Rekindling The Flame [ Sherlock x Reader ] Chpt. 2

As Mycroft had said, there was car waiting for them outside. It irritated Sherlock that he actually had to go through with this. To see you. To invite you. He was all grumbles as John and him dragged their belongings down the stairs and got into the car. They would go, ask, you would say no, and unfortunately the pair would stay the night before leaving in the morning.

Curse Mycroft.

Sherlock pressed his head against the window, closing his eyes and shutting out the rest of the car. He needed to prepare himself for this, though he would admit to no one that the thought of meeting up with you was a little daunting. John, on the other hand, was watching the scenery fly by. He wanted to make sure he could map out where they were going. He had not been told much about you, other than the fact that you were married to Sherlock and he still couldn't quite wrap his head around that one.

Sherlock Holmes has had a wife out there somewhere and John never knew about it. As much as it didn't surprise John that he hadn't shared, it nearly did. Why hadn't you contacted him? Or visited him yourself? What was the story between you two?

John was itching to have his questions answered now. He knew that Sherlock could answer them all. But his friend was being quite dismissive and grumpy, ignoring him everytime he tried to get his attention. After a couple different tries, John eventually gave up and let the rest of the ride go in silence.

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Sherlock's head twitched when he heard John's gasp. So they were here. He sat up a little straighter, his eyes scanning over the gate in front of the house. The house hasn't changed a bit. The grand entrance, the upscale house. It would seem you were still profiting from your...business. His upper lip curled into a snarl at the idea of you being back there again.

"Did you know your wife was rich?" John asked in all honesty, blinking in slight shock. This was not what he was expecting. Maybe a small cottage. A homey little porch. But this?

"Always has been," Sherlock murmured in response, hands at the ready to hop out of the car as soon as it stopped. The quicker he got in to ask, the quicker he could lock himself away into the room he so fondly remembered.

John smiled a little, "Welcome back to the living. It was nice of you to join us." He got no response. "Look. I know you're nervous to see her and it's been a while, but I'm sure she's going to be delighted to see you."

Sherlock spared no glance to his friend, the car rolling to a stop in front of the double doors painted scarlet, a memory he had long forgotten, to compliment the brick sidings of the house. If it could be considered a house. He was light on his feet, taking the three steps in one bound. His index met with the buzzer and he knew all he had to do was wait.

Not but a few moments a later, the door opened to reveal a young boy, eight years old, standing at attention. His dark curls were so similar to his own and those (e/c) orbs that stared up at him only served as an ache in his chest that he had left you all those years ago.

"Might I say again, hello, sir. How may I assist you?"

"Does your mother always let you answer the door?"

"What my mother does and does not allow is none of your concern, sir," the boy stopped when there was a harsh whisper coming from behind him. With a small sigh, he dropped his head. "My apologies. I have forgotten my manors. I am William. May I get your name?"

Sherlock Holmes had frozen in his spot. This was William Conner Holmes. This was his son. He could not deny this fact now that he was here. Sherlock couldn't ignore it anymore.

He was more than grateful that John had finally caught up to him and could take the attention off of him. Even through his shock, after putting two and two together, John made sure to keep his voice from wavering. "Hello, William. It is a pleasure to meet you. I'm John. And this is my friend, Sherlock. We're here to see-"

"(Name). Your mother. We have some things to discuss." As William was about to answer, Sherlock could hear that whispering voice from behind the door again. His back went rigid, shoulders tensing in anticipation. Was that you talking to him because you were afraid to face him?

His question was answered with a no when a kind-faced older lady opened the door wider and pulled the young boy out of the way. "Come in. Come in, Mr. Holmes. She's in the music room, sir."

At the mention of 'Mr. Holmes', he could see William's eyes widen in confusion as he passed, motioning for John to follow. John was a little more than hesitant and Sherlock was quick to deal with his friend's worries. "They will take our luggage, John. Come along."

The elder lady smiled warmly at John and nodded as if to confirm Sherlock. With a deep breath, he followed after the taller man. His questions just kept growing. Son? Sir? How did he know the layout so well? Did he live here, too? Is that why he wasn't shocked when they came? John huffed. The answers were obvious and yet, he wanted to hear Sherlock affirm his thoughts.

Their footsteps echoed through the quiet and empty halls. They turned yet another corner before Sherlock pushed open the door as if he own the place. John's face flushed in embarrassment. He really didn't have boundaries, did he?

When he walked through the door, his ears were met with the sound of a violin. A wide smile grew. The first similarity. They both played the violin. He leaned on the wall near the door to keep out of the way. As much as he wanted to meet you, John felt that he should keep his distance while Sherlock talked with you.

Your back was turned, though you knew he was here. You continued on playing and swayed along until Sherlock's hand rested on your shoulder. Your bow nearly fell to the floor. It had been so long since you had felt his touch. It was almost a dream. But you knew exactly why he was here.

"Like Mycroft and your mother, I will give you a simple answer. No. I will not go, but you may stay the night and enjoy my hospitality."

There was a small smirk curling his mouth and swell of pride in his chest. Of course you knew. You always knew. A chuckle erupted from his throat at the mention of his brother and mother's failed attempts before him. That was why Mycroft had come. Because neither him nor mother could convince you to come. So send in the husband.

"Not even if I told you that I want you to come?" Again, the answer you were going to give was clear as day on your face. You rolled your eyes at the man before skirting away to put your treasured violin away safely in its case.

When you approached Sherlock again, this time he made sure to clearly look you over. Your hair was sticking up in places and there were faint dark circles under your eyes that only the trained eye could see and that meant only one thing. You were having nightmares again. A frown formed on his face, eyes narrowing. You were dressed nicely, though, having expected visitors. John and him. A flowing floral sundress that stopped just above your knees. Barefoot, which was an uncommon sight for him, but it had been eight years. You were a changed woman.

"After having William, I sort of got a little lazy with the whole shoe thing," you mumbled almost bashfully before standing on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his cheek. "I see you brought a friend. Is he your...?"

"He's not gay."

"Ah. Hello there!" You maneuvered around Sherlock and glided over to the other male in the room, offering you hand. "(Name) Holmes. And as I'm sure you've already figured out, wife to Sherlock and mother to his son."

John stuttered out a hello, taking your hand with a smile. That was his confirmation. It was true. "I'm John. It's nice to meet you. Really."

You grinned at him before turning to Sherlock. "I like him. You should keep him around," Sherlock only responded with a roll of his eyes before you began to back out of the room, beckoning them to follow. "Let me show you to your rooms and I'll let you settle in. Your bags have already been delivered to the rooms. Dinner is served at six sharp. And if you get lost, I am sure one of the maids can help you find your way to the dining room."

John's room came first. He was already noting where the maids were. He knew he was bound to get lost in these hallways. Sherlock followed you silently, scanning every inch of you. Every twitch and movement that was different. Your graceful and elegant posture and walk had not changed at all. You had filled out a little more, though he could credit that to William.

The one thing that had caught his eye was your left hand. It was shaking. And he had a good feeling he knew why.

Before he could question you, you stopped and motioned to the door on the right. "This is your room. I'm sure you remember it."

"How could I forget?"

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions, but I promised William answers. He's a lot like you. No matter what I did, I could never forget you. Because you were staring me in the face everyday."

"He has your eyes," he stated and pressed a hand to the door to his room. "You've raised him well." And with that, he walked in his room and closed the door behind him. You released the breath that had been caught in your throat the moment he laid his hand on your shoulder. Your form sagged, head dropping until your chin was rested on your chest.

Time had not been kind to you. And now that he was here, it was only a matter of time before you fell apart.