Chapter Text
Now
Sherlock watched from across the restaurant. He was tucked into a dark booth, and even if he hadn't been his hipster clothes and over long hair would have kept him almost unrecognizable. Almost.
He waved away the waitress who'd blocked his view as she'd asked him more inane questions. The promise of a large tip if she left him alone soon saw her off.
Three years. Three years without a glimpse of either of them and now they were less than 10 feet away. So close he could almost smell them. Less than a dozen steps and he'd be in front of them again, could reach out and touch them.
Three years.
Three years and all he could do was watch.
If it had just been John he might have done it. Walked over and stood in front of him. He didn't know what he'd say but he thought perhaps words would be unnecessary.
Yes, if it was just John he might do it, John could handle it. But he couldn't do that in front of Verity. He didn't know if she'd remember him but she'd be scared by John's reaction if nothing else. So instead he sat and observed them, forcing himself to stay in his seat.
John looked much the same as he had the last time Sherlock had seen him. A bit older, greyer definitely. His cream jumper was new, but so John that it was almost familiar despite Sherlock never having seen it. Sherlock couldn't help the small smile he felt forming at his mate being so familiar even after all the time apart.
Verity though...different didn't even begin to describe it. When he'd gone she'd been not quite three. A tiny bundle of not quite child, not quite baby who'd fascinated him everyday as she'd experienced everything for the first time. When he'd left she'd just been talking more, starting to put thoughts together, starting to question things.
Now she was a proper little girl. Almost 6. Bright eyed and chattering. Making John laugh with whatever she was saying as she read through the menu.
He could hear her, the happy confident tone of her voice. He was too busy taking it all in to listen to the actual words she was saying.
He'd spent so long keeping his feelings locked away that he was horrified when his vision turned watery, furiously blinking it clear again.
She was beautiful. John always said she was the perfect blend of both of them, Sherlock's dark hair and light eyes, John's nose, his face shape, his skin tone. Sherlock's height by the look of her.
Would she have his intellect, he wondered. Before he'd gone she'd been bright. Above average the health visitor had said at one appointment that had left Sherlock unexpectedly smug. They'd made a smart baby. She'd been too young to have any proper personality at that age though. Now she'd have her own opinions, her own preferences and thoughts, entirely individual to her.
It was only his self control, made iron strong in the last few years, that kept him in his seat when all he wanted was to go to both of them. To touch them, to hold them close and breathe them in and cover them with his scent again until they smelled like they were his again.
His phone flashed and he frowned at the message from Mycroft. He was looking at it, contemplating his response for a moment as the sound of Verity's voice snapped his head back up.
"Daddy!" She shrieked, wriggling in her seat.
For a heart stopping moment he thought she'd spotted him and recognised him. He was running through what he'd say to John when his stomach fell through the floor as a man he didn't recognise approached their table grinning at John, leaning down to kiss him with a quiet hello before turning and scooping Verity out of her seat making her giggle as he tickled her.
"Hello pumpkin," he said as he dropped into a seat, holding the squirming girl as she twisted around to face him.
"Daddy! I'm not a pumpkin," she grinned at him.
"Oh really? Well that's not what Papa told me," he said, throwing a grin at John who was smiling fondly at them.
As the little girl wriggled around to chastise a laughing John Sherlock felt sick.
She was his.
His and John's. Who was this stranger that his daughter was calling daddy?
From the corner of his eye he could see his phone flashing again and briefly regretted not waiting for Mycroft to update him before he'd dashed off to get a glimpse of his family, too desperate for his first sight of them for almost 3 years to wait for Mycroft's update.
He looked back at the table where his daughter was now back on her own seat, the interloper sitting opposite John, their chatting having returned to a normal indoor level that made it harder for him to hear what they were saying. He could, however, see them. He could see the smile on John's face that grew whenever the other man touched his hand. He could see his daughter beaming at the man she'd called daddy as he joked with her and John.
He closed his eyes for a second, not wanting to see it anymore.
They were his, not this stranger's.
His strong, brave John who'd killed for him after knowing him for only hours. Who'd followed him into trouble gladly rather than reluctantly. His John who'd shouted a confession of his love for Sherlock during an argument weeks after Irene Adler had appeared in their lives.
Verity was his even more so. She was half him. He was evident in her features. His little girl that he'd made with John. His baby who'd been so eager to join them that he'd had to deliver her into the world. He'd been the first to see her, first to hold her, the first person she'd seen, the first scent she'd experienced.
And now they were someone else's.
His vision swam again as he pulled some cash from his wallet dropping it down on the table as he stood to leave. Grabbing his phone he turned to watch them for a moment longer, then turned and fled into the night.