Glass - A Sherlock Fan Fiction

Chapter Twenty Five

The clouds were threatening to break. Heavy and grey, yet so soft it was as if rain could dissolve through them at any point. The late-August breeze was not harsh or cold. Instead it carried a warmth, clinging to the last few days of summer that would soon give way to dying leaves and cooler mornings. Sherlock stood looking out across the London skyline, his arms folded and resting in front of him on the safety railing of the rooftop. He could see Magnussen's building in the distance, and the scar on his torso began to ache. The breeze fanned his dark curls, lifting them out of his eyes, allowing the gloomy clouds to dull their blueness. He glanced over the edge, looking down to the pavement below; the Bee Gees Stayin' Alive played on loop in his head and he felt Moriarty's breath against his ear – the smell of his cologne. He stepped back, shaking away the unwelcome memory, before looking behind him to the group of excited children running back and forth, the monotonous hum of chattering adults and the faint beat of pop music.

Margaux placed a tray of sandwiches on the picnic table, gesturing for the group of mums to help themselves. She looked across the rooftop garden, past the small nook of grass and flowers where the children played, past the seating area where Rose was introducing herself to Molly, Mrs Hudson and Mr and Mrs Holmes, past the posts strewn with birthday banners and balloons, to the far corner where Sherlock stood. Alone. She made her way over and stopped at his side, leaning her arms on the railing as he did, looking out over London.

"I should mention that when I decided to have Vaughan's party on the roof of my building, I swear the symbolism of your untimely death didn't cross my mind," she said "Well maybe it did. Just once." She looked up at him. "Could have called it a Moriparty."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"It's like Moriarty and Party–"

"Yes, Margaux I got the joke. What I find funnier is how easily you're able to amuse yourself."

She bit her lip to suppress a smirk. Sherlock looked down at her, trying not to smirk too.

They looked over their shoulders to see John and Mary walking through the door from the stairwell, watching as they made their way over to Mr and Mrs Holmes, never once speaking to each other, not even walking side by side.  Margaux turned her attention to the table of mothers as they looked in her direction and whispered to one another.

"Oh by the way," said Margaux, turning back to Sherlock. "I was wondering if you could maybe... crank up the sociopath, just for a few hours, and charm the hell out of the mums from the nursery. For me?"

"Certainly, what tier of charm would you like?" He replied before snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her in close, using his other hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Hm, a few notches down."

He released his grip of her waist, instead placing his hand gently on the back of her neck and rubbing his thumb softly back and forth against her skin. He slipped the other hand in the pocket of his trousers, looking down at her and smiling kindly.

"That's perfect." She smiled back as they began walking slowly across the rooftop. "I'm only asking you to do this because they're all snobs–"

"Well we should introduce them to Mycroft."

"Sh." She nudged him gently. "But really, I just need them to see you and like you and then maybe they'll stop thinking of me as that woman who had a secret love affair with that detective–"

"Say no more." He gave the back of her neck a reassuring squeeze before letting go and allowing her to walk ahead.

"How is everyone?" She asked as she approached the table, noticing their eyes landing on Sherlock as he stood a few steps behind. "Oh, I don't think any of you have met Vaughan's father; everyone this is Sherlock."