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One of the children at school asked if people go caroling any more. Long story – short, here they were.
John and Molly, whose niece was also a member of the small chorale, were the chaperones and alternate van driver, karaoke machine carrier and going down the street ringing random doorbells with the children and their chorale instructor Eddie. There were only two doors that slammed in their faces, but the children were warned it might happen and not to take it to heart. Most who answered the door were like this wife and husband, charmed by such. Each child was given a song in which to sing lead. Rosie participated, but kept looking over her shoulder between songs.
Sherlock had said he’d be there to play violin for her song. Unfortunately, Mycroft had called him for a mission four days ago. Sherlock left promising he’d be back in time. He should have been back yesterday afternoon, but a major snow storm had shut down the departing airport. At least that is what John had told their daughter, slowly preparing her for the reality that her Da may not make it back from his business trip in time. She had sung once without him, but her turn was coming up again soon and her disappointment at having to do so without him was evident.
She was disappointed, John was worried. The more time that passed the more his worry increased. It made it harder for him to keep a smile plastered on his face as he forced himself to not text Mycroft every half-hour for updates.
“Brother Mine you need to stay here.”
“I can’t Mycroft. I promised.”
“Sometimes you have to break promises. It’ll toughen her up. She’ll learn, grow up like we did. We turned out all right.”
“Are you sure we turned out all right?” Sherlock scoffed, “she’s not us, Brother Mine. I don’t want her to grow up like we did.”
Only John’s smile was wider than Rosie’s when a black sedan pulled up and Sherlock stepped out. Coat buttoned tight around him he nodded at John and Molly, then smiled beautifully at his happily beaming daughter. When Rosie’s turn came around, Eddie gave Sherlock a nod. He pulled his violin and bow from the case and began to play. John immediately knew something was off before Sherlock hit the slightly flat note. The second off note only confirmed it. As Rosie began to sing he realized Mycroft's sedan was still with them and he knew. John watched his husband carefully.
Sherlock played beautifully, but his movements were stiff and he began to sweat. John raised a brow at him in question, but the stubborn git ignored him. The more it went on, the more John could see it, heard it in the playing.
When done, Rosie ran up to give him a tight hug and John saw the pain flash across Sherlock’s face before he could slip the mask back into place. Even Rosie could see her Da was really tired and sweaty though it was cold outside and told him he that looked sick like he had last summer and to go home. John grimaced in memory, Sherlock was stabbed while out on a mission last summer. It was a few weeks of convalescing at home.
Molly has also guessed something was amiss. When Rosie rejoined the group, Molly immediately offersed to take Rosie home with her and her niece. John kissed her cheek in grateful thanks as he grabbed Sherlock by the waist moments before he almost dropped the violin. He ordered the detective into the sedan, following behind with the violin and bow back in its case.
Sherlock collapsed as soon as he was in the car. John ripped open Sherlock’s coat and jacket and saw the blood that had seeped through the shirt and haphazard bandages underneath. Sherlock had been shot. It was small caliber going by the size, he will definitely survive, but still...
“What the hell, Mycroft?! You let him come here?” John grimaced looking at Mycroft. "St. Bart's now!"
“He wouldn’t listen, John, checked himself out, said he was alright.” The Iceman simply shrugged.
“I promised, Rosie” Sherlock moaned. "Had to be there for her..."
What could John say to that? He immediately applied pressure as the vehicle took off.