moms on the verge of burnout because they did not receive a break to take care of themselves.  However, he was not expecting to see what he found when he got back.  

 

Sitting on the coffee table was a note that seemed written in a hurry.  It looked like Mary's writing only more frantic than normal.  A look of concerned washed over John's face as he read:

          Sorry to do this to you dear husband.  Something came up.  Can't explain.  Hope you understand.  Don't know if I'll be in touch.  I hate to do this           to you.  Give my love to Sheralyn. ~Mary

 

John was not completely sure what to do.  He tried to contact Sherlock who was not answering his phone again.  He grabbed Sheralyn and a few things for her diaper bag before running out the door.  He was thankful Mary had thought of bottles even though she was nursing.  He made a quick stop at Tesco before continuing on to 221B.  John needed formula as there had been nothing for Sheralyn at their place and it was almost her normal feeding time.

 

A few minutes later John arrived with Sheralyn at Baker St.  He ran up the stairs with the car seat on 1 arm and all the other baby gear on the other.  He barged into the flat to see Sherlock lost in thought on the sofa.  "Sherlock?  Sherlock.  Did you hear the phone at all?  I tried calling you.  I even left a voice message as well as a text."

 

"Sorry, did you say something? I was meditating.  The phone is in the fridge as it was making too much noise and I couldn't concentrate." Sherlock said matter-of-factly.... (next)

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For me the worst long-term scenario at Baker St is that Sherlock is left there on his own forever more...

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"Mary is gone."

Sherlock abruptly turned his head towards John with a frown. "What?"

The floor creaked under John's feet as he crossed it and sat himself and Sheralyn down in the chair that used to be his. "She is gone. Took off. Left a note saying that... well, saying nothing! She's gone, she just left, no explanation, nothing! Just that she had to go." John was panting by the time he finished. He looked at Sherlock expectantly. The detective stared back at him with a piercing gaze.

For a moment the flat was quiet, except for the rustle of clothes from the baby wriggling on her father's lap.

"Has she said anything to -"

"No."

"Maybe not today, but in the last few days?" Sherlock kept pressing. "Or done anything unusual?"

John simply shook his head in disbelief.

"Alright, John, just... think for a moment. There has to be something. What did she take with her?"

The question took John by surprise. He hadn't even stopped to look before he had left his flat. "I don't know."

"Let's go." Sherlock was up on his feet at once, grabbing his coat and scarf. John followed with Sheralyn and the diaper bag in his arms.

"We need to search the flat thoroughly," Sherlock continued gravely. Then they headed down the stairs and out into the street. John closed the front door behind them.

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And there was naive little me that thought we could pool our concerted efforts into bringing up that special little baby girl with blonde hair and Mary's huge blue eyes, who definitely has Uncle Sherlock's heart wrapped round her little finger and overprotective Mrs Hudson, Molly and definitely Mycroft upgrading their surveillance status to keep the baby safe!

The absolute worst that could happen, would be for Moriarty (Jim or James) to manage to abduct the baby because A.G.R.A was actually in his employ all along, even one of the snipers training their lasers on Sherlock in the Great Game, so he could then exact his vengeance on all of them: Mary, for deserting her duties, John for his divided loyalties, and Sherlock in ways I don't want to imagine, because he would surrender himself to the playful villain without a second thought, if it meant the return of the one person his Last Vow was specifically directed at.

What would ensue, might possibly fit into dear Boton's thread of X-rated fiction, and I cannot be the one to infict such pain, humiliation and degradation through loss of control over his body or his mind on my favourite detective! Just imagining Jim calling Sherlock "pet" makes me cringe!

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John closed the front door behind them.

 

Sherlock hailed a cab as John descended to the sidewalk. At that very moment, a girl on a unicycle came barreling out of nowhere. Sherlock, with his usual agility, neatly stepped out of her way. Not so John, who was concentrating on balancing Sheralyn and the diaper bag. Man and unicycle collided with a loud thump, John cried out, and Sheralyn, screaming wildly, went flying through the air...

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To be caught neatly in Uncle Sherlock's arms, who had reacted with his usual agility to perform a flying tackle and still land on two feet, while both father and daughter screamed in fright!

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Unfortunately, Sherlock's momentum carried him directly into the path of the oncoming taxi....

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The cabby slammed on the brakes stopping just inches from Sherlock and Sheralyn.  Sherlock had rolled as he landed to protect Sheralyn from the on coming cab.  The cabby quickly got out of his cab to check on Sherlock. "You OK sir?  I saw you catch the baby and fall. Good catch by the way.  How's the li'l one?"

 

Sherlock did not respond immediately by voice.  He moved slightly checking on Sheralyn visually as well as making sure he wasn't to worse for the ware. "I'll be fine and I think my niece will be as well.  Could I get a help up please?  Don't want to let go of her."  He said as he held her securely.  He was going to make sure that Sheralyn was properly strapped in the car seat next time.  John was obviously not focused enough at the moment for that task.

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John, in fact, was still tangled up with the girl and the unicycle. As Sherlock turned to check on John, the cabbie smiled malevolently behind his back, and appeared to be signalling the girl with a hand gesture. The girl sat up ....

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And drew a Peacemaker Colt revolver from the pocket of her Macintosh, levelling the gun at Sherlock, who was still holding little Sheralyn in both arms.

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Sherlock swung around pushing the cabby in front of him, managing to hold him with his right arm while holding Sheralyn securely with his left. Sherlock could tell by how the cabby was moving that he had a bullet proof vest on that would keep Sherlock & Sheralyn safe from the would be attacker. "Do you really want to do that? Enough people saw the incident that a London ambulance will be here within another couple of minutes or so. Besides if it is Mary that you want, good luck in finding her."
While Sherlock had been talking he had made a subtle gesture with his eyes to John. John blinked back in understanding. He had still been somewhat wrapped up in the potential shooter even though she was sitting. John managed to grab the unicycle and hit her in the head from behind before she could react. The cabby wasn't able to make much of a sound because of how Sherlock had him in a headlock....

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Sheralyn giggled.

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The attacker went down and the gun skidding along the sidewalk stopping on the far side of Speedy's.  John  was able to free himself from the attacker's legs and get to the gun.  He trained it on the cabby and motioned him to sit near the would be assassin.  Sherlock proceeded to call NSY to get some of their least irritating officers over there to take care of the 2 and to tow away the cab.

 

After he hung up, Sherlock realized that is giggling niece now needed her nappy changed....

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At which point, he neatly placed her in her father's hands under the pretext that he really had to see to it that the car seat was properly secured for their next venture in the streets of London.

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Unprepared for this manuever, John fumbled the gun and it fell to the sidewalk. Girl, cabbie and Sherlock all dove for it as it hit the concrete and went off, hitting ...

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...the cabbie in the head and opening a sizeable wound in his forehead, whereupon he fell dead on the pavement, because it is the kind of nasty weapon that does not make for neat little puncture wounds, like a Mauser or a Luger, as its large and unjacketed soft-nosed lead bullet mushrooms on impact, tearing and smashing bone and muscle and tissue as it goes, expending all its energy on the target.

(I chose this particular revolver, because if Mary had used that in HLV there would not have been a live Sherlock in hospital even if she had shot him in the leg.)

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"Oops," said John.

Sherlock scooped up the gun and scratched his head with it. "Brilliant, John, now we can't question him."

"You were the one who suddenly thrust a baby in my arms!"

"You're her father!"

"I'm having a bad day!"

The girl had been frozen in horror, staring at the gory remains of the cabbie. Slowly she became aware of the two men arguing next to her, and realized no one was paying her any attention. Carefully, she rose to her feet and began to creep away. Immediately, a long arm shot out and grabbed her by the collar.

"Going somewhere?" asked Sherlock, raising an eyebrow.

"I - I - look, I had nothing to do with this ..."

Sherlock raised his other eyebrow.

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"Nope." Sherlock said popping his P as usual. "Try again. I'm no fool. Someone put you up to it, now spill it. Whose idea was this whole thing?  A baby was almost killed.  You wouldn't want that on your conscience.  You're a broke uni student needing some money.  You're studying child development and love kids." Sherlock was getting a little louder and more stern as he spoke.

 

"I...I...um...sorry." She barely got that out before breaking down into tears sobbing uncontrollably.  

 

Lestrade arrived with a couple of other squad cars just as the ambulance pulled up. "Took you guys long enough.  Did Mycroft try to start a war again?  The ambulance should have been here 2 minutes ago." Sherlock stated tetchily.  "Oh and the cabby was accidentally shot by the revolver that was supposed to be used against me.  It fell to the ground and went off in the process.  Here it is by the way.  Also glad that wasn't used by my attempted assailant several months ago.  You're going to want to take her in.  She was part of the plot somehow."  Lestrade just stood there in shock seeing what was left of the cabby's head and the mess in front of 221B....

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and  suddenly the soup he'd had for lunch was coming back for another visit, and he threw up. On Sherlock.

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Whereupon Sherlock decided that the whole thing was just a waste of time, retrieved Sheralyn from John's arms, started to go up to the flat, determined to shed coat and suit to be sent off to the dry-cleaners' and to see to it that the poor little dear did not get a nappy rash just because he, John and Lestrade were thrashing out their issues on the pavement.

Mrs Hudson popped her head out of her ground-floor flat, only to be brushed off brusquely with a "Shut up, Mrs Hudson, you are formulating a question again and I have other things to see to that require my immediate attention!"

He marched up the seventeen steps to the flat, laid a plainly squirming Sheralyn on the kitchen table, went to his bedroom to strip down to his black boxer shorts, then came out to pick her up in his arms again, took her to the bathroom, because there he would not need a pair or tongs to dispose of her soiled nappy, threw the offending item in the waste bin, and then went under the shower, with his hands still wrapped protectively around her, in order to get them both cleaned up, when his fine hearing told him, despite the running water and Sheralyn's squeals under the warm spray of water that a set of footsteps could be heard going up the stairs...

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He recognized the foot steps immediately. They were not John's, Mrs. Hudson's, Mycroft's nor any one from the crime scene. He quickly got out of the shower, dried Sheralyn off, and got a new nappy on her before quickly getting changed himself.

"Sorry to not have the tea ready as usual despite the fact that your supposed to be dead." Sherlock said in his usual deductive tone as a person who looked, acted, sounded like Moriarty walked into the flat...

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"You know, your pet is right about you. For a genius you c a n be remarkably thick!" The soft Irish voice was unmistakable, and since Sherlock had always had perfect pitch, it made him terribly uneasy. Unless Jim had an identical twin, this was his erstwhile Nemesis in the flesh!

In order to keep his hands occupied, while he struggled to deal with the implications and repercussions of this otherworldly appearance, he busied himself dressing the baby, while she giggled and squirmed, eluding his nervous fingers.

"If you are who you pretend to be, then I fail to see the purpose of your visit," he replied, not liking the way he could not quite control his voice.

"What an inane remark, Doofus! First, I had hoped that you would thank me for saving your sorry carcass from certain death, and second, I have come to take my daughter back."

"Are you crazy? Sorry, I forgot to whom I was talking! Your daughter, how can she be your daughter?"

"The same way dear Abby was one of my snipers in that little game of ours by the pool, and my bedmate all this time."

"If at first you don't succeed, try, try again," mused Sherlock. So that was the secret Magnussen held over Mary's head.

"What are you talking about?"

"You may congratulate yourself on your choice of marksmen, or rather marksperson in this case, she did manage to shoot me of her own volition, but you are not getting your hands on this baby while I live and breathe! I can't see you bringing a paternity suit in a British court of law, not in this world at least!"

"Try me!" came the answer...

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(Inge, you weren't kidding about what you wrote in the other thread.  Great plot twist.)

 

Sherlock was dumbfounded briefly.  He studied Sheralyn for a few moments eyeing every part of her.  The closest thing she had to looking like John was her hair but that could have been based on Mary's hair easily enough.  He looked closer at Sheralyn's face and realized that the eyes were definitely not John's nor Mary's.  Her eyes had changed from the blue that most are born with over to a dark brown just like Jim's...

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While Sherlock took the baby's head in his hands and looked intently into those soft brown eyes flecked with gold and green tints, so much like Jim's...Moriarty's, he corrected himself, John was coming up to the flat, and if Sherlock was right the second pair of footsteps belonged to Mrs Hudson.

"Sherlock, Lestrade has taken that girl into custody...", John's voice trailed off at sight of the dapper figure across the kitchen table from Sherlock.

"What is that madman doing here? H o w can he be here, in the first place?" his voice rose in flabbergasted indignation.

"Dear Dr, it is a pleasure to see you, too" came the quick retort. "As I was explaining to your friend, whose power of reasoning, as well as that of deduction, seems to have deserted him, I have come to take my daughter back. Dear Abby has vanished off the face of the Earth, and if you think for a moment that I am prepared to leave the tiny tot in the hands of a damaged and delusional genius and yourself, you are sadly mistaken. I had hoped to pull this off with my little abduction setup in the street, but it backfired, no pun intended."

John turned to Sherlock in astonishment, and the detective sighed: "Jim claims that Mary... Abby, he calls her, was his lover all this time, since he tried to blow you up, John."

John whirled to face Moriarty: "How is that possible? We worked together for almost two years, we slept together ..."

"Really, Sherlock, your pet isn't improving with age! Every single time Abby said she was visiting her friend Cath, she came to my secret abode, right here in London. If you have five bolt holes, I can afford so many more, you know."

At this point, Sherlock picked up the baby, fumbled with the back of her coverall and flung her at Mrs Hudson, who reflexively caught the gleefully squealing little girl in her arms.

"This may not be an impressive firearm, dear Jim, but if I press the trigger of my Derriger now, your brains will be splattered all over Mrs Hudson's cupboards, and we wouldn't want that, would we?" said Sherlock almost conversationally, taking careful aim...

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