Chapter Text
“Drink?” John offered, pouring himself one.
“Sure.” Sherlock dropped back into his chair. John poured another glass and handed it over, sitting in his own armchair.
“So,” John started. “Nice day. Can’t remember the last time I went to a carnival.”
“Mm.” Sherlock hummed in agreement.
“Can I ask- how come Imogen’s never met Lestrade’s kids before?”
Sherlock frowned. “Why would she have?”
John shrugged. “You’ve worked with each other for five years, and you have kids around the same age. Just seems like something that would come up.”
Sherlock was quiet for a moment. “I don’t think Mrs Lestrade would be open to it.”
“Why not?”
“She’s no fan of mine. Don’t think she’d take well to having my daughter with my… observational skills hanging around.”
“Oh God, what did you do?” John groaned.
“The woman is perpetually unfaithful. I merely pointed out her moral failings as a person and wife. She didn’t appreciate it.”
“Jeez- when was this?”
“About six months before I gained custody of Imogen. Didn’t seem like a good time to schedule a playdate.”
“That’s a higher sense of social intelligence than I’m used to seeing from you.”
“You’re too kind.” Sherlock drawled. John laughed softly.
“Well it seems like her and Matthew get along. Could be good, her having a friend. Might help her make more. You know, make her more outgoing.”
“Indeed. I estimate Lestrade’s marriage won’t survive the year and assuming he gets custody – shouldn’t be too much of an issue, he’s very involved with the children’s lives and given Rebecca’s multiple affairs and weekends away he’s taken on the role of primary caregiver – I suspect it shouldn’t be too difficult to foster the friendship.”
“Oh good, a silver lining to two children’s family breaking apart.”
“Oh come off it I’m not the one perpetually cheating on my husband.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.
John nodded, fair enough. “Speaking of unstable relationships-”
Sherlock groaned, dropping his head back on the back of the chair. “Must we do this?”
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” John held his hands up in surrender, “I’m just curious, is all. We’ve lived together for almost five months now, we solve cases together, hell I’ve killed for you. And I don’t even know the name of your daughters mother.” John truly didn’t want to push, but he was curious, and trying to subtly pry wasn’t working out. Asking outright was probably his best bet.
Sherlock was quiet for a long time, and John had started to accept that he wasn’t getting anything.
“Lydia.” Sherlock said, his voice low and carefully devoid of emotion. He kept his eyes on the glass in his hand. “Her name was Lydia.”
“How did she die?”
“She was stabbed to death by her husband when he found out she’d been unfaithful throughout their entire relationship.”
John’s eyebrows shot up, his whole body jolting. He stared at Sherlock in shock. “What?”
“Yes. I wasn’t the first and I certainly wasn’t the last. He found out Imogen wasn’t biologically his, they got into an argument, and he stabbed her. Didn’t mean to, apparently,” he didn’t sound like he believed it, “it just happened.”
“Oh my god, was Imogen there?”
“No, she was with her grandparents in Dublin.”
“Thank God.”
“Mm. I glanced at his psychological assessment. I doubt he would have hurt her, but I imagine it would have been quite traumatic regardless.”
“Yeah, I’d say seeing your dad stab your mum to death would be pretty traumatic,” John agreed, his mind trying to wrap around the new information.
“I’m not saying she deserved to be stabbed to death for cheating, as reprehensible as that is, but I’m not sorry she’d dead, and I’m not sorry she isn’t around to influence my daughter.”
A minute passed as in silence as John internally debated asking the question on his mind.
“You don’t have to tell me,” John reiterated, though he knew that went without saying, “but what did Lydia do, that made you hate her so much? It isn’t just that she didn’t tell you about Imogen, is it?”
Silence. Sherlock refilled his drink and downed it. Still the silence stretched.
“It- Imogen, her… conception. It wasn’t, I… it wasn’t consensual.”
John wanted to vomit. He put a hand over his mouth to keep himself quiet. The room was suddenly too warm.
“She came to my hotel room. She was already tipsy. Gave me a drink. I was sober at the time. Mostly. But I hadn’t seen her in over a year, figured we could share a drink or two, catch up. Didn’t realise she’d slipped something in it until it was too late. Shouldn’t have been surprised, I suppose; she was the one who precured our drugs for us. Those rich socialites had endless connections, it seemed safer than getting it in an alley. Don’t know why she did it. I can’t delete it. I tried. Tried carving it out like a cancer but it just… won’t…” his eyes were glassy, his jaw tense. He cleared his throat, swallowing thickly. “I’m sure you can gather why I don’t like to talk about this.”
“of course, god I’m… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked-”
“You couldn’t have known.”
John took an unsteady breath. “I’m so sorry, Sherlock.”
Sherlock drained his third glass and refilled it. His fingers tapped rapidly on the side of the glass. “You know, for the longest time I… I thought the worst thing that could happen to me was for it to happen again. Now I know someday Imogen will know what happened. She’ll know she wasn’t conceived in love or friendship or even by random chance. She’ll want to know about Lydia someday, and I won’t be able to lie to her. She’s too smart for that. Too smart for her own good. Even if I don’t tell her she’ll figure it out herself. I can’t think of anything worse than her knowing.” He said, his voice almost too soft to hear. He gave a soft, sad huff that might have been generously called a laugh. “Her mother was a psychopathic rapist and serial adulterer, her stepfather is a convicted murderer, and I’m…” He gestured to himself, before taking another drink. “Really hit the parent lottery, didn’t she?”
“You’re a good father.” John said, and he truly meant it.
“Even though I take my daughter to crime scenes and tell her bedtime stories about violent crimes?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Didn’t say you were normal,” John amended, trying to lighten the mood a bit, “but I don’t think normal would work for Imogen, would it? She’s like you. You’re what she needs.”
The ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. “You know I’ve never told anyone that before. What happened. Mycroft knows. He knew about Imogen before she was born, kept tabs on her. Didn’t tell me about her until after Lydia died.”
“But you took her anyway,” John half stated, half asked. “Despite everything,”
“I wasn’t going to.” He admitted. “Her grandparents did have custody, but her grandfather was sent to jail – some nasty secrets came to light during the trail – and her grandmother was deemed unfit. Decided to meet her. Mycroft had another family set up to take her. He came clean, offered the chance to meet her before they went forward with it. She was so weird.”
John laughed softly. “No paternity test needed then?”
“I suppose.” Sherlock said with a soft smile. “She… It was so obvious that she was mine. Mycroft said it was like looking back in time, seeing her play her made up games in the garden. And it was. I was no one’s idea of a great parent, had to shift just about everything in my life to take her. Never would have happened without Mycroft. I suppose I’m… grateful for that.” It seemed to be physically challenging for him to get the words out.
“But you took her.”
Sherlock nodded, setting down his drink. “Despite everything.