Let The Shadows Win

All They Have To Know

John POV: The mothers at the daycare didn't seem to think Mary's absence very strange, however they all happily asked about her, for no mom could resist the urge to stick their nose into someone else's business. John answered simply that she had gone off to visit her parents, for he didn't want to arouse any suspicion just yet. He made a point to look distressed; simply so that if the mothers were asked by the police how he was acting the day Mary had disappeared they would testify in his favor. It was hard to hide his amusement at this whole ordeal, in fact it was hard to keep a smile off of his face as he got to tell the mothers that Mary had left him. Rosie didn't seem to notice a difference; in fact as of now she hadn't voiced her concern about her mother's disappearance. It would appear that she simply did not care what happened, that or she didn't notice enough to be concerned. All as they drove to the day care Rosie went on about Sherlock, for she was really taking a liking to him. She talked of his funny jokes, and the voices he used when playing with her dolls, and how he had a great many stories to tell. It was good that Rosie liked Sherlock, because she would adjust to him becoming her second father rather easily after that. It would be like a friend becoming a parent, as opposed to a complete stranger. And Sherlock would make a good father, John knew that for sure. Sherlock was caring, he had a good heart no matter how severely damaged his brain might be. The man might even prove to make a better parent than Mary was! It was the little things that John worried about, such as the cleaning and cooking, the general welfare of the house. As much as he took advantage of Mary's labors, now that she was gone he knew that he would have to be the one to learn her trade. Of course Sherlock would be no help in that area, considering as soon as Mycroft died the poor boy was left in the same situation. Those days Sherlock had been eating inedible food, for he was a hopeless cook, and he probably forgot all together where the cleaning closet was. Needless to say it was no wonder that house was condemned as soon as no one decided to live in it. And so the task would fall upon John, for they couldn't get a cleaning lady or cook or anything like that. There would be some extra money now that he didn't have to fund Mary's shopping habits, however that money would certainly be used for better things, not useless servants to do easily learnable tasks. Maybe they could use the money to fix up the old house, and then sell this one? They could all move into that deteriorating old thing after they got it redone, with new windows, rooves, and floors. They could wax it up to be fancy again, with elegant woodwork and dust free furniture! The house that now saw miserably by itself could be renovated to be the most desirable establishment in the entire town! It was wishful thinking of course, for the house was a safety nightmare and to get the clearances to live in it, with a young daughter even, well it would be impossible. However John did know a rather good place to get windows. And that was where he was off to now, to his mediocre workplace, to sit in a cubical all day and watch as the seconds ticked as slowly as the minute hand, and the minute hand crawled about the clock like a snail. They say that time flies when you're having fun, yet the alternative of course was that time slows when you hate your life. John didn't much like the alternative in this scenario. John very much understood that time flew when he was enjoying himself; for last night had flown by so quickly that he could barely remember it. The last vivid memory was being trapped by Sherlock's walking stick, trapped with it up against his throat in the perfect position to strangle him, just like Mary. He remembered feeling a pressure against his windpipe, coupled with the sharp breaths of his attacker from the back. What a wonderful feeling it had been, so exhilarating, so seductive! Sherlock knew exactly what sort of feelings John aspired to feel, whether they be legitimate or just a ploy for added excitement. And that was what paired them so perfectly, wasn't it? John was in love with madness, and Sherlock, well he was mad. It was why John couldn't settle down with a family, it was why there had always been something wrong. A wife that was perfectly normal and a child who was just the same as the rest of them! Well how was John supposed to feel any sense of purpose, or any sense of adventure? How boring life became when you knew exactly what would happen at all hours of the day, when you never once looked over your shoulder and didn't recognize the person who had once been your lover! And how purposeful that sort of existence was, when every time your partner grabbed your neck you never knew if this time they were going to let go. It was a constant chaos, for there were some days where Sherlock would love him and others when he would undoubtedly try to kill him. It would be...well it would be just as John had always wanted. It would be a life which he had created for himself, now without the restrictions of penitentiary walls and judgmental best friends. The work day creeped by, and yet as soon as the clock hit the desired time John was up and gone, ready to return home to the man he could only hope was waiting for him. John was tempted to call, for he wasn't sure yet if Sherlock was aware that John intended on him moving in with them, however just as soon as he pulled into the driveway he was pleased to find that Sherlock was already standing outside, waving his arms next to the garage so as to insist that John didn't open it yet. A sense of disappointment passed over him, merely because John could've sworn that Sherlock promised to get rid of the body today. What was taking him so long, if the garage still couldn't be opened for fear of their secret getting out? John turned off the car and stepped outside, approaching Sherlock who still looked a bit panic stricken.
"I need your car, John." Sherlock muttered regretfully.
"You haven't gotten rid of it yet?" John snapped, looking around the small development so as to be sure that no one was watching the house. He knew that the neighbors had no need to be suspicious of them yet, for not everyone had heard of Mary's disappearance, yet should they remember seeing this hushed and private conversation in the driveway then John and Sherlock might be in some trouble down the road.
"Well I was going to get rid of it, but then realized that I have no way to transport it." Sherlock said with a little frown.
"I guess that's a good point." John nodded, imagining how much trouble they would both be in if Sherlock was found lugging Mary's dead body across his shoulders as he marched to wherever he was going to dispose of her.
"Besides, I'll be happy to have your help. I'm weak, and don't know how to shovel." Sherlock admitted with a frown.
"Let me pull the car in, and we'll get her in that way. We'll just throw her in the back I guess." John muttered, looking at the garage with a sigh while Sherlock nodded, stepping away and allowing John to get into the car, open the garage door, and pull inside. The first thing that struck him after the door had been closed around the both of them was the smell, almost like the smell of roadkill along the side of the road yet exponentially more potent. So her flesh was rotting already...that wasn't a good sign when taken into consideration how long it would take to get that horrible smell out. Nevertheless they got to work, John opened the trunk and Sherlock came around with the body, a Mary sized lump poorly wrapped up in a blue plastic tarp. It was a small car, one of those little ones which most middle class families had. Mary had always refused to buy any sort of minivan, or at least a car with extra room in the trunk for a dog or more than one suitcase. And now she was paying the consequences, wasn't she, for they had to curl her horrible body up into all sorts of contortions to get her to fit. Many times the tarp would fall away and reveal her face, blue in the lips with bulging eyes, not looking much different than from when she did when she got angry. Her hair was strewn about her face, unkempt for about the first time in her existence, and her neck was becoming very badly bruised from where Sherlock had strangled her. The body most certainly bore obvious signs of foul play, and should anyone ever dig her up it wouldn't be too hard to diagnose this as a murder. Even more condemning now was the fact that Sherlock and John were touching the tarp and the body without gloves on, undoubtedly leaving their smudged finger prints all over the evidence. Yes, this thing needed to be hidden, and it needed to be hidden well. Along with the body was a suitcase that Sherlock had packed, and when John looked over it he found all of the essentials that Mary would've packed. There were multiple pairs of shoes, as well as some of her favorite dresses, a novel, her makeups and perfume, and a handful of money that John hated to just see buried in the ground. Yet it was necessary, for even if he was found with such a questionable amount on him the police might suspect foul play. All of this needed to be buried, so as to make Mary's 'disappearance' appear a bit more real.
"Alright then. Do you think Rosie will be alright in the house by herself?" John asked, shutting the trunk powerfully all while Sherlock's face contorted into something of a concerned look. In his hands were two shovels, yet his eyes went towards the house as if wondering if there was something he should have done but hadn't.
"Rosie's not in the house. She's at daycare." Sherlock pointed out, talking as if this should have been obvious. John's face fell, remembering now that Mary had always picked Rosie up in the day. She used to walk to the daycare and walk Rosie home, for the family only had one car and it went with John to work every day. And so that poor girl was still stuck in that horrible daycare, not only growing bored, but racking up all of those extra hours of payment. John's face fell, and he shook his head in despair.
"Yes of course, I suppose that was to be my job as well." He muttered. Very apprehensively he eyed the trunk, knowing that it probably wasn't the greatest idea to pick up his daughter while he was on the way to go burry his wife in an unmarked grave. Yet he had no choice, did he?
"You don't happen to know any good babysitters?" John wondered with a groan as Sherlock opened the trunk and threw the shovels inside.
"Actually I know of one." Sherlock admitted, walking around and climbing into the passenger seat as they opened up the garage door, letting in some sunlight as they let out some of that horrible rotting stench. The two of them drove down to the daycare very uncomfortably, for even though the stench of the body had not yet overwhelmed the car they were both quite aware of a rather horrible odor that was beginning to seep in through the trunk. John didn't know how else to handle such a thing than by opening all of the windows, and even though it was summer he knew that a car with all four windows rolls completely down might arouse some suspicion. But they had no choice now, did they?
"This is rather ambitious of us, isn't it?" Sherlock grumbled, looking a bit nervous as he leaned heavily alongside the door of the car.
"I say confidently that it's not the greatest of plans, but as we have no other choice I admit it's necessary." John shrugged, pulling around the web of roads so as to get to the daycare in the fastest route possible. He knew that the managers would be concerned, for like clockwork every day Mary picked Rosie up at the same time, in the same manner. She didn't show up for the first time now, the first time in what seemed like forever, well that would surely make the daycare managers wonder about where she had gone? Yet then again, John's story here was that he didn't know where Mary had gone either. He was merely the abandoned husband, trying to do his best with what his horrible wife had left him. Surely he would be forgiven this one time? However the truth was, Mary hadn't forgotten Rosie. John was almost sure that if there was such a thing as ghosts Mary's would be pounding frantically against the windows of the daycare, watching as the rest of the children got taken home, and observing painfully as her own daughter glanced about in a nervous sort of way, wondering if she had actually been forgotten. Yet she hadn't been! John was coming, like the good father he attempted to be he was coming. When they pulled into the daycare parking lot the children were all playing outside, trapped in a fenced in enclosure sort of like animals, yet entertained plenty with plastic playgrounds so that they didn't even worry about such fallacies as freedom. They frolicked as they always did, however their numbers began to dwindle, and John took a sigh of relief to see that Rosie was among the ones who was still running and playing carelessly. John climbed out of the car, making sure to have picked a spot towards the back where none of the other parents would pass, and wiped off his hands on one of the wet wipes his wife had kept in there for situations such as this. He was sure there wasn't any sort of identifiable residue on his hands, no tuffs of hair of pulls of skin that had clung to his hands after he had loaded Mary's body into the trunk; however he still felt bad if he had to give his daughter a hug with such things. He didn't want Rosie to be anywhere near this death, in fact the proximity she would have to the trunk better be the first and last time she had to be caught up in this mess. John would never tell her, not even on his death bed would he ever admit to his daughter that he and Sherlock had arranged Mary's death. As far as she knew, Mary had left. That was as far as she had to know, for anything else would undoubtedly ruin her life and her oblivious happiness.
"Come on then." John muttered, throwing the wipes into the car and locking it up before nodding his head at Sherlock and starting his way towards the front doors. Sherlock followed behind reluctantly, as if he was afraid of such domesticated establishments, and gave every mother or father they passed the most nervous, almost threatening look. Sherlock seemed quite like an animal trapped in a cage, assuming that everyone who came to gawk at him was also there with a stick with which to beat him. The poor man had never adjusted properly to life outside of his head, a life in which people were usually just at places like this to mind their business and get on with their day. Even these parents did recognize him as the criminal from the newspapers; well John doubted they'd do more than blink twice and take a tighter grip on their children's hands. And so Sherlock thumped along all the same, his walking stick striking the ground to announce every new step he took in John's wake. When John finally went to find the women in charge he was doing his best to look rather frantic, worried, and relieved all at the same time. He wanted to look the part of the abandoned father, all while making a point to pretend to hide his pain. It was going to be quite the feat if he could pull off all different layers of emotion at once, however he was sure he was doing alright for as soon as the monitors saw him approaching their faces fell in worry.
"Mr. Watson we're glad to see you!" exclaimed the manager, a very friendly woman named Mrs. Turner who was always so notorious for making homemade cookies for the children. Of course this was never a problem in the children's minds, however those parents that think their children should be subjected to the same diets they were on always made quite the fuss. John always hated such parents as those.
"I'm so sorry I couldn't make it earlier! Mary usually picks her up, but..." John faltered, clearing his throat a little bit so as to 'recompose' himself. "Well, I'm sorry I couldn't make it earlier."
"Is your wife on vacation?" questioned one of the younger, more oblivious staff. Joh let his face fall once more, to which Sherlock shuffled a little bit closer to him, and shook his head.
"No I um...well I'm not sure where she went. She left me, I think." John admitted quietly, to which all of the women gasped in surprise and shame.
"I'm so sorry to have brought it up!" cried the younger girl, covering her mouth in shame.
"No it's fine...it's fine. I know it's a question that will come up these days." John admitted. "I just hope she's safe. I don't know where she's gone, and I don't know if she's planning to come back."
"You'll get through just fine, Mr. Watson. Don't you worry." Mrs. Turner assured, patting him on the shoulder as if such an action was supposed to help him cope. John smiled thankfully, looking over to Sherlock who was looking quite confused, however sympathetic.
"Yes I know. Men have gotten through such things before...there's no reason I shouldn't be able to as well." John agreed, forcing a small smile upon his face before nodding his head and looking out towards the backdoor, as if trying to spot Rosie throughout the crowd.
"Yes of course, I'll go and get her." the young woman decided, as if she aspired to make up for her invasive questioning.
"Thank you." John muttered. As she ran off to get Rosie the group of adults stood around rather awkwardly, with John twisting his hands and the rest of the attendants looking as if they wanted to say something but simply couldn't figure out what there was to say.
"I recognize you from something, don't I?" one of the women asked from the back of the small group, looking past John's shoulder and at Sherlock. The man faltered for a bit, obviously worried that his identify had been discovered, yet shook his head agressivley.
"I can't...well I can't see how you would." Sherlock forced in a very uncomfortable way. The woman nodded, staring at his face a little bit more determinedly yet evidently getting nowhere in her observations.
"You haven't ever been here before?" she clarified with a thoughtful frown.
"No I haven't." Sherlock assured forcefully, taking another rather threatened step towards John's shoulder as if to attempt to hide. As if John's short little stature could ever protect him from those inquisitive glares!
"Alright." The woman agreed, as if she could see she wasn't getting anywhere closer to identifying this man. Thankfully this was the time that Rosie reappeared, rushing in happily with the young woman following closely behind, still looking rather ashamed to have opened a horrible can of worms in front of all of her coworkers.
"Daddy!" she exclaimed happily, rushing up to John and throwing her arms around his legs as she always did. John patted her head happily, leaning down so that he could look her in the eyes without having to bend over too much, as if they were now equals.
"How was your day Rosie?" John asked with a grin.
"It was wonderful! We played ice cream truck, and I got to make all sorts of sundaes!" Rosie said with a grin. John nodded, imagining of course that there was no actual ice cream in the making of such sundaes.
"That's great Rosie! Well I'm happy to hear it." he said proudly, getting back to his feet and digging his wallet out of his pocket.
"Oh no, no Mr. Watson we couldn't charge you today. Take it free, as our gift of sympathy." Mrs. Turner assured, shooing John's wallet away as if she felt like a thief for accepting his money in this time of 'sadness'.
"I can't just take advantage of you guys like that, it's not fair. Come on." John insisted, trying to pull out his credit card all while hoping that Mrs. Turner would flat out refuse. As much as this felt like robbery, he was always welcome for a free day care stay.
"No please, Mr. Watson, as a way of expressing our condolences." Mrs. Turner insisted, to which John just sighed in defeat, tucking his wallet away with a thankful little smile.
"You're too kind, all of you. Thank you so much." John muttered. And so with that he took one of Rosie's little hands, thanking the women again before escorting both his daughter and Sherlock out the doors.
"Why didn't you pay?" Rosie wondered, craning her neck so as to look and see if there were any police officers who were about to run after them.
"They said I didn't have to, because of Mommy's leaving. It's their way of helping out." John admitted quietly.
"Mommy left?" Rosie wondered quietly. John nodded, tugging her along as carefully as could be managed around this daycare.
"Yes, Mommy left." John agreed, starting her out into the parking lot. Thankfully the car was still there, for John had left all of the windows down even when the thing was being unattended. There was no obvious stench coming from the thing, and so John got Rosie all buckled up in her car seat and started out of the parking lot. Sherlock was still looking a bit apprehensive, looking back towards the daycare as if beginning to wonder if anyone there was going to put two and two together, finally realizing just who had just visited their establishment.