'She is perfect, isn't she?' said Mrs Hudson, and Hermione grinned into her champagne flute. On the sofa, Mary cradled the three-days old little Watson and cooed at her. The older lady leaned forward, and with delicate fingers, caressed the baby's tiny hand. Molly regarded mother and daughter over Mrs Hudson's shoulder, quietly sipping her drink.
A hand brushed her back, and Hermione turned to John. He simply smiled at her and topped up her glass. He left the bottle on the coffee table and returned to his wife's side. Hermione's eyes wandered away from the happy family, and they scanned the room until they found the missing guest near the staircase and the exit, engrossed in his phone.
She and Sherlock had accompanied John and Mary home from the hospital, but while Hermione had interacted with the little girl, Sherlock had barely brushed her cheeks shortly after birth. Upon arriving at the house, he had helped unpack the suitcases, taken care of the drinks, and had toasted with the others when the other guests had arrived. But as soon as the conversation died down, he had retreated into the corner of the room he was in and hadn't spoken to anyone.
Hermione pulled her phone out of her pocket and typed a brief message. A loud R2D2 sound came from Sherlock's direction, making everyone turn to look at him, except Hermione. Mary winked at him while John started laughing. Hermione then stared at the detective, who was frowning and had not stopped typing despite the interruption.
'How did you get him away from that bloody thing long enough to change your text alert?' asked John.
'John, despite what you might think, I do require sleep now and then. She simply waited,' answered Sherlock.
Hermione shrugged and left her glass on the table. 'Texting you it's the only way of getting your attention these days, anyway.' Hermione approached Mary, ignoring Sherlock's gaze on her, and received the sleeping baby. She brought the girl closer, inhaling the ephemeral newborn's scent, and over her tiny head, her gaze clashed with Sherlock's. A flash of something — desire, annoyance or anger, Hermione couldn't tell — crossed his blue irises. Around her, Mrs Hudson and Mary talked about names, and Molly was chipping in with her own suggestions, but Hermione was not listening. Only when John cleared, his throat did Hermione finally look away.
'Molly, Mrs H, Hermione,' began John and looked down at his wife. 'Mary and I... We would love you to be godparents.'
Molly laughed, delighted, and Mrs Hudson almost ripped the baby from Hermione's hands. The two women continued to make appreciative noises, and as John approached Sherlock, Hermione sat next to Mary on the sofa.
'Are you sure, Mary?'
Mary took Hermione's hand between hers. 'There's no one in this world I trust more than you. And them.' She gestured with her head to Mrs Hudson and Molly. 'And the thick-headed man with stupidly high cheekbones. God knows what we would do without him. My little girl couldn't ask for a better family.'
Hermione smiled, a lump stuck in her throat. Mary understood and tightened the grip on her hand, and both looked at John and Sherlock. John was quietly talking to Sherlock, holding his arms wide, looking exasperatedly at the ceiling. Sherlock seemed to be engrossed in his phone, but his eyes repeatedly flickered to John. Hermione could see a small smile on John's lips before heading to the kitchen, but Sherlock's expression was severe as he left the house.
Mary let her go but gave her a not-so-subtle shove with her shoulder, and Hermione followed him outside.
Hermione closed the door behind her, braving the chilly wind of the suburbs in just her blue cardigan. Sherlock stood in the Watson's tiny front yard, phone in his right and a cigarette in his left. She came closer to him, and as she had done nearly nine months ago, he offered her a drag. Hermione let the smoke fill her lungs and then watched it disappear into the air.
'What are you thinking, here alone?'
'About the disembowelment in Camden Town, quite impressi—'
'Sherlock.' She threw the stub on the stone path and stepped on it. They stood in silence for some minutes. Despite everything that had happened in the last months, this was the first time they had a proper conversation—one where Sherlock had not been dismissive and where his phone did not hold his undivided attention.
'Isn't it traditional to have just two godparents?' questioned Sherlock.
'I'm a secret agent. You're Sherlock Holmes. That girl needs normal people with normal jobs in her life.'
'Then why us?'
Hermione chuckled and sniffed, closing her cardigan more around her. 'You know why, Sherlock.'
'I understand Mary choosing you. You are... Reliable,' continued Sherlock. 'But I'm—me. I doubt I'm qualified to be a godparent.'
'You murdered a man because he threatened her parents. I wonder what you'd do if anyone threatened her. It only took one glance at her to know what I would do.'
He hummed and seemed to ponder her answer, and Hermione seized the opportunity to admire him in silence. It was the first time in months she was seeing him this clearly, this close. His features cut against the late afternoon light, his eyes closed deep in thought, his lips pursed and hair tousled by the wind. He was painfully beautiful.
'The stakes are higher now,' he said as he opened his eyes and surveyed the house across the street where two small children had started an impromptu football game. 'They deserve our complete dedication. Until we now Moriarty's endgame. I cannot afford distractions, Hermione.'
Hermione nodded, and an involuntary flash of warmth travelled through her veins and pooled in her stomach. Hearing her name from his lips was something she rarely got to experience, and the intimacy of it always left her breathless. But he was right. Surviving another day had stopped being enough when Mary and John had entered her life, their lives. Now it had gained a different dimension, a small, pink, wailing dimension.
Sherlock turned his head to her, a strange look on his face. Almost sad. She gave him a small smile. 'I'll sleep at Sirius' today,' she added, before making her way back to the house, leaving him alone.
Hermione warmed herself next to the fireplace at Sirius', sitting on the rich carpet with her back against one armchair. He had not said a word when she appeared with a small suitcase after the conversation with Sherlock, nor had he commented when she had all but moved into the guest room. It was the only thing she could do. Sherlock had taken his duties as godfather with the seriousness of a military assignment, juggling two or three Scotland Yard cases. And the busts. He was obsessed with the Thatcher busts, thinking they were a quiver in Moriarty's web. Baker Street's atmosphere had turned from heavy to suffocating. But she missed it and Mrs Hudson and him so much it was almost like feeling a ghost limb. She slept better with random violin music at three in the morning and a kitchen smelling of formaldehyde, as crazy as it sounded. Yet, she could not see Sherlock every day, skirting the verge of sanity as he was.
The splatter of the raindrops against the windows and the crackle of the fire were lulling her to sleep until a hand shook her gently.
'Your tea, love.'
She smiled at Sirius and took the saucer while sitting on the couch with his cup and a newspaper. They were in silence for some minutes, reading and sipping. Her brain needed something to latch on to not rot, now that their new normal meant neither Mary nor Sherlock were an option. And the conversation with Mycroft kept replying in her head. The frightened, lost look in his eyes was something she would not forget easily. Hermione turned her body slightly towards Sirius.
'Sirius, what do you know about Mycroft?'
He frowned and lifted his head. 'Well, the same as you, I think. Probably less.'
Hermione shook her head. She came to her knees and sat back. 'You started working with him before I did. Surely there's something about his past that I don't know.'
'It's Mycroft we're talking about, darling. You would only know what he wants you to know.' He smiled at her and closed his newspaper, discarding it to one side. 'Why do you ask?'
'It's something he said. He was talking about Sherlock and the past and things he'd done.'
'Mycroft Holmes has a lot of fingers in a lot of pies.' said Sirius. 'Half of the things he's done will give you nightmares.'
'Maybe, but what's weird is how he said it. He seemed afraid. I've never seen him like that.'
He considered it for a moment. 'That's hardly the image I have of Mycroft.'
'Exactly! So, I went to the digital archive.' Hermione ran to the hallway to get her purse while still talking. 'Well, Mary did. I have no idea how to get there.' Hermione came back into the room holding two folders. She sat next to Sirius and opened the one with the name "MRS Holmes" in black typewriter letters.
'There is nothing.' She pointed at the page. 'Just very basic information. Eton graduate with several degrees from Cambridge. Started working for the MI6 in the nineties amidst the IRA ceasefire... and that's that.'
Sirius flipped through the pages, and Hermione seized the opportunity to keep pressing.
'Sirius, all of us have an exhaustive file about every bit of our lives. From cleaners to the highest clearance levels. Every single one of us. But not him. And--' She picked the other folder. 'Neither does Sherlock.'
Sirius closed Mycroft's file. 'Mycroft is known to deform the rules to his pleasure. It wouldn't be off-character for him to have done so with this. And as I've said, Mycroft has probably the most to hide.'
'But the information still needs to be somewhere, right? He cannot just make them disappear.'
'Can't he?' Sirius smirked for a second but seemed to ponder the question. 'Well, what if their files haven't been digitised? The answers you are looking for might be in the hard copies in the fireproof safes.'
'But I cannot access those. '
The man flashed her a Marauder-approved smile. He leaned on the couch with his arms over the back. 'Ah, Miss Granger, always looking for straightforward answers with straightforward methods. Sometimes you need to get creative.'
Hermione laughed. 'Enlighten me then.'
'If you recall, Mycroft is not the first Holmes working for the Government, and some might argue, not the most relevant.'
Realisation dawned on her. 'Uncle Rudy.'
'The one and only. Rudolf Holmes is an institution, and Mycroft has been following in his footsteps ever since he started. He's such a prominent figure that whatever he did cannot be hidden because everyone had already heard from it before. And if something in the Holmes' past needed to be buried, I bet it wasn't Mycroft's doing, but Rudy's.'
'If I look for Rudy, I might find something.' She stood up, fishing her phone out of her pocket. She kissed him on the cheek and mouthed an 'I love you' as she dialled. 'Hi Mary, how's my darling goddaughter?'
Hermione was walking down the stairs at Baker Street when she heard the juggling of keys outside. She held her breath for a moment, hoping it wasn't Sherlock. She had made sure he was at Barts before she came to pick some of her books. A second later, Mary stepped into the foyer with Rosie, and Hermione sighed and trotted down.
'Mary! I wasn't expecting anyone here, least of all you.'
'Neither was I,' said Mary, balancing Rosies nappy bag and Rosie. 'I thought you were living with Sirius.'
'I am.' Hermione took Rosie in her arms and cooed at her. 'I needed a couple of things, and I wanted to see Mrs H, but she has already taken her... herbal soothers.' Mary rolled her eyes, and Hermione laughed.
'Just my luck, I wanted her to watch Rosie for me. Oh! I was also going to leave her something for you because I haven't seen you lately.' Hermione tried to excuse herself, but Mary cut her off and took a pen drive from her bag. 'You don't have to explain, Sherlock is a cock, and I can barely keep my eyes open. There is all the information you asked.'
'Thanks, Mary.' Hermione pocketed the small device. Rosie started making a fuss, and Hermione rocked from side to side. 'And don't worry, I can hang around for a bit with this beautiful lady until you are back.'
'Are you sure? It might take a while, but I cannot miss this appointment.' Mary left the bag she was carrying on the floor.
'Yes, no problem.' Hermione raised her head and noticed Mary's expression. Hermione knew that motherhood was tiring and that the woman had barely managed any rest in the past few months. But there was something in Mary's eyes, a heaviness she hadn't seen for years. 'Mary, is everything alright? You'd tell me if it wasn't, right?'
Mary smiled at her. 'Or course, Herms. We will talk when I am back, promise.' Mary bent to give Rosie a kiss on the forehead. 'Mummy will be back soon, love.'
Hermione saw Mary leaving, and she tried to shake the shiver running along her back. She tried to forget the feeling of dread that Marys' voice had seemed to carry and busied herself with Rosie. After the bath and with Rosie sleeping in the travel cot, Hermione took her phone out. It was close to ten, and Mary had been gone for three hours. Hermione dialled her friend's number, but it went straight into voicemail. A nervousness settled on her bone, and she jumped up, unable to stay seated. She tried again, and when that did not work, she called John. And sherlock. No one answered. As she was about to call Mycroft as the last resource, the door downstairs opened. For ten blissful second, she drew a quiet breath until she heard two sets of steps, which she knew very well, and neither of them was Mary's.
Sherlock came first, followed by a furious John. Neither seemed to be surprised to see her there, and John went straight to her. Sherlock was quicker and took his arms, stopping him.
'Where is Mary?' Growled John. Hermione's gaze darted between the both of them. In the bassinet, Rosie had woken up, crying.
'I don't know.' John buffed and tore himself from Sherlock. He took his daughter in his arms and tried to calm her.
'Sherlock? What's happened with Mary?'
John fished into his jeans and put a wrinkled piece of paper in Hermione's hand. 'Mary's gone.'