Only Yours

27

John's P.O.V

'Hurry up!' Jonty whines from the front door, shifting from foot to foot and checking his watch. The twins look equally as excited, both holding backpacks and wearing their jackets and scarfs, already in the hallway.

As always, their excitement makes me feel unwanted.

This has happened every third week since December.

Because every third week they spend with Sherlock at his new flat on the opposite side of London.

'Calm down, guys. Daddy won't be here for another five minutes so we should all calm down. Does anyone want anything to drink? Or eat?' The twins shake their heads and Jonty just sighs at me. 'Daddy always gets us takeaway on the first night.' He says stubbornly. I raise my eyebrows and go and sit in the kitchen, waiting for him to come and get them. I'm going to see Harry this afternoon, so I desperately need him to be on time, but today it doesn't look like that will happen.

Twenty minutes later, they are all slumped against the wall looking at the clock.

They look disappointed.

I resolve to yell at Sherlock when he finally shows up.

Suddenly, Jonty's iPhone buzzes. 'It's Will!' He says excitedly. He reads the text then passes me the phone.

CAN YOU COME HERE? BUSY. WH

'Jesus Christ. I'm seeing Harry. I'm going to be late.' I groan. This is typical Sherlock. He can't be arsed to come and get his precious children so messes up my day so I can get them there.

And in the children's eyes, he can do no wrong.

He bought Jonty an iPhone and got him into the set of TYRELL. He takes Saphira to Bart's and let's her watch operations. He took Blackbeard, our dog, to his flat and then bought the local vets for Hamish to own.

They don't see how much he has changed for the worse.

He is literally buying their love.

I load them into the taxi and tell the driver to step on it. It takes about half an hour to get to 1907 Knightsbridge street, then another ten to walk up six flights of stairs with the children grumbling and refusing to carry their luggage.

Suffice to say, by the time I reach the top of the stairs I am in an even worse mood than before.

I knock once, and wait. After two minutes I knock again, after another two minutes I knock again, and when another two minutes have gone by it hour without anyone answering I bang on the door and shout, 'Sherlock! Get your arse out here right now!'

Immediately the door opens, and on the other side stands Will, dressed only in a pair of black trousers. He scowls at me. 'Calm your tits, John. I'm right here.'

Will has changed dramatically in the last eight months.

He's grown about three inches and he is almost five foot nine. He is even thinner than he was before because Sherlock doesn't feed him properly and he only sleeps every four or five days, according to Lestrade.

But I can't do anything about it. Sherlock is his legal guardian and Will is perfectly healthy.

Will has also refused to talk to me for the last eight months and when he does he calls me John. Apparently I never loved him and he only has one parent.

Sufficient to say, this doesn't make me feel great.

Another thing that doesn't make me feel great is when I open the times newspaper and a picture of Sherlock, Irene and William in a cafe laughing together stares out at me. Greg told me that Will gets on really well with Irene and is going on holiday with her this summer.