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“Eric… Eric…”

A young child, just starting to walk, sat in the yard, crying softly, waving his hands up and down, and babbling incoherently.

“Eric? What’s wrong?”

Five-year-old Ryan hurriedly walked over, picking up his little brother gently, not understanding why Eric was so upset while he was just getting a drink.

Eric’s face was tear-stained, but he persisted in reaching out to the adult standing beside him, speaking unclearly, “Uncle, *sobs*… want to be held…”

Understanding the situation, Ryan looked at Sherlock, then turned back to softly coax his brother, “Be good, let’s not disturb Uncle Sherly, okay? Big brother will take you to find Grandma?”

*Sobs* “Uncle, Uncle hold…”

No matter how Ryan tried to comfort him, Eric continued crying, insistent on being close to his great detective uncle, looking up at Sherlock with big, teary brown eyes like a pitiful abandoned puppy.

Sherlock felt like a villain, causing the child such distress. He wanted to hug his adorable nephew, but… why did his two unreliable fathers have to dress the child in a clown-patterned outfit! It’s simply outrageous!!!

In a moment of hesitation between fear of clowns and affection for his nephew, Sherlock gathered his resolve and decisively extended his hand toward Eric. The child immediately stopped crying, forgetting how upset he was moments ago. Once held by Sherlock, he nestled into his arms, even smilingly kissing the detective’s cheek.

“Oh my? Did the sun rise in the west?”

Here comes the unreliable father number one! Sherlock maintained a stiff posture while glaring fiercely at the leisurely Greg.

Greg’s grin widened, “Don’t look at me like that. I’m helping you overcome your fear! As a soon-to-be dad, you can’t be so embarrassing.”

“You’re just teasing me!” Sherlock managed to squeeze out between his teeth. He tries to keep a smile to avoid scaring Eric, although his expression is undeniably strange.

Greg burst into hearty laughter, putting the drink he brought for Sherlock aside. He then picked up his utterly puzzled eldest son, “Come with Papa to see Uncle John; he should be awake now.”

Ryan obediently nodded, still curious, “Papa, is Uncle Sherly afraid of something? Is he afraid of Eric?”

Misunderstanding Ryan’s words, Eric thought that Sherlock didn’t like him, so he pouted as if about to cry again. Sherlock hurriedly tried to console him, sacrificing his handsome face by making a series of weird and ugly expressions, finally getting the child to smile again.

Greg carried Ryan toward the side door to the living room, passing by Mr. Holmes and Mycroft, who were operating the barbecue. The tempting smell of meat made Ryan almost drool, looking pitifully at Greg. Unable to resist his son’s puppy eyes, Greg compromises, signaling him to stay quiet, “Don’t make a sound, be careful Daddy doesn’t hear.”

Ryan quickly covered his mouth, and Greg quietly tried to grab a cooked sausage when they aren’t paying attention. Unfortunately, Mycroft noticed, so they pretended to be innocent and clueless together.

Mycroft watched the matching expressions on their faces, finding it hard to suppress his laughter. He cut two pieces of sausage and fed them, also giving Greg a kiss on the forehead. Greg blushed a bit, feeling awkward as he glanced at Mr. Holmes.

The older man just smiled, shrugging, focusing on the barbecue, having settled into the routine of frequently visiting London since Ryan was born, to see their grandson and check if their sons were still alive, plus enjoying the affectionate atmosphere. Initially uneasy, they’ve gotten used to it over the years.

Returning to the living room, they find John was indeed awake but still looking tired and drowsy, rubbing his eyes while leaning on the sofa.

Ryan excitedly ran over to hold John’s hand, “Uncle John, you’re awake! Are you thirsty? Shall I pour you some tea?”

The warmth in the boy’s voice and his smiling face affect the good doctor, “I’m actually a bit thirsty. Thank you, Ryan.”

The boy quickly dashed to the kitchen to seek Grandma’s help in pouring tea. Greg picked up the blanket that fell under the sofa and covered John again, “Be careful not to catch a cold.”

“It’s okay, the sun’s out, it’s not cold at all.” John stretched lazily, his hand on his belly, “It’s been over four months, but I’m still not showing much.”

“Don’t worry. When I was carrying Ryan, I didn’t show until almost six months. It’s fortunate you don’t have any discomfort; they say beta pregnancies can have more severe symptoms.”

“I’m just extremely sleepy,” John yawned, “I woke up nearly noon today and felt tired again in the afternoon.”

“You’re doing fine. You should’ve seen how sick I was during my pregnancy.”

“I don’t want to be like you,” John sighed, “Sherlock is all nervous every day, not taking cases, and I’m so bored, wanting to solve something, yet he can manage to stay calm.”

Greg laughed reluctantly, “Mycroft’s a bit better than his brother; at least he seemed composed.”

“He’s just pretending in front of you,” John rolled his eyes, “You didn’t see how scared he looked every time he came to 221B, especially when you were pregnant with Eric, and he went to investigate that dismembered body. He was almost scared out of his wits.”

“I remember, I remember,” Greg laughed. At this moment, Ryan returned with the hot tea, happily saying, “Grandma said we’ll eat soon.” Ryan sat beside him on the sofa, holding the tea to John, tilting his head, “Uncle John, how many children do you and Uncle Sherly want?”

John playfully ruffled his hair, teasing him, “If they’re as cute as you, then I want ten.”

“Wow! That’s amazing!” Ryan’s big, bright eyes sparkle, “Then we can form a soccer team!”

While the two talked and laughed, Greg felt a bit bitter. He knew John liked children, but male betas found it very difficult to conceive. It took nearly four years of marriage with Sherlock to have one child, and who knew how long it’d take for another one.

“Papa, will you give me another sister?”

The sudden question from his son made Greg pause. “Didn’t Papa just have a baby brother?”

Ryan nodded. “But John Uncle is going to have ten, and I want ten brothers and sisters too.”

This time, Greg was at a loss and attempted to evade the question, but as a Holmes boy, Ryan wasn’t easily fooled. He was determined to extract a promise from Papa about having a sister. Greg thought his dear son must be a natural alpha; at just five years old, he could distinguish between the pheromones of the two dads. It seemed like some instinct to care for and protect was ingrained in him. What amused both fathers was the fact that their youngest son’s first word wasn’t ‘Papa’ or ‘Daddy’ but Ryan’s name.

Nevertheless, it was this very trait that made Greg feel like he could see traces of Mycroft as a child in Ryan, leading him to have an extra soft spot for him. But Mycroft seemed to favor the younger son a bit more because Eric had the exact same brown eyes as Greg.

Mrs. Holmes brought out a large bowl of salad and called them to eat in the courtyard, and Ryan still couldn’t convince Papa to promise a soccer team. His happy face fell. After taking his brother from Sherlock and sitting at the table, he muttered to Eric, “I really want a little sister. Eric, do you want a little sister too?”

Nobody took the child’s words seriously, and laughter filled the table. That was until Greg, mid-bite, suddenly felt nauseous and rushed to the bathroom, vomiting what he had just eaten. Mycroft followed and asked what was wrong, catching a whiff of milk scent mixed in Greg’s pheromones.

“So… Eric was right?” Mycroft was surprised.

Greg, with a worried expression, grimaced. “What should I do… If it’s really a daughter this time, I’ll never want her to get married!”

END