Let The Shadows Win

It Was Never Villainous

Sherlock POV: Sherlock realized his grip was slipping whenJohn announced that he would be taking Rosie to daycare that morning. It cameas a surprise, a blow that Sherlock had not yet prepared himself to take, andwhen finally he did process that he would be left home alone he began torealize that they were trying to work their way away from him. He realized witha start that their process of alienating him was beginning, that with daycarewould come preschool, and after that kindergarten, and Sherlock would be leftalone with Rosie for the rest of his life. Now that was no fault, for thatdemon child surely should be someone else's responsibility, yet when John'strust faltered Sherlock knew that he would soon have little left. John onlyloved him because he thought he was the only one who could handle him, yet ifever he began to see Sherlock as more of a threat than a lover, well then thatwas where the trouble began. Sherlock had no say in the matter, even though hethought it necessary that husbands converse together, so as to make a plan thatbest suits them both. Sherlock didn't like the idea of being home alone; hedidn't like the idea of the Watsons going out to taint themselves in the realworld once more. Yet he couldn't do a thing to stop it, could he? He couldn'tlift a finger to protest, for John had already made the decision and with thatit was concluded final. And so in vain Sherlock stood on the porch, waving offto the car that backed down the driveway, where he could see John'sconcentration as he watched his mirrors, trying not to run into the mailbox atthe end of the long decent, and Rosie's look of what appeared to be mockery. Sherlock could see her face now, that littlesmirk that she wore when she knew she had won a battle that they had neverfirmly clarified was raging. She was triumphing over a victory Sherlock had notofficially joined, as if it was his loss now that both Watsons were leaving himfor the day. For the day, yes...he could manage a mere eight hours. He could holdhimself together for those hours, he could occupy himself. Yet with what?Sherlock sighed heavily, leaning against the wooden porch and looking out helplesslyto the road, where he could not see the car anymore, announcing finally thatwho he thought was his family had instead left him once more. Shameful, was itnot? To not be trusted any longer, and to be kept on house arrest like somesort of unruly child. Sherlock could tell now that his purpose had beenexhausted. John loved him once because he could replace Mary Morstan, yet nowthat his babysitting duties were considered inaccurate it was evident that hewas nothing more than a burden. John could never love him any longer, that muchwas becoming more obvious by the day. John didn't like to share Sherlock'sheart with Victor; he didn't like that Sherlock still had feelings for a boywho was supposed to be long dead. John didn't appreciate the lengths Sherlockwas willing to go to for this family, for their survival as a whole! Did Johnnot understand that he loved Rosie, despite her faults, and he loved John morethan anything else in the whole world? Could he not understand, still, that itwas essential for Sherlock's value in life for him to have someone to nurture,and someone to cherish? He needed a family, and now they had left him here,like the family dog. They had left him here to fend for himself, and toentertain himself, while they paraded about in the corrupted outside world,expecting him to turn a blind eye and allow themselves to waste away withouthis protection. Well what use did heserve if he could not keep them to himself? What purpose did he have in life ifhe let them go? Sherlock sighed heavily, clutching onto his walking stick andhobbling into the lonely, quiet house. For once in his life he felt trulyalone, without the darkness, without the voices that talked to him from theshadows. The pit never opened up, nor did the living come to torment him. Hewas entirely and utterly alone, in the house that served him no use but toremind him of who was not inside. It was an insult, it really was, it wasJohn's way of admitting to Sherlock that he did not trust him with his own daughter,it was John's way of telling Sherlock that he would be no good as a father. Yetwhat then, how could he keep them to himself? How could he be trusted withtheir security of they did not trust him to be around them for long? Would heneed to keep a tighter fist, or would he need to begin punishing? Oh heunderstood now, the burden of crushing nervousness which had collapsed Mycroftas he grew. Sherlock understood why the man had such trouble sending hisbrother to school, why he could hardly bear to let Sherlock grow, andsocialize, and collaborate with people on projects and talk in the hallway.Well no wonder he was so afraid of the outside world, what might have happenedto Sherlock if he had taken the words and advice of those barbarians seriously?He would be a drug addict or a legitimate father when he was just a teenager,he would be an alcoholic, or a homeless man out on the side of the street! The penitentiaryhad been a perfect place to grow; the prison cell had been the perfect place todevelop from a boy into a man. There were no temptations; there were noopportunities that might have dragged him from the path which he had beenliving his whole life. Sherlock had never been without a cage, and that waswhat allowed him to survive. Mycroft's fingers had laced prison bars; he hadkept a close grip on Sherlock's shoulder and led him throughout life, so as toget him from birth to death in the most painless, the most careful waypossible. All the while Sherlock was in Mycroft's care the only abuse hesuffered was when he strayed, when he pushed Mycroft aside and insisted that hecould handle himself! When he found Victor, and the boy's death had torn a holethrough his heart. When he had found John, and suffered both physical andemotional consequences for allowing himself such pleasures of opening his heartand life to that boy. The only pains he remembered from his childhood was thatinflicted upon him from other people and from his own dumb, rebelliousdecisions. The penitentiary had allowed him to bypass the preliminary stages ofadulthood, the prison had blocked him from might have become of his life. Justas John had ended up, Sherlock may have been married; he may have gone tocollege and engaged in unthinkable behaviors. How terribly John had condemnedhimself, to the life of a domestic office worker! How might he have ended up ifSherlock had not been locked away, or would it be no different? Would they haveboth fallen into the suburban trap, and continued on living life the way themiddle aged women intended them to? He did not get that life, Sherlock hadbypassed such a fate and in turn come out the other side of adulthood as anaccomplished, well of man. He had survived and lived to tell his tale, he wasunscathed from the outside world with the help of both his brother and thepolice, and today he could proudly sit in this empty house, knowing that he hadsurvived what most people did not know to be a plague. The real world, theprocess of making money, spending money, and marrying respectable women. Oh what had John Watson done to deserve sucha terrible fate? And more importantly, what could be done to protect him, andhis daughter as well? Would Sherlock need to fortify this house, would he haveto create their own prison cell, and ultimately force them into living asimpler, safer life? They did not trust him now, yet they trusted the rest ofthe world? How foolish, how utterly irresponsible of them! They would pay forsuch actions, Rosie would grow into a corrupt little girl and John woulddegrade from being a king of this manor to being merely its prisoner. Sherlock had to execute his right to protecthis family; he had to inherit the responsibilities that came with owning such ahouse, and such a legacy. Just as Mycroft had done, Sherlock too will protectthe ones he loved. For Mycroft hadn't been a villain, no quite the opposite. Ifit had not been for Mycroft, Sherlock would have a life as John Watson did.Sherlock would work in an office, he would have casual acquaintances, God forbidhe even married a woman without ever realizing the fault in it. If it was notfor Mycroft, the name Sherlock Holmes would never have meant anything toanyone. And just as it had been then, it would be now. If he did not make amove now, the same fate shall befall the poor unfortunate Watsons. If he didnot take initiative and fight for what he knew what right, and what he knew wasappropriate, Rosie Watson will becoming nothing more than someone else. A faceacross the desk, or a name of a nicely printed notecard. She will become asales woman, or a maid, or a nurse. She will marry a man of no importance, andbecome a woman of no importance all the same. She would have a house, and achild, and a dog, and no blood on her hands. No worthy blood, and no initiativeto do what is necessary when the time is right. That was what separated themall, wasn't it? The difference between the Holmes and the Watsons is that theWatsons never knew what was necessary. Yet Sherlock was smart, he was ablebodied, and he would create a world where his family would be safe. He wouldcreate a house in which nothing could ever touch either family again, and wherenone of the occupants shall ever be cursed to a life of nothing, a life ofunimportance and of stagnation, ever again. This was their rebirth, theirreckoning, and their destiny. And he would be the organizer of it all, he wouldbe the savior they never asked for, yet the one they would get all the same.Sherlock would never be alone ever again, and the Watsons...well they would neverbe unimportant. What more could be asked of him, what more could be expected?This was his role as the keeper of the house; this was his role as the soleHolmes inheritor.