Watson barely managed to stifle a chuckle when he saw his friend leaning over the cradle, staring intently at the newborn as if she was a fine specimen of some exotic species. He highly doubted that Sherlock Holmes was cut out to be a father, but the sparkle of curiosity in his eyes meant that he was at least intrigued by the idea.
"I think she has my eyes," he announced at length, causing Watson to frown.
"Holmes," the good doctor started, only to trail off under his friend's steady gaze.
"Yes, my dear Watson?"
"Nothing," he all but shrugged. If Holmes chose to ignore the matter of the actual paternity of the child, who was he to bring up the subject?
"My – hm – wife and I have decided to call her Mary after the late Mrs. Watson," his friend added somewhat casually, while his piercing eyes were actually intent on gauging the doctor's reaction.
"My dear Holmes, that's really kind of you; but you don't have to."
"It's my pleasure, my friend," Holmes smiled as he led the way out of the room.
xxx
When John Holmes was born even Mycroft took the trouble to pay a visit to his younger brother.
Watson offered him a warm welcome, then showed him to the living room where Holmes was holding his son with the same care he would have taken if he were handling one of his most fragile scientific instruments. His wife gently laughed at him, then relieved him of the burden by scooping the child up in her arms.
"Congratulations indeed, Sherlock," was all his brother said, and it was clear that he still marveled at the fact that one of them had actually provided an heir to their name.
Holmes only cleared his throat and reached for his violin. As the first notes began to play little Mary sat up in her grandmother's lap, her face breaking into a beatific grin.
xxx
It was a good thing that Jane had inherited her mother's patience; otherwise she wouldn't have managed to put up with her husband's quirks, especially when it came to the children.
Watson had to admit that his friend was actually good with them, even though he was nothing like a conventional father figure. He spent hours teaching them the fine art of deduction, and the three of them always ended up wreaking havoc all around while playing detectives.
The children loved it when he showed them one of his chemical experiments, no matter that their mother wasn't entirely happy with it.
"You'll blow up the house someday," she used to say, though she couldn't help but smile at the sight of the great Sherlock Holmes with a young boy sitting in his lap, while the girl impatiently tugged at his sleeve.
It was something that never ceased to warm Watson's heart; and yet he struggled not to show it, lest his friend ended up dismissing the thought as ridiculous.
The good doctor knew better than that anyway.