Chapter Text
Two years ago, John and Cathy had just met. They threw a Christmas party to meet one another’s families, but John went to Harry’s and Cathy went to her parents for Christmas itself.
Last Christmas, Sherlock had only just returned, and the joy of the season was caught up in their joy at having him home.
This Christmas, John and Cathy’s first since their wedding, was going to be special, if for no other reason than that for a few hours, Cathy had feared she would lose one or both of her housemates. It soon became clear that their injuries were not life threatening, but for a while, they seemed to be life changing in all sorts of negative ways.
It had taken a few weeks after John and Sherlock had come home from hospital for them to regain their mobility. John had been able to go up stairs with help from the start and unassisted within a couple of weeks, but Sherlock had not gone up or down stairs at all for the first three weeks. He did not take well to being injured, not really accepting the limitations imposed on him by his broken leg. The other injuries had healed, and a month after the accident he was again complaining of being bored, but he was still unable to get to his own flat without assistance. He complained that Cathy was fussing when she had set up the ground floor guest bedroom (formerly Mrs Hudson’s) for him but once he had settled in he seemed reluctant to move back to the basement flat. He issued instructions for what Cathy should bring upstairs from his flat, but seemed almost scared to go downstairs. In the meantime, he had spread cold case files over every available surface and Greg had threatened to bar his number if he didn’t stop making twenty or more calls a day.
Six weeks after John and Sherlock came home, Mycroft came around to tell them that their nurse/physiotherapists would be leaving the next day. If they still needed to have daily sessions with a physiotherapist, Mycroft suggested that they take a cab. Anyone who didn’t know him well would have missed the fleeting look of fear on Sherlock’s face. John really didn’t need much more physiotherapy himself; there were a few exercises which he had found helpful in increasing the mobility and flexibility of both his ankle and shoulder, but there was nothing new for him to learn, his recovery would just take time and repetition of the same exercises. Nevertheless, he decided to accompany Sherlock every morning on the cab ride there and back. On the first day after Paul and David had left, Sherlock had taken so long to get showered and dressed that John had to ring to postpone their appointments.
“John, we don’t need to go EVERY day. I’m tired, I want to go back to bed.”
“You! Back to bed in the middle of the day? I don’t believe it, Sherlock, you never voluntarily sleep. Are you sure you’re not ill?”
“No, that’s what it is, I don’t feel well, I can’t go.”
“Well, I hope you sleep well, I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“You’re going? You can’t go, you need to stay here with me. You shouldn’t go out alone. What if I needed help?”
“Sherlock.”
“WHAT.”
“Are you ummm...”
“What? Am I sick? Yes. Am I tired? Yes. Am I going out? No. Satisfied?”
“Sherlock, we need to go. I am nearly OK, but you still have a lot of rehabilitation in front of you.”
“I’m not going”, said with a stubborn set of the jaw.
Suddenly John realised, “Sherlock, if we go out of the building, it doesn’t mean that we will be hit by a car.”
“Do you know that? Are you certain? Can you guarantee, 100% definitely that a car will never again came at you?”
John sensed an unfamiliar rising hysteria in Sherlock’s voice. “Sherlock, it was an accident. It COULD happen again, but it’s not likely. If you and I are to die not in our own beds, it’s far more likely to not be an accident. We are probably going to be killed by a criminal. That doesn’t stop us chasing them; it shouldn’t stop us solving crimes.”
“I don’t care, I’m not leaving the house, and I need you to stay here to look after me. You can’t go out John.”
Reluctantly, John rang the physiotherapist’s office to cancel their appointments.
When Cathy got home, Sherlock was asleep, well, maybe not asleep, but definitely in his room with the door closed.
“How was your ‘outing’?”
“We didn’t go”
“Why not?” John explained that Sherlock had apparently decided that he and John were to spend the rest of their lives in the house.
“I think that despite all the risks we take on every case, he had simply never considered that we might actually be killed or injured. If he had ever thought about it, he had just imagined that whatever happened to him, I’d put a bandaid on it and he would be fine. And the things that he has done to stop me being hurt, well, he just thought that would be enough. He had never contemplated not being able to save me. He’s hurt and he’s scared and I’m not sure what to do about it.”
“So what have you done about it?”
“I rescheduled for tomorrow. We’ll try again.”
The next morning, knowing that Sherlock might be difficult again, John was ready in plenty of time.
“Come on Sherlock, we have to leave in 45 minutes if we are to make it on time.”
“Not going”
“what do you mean, not going? Of course we’re going. We NEED physiotherapy if we are to get back to full mobility.”
“I can’t go”
“Of course you can go.”
“Anyway I don’t need full mobility. Most of our cases can be easily solved without me leaving the building.”
“Sherlock, you are being utterly ridiculous, get your clothes on and let’s go.”
“Ridiculous? I’m not being ridiculous. Refusing to find new ways to solve crimes, now that is ridiculous. Anyway, I don’t have any clothes to wear.”
“What?”
“Are you deaf? I don’t have any clothes. You and Cathy with your ridiculous insistence that I eat EVERY day, and I can’t move enough to use it up, I’ve put on five pounds since it happened. None of my clothes fit me. I can hardly go out in my pyjamas.”
John rolled his eyes, and went to phone the physiotherapist’s office to arrange for a home visit.
After a week’s worth of home visits, John and Sherlock were both far more mobile and physically ready to, if not run, then at least walk. Sherlock had moved back into his own room and made the trip up to the ground floor every day.
A few days later, John spoke to Greg and arranged for him to call them into Scotland Yard to look at some case files. When the time came for them to leave, Sherlock again insisted that he had no clothes.
“Sherlock, I know they aren’t as stylish as usual, but Cathy has bought you some totally acceptable clothes. Get dressed and then we can leave.”
“Can’t.”
“what do you mean, can’t? Of course you can. Just put on one of the pairs of trousers and shirt Cathy bought for you the day before yesterday.”
“Cant’. They are dirty, I’ve put them in the washing machine.”
“She bought you three of each, they can’t all be dirty yet.”
“Well they are. I spilled an experiment on them.” John gave up and called Greg.
When Cathy got home, her first question was about how their day at Scotland Yard had gone. When John explained, she was dumbfounded.
“What if we asked Mycroft to send a car to pick you up? He would only have to walk from the door to the kerb, if he could do that a few times then we might be able to get him to call a cab. If we can’t get him to that stage, he really won’t be able to work, and then he will drive himself, and us, totally crazy.”
John immediately rang Mycroft and without giving any details of today’s cancelled trip (he probably already knew it all anyway), John asked if Mycroft could arrange for a car to pick them up in the morning.
“John, don’t you think that this would just be pandering to his selfishness? I don’t see this as a solution.”
“Mycroft, it’s not selfish. He honestly fears that if we leave the house, we will be hurt. He is as scared for me as he is for himself. I just need to show him that if we go somewhere, we will be fine, and over time he will overcome his fear.”
“Does he need to see a therapist? I can have one come to the house.”
“Maybe, but not yet. Let’s try a few other things first. If there’s no improvement in the next couple of weeks, we’ll get someone to come to the house to help him.”
“What time do you want to get there?”
“10am”
“The car will be there at 9.45. If necessary, the driver will help you get him in the car.”
Once more, Sherlock refused to co-operate. In the morning, he insisted that he was far too tired to go out. If Greg wanted him to look at some files, Greg would have to bring them to Baker Street. Eventually, the driver and John forced him into the car but he sulked the whole time from leaving the house until their return. He went down the stairs to his room and loudly slammed the door.
By now, John had returned to work. As November turned into December, John and Cathy were busily planning for their first married Christmas. Gifts were being bought, the pantry was stocked, guests had been invited and now that Sherlock had returned to his own room, the guest room had been prepared for Cathy’s parents.
Early on a Thursday afternoon, Sherlock’s mobile phone rang; he looked at the display and answered
“Cathy, John isn’t here, you have rung the wrong number.”
“No Sherlock, I tried his phone but it’s turned off, so he must be with patients. I’m at my doctor’s and they won’t let me leave until someone arrives to take me home.”
“Why?”
“It’s a long story, can you please, please come and collect me? I’ll tell you when you get here.” Within moments, Sherlock had hobbled up the stairs, rushed out the door and hailed a cab. He gave the address of the doctor’s and then added
”There is an extra £50 if you get me there within five minutes.” Naturally, they arrived in four minutes and Sherlock instructed the driver to wait until he returned with his ‘sister’.
When they returned to Baker Street and the cabbie had been suitably paid, Sherlock carefully helped Cathy inside.
“Now tell me. What happened? Why were you at the doctor’s instead of at school?”
“I fainted in my class. One of my colleagues drove me to the doctor’s but she had to go back to work.”
“What do you mean, fainted? Oh, you can’t be...you are... no, you told me that you wouldn’t try until after Christmas, you ARE, aren’t you?”
“Yes Sherlock, I am. I know we planned to try after Christmas, but when you had your accident and I realised that I could have lost John, we decided to start trying straight away. I didn’t know until today. John still doesn’t know. You cannot tell him, please Sherlock, you mustn’t tell him until I see him.”
“But Cathy, you told me you weren’t going to try yet, and you didn’t tell me when you changed your mind.” Cathy had never seen him look so crestfallen.
“Sherlock, please forgive us. I know we hadn’t thought we would try yet, but when we decided that we wanted a baby sooner rather than later, well, I just didn’t think I could handle the scrutiny. I knew you would want to track our lovemaking, and I know it sometimes takes a while to get pregnant, I just didn’t think I could stand being quizzed every month. Forgive me. Please. Just remember, you’re going to be an uncle by the middle of next year.”