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Moriarty walked towards Renée, annoyed by the crying from the twins. "Mrs. Holmes, your children are crying. Do something about it."
Renée moved over to where Mary was. She said something to Mary, but by the look on her face, he knew something wasn't right with Hamish. Asthma... Sherlock was very aware of his son's condition.
"Do you really think I'm going to just let you walk out of here? Come now, Mrs. Holmes. You're smarter than that." Renée moved over to Michelle, quickly calming her. Sherlock watched as Moriarty went over to Renée, wrapping his arms around her. Sherlock stiffened, a sick feeling settling in his stomach. Moriarty kissed her neck, and Sherlock could tell how uncomfortable she was. He was saying something to her, but he couldn't hear the words.
Suddenly, Renée managed to turn just enough to be able to elbow Moriarty in the side of the head, knocking him out cold. Renée disarmed the bombs and took Hamish from Mary. She rushed by Sherlock. "Get Michelle and meet me at the hospital," she said quickly as she moved past him.
Mycroft and Sherlock entered the room where Renée as with Hamish. She turned to greet them, but when she saw Mycroft, her facial expression changed instantly. Michelle was nestled comfortably in Sherlock's arms, reaching up to touch his face with her tiny hands. "Moriarty managed to escape custody." "Why doesn't that surprise me?" Sherlock shook his head. "Sherlock has agreed that it will be best if your children stay with our parents in the meantime, until he is caught. We will keep agents with them at all times. It will be safer for them, Renée."
There was a pause. "Just until this is over, of course." Renée laughed. "This will never be over. That maniac will never leave us alone. Not unless he's dead." "I tried to tell them to just kill him while he was out cold. Quick. Painless for him. For the most part at least. And he wouldn't be able to wiggle his way out of things. But no. They wanted to question him!" Sherlock said angrily, glaring at Mycroft, who just shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, which made Sherlock even angrier. "Fine. They can stay with your parents." Sherlock could tell she was frustrated and unhappy about the situation. He understood completely. He wasn't happy about it either.
She walked over to Sherlock, brushing a few curls off of Michelle's forehead, causing her to giggle, which in turn made Sherlock smile. "Come here, beautiful," Renée said, taking Michelle, who was whimpering softly as she looked at Hamish. "Your brother is alright." Renée rocked Michelle, comforting her. Sherlock put his hands in his coat pockets; he felt uneasy. "we are all going to be alright. I promise," she said, looking at Sherlock.
Sherlock and Damon were sitting in the living room across from each other; Renée was in the bedroom, like every morning since they'd had to leave the twins with his parents.
"Renée's depressed." Sherlock rolled his eyes at Damon, giving him a look that said "Oh, really?" "She has a habit of bottling up her emotions until they break her. Last time she got like this..." Damon started, but he stopped for a moment. "She was hospitalized. Let's put it that way. They thought she was having a psychotic break, put her on a whole pile of anti-psychotics, and sedated her. She slept for four days straight. When she woke up, she was fine again. She wasn't having a psychotic break, though. She had just locked herself up in that 'mind palace' of hers. She shut herself down."
Sherlock heard the bedroom door open, and both he and Damon looked at Renée when she walked out. She looked like death: pale skin, bags under her eyes. Damon went over to her, putting a hand on her shoulder, but she ignored him. "Renée, we're worried about you." Mistake. "Worry about something else." Her voice sounded cold, but those were the first words she'd said in three days. "I'm worried about you." Mistake.
"Damon, there's a maniac running around trying to destroy my husband, myself, and my family. Worry about something else!" Renée shouted. It made Sherlock nervous to hear her raise her voice.
"Renée, this isn't normal." Mistake. Renée laughed. "Well, I've never been normal, Have I, Damon? I've always been your freak of a sister." Renée shoved past Damon, coming toward Sherlock. He looked up at her when she approached him, unsure of what she was going to do. "The sleeping pills you slipped into my tea last night? They didn't work." Her tone sounded angry, but he couldn't tell if she really was or not.
Without another word, she went back into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Sherlock hadn't slept in their bedroom since the twins were taken away. He'd been sleeping on the couch in an attempt to give Renée space. "She needs to see the kids. I think it will help her. It might be the only thing that will help her."
The next morning was a long one. Renée and Sherlock had been fighting, for whatever reason. Sherlock didn't know why it had even started; it just did. He was trying to help her, but he felt like all he was doing was making her angrier about everything.
She'd gone into the bathroom and locked herself inside. It was the only room in the flat that locked.
Sherlock called John, Mary, and Mycroft, telling them to come over, explaining that his parents were also on their way over with the kids. He wanted to help Renée.
Mary, John, Mycroft, and Sherlock were all in the living room Mary being the first to break the looming silence. "Someone needs to get her out of the bathroom." John almost laughed. "Sherlock can barely get her to speak to him, do you really think Mary, that any of us will be able to coax her out of the bathroom?" Mary rolled her eyes. "You can't just leave her in the bathroom."
"I suggest we wait for the children to get here," Mycroft stated. "And what happens when they leave again? We all know they can't stay here. She needs help. Mary is right Sherlock. She needs to be put on an anti-depressant something, anything." John said what Sherlock assumed was on everyone's minds. Everyone's except his own. He understood wanting to stay locked up in one's own mind.
Sherlock's parents arrived with the twins, Michelle immediately reaching for Sherlock, trying to wiggle out of his father's arms. He took her into his arms, and she nestled herself into his chest, yawning. He smiled down at the small person resting in his arms, and Hamish started to fuss when he didn't see Renée. "Where is Renée?" Sherlock's mother asked. "Well, you see, mother-" Sherlock shot a glare at Mycroft. "Mary will go and get her. She wasn't feeling well." Sherlock nodded at Mycroft, then at Mary, who returned the nod and went down the hallway to the bathroom door.
Sherlock watched Mary as she spoke through the door to Renée. He saw Mary smile, then he watched as Renée came out of the bathroom. When Hamish saw her, he started crying and writhing to out of his grandmother's grasp. Renée went over to him, taking his little hand in hers. "Hey, now. What's all the noise about? There's no need for that." She gently took him from Sherlock's mother. "How are you doing, Renée?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. Small talk.
Sherlock eyed Renée, watching her force a smile onto her lips. "Good." Obvious lie. Hamish was already comfortable in her arms. Her genuine smile went to little Hamish, who was nestled into her. Sherlock glanced around the room; everyone was watching Renée as she sat down with Hamish.
When the twins had to leave again, Renée immediately reverted. She went back into her mind palace and began ignoring Sherlock again. There wasn't a thing he could say or do to get her out of it.
Sherlock was in the back of a cab with Mycroft. "I don't need your bloody help, Mycroft," Sherlock mumbled, his head groggy and fuzzy. He'd spent the night with the lot of homeless folk that he had found Bill Wiggins through quite some time ago.
"Well, if you're going to spend an entire night with those...people, getting high on cocaine, then yes. You do need my bloody help."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. They were bloodshot, his pupils dilated. The skin around them was a reddish-pink from him rubbing at them profusely. He was irritable, and he glared at Mycroft as he called John, explaining to him what was going on.
When they got to the flat, Mycroft practically had to drag Sherlock out of the cab. John was standing outside, his arms crossed; he looked upset. "Well, don't you look like sunshine this morning?" Sherlock stated sarcastically toward John. "What the bloody hell, Sherlock?!" John stated, smacking him across the face. "I got Mycroft's call about meeting you here because of your little 'predicament.' However, I've been here all bloody night with Renée and Mary. Your wife called us in bloody hysterics because you were nowhere to be found!" John turned, heading inside. Sherlock looked at Mycroft, who simply shrugged his shoulders before following John.
Sherlock sighed loudly, tossing his head back like a child, not relishing going inside. He knew Renée would have a fit, and he just wasn't in the mood for a lecture. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets before heading up to the flat. He walked in, flopping down into his chair, sprawled out. He looked at Renée, who was giving him a disappointed look. He rolled his eyes. "Can I help you?" he asked sarcastically. Before she could answer him, he continued. "Oh, wait. I can't help you because you won't bloody allow me to!" he shouted, throwing his arms up and then slamming his hands down onto the arms of his chair to lift himself out of it.
He was standing now, but he still felt small near Renée. She'd been such a force to reckon with as of late, unresponsive to anything other than their children. It was frustrating for Sherlock. Renée was the first person he'd learned to love, and he felt helpless against her now, like she's the one case that he just cannot solve.
It made him irate that he couldn't seem to do anything for her. He was angry, which was why he'd left for the night, finding solace in drug use. He didn't care at this point what any of them though or how they felt about it. All he felt was numb. Renée had been acting like she was the only one being affected by Moriarty's actions.
"Renée. You've been so incredibly distant towards everyone. You've been locked away in your own head, ignoring everyone else, thinking of only yourself. that is, unless the twins are here. You think of you and our children. No one else seems to bloody matter to you. I feel nonexistent, like I'm just a ghost floating around trying to get through to you, but it's just fruitless," he shouted before storming out of the flat, slamming the door hard behind him. When he got outside, he simply sat on the curb, his head in his hands, rocking, unsure of what to do.
Hex Code: #B22222