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Chapter Text

Sherlock carried the boy in his arms, walking by the waiting officers and even John. His stride determined, he approached the waiting paramedics. One was a man, the other a woman. The male paramedic reached to take the child from him, but he turned, depositing him into the woman's arms instead. He efficiently told her what she would need to know about the small boy in her arms and she nodded. But as soon as Sherlock went to step away, not towards his partner and the Yard but towards the main street the boy called out for him. Sherlock tensed, knowing he should do what would be seen as normal for him and leave, but he couldn't bring himself to walk away.

When he turned back it was to see the child reaching out and struggling for the detective, in turn, the woman was struggling to hold him. Nodding once, he reached out and took the 3 year old.

“I know, she's likely an idiot,” he told the child, “But she must be slightly competent or she wouldn't be a paramedic.”

The boy looked at him blankly, not having understood half of what he said. Sherlock changed tack. “How about this, then. I'll hold you while she tends to your...” He searched his memory for the correct word. “Boo-boos.”

The boy offered what could only be described as a grin, his front teeth showing.

John walked over and placed his hand at Sherlock's back, “You alright, love?”

The boy's eyes widened. “It's ok,” Sherlock offered, he leaned over to kiss the older man and the boy poked his tongue out slightly. “Friend.” He let his head rest back on John's shoulder and the little one nodded.

“What's your name?”

“Finn.”

John stuck out his hand, but rather than taking it, the boy buried his face in the collar of Sherlock's Belstaff. “That's ok, Finn. I'm glad to meet you.”

That earned him a peek from the boy, but as he was looking up at the calmly placid look on Sherlock's face, he saw his parents being dragged, kicking and screaming from the house.

“Sherlock, you said 2 minutes!” Greg snapped as he glanced from the detective to his recently arrested pair worriedly, they weren't meant to see him. When the boy flinched, the DI let his features soften. He'd buried his head back into Sherlock's neck by the time the greying haired man had joined them.

“I meant to go,” he said to Greg, “but he called after me and I couldn't…” Sherlock actually choked on a sob. “I couldn't leave him.”

“Hey,” John soothed.

“It's alright,” Greg insisted as the door to the van slammed shut behind them. He was slightly confused at the detective's show of emotion as hidden as it was.

“Let the paramedics check him out,” John urged.

“Yeah,” Greg agreed, “Then I have someone on the way to take him into care.”

Apparently that conversation had been understood. Finn's lower lip trembled and he started crying.

The paramedic immediately stepped forward, but Sherlock shook his head. “No! And no to you too, Lestrade.”

“What do you mean no?” Greg asked, confused.

“He's coming home with me.” He glanced at John hoping for some support. “With us.”

Lestrade shook his head. “Sherlock, you know I can't allow that.”

“I believe you'll find you can.” The detective rolled his eyes at the look of concern on the DI's face. “Mycroft will make it all nice and legal, won't he, Finn?”

The boy had no idea what any of that meant as he sniffled, but the confusion on his face wasn't missed. Greg wasn't convinced, however.

“Why don't we let him decide?” John interrupted the stare down between the two men. “If Finn wants to go with you, Sherlock won't stand in his way.” The detective's gaze flickered over to the doctor and he winked, confident Sherlock was right.

The DI held his hands out, but Finn's hands that had previously been tucked in against him wrapped around Sherlock's neck.

Donovan, who had sauntered up during the last exchange, curled her lip. “There's no accounting for taste.”

“As evidenced by the attraction between yourself and Anderson,” Sherlock snarled.

The DI glanced at Donovan and took one look at how protective Sherlock was of the boy already.

“Just hand him over, Freak, no kid in their right mind would want to live with you.”

“He's not in his right mind though is he, Sally,” Sherlock spat. “He's been abused by his parents so why don't you piss off and leave him with someone who understands!” There he’d said it, he hadn't meant to and the calloused hand now resting at his nape confirmed that he had.

Greg nodded once. “I will phone Mycroft. I'll sort it.” He looked away to hide his worry, not for the boy, now, though, but for Sherlock.

“Thank you,” John whispered, he followed Sherlock who had turned to stomp off the only way he could with a child in his arms.

“We'll have to walk, we have no booster for him.”

“We're 13 miles from, Baker Street, John, I wouldn't want to walk that on a normal day, let alone now.” An idea struck the detective like a light bulb moment. “Finn, would you go with John? He's a doctor, so he can check that you're all ok?”

The boy looked wary but John's soft, welcoming smile seemed to win him over and he held his hands towards the blond. John took him willingly, “What are you-” he didn't get to finish as Sherlock had raced over to where the house was now locked up and threw a brick through the window.

“Sherlock!” Greg barked.

“What?” He snapped back. “It's not like those imbeciles are going to need it for a long time.” He climbed through after knocking back the excess glass and found the set of car keys, he came back out the way he went in and jogged to the family car, but it didn't start. Sighing and kicking the tyre he leant under the dash and pulled some wires out, it didn't take long for him to jump start it. He slipped into the driver's seat and pulled up beside John.

“Booster good enough for you?”

John gave Greg a knowing smile and shrugged. “It looks like the car's been confiscated by the British Government.”

The doctor finished his preliminary assessment of Finn's wounds. There was nothing broken, not even a sprain. Old bruises were present as were some fresh ones and there were a couple of old cigarette burns that were partially healed. The smile he had been wearing was long since gone. It was a very good thing the boy's so called parents were already in custody.

“And what of the brick through the window?”

Sherlock climbed out of the car after watching John struggle with the car seat for ages to help. “The British Government also confiscated that window.”

It took Sherlock less than 30 seconds to buckle Finn safely into the car seat. John glared at him, daring Sherlock to make a comment about his incompetence. All he got in return was a single raised eyebrow that seemed to speak volumes.

“Just get in, you git,” John said eventually.

With a grin that was slightly clouded by worry Sherlock climbed back into the driver's seat. He peered over his shoulder. “How you doing, Finn?”

The boy smiled and began to wave at Greg as Sherlock reversed. “Do you like him?”

“Policeman.”

“That's right. He can be a bit grumpy sometimes.”

Finn smiled again.

John found it amazing how children seemed to get over, well appeared to get over things so quickly. He wasn't naive enough to think that was the end of it, but just a smile seemed to make everything go away.

“Now, Finn,” Sherlock continued. “Back at our house is a lovely old lady who makes tea and biscuits, do you like the sound of that?”

Finn's eye lit up at the mention of biscuits, but then he made a face, “Don't like tea.”

Sherlock didn't even blink. “That's because you've never had Mrs. Hudson's tea. Or John's. John's is the best.”

The look Finn gave him was dubious at best.

“Was that a compliment, Sherlock?” John asked.

He sent him a crooked grin. “I guess it was.”

As they pulled up outside 221 it was to see Mycroft leant against the wall. Sherlock immediately unbuckled Finn and held him tight.

Mycroft pushed away from the wall and approached his brother, tapping his umbrella on the pathway with each step. “Ah, baby brother, John and... Finn, isn't it?”

The little boy looked at Mycroft with wide eyes.

“Yes.” Sherlock bounced the boy in his arms. “Finn, this is my brother, Mycroft,” he told the boy. “He occasionally has his uses, but don't trust him.” He walked straight into the flat after John and followed him up the stairs.

Mycroft also followed, but paused at the door to 221B to see the look of fury on the doctor's face. What was that about? He looked him up and down, planning on deducing, but came up with nothing.

John didn't trust himself not to punch Mycroft in the face so he made a tactical retreat to make tea. He made three cups, one each for himself, Sherlock and Finn. Finn's he made as sticky sweet as the detective's and added a generous amount of milk.

When he reappeared Sherlock was sat in his chair, Finn on his lap. The detective was watching the young boy look around the room taking in everything from the moose head on the wall to the skull on the mantle.

John set both Sherlock's and Finn's tea on the table beside the detective's chair and smiled at the little boy. He ached to tousle Finn's hair, but thought better of it.

“I don't care what you have to do, Mycroft. Make it happen.” Sherlock, whose voice had gotten quite loud glared at his brother. “Finn's not going into care and his parents will never see him again. Am I clear?”

“Sherlock you can't just go plucking children from the law and keep them.”

“Why not?”

Mycroft didn't have an answer that would be suitable for Finn to hear.

“You can't keep him here, Sherlock, you've got no idea what he's been through.”

If he hadn't been holding Finn, Sherlock would have jumped up. “Don't say another word, brother-mine,” he sneered viciously. “I don't need you to tell me what I am capable of understanding.”

John watched Sherlock curiously, trying to get more information out of him with a single look, the way Sherlock could, he wasn't as successful though. The detective had moved on from glaring at his brother and was helping Finn with his tea, he had produced a straw from somewhere making it a little bit easier.

“Sherlock…” Mycroft started, but John interrupted.

“I think you should leave.”

Mycroft glanced the doctor's way, trying to understand the source of his current hostility, but failing miserably. He looked at his brother. “Are you set on this, Sherlock, really set on it?” He received a glare in response. “Of course you are.” With a sigh, Mycroft nodded. “I'll make it work,” he held up a cautionary hand, “but for a trial period.”

“No, Mycroft. You'll make it work, full stop. Finn's not going to grow to be messed up.”

“Messed up how?”

John noticed how his partner tensed and moved to stand between them. Mycroft wouldn't dare touch him, physically or metaphorically, he wouldn't want to risk an already extremely wispy relationship with his brother. That gave the doctor renewed confidence.

Mycroft tried one last time, “He has parents, Sherlock. The fact remains that there are procedures to be followed. Even if one or both of them are convicted...”

“They will be,” Sherlock hissed. “Do whatever it takes to get me custody. Delve into my trust fund if you have to in order to make the proper bribes. Now, say 'Yes, Sherlock' and be gone with you.”

“Why are you so willing to give up possibly everything?”

Sherlock glanced at Finn, who had fallen asleep on his lap.

“Because he deserves better.”

Mycroft gave a weary sigh. “Ok, brother-mine. I'll see to everything.” He inclined his head in the doctor's direction. “John.” Then, with a tap of his umbrella, he turned and left them alone.

John finally sat in his chair and stared at his flatmate. “I suppose it would be futile to ask what's going on, apart from the obvious.”

“Nothing's going on.”

“Of course.” John pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I'll call for some dinner, then, shall I?”

Sherlock frowned, but nodded. When John held his hands out to take Finn, it was a surprise that the detective just handed him over.

“I'll put him on our bed before I call.”

When John returned to the living room, it was to find Sherlock engrossed in his laptop.

The detective didn't even look up as he answered John's unasked question. “I'm shopping for what Finn will need. I'll have it all delivered.”

John took the laptop off his lap and placed it to the side, he sat down on top of him. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

Chapter Text

When John had got in from work the following day it was to find Sherlock wrapped up in a blanket on their bed, with Finn tucked up beneath him.

Last night, Sherlock had completely refused to talk, despite John's many attempts.

John had made him tea and they'd gone to bed together. Each one laid either side of Finn. Sherlock hadn't slept well, and whenever he got up for the loo or when he'd woken for work that morning he had been either staring at him or the boy.

“He's asleep again?” John asked, trying to keep his tone light.

Sherlock blinked up at him, his mind clearly elsewhere. “We had a rough morning,” he whispered. “Finn kept asking for his mum. Why, John? She's evil, she hurt him. Why would he do that?”

Shifting his gaze to the sleeping child, John shook his head sadly. “She could be the devil himself, and Finn would ask for her. She's the only constant he's ever known, her and his father. He's been completely dependent on her his whole life. Finn doesn't know anything else.”

The detective's expression turned fierce. “He has us now. We'll show him something different, something better. I'll help him forget everything that was done to him.”

“Have you forgotten?”

Sherlock's head jerked up, but he wasn't angry like John had expected him to be.

“I don't know what you mean.”

The doctor reached out and placed his hand on his boyfriend's shoulder. He knew Sherlock would have jerked away were it not for the presence of Finn in his arms. “You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

Sherlock extricated himself from the sleeping boy, sat up and gave the doctor a blank look. “Really, John. There's nothing to tell.”

John sighed, he leant down and kissed his forehead anyway. “Do you fancy something to eat, it's probably best Finn eats too, he hasn't touched any food today, has he?”

Sherlock looked a bit shamefaced. It was an odd look on him. “I got too busy trying to distract him. That was irresponsible of me.”

“It's alright, babe,” John cupped his cheek. “I wasn't having a go. I'll go and make something light, pasta okay?”

Sherlock nodded. “I'll try and wake him.”

John was going to say to rouse him slowly but he knew that Sherlock knew the consequences and the likely reaction if he didn't.

Sherlock called Finn's name softly. “Finn, wake up. John's home and he's going to take care of us. He's fixing us dinner.”

The little boy cracked his eyes and yawned sleepily. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, then crawled across the bed to the detective and held out his arms. He clearly wanted to be carried.

Sherlock obliged and lifted him up. He wrapped his legs around his waist and his arms around his neck.

“Where's Daddy?”

Not being one to lie, not when it mattered, Sherlock answered him, “Your daddy's in prison. He did things he shouldn't have done.” He didn't say it was because he'd hurt Finn, he didn't want the little boy feeling guilty.

“Will he be coming back?”

Sherlock shook his head, hoping he had managed to get just the right amount of sadness into his expression.

However, Finn was no longer looking at Sherlock, John was stood in the doorway to the kitchen a big truck in his hands. Finn grinned and reached for it. Sherlock let him smiling at his boyfriend. “Where?”

“I stopped at the toy shop on the way back from work. I've got some other stuff for him as well, toys and new clothes, well the clothes and nappies are from Mycroft I bumped into him outside.”

“He didn't come in, then. Good,” Sherlock said with exaggerated venom.

A thought occurred to John, one that made him feel slightly ill. “Mycroft didn't...” The doctor trailed off, but his suspicion that Mycroft had caused Sherlock intentional hurt was plain to be read on his face.

The detective rolled his eyes. “Don't be dull, John. Mycroft's worse faults were being an arrogant prick and being woefully unobservant.”

“We're not talking about the present day now, are we?”

Sherlock glanced at the boy in his arms, he was focused on the truck, but this wasn't a conversation he wanted him to hear. “How longs dinner?”

John nodded, the detective was right to change the subject. “10 minutes.”

Sherlock nodded back and carried Finn through to the other room, he sat on the floor with him and decided to join in his truck game, John watched them both from the door for a moment, there was definitely something going on.

The doctor frowned, but said nothing further, opting instead to attack the kitchen table. It was one thing to eat in their chairs like barbarians. It was another to subject Finn to it.

A beaker was sitting far too close to the edge of the table and John knocked it off. “Fu... uudge!” John corrected himself mid-swear as he jumped back to avoid the shattering glass.

The response was immediate. Finn flinched, dropped the truck and raced to the sofa. He clambered up, wrapped himself in a ball and hid his face in his knees, sobbing.

The image of Sherlock sitting just so transposed itself over John's vision of the little boy for a moment and he had to lean against the table.

By the time John had regained control of himself, Sherlock was knelt next to the whimpering boy. He wrapped him in long arms and held him close, whispering and murmuring to him.

The doctor walked into the living room and approached Finn and Sherlock quietly. “I'm sorry I shouted, Finn. I was just startled by the breaking glass.” At the little boy's cautious look, John went a bit closer. “I'm not hurt, I'm not angry and I'm not going to hurt you.”

Finn didn't move.

“John, it may have been the glass breaking that first triggered him, you shouting was just a reaction, a reaction he is probably also used to.”

“I want Mummy.”

Sherlock sighed. “I know, Finn, but your mummy isn't here.” He looked around the room, his eyes falling on his violin. “Do you want me to play those funny songs you like?”

Finn frowned. “John not angry?”

The doctor's heart broke just a bit in that moment. “No, Finn,” he said quietly.

“He left.”

“Today?”

Finn nodded.

“He had to go to work. Did your mummy and daddy not go to work?”

This time the little boy shook his head.

“Of course they didn't,” Sherlock muttered under his breath.

“That's ok,” John said, holding his hands out. Surprisingly Finn reached out and Sherlock let the doctor pick him up. “Because I will phone Sarah and say I can't come into work anymore. How does that sound?”

Finn's eyes lit up.

“John, you love your job,” Sherlock pointed out.

“That doesn't matter. What does matter is Finn. Shall we go and see what other toys you've got?” The little one nodded. “Oh, and phone Mycroft tell him he can pay for all our bills and anything we or Finn may need.”

Sherlock nearly shrank back at the fire in John's eyes as he looked over his shoulder. He frowned at the doctor. “You've never let Mycroft pay for anything voluntarily.”

“Well, things change.” John picked up a huge plush dinosaur and began 'walking' it through the air in Finn's direction.

The little boy giggled, his earlier distress already forgotten.

He leant over and kissed Sherlock, still dancing the little dinosaur around and entertaining Finn. “Now go and finish dinner, babe. I think he may need to bond with the both of us, yeah?”

Sherlock hesitated, but finally gave a nod. As he stepped towards the kitchen, he was stopped in his tracks. Finn had wrapped himself around his legs and was looking up at him with imploring eyes. “I'll be just in here. I need you to stay and take care of John.” He looked from the little boy to the doctor. “Can you do that for me?”

Finn glanced at John, who was purposefully poking his bottom lip out in a pout. Finn laughed and let go of Sherlock's legs. He crawled back to where the doctor was sat and climbed into his lap, his new dinosaur in his hand. He hugged it to himself, the thumb of his right hand straying towards his mouth. The moment it touched his lips, the little boy pulled it away guiltily.

John raised his hand and gripped the little boy's wrist lightly. “Shh, it's alright.” He pushed his hand up until Finn had to open his mouth to let his thumb in. He grinned around it. “Everything will be alright, Finn, I promise.” The doctor wasn't one to make promises lightly.

“So, you like the dinosaur. Don't you think it needs a name?” Finn nodded vigorously and John responded with an agreeable bob of his head. “He looks like a Rex to me. Maybe Danny.” Anything but Barney, he thought.

Finn popped his thumb from his mouth and firmly pronounced, “Shlock.”

“But Sherlock's in the other room, there can't be two, his head is big enough already.”

Finn smiled slightly and John was surprised he understood the reference, then realised why he might have done and bit his lip to stop from yelling.

“Mycof.”

John choked at that and glanced towards the kitchen. “Something else maybe? Sherlock's not very happy with his brother right now.”

Finn nodded seriously and tried one last time, “Geoff.”

“That's a fine name, Finn,” the doctor agreed. Sherlock had called Lestrade that the day before. John thought the little boy was amazing. Even in his distress, Finn had been paying attention to what was going on.

He glanced at his boyfriend who appeared at the doorway, he realised how alike this little lad sat in his lap and his lover really was. Not just in the abuse? But the way they both took in their surroundings.

Sherlock's head was cocked to the side. “Why are you talking about Lestrade?”

“We weren't. We were naming Geoff here.” John pointed at the dinosaur that was being fiercely hugged by the little boy.

“So you thought of our favourite DI, did you, Finn?”

John's eyebrows shot into his hairline and Sherlock's own raised eyebrow said he wasn't amused.

The boy was nodding. “Let me be here.”

Sherlock considered and then grudgingly admitted, “Well, he's not a complete idiot after all.”

Finn giggled.

The detective sloped across the room and held his arms out for the three year old. Finn hugged John quickly and then let Sherlock scoop him up. “Dinner's ready.”

The three of them sat at the table, Finn on a stack of medical journals. John, as usual, tucked straight into his pasta, but the little boy glared at it in perfect imitation of the detective.

“Sherlock,” the doctor pointed to the other man's food with his fork, then jerked his head in Finn's direction meaningfully.

Reluctantly, Sherlock lifted his own fork and shovelled a bite of pasta into his mouth and began chewing.

Finn remained staring at his plate. They'd made pasta because it should be easy on the boy's stomach, but he wasn't touching the food.

“What's up, Finn?” Finn glanced at the doctor and back to his plate. “It's ok, you can eat.” His mouth twitched slightly, but his bottom lip began to wobble.

Sherlock immediately got to his feet, glad for the reason to not eat and went to grab Geoff the dinosaur while John lifted the boy up and placed him on his lap. He pulled Finn’s plate over so he could reach both easily.

“Come on, Finn,” John coaxed, “You need to eat something.”

The little boy opened his mouth and took the bite that John was offering. He chewed it and swallowed, but didn't seem very enthusiastic.

Sherlock returned with the dinosaur in hand. “What if you share your food with Geoff? I'm certain he's hungry.”

Once Finn had swallowed a few times he looked at John, worry plain to see.

John reached for his phone in his pocket, aware Finn was more intelligent than he let on. The doctor tapped a message out and sent it. Was he allowed to eat?

Sherlock's pocket buzzed and he read the message on the screen, he swallowed difficultly and licked his lips, not looking up at the blond.

He texted back. Only scraps, most likely, and never at a table. He still wouldn't look at John as he typed out another text. It was another method of control.

John read the messages and felt ill. Even in Afghanistan, he had never questioned his next meal. They may have tasted like dirt, most rat packs did, but it had been food and it had always been available. And even now, the biscuit browns were missed by him. He glanced at the little boy in his lap.

“Tell you what, Finn, why don't we eat on the floor, yeah? We can sit around the fire and have a picnic? I'm sure afterwards Mrs. Hudson will even have some biscuits for us.”

At that Finn smiled, he clenched the dinosaur in his little arms and let John take him across the room whilst Sherlock brought the food.

Chapter Text

Getting Finn to sleep that night had required Sherlock to lay in bed with him while John read from a fairy tales book he had picked up earlier in the day. The doctor had thought Sherlock had fallen asleep as well and tried to make his way from the room without waking either of them.

“John,” Sherlock whispered. “He's got me by the shirt.”

Sure enough, when the doctor looked closer, he saw Finn's small hand gripping the cloth of Sherlock's shirt tightly. “Let me help.” He reached out and tried to remove the cloth from the boy's grip. “I'm sorry, babe, but you're going to have to take that off.”

“What?”

“He's clinging to it because it smells like you.”

Sighing, Sherlock tried to slip out of it, with John's help, they left the little boy wrapped in it. Out in the living room, Sherlock collapsed in his chair, looking tired in a way that even the longest cases never brought about.

“You look completely knackered,” John observed from the kitchen. “Was it a bad day?”

“Not particularly, just long. A little boy is tiring to have about.”

“It was your idea Sherlock,” John didn't want to provoke him he just wanted some inside knowledge of what had happened with him.

The detective glowered at him. “I know it was and it was an excellent idea.” His tone was fierce. “Finn needs to be with someone who can understand him, who will protect him.”

“I agree, but... why you?”

Sherlock froze. “I understand.”

John sat beside him. “Talk to me, babe, please.”

“I need a beer.”

The detective was up and digging around in the fridge before John could recover from his shock. “You don't drink beer.”

“I do tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't want to talk about this, the only way I can is with the assistance of a beer.”

Sighing, John nodded. He could understand that, as much as it made the conversation seem more daunting for the pair of them.

Sherlock sat back down in his chair and stared down at his beer. He took a long sip. “Why are people blind, John? Even the ones that aren't idiots.”

“I don't know.”

“And why do the people that do see, turn away?”

“I don't know that either. I'm sorry.”

Sherlock took a moment, almost to steady himself. “I was like Finn.”

“How do you mean…”

“But not quite as bad… It wasn't both my parents.”

John froze. “Then which one?”

Sherlock sat his beer on the table by his chair and walked to the window. It was easier to talk without looking at John. “My mother.” He reached out and touched the glass. “For as far back as I can remember.”

“What about Mycroft?” John had to stop himself from kicking over the coffee table. Finn was just in the other room.

“Mycroft was sent to Eton when he turned 10. The first day I remember is the day he left.”

John's fist clenched. That meant Sherlock had been 3, just like Finn. “What happened?”

The detective shook his head. It felt like someone had a hand around his throat. “Not now. Please, not now.”

“Okay, love,” John joined him by the window. “I'm here, alright? Whenever or whatever you need.”

“Shlock?”

The detective spun to see Finn in the bedroom doorway, his toy dinosaur in one hand, hanging by the leg, the other was rubbing at his eyes. “Come here.” Sherlock crouched and held out his arms. Finn just stood there, his thumb creeping towards his mouth. The little boy looked half afraid. “You're not in trouble, Finn. I don't sleep well either. Come on.” Finn ran to him and he took the little boy in his arms.

John glanced at the clock, not realising that their broken conversation and discussion over beer had used up nearly two hours of the evening. Sherlock seemed to snap out of his dark mood, though, with Finn in his arms.

Sherlock sat in his chair with Finn. “I know just what you need. Hot cocoa. It helps me sleep and John makes the best hot cocoa in the world, don't you, John.”

“So I've been told.”

At the knock at the door Finn flinched and buried himself into the detective.

“Shh,” Sherlock soothed.

John went to answer it, sure as hell ready to punch Mycroft in the face. Except it wasn't Mycroft. It was Mrs. Hudson.

“I have cookies, dears, Mycroft told me about everything.”

At the sound of his brother's name, Sherlock scoffed, “As if Mycroft understands or cares.”

“He seemed quite concerned, dear,” Mrs. Hudson countered, oblivious to the tension radiating in waves off both men.

“Well, he always seems to care!” He snapped, then immediately regretted it when Finn jerked on his lap. He jumped to his feet. “Finn,” the detective raised his hands. “Finn, it's fine, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout.”

The little boy blinked up at him and gave a small shuddering breath. “Sorry.” He looked down like he thought he had done something wrong.

“You don't have to say you're sorry, Finn. I'm the one that shouted. You didn't do anything wrong.”

Finn relaxed and wrapped his arms around Sherlock neck. Mrs. Hudson watched on, but not in confusion, understanding. “Sherlock…”

John could tell from just one look that she knew about Sherlock's past… knew of his childhood. He felt a little pang at that, hurt that she knew, but he didn't, then he kicked himself mentally for it. Mrs. Hudson was like a mother to him, more like a mother than Mrs. Holmes had apparently ever been. Besides, maybe Sherlock hadn't told her, maybe she knew some other way.

“We're fine, Mrs. Hudson,” the detective assured her. “Aren't we, Finn?” He winked at him. “We understand each other. And we're happy for the cookies.”

“But…”

“But what, Finn?” He asked.

“Cookies need milk, don't they?”

Sherlock grinned, an extremely clever 3 year old.

Mrs. Hudson smiled. “I'll get you a glass of milk, Finn. That is your name? That's what Mycroft said.” The little boy nodded shyly.

“I need a glass, too, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock declared solemnly. “Finn said so.”

John chimed in, “I suppose I'll make it unanimous. Milk for me too, but I'll get it, Mrs. H, there's a spleen in the fridge.”

She rolled her eyes, “When will you give up the disgusting things, Sherlock, dear?”

“Right now, Mrs. H.” He stared after John as he sat Finn back on his lap. “Bin it, John.”

The doctor did a double take. “Are you sure?” Sherlock gave him a look. John nodded. “Right, consider it gone.” At least is was just a spleen. A head would have been a bit awkward to get out of the flat discretely. He tossed the spleen in the bin.

“Now, at 9 o'clock at night, what can we do for entertainment?” Sherlock asked.

Finn didn't respond, he was staring at the basket in Mrs. Hudson's hands. She smiled and took a step forward, she removed the tea towel off the top and placed it on his lap. “I'm sure I can find a jigsaw puzzle, somewhere.”

A few minutes later, found them working on a very difficult puzzle. The picture on the box showed several marbles of differing colours and they cover every inch of the photo. Finn was picking out all of the pieces with green on them and making a pile. Sherlock, of course, was looking for the orange bits, John the blue and Mrs. Hudson was trying to find the edges.

John watched his boyfriend for a long moment, if he had known years ago that a simple… or not so simple puzzle could distract the detective he would have used that knowledge to his advantage.

Mrs. Hudson tried to fit two pieces together, but they didn't go. Finn reached for one of them, then snatched his hand back like it had been burned. Mrs. Hudson smiled at him. “Go ahead, Finn. I'm not terribly good at puzzles.” The little boy took the piece and joined it to one that the elderly lady had overlooked. He gave her a shy, questioning smile. She returned it, but with confidence. “I told you I was no good with them. This one is probably older than Sherlock.”

Finn giggled and looked up at Sherlock. It was an open, trusting look made all the more touching by the little boy's history. He reached out for a cookie, but paused until Sherlock nodded. He snatched it like it might disappear at any moment and dunked it into his milk.

It was the calmest night that 221B had seen since Sherlock had moved in, but John was as angry as he could possibly get. He wanted to do something, but there was nothing to be done.

Finn gave a huge yawn and rested his head on the table as he continued to sort the puzzle pieces. Finally, his eyes drifted shut and he fell off to sleep.

“Shall I put him to bed?” Sherlock asked, looking to the others for help.

“Let him get a bit further under.”

Sherlock froze for a moment, staring off into space. “Actually, if we want him to sleep, it's probably best he stays there.”

John got what he was trying to say without actually saying it. Moving him would put him on red alert.

“Whatever you think best dear.” Mrs. Hudson stood and gave Sherlock's shoulder a pat as she passed him. “I'll just be off now. I had no idea how late it had got. Take care of him.”

Though her last words had been directed at Sherlock, the doctor couldn't help think they had been directed towards him. He also couldn't help think they had been about the detective, not the little boy.

“Maybe we should go to bed as well,” John offered, “it hasn't been an easy few days, after all.”

Sherlock nodded. “He's coming too.” He bent down to pick Finn up, he jerked awake immediately. “Shh,” he whispered, “it's only me,” the little boy nodded slightly and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder.

The trio settled into bed with Finn tucked safely between the two men. John couldn't sleep, so he watched the little boy.

For the first hour, Finn jerked awake more than once. Each time he did, he snuggled closer to Sherlock and grabbed his clean shirt in his fist as if to make certain the man wasn't going anywhere. When he jerked awake again Sherlock was asleep, and John had rolled to face them. Finn reached up and wrapped his small hand around John's little finger.

“Shh, it's fine. You're safe. You can go back to sleep.” The doctor returned Finn's tired smile and watched him drift off once again. He glanced at his boyfriend only to see a troubled look on Sherlock's sleeping face. He sighed, he had had enough nightmares of his own to know what Sherlock was going through, he reached out and placed his other hand on Sherlock's arm. His face calmed immediately. If only everything else was that easy.

It was early in the morning, almost 4am, when John was startled awake by the sound of crying. He rolled over to check on Finn before he realised that the sobs were much too loud and too deep to be the little boy's. Finn was sat up between the two of them, looking at Sherlock with sad eyes and a small amount of fear. “Here, Finn. Climb over me.” The little boy did so without taking his eyes off of the sleeping detective. “Sherlock. Babe. Wake up.”

Sherlock didn't, just thrashed slightly, his fist stuck under the sheet. John knelt over him. He pulled his wrist from beneath the sheet and pinned his hands above his head, then he leant down to kiss him. The detective's eyes snapped open. “John! W-where's Finn?”

“He's fine,” John sought to assure him.

The little boy crawled to his side. “I have bad dreams too, Shlock.”

John had let him go and Sherlock sat up. He ran his fingers through his tangled curls. “I wasn't...” He cut the denial off, not wanting to hurt Finn's feelings. “I'm sure you do.”

Finn wrapped his arms around Sherlock's chest, and pushed his face into his shirt. The detective rested his chin on Finn's head and frowned at the older man.

“We might as well get up,” John commented. “I know Sherlock won't be going back to sleep, not at this time of day. How about you, Finn? Are you ready to get up?”

Finn nodded into Sherlock's shirt.

The doctor wasn't surprised that he didn't need much sleep, he had probably acclimatised to not needing it. Much like his favourite detective. John also had his army days reminding him that sleep tended to come and go as it pleased.

Sherlock walked through, still carrying Finn. “What shall we do today?”

“I don't know Shlock, what?”

John imagined they would be hearing from Lestrade, later, but now wasn't the time to mention it. He watched the pair of them collapse into the sofa in the sitting room.

“Shall we start with tea and bagels?” He asked. At Finn’s grin, the doctor realised they'd found a food he might actually eat without argument.

Chapter Text

That morning, Finn had managed to eat three bagels and much more surprising than that so had Sherlock. He was now sat on the doctor's lap playing with his little stuffed Geoff the dinosaur whilst John was trying to text the DI.

The little boy reached for the phone, wanting to play a game on it like he had earlier, but John pulled it away. “Sorry, Finn. I've got to send this message. It's important.” He stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.

Finn squeezed his dinosaur, and hopped off John's lap. He landed on both feet and went to sit quietly on the floor under the table, he brought the little plushy to his chin and squeezed it tightly, his eyes falling shut.

Sherlock returned from the loo and immediately spotted Finn. He crawled under the table with him. “What's so interesting under here?”

The little boy bit Geoff's tail and looked at Sherlock seriously. “It's safe.”

“Safe from what?”

Finn's eyes darted to the doctor. He could only make out his legs from where they were sat.

“Safe from John?” Sherlock asked, surprised. He had to fight the urge to frown.

“I inter… inter-”

“Interrupted?” Sherlock offered.

The little boy nodded once. “He's busy,” he finished, sticking Geoff's tail back in his mouth.

The detective made himself comfy, laid flat and raised his feet up over his head, sticking them flat against the bottom of the table. “John doesn't mind. Promise. He didn't say anything mean, I know.”

“Made him mad.” Finn seemed convinced that he had messed up somehow.

Sherlock shook his head and pulled the little boy onto his lap, he was so small his head was still nowhere near the bottom of the table.

“No. It takes a lot of bad things to make John mad.”

Finn widened his eyes. “Like what?” He asked, his mouth still around the tail.

Sherlock thought, trying to think of something safe to say. “I once coloured his hair purple. He didn't like that, but I promise he didn't hit me or do anything else to me. He sulked for a few hours, but that was it.”

Finn giggled.

At the sound of John's text being sent off with a whoosh Finn visibly relaxed. At least until the doctor's footsteps came towards them. He cowered into Sherlock's chest as John poked his head under the table.

John glanced at the detective, fought the urge to frown and plastered a smile on his face. “Finn, Sherlock, are you two having fun?” He had an idea. “I could put a blanket over the table and you could pretend you're in a fort.”

The little boy used one slightly opened eye to peer at the doctor.

“Or are you coming out?”

Finn's face buried itself back into Sherlock's chest; he shrugged ever so slightly.

John went and got the largest blanket they owned and draped it over the table. He'd also fetched a torch. Peeking into the 'fort', he offered Finn the torch. “Can I come in too?”

Finn didn't know quite what to do or where to look. Sherlock took the torch, flicking it on he tried to get the boy to take it, but he seemed more content in hiding in Sherlock's suit jacket.

“One sec.” John went and got some crayons and colouring books. He came back and climbed into the fort, leaving one corner of the blanket pulled back to provide light. “Here you go, Finn.” This time he took what was offered and looked at the array of colours that he had.

“I know what will finish this off,” Sherlock reached out and above the table, he pulled down the basket with the remaining cookies from last night in it.

The little boy coloured happily for quite some time. Sherlock coloured as well, embellishing his picture with ridiculous detail. For his part, John looked on fondly.

Sherlock looked up at the sound of footfalls on the stairs. “Geoff is here.”

“It's Greg,” John sighed.

“He's not alone,” Sherlock added and he pulled Finn back onto his lap, almost protectively.

The DI looked around the apparently empty flat, his eyes falling on the makeshift fort. He smiled despite the seriousness of the situation. He walked over and knocked on the top of the table. “Anybody home?”

John crawled out, eating a cookie. He glanced at the clock, not realising how long they'd been under there. His gaze fell on Mycroft and his features immediately changed from doctor to captain.

“Greg, hi.” His voice went hard. “Mycroft. I wasn't expecting to see you.”

The government official inclined his head in greeting. “John. I was concerned about Finn. How is he getting on?”

“Finn's fine. Why are you really here?”

“Where's my brother?” He ignored the doctor's question. He also already knew where Sherlock was. It was only the fact that Finn ran out and wrapped his arms around the DI's legs that Sherlock also emerged.

The detective didn't acknowledge his brother's presence, old emotions and resentment having been brought too close to the surface by recent events. “Hello, Greg. I presume you brought the paperwork.”

“I did,” he agreed with a nod. He ruffled Finn's hair, “you alright mate?”

The little boy nodded and then backed up to where the detective was. He immediately picked him up.

“Then why did you bring him?” Sherlock asked, it was clear the 'him' was Mycroft.

Finn wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck and laid his head down on the detective's shoulder.

“As I told John, I wanted to check on Finn. He's been through a lot in his young life.” Mycroft looked at the boy with soft, concerned eyes.

Sherlock glared at his brother. “Why would you care? Don't tell me you're developing a guilty conscience after all this time.”

Mycroft froze, instantly becoming more concerned as John went and stood by him.

The doctor's hand rested on Finn's head as he glared daggers at Mycroft. Greg just looked confused.

“I think maybe you should leave,” John growled. “It's a bit late to play the concerned brother.”

Mycroft froze, his face going dangerously blank. His hands opened and closed twice on the handle of his umbrella. He couldn't read anything from his brother's posture or expression other than the old, unexplained animosity, but John was a different matter altogether. The doctor clearly thought... “John, would you care to explain yourself?”

“No. I would care if you left.”

“Guys, I don't think the little one needs to be here for this,” the DI offered.

“Oh, I disagree,” Sherlock growled, holding Finn tighter. “A bit of drama is just what Mycroft loves.”

“Sherlock...” Mycroft broke off. He cleared his throat and started again. “I'm not going to play games with you, not over this. For once in your life, will you please speak plainly? What are you talking about?”

“Can't you deduce it, brother-mine?” He walked over to Lestrade. “You are correct, Detective Inspector, Finn doesn't need to see this.” He passed the little boy into Greg's arms. “Finn, Geo... Greg is going to take you to visit Mrs. Hudson. Be good for them, please.”

The little boy's bottom lip trembled, but he nodded, holding tight to the DI.

John watched the little boy go, scared that the second he was out of sight he wouldn't see him again. He knew how ridiculous that was.

Mycroft collapsed into one of the chairs and wiped his hand over his face. “Speak to me, Sherlock. Please.”

“Speak to you?! Why should I? You knew everything, but you never bothered speaking. Not to me, not to anyone who could have done something.” He had walked over and was looking down at his brother with contempt. “You always say you're concerned about me. Where was your concern back then?”

Mycroft's throat tightened restrictively. “What are you talking about?” He managed to ground out.

John placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, leading him back away from his brother and down onto the sofa.

“I was Finn's age!”

Mycroft frowned, remembering when his 3 year old baby brother had fallen down and broken his arm. That had been the start of a long series of injuries resulting from Sherlock's clumsiness. “They weren't accidents, were they? Your broken arm, all the stitches... that burn.”

“How the bloody hell could they be accidents? I can't even ride a bike! How could I break my arm falling from one?”

“That's because you can't ride-”

“Mycroft, you're missing the fucking point. I didn't have a bike!”

Clarity seemed to hit Mycroft square in the face. John brought Sherlock's head down to his shoulder, holding him tightly.

Mycroft bent double at the waist, feeling suddenly ill and dizzy. It was almost impossible to breathe. How could he have been so blind?

The fury that John had felt towards the elder Holmes brother ebbed just a bit. Mycroft would have been 10 when the abuse started. No matter how brilliant he was, he had been a child himself at the time, easily influenced by the lies his parents told.

The DI chose this moment to re-enter the room and was anything but happy at the scene before him.

“What's…” he trailed off. He didn't know if he wanted to know the answer to his half asked question.

Mycroft sat back up, pained self-recrimination in his eyes. He looked so vulnerable that Greg sat next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “What can I do?”

“You can get him out of our flat,” the detective hissed.

John tightened his grip on his boyfriend. “Sherlock... You're doing what you always accuse others of. You're seeing, but you're not observing. Look at him.”

“I don't give a fuck-”

“Babe, shh,” John placed his hands either side of Sherlock's head. He shook him once. “Look. Really look.”

Sherlock didn't pull his head free, but his eyes flicked over to his brother.

“How?” Sherlock asked.

Greg was completely confused. “How, what?”

“How could you not have seen what was being done?” Sherlock's voice was quiet and low. “She was evil, Mycroft. Mummy hurt me and she never felt a moment's remorse. Never. And father was… he couldn't… he knew… he got me away as soon as he could, but he didn't stop her. Nobody stopped her. Including you.”

Mycroft fought for freedom from the DI's protective arms. He fell to his knees in front of his brother, for once in his life not sure what to say or do.

Sherlock sat up, pulling free of John's arms. “Why didn't you do something?” he asked in a small voice.

“Because, 'Lock, I didn't know.” Mycroft bowed his head for a moment, “I didn't know,” he repeated before looking up into his brother's eyes. “If I had known, I swear to you I would have done something. I would have told someone.” He swallowed audibly. “Please, can you forgive me?”

John and Greg both backed off a moment, but neither planning to leave completely. This could go either way and John didn't put it passed the detective throw a punch or two.

The muscles in Sherlock's jaw flexed and his hands clenched into fists. He forcefully relaxed them and wiped his palms on his trousers. “Give me time.”

Mycroft couldn't and didn't look up. His baby brother's response had been better than he'd anticipated, but the guilt was overwhelming him.

“'Lock… I don't… I didn't, mummy never did anything when I was home…”

Sherlock let out an enormous sigh, the tension leaving his body along with his breath. He gave a small nod. “I never want to see that woman again.”

“You'll never have to, 'Lock. I can do that much. And I take it this is why you fought so hard for Finn?”

Sherlock's lips thinned and he glanced to the distant doctor who nodded once in encouragement. “He's so young…”

Mycroft couldn't help it, “so were you.”

Mrs. Hudson came through the door, pulled along by Finn. “I'm so sorry, but he wanted Sherlock.” She froze surprised by the tableau before her.

Finn, completely oblivious, dropped her hand to run over and climb into the detective's lap.

The land lady immediately made herself busy in the kitchen preparing drinks for them all.

“You alright Shlock?” Finn asked.

The youngest Holmes nodded with a glance at his brother. “Just like you,” he said with a smile, a smile the three year old wouldn't be able to distinguish as fake.

Mycroft stood, straightening his jacket. “Whatever you need, Sherlock, I'll get it for you. Of course, I'll arrange for Finn to be put into your custody permanently.” He hesitated, “If that's what you want.”

“If it's what Finn wants,” Sherlock corrected. He tried to look at the little boy in his arms, but he was being held too tightly to get a good view.

“I'll take that as a yes.” Mycroft smiled sadly at the little boy. “I'll be taking my leave, then.” He reached out towards Sherlock briefly, then let his arm fall. “Take care of them for me, Doctor Watson.”

John looked between the brothers his gaze falling on the back of the boy’s head. “Always,” he answered, his voice the softest towards the government official than it had been in what felt like a very long time.

Chapter Text

John puttered about the flat, trying to bring back a sense of normality to the day. He was angry and in shock, but didn't dare let it show, not for the sakes of either Sherlock or Finn. John's thoughts drifted from his boyfriend to Mycroft and how stricken he had looked. Both Holmes boys had been victims, but in very different ways.

Finn hadn't wanted the two older men to leave. He liked 'Geoff' and this older version of Sherlock. The detective hadn't had the heart to say no to the little boy, so instead invited them for a takeout instead. Greg had taken Mycroft with him on the beer run.

Finn had also wanted marshmallows. He'd seen it on TV once. When people went camping, they roasted marshmallows over fires and, as he pointed out, there was a fire in the front room.

When the two men returned, Finn shadowed Mycroft. He hid behind furniture; chairs, tables and whatnot, but never strayed far from the older Holmes. Finally, he worked up his courage. “You're his brother?”

Mycroft looked over his shoulder, Finn was peering over the end of the sofa. The older man pretended that he wasn't aware he had been being watched.

“I am his brother,” the government official confirmed with a nod.

“That means you're like Shlock,” he said climbing onto Mycroft's lap.

John and Greg snickered despite the heaviness of the day. Sherlock simply sniffed.

As for Mycroft, he looked very awkward with a little boy on his lap. “In many ways, we are alike, yes. But in other ways, we are different. Very different.”

The boy shook his head. “Wrong.” He jumped back off the eldest man's lap and ran over to Sherlock's.

The detective chuckled and buried his face in the little boy's hair. “Have I told you, I like you, Finn?”

The little boy frowned but was distracted yet again by Greg reappearing with marshmallows and sticks. He ran off and wrapped his arms around the DI's legs.

“You going to light the fire, Myc?”

The government official looked over at his brother. “Is that okay, Sherlock?” He asked, almost sheepishly.

The detective nodded without really looking at Mycroft. “That would be good. Thank you.”

The elder Holmes moved over to the fireplace and started stacking logs, interspersing small balls of paper here and there. He looked up when Sherlock handed him a lighter.

The detective cleared his throat. “You really didn't know.”

Mycroft took the lighter and started the fire. “I wish I had. Maybe then you wouldn't hate me because I would have done something.”

Sherlock was cut off from replying as a little boy's arms were wrapped around his neck. He didn't know whether he was pleased or not at the interruption.

John rested one hand on his shoulder, the other still supported Finn, happily hanging from the detective's back.

“Finn,” John said into the little boy's ear, “Greg has a marshmallow on a stick just for you.”

Finn let the doctor lower him back to the floor and he rushed over, saying with a wink at the silver haired man, “Thanks, Geoff!”

The DI chuckled and ruffled his hair. He seemed to like it so he did it again. “By God, Sherlock, he really is like a mini you.”

The detective grinned such a large grin that it took on Grinchian proportions. “Why, thank you, Geoff.”

“Do you want to come and sit on my lap, Finn?” Mycroft offered from where he had collapsed from a crouch to a sit beside the fire, “If you bring an extra one we could do it together?”

Finn nodded, but got three sticks, not two. He tugged Sherlock along by a finger and pointed next to Mycroft. “Please, Shlock.”

The detective sat where Finn pointed and the little boy sat in Mycroft's lap.

Throughout the whole 'toasting' the marshmallows, Sherlock couldn't keep his eye off his brother. He was smiling at Finn as he was saying something, but it was so thin it looked like it could crack any moment.

“I always thought you were overprotective because you knew,” Sherlock said quietly. “So why are you?”

Mycroft glanced at him, then looked back at the roasting marshmallow. “I always thought trouble found you more than others, and you must admit it does.” His hand trembled, causing the marshmallow to shake.

Finn took hold of Mycroft's hand to steady it and Sherlock shuffled a tad closer to the pair of them. “I honestly thought you knew.”

Mycroft shook his head sadly, one lone tear making its way down his face. Sherlock didn't know what to do, but Finn did. The little boy took the detective's hand and set it on Mycroft's knee. “I like you. You should be friends.”

Sherlock glanced at Finn. “You-how-” he trailed off, leant forward and scooped Finn off his brother's lap, pulling him over and onto his own.

John smiled at the three of them. Maybe one hurt little boy could help heal two wounded men. He looked to be doing a good job of it already. The doctor set three mugs of cocoa down on the hearth where they were sure to be seen. “Who's toasting a marshmallow for me?”

Finn immediately raised his stick towards John, but he moved too fast and got the marshmallow stuck in the doctor's hair.

John laughed but Finn didn't. His eyes widened in horror and he launched himself from Sherlock's lap, he scuttled across the room and buried himself under the table.

Even as Sherlock went to coax Finn out from under the table, John got lost in thought. Had his boyfriend ever been like that, a skittish, frightened thing? The doctor thought not. Sherlock had probably been frightened, yes, but he had probably brooded in anger. Brooded in anger against Mycroft.

“Lock,” Mycroft called.

Sherlock looked over at him, not even trying to hide the tears that threatened to fall like he once, not so long ago, would have done.

“Let me?”

When Sherlock nodded, the government official knelt beside the table.

“Finn,” Mycroft tried, “may I join you?” Not waiting for a reply, he entered the 'fort'. “Ah, very nice.” He chuckled. “You should see Doctor Watson, John, that is. He looks like his hair is frosted. John thought it was quite funny. We all did. Were you afraid? It's ok if you were.”

“Not 'fraid,” he whispered.

“When Sherlock was your age, before I went off to school we used to play in forts.”

Finn's face grew less troubled as he was distracted. There was still some tension around his eyes, but he was clearly curious. “You played forts?”

“And pirates.”

“Hey,” Sherlock's head appeared between the covers of the 'fort'.

“Admit it, little brother, how many times did you make me read that pirate book?”

“That was the first time you came home after- father bought me it.”

“Do you still have it?” Mycroft asked softly.

Sherlock looked down at his hands, embarrassed.

The elder Holmes reached over and patted his brother's shoulder. “Go get it, Lock.”

When Sherlock had left, Mycroft told Finn, “I used to read him Treasure Island over and over. I practically had it memorised.”

“Then why he go get it?”

Mycroft laughed, pulling the little boy on to his lap. “Good point, but I'm not as young as I once was. Memories flee with age.”

“You old.”

Mycroft laughed ruefully. “Some days I feel older than others.”

“You older than 'puters?”

“The kind people have in their homes, yes.”

Fin giggled. “You older than dirt?”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, but was saved from having to reply when Sherlock reappeared, his head in the little hole.

“Are you two scallywags coming out here to play or are all five of us going to have to get under there?”

Finn seemed to be over his fright, now. He crawled out from under the table. When he saw John he giggled again. The doctor had used the sticky marshmallow fluff to make his hair stand up in little spikes.

“Jesus, John,” Mycroft said, eyes wide as he crawled out after the little boy who had immediately snagged his and Sherlock's hands. “You're getting as bad as my little brother.”

John shrugged. “I think it makes me look rather rakish, don't you, Finn?”

Sherlock, who was now standing by the doctor's side, wrapped his free arm around him and squeezed. “I think it makes you look dashing.”

“Rak- rak-” Finn stumbled.

Sherlock crouched down in front of him. “Rakish,” he supplied.

Finn shook his head. “Boring,” he declared instead.

Greg laughed, spitting out the sip of beer he had just taken. “God help me, now there's two of them.”

“Sherlock, can I talk to you?” Mycroft glance around the room. “Alone. For a moment.”

The detective ruffled Finn's hair and handed him the book. “Be back in a minute, Finn.”

Sherlock followed his older brother to the stairs and they climbed up to John's old room.

“We need to phone Mummy.”

“Why?” Sherlock had gone stiff and defensive. “I don't want to talk to her.”

“Things can't be left like this, Lock. She has to be confronted. At the very least, she has to know I'm no longer ignorant of the situation.”

“Why? Why does it matter now? She's nearly 60!”

“She won't get away with this, Lock! I won't- can't let her.”

He reached over and cupped Sherlock's cheek. “You're my little brother. Nothing means more to me then you, your safety and happiness comes first. Before John, before Gregory, before Father and most definitely before Mummy.” He couldn't stop himself from pulling him into his chest and hugging him tight.

The detective didn't know what to do. He was used to being hugged by John and now by Finn, but Mycroft hadn't truly hugged him in years. Finally, he let himself relax into it and it felt surprisingly good.

“Ok,” he whispered his agreement. “But John, Greg and Finn must be there. She needs to see what we have now. Who we have.”

Mycroft nodded, agreeing readily. “Yes. She'll see that you - we, have support. I dare her to do or say anything with John and Gregory present.”

Sherlock took a step back noting the pure look of hatred in his older brother’s eyes. “I dare her to do or say anything with you present,” he amended.

“Indeed,” Mycroft agreed coolly. “Perhaps I should wait a day to call. If we do it today I might not be able to contain myself long enough to arrange a meeting. I might say something untoward.”

Sherlock had moved to open the door, but he stopped with his hand on the handle. He looked over his shoulder, a frown bridging his nose.

“What's the point of this meeting if we can't say anything untoward?”

“Oh, once we're standing there face to face, I plan on saying everything. I simply don't want to warn her of my intentions on the phone. Right now, I would give it away with my first sentence.”

“I have to protect Finn,” Sherlock said with conviction. “What if seeing her makes him sense something? When we found Finn, his parents made me feel… well uncomfortable would be an understatement.”

Mycroft considered. “Perhaps you should simply ask him. He's young, yes, but he's smart. Unfortunately, he's far too worldly as well. Let him decide if he wants to go with you. Finn may surprise you.”

“So we're going there?” The detective wasn't fond of the idea.

Mycroft sighed. “If we want to keep her - them off guard we need them to think I've made you visit. Might I suggest the idea of introducing our boyfriends and your adopted son be the reason for our visit? I could 'force' you to come with me and Gregory, she need know nothing of Finn's abuse until we get there if at all.”

Sherlock worried at his lip with his teeth, almost breaking the skin. “I get to tell her how I feel?”

“You can tell her anything, anything at all.”

Sherlock smiled but it was grim. “Thank you, Mycroft.”

“I've waited so many years to hear those words, but they are not needed. If this is the path we must take to allow me to hear them, then so be it.”

John called up the stairs, “Sherlock! Finn's waiting for his story. Treasure Island, remember?”

The detective smiled to himself. “Coming, John.” He started down the steps, his brother close behind.

Finn was laid out over both Greg and John. The DI held the book, but Finn was more interested with the picture on the front.

Sherlock put on a teasing pout. “I want to hear the story. Can we hear the story now?”

Finn giggled. “Silly Shlock!”

“That book is older than you,” Sherlock said tickling the little boy.

Mycroft reached over and dropped a hand on his brother's shoulder. He'd pulled the other sofa over and encouraged Sherlock back into it.

The detective let himself lean into his brother, feeling safe and not angry with him anymore. He was nervous about tomorrow and the inevitable call to Mummy, though. Sherlock decided not to think about that. Instead, he committed everything about this moment to memory in his Mind Palace, in a room that he had created for his new family.

Chapter Text

Mycroft had been trying to get his little brother out of the car for a long time with and without John's help. Even Greg had tried. It wasn't until Finn stood by the open door, peering up at him.

“What’s up Shlock?”

“I... There's someone my brother thinks I should see. He thinks it would be good for me.”

The little boy took Sherlock's hand. “He smart man,” Finn said seriously. “You should listen to your brother. I wish I had brother like Mycof.”

The detective picked Finn up in his arms. “Do you, now?”

“Yes. We could play together and I could take care of him.”

Sherlock tried his hardest to not look over at the elder Holmes, but he couldn't stop himself.

Mycroft moved over to the pair of them and held his hands out, Finn struggled, trying to do the same.

Smiling at last, the detective handed him over, even as Mycroft's hand dropped on his shoulder. “We'll be alright, 'Lock.”

Sherlock nodded and bravely stepped out of the car. He laughed silently, bitterly. John had always assumed he wasn't afraid of anything and had remarked on his lack of self-preservation often enough, but Sherlock was afraid. He was ashamed of it, a grown man afraid of an old woman.

The doctor took his hand and squeezed it. “Remember, you're not alone. I know this isn't easy, but you can do it.”

“But I don't want to do it.”

John sighed and smiled slightly. “You'll feel better for it. I won't even let her near you, ok?”

Sherlock scowled. “I'm not a child... but, thank you. She's a hateful woman. She should have horns. And warts, yes, lots of warts. It's not fair that everyone calls her lovely. Evil people should look the part.”

“They almost never do,” John said, holding Sherlock's hand tighter. “If you have a photo of her, we could draw horns on it if you like.”

“I burned all of the ones I could get my hands on.”

“I'm sure Mycroft hasn't.”

“Shlock!” The little boy was yelling.

His smile was fake, but Finn didn't know that. He jumped from Mycroft's arms straight into Sherlock's.

The detective caught him easily. “Come on then, trouble.”

John laughed. “That's a bit pot/kettle, don't you think?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” the detective said indignantly. They had reached the door. Sherlock straightened to his full height and knocked. His full height, however, didn't last long. He backed away from the door to hide behind Mycroft holding on to Finn tightly.

When the door opened John could see what Sherlock meant straight away the glare she sent the detective even as she smiled at Mycroft spoke volumes.

He wanted to call the woman on it right there and then, but it wasn't his place... yet. If either Holmes showed a sign of weakening, he'd say something, alright. If she so much as set a toe out of line… John calmed himself, lest he growl at the woman.

“Mummy, this is my boyfriend, Gregory,” Mycroft told his mother. “This is Sherlock's boyfriend, John and this little boy is Sherlock’s son, Finn.”

“Adopted boy. And it won't last. Sherlock never could look after his toys.”

Sherlock growled low in his throat. “He's. My. Son,” he repeated. “And he is not a toy.”

Mrs. Holmes raised an eyebrow. It reminded John forcefully of Sherlock and he hated that fact. It wasn't fair that this despicable woman should remind him of his boyfriend. “Sherlock's right, he's our son, or will be, I hope, when we get married.” He could have kicked himself for letting that slip. They'd never discussed marriage.

Sherlock's head snapped over to look at him. “Did you just propose?”

John froze. “I… yes. Yes, I did.”

“Mycroft, please take my son from me.”

As soon as he had, much to Finn's disgruntled complaining he wrapped his arms around the doctor.

“Shlock!”

The detective grinned at Finn without releasing his now-fiancé. “Yes?”

“What's pro... pro...”

“Propose. It means that John and I are going to be getting married,” Sherlock explained happily.

“It won't last,” Mrs. Holmes commented. “He'll get tired of you.”

John couldn't handle that he pushed Sherlock away far more violently than he meant to. He gripped his hand too tightly, trying to retain his temper.

“Violet, maybe you should invite them in before the criticism,” came a new male voice.

She huffed out a breath, but pushed the door open wide for them to enter. John couldn't help but glare at her as he passed by.

When Mycroft came in reach, Mrs. Holmes grabbed him in a hug, not appearing to notice him stiffen. “You're the one who should be getting married. You're the stable one.”

He pulled himself away. “Have you heard yourself?”

She was immediately taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“The way you talk to him. It's a surprise he isn't as messed up as you seem to think he is.”

“Mycroft Holmes. I am your mother. You will keep a civil tongue in your head when you talk to me.”

The look Mycroft gave her was chilling. “Mummy, that was me being civil. You had best hope I don't desist.”

“Violet, let the poor boys in.”

Greg was stood behind the pair, Finn in his arms and a look of hatred written on his face.

Mycroft took the hand that wasn't holding the boy up and led him inside.

They settled in the living room. The moment they had all sat, Finn scrambled down and rushed over to climb into Sherlock's lap. The little boy eyed the woman that so clearly made his Shlock unhappy. He quickly decided he didn't like her. Finn wasn't sure about the older man.

Siger smiled at the little boy. “Finn, you seem to like Sherlock quite a bit.”

Finn nodded shyly.

“Do you want to tell me how you met?”

He shook his head drastically and buried his face in the collar of Sherlock's coat. The detective shot his father a look. “There's something different about you.”

He glanced at Violet. Then to Mycroft. “I suppose it is about time we told you.”

“Shut up, Siger! They do not need to know. Especially him,” her glare was on Sherlock, but it wasn't returned by him, it was returned by Finn.

Siger stood and gave her a hard look. “I'll not be spoken to that way. Not anymore. I put up with it before the divorce. I'll not put up with it now.”

The room grew eerily quiet, the four younger men shocked into silence.

“I told you not to say anything!” Violet finally shouted as she, too, jumped to her feet.

Finn whined on Sherlock's lap. “John, could you and Greg maybe take him outside? You and he do not need to witness this,” the detective said.

Finn suddenly wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck.

“I don't think that's an option, babe.”

“What do you mean you are divorced?!” Mycroft snapped.

Greg placed a hand on his boyfriend's knee. “Hey, take it easy.”

Siger looked at his feet and shoved his hands in his pockets. “We've been divorced for quite some time. Violet didn't want anyone to know. I obliged her and kept quiet. I don't know why.”

“You're spineless. You always were.”

He inclined his head. “Maybe. I hated confrontation. Still do.”

“What's his problem?!” Violet snapped looking at Finn. He was giving her the most evil look that a 3 year old could summon.

“He can sense the hatred you feel towards Sherlock. How could you treat him that way? He was a baby! My baby brother! You will not touch him again.” He turned on his father. “I don't know what to even say to you. You let her.”

“I had to,” he sighed. “Else she'd take him. And you. She knows many influential people… I tried my best to keep him from too much harm, but I couldn't lose him, lose either of you. I suppose it happened anyway…”

Some of Mycroft's anger fell away, but not all of it. “Surely, you could have tried!”

Sherlock shook his head. “No, Myc. You know her friends. She would have been able to take us away and Father couldn't have stopped it.” He shuddered.

“And anyway, I did try. Twice. The first time I ended up in hospital. The second time you did, Sherlock. I'm sorry.”

“I suppose the back window and the ladder you hid was knowledge enough. I should have seen.”

Violet glared at her ex-husband. “You're being overly dramatic, as always,” she accused. “It's not my fault that you're clumsy and fell down the stairs. And it's not my fault Sherlock fell in the fire either.”

John's hand clenched into a fist and he stood halfway out of his chair.

“The fire was never lit,” Mycroft growled, pulling free from Greg's comforting grip. “It was for show. And as for flames. Sherlock was terrified of them since he was 5 and stole my chemistry set. He wouldn't volunteer to go near the fire, let alone trip into it.”

“Myc,” the DI said gently, “should I?”

“Yes, do it!” Mycroft snapped. “Let's see how she likes being the helpless one for a change.”

Sherlock frowned. “After all this time, Myc?”

“What?” John asked. “What's going on?”

The older Holmes brother smiled bitterly. “Dearest Mummy is soon to be arrested.”

“What?” She squeaked. “You wouldn't dare, Mycroft!”

“Oh, I bloody well would,” he hissed. He pointed at Sherlock and the cowering boy on his lap. “They are what matter. Finn and Sherlock and John.” He reached for Greg's hand. “And Gregory. Family is more than blood! I never thought I would get the chance to have one after the way Sherlock has always been with me all these years. Do you know what he thought up until a few days ago? That I knew! That I knew and let you carry on breathing because I was on your side.” He pulled his hand free and stepped forward towering over the shorter woman. “Know this, mummy dear,” he spat, “there is nothing. Nothing! I wouldn't do to protect him and as for sides, screw you,” it wasn't a term he used very often if at all, but it felt right.

Finn was sat on Sherlock's lap sucking his thumb. He didn't understand half of what he had heard, and what he did understand made him want to cry. Finn tugged on Sherlock's sleeve to get his attention. When he had it, he asked, “That bad woman, hurt you? Like mummy hurt me?”

The detective nodded solemnly. “Yes, Finn, she did.”

“But she'll never hurt anyone again,” John promised. His words were meant equally for Sherlock and the little boy.

“Who the hell are you to tell them that?!” She yelled.

“Gregory, have all the vehicles that you had on standby arrive shortly. Let’s cause a commotion. I think we're done here.”

“What about me?” Mr. Holmes asked softly. “Sherlock… I am truly sorry.”

The detective couldn't completely forgive his father, not yet, but he thought maybe the man had done the best he could. Siger had eventually got him out of the situation, after all. “I know. I just need time.”

Mr. Holmes seemed to accept that and nodded.

Mycroft moved towards his younger brother. “I think, despite the fact he wasn't ignorant of the situation there truly is nothing else he could have done, little brother.”

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock nodded. “I know, really, I do. I just have to let my... feelings catch up with my brain.”

It was a measure of Mycroft's concern for his brother that he didn't comment, just gave him a supporting smile.

“Now, Finn, would you like a drink?”

Finn looked from Sherlock to the Holmes father.

“Can I, Shlock?”

Sherlock nodded. “Go on then. Be a good boy.”

The little boy jumped from his lap and took Siger's hand that he had been holding out.

Sherlock found himself smiling. “I think that tells me a lot, actually. It might not take as long as I thought.” He stood and watched them go into the kitchen, feeling a bit lighter of spirit.

“Good.” John stood too, and gave him a hug.

It was then that approaching sirens could be heard.

“Do I need to be here for this?” Sherlock asked.

John gave him another hug. “It might be good for you. You know, closure.”

Sherlock nodded and didn't make to leave the room. John was oddly proud of him.

“Mycroft, son, you can't be serious.”

“Oh, mummy dear,” he spat, “I bloody well am. And if you so much as even think of laying a hand on my baby brother or even attempting to speak to me, or my family ever again, I'm sure you are aware I have secret facilities for people like you.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in, Sally!” Greg yelled, a low level of glee creeping into his voice.

Sally ran in followed by half the met.

“Meet Mrs. Holmes.”

Donovan grinned almost evilly.

“Mrs. Holmes,” Sally said as she approached with a pair of handcuffs, “as much as it pains me, I am required to tell you your rights.” She might not like Sherlock, but she liked child abusers even less. Sherlock hadn't been able to help what had happened to him when he was a child. He'd been three years old, Greg had told her. Three! Sally was none too gentle in seeing Mrs. Holmes from the house and into the police car. Maybe the detective's attitude stemmed from the woman she was currently manhandling from a mansion. She couldn't help but think that Sherlock had made his peace, taking Finn in. Looking after him despite the way the rest of the world - except the men in that house - seemed to not even try to understand him. She wasn't fond of him. That was going too far, but maybe one day…

Finn led Siger back into the living room. Between the two of them, they were carrying six ice lollies.

“Shlock! Look, I have orange. You like orange?

“Yes, I do.” The detective scooped the little boy up in his arms, making as if to take a bite of Finn's ice lolly.

“Silly Shlock. This one's yours.” He poked the other ice lolly he was holding into Sherlock's mouth.

Mycroft smiled as his father handed him two ice lollies, one for him and one for Greg.

“No forget John!” Finn told Siger.

Mr. Holmes handed the doctor one as well.

It was a moment of complete domesticity gifted to them by one very special little boy. It would be only one of many to come.

Chapter Text

Sequel to this Finn story is now available!