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Sleepless nights weren't unusual; they could even be considered commonplace when Sherlock was away on a mission or investigation as a detective. On days when his absence was felt at home, for whatever reason, his subconscious took on the imperative task of remaining alert at all times, to the point where rest could only come during the day in naps shared with his daughter or when one of his brothers visited and offered to look after the girl for a few hours.
Since becoming a father, much of his concern and attention was focused solely on that little creature of barely four years old, who could be a whirlwind of inexhaustible energy at times. Without Sherlock's presence, he assumed the entire burden of caring for her.
Melody slept with him every night when they were alone at home; this way, he felt more at ease and knew that he could attend to her without delay, no matter what. Seeing her so deeply asleep was undoubtedly comforting. At those moments, his mind also took a break to rest and focus on other things, such as the files from previous MI6 missions in which he hadn't actively participated for obvious reasons. He always felt it was important to be aware of them in case the information might be useful in the future.
He would be lying if he tried to say exactly what time it was. The candle on the desk was more than half burned down, and the silence of the night left only room for an imperturbable calm, accompanied only by the chirping of crickets or dogs barking at who-knows-what.
*click*
Raising his gaze to the bedroom door, he kept his eyes on it for a good while, without moving or making a sound. It was barely perceptible, but the unusual background noise stood out from the usual sounds.
The front door was opened.
Leaving his papers on the desk, he picked up the candlestick so he could approach, almost shuffling his feet across the carpet to avoid the creaking of the floorboards. His ear pressed against the door, and for a moment he held his breath to maintain the greatest possible silence.
Setting his candlestick on the floor for a moment, after extinguishing the candle, he took the familiar patch from his back pocket and slowly applied it, not even letting the sound of his shirt rustling through its folds be heard. A small click from his elbow joint made him frown slightly.
Voices.
Muffled by the wooden walls and the distance—they were almost on the third floor, so it was normal. But from their tone, he could tell they were trying to avoid being noticed. It definitely wasn't Sherlock, so by simple rule, they were intruders.
His jaw tightened, and his one visible eye quickly searched the room for his cane. The sound of that fourth step on the second staircase creaking made him react swiftly to grab his weapon for defense; they were close.
Thieves?
Thugs?
Most likely, they were the former. Perhaps in his concern for Melody, he had ignored the prying eyes that might have been probing the house—unacceptable for someone like him to have missed something like that. Leaning against the wall, parallel to the door, his left hand slowly opened it to peer into the hallway. They were silent now, but their heavy footsteps were loud enough for his keen hearing to detect their presence: two people, men perhaps a little more muscular than him.
Why were they going upstairs? Anything of value they wanted could be found on the lower floors. It wasn't that they had the luxuries of their former nobility, but perhaps they could take something that would bring them a few coins. However, they went straight up to the floor where they would discover the vulnerability of the rooms.
Glimpsing his daughter, who was fast asleep, he took a deep breath and tightened his grip on his sword. The important thing was to keep the little girl safe; everything else was secondary. Deciding to leave the room to keep them away from that spot, he stopped halfway down the hallway when the two figures appeared before him. They didn't seem surprised by him; on the contrary, they wore an expression of annoyance, as if he were actually thwarting their objective.
"What are you looking for?"
"Nothing personal, we're just following orders," muttered the one who seemed to be the leader between the two before pulling the blade from his belt with a threatening air.
The blond man's expression hardened as the two men's smiles widened. His wrist stiffened, raising his sword in a defensive stance, waiting for one of them to make the first move.
The second man slapped his companion on the shoulder and, without a word, lunged at whoever seemed to be in his way, thwarting his objective. The sword was raised, and the air crackled in the silence before the clash of metal filled the narrow corridor. What little he could see was thanks to the moonlight filtering through the window behind him; it was the best thing. They couldn't make out his face, but he could recognize they.
He was strong and agile, unexpected, if I had to say so. With unbridled energy, he charged at him, their blades clashing again and again, forcing him to retreat heavily to the end of the corridor where the natural light intensified even further. “Go get the girl! I’ll take care of him!”
The girl? Did they mean…?
He turned his head towards his bedroom door, a gesture the other man, of course, noticed, and with a smug smile, headed towards the chambers.
No, the target was Melody, his daughter.
And that brief distraction earned him a clean cut that went beyond the first layers of skin on his right arm. He barely had time to react to prevent the wound from becoming too serious, but the air brushing against the opening in the flesh caused a slight grimace on his face.
“Don’t even think about it!” he ordered angrily to whoever had the audacity to burst into his room. With a sudden movement of his arm, he used a blind spot on his opponent to deliver a long slash across his shoulder. The scream of pain echoed off the walls, and the wood creaked as the wounded man’s body slammed violently against one of them, pushed by the blond-haired man.
It was late; that bastard had already entered the room. After a quick scan of the space, he grabbed a bronze candlestick from one of the countertops before following him and finding him halfway to the bed where the little brunette was still sleeping. With his back to him, he raised his sword with all the firmness his arm wound allowed; in his other hand, the bronze object was ready to be used as a weapon as well if his right arm failed him.
“Get away, leave this place, and I’ll spare your life.” He tried to negotiate harshly, knowing it was unlikely this person would budge. Money for a job successfully completed could be more important than life itself to this kind of scum. The man raised his arms in a sarcastic gesture of surrender, turning on his heels to face him with disdain.
“Where’s the mother?”
“?!” His expression inevitably turned confused at the unexpected question. Almost instantly, he readjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword, holding it aloft. He didn’t intend to answer; he had no reason to. However, the unknown man fixed his gaze on the scarlet eyes that seemed intent on killing him at all costs, which resolved his doubt, causing him to burst into a thunderous laugh.
“Good heavens, don’t tell me you’re this brat’s mother,” he mocked, drawing his knife from his belt again, causing the blond man’s jaw to clench, unable to anticipate what would cross that wretched stranger’s mind. “I’ll have to charge that bastard extra,” he spat irritably, twisting his weapon in his hand to adjust the hilt in his grip.
Without another word, he lunged at him, intending to attack. His right side served as a defense as he raised his arm to stop the imminent attempt to wound him in the torso with the edge of his weapon. He wasn’t your average bounty hunter; he could tell that from the agility of his movements. He had to get him out of there somehow, prevent Melody from being caught in the middle of what could be a massacre. He dropped the candelabra to the ground, but without losing sight of the other man, he used both hands to grip his thin sword more firmly, which for the moment only served as a shield.
Despite his agility, brutality was the dominant feature of the unfortunate man's fighting style. He didn't follow a specific line of attack, and his attempts at striking resembled desperate flailing that didn't even manage to touch him, yet it was enough to force him back in short steps toward the bedroom door. He wasn't in a position to gain freedom of movement.
A new cut adorned his skin, this time on his abdomen. It was a misstep, a wrong move that momentarily opened his right flank just enough for his opponent to exploit. Swallowing hard, he retreated a little further. Of course, the other man had also received a couple of scratches from his blade, on his arm and cheek, but he still couldn't bring him down. The space definitely limited him, and his mind couldn't fully focus on the situation; another worry dominated his thoughts.
"Daddy?"
The high-pitched, sleepy voice cut through the air. Both men stopped dead in their tracks, their gazes shifting to the double bed in the center of the room. Melody sat on the bedspread, her eyes barely open, trying to locate her father.
The blond man's breathing became heavy in an instant; this was not good.
Hearing a tired laugh in front of him, as soon as the brown-haired man made even the slightest movement that hinted at his intention to attack the girl, William no longer hesitated. His gaze sharpened with a deep desire to kill him. Taking advantage of the distraction, his arms rose, and he swung his sword upward, causing a wide gash from his abdomen to his chest. Blood splattered onto the carpet and part of his shirt, and soon the muffled sound of the body hitting the ground startled the little blue-haired girl, who quickly cleared her vision.
“Daddy?” she called again, her voice filled with worry. The room was dark; she could barely make out the figures illuminated by the faint moonlight.
Before he could answer his daughter's call, the edge of his weapon pierced the chest of the man who now lay motionless on the floor. There was still the other man in the hallway, and he had to deal with him before they left.
“Mel,” he finally replied, approaching the bed, crouching down, and cupping the cheeks of the little girl who didn't understand what was happening. Hiding a grimace of pain, he looked at his bleeding abdomen and huffed in annoyance.
Melody also noticed her father's wound.
“You're bleeding, Daddy. Are you okay? Does it hurt?” At four years old, she knew one thing: if there was blood, there was pain. Her scraped knees and elbows were her own experience. Her little hands tried to reach for the wound, but the blond man's hand was quicker and, as gently as possible, prevented her from touching it.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but yes, it hurts."
"Then we have to cure you." Pulling herself free from her father's grasp, she tried to get out of bed to find his first-aid kit, but William stopped her again, lifting her with his good arm and resting her against his chest. "Huh?"
"We have to get out of here, Mel," he whispered cautiously. Before turning around, he pressed his lips together as he remembered the lifeless body lying on the floor of the room. Although it was dark, it was still somewhat visible. "I want you to cover your face with my shoulder, sweetheart. Close your eyes and don't open them until I tell you."
"Why?"
"Mel," he snapped, a tone the little girl knew well as a signal that she should do it without question if she didn't want her father to get angry. Raising her hands, she brought them to her eyes before leaning on the shoulder of the person holding her.
Taking a deep breath, he gently kissed his daughter's hair before whispering an apology.
Turning on his heels and locating the exit before leaving, he grabbed the hilt of his sword and, with a swift movement, ripped it from his opponent's flesh. Melody was clearly trying hard to keep her eyes closed so she wouldn't see what was happening.
Once in the hallway, William spotted the other man, now unconscious from blood loss. Making sure he wouldn't get up, he plunged his sword into his chest, piercing his heart, before pulling it out in a swift motion, shaking off any remaining blood from the blade.
"We'll go to Albert's," he announced calmly to his daughter. It was late at night, and trusting their home was no longer an option. Cautiously and silently descending the steps, the second floor seemed deserted, so he continued his descent to the ground floor.
"They were taking their sweet time, idiots." His steps stopped abruptly just two steps from the bottom. His hand tightened around his daughter's grip, holding her close to his chest. This was serious.
Soon, the shadows of at least three more men appeared in the main entrance. All were of similar physical build of the other two, apparently, hadn't heard the commotion from the upper floors due to their calm demeanor and the reassuring words they spoke to those they believed were their companions.
“Who are you?” the first one to see him demanded, quickly dropping his cigarette and gripping the handle of his knife.
He wanted to remain as cool-headed as possible, but Melody's rapid heartbeat pounding in his chest made him think only of getting out of there as soon as possible, for his daughter's safety. Taking a single step back in a silence as tense as a violin string stretched to its limit, it snapped with an imaginary “chin” when the creak of that damned, loose third step brought them all back to reality.
“Come here!” Going upstairs would only trap them inside. He had to stay on the ground floor to find a way out, either through the front door or the back door into that small garden they were lucky enough to have. Using his trained agility, he leaped over the stair railing with the help of that hand that somehow wouldn't let go of his weapon's grip. Landing on both feet in the hallway, footsteps began to echo on the wooden floor behind him. They had the advantage, not carrying at least fifteen kilos on one arm, so he had to get at least one off his back to be on equal footing.
"Hold on to me, Mel, don't let go," he murmured to his daughter, who finally opened her eyes to use her hands for her father's new command. Her face was still hidden against his shoulder, and now her small fingers clung to William's shirt as if her life depended on it.
Taking a deep breath, he tilted the part of his body that had the child on top of him to protect her as much as possible. His right arm, already injured and certainly trembling from the effort of keeping his weapon aloft, settled in front of him in a defensive position.
“Remember to keep the girl alive. He’ll take care of her personally.”
William’s brow furrowed at the statement. Who? Why her? Unfortunately, he didn’t have time at that moment to start counting the possible situations that could involve his daughter. When the first of them lunged at him, his attention was completely focused on the situation he had to overcome, both physically and mentally.
Almost as if it were a dance, he first dedicated himself to dodging most of their direct attacks so he could read each of their possible movements. Due to the narrowness of the hallway, they couldn’t afford to attack him all at once, although he wasn’t in the best position either, having inevitably received some wounds on his thighs, shoulder, and cheek from trying to use himself as a shield. When the movements resumed their loop, his arm changed direction and, with a swift swipe, severely wounded the dominant arm of the one who seemed more self-assured. The metal fell to the floor, followed by a scream that echoed off the walls. Melody turned her head, recognizing that shriek as one of pure pain.
As much as he wanted to prevent the brunette from seeing all of this, it was simply impossible. She was practically a central figure in the whole situation, and childlike curiosity is a natural thing.
Her innocent eyes watched the man on the ground, clutching his now bloodied shoulder. When her scarlet eyes lifted to those still standing, her expression transformed into one of terror the instant one of the unknown faces approached them so dangerously, wielding what appeared to be a large knife. Wanting to escape, she instinctively scrambled up William's shoulder with her hands and feet, letting out a panicked shriek.
"Melody! Wait!" the blond man exclaimed in dismay, losing his balance and crashing against a wall. He groaned in pain, his breath escaping his lungs as he watched, almost in slow motion, the knife approaching his face. Using his legs and his free arm, he propelled himself backward, driving the blade into the wall. His heart pounded wildly, and when the dark-haired bastard tried to pull out the weapon, his subconscious took over, and his arm shot out with almost unimaginable speed.
Suddenly, silence reigned within the four walls for at least three seconds before he saw a piece of that bastard fall to the floor as if it were a chunk of animal meat.
“A-aAAGGH!!”
He didn't have time to continue appreciating that scene, no matter how much he wanted to. The blood quickly pooled in a thick puddle that reached his shoes. The most impressive thing about this situation was that his grip on both his daughter and his weapon remained unwavering despite all the difficulties. Standing up, he saw two on the floor. There was still one more who, although he had witnessed what had happened, didn't seem to have a single vein of fear in his veins.
Melody trembled on her father's shoulder, trying to hide her face in his neck like a small puppy. Feeling the dampness on his skin sent a shiver down the spine of the frenzied father, who was breathing heavily now that his body had found a fleeting moment of rest.
He couldn't give in, not yet. Even a single man could be a danger now that physical exhaustion was beginning to take its toll from the movements and the ongoing blood loss. Regaining his stance once more, his right arm returned to its defensive position, noticeably weaker. His ragged breathing and perspiration were a good sign for someone who still seemed in good condition and with a latent desire to avenge his comrades.
"You're not getting away with this, you bastard," muttered the last chestnut-haired man who remained standing without a scratch. Not content with his own weapon, he grabbed his now one-armed companion's from the wall. The man collapsed, unconscious from the shock of seeing his arm severed from his body.
His single blood-red eye sharpened to such a degree that he could discern the slightest muscular movement of his opponent. His legs, shoulder-width apart, and his stance, reminiscent of the fourth block in fencing, patiently awaited the first attack. He hadn't initiated any confrontation all night because it wasn't in his best interest; much of his strength was concentrated in the grip on his left side, trying to keep his little light safe.
A muffled sigh escaped him as the other finally made his aggressive move. His wrist twisted his sword diagonally, allowing him to retain both edges that threatened to strike him. A click of his tongue echoed in his throat at the difference in strength he clearly perceived the instant they clashed. His feet, after only a few centimeters of retreat, sought to dig into the ground, and, propelling himself with his torso, he pushed back the man who barely flinched. Instead, the blade to his right swiveled in a single motion, its edge still underneath, and a blow from the hilt struck his face, stunning him and causing him to lose his balance.
“Ahck!” he heard a groan to his left as he stumbled and fell sideways to the ground, his daughter taking the brunt of the impact on her back and head. For the first time, his grip loosened for a moment.
“Mel-” Before he could finish tending to the little girl's ailment, a sharp pain shot through his spine. His ankle throbbed whenever he tried to move it.
A sarcastic laugh reached his ears amidst his dismay. Raising his head, he met the arrogant expression of someone who recognized his advantageous position. His chest rose and fell with agitation at this; he was exhausted, and his body was beginning to fail him.
“It's nothing personal, really, but they pay well for that brat.” Again, bringing up the subject of that infamous job to kidnap his daughter.
With a calm step, the blade, still pointed downwards, slid without any delicacy into his right thigh. His muscles contracting against the metal caused a muffled groan that strained his vocal cords. He still had one more weapon, which he shifted from his left hand to his now free hand.
“Daddy,” the young blue-haired girl whispered, overcome with fear and choked with tears. She clung to her father's body, refusing to let go. His condition worried her deeply.
“Come here.”
“No! Let me go!”
Grabbed roughly by the collar of her clothing, she was yanked away from her father, who could barely hold her with his hand.
“Let me go! Daddy!”
Struggling to break free, the weight of her body, trying to reach her father, made her clothing choke her. Her eyes closed in pain, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Mommy!”
And after that last, desperate cry, his feet and knees touched the wooden floor without any care, falling immediately onto his hands and coughing as air returned to his lungs. The feeling of suffocation persisted, and he forced himself to gasp for breath in sharp inhalations and exhalations.
It all happened in the blink of an eye.
"A-agh. W-What?"
His gaze desperately searched for the source of the pain that spread from his chest to every nerve in his body. The first thing he encountered was that steel blade connected to himself, and on the other side, a scarlet flash that mingled with the color of his own blood dripping down the metal. No one would believe him if he said that at that precise moment he was looking the devil himself in the eye. A scream was choked by the blood pooling in his throat as he felt the sword dig into his chest, searching for some particular spot. But it wasn't that; this was the delight of his killer, of that demon whose fingers now tasted his blood. The sound of what was perhaps his liver or stomach being crushed filled him with an agony he had never known. He was dying, and for the first time, he wished for his head to be cut off if it meant the end of it all. Unconsciously, his hand went to the sword that was forcibly holding him upright, as if trying to rip it out. A grave mistake.
"U-Ugh," was all he could manage to murmur as the point seemed to find its way out of his back. Tears welled in his eyes, and thick threads of life-giving blood escaped his lips, making it hard to breathe. Loosening his grip, he resigned himself to the obvious, and unconsciousness overtook him, which apparently ruined the blond man's entertainment. He simply released the hilt, letting the man fall freely to the ground.
If he had to explain how his body found the strength to deliver that final blow, he wouldn't know. For an instant, his senses were deafened, and moving by sheer inertia, his sword ended up embedded in the body of that wretch who had had the deplorable audacity to lay a hand on his daughter. Perhaps he just needed a little more provocation to force himself to act one last time.
Falling to his knees, a groan of complaint escaped his lips as he felt another sharp pain in his thigh, still pierced by the knife. He knew that removing it could be dangerous, so for the moment, he opted to leave it there as a plug. With the help of his one good arm, he turned to sit on the floor, against the wall.
“Mel… Darling,” he called, clearly exhausted, to the little girl who had curled up on the floor to avoid being seen. The small bundle of pink fabric, now stained with someone else's blood, trembled before slowly uncovering her head toward her father.
“Dad…” Her lips trembled, and realizing that it was all over, she freed herself from her position and crawled towards him.
Taking her in his arms, he cupped her head and back in his hands, burying his nose in her hair, taking a deep breath, and swallowing hard. “I’m sorry, my love, forgive me for all this…” Melody just shook her head, sniffing as she tried to stifle her sobs. “Are you hurt? Please, tell me if anything hurts.”
Little by little, the girl pulled away from her father’s chest to look at him with concern, small traces of crystalline tears still reddening her cheeks. Her little hands rose to his face, gently cupping his cheeks, careful not to touch the small cut he’d received in one of the fights. “You look tired, Daddy…”
William chuckled softly before taking one of her hands and tenderly kissing the back of it.
“I know, but give me a moment, we have to go see your Uncle Albert.”
Melody pressed her lips together and nodded, pulling her face away and snuggling back against his chest to look at the wound on his abdomen, now almost hidden by all the blood he’d lost. It was then that she remembered the bump on her head, which hurt when she rubbed it. Noticing this, the blond man took the time to examine it carefully. Luckily, it wasn't serious, but it might hurt for the rest of the night.
"Who were they?" she whispered as if they could still hear her, keeping her gaze on the last man who had managed to hold her for a moment that felt like an eternity. Then her vision suddenly went dark. William had covered her eyes with his hand, turning her head back to his chest.
"Bad people," he summarized in simple words she could understand despite the traumatic situation. Taking another deep breath, his now relaxed body began to feel the weight of the wounds and the blood loss. He couldn't stay there; they had to leave as soon as possible because with scoundrels like these, you never knew how many people they might have. But no matter how hard he tried to move a muscle, her body wouldn't respond as he wanted. In the worst-case scenario, they would stay there until dawn, when one of his siblings would find them thanks to his frequent visits.
Leaning his head against the wall, he closed one eye for a moment to focus his mind and organize his next steps for the rest of the night.
"Don't fall asleep, Mel, we have to go," he murmured, feeling the weight against his chest increase slightly. It wasn't just the fact that they had to leave, but also the bump on her head. As a child in the orphanage, he had heard the sisters say that sleeping was the last thing you should do after a head injury. The reason? He wasn't entirely sure, but if they said it, it was for a reason, and he wasn't going to risk finding out with his little girl.
"When is Daddy coming?" she asked out of the blue, as she was suddenly robbed of her sleep. William couldn't help but feel a heaviness in his chest at the question, which he certainly hadn't expected.
“In a few days, darling, he have work to do with Mr. Watson,” he replied gently, stroking her hair, which was now styled in small, slightly disheveled braids.
Melody only let out a sound that resembled a “hm” from her chest.
“You’re hurt…”
“I know.”
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
“Only a little.”
He had to stay awake no matter what, but his energy was barely enough to answer his worried daughter's questions. She couldn't stop staring at his wounds, still bleeding, though less than before. Melody swallowed, and when she tried to get up, William tightened his grip and held her close.
"We have to heal you, Daddy..." William swallowed.
"Don't leave me, please."
"But..."
"Mel, please," he pleaded wearily.
The girl's lips trembled, and she snuggled back against the blond man's chest, who was now holding her with what little strength remained in his grip.
he didn't know what time it was, much less how long it had been since the first or last fight. Between their silences, their heavy breathing was all they could hear. Melody stayed awake more out of worry than because of her father's plea. Her eyes no longer saw the bodies lying on the floor, but rather the half-open front door through which the moonlight barely filtered. If she went outside, she could ask someone for help, but her father wouldn't allow it, so all she could do was stay there in his arms until he decided it was time to leave.
Closing her eyes for a moment, the sound of cobblestones echoing with footsteps brought them both back to reality. William tensed his body and, using his free arm, began to drag his back along the wall to slowly stand up. Melody once again grabbed the collar of the blond man's shirt and buried her face in his shoulder. Staring at his sword still embedded in the other body, she forced her legs and that aching ankle to move so she could reach out and pick it up.
"Don't let go of me, hold on tight," he whispered firmly to the scarlet-eyed girl, who nodded silently.
As his hand found the hilt of his sword, the distinctive creak of the front door echoed in his ears. Knowing time was against him, he jerked his arm in a painful struggle to free his weapon and raise it toward the new intruder who had invaded the home.
“Liam!?”
That voice.
Seeing the figure silhouetted against the light, when his vision adjusted to the changing illumination, he recognized those features, now distorted with worry at the sight before him.
“Sherly…” His grip loosened, and the metallic clang against the wood deafened him. He swallowed hard, his lips parting as he tried to catch the breath that had suddenly escaped his lungs. The floor began to move beneath his feet, and just when he thought he could see clearly the figure with broad shoulders and disheveled hair, it vanished before him.
His knees buckled and soon found the ground once more, and before the rest of his body could reach the firmness of the wood, the hands of the unexpected arrival rushed to support him and his daughter.
“Liam, oh my God, Liam,” he whispered anxiously, and they both ended up sitting on the floor. One of his arms encircled his shoulders, while his free hand rested on the head of the little girl, who was now crying as she recognized the voice and warmth of the one who had come to them.
“Daddy…” Melody sobbed, raising her tear-filled eyes once more to the dark-haired man who was holding them tightly.
“I’m here, I’m here now, sweetheart,” he tried to reassure her, kissing her head and cheek, seeing his partner, who seemed to be barely staying awake through sheer willpower. “Everything’s going to be alright, I’m here.”
Taking a deep breath as his vocal cords trembled, he raised his head, taking in the deplorable scene: three lifeless bodies, pools of blood filling the air with a heavy, metallic scent, and even a severed limb—someone who clearly hadn’t been very lucky. His worried gaze met that of his friend, who had his hand over his face, equally shocked by the scene.
“John, he's not well.”
“We have to get them out of here, Sherlock.”
They both nodded. Sherlock, forced to separate from his partner, surveyed his body to identify the most serious injuries. John approached to tentatively examine both individuals involved in the unfortunate situation. Melody seemed fine; the blood on her clothes wasn't hers, a sign that William had admirably ensured the child hadn't received a single scratch. He, on the other hand, seemed to remain awake only because he knew he couldn't leave his child unattended, as the blood drying on his clothes and body would undoubtedly have rendered anyone else unconscious.
Sherlock carried Melody in his arms for a moment so John could remove the knife that was still lodged in the blond man's leg. With the agility of a former war medic, the blood-soaked blade was soon on the ground despite the injured man's cries of pain. A crude tourniquet fashioned from his belt barely stemmed the bleeding. He needed to treat him urgently, and the best option was to take them to his clinic.
“Take Melody, I’ll carry him,” Sherlock requested, carefully handing the little girl to him while he took his partner in his arms. John took the opportunity to examine his niece, who was hiding on his shoulder, still distressed.
Despite the late hour, some coachmen hoping to find a drunken nobleman as a passenger were still loitering in the neighborhoods, so finding one who could take them to the doctor’s house wasn’t too difficult for them. The journey, though quick, was tense. William barely felt himself leaning against Sherlock’s chest before succumbing to exhaustion and falling asleep, or rather, fainting. The dark-haired man couldn’t tear his gaze away from him, inwardly cursing himself for having fallen into such an obvious trap.
“That damned wretch, he fabricated a case just to keep you away from them…”
“Tsk.” He clicked his tongue indifferently, but John was right. It had all been meticulously planned by that old bastard whom he had decided to ignore when he received his threats. He hadn't thought he was so far gone as to fall for something like this. “Looks like it's still my fault his son is a damned murderer.”
“You did what you had to do, Sherlock. This isn't your fault.”
“I should have noticed sooner.” He judged himself seriously. “If I had taken the necessary precautions, this wouldn't have happened. Liam wouldn't be like this.”
John sighed heavily and settled the little girl in his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder, watching the road through one of the windows, unable to even close her eyes to rest.
Once at the clinic, John woke Mary to ask for her help. With the blond man settled on a stretcher with clean sheets, Sherlock stayed by his side with his daughter, who had remained silent since they'd left.
"Mel."
"Hmm?" She responded, turning towards him. His warm palm cupped her cheek before their foreheads touched.
"How are you, sweetheart? Are you in any pain? Whatever it is, please don't hide it from me."
Melody hesitated before opening her lips to ask a question that had been nagging at her for a while.
"Is Daddy going to die?"
"What?" Sherlock felt his blood run cold and the air simply stagnate in his lungs. What kind of question was that?
“A-Ah, Mel, no, no, no, no,” he quickly shook his head, pulling her into a tight embrace and cradling her against his chest as his throat trembled with a wave of anguish washed over him. “No, he’s not going to die, he just needs to rest…”
“Daddy was badly hurt… there was so much blood,” she whispered against her father’s coat, clutching the thick fabric tightly and burying her face in it before sobbing. At first, it was a soft cry that soon intensified, forcing her to pull away slightly to catch her breath as the true feeling of fear settled consciously in her heart. “I was scared, Daddy… I was so scared,” she declared, her voice breaking and choked with tears.
Sherlock's lips trembled before he clutched his little girl's small body. His left hand buried itself in her hair, while his right almost melted into her back. Inevitably, the feeling became shared, and silent tears streamed down his cheeks, dampening the soiled pajamas of his distraught daughter, who now muffled her sobs against his shoulder.
It was all his fault.
If he had discovered the trap they'd been led into sooner, if he had heeded the warnings and words of that man consumed by rage, if he hadn't taken on that damned case, none of this would have happened.
And now here he was, with his daughter trembling in his arms and his partner in a fragile state from using himself as a shield to keep them from reaching her. He didn't have to be a genius to figure out that the target was Melody—a clear eye for an eye. But they certainly hadn't counted on Liam's presence, which turned out to be more dangerous than, apparently, three bounty hunter thugs. He was sure that if his partner was in such a state, it wasn't by choice. If it were up to him, he could have taken them out without suffering so much damage himself, but he had to consider the importance of protecting his daughter at all costs, even if it meant taking some damage in the process. They were ambushed in their own home. Locking her in a room for protection wasn't an option if he didn't know how many there were. Besides, knowing Liam, he wasn't going to let her out of his sight for even a second; that wouldn't have put him at ease. The most viable option was the one he surely chose: keeping Melody with him at all times, which put him at a considerable physical disadvantage.
“Sherlock.”
John’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. Wiping the blood off his hands with a clean cloth, he nodded, signaling that everything was alright. How long had he been lost in thought? Melody had fallen asleep; after all that crying, it wasn’t surprising.
“She’ll have to stay in bed for a few days. The wounds on her abdomen and leg were the deepest; they’ll take a little longer to heal.”
The blue-haired man nodded, understanding the situation. Thanking his friend, he stood up and settled Melody in his arms.
“You can lay her down on one of the cots next to William. She must be exhausted.”
Gently observing the little girl, whose face was still stained with dried tears, he used his hand to wipe away as much as possible before gently laying her down on one of the cots. Kissing her head, he took a deep breath and looked one last time at William resting beside her.
“I have to leave them with you for a while, John. I must get back to the house.”
“The neighbors could be a problem,” John thought, understanding what he meant. “You don’t even have to ask, Sherlock. We’ll look after them.”
Deeply grateful to his dear friend, he cast one last look at the two beings for whom he would give his life, and with a heavy heart, he left the clinic to return to the crime scene.
...
“Mr. Holmes,” he called, recognizing the figure approaching the house he had arrived at just moments before.
“Fred,” he returned the unspoken greeting to the young man, who looked at him as if waiting for an explanation for his sudden call at this late hour. He was somewhat grateful it was him; there was a certain trust between them that set them apart from the others.
“Wiggins came looking for me. He said he needed help… Here at your house?”
Sherlock nodded and, taking the keys from his pocket, approached the door of the house, which they had locked before leaving. The moment they set foot in London, desperate to get home, Sherlock knew he might need help, as the situation was completely unfamiliar. Turning to his trusted messenger, who was nearing young adulthood, he asked him to locate any Moriarty who could lend a hand—anyone, but now. Wiggins vanished into the shadows as he accepted the errand.
As soon as the door opened, Fred immediately recognized the familiar metallic scent of blood. His brows furrowed, and the moment they stepped into the hall, he was confronted with a scene that made his eyes widen in surprise.
“Mr. William… Where is he? Where’s Melody?” he asked quickly to Sherlock, who still wore a serious expression.
“They’re at Watson’s clinic. Don’t worry, they’re fine… These bastards showed up when I wasn’t here. They wanted Melody. Liam dealt with them.”
“?!”
A little more relieved to know that both William and the girl were alright, they took the time to examine the bodies there. They didn't look familiar, and undoubtedly all of them were dead.
Sherlock let the young man move them while he went upstairs to the bedroom. His surprise came when he found not one more, but two bodies—one in the hallway and another in his room. A vein of anger popped out in his neck. The fact that they had even set foot in the bedroom was too much. If Liam had been asleep next to Melody, the story would probably be very different.
"Damn it!" he spat in frustration, slamming his fist against the doorframe.
This was the limit. It was one thing for them to want to take it out on him, and it wouldn't be the first time. He was used to it because not everyone was satisfied with his results, no matter how successful they were. But it was quite another thing to mess with his family, with his daughter, whom he didn't exactly flaunt in public for reasons as simple as this. There are some very sick people out there.
"Fred!" He called out in a shout.
Responding quickly, as he climbed the last step, he found himself facing practically the same scene as the blue-haired man still standing in the doorway.
“Mr. Holmes…”
“I need to ask you a favor.”
That tone of voice hardened his expression. He instantly understood what she meant; Sherlock knew who was behind this.
“Tell me what it is.”
“That he never again be able to give a single order like this,” was his request, letting the young man's imagination run wild.
“Understood. Give me the details.”
He wasn't going to refuse, and he wasn't going to apologize to Louis or anyone else if they discovered this personal request from Sherlock, which could also be considered an act of his own free will.
If he had to make it clear that no one could mess with them and get away with it, then he would do it.
Just as he had done so well in the past.