His Return and Her Fall ((Parent!Lock))

Prologue

A simple squeak of the hinge makes the consulting detective sit up in his chair, glaring at the door. Late, again. How unlike her. She tip toes into the dark flat, lungs audibly wheezing. Better not scare her, but too late for she had grabbed the inhaler right as she turned on the small torch in her grip, flashing the light at him and holding her short breath.

No coat or jumper over her tank top. It's been torn off of her, possibly while running. Red marks from cloth burns down her arms. Approved. Eyes are read around the edges. Crying, have been for 3, no, 4 minutes. Shaking. Lack of oxygen. Inhaler not used, as can tell by the still shimmering outer case. Back up inhaler, not regularly used one. She's been in trouble, lost the first one somehow. Wide eyes, scared, appalled, fearful. Someone's been chasing her or was. Flats scuffed. Fresh dirt flaking from the cuts. Has been chasing her. Just was. 

"Haley Jane Holmes-Watson!" John screams from the other room, Sherlock standing and walking over to her, putting his hands on her shivering shoulders.  She whimpers, taking her dosage of two puffs, then wrapping her arms around her father. 

"Are you alright?" he asks, petting her thick black curls. She cries into him, John stomping from the bedroom and stopping, heart racing and his breath held at the sight of her downfall. Sherlock looks to his husband of seventeen years, sighing deeply and rubbing the sixteen year old's bony back. 

"Haley?" John quivers, voice stalled slightly as he takes a hesitant step forward. "H..Haley? Are- What happened to you?"

"She's been hunted down, John," Sherlock inquires, frowning and letting his thoughts run as she digs her nails into his robed back. "Has been. She went out to the harbor, going to meet someone... Lela? Yes. Perfume is expensive, and only Lela wears perfume in the middle of the night. Someone's mad at her. Pushed her into the water. There was a struggle as she got out, bruising on her knuckle-" he stops to let her gasp and cry out again, nearly falling to her knees if he hadn't just caught her and held her up. "Knuckles," he finishes, looking to John who wipes his face of tears. 

John walks over to her, pulling her off of her father and leading her up the staircase, stopped by an extremely worried and tired little Hamish, pushing up his glasses and tilting his head as to why his own father was crying. 

"Daddy? What's wrong with Haley?" he asks, watching them set in the bathroom, John wrapping her shoulders with a towel and drying off her hair.

"Nothing Misha," he answers, wiping her face free of her salty tears and trying not to cry. "Everything's fine, okay?" he ensures the girl, her head shaking as to disapprove of his words.  The doctor sighs, nodding to agree, knowing his lie well. "Wash up and get to bed. We can talk about this in the morning."

He leaves her in the bathroom, stopping in the stair well to push Hamish into his room. "Go to sleep. It's late," he demands, walking down the steps to see his husband looking through her cell phone. John grabs it, mumbling to himself and tosses it to the couch. "You need to relax. She's safe. That's all that matters right now."

Sherlock ignores him, grabbing the phone again and looking through the texts from them again. Nothing. No other contacts. The delete button stiff. Seldom used. Phone taken care of, pocketed mostly. Speed well. No apps or added data. He groans as John snatches it again, slipping it into his robe pocket and looking to Sherlock. The taller man grabs John's hips, pulling him close and smiling down at him. "I'll have that phone back now," he says with a wink, making John grin and laugh slightly. He shakes his head, Sherlock then letting go of him and pick-pocketing the cellular phone and putting it in his own pocket. 

Haley stands from the loo, grabbing the counter top and coughing, looking to the door to see Hamish looking to her, head tilted. "Haley, what happened to you?" the eleven year old asks, rubbing his brown eyes. She shakes her head, facing the mirror and putting a slender finger to the bleeding gash across her jaw line John must not have seen before. She grabs some toilet paper and dabs it dry, the bleeding stopping and then tosses the red and white cloth into the trash bin beside the counter. 

"Go to bed," she snaps at him, walking out and turning off the light before trudging into her own room. The night swallows them all up as Hamish returns to his room, John and Sherlock struggling to sleep and lay there until morning, hand in hand and facing each other.

"I'm so scared," John confesses about 6:00 in the morning. Sherlock's eyes go soft and he nods, John noting the redness of the edges. "What is she gets hurt, Sherlock?"

"Let's not think about that," he replies, his thumb rubbing the soft skin of John's hand. "I'll make some tea for all of us, and we can have a little case to work on, alright? Nothing much of another, I would assume."

The doctor nods, closing his eyes and catching some sleep for the next two hours, awaken by Sherlock's mumbling to himself then bolting from the bed. "Mmmmsherlock... what time is it?" he mumbles, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Haley shrieks from the living room, Sherlock yelling and Hamish so confused, he's mute. John quickly stumbles from the bed, grabbing the robe and wrapping it around his body before running out into the living room, seeing the man that had caused so much pain to the two men's relationship: James Moriarty.