Sherlock & the Baby: What's the Worst that Could Happen @ Baker St.

[SherlockedCAMPer]

Several minutes later a tired Sherlock was carrying a sleeping Sheralyn secured in her car seat out to a waiting police car.  Lestrade had offered to give Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, and Sheralyn a ride home.  Mycroft already had called stating that the government would give John a ride back to Baker Street once he was done dealing with Moriarty's medical care.  Sherlock secured Sheralyn's seat into the car before getting into the front passenger seat.

 

A few minutes later they were arriving back at Baker Street, "John, are you back yet?"  In all the rush earlier, the knocker on the door had been moved so much that it was nearly impossible to tell if John was home or not.  Sherlock knew that John would not change the angle of the knocker as Mycroft would and he knew that Mycroft would be at the hospital overnight for observation.  

 

"OK, so John's not back yet and I need to set up the portable crib as we didn't have time to do that earlier.  Sheralyn, I see that you've woken up again. Doesn't surprise me as my voice can carry at times.  Sorry if I was a bit loud.  Now did your parents keep the directions for your crib with the crib and is it easier than putting together something from IKEA?"  Sherlock had briefly turned towards where he had placed Sheralyn's car seat before heading over to set up the crib.  He figured that he might as well keep the crib in the living room while he waited for John to get back as it would be easier to deal with Sheralyn without having to navigate stairs.  "Of course John did not keep the directions with the crib." Sherlock mumbled.  He probably didn't even think to grab them from the file drawer of instructions Sherlock knew John had.  It took Sherlock about 10 minutes to get the crib set up.  He realized he was exhausted when he kept putting the floor of the crib down before the sides were locked into place.  He unbuckled a squirmy Sheralyn from her car seat and sat with her on the sofa checking her diaper and giving her the medicine Donovan had told him about.

 

An hour later John walks upstairs to see Sherlock lying on the sofa with Sheralyn cradled in his arms....

[Inge l-w]

(What multiple countries? There are just the three of us keeping this going! It's a Norwegian-German-British collaboration :sherlock2:)!

Sherlock did not need an established IQ nearing 200 to realise that putting together the baby's crib was not exactly rocket science! He assembled it accurately and securely, but when he tried to settle the baby down into it and cover her with the Solar System quilt DS Donovan had gifted Mary with during the baby shower (now THAT was a mean dig, and he fully intended to get back at her at the first possible opportunity over a case), he was still in a forgiving mood, seeing how diligently and practically she had handled the whole operation, even getting that dimwit DI Dimmock to co-operate in saving Mycroft and Anthea and securing the Moriarty personality.

But after having changed and bathed Sheralyn for the umpteenth time that day, he went into the shower himself, feeling grubby after all the hustle and bustle following John's and Sheralyn's arrival at the doorstep of 221B, and as he relaxed under the hot water, he felt so tired that he couldn't even be bothered to dry his hair properly.

He warmed Sheralyn's formula as per instructions, fed her, held her in the medically approved way to burp, placing a tea-towel over his dressing gown, then, as she seemed to cling to the lapels of said camel-hair gown, he lay down on the sofa, with his precious charge laid along his chest, feeling drowsy and in need of some serious nap-time!

Which is exactly the position Dr Watson found them in, trudging up the seventeen steps to the flat, bone weary and drop-dead tired, but with a bit of news that couldn't wait:

"You two seem to have hit it off well together, but, you know what, genius, Moriarty's lab tests conclusively proved that Sheralyn does NOT have two fathers, just one, and, much as it pains me to say this, she's his daughter! Your DNA kit for Beginners is only a load of you-know-what!"

Had Sherlock not been so tired, he would have jumped up in indignation, completely oblivious of the sleeping baby on his chest, but, fortunately for Sheralyn, she was spared an unceremonious drop to the floor as he opened those wonderful cerulean eyes in consternation and gasped: "But that is impossible!"

"Shall we try 'improbable'? came Dr Watson's acerbic retort, as he began shedding clothes, on his way to the bathroom. Then he did a double-take: "Why does your hair look like you have been electrocuted?"

"Oh really, John, today we have been through Hell and back, and all you care about is my curly hair? For shame!"

[SherlockedCAMPer]

(It's more like a Norwegian-German-US collaboration but who's counting Now to come up with more of the story.)

[joanneta1]

British contingent ready, able and willing, ma'am! (the last is how one speaks to the Queen, unless otherwise directed)

Dr Watson stopped on his way to the bathroom, fists flexing and unflexing "Sherlock, at this moment I wouldn't give a horse's piss on how your unruly locks look. The fact remains that the beautiful little creature I thought was mine, was actually sired by Moriarty, whose DNA samples show he is very much alive, and the same psychopath who tried to blow me up and who drove you to that swan dive off the roof of Bart's"

"Could you lower your voice, Ms Marie Elizabeth Sheralyn Watson is currently sleeping, and I DO appreciate the peace and quiet! So what, think of her as a child you adopted! We shall raise her jointly and finally be able to lay that Behaviourism theory to rest! The daughter of a psychopath and a trained assassin will be raised with all the love, care and affection we are both capable of, and then we shall see if nurture shall have won over nature! Maybe she will become a great detective or a splendid doctor!"

"Sherlock, are you willing to let the little cuckoo rule our hearts and minds for the foreseeable future?" whispered an indignant Dr Watson.

"No, John, I intend to succeed. Now, go and have your bath while the geyser is still full of hot water," replied Sherlock in a deadly serious mien, and settled the snoozing baby more comfortably on his chest, as Dr Watson heaved a deep sigh and made his way to a long, relaxing soak. After the day's events, he felt he had earned it!

 

 

 

 

 

[SherlockedCAMPer]

Sherlock dozed off again with Sheralyn on his chest.  He woke with a start 2 hours later noticing that the flat was quiet.  He carefully laid Sheralyn in her crib and checked on John.  John had been just stirred up enough to stay awake during a bath, but at the same time he was also noticeably exhausted from the day's events.  Sherlock wanted to make sure that his best friend had not overly relaxed while soaking.  It was the last thing that Sheralyn needed at the moment.  He also realized that he need to use the loo.

 

Sherlock knocked on the bathroom door, "John, just checking to see if you're still in here.  I fell asleep again and didn't hear you go by or anything.  John?"  Sherlock was not getting a response.  He carefully opened the door trying to be respectful of his friend for once.  He was surprised to see John floating on his back with his pants on just barely fitting in the length of the tub sound asleep.  Sherlock was startled for a brief fraction of a second before carefully trying to wake up John when...

[Inge l-w]

A sharp, imperative knock on the flat door coincided with a wail from the crib!

Being a genius at deductions did not make Sherlock more organised than the average human male in dealing with everyday little crises: John asleep in the bathtub, skin probably thoroughly wrinkled in the water which had grown cold in the meantime, an uncomfortable, fidgeting six-month old in her crib and someone wanting his attention. Talk about his hair looking all frizzy a few hours ago, now he pulled at it and murmured: "Prioritise, prioritise! " Somewhere in the back of his head he could hear an echo of Dr Watson's frequent scolding: "And remember to breathe!"

Tying up the ends of his robe's sash, he went to the door, to be met with a smiling Sergeant Donovan!

"Good morning, f..." That's as far as she got before he placed a hand over her mouth : "Sally, so God help me, if you say that word today, I shall forget myself and my upbringing and punch you in the mouth! I am faced with two rather important crises right now and I need your help" He took a deep breath, looked her straight in the eye and used the 'p' word.

Immediately, the young woman's demeanour changed to a stance of pure business-like no nonsense. : "What do you need?"

It was said in all innocence, since they had never been close, but the flashback to Molly's heart-rendingly matter-of -fact question at one of his darkest moments came unbidden.

"Hey, Holmes, you have never fainted on me yet, and I shan't allow it to happen on my watch, particularly since you have become such an important witness! How can I help?" she asked, grabbing both his hands to steady him, and he allowed her to guide him to one of the kitchen chairs. She sat down opposite him, still keeping hold of his hands.

"All right, now let's start putting things in order, shall we?" she smiled, and for the first time it was genuine concern for him that he could read in her demeanour.

"Well, first we need to get John out of the tub, probably manhandle him to his old room, make sure he's kept dry and warm. He fell asleep while having a bath about three hours ago. Then, I shall need to look after the baby, and then you can give me all the news." he managed to articulate, while his mind was doing all sorts of unexpected deductions about her.

"Since you asked so nicely, let's get started," she replied briskly, "and stop analysing me right now, or ..."

"Or you will call me a freak again! You know what, Sally, it stopped hurting when I was about twelve, right after preparatory school. Hurt a boy long enough, and from a point on the taunt loses its sting. Why do you think I taunted you right back over Anderson or whoever had caught your fancy? Right, let's heave John out of that tub!"

Dr Watson had been so tired that even when both Sherlock and Sally heaved him out of the cold water, got rid of his sopping underwear, wrapped him in a large bath towel and tamped him dry, he only muttered incoherent words.

Sherlock found one of John's old bathrobes folded in the dry linen cabinet, they put it on the still mostly-sleeping Dr Watson, and then Sally helped Sherlock lift the inert form in a proper fireman's lift for the trudge upstairs.

"Why does he not react, Holmes, did you drug his tea last night? Like when you made him miss a whole Wednesday once?" Sally asked, unable to understand why Sherlock went suddenly from pale to boiled-lobster red. "Trust me, Sally, that is not a story for a lady's ears", he hissed.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm no lady, Holmes! Oh, what the Hell, let's get on with this!"

For a man of his slight build, Sherlock had developed enough muscle power through his assiduous swimming practice that he managed to get the still-drowsy Dr Watson up to his old bedroom, plop him down on the quilt, roll him over to get the quilt and the bedspread free, tuck him in and finally unbend. "What, you're not going to kiss him goodnight?" Sally couldn't help herself say.

"In case you have noticed, DS Donovan, it's morning, and whatever Mrs Hudson has been saying all these years, he just isn't' my type, to put it in words you can relate to!"

Sally had to admit that when he drew himself up to his full height, designer coat or no, he cut an imposing figure. She swallowed her retort, and together they went to look after the poor baby, whose wail had reached critical point: Sheralyn was almost cyanotic with crying.

"Here, let me help," Sally said, most likely trying to make up for her faux pas. She picked Sheralyn up from the cot, and held her in a professionally accepted manner. The moment the baby girl lay safely in Sally's hands, she stopped crying and hiccoughed from the effort of drawing a normal breath. "Holmes, are you sure you're not the father? She already has your tendency of going into hypotoxaimia from lack of breathing!"

"Sally, I may have done drugs in my life, but I would surely remember sleeping with "Mary", so could you make the tea... (And here was the 'p' word again), while I change her nappy and prepare her formula?"

"No problem, Holmes, I can do both the tea and the formula, God knows we had to do it at NSY! But you have hardly any clean mugs left!"

"Then use the empty jam jars, and mine is black..."

"... with two sugars, yes, DI Lestrade made me prepare enough tea for you that it would stick, eventually!"

Once he had changed, washed, dried off and used enough talcum powder on Sheralyn to create a small cloud in the still misty bathroom, he opened the bathroom window just a crack to let the humidity out, and holding Sheralyn to his chest, he went to sit at the kitchen table, where the baby's formula was at the right temperature, so he began feeding her.

That earned him another of Sally's acerbic remarks: " You know, Holmes, you would make a great father! You let your tea grow cold, and I know that you prefer it piping hot, to look after Moriarty's daughter. "

" You are wrong, there, Sally, and I don't think you two have been properly introduced: Ms Marie Elizabeth Sheralyn Watson, please make the acquaintance of DS Sarah Jane Donovan,'" he said, and held out the baby's chubby left hand for Sally to grasp. Possession is nine-tents of the law, after all, and then continued:

"And now that two out of the three matters have been dealt with, tell me the news, you're obviously bursting with it!"

"In a nutshell, everything is going according to plan..."

"Then why does Graham want me down at Scotland Yard?"

"For the umpteenth time, Holmes, it's 'Gregory'', Greg for short, and the news concerns your parents!"

[SherlockedCAMPer]

"And what about my parents?  I assume they got to their safe location without too many issues.  My mother called at the most inopportune time and almost blew the operation at their house.  She likes to do that sometimes, you know, not listen to directions and such.  People think I'm bad."  Sherlock replied somewhat coolly while showing a hint of concern.  As much as he'd never admit it publicly, he did love his parents very much, and with his mother having the knowledge to start WWIII, he wanted to make sure they were indeed safe.

 

"Yes they arrived safely.  They were delayed because of a traffic accident not involving them.  Your mother wants to know that you 2 are safe and an overall update.  Your father called us at NSY per, as I understand it, the pre-arranged details.  All Lestrade told your father is that you and Mycroft were safe and we'd make sure that 1 of you would call them as soon as possible.  Apparently Mycroft won't be able to make any calls until much later today at the earliest."  Sally replied with an impressed look on her face noticing how Sherlock was holding then burping Sheralyn like a true dad.  "Well if you ever change your mind about what it takes to become a parent, I think you'll be a decent one just from what I've seen the last several minutes.  I've got nothing else at this point and will let you get back to sleep."

 

"Thank you Sally.  I mean it.  You helped out well last night.  Before you go, let's check on John just in case.  I think he'll be fine, but..."

[jadpdr]

This is hilariously funny! Can I play, too! I am not a member of Ao3 but I hereby give permission to use any of my contributions you feel worthy of inclusion!

Both DS Donovan and Sherlock made their way up to Dr Watson's old bedroom, where Sally carefully situated the still sleeping man's sideways: "You know, Holmes, it doesn't do to have gone to all this trouble and then have the good doctor choke on his own vomit!" she remarked, straightening up, and the sight that greeted her was even more alarming: Sherlock had gone deathly pale again! How could she know that these were the exact words Irene, his unique Irene, had said to Dr Watson after she had drugged him in her bedroom!

"You know, Holmes, you cannot deal with everything as if it were a mental exercise! You suffer from a long, nasty load of shit, so why not consult a specialist?"

He managed to pull himself together long enough to answer: "Sally, sometimes you're a life saver! No, I cannot consult a psychotherapist, I have driven enough of them into early retirement ever since Mummy took me to the first one during my first year at secondary school! Now, why don't we dragoon Mrs Hudson into keeping an eye on Sheralyn and drive to the Yard to deal with the mind-numbingly boring paperwork?"

Rather than enquire into his peculiar mood swings, Sally heeded the age-old advice about the better part of valour, squared her shoulders and agreed: "Right, we shall go to the Yard as soon as we have washed and dried everything piled up in your kitchen sink."

He groaned loudly, but she swatted his arm : "It's no good trying to elude me, Holmes, we shall do this together, and that's final! Right, do you prefer to wash or dry?"

"Wash, I think, if I get into deducing mode while drying we end up with broken crockery, and John has never liked that," he sighed dramatically. "But then it's straight on to the Yard, promise?"

It was Sally's turn to sigh: whose fault, except Mycroft's could it be that a grown man could regress to a four-year old petulant child without any warning?

[SherlockedCAMPer]

The more the merrier jadpdr. I look forward to reading your contribution in a few minutes.

[jadpdr]

However, when Sherlock went downstairs to Mrs Hudson's flat, he discovered that the night's excitement had been too much for the old lady, who was sound asleep after taking one of her 'herbal soothers' , so he climbed back up to ask DS Donovan to retrieve the baby's harness.

She gaped at him : "Surely, you are NOT going to appear in the Yard with the baby strapped to you? There weren't just me and Anderson you used to piss off regularly, Holmes! "

"I don't see as I have much option, Sally. John is out for the count, Mrs Hudson is resting, Mycroft is still recovering from the tear gas he inhaled, so is Anthea, my parents are in a safe house in Edinburgh and I wouldn't trust John's sister to guard her, especially in these altered circumstances!"

In the end, she relented, dug out the baby harness and helped him strap it on securely before picking up Sheralyn and placing her in it.

"Well, thank God for small favors," he huffed, it is July and this contraption will not even crease my jacket, I'm not sure if I could have managed with a coat on."

After locking the flat, he helped Sally into a taxi and they were whisked to DI Dimmock's office in pretty short order, where Sally took the baby off him so that he could give his statement and sign it, standard procedure, excruciatingly boring but unavoidable. Up to this point, things were going well, and when the purely bureaucratic side of things had been dispensed with, Lestrade made his appearance, an added bonus. The two recapitulated the whole previous evening, while the baby lay quietly in Sherlock's lap, as Sally had needed to attend to some mundane piece of police work.

And then his phone pinged. After some maneuvering ( tailored trouser pockets did not make for good receptacles when one had a baby on their lap, he made a mental note to himself) he managed to get it out and looked at the message: of all the times in the world, Seb had once again chosen the most inopportune moment to bother him!

"What is the matter now?" asked Lestrade, his brow furrowing.

"Lady Sanderson has need of my services, apparently, and Seb is playing lapdog to the banker, as usual!"

"Sherlock, if it is a police matter, don't keep us in the dark!" cried a frustrated DI .

"For the moment, I shall need to leave the baby in your collective good hands. Lestrade, thank you for your kind offer", smiled Sherlock, straightened up from his usual semi-recumbent position in the DI's chair, buttoned up his jacket and went out the door.

"By the time we locate her mother, Sheralyn will have turned the Yard into her regular kindergarten" sighed the much-put-upon Detective Inspector.

[SherlockedCAMPer]

(Just a question of curiosity, when/why did Sheralyn's first name get changed from Sheralyn to Marie in this story?  I realize in the fandom some form of Marie Elizabeth Sheralyn Watson exists in fanfic.)

 

Sherlock left with a flourish and was out the door before Lestrade could say anything else.  He flagged a cab and was on his way to Shad Sanderson.

 

 While en route, he sent a text message to John letting him know where is daughter was at, what he was doing, and to check on Mrs. Hudson later.  He arrived at Shad Sanderson relatively quickly for the time of day.  "Hello Seb,  how may I help Lady Sanderson?  By the way, your watch is still wrong.  It is now 3 days behind instead of the 2 days behind it was approximately 4 years ago when John and I last helped you.  And you do have a ketchup stain on your tie this time, only it's from Korea not Manhattan."

 

Sherlock couldn't exactly help being a little snarky as he was still waking up for the day after the excitement from the afternoon and evening before.  "Lady Sanderson wants your expert opinion on what she refers to as a delicate situation.  She does not want it all over the press hence not going directly to the police about it.  She wasn't even sure if it was a case for them to begin with.  Here is her contact information.  She would like to see you right away at the location listed on the bottom.  She had you come here so things could be handled in a more secure fashion rather than providing the details by phone, text, or email as you probably have already figured out.  There should be a car outside ready to pick you up in a few minutes.  The chauffeur will refer to her as Mrs. Jones when he addresses you.  I realize you don't need this as incentive, but she insisted that I hand you this check and to let you know that there will be another one when the situation is resolved."  Seb replied mostly dismissing Sherlock's attitude.  He got up from his chair and as he escorted Sherlock out of his office back to the front door continued, "I thank you for the help as she is beginning to get a bit annoying.  She misses her late husband dearly and really needs a companion who can handle her."

 

"I'll do what I can." Sherlock said not completely believing Seb's last statements.  He walked out of the bank and saw a black sedan pull up to the kerb.  He slowly headed towards it waiting for the driver to exit the vehicle confirming that it was indeed his ride to Lady Sanderson's location.  

 

"Mr. Holmes, Mrs. Jones awaits the honor of your presence for morning tea."  Sherlock picked up his pace a little bit and climbed in the back seat of the sedan.  The car was empty except for the driver.

 

While he was en route to the location, he ran the last few hours through his head trying to sort it all out.  He was still confused about the DNA test as his testing equipment was not some childhood test kit for beginners.  It was the latest technology that St. Bart's and most other good hospitals were using.  He continued to sort through all of the material and place it in the proper areas of his mind palace when...

[Inge l-w]

(Don't get me wrong, but I think sfmpco baptised her so, there's even her explanation on the other thread about the Baby at 221B. )

The chauffeured car stopped before one of those solid, reclusive, solidly built Victorian pavilions in Esher. Completely undistinguished Late Victorian mass produced, but with its elegant portico and its impressive entrance, still a reminder of things past.

A neat, properly attired maid opened the door, mutely signed for him to follow, so Sherlock instinctively went into upper-middle-class mode, straightened his jacket, thanked whatever Providence was protecting him right now that he had chosen to wear one of his white shirts that morning and followed her.

He was shown into what would have been called a lady's morning room in the time of his great-grandfather. A lady around forty, still stunningly beautiful, matured like excellent port, refined, perfectly made up and coiffed, not a hair out of place sat at her boudoir. Old school values die hard, once they have been ingrained into one: he bowed from the waist, and as she extended her hand, he let his lips leave a feathery touch on her hand: "Mrs Jones, I understand you require my services."

"Mr Holmes, thank you very much for coming so promptly, the matter is of such delicate nature that I need your very specialised services, not to mention your complete discretion! Mr Wilkes assured me that although you tend to run off in the mouth about your observations, you are discreet when the matter merits it."

"Well, that comes from the fact that while we were at Oxford together, I would announce to all and sundry who had been... He stopped, not wanting to use the word 'shagging' in her presence...having sex together the previous night except Sebastian. You see, he has never called me a freak, so I was strangely touched by his diplomacy and tact. Even when I investigated the incident at the bank, he treated me well enough, apart from one moment when his guard slipped and he looked questioningly at me, as if to say :you have got a ... friend? But you did not call me here to talk about MY little foibles, could you please, tell me how I may assist you?"

"Mr Holmes, as you may know, I am quite a bit younger than Sir William Shad, my husband and co-founder of Shad Sanderson Commercial Bank. Lately, he has been bedridden due to heart trouble, but with your reputation for solving complicated cases, I consulted him and then decided on calling for you."

"You have nothing to fear in terms of any indiscretion, your ladyship, pardon, Mrs Jones. Tell me what happened."

Lady Shad needed a moment to collect her thoughts: here was a famous private investigator who also looked like an accomplished thief. A worldly, refined gentleman, whose stance and behaviour reminded her of a trained agent. She took a deep breath, collected her thoughts and began: "Last Sunday evening I had arranged a little bridge party, which was moderately entertaining. I went to sleep rather early, you have to understand that since Sir William has been having his cardiac crises, we sleep in separate bedrooms... and found herself blushing under his gaze. In point of fact, he had already deduced two quick and rather messy affairs on the lady's part, but, contrary to his usual unfiltered comments, this time he kept his thoughts for himself... I was awoken at about ten past four by a noise which seemed to be that of a closing door, specifically the door of this room, which lies adjacent to my bedroom, and which leads, as you have surely noticed, to the corridor. After a moment, I got up. I do not frighten easily, Mr Holmes, I turned on the light in here, there was nobody here, but that little glass-fronted showcase had fallen, with all its contents, objets d'art, statuettes and other Knick-Knacks, some of which were broken. I went to look for my husband, who, due to serious problems in breathing, was still awake, propped up on four pillows, reading some reports from the bank. He had heard nothing! He became upset and called the butler, who immediately started a search of the grounds, to no avail. "

"Please, excuse me, Mrs Jones, but I have a message to send," he interrupted her, firing off a text to Sally about Sheralyn's state of being. When she texted back that she had personally overseen the baby's feeding and burping times, he texted back: You are rapidly becoming my favourite person in the Yard! to which she replied:One of these days, I may make you hold true to your word!

As soon as he was assured of the baby's continued well-being, he turned once more to face the formidably beautiful Lady Shad.

"As you were saying..."

"Yes, the only things the search unearthed were half a burnt candle and a rude tool like a chisel, with a very dirty wooden handle. We knew that that afternoon, a plumber had repaired the tap of my husband's washbasin, and when the proprietor was conducted, he recognised the tool as belonging to Jeremiah Snooks, one of his best workers, who seems to have headed for the Greek Islands barely two hours after completing the work, and who has not been heard of since."

"And, in your mind, Mrs Jones, there has been an audacious burglary without effect!"

"Certainly without effect, Mr Holmes, since nothing seems to have been taken."

"Puerile but intriguing, all the same. Oh, how I wish John were here: this is a peculiar level five that could upgrade to a nine in a second" was Sherlock's first thought.

"Your ladyship is not giving me the full facts! What lies behind that panel?"

"Nothing, I assure you, Mr Holmes!" she protested vehemently.

"Dear lady, as much as I like you personally, for having the guts to marry a man so much older than you purely for financial security, and then having the courage to deceive him with at least two lovers, I would advise you not to lie to the only ally you have on this world, because if I abandon the case, the police will come trudging in, muddying the place up and holding you responsible for not reporting the incident as soon as it happened. The most cursory of inspections has allowed me to see that the edges of that rectangular panel are a bit worn, separated by the rest of the woodwork by a very slight crack, which leads to the inevitable conclusion that there is a small safe hidden beneath it.

He could see her shiver, but with a determined mien, she got up, made the panel move and uncovered a small wall safe, not unlike Irene's in what seemed half a lifetime and a simulated suicide away.

[jadpdr]

With an assured touch, Lady Shanderson input the standard six-digit code and opened the safe. Immediately, she took out its single enclosure, a long leather jewelry box with the initials of a famous jeweler's meme embossed on the green leather, opened it with nervous fingers and took out a beautiful three-rang pearl necklace. Mutely, she handed it to him.

Sherlock took it in his hands, ran his fingers over the lustrous pearls, briefly weighted it in his hands, checked the almost perfect uniformity of the orbs and raised his eyes to meet hers:" Now I see why you need my services, Mrs Jones. When did you first discover the substitution?"

"Mr Holmes you are even better than Sebastian made me believe! How did you deduce it so quickly?"

"Those thieves of yours were so adroit so audacious, and yet nothing seemed to have been taken. Here's A necklace, but can you be sure it is yours?"

"No, Mr Holmes, I can't because it should have a tiny date inscribed inside the clasp, and the date is inaccurate!"

"Prefect, just perfect, Mrs Jones, now you understand the burglar did not simply take the original, he substituted it with a copy."

[SherlockedCAMPer]

"Oh and you may want to check on your husband.  I do believe his heart condition has taken a turn for the worse.  I will look into this matter of the necklace for you and get back to you as soon as possible."  Sherlock said his speaking pace speeding up a little as he went.  "I will let myself out."

Before Lady Sanderson could react, Sherlock was almost to the front door.  He sent a text to his brother knowing that he should be just about done with being observed for the tear gas effects from the night before. He needed a certain bit of help that only his brother could provide.  Besides his brother owed him a little for the daring rescue from the night before.

 

Sherlock was back in the black car and quickly being ushered to the proprietor's shop.  He had a few questions to ask and had a feeling that there were people more than just Jeremiah Snooks involved in the thievery.  He quickly shot off a message to John: "Come at once to the plumber's shop on Wandsworth Rd.  Bring Mrs. Hudson.  Make sure she is wearing some nice looking jewelry. -SH"

[SherlockedCAMPer]

Sherlock received a call from Mycroft letting him know that Jeremiah Snooks had been found in the Greek Islands and was awaiting a return flight to England.  He also gave Sherlock some very disturbing news.  "What?! What do you mean that technically isn't Moriarty.  He has a twin?"  The cabbie almost lost control of the car when Sherlock yelled as he was not expecting the sudden noise.  Calming down some,  "We need to meet.  Give me 2 hours. Text me the location.  I'll take a cab."

 

Sherlock was half in shock.  He could always tell twins apart.  He could even tell if they were identical or fraternal without asking.  If Moriarty indeed had a twin, the twin did a good job of sounding and acting like Jim.

 

 

(Sorry this just popped into my head and I had to write it as a plot twist because we don't have enough of those in here.)

[Inge l-w]

(Never explain, never apologise! We're here to have fun! Consider this a belated gift for johnspec's birthday)

While on his way to meet up with Mycroft to gather some vitally important social gossip and later on to meet with John, Sherlock received a truly teryfying text from Sally :'Come at once, baby in critical condition'

He quickly asked the chauffeur to drop him off at NSY and fired off texts to both Mycroft that he would be late, and to John that a visit to the plumber would be redundant under the circumstances.

When he arrived at his destination, he thanked the man and told him to pick him up in six hours, with his mistress's approval, from Baker Str. , then he rushed as fast as his long legs could carry him past the security check and up to Sally's cubicle. She had placed the baby in her own large, overstuffed chair, and was kneeling beside it. "What is the matter?" No point in conversational niceties with DS Donovan.

She turned at the sound of his voice, sighed in relief and plunged right into her story: " It may have started with her ear infection from when the alleged firearms expert, your Dr Watson, let the Peacemaker Colt slip through his grasp and detonate right next to her, it may have been that she was exposed to too much residue of the tear gas both you and your John brought into the flat, it may have been her crying herself cyanotic, but now she is suffering from what seems to be a full-blown asthma attack and she has got a fever! I have already called the duty doctor, but he's a GP, like your John, we need a specialist! "

He bent over the wheezing, distressed baby, her big green-tinted brown eyes wide in suffering, and he pulled out his mobile again "Right, I'm calling Sir John Willks!" "The Queen's consulting paediatrician? He must be a hundred, if he's a day!" "He has been the family's paediatrician, he looked after both me and Mycroft, even in his dotage, I trust him" he shushed her and made the phone call.

The doctor was perfectly willing to have the baby admitted to Great Ormond Hospital, where he would call in a few favours and pull a few strings. Sherlock ended the call with a "Thank you, sir", which left Sally open-mouthed!

"I do wish you would not revert to goldfish mode when something taxes your comprehension. And by the way, he is the one who recommended the same baby formula for all of us, Cow&Gate, it even got official approval to bear the logo The Milk for Royal Babies, and now look at us all! Misfits every single one-off us, but healthy and strong! And I reiterate, John is not MY Dr Watson!"

Once the ambulance with the proper equipment arrived, Sherlock simply said he was the baby's uncle and got into the ambulance, holding onto her chubby little hand, and once again found himself praying to any higher being available not to let his goddaughter suffer any permanent harm. He considered texting John, but was unsure of the condition of his friend, and did not want to worry him until he had more conclusive evidence one way or another.

The baby was rushed through Emergency, and there was Sir John waiting, leaning on a cane and not looking a day over eighty! Sally could be such a tease, he smiled to himself. "Sherlock, good to see you after so many years. How's Mycroft?" "As well as one can be after a tear gas attack, sir, but raring to go as usual. Please, take care of her, she is the last remnant of a vow that has been torn to shreds." The Sherlock charm mode was working overtime, but the old man was not fooled: "Don't try that trick on me, Sherlock, it did not work the first time, when I had to prescribe your first enema after that dreadful constipation from formula milk, why should it work now?"

Sherlock actually blushed, which delighted the old doctor, who nodded and followed the little baby with the tiny oxygen mask on her face.

The problem was that he could not wait to find out what was actually wrong with Sheralyn, so he asked the ward nurse and the receptionist to keep him or the baby's father, Dr Watson, informed of any new developments, and headed for the exit, texting Mycroft that he was on his way.

A short time later found him at Mycroft's town residence, somewhere on Hampstead Hearh, and he was pleased to see that his brother seemed fully recovered from the travails of the previous night. Contrary to his customary three-piece suits, Mycroft was lounging in his favourite Roccoco gilded tapisserie overstuffed chair, in a wine-red smoking jacket and tailored trousers.

"You look entirely too well for a man who has been through what you went through yesterday!"

"Thank you for your concern, brother mine, but I'm not sure I could have made it alive out of that trap without your entirely over -enthusiastic help! Now, what do you need to know?

"I need all the gossip and all available information concerning Lady Shad and her pearl necklace from Asprey's."

"So, you're on another case, then!"

"Yes, and one which necessitates such careful handling that I may be forced to turn jewel thief"

Mycroft held up his hand :"Sherlock, you are and have always been essentially a law-breaker, the fact that to overcome this propensity makes you work for the forces of law and order is beside the point. I shall give you all I know about the Sanderson ménage. Pathetic, really, if you look close enough!"

"Yes, well, that would have been lovely, since it's a complicated case, if Sheralyn wasn't lying critically ill at St Ormond's, so be as quick and as precise as your weakened state allows... and there was the 'p'' word again!

Mycroft cocked an intrigued eyebrow at his baby brother, and began...

[jadpdr]

"The faerie princess, was her nickname in the society dances, dinners, even high-end clubs. You have seen her now she is forty at least, but a twenty she was an ethereal being, all charm and poise, with that beautiful contralto voice laughing in your ear as you danced with her, always keeping you at arms length and still looking as if she were ready to melt into your arms in the next South American variant. She was seemingly above it all, and there were rumors of changing lovers every month, but never hard evidence, I remember scanning her while we were doing a particularly successful tango, and my deductions were that she had come straight from her lover's bed , yet not a hair out of place and her make-up beautifully applied..."

"Mycroft, you LIKED her, I am astounded!"

"I still like her, and save your petty digs at my behaviour. ... Then, at twenty-six she ups and marries Sir William Shanderson. I believe the American term is "gold-digger" , but he was as utterly besotted with her as any of the rest of us, so why should she not choose financial security as well as a reputable name. Lately, as her husband's heart condition deteriorated, she was tempted into two affairs..."

"Yes, yes, I know all about that, I told her so to her face!" came the impatient retort.

"And she didn't slap you hard enough to make your teeth rattle? Obviously not! The lady has learned patience, then."

"Mycroft, John is awaiting my instructions, Sheralyn is in the Emergency ward at Great Ormond Hospital, the lady needs an answer to the very delicate answer as to how her precious pearl necklace could have been substituted without visible evidence of a burglary, and I have very little patience at the moment!"

"When did you ever? You were a sunbeam as a toddler, impossible to catch, you became a sprite as you grew older, and even now you rush into danger like there's no tomorrow! My advice to you would be to check up on Sir William's connection to the plumber. And now let me rest a bit longer."

"Thank you, Mycroft" , came a soft whisper as the elder Holmes closed his eyes, followed by a featherlight touch on his cheek that felt like a kiss. One must be thankful for small mercies, he thought as he drifted off into a nap.

[Inge l-w]

While on the way back to Baker Str. Sherlock texted John to await his arrival, then settled back and reconsidered the evidence: he never assumed, he deduced! Once he reached a particularly enlightening conclusion, he texted Sebastian to send him the name of Sir William's solicitors and then rode the rest of the way home deep in thought.

The first words out of Dr Watson's mouth were, predictably, "Where's Sheralyn?", jumping up from his place at the computer desk.

Sherlock removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and put the kettle on. Out of all their tea varieties, he chose a particularly strong Assam and only then did he turn to face the doctor:

"John, Sheralyn is at Great Ormond Children's Hospital with an ear infection, a probable asthma attack, and under the good care of my personal paediatrician, and when we are given the all-clear, I expect we shall be able to visit her."

The long-suffering Dr Watson had had entirely too much to bear since he first noticed his wife was missing! Without reason or rhyme, he lunged for Sherlock, but this time, the detective was not having any of it. He blocked Dr Watson's punch, used his hold to twist that wrist behind John's back, then chose a bear hug to keep him immobile: "John, as much as I care for you and my goddaughter, as much as I want the whole Moriarty thing cleared up, as much as I want Mary found safe, so that you continue your boring suburbial life, I shan't put up with more physical attacks from you, drunk or sober! Are we clear?"

He could practically sense the good doctor calming down by his deep breaths. When he judged it safe, he let him go. And the kettle had just boiled!

Feeling that it was safe to turn his back to Dr Watson now, he let the strong tea seep in their respective mugs for a full five minutes, then added his two lumps of sugar, stirred, and handed John the unsweetened mug.

"OK, what can you tell me, then?"

"In a nutshell, Mummy and Daddy are safe in Edinburgh, especially important now that the Russians are moving so many armed divisions to their Baltic borders, and Kaliningrad has become a major pawn in that game. Mary's daughter is, as I said, under constant medical care, Moriarty, or what Mycroft now considers to be his twin, is also under constant surveillance in a secure facility, and Sebastian chose this point in time to call for my services in a highly complicated domestic problem that requires the utmost discretion."

"I have one or two questions of my own."

"I have never known to be reticent, John Watson, so ask away!"

"Who is behind all this? And what shall I do about Sheralyn?"

"I'm afraid I have no answer to your first question, especially now that Jim is not directly involved, and as for the second, she may not be your biological daughter, but she is still Mary's daughter and my goddaughter, which you made sure of at the time, over my protests. So, she is under our care. In the meantime, there's no need to go and see the plumber any more, instead, I must have an interview with our Blind Banker, Sir William Shad himself!

[SherlockedCAMPer]

(FYI the blind banker was Sir William Shad. I checked that out the other day trying to sort the 2)

 

Sherlock received a message back from Seb listing all of the solicitors for Sir William Sanderson. On the list were 2 very peculiar names. They were...

[Inge l-w]

No problem , easily fixed!

[SherlockedCAMPer]

(Oh and I should mention that Sir Shad is dead.  Sherlock can keep his needing to interview Sir William Sanderson.  He's just not the blind banker, maybe we can call him the cardiac banker or something along those lines because of his heart issues.)

[jadpdr]

Oh, and I just corrected everything to Sir William Shad! What is your source of information, because this pearl necklace needs a dying husband! Anyway? We can keep Sir William Sanderson alive a bit longer

Once Sherlock looked at the names of the solicitors, he realised that one of them was closely connected to the plumber, as Snooks was not such a common name!

He texted Sebastian to set up a meeting with the retired banker, then rushed back home, to pick up his lock pick tools and change into a black outfit consisting of black jeans, black roll-neck pullover, black elastic shoes, and stuffed a Balaklava hood in his back pocket.

As per arrangement, the black limousine was already waiting in the falling darkness, and he was surprised to see that Anthea herself was driving: Mycroft aiding and abetting in a common crime was beyond comic, but he was thankful for his brother's precautions at the moment!

Silently, the car pulled out onto the traffic and made its way to Esher. He tapped on the separation window to let Anthea know where to drop him off. He would make the rest of the way on foot. No need to take foolish risks, it was bad enough that she knew he was going to Esher. Any more tangible proof and even Anderson would be able to join the dots!

He moved surreptitiously through the back gardens of the adjoining houses, always on the alert for any alarm system, like the one Henry Knight had installed in his garden in what seemed another lifetime at this point. Finally, he reached the Sanderson pavilion, used his tools to pick the kitchen door and then put on his infrared goggles, to make out any laser security system lying in his path to the banker's bedroom. He avoided a pressure pad just in the nick of time, easily located the others, and when he reached the banker's bedroom he didn't hesitate to use his prepared chloroform pad on the sleeping octogenarian. The old methods always worked best, he had to hand it to Mycroft. Quickly, he made his way to the washbasin, took out a wrench and a French key and went to work. Finally, with his booty in his jeans' pocket, he exited as softly as he had entered and made his way back to where Anthea was waiting for him, lights switched off. Once she saw his black-clad figure emerge from seemingly nowhere, she switched on the engine, he hopped in the limousine, and they were once more headed for London.

He switched on his mobile, and the first text was from John: apparently, Sheralyn had overcome her inexplicable attack, and Sir John had requested a full spectrum allergy test. Well, Sherlock couldn't blame the old doctor, seeing as Moriarty... Moriarty's twin, he corrected himself, had almost fallen victim to the tear gas!

And the he appositely remembered his remark to John when shooting the wall "What has happened to the criminal classes of England? It's a good thing I am not one of them!" and chuckled to himself : now he WAS one of them, even in a good cause!

[SherlockedCAMPer]

(The transcript for TBB from Ariane Deviere)

[J.P.]

May I interrupt just for one post? I read the thread's title from the beginning and today I read: Sherlock and a Baby - THAT'S the Worst that Could Happen.

[SherlockedCAMPer]

May I interrupt just for one post? I read the thread's title from the beginning and today I read: Sherlock and a Baby - THAT'S the Worst that Could Happen.

Blame it on the meds maybe.