Orphan on Baker Street

Thirty Fourth: Babies

It's been a few months since my father died. I don't know if they've found Moriarty; I don't know if they're looking. I've been really sad - obviously. The violin doesn't appeal to me anymore and neither does running around solving crimes. Before now, I could live without my father. He wasn't in the picture, and I was fine with that sometimes. But now it feels like it couldn't get any worse. At least before, I knew he was out there somewhere. He isn't out there somewhere anymore, and I don't see any hope...

I start chemotherapy tomorrow for my cancer. It has begun to move up my neck, but luckily it isn't moving down. My doctor said that if it did, they might have to amputate my arm. A pained arm is better than no arm, right? Since the Incident, it's been hurting a lot. I asked my doctor if there was any connection, and she said there could be. Doctors love vague answers.

Right now, like every other day, I lay on my bed and stare at my ceiling. I should take a shower. Then again: I should also put on some clothes. Under the covers, I only wear a large T-shirt and some boy shorts.

A knock at the door catches my attention. Mrs. Hudson opens it shyly.

"Mickey," she begins softly. "Are you awake?" I nod. "Good. Well, I just wanted to know if you wanted to come with Sherlock and me to get some dinner with John and Mary."

"No thanks," I reply hoarsely, looking back up at the ceiling.

"But this will help!"

"With what?" My eyebrows knit themselves together angrily. "Nothing's wrong with me."

There's a silence.

"I hate seeing you like this," she says, walking over to my bed quietly. Mrs. Hudson sits on the edge and puts a hand on my shoulder, which peeks out from beneath the duvet. "It will help with the pain. This sort of thing helped me..."

I'm not you... I don't say that out loud; instead, I sigh and sit up. "Fine," I give in. She beams at me before getting up quickly and leaving, closing the door behind her with a click.

I roll out of bed with a low groan and walk to my dresser. What's the temperature? What season are we in? I assume summer and pull out a long flowy dress. It looks a lot happier than I am - despite the dark color scheme - but that's kind of the point. I decide to shower quickly, and I'm fresh and ready within 10 minutes.

Mrs. Hudson stands at the front door of 221B and in my peripheral, I see Sherlock descending the stairs.

He smiles over at me happily. Then we leave in silence and hail a cab.

--

The three of us sit and wait for John and Mary. Sherlock sits beside me, and Mrs. Hudson is alone on the other side of the red booth reading her menu. A window beside us casts light from the slowly setting sun across the shiny wood table. I don't think I'm hungry. A few minutes later, John and Mary slide into the booth, saying their greetings happily.

"It's so great to see you two again! How's the baby?" Mrs. Hudson asks.

"Oh, she's doing wonderfully. She's finally able to properly be fed with the bottle," Mary exclaims.

"And her birthday's coming up," John says happily. "It'll be her first."

"Ah, soon she'll be talking and toddling in no time," Mrs. Hudson says with a grin.

They discuss the baby for a little longer before John looks over at Sherlock. "So, how many cases have I missed you solve?" he inquires with a smirk.

Sherlock smirks back at him. "Not many." John laughs.

"So have they, uh," John glances at me, then back at Sherlock. "Have they been able to get Moriarty yet?"

"Not that it would matter. He's escaped jail a few times already," Mary cuts in with an eye roll. Sherlock stares hard at her.

"No," he says sternly. "They haven't..."

John looks at me again. "Mickey, how've you been holding up?" He smiles kindly.

"Well, I'm not dead," I respond with mock happiness.

"I'm glad to hear that," John says softly.

"Sorry, but did I miss something?" Mary asks shyly.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "For the love of God, Mary, her father was murdered. Do you really pay that little attention to the news? I mean, I know you work, but do you think avoiding the news entirely will spare you of heartache?" He holds in his breath suddenly and glances over at me. I stare at him before looking down at my blank appetizer plate.

Then a young man with short blonde hair and a tall, thin frame walks over to our table.

"Hi, I'm Chris, and I'll be your waiter for this evening. Could I start you guys off with a drink?"

He goes around the table, and everyone orders something - I get water.  Chris nods and retreats back to the kitchen to fetch our things.

"Have you decided on something to eat yet, Sherlock?" John asks casually.

"Yes, actually," he says with a smile. "Mickey?"

I shake my head. "I think I might just nibble on some fries."

"Oh, you will love their fries," Mary says happily. "It's a shame they don't have free refills on them." She laughs at herself, and I smile politely.

"How about you tell them about yesterday," John says with a smirk towards his wife.

"Oh my gosh, yesterday." She pauses to roll her eyes. "So, the baby wouldn't take her nap, and I decided 'well, naps aren't for all of us' and let her skip it." Then I slowly begin zoning out before suddenly- "And she slid right out of her rocking chair onto the floor." There's some laughing, and I smile. Mary continues with the story about her tired daughter, and the waiter comes back with a tray holding our drinks.

He takes our order and teases me about just getting fries. Then he throws in something about unlimited appetizers, and I get mozzarella sticks instead.

When he leaves, I listen to John and Mary go on and on about their baby and tired mornings.

Then John asks, "What about you, Mickey? How are your babies?"

"My babies?" I laugh.

"Well, sure! In my day, teens were popping out babies by the dozen," John says with a serious look on his face. "They were married and happy and all that good stuff."

I laugh again. "I don't think I'll be getting married for a long time."

"Good," Mrs. Hudson says quickly. "You're growing up too fast." Then she chuckles.

"Really, though, Mickey," Sherlock adds, "You're 17 now. In a few years, you'll be too old to marry." He stares at me with the straightest face I've ever seen, and I laugh - genuinely laugh.

"Maybe I'll get that waiter's phone number," I say jokingly. Everyone laughs and just then, Chris returns to our table empty handed.

"I'm afraid we've run out of croutons," he tells Mary, who ordered a salad. "Is that alright?"

"Yes, that's fine. Thank you," she tells him kindly.

Then he turns to me. "And I'm married, by the way. But it's flattering you'd say something like that." Then we all laugh, and I almost cry because I've missed being this happy. I miss being surrounded by people who aren't family but love me nonetheless.

Chris goes back into the kitchen, and we carry on talking about marriage and how crazy the 19th century was. After a while of blabbering, our food arrives. We eat and talk and laugh - Sherlock chokes on his cheeseburger - and we just simply have a good time.

When we have to leave, I say my goodbyes and thank John and Mary without explanation. I don't think they need an explanation anyway. Mrs. Hudson hugs me, and she, Sherlock, and I return to 221B in happy silence.