chibifukurou

Title: Sherlock and the Chocolate Factory
Author: chibifukurou
Artist: chosenfire28
Fandoms: Sherlock/Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 15,000
Content Warnings: Mentions of Past Character Death
Authors Notes: A big thank you to

aur_in_hue for agreeing to beta my story. I hope your computer gets fixed and I'm sorry we weren't able to finish working on this fic together. All mistakes are my own

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Part 1

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Grandpa Charlie's funeral was held on a bitingly cold day. He would have hated it and tried to bundle me up in at least five layers. Instead I was in a thin black suit, that was two sizes too small and my Sunday coat. My toes felt like they were going to fall off between the tightness of my Sunday shoes and the cold.

Mamma kept a tight grip on my wrist to keep me from wiggling away and going back to the car. I didn't want to stand there in the falling snow and watch his casket lowered into the ground. I'd seen him laying in the casket, before they sealed it up and it looked like he was just sleeping. It felt wrong seeing him go away like this no matter how many times Momma tried to explain it. I knew he was dead but I just didn't understand why we couldn't put him in a glass casket like Snow White.

He was a fairy tale prince after all.

I thought that Grandma must feel the same way. She was crying as he was lowered into the ground. When the pastor motioned for us to throw our flowers into the casket. Momma, Daddy, Harry, and I threw our flowers in. While Momma wasn't looking I threw a Wonka bar in as well. Gandpa would have liked it.

Then it was Grandma's turn. She reached into the large purse she'd brought and pulled out a handful of Chocolate drops and scattered them over the casket, to mix with the snowflakes that continued to fall.

"Mother!" Mama hissed.

But Grandma acted like she couldn't hear. I pulled my hand out of Mama's grasp so that I could go over and hold Gram's hand.

The rest of the funeral went by without incident and soon enough we were able to head back to the cars. I held Grandma's hand the whole way, hoping to get into the warmth as soon as possible.

A flash of purple caught the corner of my eye. I turned to look and saw a tall man in a purple tailcoat and top hat. He walked towards the casket, and dropped a bouquet of flowers on top of it. They were all brown and if I guessed right about who it was then I would just bet that they were made of chocolate.

I tugged on the back of Grandma's coat . "Grandma, grandma! Quick look!"

"What is it, John?"

"It's Willy!" "Where?"

We both spun to look where I'd seen him, but he wasn't there. There was just the blowing snow. "I don't – he was just there." Grandma pressed a kiss to my head. "It's alright dear, we're all upset about your Grandfather."

I wanted to argue, but I couldn't. There was no way for me too prove that I had seen Willy. After all he was just a story, right?

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Over the following years, I forgot about my Grandfather's stories. I had other things on my mind. Bigger problems than whether there was a magic man who'd once known my grandfather.

Harry grew up and discovered that she loved girls. I was supposed to be the dutiful son, the one who'd make up for what my parents' considered 'her failings'. I was supposed to give them grandchildren, become some famous doctor and support them in their old age. I didn't know how to explain to them that I wanted something different. Something they couldn't even seem to imagine.

Harry hated me for supporting my parents attempts to hide her away. Or whatever it was she thought I was doing by playing the perfect son. I didn't know how to explain to her that I would have gladly been like her if I'd known how to, but I couldn’t bear to make our parents angry. I hated fighting.

The years passed and my parent's marriage started to disintegrate. They blamed each other for Harry, for our money problems, for everything. And both of them were sure that I could see why they hated the other.

Finally I'd had enough, more than. I couldn't stand it anymore. One night, during a particularly cold family dinner, I snapped. Not like Harry had, coming home drunk from a party and shouting that she loved Clara Morestead and there was nothing my parents could do about it. No, I was too level-headed for that.

I put my fork down quietly, just like normal and then in the calmest voice I could manage I said. "Mother, Father, I want you to know that I am not your daughter."

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They objected of course, but they couldn’t really force use to stay. We'd both just turned sixteen and while we weren't yet adults it was summer hols, and they were too busy fighting with each other to think of any reason for us to stay.

In the end it was Harry who raised the only real objection to my plan. "I'm not going to Grandma Jane's." "Why not? It's better than staying here."

"Oh yeah, living in a country cottage with a batty old woman is so much better than spending the summer in the city, where you can at least hang out with your friends."

'And go partying' was implied. Since that was what she did when she got together with friends, but she was young and Clara always looked after her, so at least I knew she wouldn't get herself into any real trouble. "I'm not leaving you here alone with Mom and Dad." If I did she'd likely get herself thrown out for good before the hols were over."

"And I'm not going to stay with Grandma Jane. So you'll just have to deal with it, or give up on this ridiculous attempt at being rebellious." She threw herself down on my bed in a dramatic sprawl. "If running away to grandmother's house can even be called rebelling."

"I'll drop you of at Clara's house and tell Mom you with me if she calls, if that's what you want." I didn't like the idea of her being alone, without me to watch out for her, for that long, but it was a better option than having her stay at the house.

She flipped over so that she could stare at me. "You'd do that?"

"If that's what it takes for you to leave with me, then yes I will."

"Wow, you actually are getting a rebellious streak." She breathed out in an awed tone.

I ignored her and kept packing.

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I dropped Harry off at Clara's house, only staying long enough to get a reassuring nod from Clara herself, letting me know that she'd look after my baby sister for me.

It wasn't quite as reassuring as having Harry come with him to Grandma Jane's but at least I could be sure she'd stay here.

If I'd tried to force her to come with me, I had no doubt that I'd spend half the summer hols chasing her down and dragging her back to the house when she got herself into some kind of trouble.

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It was a two hour drive to get to Grandma Jane's house. My parents had been trying to convince her to leave the little converted cottage behind and move to the big city. Instead of staying in a little hamlet' who's biggest industry was a factory that had been shut down for years.

I had never wanted her to move, I loved the shabby little cottage with it's rough hewn walls and hug downstairs room. The converted loft was my favorite place to sleep back when I'd been small enough to do so. Now I was forced to sleep in one of the small guest rooms that had been built off the main room, but he still loved the little home.

Grandma Jane welcomed me with open arms and affectionate kisses acting as though I'd always been planning to spend the summer with her, instead of just calling last minute a week before. It was a balm against my nerves, stretched tight from trying to hold my family together.

"It's so good to see you, John. It's just been too quiet since your Grandfather passed on."

"I'm glad you could have me Grandma Jane. It's been too long since we were able to spend some time together."

"Since your mother and father got upset over being left out of your grandfather's will, I believe."

I ducked my head, a blush coming to his cheeks. I wouldn't have put it quite that bluntly. "Did you need help making dinner?" I asked instead of commenting on her sadly true comment. "I didn't mean to arrive so late but the traffic was bad coming into town." He couldn't imagine why the road had been clogged with large, purple delivery trucks, but then it wasn't rally his business.

"Yes, yes. I suppose it would be." Grandma Jane nodded her head, obviously missing my prompt to explain the situation further.

I let it go. "Did you need help?"

"I'll be fine dear, why don't you just go ahead and put your bags away, I made the second guest room up for you."

"Thank you." It was the one Harry and I usually shared when they came for a visit. The first guest room being the one with a large king sized bed where his mother and father stayed. I headed down the hall towards the room.

"And make sure you wash up too! Dinner is in half an hour." She yelled after me. The rattling of pans and dishes a comforting background noise. I could already feel the exhaustion, I'd been holding off by sheer force of will, creeping up on me.

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I spent most of the first week sleeping late and taking naps between tea and dinner. I'd have been embarrassed about it if I hadn't been too tired and Grandma Jane hadn't forbore to comment.

Of course the fact that she basically kicked me out of the house the next Monday after breakfast, certainly made up for her understanding.

I couldn't decide whether I should be amused or insulted that I'd been sent out like a recalcitrant toddler

There really wasn't that much to do in town, but I did his best to find ways to amuse myself. I spent mornings in the local library and afternoons exploring.

It was on one of his exploration trips that I finally got a good look at the supposedly closed factory. More importantly I got a good look at the large gold and purple sign that hung over the front gate. "Wonka and Bucket's Chocolate factory."

I stood there staring at it for what half like hours, but was probably closer to a fifteen minutes. I hadn't thought about them in years, but I still vividly recalled Grandpa Charlie's stories about Willy Woka's Chocolate Factory.

I'd thought that was all they were. Amusing stories to help put me and Harry to sleep, but here was proof that they were more than stories. I still didn't believe the tales of chocolate rivers and ice-cream mountains, but it was obvious that there was some truth to the tales.

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I squeezed through the bars and into the factory's large, front loading area. The factory itself was a huge, brick building that looked large enough that you could have fit dozens, maybe even hundreds of my grandmother's modest cottages into it.

Now that I was paying attention I could see that all of the dozens of chimneys were belching out thick, sweet smelling smoke. So obviously, the factory wasn't completely shut down. Though it certainly didn't look like the whimsical place that my Grandfather used to go on about.

I approached it slowly, on the lookout for any security guards, but there didn't appear to be any. This place just kept getting stranger and stranger.

When I got to the purple door, next to the loading bay, it swung open of its own accord. Still feeling cautious I stuck my head in slowly, just peaking around the door's edge, but there was nothing to see, except a long hallway that lead down and down. Until it finally disappeared from sight. The door seemed to have opened itself.

The smart thing to do would have been to turn around and go back to Grandma Jane's house and act like this had never happened, but I was a logical young man, not a smart one. The hint of adventure sent adrenaline racing through my veins and I stepped into the hallway as though I had every right to be there.

That lasted until I was five steps in and the door slammed shut behind me. Then I was too busy clawing at the door, which in addition to an ability to open itself, appeared to have decided that it didn't need a knob on the inside.

So eventually I had no choice but to give up and head onwards, and downwards.

It felt like it took my hours to walk down that hallway, but it could just have easily been only a handful of minutes. My nerves were strung tight and I kept a tight grasp on my pocket knife the whole time. Finally, I reached a large door with a bronze sign mounted on it that read 'Candy Meadow'. Just like something out of one of Grandpa Charlie's stories.

Taking a deep breath, I reached out and slowly turned the knob before pushing the door open.

To reveal a large meadow, echoing with the sound of a waterfall, and a man in a tail coat. The very same man I'd seen all those years ago, at Grandpa Charlie's funeral.

He gave me a large, twinkle-eyed grin, and tipped his hat. "Hello John Watson, and welcome to my Factory."

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Part 2
After The Great Game
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"My spies have failed."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"Sherlock!" I croaked out. I still felt absolutely retched after my headfirst tumble into the pool, saving Sherlock's stupid life. That wasn't being totally fair to him of course. It wasn't like he'd asked me to save his life. But itf anything he had only made me angrier. Didn't he understand that he was everything to me? Of course not this was Sherlock after all.

He gave me a dirty look, but at least attempted to be somewhat civil to Mycroft. Thought I had no doubt that if I fell asleep and wasn't watching they'd start sniping at each other again. "What are you going to do about your spy network?"

"See that they are properly trained to deal with people at Moriarty's level of genius."

"He's not a genius." Sherlock slumped into his chair like a petulant child, arms crossed and lower lip jutting out. "He's an evil mastermind."

"One that managed to outsmart you, dear brother. If he's not a genius then I don't see how you can claim the title." He smirked at Sherlock in a way that was almost infuriating to me. An impressive feat since I was still high as a kite on the 'good' pain killers.

"He outsmarted you as well. Does that mean that you aren't a genius either?"

Never mind, it seemed they would snipe at each other even when I was awake." Mycro—" I was about to snap at him not to set Sherlock off, but of course he paid as little attention to me as Sherlock did.

"If you recall I said that he was a genius. You are the one who disputed the title."

"So you're only calling him a genius to make yourself feel better."

They were facing each other over my hospital bed now and I could see them itching for their violin and umbrella to complete the picture. I wasn't in the mood to put up with it. While they were busy with each other, I reached under my blanket and pressed the call button.

The stout, head nurse bustled into the room within a minute of my hitting the button. Apparently getting shot in the gut while saving the life of a Government official's little brother had its perks. She took one look at the Holmes brother and had them both out on their ear before either of them knew what hit them.

I would have laughed at the look on Sherlock's face, and the knowing eyebrow Mycroft raised at me, if I hadn't been so exhausted that I was half-asleep by the time the nurse came back from escorting them out of the room. She gave me a motherly pat on the cheek before turning out the light and leaving me to my rest.

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Being back at 221 B Baker street should have been more restful. I'd never been able to sleep well in a hospital unless heavily medicated. Which had made the last three days of my hospital stay and absolute nightmare. I'd been all for escaping the place as soon as my doctor allowed it. I'd have tried to sneak away earlier and sign myself out against Doctor's orders, but every time I tried I found Anthea camped outside of my hospital room.

So I'd stayed. Now I almost wished I'd stayed longer. Instead of being able to collapse into my bed to sleep for sixteen hours, I had to stay on the couch while Sherlock ranted on about Moriarty and Mycroft's making it so that he couldn't investigate him fully.

I was extremely grateful for that and planned to tell Mycroft so the next time he kidnapped me for a little chat. I'd been worried about what he would get up to without supervision. And it made me feel better to know that I wasn't the only one Mycroft had been keeping an eye on. Finally, I was just too tired to put up with Sherlock's ranting anymore. Standing up, I headed for the stairs up to my bedroom. Dodging around Sherlock before he could protest.

Once I was in my room. I locked the door and since Sherlock was the type to pick said lock, I shoved my bureau in front of the door. Hopefully he wouldn't be crazy enough to set fire to the flat so that I had to come down. Whoever was watching the flat for Mycroft should stop him if he tried.

I woke up in the middle of the afternoon, the following day. To the sound of Sherlock's shrieking violin. Mycroft must have come for a visit. Pulling a thick jumper over my sleep pants, I shoved the bureau until I could squeeze out of the door and headed for the bathroom for morning ablution.

By the time I'd finished and made it to living room, only Sherlock and a brightly colored basket were in residence. "Did Mycroft already leave?"

He narrowed his eyes at me over the basket's handle, before returning his attentions to trying to get one of the brightly wrapped packages out it. He didn't seem to be having any luck of it. I stared at it trying to figure out if it was some sort of bomb in disguise, but that didn't seem likely. Surely Mycroft's people wouldn't be that incompetent. Still. "What's in the basket."

"I don't know."

Well that wasn't helpful and no doubt Sherlock wouldn't think it was important to explain how he could not know. Because that would be boring, and potentially embarrassing. "Who sent it?"

"I don't know."

"How can you not know? Didn't you see the person who brought it."

"No." Now he was angry.

Personally I was nervous. I would say scared, but that didn't seem like the proper adjective to use. Even if it was the correct one. I was a soldier though, I wasn't supposed to get scared by a basket. Even if I had been kidnapped and had a vest packed with Symtac strapped to my chest. "Did you ask your brother to come look at it? Or send one of his people."

"I can figure it out on my own."

Of course he could. "Is it likely to explode in the next fifteen minutes? Or do I have time to make tea and have some beans on toast?"

He waved a hand vaguely in my direction, before collapsing to the sofa with a huff. Crossing his eyes and glaring at the basket as though it had mortally offended him. He probably thought it made him look intimidating, like when he went flapping about in that stupidly big coat of his. It didn't. It just made him look like Harry had when we were kids and she hadn't gotten the present she'd wanted for Christmas. Which meant the basket wasn't from Moriarty.

If that was the case then I should have plenty of time to get my mid-afternoon snack. I didn't want to have to deal with this mess until I had my morning tea.

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The basket was still sitting on the coffee table unopened when I got back from the kitchen. I sat in my armchair, chewing thoughtfully on my toast and beans, as I stared at it. Trying to figure out why Sherlock hadn’t opened it yet. It wasn’t like he had ever respected my mail before.

I got my answer when Sherlock swept back into the room, bathrobe flapping. He had a long pair of metal tongs with which he attempted to unwrapped the large, spotted bow that held the cellophane in place.
There was a crackle of static electricity and his hair stood on end until he dropped the tongs.

I chewed on my toast and watched as Sherlock collapsed back to the couch and popped a finger into his mouth. He was such a toddler at heart.

“You do realize that it’s the height of madness to keep doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.”

He transferred his glare from the basket to me. “It doesn’t make sense.”

I went back to munching on my bread and left him to his huff. He stole my flag pillow and cuddled it too his chest in revenge. Averting my eyes I forced my mouth into a straight line. It would only make Sherlock more insufferable if I told him he looked adorable like that. “How do you know that Moriarty didn’t send the basket? He’s usually the only one who can outsmart you.”

“It didn’t outsmart me.”

I munched my toast instead of replying sarcastically like I wanted to. “Moriarty?”

“If it was a message from Moriarty there would have been a body attached.”

That was enough to ruin my appetite. I might not have a problem with death in theory or in practice but my memories of being one of Moriarty’s messages were still too close to the surface. Dropping my crust onto the plate I headed back into the kitchen to make another cup of tea.

“John!”

The plate slipped, almost hitting the sink before I grabbed it. “What?”

“Come open the basket.”

“I’m busy Sherlock.”

“Joooohnnnn.”

“No Sherlock.” I made sure to take an extra long time washing the plate thoroughly and pouring my cup of tea. Sherlock kept sighing but I just ignored him. He could be such a baby sometimes.

Once I figured he’d stewed enough to get the idea that I wasn’t going back into the living room just to please him, but not long enough for him to descend into a full-fledged snit, I headed back to my armchair.

Sherlock was still sulking on the couch, pouting and cuddling my pillow.

“So are you ready to see what’s in the basket.”

“I guess, if you want to open it.”

I snorted, but didn’t let his apparent apathy keep me from grabbing the bow and tugging it lose. It was so like him to get all excited and then act like the idea had been mine first.

He leaned in to watch as I folded the cellophane so that I could reach into the basket. And pull out a Wonka bar. The label was retro, just like the ones Willy had used when I was still staying with him. It took me back to the few, happy years I’d spent at the Factory before I’d gone off to Medical school.
“Chocolate?”

“What’s wrong with that?” I kept pulling out candies. Three packs of Full meal gum, in my favorite flavors and a tin full of his Feel-better hot chocolate powder. There were also some plain candies and truffles that I could share with Sherlock. If he daned to eat anything so boring.

At the bottom of the basket there was a card. Written in Willy’s spiky script and in his usually style. ‘Heard you were hurt. Candy will make you feel better –WW.”

“Chocolates are boring.” Sherlock grabbed the basket, cellophane, and bow once I’d finished emptying it out. Trying to figure out how Willy had kept him from opening the basket would at least keep him busy and out of my hair for a while.

A blessing, since I doubted Mycroft’s surveillance men would be letting us out of the house any time soon. “I’ll make us some hot chocolate.” A few doses of Willy’s feel-better chocolate and we’d both be up and ready to handle Moriarty when he showed up again.

“I don’t want chocolate.”

“Too bad. You’ll drink it. Doctor’s orders.”

He huffed, but I knew he’d drink it.

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When I went back to bed, a few hours later, he’d drunk three cups of the cocoa. I even caught him sneaking into the kitchen to make himself a mug. I’d have to write Willy a thank you letter. It was the most I’d managed to get him eat or drink since the pool.

I got woken up that night by Mrs. Hudsons’ screams.

Rolling out of the bed I grabbed my service Revolver out of the nightstand drawer and ran for the stairs. Leaving the safety on I ran down the stairs, heading for the front door. By the time I got there, Sherlock was already poling at the dead body that had ended up on our front step.

I left him too it and went to check on Mrs. Hudson, who had made it too her doilies covered floral sofa before collapsing. She had a hand pressed to her breast and was breathing hard. Her skin was pale. I grabbed her thin wrist and checked her pulse, fast but not near the danger level. “You stay here Mrs. Hudson and I’ll go get you a cup of tea.”

“And maybe some of my herbal soothers, there’s a dear.” She patted my hand absent-mindedly while staring at the door that led from her living room into the entry hall.

“Do you mind keeping an eye on Sherlock for me?”

“Of course not Dear.” I patted her hand and went to get her tea and herbal soothers.

She was wrapped in a blanket when I came back. While Sherlock stared through the door to the hallway.
I pressed the mug into her hands and she managed a weak smile.

Sidling up to Sherlock, I asked, “What’s with the blanket.”

“It’s for shock. Blanket’s are good for shock.”

Well that made about as much sense as anything else Sherlock came up with in that brain of his. “Was it Moriarty?”

He nodded.

“Have you heard from Mycroft’s men.”

“No.”

“Do you think they’re dead?”

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye.

“Okay, so do you think he sent a bomb in addition to the body or do we have time to call you brother or Lestrade and get this taken care of?”

He handed a note to me. I picked it up by the edge trying to avoid the blood stains. “Be seeing you soon –Jim”

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“I want to move you.”

“To where?” Sherlock forced a particularly painful screech out of his violin. “If Moriarty could get past your security to plant a dead body on our doorstep what makes you think he won’t be able to find us wherever we go.” He swung his bow around to point at his brother’s face. “You have a mole.”

“Sherlock!” I admonished. Handing a mug of hot cocoa to the siblings and putting a plate of truffles on the table between, and to the side, of their respective armchairs.

“What? It’s true.” He started plucking at his violin.

Mycroft grabbed a truffle off the plate and popped it into his mouth. He gave a hum of pleasure and his eyes slid partially shut.

“I see you’ve decided to let yourself go again.”

“Sherlock!”

Dropping the second truffle he’d grabbed, back onto the plate, Mycroft brought his umbrella up to rest across his lap with his hands folded on top.

“I have to admit that I don’t know where to send you, but you can’t stay here and Moriarty’s network spreads across all of England.”

“We’re not going to America.”

If it had been anyone but Mycroft I would have said he looked guilty. The brothers resorted to a staring contest, and I was just beginning to think about leaving them to it, when my phone’s message alert went off.

The Holmes’ turned to stare at me as I fished it out from the couch cushions. Where I’d forgotten it after hiding it from Sherlock, earlier that evening. ‘You can stay here –WW’

“Who was that?”

“Hmm, Oh it’s my grandfather.” Old friend? What would be a good way to explain Willy to two extremely logical geniuses.

“You don’t have a Grandfather.” Mycroft said.

“At least not a living Grandfather. Yours died when you were a child.”

I rolled my eyes. “My adoptive Grandfather.”

They shared a look. I still trying to figure out how to explain things when Mycroft and Sherlock’s phones went off. I moved to stand behind Sherlock’s chair, so that I could read his phone over his shoulder.
‘Have a safe place for you –WW’

“How did he do that?” Sherlock asked, already moving to take apart his phone.

I snorted, already planning to tell Lestrade and the rest of Scotland Yard about this. They’d get a laugh at somebody finally managing to one up Sherlock when it came to text message hijinks.

Mycroft was handling things with more apomp, he was texting a reply. I was already dreading the tricks the two of them would get up to together.

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Mycroft tripled security after that and we didn’t get any more signs or messages from Moriarty, though I got the feeling that it was because he had lost interest in us, and not any fear of Mycroft’s security forces.

I had my doubts that Moriarty even knew how to feel fear. In the army you learned to spot the crazy ones early on. They were the most likely members of any platoon to get their fellow soldiers killed. Not because of stupidity or carelessness, but because they’d take whatever risks they had to get the blood they wanted.

Sherlock had a little of that in him, but Moriarty was far, far worse.

It only took Mycroft three days to make arrangements with Willy for us to be transferred to the Factory.
I was curious what Willy had done to gain his trust that fast, but not curious enough to ask.

Willy rarely took a shine to an adult, and Mycroft often smelled of chocolate’ something Sherlock didn’t seem to mind teasing him endlessly about’ I had every reason to believe that Willy’s interest might be less than platonic. I didn’t want to think about my Grandmother/Grandfather having sex. Much less with my partners elder brother.

I’d been expecting Sherlock to confirm m suspicious one way or the other, but he either remained oblivious, doubtful, or he was actually worried about Mycroft’s privacy (Unheard of).

Either way we ended up packed and sitting on the front stoop of 221B Baker street soon enough. This time instead of a snowstorm Mycroft’s black sedan came to pick us up.

Sherlock eyed it in distaste and I wasn’t much better. Bombs made you look at things completely differently and Mycroft’s car didn’t look that much different from the one Moriarty had used.
Sherlock lightly touched the back of my jumper and guided me down the steps and to the car. The contact was barely more than a tickle of pressure but it was more than enough. Knowing Sherlock as I did and knowing that he wouldn’t have touched me at all if he hadn’t cared for me.

We climbed in. Only to find the back seat empty. Not even Mycroft’s multi-named secretary to keep us company. “Do you think something happened?”

“My brother is just being shy. He gets like this when he’s attracted to someone.”

“Oh.”

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, the rest of his attention remaining on the phone cradled between his hands, thumbs pressing down on the brightly lit keys. “Don’t worry about it John, Mycroft isn’t the type for casual sex and I’m sure he has no intentions towards your Adoptive-Grandfather.”

“I’m not worried about Mycroft’s reaction to Willy. Willy could eat you brother alive if he tried anything forward. I’m mostly just worried what will happen once Willy starts courting him in earnest.”

He shuddered and turned his attention back to his phone. I propped my head on his bony shoulder and went to sleep. Unless Willy interfered there would be plenty of time to catch a nap before we reached the Factory.

~~= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =~~ Part 2