They heard distant footsteps on the stairs as Sherlock was getting to test out a substance with those eyeballs from the microwave.
John walked to the door, expecting to see Wayne, with swollen eyes from the memories of his father. But what he saw was definitely out of expectation.
Rosie was in his arms, shouting “DADDA!” when she saw John, and Wayne, on the other hand, didn’t look sad as compared to when he left, though with a red nose, still sniffling a bit. But, he had hung a faint smile on his face.
When he saw John, the smile flattened, though he continued his way up the stairs. “Mrs Hudson told me to bring her up here,” he said, putting Rosie onto the floor. Rosie broke into a sprint, and flopped herself onto her favourite spot of the house, the armchair of her father’s.
John noticed how Wayne’s face had changed. “I see. You really enjoy interacting with children, don’t you?” Wayne simply said, “They don’t care, unlike others.” John stared quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“It means, John, that your daughter is going to excrete or else your armchair won’t be in use again,” said Sherlock, as he took Rosie into his arms and downstairs to the toilet.
“She’s two and a half… Potty-trained, able to speak different simple vocabularies… yet she can’t walk down the stairs?” Wayne asked no one in particular, tilting his head. John was about to answer when Wayne’s face lit up itself. “Oh, such long and steep staircases… You’re afraid she’ll trip and injure herself. Not only just injuring herself, but serious injuries.”
John sighed. “Well, I see, you’re just as observant as Sherlock Holmes,” Wayne stared at the stairs. “Observant? Probably. Though he’s had a far greater and more brilliant mind than anyone can possess.”
John chuckled. “You really adore him, don’t you?” Wayne smirked faintly. “Admire? Yes. But I daresay the one adoring him the most is the one next to me now. Maybe not just adore, but yearn for.” Before John could actually understand what he said, he turned and started unpacking his duffel bag.
Not long after, Sherlock returned with Rosie in his arms again. Rosie walked to the fireplace and peeked over the top, staring at the skull. “William?” she asked with such baby accent that it sounded like nothing more than “whe-lum”.
Wayne shot his up, alarmed. Then he saw Rosie pointing at the skull and went back to his bag. “I thought his name was Bill?” he asked indifferently.
John started, “Where’d she get that---”
“It’s my born name,” said Sherlock, gazing at Rosie, who succeeded in taking the skull into her tiny palms, staring through the sockets. “What?” John cried. “I’ve lived with you for years and I still don’t know---”
Sherlock glanced at his sideways, then bursted down the stairs. “Wha--- WHERE ARE YOU GOING SHERLOCK HOLMES?”
John looked back at Wayne, who was zoning out. He heard Rosie toying with the skull in the distance. He studied Wayne, who was showing a trace of horror. “Wayne?” The boy heard his name and snapped out of his trance. “What was that? Was that…” John furrowed his brows. “Was that the name of… the murderer?” John inquired, the last word barely a whisper.
Wayne tried to make himself look innocent, in which he failed horribly. The terror on his face was shown more than ever. “What do you mean?” He asked.
“Now, let me get this straight;” John sat down next to Wayne, holding Rosie and putting the skull onto the morning table. “What exactly happened on the day, you know…” His voice trailed off. “On the day my parents died?” Wayne finished, his voice steady, and his face even more blank than when they first met him.
“Well, it’s not much of a story.”
Word: 642
A/N: this is yet the longest chapter i've written THOUGH i shoulda write more. i'll try to add more and more words as i write on :)
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Adopted to be a Holmes
Fanfic"A couple have been murdered. now, i need you two to come and investigate." Sherlock and John arrived at the crime scene, and on the swing in the garden, sat a boy wrapped in a shock blanket. He, Wayne Ballard, is the son of the murdered couple. "So...
