Brilliance

Chapter 3

It had been days since John had talked to Sherlock. It wasn't that he had nothing else to do while waiting for Sherlock to call him back, because he did; he had 2 children and a wife to keep him occupied, but John grew impatient nonetheless.

You can imagine the blogger's surprise when he received a text three days after the initial call. It was a lazy Sunday morning and he had gotten up with his two kids, Harriet and Samuel, a few minutes prior. He was in the middle of cooking scrambled eggs and bacon when his phone buzzed in the pocket of his red plaid pyjama pants. John scooped a bit of food onto two small plates and handed one to the tired-looking Samuel and the other to the overly-excited Harriet, then proceeded to check his phone;

-Meet me at twenty-two Northumberland Street in half an hour if convenient. -SH
-If inconvenient, come anyway. -SH

John didn't type a response, instead, he put on Sunday morning cartoons for the kids, took a shower, informed his hungover wife of his departure and sought out the nearest cab.

It was a quiet ride, filled with nothing but the sound of tires on asphalt and the driver's insistence to tap his fingers on the steering wheel to the rhythm of whatever upbeat, popular song was on the radio. Five minutes layer, and the cab squealed to a stop in front of a cozy looking restaurant John had never visited.

He paid the cabbie and stepped out of the vehicle, drinking in the sight of the establishment. Through the window, John could see a thin man in a dark suit sitting at an unoccupied table with his phone in hand. His hair was a curly mess on his head and his cheekbones were sharp enough to hurt somebody.

Sherlock Holmes looked as good in person as he did on the back of his books.

He called you here, stop being a twat and go in! John scolded himself as anxiety threatened to take control of his body.

It wasn't easy, but the blond smoothed the front of his jacket, took a deep breath, and eased himself into the building. It was warm and smelled strongly of Italian spices, lights were hung from the ceiling on top of every table and they were dimmed almost to the point of darkness.

John thought of turning around and simply going home, but a deep baritone voice brought him back to rationality, "Ah, John Watson, you're precisely on time."

Sherlock Holmes got up from his seat and extended a hand to John. He shook it lightly before the author pulled away and gestured to the spot across from him.

"So John," the taller man started, "Tell me a bit about yourself."

"Well there's not much to tell, really," John lightly scratched the back of his neck, "I've been living in London all my life, I have a wife and two kids and I'm a big fan of your books." He smiled, trying to lighten up the mood.

The author half heartedly mimicked his smile and the sounds from the room washed away what would have been an uncomfortable silence.

A round man with brown hair and a scruffy beard brought the two men each a large glass of water and John sipped lightly, happy to have at least something to do.

"Does the violin bother you, John?" Asked sherlock.

"Um, no, I suppose not, why?" John managed to stutter out.

"Well I like to play the violin when I'm thinking and sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you either? Seeing as you'll be in close proximity to me at most times, you should know the worst about me."

At that, John choked on his drink, "I'm sorry? Close proximity at most times?" He managed after regaining his composure.

"Well if you're going to be my assistant, I'm most likely going to need you at all times." Sherlock steepled his hands beneath his chin.

"Well this is something that wasn't mentioned in the description, can I have a bit of time to think about this?" John asked.

"Of course." Sherlock offered a meek smile before continuing, "I really have got to go, lots of things to deal with. The address is 221 Baker Street, you have my number, let me know when you've considered, but don't wait too long, I'm not keen on waiting."

The taller man pulled on his coat and scarf, shook John's hand one last time and exited the restaurant. John followed close after, deciding to walk back home considering the traffic would be heavy now and he could use the exercise.

Fifteen minutes passed before he came to a stop in front of his home, but something wasn't right. Yellow tape barricaded the doorway and police cars littered the sides of the road.

A grey haired man approached him and held out a badge, "Sir, I'm detective inspector Lestrade and I'm going to need you to evacuate the premises."

"What? Why? I live here!" John crossed his arms over his chest.

The detective inspector said nothing, but the look in his eye gave John a bad feeling.

"Where's my wife? Where are my kids?" John was panicking now.

"Calm down, John is it?" He asked.

John nodded.

"Come with me."

He followed the detective towards one of the police cars. Inside, Mary Morstan, John's wife, with her short, blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, was restrained and looked dreadfully tired.

"What happened?" John breathed, eyes brimming with tears.

"I'm so sorry, we didn't mean for you to find out this way." Lestrade was annoyingly calm.

"Find out what?!" John screamed.

"Daddy." Harriet cried and ran towards John, wrapping her tiny arms around his legs.

He picked up the five year old and cradled her to his chest.

"Where's Sammy?" He asked her, planting kisses in her curly blonde hair.

"Mommy hurt him." She cried and balled her fists into his shirt.

"Mr. Watson, your wife would like a word if that's alright." The detective inspector prodded.

He set Harriet down and she immediately ran for Lestrade, he crouched down to talk to her and John approached the police car.

Mary looked dreadful.

Her eyes were bloodshot and her hair a mess. It was a wonder she could talk, but she did, and quite clearly. "Forgive me." Her head lolled to the side and she could barely keep her eyes open. Her breath reeked of alcohol and it was at that moment he understood.

He had overlooked a significant detail; she was stained with blood that wasn't hers.

Samuel was gone.

John's world came crashing down, his head spun and his knees threatened to give out, but he took a shaky breath and walked away from his soon-to-be ex wife.

Marching towards where Lestrade was still crouched talking to Harry, John plucked his phone from his pocket.

"I want a divorce arranged with full custody of Harriet." He told the detective and Lestrade simply nodded.

John scooped his crying daughter into his arms and hailed another cab. He seated Harry next to him and sent a short text as they sped off towards the address given to John earlier.

-I'll take the job. -JW

A/N hello again, it feels like forever since I've updated!
So this was a roller coaster.
Just another time John wasn't there for Sammy.
Excuse the Supernatural feels, but it was sooooo tempting.
Anyway, in case you hadn't noticed, I mimicked Harriet (the one in the show)'s personality into Mary... I don't think we'll be seeing much more of her but you never know!