Chapter 6

(Addis note: This chapter is actually a separate extra by the name of [When They Knew Greg Was Pregnant (ABO)] but I added it in as chapter 6 so the entire novel would be in chronological order.)

Being Greg’s alpha and legal partner, Mycroft was the first to know about his partner’s pregnancy — strictly speaking, besides the doctor — even earlier than the expectant father himself. When he arrived at the hospital and heard the news, Greg was still unconscious.

Frankly, being informed by his assistant about Greg collapsing due to abdominal pain during a suspect’s arrest had already frightened him enough. But being told by the doctor that his partner was pregnant made his spine chill with an indescribable fear, causing his hands to tremble as he held his loved one’s hand.

He didn’t even have the mood to feel the joy of soon becoming a father. Throughout the night, he nervously stood guard by Greg’s bedside, contemplating what the arrival of this child would mean. The first eight years of their marriage were spent in their little world; they never considered the option of having a child. If it weren’t for Sherlock’s prank, they might have continued to be a childless couple. Their lack of experience made him completely disregard Greg’s previous physical changes; those symptoms were so obvious yet had not caught his attention; it was unforgivable. He had the chance to prevent Greg from suffering like this.

His thoughts were interrupted by a few murmurs from the bed. Greg’s eyelashes flickered twice before slowly opening his eyes, unsurprised to see the person at his bedside.

“You look more like a patient than me,” Greg hoarsely joked, trying to ease the heavy atmosphere in the ward. Mycroft smiled slightly in response, then poured a glass of water and helped him drink. Greg’s complexion improved slightly. Supporting himself with Mycroft’s hand, he asked, “What happened to me? I only remember a terrible pain in my stomach. Is it appendicitis?”

Mycroft shook his head, “You’re not sick, dear. You’re… pregnant.”

Greg froze all movements briefly, then blinked his wide eyes. “What?”

“You’re pregnant, Gregory,” Mycroft repeated slowly, holding his partner’s hand, “The fainting was due to slight anemia, and the stomach pain was caused by the exertion from running. The doctor said…”

“Hey, My, hold on a moment,” Greg softly interrupted Mycroft, “Let me digest what’s happening… I mean… is this for real?”

“Of course,” Mycroft sighed, “I wouldn’t joke about something like this.”

“Wow…” Greg looked astonished, lowering his head to gaze at his abdomen. “This… this is… amazing. I never thought it would happen so quickly; we tried three times during the heats…”

“The doctor mentioned a chance of conception outside the heats. We’re quite fortunate.” Mycroft leaned down to kiss his lover’s lips, their foreheads touching. Regretfully, he said, “I’m sorry…”

“Wait, My, why…?” Greg puzzled, embraced Mycroft’s back, comforting him. “How can this be your fault? I didn’t even notice… Oh God, I chased that person for four blocks…”

Mycroft sighed, extending his arms to hold his omega. “Regardless, you must stay in the hospital for a few days…” He paused, swallowing the words about the risk of miscarriage, and instead said, “I’ve asked the doctor to take good care of you. You know my personality; I’m too worried… Don’t be mad at me for this, okay?”

“Of course, of course… I believe Gregson will gladly take over this case for me; after all, the culprit has been caught.” Greg mumbled against Mycroft’s shoulder, still feeling a lack of reality regarding the little life growing inside him. However, he sensed an overwhelming, indescribable joy spreading throughout his entire being. He gently pulled away from Mycroft’s embrace, looking into his husband’s eyes once more and asking, “Is this real? Are we going to have a child?”

Mycroft smiled gently, “Yes, it’s real. We’re going to have a child.”

Greg embraced his alpha again, holding on tightly, unwilling to let go for a long while.

For so many years, Greg had, for the first time, a slight suspicion about his alpha’s concept of time. He thought when Mycroft said, ‘a few days in the hospital,’ it meant a maximum of three days. However, he stayed in the hospital for a whole week, spending each day lying in bed and consuming various nutritious foods—not that those items were distasteful, but he didn’t want to accumulate too much fat in his belly before the pregnancy showed.

He asked Mycroft several times why they couldn’t just be at home, lying in their warm, large bed instead of the hospital. But Mycroft firmly declined every time, leaving Greg a bit frustrated. Fortunately, the British government’s influence was enough for him to arrange a hospital room that wasn’t too dull for his omega. He had everything he needed: DVDs and books to pass the time quickly.

Greg was on leave, but Sherlock wasn’t having an easy time without his ‘guardian’ providing cases. He had shot three empty clips out of boredom and was pushed out by the intolerable flatmate to cause chaos outside to avoid another rent hike from the landlady.

“That’s not a reason for you to climb into my ward in the middle of the night!” Greg exclaimed, feeling his blood pressure rise due to annoyance.

Mycroft embraced Greg’s shoulders, trying to calm him, glaring severely at his brother who seemed indifferent. “How many times have I told you, at least learn to use the door?!”

“Since I can remember, 1653 times,” Sherlock shrugged indifferently. “Now it’s past visiting hours, the nurses outside won’t let me in.”

“So, do you know why hospitals have visiting hours? It’s to let patients rest!” Greg threw a pillow at him.

“Why are you so worked up?” Sherlock caught the pillow, feeling puzzled. “You’re all lively, why stay in the hospital? You make me terribly bored.” He stopped abruptly, his nostrils flaring as he scanned Greg, finally showing a complex expression—part surprise, part confusion, part joy, and a bit of worry.

Greg didn’t notice Sherlock’s changing expression; he continued complaining about “what John had spoiled you into.” However, Mycroft didn’t overlook Sherlock’s shifting emotions. He stared at Sherlock, visibly uneasy, seemingly calculating something rapidly.

“Gregory,” Mycroft interjected, interrupting Greg’s rambling and Sherlock’s deductions. “Relax, dear, you should really get some sleep. Sherlock, go home; I’ll arrange an interesting case for you tomorrow. Gregory needs rest now.”

“Oh, yes, it’s time to rest.” Sherlock mumbled, about to throw the pillow back to Greg but reconsidered, carefully placing it back at the bedside. “Then I’ll leave; you get some sleep.”

Sherlock’s unusual compliance made Greg feel a bit uneasy, but he chuckled, “Um…what’s up?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock turned away hesitantly. “It’s just… I’m not that anxious for a case, actually.”

“Damn it! You’re not planning to do drugs again, are you?”

“Of course not,” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “but since you’re… like this, it’s better to… stay in the hospital…”

“Oh…” Greg realized Sherlock felt uncomfortable showing care. It seemed he also knew he was going to be an uncle, so he humorously comforted him, “It’s okay, Sherlock, I’m just a bit uncomfortable with the pregnancy. A few days’ rest will fix it.”

Sherlock furrowed his brow, “But your pheromones are extremely unstable. Only omegas on the verge of a miscarriage…”

“Sherlock!” Mycroft sternly interrupted, unable to stop Sherlock’s fast-paced speech.

Mycroft’s panic and Greg’s surprise made Sherlock realize he might have said something wrong, although he couldn’t understand what was wrong with stating a fact. Luckily, marrying “a normal person,” John, had given him a bit of an understanding of emotions and feelings, enough to sense the sudden tension in the room. So, he left with a quick “I’m leaving,” making sure to use the door this time, and left Greg’s questioning “Really?” behind.

Mycroft held Greg’s slightly cold hand, “I’m sorry, let me explain…”

“No, don’t apologize, I’m not angry…” Greg ran his hand through his hair, “So…it’s true?”

Mycroft lowered his gaze without speaking, and Greg understood it was as good as admitting it.

“God…” Greg covered his eyes, his voice trembling, “I… I didn’t even… my goodness! I blamed you for staying in the hospital for so long…”

“Don’t do this, Gregory, I just didn’t want you to be upset,” Mycroft embraced Greg’s shoulder, pulling him closer, “You’ll be fine, and our child will be fine too.”

“We’ve been waiting for this child for so long, but we almost lost him… it’s all my fault…” Greg’s voice quivered, and self-blame flooded through him like a torrent.

Mycroft held his love even tighter, feeling an indescribable heartache, “You told me not to say foolish things before, dear, how is this your fault? Stop overthinking; you’ll soon feel better.”

Even though Mycroft had been comforting Greg all along, his emotions remained unstable. He couldn’t stop crying, feeling more depressed because of his own vulnerability. Mycroft knew it was due to the hormones secreted by an omega during pregnancy, and his patience with Greg was infinite. Until Greg cried himself to sleep in his arms, Mycroft whispered gentle words by his ear, hoping his omega could hear them in his dreams.

Early in the morning, Sherlock told John about Greg’s pregnancy. Excitedly, John rushed to the hospital to visit, only to be startled by Greg’s low spirits upon entering the ward. He saw the usually cheerful Inspector sitting dejectedly by the bedside, absentmindedly flipping through a newspaper, his red eyes indicating recent tears.

“What’s wrong? Did you argue with Mycroft?” John asked with concern, noticing Mycroft’s absence in the ward, presuming he was at work. However, that explanation didn’t quite fit. Given Mycroft’s usual indulgence towards Greg, they rarely quarreled. How could Mycroft, especially now that Greg was pregnant, not be considerate?

But after hearing Greg explain everything, John understood. He thought it explained why Sherlock had been unwilling to accompany him to the hospital today, even the great detective sometimes had moments of guilt.

As a precaution, John borrowed Greg’s medical records from the doctor for a thorough check. “Mycroft wasn’t wrong. You are indeed recovering well. I believe you’ll be out of the hospital in about two weeks.” After setting the records aside, seeing Greg still gloomy, he reassured with a smile, “Don’t worry, you’ll be in good shape to welcome your baby.”

As a professional doctor, John’s words seemed more trustworthy to Greg than Mycroft’s assurances. Greg repeatedly confirmed with John that it wasn’t a comforting lie just to ease his discomfort, feeling a bit relieved after the doctor’s repeated assurance. Since staying alone was uninteresting, John decided to spend more time chatting with him and even planned to have lunch together before going home.

At noon, the nurse brought Greg a well-prepared nutritious meal, but unexpectedly, what seemed appetizing to Greg on any other day today appeared unappetizing. He toyed with the chicken on the plate, detecting a strange smell from them.

Greg pushed the plate away slightly. “I’m not hungry. I don’t want to eat.”

“That won’t do,” the nurse reprimanded. “If you don’t eat, the baby will also go hungry. You need to eat something for the child.”

Sighing, Greg reluctantly picked up the fork, forcing down a bite despite the strange odor. But after a few chews, he rushed to the restroom, spewing out a lot of bile.

John followed into the restroom, patting Greg’s back, seeing him pale to the extreme, worrying. Greg felt like he’d thrown up everything he’d ever eaten in his life, but the nauseous feeling persisted. Eventually, he ended up dry heaving in front of the toilet.

The nurse quickly fetched the doctor, and after examining Greg, the doctor concluded, “Experiencing pregnancy-related symptoms is a good sign, indicating the baby’s condition is more stable. It would be best if your alpha comes; his pheromones might make you feel better.”

“No need, he’s probably busy right now,” Greg leaned on John, feeling faint. Mycroft mentioned something about a meeting today; disturbing his husband’s work was the last thing he wanted.

John signaled the nurse to take the tray out. “Can you please remove that? It’s making Greg uncomfortable.”

“The fact is, he hardly ate anything…” The nurse hesitated, glancing at the doctor.

“Listen, miss,” the usually patient John showed rare annoyance. “Greg’s already been through a lot. He has the right to eat something that won’t make him vomit.”

Pressured by the former army doctor’s authority, the nurse finally relented, taking the tray out of the room. Without that smell, Greg felt much better and looked at John gratefully.

John comfortingly patted Greg’s back. “Do you think you can eat something now? Is there anything you’d like?”

Greg pondered, “Butter pastry from the place we went before.”

“I’ll go get it,” John intervened before the doctor could object. “I understand you might think such high-fat, high-salt food isn’t suitable for a pregnant omega, but I’m also a professional doctor. I believe occasionally having some junk food is better than letting Greg starve.”

Once John bought lunch and returned to the ward, he saw Mycroft seated beside Greg, peeling an apple for him. Greg, who had been craving it for a while, inhaled the pastry’s scent like he’d lost his mind, taking the lunchbox handed by John and devouring it eagerly. Mycroft quickly poured him a glass of water, afraid he might choke eating too fast.

John sighed in relief; he had seen too many pregnant people who couldn’t swallow anything. As long as Greg could eat something, it was better than nothing.

“John, thank you for taking care of Gregory and informing me,” Mycroft said earnestly.

John shrugged, feeling reassured with Greg, accompanied by Mycroft, bidding farewell and leaving for home. Sherlock also liked the pastries from that restaurant, so John bought an extra one to feed his detective at home. Greg was too engrossed in eating to say much, stuffing himself with too much pastry to speak.

Feeling uncomfortable, Mycroft sat next to Greg, emitting calming pheromones for him. The room was filled with the soothing scent of glaciers, making Greg feel exceptionally comfortable. A few minutes later, after finishing the whole pastry, Greg belched contentedly.

“Are you full?” Mycroft asked anxiously.

Greg nodded apologetically. “Was I too messy when eating?”

Mycroft handed him a tissue. “Not at all; you were quite adorable.”

Greg took the tissue to wipe his mouth. “Sorry, you mentioned important work today, and I bothered you.”

Mycroft frowned. “No matter how important work is, it’s just work. How could it compare to you? If John hadn’t called me, were you prepared to cope alone?”

Greg stuck out his tongue, knowing Mycroft was genuinely upset. He wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s waist with a pitiful puppy-dog look. “I won’t do it again, I promise. Forgive me, okay?”

Mycroft sighed; Greg’s omega vulnerability always melted his heart. Any anger dissipated instantly. He helplessly booped the nose of the person in his arms. “This is an exception.”

A week passed, and Greg was finally allowed to leave the hospital and go home, but his symptoms of morning sickness persisted until the third month of pregnancy. When they went to the hospital for another check-up, the doctor, with certainty this time, assured them that both the pregnancy and the baby were doing very well. Greg had passed the period with the highest risk of miscarriage, and as long as he avoided any stressful situations, everything would be fine.

The heavy weight on their hearts was finally lifted, and both breathed a sigh of relief. They hadn’t dared to tell anyone about the pregnancy before, except for the Baker Street duo and Greg’s colleagues at Scotland Yard. This was because any alpha and omega near them could easily detect the milky scent mixed in Greg’s pheromones. They could finally inform their family and friends that everything was secure.

Greg called his father in their ancestral home in Scotland. He had grown up in a household with two fathers, and he had a younger sister, just a year younger. Unfortunately, their alpha father hadn’t had the chance to see his daughter as he passed away due to an illness, leaving Greg’s omega father nearly dead during childbirth due to the absence of alpha pheromones. Greg’s initial reluctance toward having a child stemmed from this.

On the other end of the phone call, Mr. Lestrade was first surprised and repeatedly confirmed that his son wasn’t joking, and then he burst into tears of joy. But after that, Mr. Lestrade asked his son to pass the phone to Mycroft. 

Greg couldn’t hear what they were discussing, but he could guess. His father had suffered too much during Mischa’s birth, and he surely didn’t want his son to go through the same ordeal. True to his word, Mycroft assured on the call that he would care for Greg, making every effort to be by his side. Later events proved that Mycroft indeed made great efforts to keep his promise. Anthea couldn’t help but tease the detective about how, during his pregnancy, Mycroft became fiercer and more ruthless at work, showing no mercy to anyone who delayed him from going home to be with his omega—even rejecting the Queen’s invitation more than once.

His sister Mischa was entirely different from their father in terms of temperament. She screamed at least ten times on the phone, “Oh my GOD,” and Greg could imagine her jumping in joy. 

Their bond as siblings had always been strong; both Greg, as the older brother, and Mischa, as an alpha, felt they should be the ones taking care of each other. Hearing about her brother’s pregnancy, Mischa wanted to come to London, but her omega husband was also expecting their third child, with just two months left until the due date. They agreed to visit Greg after her husband recovered and their whole family could come to London.

The news reached everyone in the Lestrade family, but Mycroft was uncertain how to explain it to his parents. Their family dynamics weren’t as casual as most people’s, and asking his parents to say something like, “You’re going to be grandparents,” was a challenging task for him. However, he knew that if he didn’t say anything, and if by chance Mummy found out on her own, she would surely endlessly complain to her eldest son, making things worse for him.

Luckily, it was Father Holmes’ wife’s birthday in half a month, and the elderly couple planned a party at their old mansion, inviting Mycroft and Sherlock to attend, along with Father Holmes’ wife’s sister and a few close friends. They arrived at the old mansion in John’s car, and Greg sat in the passenger seat, watching the identical reluctant expressions on the faces of the brothers in the rearview mirror, smiling all the way.

Standing before the old mansion, Sherlock took five or six deep breaths before summoning the courage to push open the door. Seeing the person sitting on the couch, he almost stepped back, pulling his brother in front of him. Mycroft sighed quietly but already put on a smile as he stepped through the door, adopting the polite mode that he used when dealing with goldfish.

Greg followed Mycroft inside and hugged the Holmes’ wife and husband, understanding why Sherlock had such a reaction. Emma, the aunt, was a gentle and kind omega, but Alex, the uncle, was universally known as an unpleasant alpha. His thinking was extremely rigid and conservative; Greg and John, as Mycroft and Sherlock’s partners, were not welcomed by him, as he believed alphas should only bond with omegas, and omegas bearing offspring for alphas was given. In his eyes, Greg and John were simply heretics who should be burned.

Greg and John exchanged glances; they couldn’t understand why Alex would agree to attend today’s party. Out of his discontent with the two, Alex had always avoided interacting with the Holmes family. Greg had last seen him at John and Sherlock’s wedding where he hadn’t shown up.

After a few exchanges among the adults, they understood. Emma’s eldest son had recently become a father, and Alex, in three sentences, couldn’t stop talking about his grandson, clearly there to flaunt. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were equally irritated; they hadn’t expected Alex to arrive. But they didn’t want to cause a scene out of respect for Emma, so they went along half-heartedly.

Greg raised an eyebrow. He’d intentionally subdued his pheromones upon arrival and didn’t want to engage with Alex despite his endless boasting about how successful he was in educating his son, and having a child within a year of marriage. There were not only family members but also friends of Mr. and Mrs. Holmes present. Being reproached in front of so many people naturally didn’t make Greg happy. But considering they wouldn’t meet for years, he couldn’t endure for these few hours. Both he and Mycroft would be embarrassed if they lost control—particularly in front of their parents. Hence, as Mycroft’s pheromones grew more threatening, Greg quietly squeezed his husband’s hand under the table.

Mycroft looked at Greg, and his husband was smiling, indicating that Greg wanted him to stay calm. Helplessly, Mycroft mouthed an “I’m sorry” to Greg, helping him cut the steak into bite-sized pieces.

Unexpectedly, Alex’s caustic remarks didn’t cease: “Omegas who can’t even have children are worthless, not worthy of an alpha’s care.”

*Clang!* The sound of the dining table utensils was sharp enough to serve as a royal tutor’s lesson; Mycroft’s hand, used to etiquette training, had made the cutlery produce an ear-piercing noise against the plate. Greg almost lost control, but someone was quicker.

“Alex, close your mouth and eat your food nicely, or leave my house.” Mrs. Holmes calmly stated. Her tone was mild, volume moderate, yet the entire table fell silent upon her words.

Alex’s face alternated between red and pale. He opened his mouth but couldn’t utter a word. Emma looked displeased and softly called out, “Maisie.”

“Oh, sorry, Emma,” Mrs. Holmes set down her utensils and stood up. “Regardless, your husband is discussing my son-in-law in such an impolite and infuriating manner.”

Mr. Holmes also rose to his feet. “Alex, we never meddle in how you raise your children. You have no right to criticize our kids.”

Alex awkwardly stiffened for a moment but stubbornly persisted, “Where did I say wrong? Your son married a freak omega, just like him.”

Greg nearly burst out laughing, just nearly. Usually, only Sherlock got called a freak, and now he seemed to earn the same title. Should he take pride in that?

Certainly, Alex’s words completely ignited Mrs. Holmes’ fury. The omega woman, in a powerful display, picked up her wine glass without hesitation and poured it directly onto Alex’s face. Alex exclaimed in shock, hastily searching for a napkin to dry himself.

The sudden turn of events startled Greg and John. In their understanding, Mrs. Holmes was always a kind and gentle elder, albeit occasionally chatty. They had never seen her treat anyone so sharply. Mycroft was also a bit surprised, but he maintained a frosty expression. Sherlock, on the other hand, was intrigued, looking on as if watching a spectacle.

“I admit there’s some truth in what you said about my sons being odd,” Mrs. Holmes said, (Greg almost couldn’t hold back his laughter) “but you’re wrong to classify Greg as one of them.” (That made Greg pause.) “He genuinely loves Mycroft and treats his troublemaking brother well. He’s a beloved, noble detective, a pride of our family, and he shouldn’t sit here and endure your insults.”

Gritting his teeth, Alex argued, “But he’s an omega…”

“He’s an omega with aspirations, ideals, independent thoughts, and handsome looks—of course, the last one is the most important.” (Greg eventually chuckled briefly.) “He has the right to choose whether to have children. That’s his freedom, and we fully respect his decision. Moreover, his husband has no objections. Who are you to pass judgment?” Mrs. Holmes then took Alex’s coat from the rack and threw it at him. “As the guest of honor at today’s birthday party and the mistress of the Holmes family, I request you to leave.”

Alex hastily picked up his coat and left in a rather disheveled manner. Emma, tearfully apologizing to Mrs. Holmes, followed her husband out the door.

The departure of the troublemaker instantly eased the tension at the table. Mrs. Holmes asked everyone to overlook this unpleasant incident, and soon, the atmosphere at the table returned to one of harmony and joy. Greg, teary-eyed, took deep breaths. Mycroft, by his side, patted his shoulder or held his hand now and then.

After dinner, everyone moved to the living room, where Mr. Holmes brought out a cake to share. Guests piled their gifts on the coffee table, though there weren’t many surprises since a gift list had been sent out beforehand. John and Sherlock prepared a set of jewelry, surprising the Holmes couple—more so because Sherlock was giving a gift at all.

Greg felt a bit nervous when he handed his gift to Mrs. Holmes. It was a flat, rectangular box. Mrs. Holmes, with anticipation, opened it to find a small, goose-yellow onesie with a cartoon phone pattern.

“Wow, this is adorable!” Mrs. Holmes exclaimed, a bit puzzled. “Look at it, every little baby has such a cute outfit.”

“Mum, look at what it says,” Mycroft said.

“It says, ‘I’m calling Grandma,'” Mrs. Holmes replied truthfully.

Greg hinted, “So Grandma is…?”

Mrs. Holmes took a second, then widened her eyes and mouth in shock, almost speechless. When she regained her voice, she jumped up from the sofa, shouting, “Are you kidding?”

“What? Really?!” Mr. Holmes also joined in the shouting. “Greg’s pregnant? Is it true?”

“Yes,” Greg replied, before being engulfed in a hug by Mrs. Holmes. The woman in her fifties behaved like a child, bewildered, laughing, crying, and mildly bouncing. Mr. Holmes patted Mycroft’s shoulder, and the surrounding friends and family were ecstatic. Some emotional ladies wiped tears from their eyes.

“Oh my god… that’s sooooo good!” Mrs. Holmes quivered as she cried, lifting her head from the detective’s embrace. “Jesus! I never dared to think Mikey could have it this good… someone loves him, lives with him, and now you’re willing to raise a child with him…” Her emotions choked her words, and she had to stop, embracing Greg again, murmuring “thank you” through tears.

Greg held back his tears, not wanting to cry out loud. With a trembling voice, he replied, “I’m the one who should say ‘thank you’… thank you all…”

“Okay, Mummy,” Mycroft stepped forward to hold his mother’s shoulder. The strong reaction from the older couple was a bit unexpected for him, but he remembered the doctor’s advice not to let Greg get too excited. “I brought the baby’s ultrasound images. Why don’t we all take a look together?”

Then the guests and hosts restrained their surging emotions and gathered around the TV. Mycroft inserted the disc containing the baby’s images, and when the child’s heartbeat sound came through, Mrs. Holmes couldn’t control her tears, even more than before. Greg hugged her, both crying together, finally feeling some sense of reality from the pregnancy until now. He and his family were together, eagerly awaiting the arrival of this little life.

Only Mycroft sighed quietly, as it seemed his attempt to divert his mother’s attention had slightly deviated.

“Hey, aren’t you going to look?” John came to Sherlock, who was sitting alone away from the crowd.

“Not interested,” Sherlock replied casually.

“…Come on, Sherlock, your eyes are red.”

“That’s from the wind.”

“You’re about to be an uncle, you know.”

“We’re about to be uncles.”

“Haha, I always forget we’re married.”

“…”

“You know what? I’ve been thinking… could we have our own child?”

Sherlock turned his head so abruptly that John thought he might strain his neck. He stared into John’s eyes, which seemed to sparkle. “You know… I’ve never been very good with them…”

“With babies?”

“…With humans.”

John burst out laughing, “You’ll learn, you’re always so clever, nothing is too difficult for you.”

Then John felt Sherlock squeeze his hand tighter. Sherlock’s gaze returned to his parents, murmuring, “Yeah… I don’t think this will be too difficult for me…”