Glass - A Sherlock Fan Fiction

Chapter Thirteen

Sunlight filtered through the heavy clouds, barely illuminating the already dull, dusty flat. The living room was quiet, except the out-of-sync ticking of several clocks. Sherlock sat in his armchair with one leg crossed over the other, his arms laid flat over the armrests as he gripped the edges with his hands. He was squinting slightly, focusing ahead with his lips pursed.

"So, tell me about yourself," he said in a low, serious voice.

Vaughan sat in the armchair opposite; his legs outstretched in front of him, too short to reach the edge. His round blue eyes observed Sherlock through dark curls that had fallen into his face.

"What do you like to do? What are your interests?"

Vaughan continued to sit quietly, gazing at his father blankly.

"Do you like literature? Chemistry?" Sherlock continued as Mrs Hudson walked in. "Any good at solving crimes?"

"Oh, Sherlock, don't be ridiculous, he's a baby," she said as she placed a tray of tea on the table next to him.

"Yes, Mrs Hudson, but he's my baby, which means there must be something more remarkable about him."

Vaughan scrunched his face at Sherlock like he had taken offence to his comment. Sherlock pulled a face back at him.

"He is remarkable," said Mrs Hudson. "He's here isn't he. And against all those odds."

"Ah yes, yes very sentimental; 'children are miracles' blah blah blah."

Mrs Hudson tutted, shook her head and left the room.

Sherlock turned his attention back to Vaughan. He sighed and uncrossed his legs, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "In all my extensive study and knowledge, I never thought communicating with a one-year-old would be something I had to know."

Vaughan giggled. "Silly," he said.

Sherlock leaned back, placing his hand on his chest as if he were terribly offended, "I silly?" he replied.

Vaughan continued to giggle; the sound was sweet and light, like bubbles. Sherlock's cold expression began to crack, his face creasing into a warm smile. Then he began to laugh too.

III

Margaux couldn't keep still. The water in her glass rippled as her knees bounced against the table leg. She looked around the café for what felt like the fiftieth time. Nothing. She propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her fist. She picked up the small, one-sided menu and skimmed over it again.

"Terribly sorry," a voice came from behind. "A national security issue arose."

Margaux looked up to see Mycroft taking a seat opposite her. "Well I hope it's all okay now?"

"As it can be," he replied absentmindedly, more focused on wiping down every surface with a handkerchief from his pocket before he touched anything.

"Not a regular here then?" She asked cynically.

Mycroft peered around the small, 'greasy spoon' café with a grimace. "I prefer my breakfasts without the risk of salmonella."

"Well I do apologise for putting you through this utter horror, Mycroft."

He smiled a sarcastic smile before clicking at the big, burly man behind the counter. "Sparkling water," he called out.

The server's brows raised and his fists curled, the gaps from his missing teeth now visible as he almost growled at Mycroft.