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Default Location for 221B Baker street
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London, England is a part of 
221B Baker street.
2 Characters Here
Renée Quinn [83] "I Often feel as If I am made to understand, but not to be understood."
William Sherlock Scott Holmes [78] "I'm not a psychopath, Anderson. I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research."
Start Character Here »
- 84 posts here • Page 4 of 4 • 1, 2, 3, 4
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"You know. I've been thinking about baby names," Renée looked up at him slightly, but didn't say anything. "Also. By the look of it, your stomach is so large, you'd think you were having twins, Renée." Renée rolled her eyes slightly as he paced back and forth, like he had been all morning.
"Who would have thought Sherlock Holmes could get nervous." She commented with a small smile directed at him. It hit her rather suddenly; the pain, a sharp contraction moving through her stomach, causing her teacup to topple from her hand. "Labour?" she heard Sherlock ask, all Renée could do was nod.
Twenty-eight hours Renée thought with a tired sigh, Sherlock hadn't left her side, hadn't slept, hadn't don anything but sit with her, it made her feel safe and looked over the few rare times she fell asleep for about fifteen minutes. After a few pushes, crying filled the room. "It's a girl," Renée smiled slightly laying her head back on the pillow. "What? What is it?!" Renée heard Sherlock's worried tone and opened her eyes, she hadn't even seen the Doctor's confused expression.
"Well..." More crying, Renée hadn't felt a single contraction. "You're having twins!" Renée shot Sherlock a look. "I didn't jinx it on purpose..."
If looks could kill, she probably would have killed everyone in the room and more. "It's a boy!" "Oh, good..."
Sherlock clearly wanted a boy... Renée thought to herself, she could feel the anxiety in her chest when the little boy stopped crying, and she saw him as the doctor handed him to the nurse, she had tried to obscure Renée's view as much as she could but she still saw him, and he was too small.
"You know, I'm not sure how we missed 'baby two' on your ultrasounds... Though, his heart rate is somewhat slow and laboured, so we'll have to do a few tests on him. Don't worry though, we'll take good care of him." Renée shot the doctor a look this time. "He is to small. He stopped crying." Renée spoke softly, she was exhausted and speaking at that point was using energy she just didn't have. "Bring him to me..." The women hesitated. "We really should get him down to testing." Renée looked at her. "If you don't bring him to me, I would be happy to get up and go over to him myself."
The doctor sighed signalling the nurse to come over with the smaller of their two children, she placed the little bundle in Renée's arm, it relaxed her considerably, she carefully moved the blanket further from his face two blue eyes like her own stared back at her. "So about names... I was going to say...that if we had a son, I'd like to name him Hamish...after John, that is. "However...I hadn't thought of names for a girl..." Sherlock said looking at Renée, she could feel his thumb gently running over her free hand, she looked at Sherlock before looking back at their son. "Hamish." She started. "Its perfect."
"We really do need to take him." The Doctor said, she clearly wanted to run those tests as soon as possible. This time Renée let them take him. Once they had taken Hamish they brought the little girl over, she was only about five pounds but still bigger than her brother. They carefully set her in Renée's arm. She looked down at her, she had dark hair like Sherlock's both the babies did. When she opened her eyes they were a dazzling shade of green. "She looks like you." Renée said softly, she watched the little one closely as she looked back up at them.
"Michelle, after my Mother." Renée said looking at Sherlock, as he hadn't thought of baby names, Renée thought that was the perfect one. "Michelle Maya Holmes." Renée shifted. "Here." she said softly slipping Michelle into Sherlock's arms when he leaned down, he seemed uncomfortable or nervous about holding something so small and fragile, Renée simply gave him a reassuring smile.
When they returned to the flat with Hamish and Michelle, Renée smiled seeing John and Mary. "You look exhausted Renée let me take him for you." Renée had been more protective over Hamish than she had been over Michelle, though she was still overly protective of both of them, she hesitated slightly when Mary came over, but she trusted Mary and carefully slipped the small bundle into her arms.
"You just want an excuse to hold my baby." Mary shot her an innocent smile before going over to Sherlock to get a look at little Michelle, who's eyes were open and focused on Sherlock. "She looks like you Sherlock." Mary said proving Renée's point who simply looked over at him before sitting down. "Looks like she is going to be quite the daddy's girl"
"Sherlock, have you called Mycroft?" Renée asked from her chair looking over at him, he clearly hadn't. "Have you at least called your parents?" Renée shook her head at him going to get up to call them herself. "No, you stay there, I will call them." John said pulling out his cellphone. "You need to rest, you just had two babies."
Renée sighed settling back down in her chair, she was keeping a watchful eye on Mary who still had Hamish. She smiled when Sherlock came over to her with little Michelle. Renée carefully stood up looking at Sherlock. "I love you." she whispered leaning up gently kissing him, mindful of the baby between them.
It wasn't long before Sherlock's parents appeared in the door, Renée herself hadn't seen them as John had sent her to bed and Sherlock agreed with him, but she heard them come in. Not to enthused about being in bed, Renée got up leaving the room. "There she is!" Sherlock's mom smiled coming over to Renée to give her a hug.
"How are you feeling?" "Good, I'm feeling good." Renée lied. Her body ached and she was still tired, the look Sherlock gave her told her he knew she was lying, but she took little notice of it.
"Have you held either of the kids?" Renée asked walking further into the living room, Hamish was still with Mary and Michelle was still with Sherlock. "No. Mary seems rather attached to little Hamish, and Sherlock doesn't seem to want to let Michelle go either." Renée laughed a little bit going over to Sherlock, she gently kissed him on the cheek.
"You need to let your Mother hold her Granddaughter Sherlock." Renée gently took Michelle from Sherlock's arms handing her to Sherlock's Mother. "She looks like you Sherlock." This brought a laugh out of Renée, John, and Mary, though Sherlock's Mother seemed to fixated on Michelle to take much notice of what they were laughing at.
Renée leaned against Sherlock linking her fingers between his, she had spiked a fever, but didn't say anything and tried her best not to shiver, but she was sure Sherlock could feel her temperature through his shirt. "John, is Mycroft coming?"
"He said he would. I'm not sure if he will though, babies aren't exactly up Mycroft's ally of expertise." Renée knew that, but she thought he would show up, if not for her at least for Sherlock.
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Sherlock and Renée entered the flat, Hamish in Renée's arms and Michelle in Sherlock's. John and Mary were already there to welcome them all home. "You look exhausted, Renée. Let me take him for you," Mary said, walking towards her. Sherlock watched as Renée hesitated to hand Hamish over.
"You just want an excuse to hold my baby." Mary smiled at her, walking over to Sherlock, little Hamish in her arms. "She looks like you, Sherlock," Mary said when she saw Michelle in Sherlock's arms. Michelle hadn't stopped staring intensely at Sherlock. "Looks like she is going to be quite the daddy's girl," she noted as she sat down, Hamish seemingly content in her arms.
"Sherlock, have you called Mycroft? Have you at least called your parents?" Renée asked, and Sherlock gave her a look that blatantly said "no." Renée shook her head and started to stand. "No. You stay there. I will call them. You need to rest; you just had two babies." John pulled out his phone and dialed them.
Sherlock walked over to Renée, Michelle still in his arms, her little green eyes staring at him still. Renée stood to kiss him. "I love you," she whispered. He smiled at her, kissing her forehead. "I love you too. Now sit back down and rest," he said, rocking Michelle, her eyes never moving away from his face. He smiled down at the tiny bundle in his arms. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, and at first Sherlock was concerned, until he realized that she was simply smiling back at him, copying his expression.
Sherlock's parents arrived, and he rolled his eyes at his mother's excitement. "don't you roll your eyes at me, Sherlock Holmes. I'm allowed to be excited! I never thought I would be blessed with grandchildren," she said, smiling at the tiny person in Sherlock's arms. Renée stepped out of the bedroom, and his mother practically ran over to her to hug her. "There she is!"
"How are you feeling?" "Good. I'm feeling good." Lie. Sherlock could blatantly see how exhausted Renée was, physically and mentally. "Have you held either of the kids?" "No. Mary seems rather attached to little Hamish, and Sherlock doesn't seem to want to let Michelle go either." Renée came over to Sherlock, kissing him on the cheek.
"You need to let your mother hold her granddaughter, Sherlock." Renée took Michelle from him, setting her in his mother's arms. "So you take Michelle and not Hamish? I'm shocked you didn't jump at the chance to steal him back from Mary," Sherlock said, and Mary playfully stuck out her tongue at him. "She looks like you Sherlock." Renée, John, and Mary all burst out laughing, and Sherlock just rolled his eyes.
Renée leaned on Sherlock, lacing their fingers together. Her skin felt significantly warmer than usual. Fever. "John, is Mycroft coming?" "He said he would. I'm not sure if he will though. Babies aren't exactly up Mycroft's alley of expertise."
"It's not my area of expertise either, you know. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't show up," Sherlock noted, keeping a watchful eyes on Michelle. "Sherlock, don't be rude," his mother scolded, to which he rolled his eyes. "Just being honest," he muttered.
Michelle and Hamish were eight months old now. Hamish was almost as big as his sister, but he still looked significantly littler. Michelle was already trying to figure out how to walk, using objects around the flat to help herself. Hamish continued to crawl everywhere, seemingly uninterested in walking as of yet. Every afternoon, Sherlock would play the violin, and Michelle would sit close to him as he played, while Hamish did whatever he pleased. Sherlock figured that, regardless of how closely they payed attention, the music would stimulate them anyway.
He had a feeling that Michelle would be interested in music at a young age, but he wasn't too sure about Hamish. They certainly did cling to their "respective" parent. Michelle was almost always with Sherlock, and Hamish didn't want anyone but Renée, unless "Auntie Mary" was over. Michelle would go to just about anyone though; however, Sherlock was more than definitely her favourite.
Hex Code: #B22222
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Renée watched the two kids, Michelle, like usual was sitting at Sherlock's feet while he played the violin. Hamish however wasn't all to interested and continued to crawl around looking over at Renée every so often as if to make sure she was still there. Hamish had been in a cranky mood all day and hadn't slept well the night before which worried Renée, she wondered if he was getting sick.
Hamish pulled himself up onto his feet using Sherlock's chair before falling over hitting his head a little bit causing him to cry. Renée stood up going over to her scooping him up gently kissing the side of his head. "You're fine." Renée said softly, Hamish whimpered a few more times resting his head on Renée's shoulder putting his thumb in his mouth.
"Attached to Mum like usual" Renée heard Mary say when John and her entered, Renée had forgotten that they were taking the kids for the night to give herself and Sherlock a night to themselves. Mary came over to Hamish to take him, but the boy turned his head from Mary gripping Renée's shirt, there was no doubt both of the children were smart even at that age. "He has been in a bad mood all day." Renée explained to Mary gently running her hand up and down Hamish's back.
Renée finally got Hamish to go to Mary and though Michelle didn't seem over thrilled not being with Sherlock she seemed happy to see John. "Be good." Renée gently kissed both of the babies heads. "You talk to them like they understand you." Renée smiled slightly. "They do at least they respond like they do, they just aren't old enough to talk back. Though Hamish seems to have his Father personality so he probably won't do a lot of talking anyway."
"It seems you have a pair of smart kids." John let out a laugh at Mary's comment. "Have you met their parents? Of course they are smart."
With the children gone the flat was quiet for the first time in what seemed like forever. Renée was settled in Sherlock's chair watching him play his violin. She stood up going over to him kissing his cheek before walking into the kitchen to make tea. She came back in setting the tea tray on the table, she moved back to Sherlock putting her hand on his shoulder.
"What have you been thinking about?" She asked softly when he stopped playing. Sherlock often claimed that he played for the children and herself, but Renée knew full well that even if that was part of it, it wasn't all of it, Sherlock played his violin when he needed to think about something.
Once Sherlock sat down in his chair Renée took the opportunity to sit in his lap for the first time in a long time as they usually had they kids on their laps when they had tea. Renée didn't realize how rare it was for Sherlock and her to be intimate in anyway when the kids were around. Renée set her empty cup on the side table next to Sherlock's chair kissing him when he finished his tea shifting slightly so that her chest was pushed up against his.
"No kids." Renée whispered to him brushing her lips down his jawline pressing a gently kiss to the corner of Sherlock's mouth but avoiding his lips entirely.
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Sherlock was playing his violin, Michelle listening intently at his feet as usual, her bright green eyes staring up at him as he played. He heard Hamish begin to cry. He kept playing but moved his eyes to check on the littler of the twins. Renée had picked him up and was comforting him. "You're fine," she cooed, kissing his head.
"Attached to mum like usual," Mary said as she and John entered the flat. Hamish seemed to not be too keen on leaving Renée. "He's been in a bad mood all day."
Once Mary finally managed to get Hamish to go to her, John scooped up Michelle, who wasn't exactly happy about it but wasn't protesting like her brother. "Be good." "You talk to them like they understand you." "They do. At least they respond like they do. They just aren't old enough to talk back. Though Hamish seems to have his father's personality, so he probably won't do a lot of talking anyway."
"It seems you have a pair of smart kids." John laughed at Mary's comment. "Have you met their parents? Of course they're smart."
Sherlock was still playing his violin, and Renée was sitting in his chair. She got up, coming over to kiss him on the cheek before moving to the kitchen to make tea. "What have you been thinking about?" she asked once he'd stopped playing.
"In all honesty, Renée, I've been thinking about tonight. Having it to ourselves." Sherlock sat in his chair, Renée quickly seating herself in his lap with their tea. When they had both finished, Renée kissed him, shifting so that their chests were pressed against each other.
Sherlock looked at Renée. "No kids," she whispered, and he smiled as her lips brushed along his jawline before she gently kissed the corner of his mouth. He grabbed her neck and pressed their lips together, letting the sensation last. His other hand ran along the length of her thigh, moving under her shirt slightly, stopping at her waist. Her skin was warm against his fingertips, and he drew her closer. He kissed her neck right behind her jaw, causing her breath to catch for a split second. He smiled against her neck, tangling his fingers in her hair.
"You're right... No kids," he whispered in her ear before talking her into another passionate, lingering kiss..
Sherlock brushed the hair out of Renée's face, tucking it behind her ear and kissing her gently. He got up out of his chair to get dressed. "You'd better get dressed too. If John and Mary walk through that door, we're never going to hear the bloody end of it," he said, smiling at his wife.
Sherlock and Renée were sitting in his chair; she was on his lap like usual, resting her head on his shoulder. It was almost midnight. John and Mary had said that they were going to come back around eleven o'clock, but Sherlock figured that they were probably giving them some extra, needed, time to be alone together.
Text tone.
Sherlock looked over at his phone; it was sitting on the table in front of them. He hesitated to reach for it, but he finally did.
Mary had a little lamb
Little lamb, little lamb
Mary had a little lamb
Whose name is Hamish Holmes.
Text tone.
Is he sleeping?
Is he sleeping?
Brother John, Brother John?
Michelle is to be with him
Michelle is to be with him
They'll all be gone
They'll all be gone.
Sherlock froze. Text tone.
London Bridge is falling down
Falling down, falling down
London Bridge is falling down
My fair Sherlock.
Sherlock quietly handed his phone to Renée. Renée covered her mouth. "We need to go. Now!" Sherlock said, putting on his coat before rushing down the stairs to hail a cab.
London Bridge. Lestrade and other officers were already there when Sherlock and Renée arrived. Lestrade nodded to Sherlock when they exited their cab, and Sherlock rushed in.
As he entered, he saw Mary first. Her eyes were wide, her face sheet-white and tear-stained. She mouthed "Sherlock" when she saw him. He saw Hamish in her arms. He took a step forward, but she quickly shook her head, mouthing "no." He stopped in his tracks, holding his arm out to stop Renée when she came in.
Mary was tied to a chair, bombs strapped to every inch of it and every inch of her, even a few were strapped onto Hamish, who was asleep. Sherlock turned his gaze to see John in a similar situation, Michelle in his arms, also sleeping.
"Hops. Knocks them right out!" Sherlock turned his head to see Moriarty stepping out as he spoke. Moriarty was whistling the melody of My Fair Lady, smiling at Sherlock when he finished the short tune.
"Nursery rhymes. thought they'd be a nice touch. However... I told you, Sherlock Holmes. I told you..." he started, walking over to Mary, brushing some hair off of her face as she winced away from his touch. He laughed. "This little game of ours? It's no place...for bloody children!!!!" he shouted, waking both of the babies, causing them to cry, to which Moriarty rolled his eyes.
"Bet you don't have a plan for this one, Mr. Holmes."
Hex Code: #B22222
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"You'd better get dressed too. If John and Mary walk through that door, we're never going to hear the bloody end of it," Renée smiled slightly watching Sherlock as he got dressed, it had been to long since the flat was quiet, since they were well and truly alone together. A part of her missed it.
Sherlock and herself had also both given up working, Renée of course was on maternity leave with the twins, and Sherlock surprisingly had agreed to stay away from any case work. "I think it would upset John more than Mary. She seems to find our intimacy entertaining." Renée smiled at Sherlock before starting to pull her clothes on.
They were sitting in Sherlock's chair; Renée per her usual was curled up in his lap her head resting on his shoulder. She had grown anxious when eleven o'clock came around as Mary and John said they would bring the children back at that time, but they hadn't shown up, it was almost twelve.
Renée heard Sherlock's text tone go off she assumed it was John so didn't open her eyes to look, it went off a second time, Sherlock tensed that time, Renée opened her eyes to look up at him, the text tone sounding one last time. Sherlock quietly handed his phone to Renée she quickly read the texts covering her mouth looking at Sherlock. "We need to go. Now!"
Renée followed behind Sherlock, her heart beating quickly.
Lestrade and other officers were already and the other officers were already there when Sherlock and Renée arrived, Lestrade nodded at Sherlock and he rushed in, Renée followed but she was more hesitant, she didn't want to see what was in there. Still, she followed behind Sherlock.
Mary mouthed something to Sherlock, but Renée wasn't paying enough attention to notice what it was, Sherlock simply put his arm out stopping Renée from going any further. Renée was looking at the bombs making the calculations in her head, trying to figure out what kind they were, if she could disarm them, if any of them were getting out of there alive. When she noticed that a few were strapped to the children she covered her mouth closing her eyes.
"Hops. Knocks them right out!" Renée heard Moriarty but didn't shift in any way to look at him. He was whistling My Fair Lady, smiling at Sherlock when he finished the tune that somehow now sounded so wicked. "Nursery rhymes. thought they'd be a nice touch. However... I told you, Sherlock Holmes. I told you..." Renée watched Moriarty brush hair away from Mary's face, she flinched away from his touch, Moriarty laughed. It made Renée feel sick.
"This little game of ours? It's no place...for bloody children!!!!" Moriarty shouted. Both of the babies started crying, however Hamish's color concerned Renée. He was pale and his lips were tinted blue and even from where they were standing Renée could her the wheezing coming from their son. She glanced up at Sherlock wondering if he noticed it to.
"Bet you don't have a plan for this one, Mr. Holmes." The children kept crying clearly irritating Moriarty he walked towards Renée."Mrs. Holmes, your children are crying." He seethed, Renée simply glanced at him. "Do something about it."
Renée slowly moved away from Sherlock she scanned the floor for any indication that if she moved any further it would set the bombs off. When she was sure there wasn't she moved over to Mary. "Hamish needs to go to a hospital." Renée said but didn't look over at Moriarty or Sherlock, she was more focused on calming her son down, his crying was laboring his breathing more. "He's sick. He has asthma." Renée had diagnosed the boy with Asthma a few months before, but it wasn't severe and at his age if it wasn't severe they refrained from treating it until they were older, especially since Hamish was so small they wanted him to mature more.
"Do you really think I'm just going to let you walk out of here? Come now Mrs. Holmes, you're smarter than that." Renée closed her eyes looking up at Mary, Hamish had stopped crying, but Michelle was still wailing. Renée slowly moved over to Michelle gently running her finger up and down her cheek calming her fairly quickly.
Renée stiffened feeling arms wrap around her torso, Sherlock often did that to her, but she knew it wasn't Sherlock. It was Moriarty, trying to make Sherlock mad. "Lets play a game, shall we Renée?" His breath seemed to snake down Renée's skin making it crawl. "You know Moriarty, its a horrible thing, to covet another mans wife." Renée stated, his grip tightened to the point it hurt and was obstructing her own breathing. Instinctively she tried to push his arms down, do anything to get them off of her.
Moriarty kissed at her neck looking at Sherlock as he did so. "It might be horrible. But it is so much fun when that man is Sherlock." Renée felt sick again, the fact Sherlock had kissed her in the exact same spots only hours earlier made it worse. "Your baby is running out of time Mrs. Holmes, you and your husband need to figure a way out." Renée looked to Hamish, he had clearly lost consciousness and his color; he looked dead. She turned elbowing Moriarty hard enough in the side of the head that it knocked him out.
She went over to Mary first. "We should wait for the bomb squad." Mary whispered, Renée shook her head slightly. "That's to slow, Hamish doesn't have time, I can disarm them myself." Renée laughed to herself Moriarty was foolish he used one computer to control all of the bombs, and it happened to be on Mary. It didn't take her long to hack into the systems and disarm all of the Bombs. She wondered why he had made it so easy, it made her stomach churn.
Renée took Hamish from Mary's arms. "Get Michelle, and meet me at the hospital." She said to Sherlock before running outside, Luckily Lestrade had already called an ambulance, he had actually called quite a few.
Renée was leaned over the crib gently running her thumb over Hamish's hand, his color had improved slightly, the medication was working and the oxygen mask was helping with his breathing, but he was still unconscious. Renée heard who she assumed was Sherlock entering the room, she turned to see him standing with Mycroft, that was not a good thing.
"Moriarty managed to escape from custody." Mycroft said, Renée looked down. "Why doesn't that surprise me?" She looked between Sherlock and Mycroft. "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."
Renée seemed to hesitate looking over at Hamish. "Just until this is over of course." she let out a small laugh. "This will never be over, that Maniac will never leave us alone, not unless he's dead." Renée closed her eyes, she seemed to be weighing the options. "Fine. They can stay with your parents." Renée ran a hand through her hair, she was frustrated, stressed; she wanted it all to just end, for Moriarty's game to be over.
She looked to Sherlock and Michelle walking closer to them, she gently brushed a few of Michelle's dark curls to the side making her smile and giggle. "Come here beautiful." Renée smiled taking her from Sherlock, Michelle started to whimper slightly, looking over Renée's shoulder at Hamish. "Your brother is alright." Renée whispered softly, it seemed that was what she was whimpering about. Renée cradled Michelle in her arms gently rocking her back and forth . "We are all going to be alright. I promise." Renée looked at Sherlock when she said that, out of the four of them she felt he needed convincing the most.
Damon was sitting across from Sherlock, Renée was still in the bedroom, she had refused to move that morning, refused to talk, just like every morning since Hamish was in the hospital, and since the children were taken to Sherlock's parents and put under a 24 hour protection. Not even Sherlock could get her to speak or move at that point.
"Renée's depressed." Damon said, though that was probably the most obvious stated fact of the day. "She has a habit of bottling up her emotions until they break her. Last time she got like this..." Damon stopped, the last time Renée was like this was right before she left, he had to take her to the hospital and admit her himself. "She was hospitalized, lets put it that way. They thought she was having a psychotic break, put her on a whole pile of ant-psychotics, and sedated her. She slept for four days straight, when she woke up, she was fine again." Damon tapped his finger on his tea cup. "She wasn't having a psychotic break though, she just locked herself up in that 'mind palace' of hers. She shut herself down."
Damon looked over to the hallway hearing the bedroom door open, Renée appeared a few moments later but didn't really acknowledge they were there. She looked like death warmed over, her skin pale, bags under her eyes. Damon got up going over to her gently putting a hand on her shoulder, she ignored him. He didn't really know why he was even trying, if Sherlock couldn't get to her, he was convinced no one would be able to. "Renée, we are worried about you." "Worry about something else." Those were the first words she had said to anybody in three days. "I'm worried about you."
"Damon, there is a maniac running around trying to destroy my husband, myself, and my family." Renée turned to look at him. "Worry about something else!" Renée raised her voice, she never did that, she never yelled. "Renée, this isn't normal." Renée let out a laugh. "Well, I've never been normal have I Damon? I've always been your freak of a sister." Renée pushed past him stopping by Sherlock's chair. "The sleeping pills you slipped into my tea last night, they didn't work." She said to him, she sounded angry, but she wasn't angry, or wasn't sure if she was angry or not.
Renée didn't say another word, she just returned to the bedroom quietly closing the door behind her curling back up in the bed.
Damon went back over to Sherlock. "She needs to see the kids. I think it will help her, it might be the only thing that will help her."
Renée and Sherlock had fought the next morning, she didn't even know why, they were just yelling at each other, she assumed it was her fault though, she wasn't okay, Sherlock was trying to help, she wasn't letting him. She had gone into the bathroom, the only room in the flat where the door locked. She could hear him on the phone after, she assumed he was talking to Mycroft, or John, but couldn't really tell, she couldn't even bring herself to really care.
Mary was sitting by John who was looking at Sherlock, and Mycroft was leaned up against the wall. "Someone needs to go get her out of the bathroom." Mary finally spoke, breaking the silence. "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 blandly, as if it was the simplest solution in the world. "And what happens when they leave again? We all know they can't stay here. She needs help." John sighed leaning forward looking at Sherlock. "Mary is right Sherlock. She needs to be put on an anti-depressant something, anything." John said it, but he knew he was wasting his breath. That would be an argument none of them would win.
When the twins arrived Michelle went straight to Sherlock, she wasn't interested in anyone else. Hamish saw Sherlock, but when he didn't see Renée he started to fuss. "Where is Renée?" Sherlock's Mother asked. Mycroft pushed off the wall. "Well you see Mother, Renée-" Mycroft stopped seeing the look Sherlock gave him. "Mary will go and get her. She wasn't feeling well."
Mary nodded moving down the hall, she gently knocked on the bathroom door. "Renée, Sherlock's parents are here." no answer. Renée didn't exactly care who was there. "Renée, they brought the twins. You should come see your children." Mary smiled hearing the door unlock. Renée looked at Mary for a split second before walking into the living room, Hamish was with Sherlock's Mother, and Michelle was with Sherlock, that didn't surprise her at all.
As soon as Hamish saw Renée he started trying to get out of his Grandmother's arms fussing and crying, Renée walked over to him gently taking his hand. "Hey now, whats all the noise about? There is no need for that." Renée said softly taking him from Sherlock's Mother. "How are you doing Renée?" She asked. Small talk. Something she wasn't exactly in the mood for.
Still she forced a smile. "Good." She replied looking at Hamish who had nestled his head in the crook of her neck, she smiled at him a genuine smile, running a finger over his little hand.
Renée sat down in her normal spot, Hamish in her lap, she closed her eyes taking a deep breath. Even with her eyes closed she could tell everyone was watching her.
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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
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Renée walked out of their room, she had managed to drag herself out of her head but she wasn't sure how long it would last, so she sought out Sherlock, it frightened her the power her mind had, had over her personality recently. "Sherlock." Renée said coming into the living room, but he wasn't there and she couldn't remember when he left.
"Mrs. Hudson!" Renée called, quickly moving down the stairs, Mrs. Hudson had already opened her door. "Do you know when Sherlock left?" The woman watched Renée for a minute almost shocked to see her. "Just after noon." She replied as if it weren't a big deal, but it was almost twelve at night.
The panic set in quickly. Renée rushed back up the stairs grabbing her phone, she dialed Sherlock. Once. Twice. Three times. No answer. She dialed John next. "Renée? Is something wrong, its eleven at night." Renée took a deep breath, her heart was hammering in her head and the only thing that was going through her head was Moriarty. Moriarty has him. He's dead. "Sherlock left at noon and he hasn't come back. I think something has happened to him, you need to come over."
"Okay, I will be right there."
John had got the call early in the morning, he looked upset by the time he hung up the phone. "Was it Sherlock?" Renée asked looking over at John. "No it was Mycroft, he found Sherlock and is almost here as we speak." John didn't say anything else before moving out the door and down the stairs. Renée moved to the window, Mycroft basically dragged Sherlock out of the cab, and John slapped him. Something was definitely wrong.
As soon as Sherlock walked in he flopped down in his chair, Renée could tell immediately, he was high. Her heart sank, a disappointed look coming over her face, but she wasn't sure who she was disappointed in; Herself or Sherlock. "Can I help you?" His tone was sarcastic, angry even. She went to answer but Sherlock spoke again. "Oh, wait. I can't help you because you won't bloody allow me to!" This time Sherlock yelled his tone sharp. Throwing his arms up in the air he slammed his fists onto the arms of his chair lifting himself out of it.
Renée kept her eyes locked on him, she knew she had been difficult, and she knew she had been distant locked up in her head, and every time Sherlock tried to help her she wanted so badly to open up, tell him how she was hurting, why she was hurting, but she had been afraid of him blaming himself for everything Moriarty had been doing, for having this affect on her. She was worried he would turn to drugs because of that, but in trying to stop that, it seemed she made it happen.
"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 again storming out of the flat, slamming the door behind him.
Renée went over to the window she could see him sitting on the curb, she wanted to recoil again, lock herself away. "You should go talk to him Renée." John's voice was almost like a whisper in the wind. "I'm the reason he's high, and I'm the reason he is hurting. I was trying to avoid this, and I caused it. I think I am the last person he wants to talk to."
"Renée. He loves you, and he needs you right now." Renée sighed moving towards the door trying to compile words to say to Sherlock, she moved down the stairs at a slow pace, scared he would yell again, that he wouldn't listen.
Renée approached the curb hesitating before sitting down. "I'm sorry." she whispered softly looking over at Sherlock. "I know I have been distant, and awful. I was worried that if I let you help me you would blame yourself for the reason I was...am in the state I am. I was trying to avoid this, and it seems I just caused it. I'm sorry Sherlock, for causing you so much pain." Renée looked away from him biting her lip. Guilt. She stood up before he could say anything else.
"Renée, it isn't your fault..." Mary said softly, Renée had her head on her knees, she was crying. "It is my fault. This is all my fault. If I hadn't locked myself away, if Sherlock had never even met me...Moriarty wouldn't be making his life hell, he wouldn't have two children he can't even see. He would be solving crimes not getting high." Renée looked up hearing John clear his throat, clearly he and Sherlock had been standing there the whole time. Renée looked at Sherlock tears staining her cheeks, her eyes just about as blood shot as his.
Renée let John put Sherlock to bed, she couldn't even bare to look at him let alone speak to him. She walked into the room once everyone had left when she was sure Sherlock was asleep. She watched him for a moment before going over to the bed gently kissing his temple. "I'm sorry. I love you." she whispered before leaving the room again, she went across the street to her old flat which was now her brothers flat. When he answered Renée smiled. "I want to have a bath. Sherlock is sleeping, I don't want to wake him."
Incompetent. Renée had her hands on both sides of the sink, the water for the bath running, tears streaming down her face. Failure. Selfish. Depressed. Stupid. The words circled around in her head. Oh Mrs. Holmes, what have you done? Moriarty's voice whispered in her head. "Stop it." She growled. This is all your fault, they would all be better without you. Sherlock won't even care, how could you really believe he loves you? You're a monster.
Renée squeezed her eyes shut, when she opened them they went straight to the pill bottle she had opened moments before. Even if I had reason to kill myself, I wouldn't jump off a building to do it. Her own words echoed in her head. Renée, listen to me. Listen to me very carefully. Jump. It's what you want anyway. To be dead. Away from everything. Sherlock's voice. Renée grabbed the bottle dumping the pills into her hand, she didn't know what they were and she didn't really care, she threw them into her mouth swallowing, a few more tears rolled down her cheeks, it was like swallowing sand.
It had been at least an hour, Renée was sat leaned up against the wall, her head throbbing, a exhaustion had taken over her but even then she was still crying. She heard Damon knocking on the door yelling for her to open it. Renée! Renée, open the door! Open it now!" She could hear the panic in his voice, he figured it out, there was a few moments of silence. "Sherlock, you need to come over now!" Damon's voice was frantic. "Renée has locked herself in the bathroom, she has been in there for an hour and a half. I think she is going to kill herself."
"He doesn't care Renée. He won't come for you. His life will be better without you." Moriarty was standing in front of her. Hallucinations. Renée blinked her eyes a few times Moriarty had disappeared, now she could hear Sherlock yelling, but couldn't make out what he was saying.
When the door broke open, Sherlock was the first one in the bathroom. "I'm sorry." she whispered it was all she could manage. She looked at Sherlock, she could hear Damon panicking behind her, then John was in the doorway, how did he get there so fast? Or was she losing track of time? "What did she take?" he asked, but it was distant in Renée's ears. John picked up the empty bottle looking at Renée, he got down beside her, Sherlock had already laid her flat on her back.
"Her heart rate is slow, her pulse is barely there. Her body is shutting down." John was talking to Sherlock but he looked back at Renée. "Renée, can you hear me?" Renée looked at him. "I'm tired John..." She whispered. "Don't close your eyes." Renée took in a shallow breath. "Will you tell Sherlock I love him? and that...I'm sorry...I never meant to cause him...so much...pain..." John gave her a confused look. "He's right beside you Renée."
Renée almost seemed to laugh a little bit. "No he isn't...he can't love me...I'm a monster, a freak." She closed her eyes for a minute. "But...John, tell Sherlock I love him. Promise? You have to promise." John nodded. "Yes, okay. I promise, I will tell him."
Just then the paramedics came in, Renée closed her eyes, she couldn't keep them open any longer.
It had been hours, and the Doctor had finally come out to update Sherlock. "We barely managed to save her life." The Doctor said looking at Sherlock though Damon and John were with him as well. "Did you know she was depressed?" It seemed to be a question directed to all of them. "We suspected."
"Well, it seems that stress, anxiety, and depression just all built up, this caused Mrs. Holmes to have a mental break, it caused a psychosis which lead to her attempting to take her life." The Doctor cleared his throat. "We have her on a course of anti-depressants and anti-psychotics. Mrs. Holmes is also sedated, we plan to keep her sedated for a few days. We find it helps the patient reset." The Doctor looked into Renée's room. "You may go in and see her now."
Renée came to about three days later, she opened her eyes slightly. Feeling a hand in hers she turned her head slightly to see Sherlock. "Sherlock..." Renée's brow furrowed, she was confused for a moment, she didn't know what happened, when it all came back to her tears filled her eyes, she gently squeezed Sherlock's hand. "I'm sorry..." she was crying now. "I made your life hell, I convinced myself you were better off without me...Sherlock..." She looked away from him tears streaming down her cheeks. Guilt. Remorse.
"Why are you here? You should hate me, you should never want to see me again. "
RenĂ©e had been home for a while, and her 24 hour suicide watch had been lifted a month ago. Though both herself and Sherlock had been frequenting the news, Sherlock was still the world famous detective he had always been but since he hadnât been working any cases because of the twins, the news ate up his getting high, and RenĂ©eâs suicide attempt following that event.
RenĂ©e brought tea into the living room as Mycroft had arrived, though she wasnât looking forward to hearing anything he had to say. Sherlock hadnât turned from the window where he was playing his violin when Mycroft came in. âHaving fun dealing with the reporters RenĂ©e?â Mycroft asked but it was more of a sneer, RenĂ©e was barely tolerating her insufferable brother-in-law and he had just started speaking. âThey only manage to catch me on my way to work. They are easy enough to ignore.â RenĂ©e replied. She had started working again, as the twins were still with Sherlockâs parents, there was no need for her to be home on a regular basis, she had even told John to start finding Sherlock cases again.
âWell, it was your fault that Sherlock was high in the first place. Perhaps you deserve what they are saying about you.â The sound of Sherlockâs music stopped, RenĂ©e looked to him for a split second. âI always told Sherlock that loving someone was a horrible disadvantage. He had no wish to take part in it until you came around, and then his world went to hell. I told him to eliminate his feeling for you the moment they occurred.â Mycroft paused for a moment. âIf he had listened to me, none of this would have happened.â Mycroft directed that comment more at Sherlock than RenĂ©e, she sighed slightly looking at the floor, she already blamed herself for everything wrong in Sherlockâs life, Mycroft was just adding to guilt.
âIt would have been better for all of us if you had died.â RenĂ©e looked over at Sherlock who had turned around now, her heart ached and she looked away from him. âSherlock would have followed me...You know that.â
âYou knew that as well RenĂ©e you still went through with it. How long do you think it would have been before he followed you? How long before your children were left parentless, did you even think about them?â RenĂ©e looked at Mycroft. âI had a mental break Mycroft...You know having your husbandâs voice in your head telling you to kill yourself because he would have been better off if he had never met you will do that to someone. I wasn't thinking at all.â
âI donât believe for one second it was a mental break. You feel guilt and remorse and that is your cover up!â Mycroft raised his voice. âLook at the facts Mycroft. Iâm a Doctor, and I am very smart. If I was thinking straight, or thinking at all I wouldnât have swallowed a bottle of pills. I would have slit my throat, bled out in seconds, dead before Damon could figure out what I was doing, and dead before Sherlock could have got to me.â
RenĂ©e kept her voice calm and steady, and it was the truth, she didnât understand why Mycroft couldnât see that. âI wouldnât have done it, if my head hadnât told me he wanted me dead. Do you really think I would do that to him because I was depressed? None of you seem to see that though, all any of you are concerned about is how I would have and have destroyed your beloved Sherlock Holmes!â RenĂ©eâs breath caught in her throat when she took a breath. âYou all seem to forget he is my beloved Sherlock Holmes too.â
âIf you want to hate me Mycroft, then hate me, trust me I probably hate myself for it more than you could hate me in a lifetime. You want to blame me? Then blame me. There isnât a day that doesnât go by that I donât feel horrible about it, all of it, some days I canât even look at Sherlock, with out feeling sick because of the pain I put him through. I canât sleep beside him in bed most of the time because I feel like I donât belong there anymore. Because you are right, your brother deserves so much better than me, because he is a great, brilliant man. So if you want to blame me, then blame me.â RenĂ©e sighed moving past Mycroft over to Sherlock, she had to go to work.
RenĂ©e glanced at the ring on his finger. A reminder of the vow they had both taken to each other a vow she felt she broke. She looked back up at him and at his lips for a moment, she wanted to kiss him goodbye. Kiss him like they used to, like they hadnât since the night Moriarty took the twins. RenĂ©e bit her lip moving pressing a kiss to Sherlockâs cheek. âI will see you after work... She paused for a moment. âDonât get mad at your brother. I deserve it. I deserve it all.â She looked Sherlock in the eyes her silent way of telling him she meant it, before she turned heading down the stairs.
As soon as Renée stepped out the door she was surrounded by reporters, like usual she simply pushed past them all though they followed her for a few blocks as she had gotten into the habit of walking to work, eventually they gave up, but she was sure there would be another story about her in the paper in the morning.
RenĂ©e got home late, around 1am. Coming into the flat she noticed Sherlock in his chair; it didnât surprise her that he was still up though. âIâm assuming you didnât eat diner.â RenĂ©e spoke softly but didnât expect him to answer, it looked like he was in his mind palace so she went to move past Sherlock towards the kitchen to make him something to eat not wanting to disturb him if he was thinking about a case, though she wasnât even sure if he had a case.
RenĂ©e stopped feeling Sherlockâs arms catch her around her torso; she hadnât even heard him stand up. RenĂ©e gently linked her fingers through his leaning back against his body. âIâm sorry Sherlock.â RenĂ©e whispered softly, she apologized to him at least once everyday if not more, she knew Sherlock was aware how guilty she felt, but she still apologized all the time, and he would always say that she didnât need to, that it wasnât her fault, and she would always say it yes she did, and that it was her fault, but she never gave him a reason as to why it was her fault.
Before Sherlock could even say she didnât need to apologize which she knew was what he was going to say, RenĂ©e spoke. âAnd donât say that I donât need to apologize.â She started. âI feel like I broke my vow to you...I did break my vow to you. You never once broke your vow to me, but I broke my vow to you so many times in one day...I will never forgive myself for it, so I am going to keep apologizing because you deserve someone so much better that me Sherlock.â
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Sherlock was standing by the window, violin in hand, only he wasn't playing. He couldn't find what to play or how to bring himself to playing anything in the first place. His phone began to ring, and he hesitated walking over to it to pick it up. It was Damon. Odd. He answered it. He couldn't even manage to get out a "hello" before Damon started rambling. "Sherlock, you need to come over now! Renée has locked herself in the bathroom. She's been in there for an hour and a half. I think she's going to kill herself."
Sherlock dropped the phone, rushing out of the door and across to the street, almost getting hit by a cab in the process. He opened the door to the flat, going straight to the bathroom door. "Renée! Open this bloody door! You open it now, Renée! For the love of god, Renée! Please!!" he yelled, pounding his fists on the door as hard as possible. No response. He slammed his shoulder against the door at full force. Nothing. "I'm here," John said as he came in. It took six more hard slams with his shoulder for Sherlock to break the door down.
"I'm sorry..." she whispered. Sherlock moved her, laying her flat on her back and turning her head to the side. "Stay awake, Renée," Sherlock said softly. "What did she take?" John asked. He knelt down beside her. "Her heart rate is slow. Her pulse is barely there. Her body is shutting down. Renée, can you hear me?" "I'm tired, John..." Her voice was distant, and Sherlock's heart sank. He was slowly losing his wife with every second that continued to pass. "Don't close your eyes."
Renée's breathing was shallow and slow. "Will you tell Sherlock I love him? And that...I'm sorry... I never meant to cause him...so much...pain..." Sherlock stared at her, tears in his eyes. "He;s right beside you, Renée." She laughed weakly; it wasn't really much of a laugh per se. "No he isn't... He can't love me... I'm a monster, a freak. But...John. Tell Sherlock I love him. Promise? You have to promise..." "Yes, okay. I promise. I will tell him." Just as she closed her eyes, the paramedics arrived.
Hours. Hours had gone by. It felt like years though, to Sherlock at least. He stood in anticipation when the doctor came out to update him. "We barely managed to save her life." Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't the best news, but more than that, it wasn't the worst. "Did you know she was depressed?" The question was directed at the three of them: Sherlock, John, and Damon. "We suspected."
"Well, it seems that stress, anxiety, and depression just all built up, this caused Mrs. Holmes to have a mental break, it caused a psychosis which lead to her attempting to take her life." The Doctor cleared his throat. "We have her on a course of anti-depressants and anti-psychotics. Mrs. Holmes is also sedated, we plan to keep her sedated for a few days. We find it helps the patient reset. You may go in and see her now." Sherlock stared into the room for a brief moment before going in.
Sherlock had been at Renée's bedside for the past three days, holding her hand. He refused to leave, refused to sleep, refused to eat. He kept his eyes on his wife, anxiously waiting for her to wake. It would be some time today, only he didn't know when. Her eyes opened, though barely. "Sherlock..." A confused look was on her face. He could see tears in her eyes as she squeezed his hand gently. "I'm sorry..." She was fully crying now. "I made your life hell. I convinced myself you were better off without me... Sherlock..." She looked away from him.
"Why are you here? You should hate me. You should never want to see me again." Sherlock shook his head. "For better...or for worse."
It was around 1am. Sherlock was wide awake, lost in thought, sitting in his chair. He heard Renée come in but didn't move. "I'm assuming you didn't eat dinner." She walked into the kitchen, his eyes following her. He stood, walking towards her. He caught her mid-walk by wrapping his arms about her waist, stopping her movement. She leaned against him, locking her fingers in his. "I'm sorry, Sherlock," she whispered. He was going to respond but she continued.
"And donât say that I donât need to apologize. I feel like I broke my vow to you...I did break my vow to you. You never once broke your vow to me, but I broke my vow to you so many times in one day...I will never forgive myself for it, so I am going to keep apologizing because you deserve someone so much better that me Sherlock.â He kissed her neck softly, letting his lips linger on her skin. He tightened his grip slightly on her waist, kissing her again but behind her jaw. He hadn't been this close to her since the night that Moriarty took the twins.
"Wrong. I broke my vow to you many times. Smoking. Getting high. Blaming you for things our of your control." He brushed his lips against her neck. "So you will stop apologizing. I forgive you. Please forgive me, Renée. I love you. Also, you don't deserve what Mycroft said. Not in the slightest. Do you hear me?" Sherlock turned her around to face him, leaving one hand on her waist while the other gently grasped the back of her neck. He kissed her deeply, letting their lips stay locked for a good while. His tongue danced behind his teeth, longing to taste her lips. Her soft lips. They felt smooth and gentle against his own. Feminine. Beautiful. Like her. They fit together with his so effortlessly. Perfect.
He pulled away, looking at her, watching her eyes flutter open. She had dark circles under her blue eyes, which were a stormier blue than when they first met. A few wrinkles had found their way onto her skin, a few white hairs in her hair. Though she was just as beautiful as the day they'd met.
It was about 10 o'clock in the morning, and Sherlock and Renée were having their morning tea when Sherlock's phone ring. It was his mother.
"Hello?" He glanced at Renée. "Sherlock? It's mother. What's going on for tomorrow?" Silence. Tomorrow... What's tomorrow...? he thought to himself. "Sherlock? It's the twins' birthday tomorrow, Sherlock! Don't tell me you forgot!" "Er... Just come 'round 3 in the afternoon, mother." And with that, he hung up the call, not wishing to continue talking to her. "My mother and father are going to bring the twins tomorrow around 3 o'clock in the afternoon, Renée. For their birthday. We'll invite John, Mary, Elizabeth (o.o.c. Calling John & Mary's child Elizabeth for now since that Mary's middle name.), and Mycroft. Though I'd rather my brother not be there. However I'd never hear the end of it from my mother if I don't at least invite him."
2:45pm. John, Mary, and Elizabeth were already at the flat, though his family had yet to show. 2:48pm. His parents came in, and immediately, Michelle reached for Sherlock, while Hamish struggled about in an attempt to get to Renée when he saw her. His mother set Michelle on the ground, and she walked unsteadily toward Sherlock, a huge smile on her face, her dark curls swaying about from their length. He crouched, holding his arms out for her. When she finally made it to him, she wrapped her arms around him as best she could, and he hugged her tight.
"She's walking..." he stated, astonished. "She has been for a little over a month now," his mother said, smiling. His father set down Hamish, who began to rapidly crawl to Renée, who picked him up into her arms. "Hamish hasn't quite caught on yet, though he dos try on occasion. He just gets frustrated when he sees Michelle moving along and he can't just yet." Sherlock stood, Michelle settled on his hip. She was touching his face, smiling. "I've missed you, Michelle. And you, Hamish," he said, admiring his little ones.
3:54pm. Mycroft still hadn't shown. Sherlock wasn't exactly surprised, though he was slightly annoyed. Michelle was tugging gently at Sherlock's curls, doing the same to her own, seeming to be comparing them.
4:11pm. The door to the flat opened. "It's about bloody time, Mycro-" Sherlock began, looking up, but he stopped immediately. It wasn't Mycroft. "What do you want?" Sherlock growled, his teeth clenched. "Well..." Even the sound of his voice made Sherlock angry. Moriarty moved toward the couch, running his fingertips along the arm. "I'm kind of offended, Sherlock... Why wasn't I invited? Seems sort of rude... Don't you think?" Sherlock didn't utter a word. There was quite a good bit of silence. Suddenly, Sherlock's father turned and swung too quickly for Moriarty to react, catching him sharply under the chin, sending him to the floor, knocked out cold.
Sherlock stared at his father, shocked. His father shrugged. "Bloody tired of this prick." Sherlock phoned Lestrade. Sherlock cuffed Moriarty's hands together and his feet before hogtying him.
Moriarty was taken to a facility to be held. He would be there for the next four days, before his sentence. Death. Four days seemed to Sherlock like too many days for Moriarty to continue breathing, but he didn't exactly have a choice.
It had been days since Moriarty's death sentence. Sherlock finally felt somewhat at east. Somewhat. He could tell Renée was feeling a bit better, especially since they were able to have the twins back. She was attempting to get Hamish to walk on his own. He was slowly, slowly getting there, but Sherlock could tell Renée was getting frustrated. Michelle was wandering around the flat slowly, wobbling about as she did so.
Text tone.
Sherlock furrowed his brow, wondering who would be messaging him early in the morning.
Moriarty may be gone
But the game isn't yet over
Stay prepared, Mr. Holmes
SQ
SQ? Sherlock thought to himself. He closed his eyes, racking his mind palace for those initials. He opened his eyes quickly once he'd found it. Stephen Quinn. Renée's father.
He cleared his throat as he walked over to Renée. She looked up to see him holding the phone out to her. She hesitated taking it, and she covered her mouth, signaling to him that she knew exactly whose initials those were.
Renée had been at work all day, and Sherlock was home with the twins. He was drinking his afternoon tea, watching Hamish observe Michelle as she wandered.
A few hours later, Sherlock started to feel sick. An abnormal sick. He immediately called John and Mary, telling them to come to the flat as soon as possible. Sherlock could feel his heartbeat becoming irregular, his legs weakening, sweating. He felt nauseated and headed quickly to the bathroom. He leaned against the sink, looking into the mirror. His pupils were so dilated that it appeared his irises didn't even exist. He was dizzy, his head pounding.
When John and Mary arrived, Sherlock was sitting in his chair, feeling weak. Michelle was standing by him, tugging at his shirt, crying. Mary grabbed the twins, trying to distract them while John checked Sherlock. "Sherlock? How do you feel? Physically. I need you to tell me," John said as he checked Sherlock's visible symptoms. "Dizzy... Legs weak... Nauseated... Head...ache..." he muttered slowly. His eyes were practically refusing to stay open. "I need to get him to a hospital. Mary stay here with the twins."
When they arrived, there was no sign of Renée. They rushed him in to have blood taken and a urine sample given for tests. They got him hooked up to fluids as soon as they could. "Tea..." Sherlock moaned. "Tea? What about it?" "My...tea... The tea... In...my tea..." he continued, groaning.
A few hour after, Sherlock was finally stabilized, and Renée was now in his room, sitting beside him. "There was...something in my...tea..." he said, still weak and drained. A short while later, the doctor came in.
"Mr. Holmes, do you take any medication for depression?" He shook his head. "We found traces of Parnate in your system. We also found a high amount of Scotch Broom." Sherlock recognized the name "Parnate." It was the antidepressant Renée had been prescribed. He was also aware that Scotch Broom was harmful in high doses, especially so with MAOIs. "Essentially, Mr. Holmes... You were poisoned."
"What?! Again?!" Sherlock stated loudly. Renée was standing in front of him, a positive pregnancy test in her hand. He quickly sent John a text message.
Come now!
Emergency!
SH
It wasn't long before John burst through the door into the flat. "Sherlock, what's wro-" he started, then he saw what was in Renée's hand. "Bloody hell, Sherlock. You didn't."
Sherlock and Renée were sitting in the living room, the twins still sleeping. Mrs. Hudson came in with two cups of tea. She quietly handed them each a cup, smiling awkwardly before leaving. Sherlock thought that it was slightly weird, but he elected to ignore Mrs. Hudson's oddities. He sipped at his tea, which was a tad bitter for him, but he didn't mind too much. He drank it quickly to get it over with, while Renée sipped slowly at her own.
After a short time, Sherlock noticed he was having stomach pains. He rushed to the bathroom, vomiting into the sink, not being able to control his gag reflex. His mouth and throat were hurting, his eyes were red and felt like they were burning. The walls were becoming wavy, and his chest felt heavy and thick with pain. He couldn't focus. "Renée..." he uttered as he came out of the bathroom, collapsing to the floor. Shock The last thing he saw was Renée rushing to him before he blacked out.
(o.o.c. this part is going to be written from John's perspective.)
John grabbed his coat, moving quickly out of the door, shouting to Mary that he'd be home later. He hailed the first cab he saw and started off toward the hospital. When he got to Sherlock's room, he saw him lying on the bed, eyes closed and motionless besides his breathing. Renée was sitting in the chair next to him, holding his hand. Her eyes were red and puffy, and there were tear streaks staining her pink cheeks. "What's wrong? What's happened?" he asked. The doctor that had Sherlock's chart walked over to John. "After running just about every test we could, we figured out that he was poisoned with high amounts of bleach. And now...he's comatose. As far as we can tell that is."
John looked at Renée, who was now looking at him, tears slowly falling down her face. Sherlock Holmes, his best friend, was in a coma.
(o.o.c. Also, John's dialogue colour is just green.)
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Moriarty was dead. He was finally dead. RenĂ©e was more at ease especially since the twins were back in the flat. RenĂ©e was holding Hamishâs hands helping him walk, he fell here and there RenĂ©e was trying her best not to grow frustrated with her son, as every time he fell he looked back at her and giggled a little bit.
Michelle was wandering around the flat, she was still wobbly and fell from time to time, crying every time. Sherlock was of course immediately at her side picking her up. It made Renée smile, he sure did coddle her.
Sherlockâs text tone filled the flat RenĂ©e looked over at him, he closed his eyes obviously going through his mind palace to find something. His eyes opened quickly and RenĂ©e knew he had found it. He cleared his throat walking over to her, showing her his phone, she hesitated taking it; covering her mouth when she saw the initials. Her Father was finishing Moriartyâs work.
RenĂ©e was pulled into a trauma, like usual she left her pager at the nurses station. She didnât like it going off when she was dealing with a trauma, any distraction could be life or death for the patient and she wasnât willing to risk it.
After about two hours the nurse walked into the room for what was at least the fifth time. âDr. Holmes. Your pager has been going off nonstop for the past two hours. Itâs your husband, he has been admitted to the ER. Suspected poisoning.â RenĂ©eâs stomach twisted. âPoisoning?â The Nurse nodded. âYes doctor, thats what it says.â
RenĂ©e took her pager from the nurse glancing at it only to get Sherlockâs room, she entered the room. She immediately took his chart quickly skimming over it, her heart rate slowed down when she saw the words âSuccessfully stabilized.â She put the chart down sitting beside Sherlock. "There was...something in my...tea..."
RenĂ©e shook her head at him. âClearly, as youâre stating the obvious which is something you never do.â She leaned down kissing his cheek gently running her fingers through his hair. It wasnât long before Sherlockâs doctor came in.
"Mr. Holmes, do you take any medication for depression?" Sherlock shook his head, but RenĂ©e found it an odd question. "We found traces of Parnate in your system. We also found a high amount of Scotch Broom." RenĂ©e took in a sharp breath. Parnate was the antidepressant she had been prescribed, she also knew Scotch Broom was harmful in high amounts, though she was more curious as to how her antidepressants found their way into Sherlockâs tea. "Essentially, Mr. Holmes... You were poisoned."
RenĂ©e felt sick. Of course it was starting again, but of course it was with Sherlock. Moriartyâs goal was to hurt Sherlock, her Fathers goal had always been to hurt her. He was going to carry out Moriartyâs work, but in a different way. RenĂ©e looked at Sherlock, it was his life that was going to be on the line now.
Renée had been sick in the mornings for a few weeks, she decided a pregnancy test at that point was a must. She tapped her finger impatiently on the counter, it was like watching paint dry; tedious.
When the test came back positive Renée walked out to the living room standing in front of Sherlock, showing him the positive pregnancy test. "What?! Again?!" Renée shook her head at her husband as he quickly sent a text, she assumed to John.
âWell, Sherlock Holmes. If you are going to insist on bedding me. I am going to end up pregnant.â RenĂ©e tried to say it with a serious face but couldnât, she laughed looking at Sherlock. âAs long as I donât have another set of twins, we will be fine.â
It wasnât very long before John burst through the door. "Sherlock, what's wro-" John stopped seeing the test in RenĂ©eâs hand. "Bloody hell, Sherlock. You didn't." RenĂ©e rolled her eyes. âYes, he did. Iâm pregnant. Again.
Sherlock rushed into the bathroom which startled RenĂ©e, she could hear him getting sick but assumed it was the flu or something of the sort. "RenĂ©e..." RenĂ©e stood up quickly rushing over to Sherlock when she saw him come out of the bathroom and collapse to the floor, he didnât look good, not at all. She had just made it to him and then he blacked out.
âSherlock!â RenĂ©e gently smacked his cheeks trying to get him to wake up, his pulse was erratic and uneven and his breathing even worse. She pulled her phone out. âYes, I need an ambulance. 221B baker street.â
RenĂ©e heard John come into Sherlockâs room, she looked over at him not moving her hand from Sherlockâs. "What's wrong? What's happened?" The question was directed at RenĂ©e but she couldnât answer him. The Doctor that held Sherlockâs chart moved over to John.
"After running just about every test we could, we figured out that he was poisoned with high amounts of bleach. And now...he's comatose. As far as we can tell that is." RenĂ©e looked back over at Sherlock, she could feel her heart breaking, all that was running through her mind was: He isnât going to wake up.
Michelle was sitting by Sherlockâs music stand. âMichelle, sweet heart. Come over to Mummy.â Hamish like usual was sitting in RenĂ©eâs lap but RenĂ©e could tell that the twins were aware there was something wrong with Sherlock. It had been a couple of weeks and he hadnât been home. The twins of course noticed, but it seemed to hit Michelle harder than it hit Hamish.
The little girl wandered over to RenĂ©e, she started to pull herself up onto the chair with RenĂ©eâs help curling up in her lap beside Hamish, she looked over at her brother with a small whimper. It brought tears to RenĂ©eâs eyes, she couldnât imagine raising the twins and her unborn child alone. She couldnât imagine life without Sherlock.
Later that night, RenĂ©e brought the twins to Sherlockâs room. They brought a cot in for RenĂ©e to sleep on, and a crib for the twins. She got them down with no trouble and it wasnât long before they were fast asleep.
RenĂ©e moved to Sherlockâs bed side taking his hand, she leaned down gently brushing her lips across his, she leaned down to whisper in his ear. âSherlock, I donât know if you can hear me, but if you can I need you to wake up. I canât do this alone, I need you with me, so please, if you can hear me, please wake up...â RenĂ©e gently pushed his dark curls from his forehead gently kissing his forehead. Tears streamed down her cheeks, she felt so helpless, there was nothing she could do for him but watch him watch him live but not actually be alive. She couldn't stop thinking that he wouldn't wake up, she wanted him to wake up so badly. She wanted her husband back.
The twins were in the hospital daycare and RenĂ©e was in Sherlockâs room still holding his hand, it had been about four months since he had fallen into his coma. He still hadnât woken but all test showed there was still regular brain activity. John was in the room now as well, holding RenĂ©eâs antidepressants.
â RenĂ©e, you have to take your antidepressants.â RenĂ©e rolled her eyes standing up to face John. âI donât have to do anything John.â She replied putting a hand on her small baby bump. Morning sickness. She was still suffering from it. âThey impair my thinking, and they are bad for the baby
John let out an annoyed sigh, it made his own heart hurt watching RenĂ©e struggle to look after the twins on her own and juggle the sickness from her unborn child. â RenĂ©e, everything is going to be fine. He will wake up. Heâs Sherlock Holmes, he will outlive God.â
âJohn, everything is not going to be fine! My husband is in a coma, I am raising our two children who are both just over the age of one and carrying his third child, and he may or may not wake up. Everything isnât going to be fine.â RenĂ©e sighed hooking her pager on her belt. âI have rounds.â
âShould you be working?â John asked as she headed out of the room. âYou arenât my husband John.â RenĂ©e replied. âThat is true but when he wakes up and anything has happened to you, he will kill me!â RenĂ©e left without another word. âIf he wakes up.â she whispered to herself walking down the hallway.
RenĂ©e got a page from Sherlockâs doctor and immediately rushed up to his room. âWhat? What happened? Is he okay?â RenĂ©e put a hand on her stomach she was out of breath as she had run up the stairs to get there.
âIt appears he is waking up.â The doctor replied gesturing to Sherlock. RenĂ©e went over to Sherlock taking his hand. âSherlock?â she smiled when he seemed to respond to his name.
Once his eyes opened the doctor went over to Sherlock shinning a light in both his eyes. âWelcome back Mr. Holmes, you were giving us all quite the scare.â RenĂ©eâs smile faded discomfort moving through her abdomen, then a sharp pain. She moved her hand back to her stomach taking in a sharp breath. Both John and the doctor moved over to her. âIâm fine.â RenĂ©e said trying to disguise the pain dropping her hand from her stomach, though John didnât seem convinced. âIâm fine! Just focus on Sherlock, he was the one in a coma not me.â
RenĂ©e sighed taking the chart from the doctor who went to protest but she just raised her hand silencing him. âI can finish the exam.â she said softly, shifting her weight from one foot to another discomfort still coursing through her body. âI have a trauma patient in the ER, she is six, she is stable. Parents say she fell down the stairs, I called child services she is being abused.â RenĂ©e looked over at the doctor raising her eyebrows, he sighed leaving the room. âRenĂ©e...â She groaned going over to Sherlock. âJohn, I am fine. Can you please just go and get the twins from daycare? I am sure they would be happy to see Sherlock.â John glanced at Sherlock for a moment before nodding and leaving the room.
âFollow my finger.â RenĂ©e said avoiding the topic of the baby completely. She normally wouldnât have done Sherlockâs exam, but she knew the chances of him talking to her about what just happened were slim if she was working. She gently placed her hand on Sherlockâs cheek. âYou seem fine.â she smiled slowly standing up jotting something down in Sherlockâs chart.
âDaddy!â Michelle giggled walking over to Sherlockâs bed Hamish following behind her, he had started walking around a month ago. RenĂ©e helped the two of them up on the bed, Michelle crawled over to Sherlock. Both the twins were getting talking down as well, learning slowly but surely.
âMommy!â Hamish smiled wrapping his arms around RenĂ©eâs torso the best he could, RenĂ©e did he best not to flinch from the pain that moved through her. Something was wrong. âBaby?â Hamish asked putting his hand on RenĂ©eâs stomach. She forced a smile onto her lips. âThats right Hamish.â
âWhy donât you go give Daddy a hug? Iâm sure that would make him feel a lot better.â Hamish smiled crawling over to Sherlock moving onto his lap giving him a hug, Michelle made an annoyed noise at her brother, gently pushing him so that he lost his balance and ended up on the other side of Sherlock. Hamish simply glared at his sister.
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