Only Yours

17

Sherlock's P.O.V

Of course, I left immediately. How could I stay, looking at that child, knowing he was John's? It was a miracle I didn't tell Edith immediately.

As William and I ran out of the room (as sock-puppet woman shouted after us to stay) a million thoughts were rushing through my head. Would it come live with us? Am I positive the child is John's? Should I tell John?

Should I tell John?

The humane answer is yes. John deserves to know if he has a child. But we are genuinely very happy at the moment in our little family of three. William is thriving and when John and I considered the possibility of having more children around Christmas, we both agreed that while it would be good for William to have a sibling (as much as it pains me to admit it, growing up without Mycroft would have been truly unbearable) he seems to be progressing well as an only child at the moment. If we did have another child we decided to wait until William was at least five and then probably adopt.

Although we are well-off, as despite us no longer talking Mycroft continues feeding money into my account, our living accommodations are not suitable for a larger family. We would have to redesign our apartment completely to accommodate another child and that just seems to difficult.

I know really it burns down to one thing. If it was me in John's place, it would be a no-brainer. I would obviously take in the baby.

But I am not John. I am not the father of this child. It is nothing to me. I have no connection to it.

At that moment it seems as if Janus, the two headed God of doorways in Roman mythology is standing beside me. Which choice to make. The selfish one or the humanly right one.

I make my choice.

Once we get out of the stifling room, I put Will on a low wall and kneel down so our eyes are level. 'William.' He looks at me with those big blue eyes and grins. 'Yes, Dada?'

'Did you understand what that lady said?'

'Yes, Dada. Ordinary babby was Papa's babby.'

'Baby, William.' I say. John says he is only just two and I should cut him some slack but he is already as intelligent as most adults. And he learns quickly, eager to recover from mistakes. ''pologies, Dada.'

'William, you must not say a word of this to Papa. This would break his heart and make him very upset. Do you understand?' William looks at me curiously. 'Lie?'

'Yes, lie.' I wonder if this was a good thing to say to a baby but brush it off. I'm not John. We agreed John would teach manners. 'Promise, William?'

'Promise.' I put him on the floor and take his hand and we walk out of the building together. Away from John's baby forever.

John's P.O.V

'God, John, look at this!' Greg studies the invitation in astonishment. 'You really went all out, didn't you? Was this...necessary?'

'Sherlock's mum was helping me. She said that it was a big deal.' Personally I think the invitations are over the top. In fact, I hate them. But Sherlock told me to agree with everything Violet said.

'Your middle name is Hamish?' he peers at the name, chuckling and I grab it back. 'Shut up.'

The invitation says, in posh black Gregory Lestrade, you are cordially invited to the christening of William Sherlock Hamish Holmes by his parents W. Sherlock  Holmes and John Hamish Watson. Please reply as soon as possible to either 221B Baker Street or call Mr Watson at 07469251853.'