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The town car was just crossing into Westminster when Marie turned to her husband with a thought.
“Oh, I know. We ought to take Robin to the V&A. I’ve never been to the Museum of Childhood. Or even the fashion collection- very colorful.” The child in question was only seven months old, after all.
“That’s a good idea, we could get lunch at that place nearby that- what’s the one? You know.”
“Day in town, head back after dinner then?” she proposed, and he nodded agreement.
The night before Marie had been just about to turn in for bed when she got a call from her elder son.
“Hello Myc, bit late. Anything the matter?” she asked. Calls from either of her sons had become more commonplace over the last half-year, and to tell the truth, she was so pleased it hardly bothered her even if there was trouble.
“No, Mummy, everything’s fine. I was just hoping you and Father could come into town and collect your granddaughter for a few days while her parents...see to a matter,” he said, clearly choosing his phrasing with some care.
“Not on a case for you then,” she assumed, but Mycroft didn’t enlighten her either way.
“Can you come?” he pressed.
“It’s no trouble. We’ll be delighted to take Robin home for a few days.”
“I’ll send a car in the morning. 7 o’clock?”
“Sounds fine, good night dear,” Marie concluded, and her son made his goodnights before hanging up.
It had been hard to let Robin go home to London after taking care of her for the first four months of her life, but it was made easier by seeing how it delighted her son. She hadn’t seen Sherlock so glowingly happy in years; he was practically radioactive. After the business with that criminal enemy of his had been concluded, it was deemed no longer necessary to keep baby Robin in hiding. Marie and her husband Will had sat down with their sons and Robin’s natural father John, and hashed out a plan that would suit everyone. Sherlock and John had agreed amongst themselves to that they would do their best to keep to what Sherlock called ‘armchair cases’ until Robin was a bit older. Most civilian cases and the odd bit of consulting work for the government could be safely conducted without putting anyone in their little family at risk. Mycroft suggested that at the first whiff of active homicide (Sherlock bargained up to ‘multiple recent homicides, or I’ll never get anything done!’) they establish a routine for Robin to be retrieved from the city by her grandparents for a few days- or if Sherlock and John had to leave town for a case, Marie would come stay at Baker Street with her until it closed.
Marie had twice been called in to stay with the baby overnight, but this was the first time it had been decided she ought to remove Robin from the city. It agitated her to imagine any trouble her sons couldn’t jointly handle, but reminded herself it was just a precaution. Only a slightly arbitrary agreement that they had made. (At least) two anonymous people were dead and it didn’t specifically pose a threat to Robin, whatever it was. There was no reason to worry, the boys had managed hundreds of violent cases without ever- Marie shut down that line of thought. It was no good getting upset over the trauma of last summer, and impossible to regret altogether, as there would be no baby Robin to love and protect if the whole matter had been sidestepped.
When they arrived at Baker Street, Will hopped out of the car first and circled around to open Marie’s door and offer his arm. She determined to smile and leaned into his side as they waited for an answer at the door. When it swung open, the boys’ landlady was there, looking a bit puzzled.
“Marie!”
“Hello, Martha. Are the boys still in? I hope we haven’t missed them and put you out waiting for us,” she worried, exchanging kisses on the cheek with the other woman.
“They’re still in, I just already had planned to take Robin for the day so I’m surprised to see you.”
“Myc called us last night,” Will offered in explanation and Martha fixed the pair with a shrewd look.
“Oh ho, trouble then. I knew something was fishy. John was doing his shifty roundabout not-actually-telling-you thing,” she said, inviting them inside with a sweep of the arm.
They climbed the stairs to the flat and let themselves linger at the door to eavesdrop on an uncharacteristically sing-songy Sherlock.
“Starlight is reelin' home to bed now. Mornin' is smearin' up the sky. Robin is wakin'. Dad’s cookin’ bacon,”
“Is that... is that Lerner and Loewe?” Will asked.
“You know, I think it is,” Marie laughed. She wasn’t exactly surprised Sherlock was given to musical outburst, as fine an instrumentalist as he was, but catching him singing My Fair Lady was a first. He must have heard them finally, because he stopped and opened the door to the sitting room with a clearing of his throat, baby in arm. “G’morning dear,” she said, kissing them both and teasing “And yet you wouldn’t come when I got tickets last year!”
“Well don’t worry, I promise I won’t stifle any appreciation for light opera Robin manages to cultivate, and then you can take her along as much as you like.”
“How very magnanimous of you,” John chuckled from the kitchen. “Morning, Mum and Dad, we weren’t expecting you. Sherlock, drop that baby at once so her Gran can get at her while you see to your breakfast.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes in mock exasperation before depositing Robin into Marie’s arms. She gurgled at the familiar face and reached for an earring immediately. She was bigger, of course, with more shaggy blonde hair, and tiny slivers of white tooth emerging behind her bottom lip.
“Hello, Robin. I’m glad you remember your Gran who loves you,” Marie said, before play-biting at one of the little girls grasping fists. “Why don’t I sit down and you show Grandad how well you’re crawling now.” She settled with Robin on the couch and slid her to the floor but they barely had time to select a toy from the rubble before the door opened again. Mycroft stepped in.
“Did I miss an invitation to some family event?” Sherlock grumbled around a mouthful of toast.
“You would know, Sherlock,” Mycroft smirked. Marie noticed John glance at Sherlock with a stiff expression. “You’re not here to babysit, Mummy.”
“I’m not?”
“You’re here to intervene.”
“You invited me!” Marie bristled.
“Because Sherlock neglected to,” he explained. When he caught her frown he added, “Neglected to invite me, too- only I was fortunate enough to have a copy of his application for a marriage license cross my desk last night.”
Marie sat upright and shot out a hand to squeeze Will’s, to be sure this announcement was real.
“Married?!” he confirmed, and Marie knew she wasn’t just hearing things in her old age. She beckoned her son, and Sherlock sighed heavily and got up from breakfast at the table to do damage control, sitting next to his mother obediently.
"We were just going to do it on paper this afternoon for Robin's sake. Easier with doctor’s visits and the like. We were going to get around to something more...public eventually."
"Yes Sherlock,” Mycroft drolled, ”You're so good at 'eventually'. It only took five years for you to get around to 'eventually' last time." John snickered and picked up Robin from the floor.
“Are you trying to keep it a secret?” Mummy asked.
“More just... trying to be modest, I guess,” John said.
“We are raising a baby together, the cat’s out of the bag,” Sherlock added.
“Yes,” John agreed, looking at Robin and cooing to her, “It wouldn’t be kind to rub everyone's noses in how revoltingly happy we are by having a splashy, gorgeous wedding as well.”
Robin chirruped.
“Well if you don’t object to having us tag along, darling. We’d love to be there.”
Marie raised her hand to cup her son’s face and he nodded.
“Right well, we’ll collect Mrs Hudson, go to the registrar, and have dinner together,” Mycroft suggested. “Then you can go back to being modestly, revoltingly happy. I presume that won’t be too much of a trial?”
Sherlock turned to John, “Don’t have to put on a tie do I?”
“No, love. I might though, if you’ll excuse me.” John passed off Robin and went to change.
-
The ceremony itself was unspectacular, but Marie supposed Sherlock had already organized one mostly perfect wedding for John and they were both content to coast on the thought behind that. They were happy to be married in what her son termed ‘a fairly clinical recitation of oath’ at City Hall, though John joked that Mycroft probably would have found a way to free up St. Paul’s if he’d had more notice. Marie imagined that was probably why they tried to keep it hush.
She had been expecting a quiet meal with just of the six and a half of them at Angelos, but with the less-than-twenty-four-hours tip off he did have, Mycroft surprised them by hiring out the restaurant for the evening, and inviting a handful of their London-dwelling friends. He’d even managed to wrangle in John’s sister from Cardiff. It was immediately apparent that John and Sherlock weren't especially troubled by Mycroft hijacking the occasion, however. They positively mooned over each other when they saw how most of the furniture had been pushed back to clear some floor space, with little tables arranged in a ring to accommodate the fifteen or so guests, each glittering with a candle.
“Might get a dance out of you after all,” mentioned John as they entered. They blocked the door when Sherlock bent down to kiss his new husband. John didn't know the half of it, thought Marie.
When Sherlock had been younger and didn't have the option of refusing excursions to West End musicals, dancing was the thing that always entranced him, despite his show of indifference. He didn’t make a peep of dissent when she suggested they see the revival of Me and My Girl a second time. She pretended not to notice Sherlock stealing spoons to do the Lambeth Walk jive in the garden later. He still had all this exuberance inside of him, she knew, and she was glad that John was around to bring it out again. She loved John for that. Marie liked John for many of the same reasons she found her own husband so agreeable. He possessed the right balance of sensibilities for being tethered to Sherlock, that was for sure. Alternately appreciative or immovable, John always seemed to have the right sort of reaction to Sherlock’s stranger whims.
“All right you lovebirds,” she said, nudging past, “Let me in so I can put this baby down and you can snog all you like.”
“Mummy!”
Marie seated herself at table with Robin while Will put together a little plate of hors d'oeuvres. Another man joined her.
“She’s gotten so big, I don’t think I’ve seen her since they first brought her home,” he said. “I assume, you’re Mrs Holmes? Mike Stamford,” he offered his hand.
“Marie. So you’re the one who introduced them,” she realized, connecting the name on John’s blog with the gentleman sat next to her. “This party really ought to be for you, then.”
“Maybe I ought to have been demanding percentages all this time,” Stamford joked back.
“Would you like to hold her?” Marie passed Robin over when he nodded, and he nearly lost his glasses to her unruly little hands, for his trouble.
“Of course. Oh, you’re a scamp already.”
Will came back with a plate of finger foods Maries recognized as being particularly Sherlock Approved. She watched Sherlock across the room, greeting and being congratulated by his friends and felt happy he’d filled out a bit, in John’s care. Yet another small blessing.
“Can’t say I imagined seeing this day,” Will remarked gently as he sat. “I feel lucky.”
“Not luck! It was Mr Stamford here who introduced them, dear. Mike this is my husband, Will.”
“The Mike Stamford?”
“Of fame and glory,” Stamford smiled. Robin bounced on his knee in happy agreement.
“Marie, we need to put him on the Christmas card list at least, if not order up a parade,” Will insisted, shaking Stamford’s hand vigorously. It nearly toppled Robin from her perch.
“Thank you so much,” Marie said, fluttering her eyes a bit in an attempt to keep from tearing up.
The volume level on the ambient music playing in the restaurant lowered noticeably, and behind them Mycroft chimed a glass with his fork to get the assembly's attention.
“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” he began, “I thought it was only fitting that some of the people who’ve spent years anticipating this be allowed to offer their congratulations and criticisms that it took this long. But Sherlock, I am very happy for you; John, I am equally pleased to welcome you to the family.” Mycroft raised his glass in toast before sitting down again. Sherlock elbowed John, who stood up a bit sheepishly. He scratched his nose before beginning.
“Sherlock says that I have to give a best man’s speech since I put him through the agony of it. And his was… very memorable. We didn’t really do special vows this afternoon, and I’m afraid since it was such short notice, I have had about twenty minutes to compose myself, while Sherlock was changing a nappy, so...” He trailed off and the crowd laughed collectively. He glanced at Sherlock sitting beside him again. He looked beyond smug.
“This may not be as eloquent and touching, though I promise not to get sidetracked and solve a murder in the middle of it,” he squeezed Sherlock’s shoulder and kept his hand there. After a sharp breath he continued.
“Sherlock is an amazing man. It is an honor to know him, and be someone he wants to bother knowing. Uhm, Mycroft is probably the only one who knows this, which would explain his choice in venue- but the day, or really the evening after the day we first met, Sherlock and I had our first ‘date’ here. And I don’t know, maybe I would have saved myself a lot of trouble if I’d realized that. Sorry Angelo. And Mrs Hudson and Mike, and Molly and Greg and err, pretty much everyone who was ahead of me on that one. It was a lesson hard learned but I think I’m all the more certain for it. Sherlock is a clever, terrifying, good man. The best man I know. Aaand for the record he’s dead gorgeous, all right, I admit.” The room broke into laughter again. “But most importantly to me, the man he is- is the man I love. And Sherlock has, ultimately, made me a happy man, and I’m happy to make him an honest man.”
Sherlock instantly stood up, letting John’s anchoring hand at his shoulder slip and catch him around the middle before they kissed. Next to Marie, Martha snapped a picture for the blog before they pulled back, grinning. Standing together, with one of John’s arms still around his neck Sherlock cleared his throat.
“I swore to myself I wasn’t going to give you any more freebies, John, but I must follow up. John, you inspire me to be a better man. I want to be more thoughtful, benevolent and honest, like you are.” John beamed back at him, biting his lip to control himself, undoubtedly.
“Somehow, in your endlessly fascinating, contradictory way; in making ‘an honest man’ out of me today you’ve made me a liar as well. The first vow I made to you and your family I swore to be my last, and it’s still true, but now I have one more. From now on I will always be there for you, and love you, and my most important Work is to make it so you never doubt that again.”
John’s face finally twisted until he gasped a little half sob, an indisputable tear leaving his eye when he clenched Sherlock and kissed him again. Marie felt Martha thrust a tissue into her hands. It was very much appreciated.
The music in the restaurant turned back up. The people filled out again to mingle, many of them wanting to meet either Marie and her husband, or Robin. It was a bit overwhelming to suddenly find herself in a room full of people who so loved her son, when he had spent so much of his life isolating himself. They were all so fond, and she hoped that registered with Sherlock, deep down. “Goodness, I’d know you anywhere!” a lot of them had said.
After the eating and dancing and well wishing she took Sherlock aside.
“-And then we can take Robin off your hands for a few days and you can have some time to yourselves, since you don’t have a case on after all.” She second-guessed herself, “Do you?”
“Oh. No.”
“Then you’d better take that man of yours on a honeymoon after all you’ve put him through,” she declared.
Sherlock made a funny little smirk, “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
Marie could imagine the blog post already.