Chapter Text
Four Hours Earlier
Catherine's voice rose over the soupy clamor of little boys in the bath. "Have you seen Sherlock at all since we left? You haven't?" Something slammed into the doorframe - maybe Cathy's fist. "God damn him straight to Hell!.... I'm sorry, Mrs. Carr. Will you please call me if you hear anything? Thanks."
In the bath, four-year-old William poured a full cup of water over his brother's head. Nigel made a move to snatch the cup away, but John only laughed as bubbles slid over his forehead. "Again!"
Catherine slipped into the bathroom and knelt beside her husband on the soggy cotton mat. She reached into the cooling water and splashed John's chubby legs.
"Any news, love?"
Catherine's smile drew itself on a blank expression like a child scribbling with a dull crayon. "We've got to drive down there this morning."
"Today? Cathy --"
"I just lost one father. I can't lose another so soon." Catherine rose quickly from the bath mat and strode away, closing the bedroom door behind her.
He couldn't run after her, not with the boys still in the bath. Nigel squeezed baby shampoo into his palm and rubbed it into Will's hair with trembling fingers.
Nigel had loved John Watson. Earthy and steadfast, fierce and kind, he was everything a father should be. (Worlds different from his "sperm donor," as Mum persisted in calling his own father.) Nigel tried to love Sherlock Holmes; God only knew how he tried.
Sitting in the lounge at 221B with John, Nigel heard Cathy and Sherlock shouting in the upstairs laboratory. It was the first night Cathy had brought him home for dinner -- John had been gracious, but Sherlock was an utter bastard.
"He's utterly useless! He follows you around like a balloon on a string."
"You take that back, Sherlock."
Downstairs, John rolled his eyes at the fracas and sipped his tea. Nigel's hands were shaking so much he could barely lift his own cup.
"Nigel gets sick when you and your Dad talk about intubation. Doesn't he know what you do all day in med school? Where your hands are, deep in some dead fool's intestines? You don't need a hopeless pearl-clutching bore in your life."
John pushed himself up from his armchair and stalked toward the stairs. "Sherlock! Enough!"
"What, darling, could you hear us down there? Heavens, no... Ouch!"
Cathy ran downstairs. She landed heavily in Sherlock's chair and stared at the unlit fireplace with reddened eyes.
Nigel got up and took his coat from the rack. He couldn't look at his girlfriend who sat looking so much like her Dad, small and sturdy with honey-blonde hair brushing her shoulders.
"I don't want to put you through this anymore, Cathy. I'm sorry." He closed the door behind him.
Cathy pelted down the stairs behind him and out into Baker Street. "Don't act so scared of him! Sherlock eats that up. Nigel, wait! Please!"
"I didn't think you wanted me to wait."
Cathy stood in a garish orange pool of light. "Screw your passive-aggressive shit! If Sherlock doesn't like you he can shove it up his arse. I am going to marry you. He is fucking stuck with you."
Their kiss stopped traffic.
Nigel felt like he'd been hit about the head with a cricket bat. "Was that a proposal?"
"Yes."
"Do you want a ring?"
"Let's go pick one out," she giggled and threw her arms around him.
Cathy Watson opened the bathroom door and slumped beside her husband on the damp cotton mat. "I called in at the hospital. I hope they can get someone to cover my A&E shift."
"Mummy!" crowed John. Cathy reached for a towel and plucked the toddler from the bath. She held him close and buried her face in his wet hair.
Nigel patted William dry. "I know you're very worried about your dad... I mean Sherlock. Is there a chance he wants to be left alone right now?"
Catherine looked up. Her tears mixed with the wetness of John's hair. "Screw what he wants. I need him."
"Then we'll go, love. We'll go together."