Glass - A Sherlock Fan Fiction

Chapter Forty Four

Plumes of steam escaped mugs on the table, filling the room with the rich scent of coffee. Rose's house was small and cluttered with blankets strewn across the couch and picture frames adorning every wall. The sound of the children playing upstairs echoed down the hall, their excited footsteps thudding against the living room ceiling.

Margaux took a sip of her coffee as her friend waited anxiously for her to continue speaking.

"And...?"

"And..." She sighed. "He didn't say it back."

Rose grimaced, visibly cringing.

"Yeah..." she nodded.

"Oh, I'm sorry Marg." Rose shuffled closer on the couch and patted her arm.

"It's okay. Like really, I'm fine. It's Sherlock Holmes, I don't know what I was bloody expecting him to say."

"Yeah, you're right. I mean, it's not like you haven't spent the last three years raising his son."

"Ah well see, unfortunately, sharing a child with someone doesn't entitle you to their love."

"Tell that to my ex."

Margaux laughed into her cup.

Rose tilted her head, she knew her friend too well. "So how long are you going to keep saying you're fine before you admit you're absolutely not fine?"

"About a week?"

Vaughan toddled into the living room. He walked up to his mother and patted her on the leg. "Mummy, can we go now?"

Margaux sighed through a smile. "Sure. Come on then." She stood up and put on her coat.

"Where are you off?" asked Rose.

"Taking Vaughan to see father dearest."

"I'm going to see my Daddy!" the boy sang with an excited grin. "He's been sick but he's better now."

Rose watched as Margaux zipped up his coat and pushed a woollen hat onto his head. "How's John Watson doing?" she asked.

"You know you don't have to full-name him every time?"

"Sorry. I read his blog, it's a bad habit."

"You read his blog?"

"Yeah! Did you know they almost got killed once by the Chinese circus?"

III

John Watson sat in the usual cream, leather chair; his legs were crossed in front of him as they usually were, his therapist's head tilted slightly to one side as it usually was. He was feeling better, almost proud to show her his improvement as he spoke about how amazing his daughter was, how much better Sherlock was doing.

"What about his brother?" asked the therapist in her soft German accent.

"Mycroft? He's fine," replied John. "I mean, obviously 'normal' and 'fine' are both relative terms when it comes to Sherlock and Mycroft."

She smiled. "Obviously." She paused for a moment, still smiling. "I didn't mean Mycroft. I meant the other one."

"Wh-which other one?"

"You know, the secret one."

"Oh, that was just something I..." he smiled, almost laughing. "I said. I'm sure there's..." He stopped. His eyes narrowing as he looked across to her. "How did you know about that? I didn't tell you that."

"You must have done," she replied flippantly.

"I really didn't."

"Well, maybe Sherlock told me."