Sherlock: The Next Generation

Chapter 39

Chapter 39

Sherlock instantly jumped forward to catch Hamish. The scream had been the boy's as he had seen the bullet come towards him, so close as it soared past him to lodge itself in Moriarty's brain. The consulting criminal was now lying on the ground, blood pooling from his head as he died. And this time it was not faked. He would be well and truly dead. Good riddance, Sherlock thought. Once again he was thankful that John, his love, was a crack shot.

"It's okay, Mish, it's okay," Sherlock had pulled the currently weak boy into his arms and lifted him up. "Everything's fine. Daddy has you. No one will hurt you again." He turned a fierce look to Lestrade. "Phone an ambulance!"

John moved past with a weak smile directed at Sherlock, quickly ruffling Hamish's hair before entering the room that he had come from. John returned with an unconscious Martin his arms. There was a look of complete hatred in the short man's eyes as he looked at the now dead Moriarty. He knew they had arrived in time, before they truly lost Martin and Hamish. But... Who knew what had happened to them? If they would ever recover.

Sherlock and John headed back up the stairs, both carrying at twin. Lestrade ordered for the police to get the body out of the house while reassuring John that no one would press charges. Not in this situation. Sherlock commented that it didn't matter because he would be able to prove John innocent no matter what.

They ended up having to go into separate ambulances due to the fact that they couldn't fit both Hamish and Martin into one. John went with Martin and Sherlock with Hamish. They met again in the waiting room, told to stay there while the doctors worked.

"They'll be okay," John murmured as he and Sherlock hugged where they sat waiting. Ignoring the strange looks they got from the few people also in the waiting room. "I'm a doctor, I should know."

Sherlock merely nodded, lines marring his beautiful pale face. Worried lines. After what seemed like years a doctor came out, telling them that they could come and see their sons. Both stood at the same time, Sherlock unfolding fluidly while John staggered after him. Lack of sleep was once again beginning to get to him. The twins were on beds beside each other, both fast asleep. Their faces were so pale... Paler than normal. Now that they were no longer covered in dirt and blood the cuts that marred their faces were visible. None deep enough to leave scars, though. They were hooked up to various machines. All in all it did not look good.

"Both have suffered from severe bruising and various broken bones... They have also lost a lot of blood." The look on the doctor's face told them that something was not good. "I fear that if they do not get a blood transfusion soon their chance of survival will be greatly reduced. However after running a few quick blood tests we have discovered that they are both A-. This means that it will be hard to find donors."

"I can donate," both John and Sherlock said at the same time, looking at each other with frowns.

"I'm A-," John put forward.

"And I O-." Sherlock almost seemed to smirk. The doctor merely nodded.

"If you will come this way, Doctor Watson and Mr Holmes."

Both ended up donating blood for their sons to make sure that not too much was taken from either. Thankfully the transfusion went without any problems. Martin and Hamish were going to get through this. They had to.

John ended up falling asleep in the chair in between the two beds. Mycroft came with Molly, Arianna and Myc later on in the day. Molly was almost instantly at both her brothers' sides, moving between the two worriedly. It was obvious that she, like her dads, had not been sleeping all that well. After a few days they had had to tell her what was going on. Even though she was only nine (her birthday had been a few weeks earlier) she wasn't exactly stupid. She would have figured it out. Thankfully John and Sherlock, with the help of Lestrade and Mycroft, had managed to convince her that there was no point in helping.

"Are they going to die?" Myc asked, eyes wide as he looked at his cousin.

"Of course not," Arianna reprimanded him primly. "Uncle Sherlock and Uncle John wouldn't let that happen." Sherlock arched an eyebrow in Mycroft's direction, but his brother merely shrugged.

It took the twins a week in hospital to fully recover. Both woke after about a day, but only for a few hours at a time. Eventually they were discharged to go home, under strict orders to rest. Thankfully Hamish didn't have school for another week. Martin, on the other hand, was supposed to go back the day before being discharged. Of course a phone call sorted it all out. There was no way he was going back. They would keep him home for another week at least or until he was better. Then he could go back up to Scotland.

The family was silent as they all entered 221b, both Martin and Hamish needing help up the stairs. Though they had recovered well enough both carried scars. Physical and mental scars. If anything, Martin seemed to talk less. He had not uttered a word since waking. Hamish was also quieter and stayed as close to Martin as possible, almost protectively. Neither would talk about what had happened.

The night they went home was the first time the nightmares began. Martin woke up screaming, waking all those who were sleeping in the flat. It took John and Sherlock only moments to reach the twins' bedroom, Molly trailing behind them. They found Hamish comforting his twin, both seemingly crying. That night all five slept in John and Sherlock's room. It was a bit cramped, but at least they all slept. The next day Hamish got a text from Mortimer saying that he was moving away with his family and wouldn't see Hamish again. It wasn't unexpected.

Martin woke up screaming nights after, the only reason Hamish didn't do the same was the fact that he didn't even try to sleep. In the end John pushed Hamish's bed and Martin's bed together. After that the screaming ceased a bit more.

The boys recovered physically (if getting tired sooner than they normally would), though, and it was obvious that Martin would be able to go back to school up in Scotland by the end of the week. The one worry was his nightmares. But there was nothing they could do about that. Just warn the school, really. Another problem was the fact that, well, Martin still wasn't speaking. He occasionally muttered a few words to Hamish, but no more. He spent most his days drawing, playing his instruments and reading. He danced occasionally in his room but not much.

Hamish was more back to his usual self. If a bit less curious and still overly protective of his twin. He was soon participating in experiments with his dad and Molly. It wasn't until a Saturday evening, the day before Martin went back to school, that he posed the question that Sherlock and John had been expecting for a while.

"How did you find us?" Hamish asked it somewhat reluctantly. He disliked mentioning anything to do with what happened. Or anything related to it. Martin looked up from his sketchbook with a frown.

"A text," John replied as Sherlock pulled out his phone.

"Can I see?"

"Of course," Sherlock handed the phone over, glancing at John. Both watched their oldest son carefully. Hamish frowned as he read the text, pulling out his own phone to check his contacts. The message itself seemed normally... It was the signature. MM. He knew it! He'd been right. A light smile framed his lips as he looked up from his comparison.

"It was Mortimer who texted you."