A/N: For the purposes of this story Sherlock and John are in an established relationship and every suspicion Mrs. Hudson had about them is true XD. Ah, and a bit of a warning: this story does not contain a male pregnancy but there is discussion of it, so if you don't like then don't read. :)
When Mrs. Hudson was five years old her grandfather gave her a baby doll.
Grandpa worked as an international lawyer and his job often took him to the
U.S. where he'd select sweets, toys, and elegant dresses for his special girl. On her fifth birthday, along with illustrated books and a beautiful gold locket, he presented her with a Melissa & Doug "Jenna" doll. Compared to his other gifts this one was incredibly plain, but grandpa simply smiled and said that every little girl needed her own doll for playdates, sleepovers, and tea parties.
Mrs. Hudson simply adored her.
Jenna was 'pretty in pink' with her onesie and matching cap. Mrs. Hudson would undress her over and over again, just so she could carefully and lovingly help Jenna into her clothes. She'd lay Jenna down in her own bed, watching as her eyes fluttered shut, wondering what she was dreaming. When no one else was around she'd cuddle and kiss Jenna's chubby fists, just like grandpa would do to her.
Mrs. Hudson loved everything about that doll and by the time she was six she'd promised herself that one day she'd have a real baby of her own.
That dream, however, was not meant to be. She and Roger never had kids together (and a good thing too given what a monster he turned out to be.) At fifty-seven Mrs. Hudson knew she'd never achieve her childhood dream of having her own child, and yet, that didn't upset her. She'd seen other women who'd been childless, either because they couldn't or for some reason wouldn't bring a little one into the world, and many of them were broken. Something in them had died with their unborn children and these women were the only people on the planet Mrs. Hudson wasn't capable of making eye contact with. The day she realized Roger would never give her what she wanted she swore that, no matter how bad things got, she wouldn't end up like those other women. She wouldn't let herself break under dreams and possibilities.
No, she wasn't devastated, but she had an advantage those other women didn't. Mrs. Hudson wasn't regretful about not having a child for the simple reason that God gave her something better.
She got two kids. Two fully-grown, crazy, absolutely wonderful kids.
Granted, they weren't hers biologically, but that was just a silly detail. As far as she was concerned Sherlock and John were her babies, her boys, and nothing would ever change that (especially not their own assurances that neither of them needed another mother.)
In truth, Mrs. Hudson had been drawn to Sherlock the moment she saw him. He was just so thin. Every maternal instinct in her screamed that this was a boy who needed to be fed and that she was the woman to accomplish such a task. Then of course she realized that this wasn't just a thin boy but a thin eccentric boy. He'd hate her for such thoughts but she couldn't help comparing him to the gangly kid from her kindergarten class, the one who never seemed to have any friends. He could dress up in dramatic clothes and throw out all the barbed insults he wanted but Mrs. Hudson had a mother's eye and she could tell that Sherlock was lonely.
What could she do though? At the time she'd barely known him. He'd simply been someone who'd become interested in solving Roger's case and had ended it all by freeing her from what had truly become a horrible marriage. If she hadn't been drawn to Sherlock before, she certainly was then. This young man had helped her, whether intentionally or not, and Mrs. Hudson wouldn't soon forget that. And yet, at the time she'd only been another witness, a useless statistic for him to categorize, so she was forced to watch this lonely, eccentric boy walk away.
That is, until sixteen months later when he came knocking at her door, asking if she had a room to let. Not only did she have a room, she had one at half the price, a third of the price, a quarter of the pricefor this boy. Of course, she didn't tell him that. She named the slightly reduced cost, all the while planning to let his payment slide if he showed any trouble making rent. After all, consulting detective or no, it wasn't always easy for someone his age to make money and even her reduced number was still fairly steep.
She had the moment all planned out. Sherlock would move in, make himself comfortable for a few weeks, and then, like all boys his age, suddenly remember his responsibilities. He'd recall that the rent was due and would scramble to find the cash, only to realize he was just a bit short. He'd spend days working up his nerve (he was, after all, a prideful boy) but eventually he'd come see her, hopefully while she was baking in the kitchen. He'd explain the situation and Mrs. Hudson, feigning surprise, would pretend to think over the idea of extending his due date. After a long, heartfelt discussion about responsibility and thinking ahead she'd let him off on his payment – just this once, mind! – and then end the conversation with some loving but prudent advice about how to save a bit each week. Oh, and she'd then feed him cookies. That was crucial. But really, it was the perfect conversation, a lovely moment between an organized mother and her messy but lovable son.
Of course, none of that ever happened.
Instead, only a day after moving in, her Sherlock brought home a friend.
It took Mrs. Hudson all of three seconds to adopt John Watson. She couldn't have been happier.
Sherlock was a wonderful boy and she wouldn't change him for the world, but whatever else she might have wished for in a child John possessed. He was everything Sherlock wasn't, just as Sherlock was everything John couldn't be. Short and tall, chaos and order, brain and heart. These boys complimented each other like no two she'd ever seen before. They were perfect, though really, that perfection was just icing on the cake. The fact remained that Sherlock had a friend and a truly wonderful one at that. He was no longer the outcast boy looking in from the sidelines, instead he was the only one in his class with a best friend, the one who made all the other kids jealous. Mrs. Hudson was proud watching her boys together. Oh so very proud.
Of course, she remembered her own mother's advice, about 'opposites attracting.' Her little boys were sleeping together, and not in the 'buddy-buddy' sort of way. But really, that was just another silly detail. Their family was eccentric enough as it was. She saw no reason why they couldn't be husbands as well as brothers. Everything, as far as she was concerned, was perfect.
… Except perhaps for that one little thing. That teeny tiny voice that'd been whispering in the back of her mind ever since she saw Sherlock placing his hand possessively on John's back as he lead him through the front door that first time. The voice that whispered constantly about genetics. About how cute someone would look with Sherlock's tousled hair and John's bright blue eyes. The voice assured her that Sherlock could learn to play catch and that John would look great with a toddler perched on his hip; that they could all use another addition to the family. Everything was perfect, truly, but… well… might as well admit it. A part of her still wanted a little baby to take care of and honestly, what kind of mother would she be if she didn't want grandkids?
That would, after all, make things really perfect. She could just imagine it, her two boys having little boys of their own. The more she thought about it, the more wonderful it seemed.
So it was decided. Mrs. Hudson wanted grandkids, and she'd do whatever it took to get them.
Over time John and Mrs. Hudson began their own tradition of Tuesday Teas. Every Tuesday Sherlock would head off to Bart's looking for more body parts to drag home and John's clinic hours ended early at 2:00. So by 2:30 they'd be alone in the house and he'd be perched in her kitchen, sipping tea and enjoying whatever baked goods she'd managed to whip up earlier that day. Cakes, cookies, those little petit fours he loved so much, she did enjoy feeding her boys. Oh sure, she put up a fuss about it, but that was all for show (she did, after all, want to teach them some independence.) But really, she'd never lied. She wasn't their housekeeper, she was their mother.
So here they were on a bright Tuesday afternoon in August. Sherlock had gotten a text from that Molly girl about a hand that'd been stripped of its skin and John was once again at her table eating the biscuits she'd made earlier. She couldn't help but think that this was the best time to bring up a… potentially delicate subject.
"Honestly, I feel bad for the girl. She just wants some attention, and god knows she doesn't get it from that daughter of hers." John was talking about Mrs. Larkin, the hypochondriac who regularly visited the clinic. Her daughter was apparently a bit estranged and wanted nothing more than to dump her mother in a nursing home.
"That is too bad for the dear." Mrs. Hudson said. "Although," she flashed John a smile "I know you wouldn't raise such an ungrateful child. Any daughter of yours would be as sweet as honey."
"Uh…" John looked a bit uncomfortable at that. "Thanks Mrs. Hudson… I think."
Now really, people needed to learn that just because she was old didn't mean she was deaf, but she'd let that comment slide. For now.
"Seriously John," she continued "you would make such a wonderful father! Can't you just imagine it? A little girl that you could teach medicine to, or maybe a boy who you'd teach to shoot. You know I don't really approve of such violence but this is a dangerous world and a child needs to know how to defend himself. Or herself. I try not to stereotype. Oh! That would be lovely wouldn't it? If Sherlock would teach his daughter some of that Baritsu he knows-"
"WAIT!" John looked a bit pale, the poor dear. Perhaps he needed more tea. She poured him some while he just sat there, breathing deeply.
"Mrs. Hudson." He finally said. "What are you talking about? Sherlock doesn't have a daughter. And I don't have a son! And we're not planning on having either." He paused. "Or both!"
"Whyever not?" Honestly, her boys could be so stubborn.
"No. Just… no! Mrs. Hudson, we barely function as a couple as it is without dragging someone else in the mix. And can you really tell me that you can imagine Sherlock with a kid?"
"I think he'd be great!" She could just picture him playing with some little tyke. His height would make for wonderful games of 'aeroplane.'
"NO! Mrs. Hudson listen to me. Sherlock is more of a child than an actual child. How would we raise a kid when he's running off to save the world and I'm running behind him, making sure the idiot doesn't get himself killed? What would we do, leave the kid here to play with the chemicals and the skull?"
Well… perhaps he did have a point. But that was easily solved. "You'd leave the little one with me!" Mrs. Hudson smiled brightly but John just sat there hunched over, shaking his head. Really though, the dear shouldn't slouch so much…
"Mrs. Hudson-" He was cut off by the sound of the front door slamming and Sherlock's step as he pounded up the stairs.
"I think that we should bring Sherlock into this discussion, don't you? Come along dear." Without any warning Mrs. Hudson grabbed her son's hand and proceeded to drag him up the stairs behind her.
"Wait… what?"
"You heard me." John looked a bit too pleased at understanding something Sherlock didn't. "Mrs. Hudson wants us to have kids."
Sherlock turned his attention towards her and she smiled.
"What?"
Oh really, her boys weren't this dense.
Mrs. Hudson crossed her arms defiantly and glared at them both. "Kids, boys, kids! I want grandchildren." She thought a moment. "Soon, preferably." There, that ought to get the point across.
Sherlock still looked shell-shocked though. He kept glancing towards John and then gesturing feebly towards her, as if his partner could somehow make their crazy landlady with her crazy ideas simply disappear. She had to hand it to John though, he did try.
Placing himself in front of Sherlock he gave her a glare to match her own. "Mrs. Hudson, I understand your desire for a grandchild but as for one coming from Sherlock and myself, that's just not on." Suddenly he slumped, passing a hand over his face. "Besides, you have to realize that there would be… complications."
She merely raised an eyebrow at that. "Meaning?"
"Where would we get the little buggers?" Sherlock seemed to have recovered himself and was currently waving his arms wildly. "I do know that kids don't just grow on trees! How do you expect us to get kids?"
John eyed him warily. "You know," he said "I find it a tad disturbing that you keep making 'kids' plural… BUT" he nodded his head "you're right. Mrs. Hudson, it's not exactly easy for people like us to have kids."
"People… like you…?" What was John talking about? She'd already assured him that they'd make wonderful parents.
"We're GAY!" Sherlock was still waving his arms, clearly passionate about this. "Gays, homosexuals, queers, really flamboyant men-"
"I think she gets the idea Sherlock."
"Yes well, the point being that adoption agencies don't just hand kids over to same sex couples. Society doesn't love us that much."
"And even if they did we'd have to be deemed fit parents."
"I wouldn't be allowed to torture criminals."
"And I wouldn't be allowed to shoot them."
"I couldn't jump into the Thames."
"I couldn't jump in after you."
"No more beating up body parts."
"No more beating up Anderson."
"Can you imagine us being parents John?"
"No."
"No?"
"No."
"That's settled then."
Mrs. Hudson had been bouncing back and forth between the two of them but now that they'd finally drawn breath… "Are you boys sure you don't want kids? Because really, you're still young and there's always the chance that you'll change your mind…"
"MRS. HUDSON!" John put a restraining hand on Sherlock's arm and once again got between them. "Mrs. Hudson," he said, more calmly than Sherlock "really, even if we wanted kids I don't see how we'd get them. As we just stated adoption would be a hassle with no guarantee of success and," here he laughed a bit nervously, a flush creeping onto his face. "It's not as if Sherlock and I can just make a child. We're good, but we're not that good." He smiled at her, clearly trying to lessen the tension and end the conversation.
Mrs. Hudson wasn't going to be deterred that easily though. She was a woman on a mission; one that she had every intention of completing. Besides, John had brought up an interesting point…
"Well… " She said "perhaps you simply need to try a little harder. I mean, science is improving all the time and stranger things have happened." Humming her own agreement she bounced a bit on the balls of her feet. "If you boys should need me I'll be downstairs. I'll most likely be a long while and I don't expect I'll be able to hear you down there. Kitchen appliances are so noisy." Throwing them a wink Mrs. Hudson sauntered out the door. She had research to do.
Silence. Then-
"Did she just… ?" For once Sherlock Holmes was actually speechless.
John simply buried his face in his hands.
"Oh my god."
Over the next few weeks a large number of articles found their way into the Baker Street household. John and Sherlock both were constantly confronted with papers strategically placed where they couldn't fail to miss them. On the front door, in the cupboards, tucked into Sherlock's beakers, and, on one memorable occasion, rolled ultra thin and stuck into John's gun. Really, the woman was nothing if not persistent. All of the articles dealt with male pregnancy in one form or another: stories of transvestites having children after long hormone treatments, examples and explanations of ectopic pregnancies, even an entire book on sea horses. It was all getting to be a bit much. John and Sherlock didn't want to hurt Mrs. Hudson's feelings but they didn't want this either. So they discreetly tossed the papers in the trash, crumpled her notes, and used the sea horse book as a coaster. They were well aware that she considered them her children, and they loved her for that, but she should have remembered one thing.
Children were often just as stubborn as their parents.
Opening her bedroom door Mrs. Hudson found John on the other side. He shoved one of the printed articles in her face.
"Mrs. Hudson" he growled "I am not getting surgery to insert a uterus!"
"Really dear, there's no reason to shout-"
Scowling he crumpled the paper. "This," he said, throwing the paper to the floor and stamping on it "is what I think of that."
Looking back up at her face he saw that she was upset and suddenly he sighed. "Look Mrs. Hudson, I'm sorry. Really. But please leave it alone. I am not getting pregnant. Sherlock is not getting pregnant. Medically neither of us can get pregnant. And yes, maybe some day we will decide to adopt and if that happens then I swear you'll be the first to know but until then just drop it!" By the end he was shouting again but Mrs. Hudson ignored him. Doing her best to shove aside the hurt that came with her baby saying so clearly that he didn't want babies of his own, she drew herself up and adopted her most stern look.
"John Hamish Watson. Do pardon me for caring about your future happiness but I don't believe you and Sherlock have given this enough thought!" She also ignored his attempts to bang his head against the wall. "You listen to me young man! You may believe that you'll be young forever but you won't, believe me. One day you're going to wake up an old man and think 'why didn't I take more chances? Why didn't I do more with my life?' Trust me John, I know that feeling all too well!"
John gazed at her a long while, seeming to contemplate something. In the end though all he did was pat her on the shoulder. "All right Mrs. Hudson, all right. We'll think about it okay?"
Those words were like the sun coming out and she couldn't help but smile. "Of course John, that's all I want, for you to be happy."
He nodded his head, looking exhausted. "Yes, I know. Good night Mrs. Hudson, oh-" he suddenly turned back. "I forgot. Sherlock… well he's been shooting at the wall again. You know how he is. I'll pay for the damages of course but I was wondering how you wanted it. Should I get you cash so you can call a repairman immediately or just tack it onto the next rent payment?"
John was such a good boy. "Oh don't worry about that! You thinking about giving me grandkids – seriously mind you! – will be payment enough."
She smiled and patted John's hand like he'd patted her shoulder but he just shook his head, looking a bit like he wanted to hit it against the wall again.
So it didn't take Mrs. Hudson long to give up on her not so subtle hints. Besides, the research she'd done on her own hadn't turned up much and if her boys were seriously going to think about having a child she needed something more concrete than internet searches. Although, it seemed that despite the advances in science human males were still unable to become pregnant…. Well, perhaps she should rephrase. The general public was unaware of whether or not a human male could become pregnant. No doubt the government knew more than they were letting on. They always did. So, if it was the government she needed to talk to, it was the government with which she'd meet.
Of course, she wasn't planning on charging 10 Downing Street or anything drastic like that. No, she had a much easier way of obtaining information. After all, Sherlock wasn't the only one in the family with contacts and influence. Mrs. Hudson wasn't likely to forget the sharply dressed man who often knocked on their door, trailing smooth black cars and beautiful assistants. She could also recall the snippets of dialogue that had drifted down the stairs, words like 'presidents,' 'Korean elections,' and 'national security.' Mrs. Hudson knew that if she wanted information on secret government projects that could give her boys kids, there was only one man to talk to.
She was off to see Mycroft Holmes.
"Sir?" Mycroft looked up at the knock on his door and spotted Anthea pocking her head through.
"Yes?"
"There's a woman here to see you. She doesn't have an appointment."
"Send her away then." Mycroft returned to his papers. Who visited anyone these days, let alone someone of his importance, without an appointment? Honestly, he didn't have time for this.
"Sir? I think you'll want to see her."
"And why is that?" He viciously marked a new bill with red ink.
"Her name is Mrs. Hudson sir."
He stopped.
"Send her in."
"Mrs. Hudson. This is quite the honor. I am so very glad you stopped by."
Mycroft looked down at the petite woman sitting before him. She was practically bouncing she looked so happy. She was also beaming this huge smile. It was disconcerting. No one ever smiled in his office.
He'd better serve the tea. And give her cookies. She couldn't smile if she was eating cookies.
Once they'd each filled their plates he settled in beside her. Time to get down to business.
"So Mrs. Hudson, what can I do for you? Little brother isn't causing you any trou- well, more trouble than usual, hmm?"
"Oh no Mr. Holmes!"
"Mycroft, please."
"Oh! Well Mycroft, no. Sherlock has been a little angel."
He paused, his teacup halfway to his lips. Sherlock? A 'little angel'? Was this woman delusional?
"He's been lovely lately" she continued "just the other day he bought me a case of Coca-Cola, said it would help remove the bloodstains on the front carpet. He's really such a thoughtful boy."
Delusional. Definitely delusional.
"How nice." Mycroft said. He took a calming sip of his tea. Maybe he should have added something a bit stronger… "Well Mrs. Hudson I do hate to rush our little tete-a-tete but I'm afraid I do have quite a busy schedule. So if my brother isn't the problem…"
"Ah, of course." Suddenly straightening herself Mrs. Hudson pierced him with a determined look and he could see it then. This was the woman capable of standing up to his brother and retaining enough sanity to later, not only tell the tale, but make light of it too. This was the woman who took in Sherlock Holmes.
That thought was a lot scarier than her pervious smiles.
"I want grandchildren Mycroft."
Wait… what?
"What?"
The stern look melted into an adoring one. "You and your brother are so much alike! He said the same thing when I first brought it up with him."
"I'm sorry Mrs. Hudson, perhaps I misunderstood. I was under the impression that you were childless." Impression nothing, he knew she didn't have any children. No one was taking in his little brother without every background check known to man.
"Oh not biologically, no. But I have Sherlock and John."
"Ah, I see." He stopped. "No. I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't see. You say that you consider my brother your child?"
"Yes." she said.
"And you also consider John Watson your child?"
"Yes."
"And you want grandchildren?"
"Yes." She smiled. Again.
Mycroft suddenly felt as if his brain were melting. Like Sherlock he'd always considered his mind to be a well oiled machine, a computer capable of calculating anything as long as the hard drive was kept neat and clean. Right now however it was malfunctioning.
Sherlock + child = … working… working… … … … error. Does not compute. Error. Error. Shut down in effect…
No. Just… no.
It was humiliating but if asked later he really couldn't recall details from the rest of the conversation. He knows that she explained this crazy scheme of hers and he knows that he must have nodded in the right places because she didn't seem offended in any way. He does however recall his response. He remembers assuring her that he was oh so very sorry (no, not sorry at all) but male pregnancies were simply beyond even their capabilities. In fact, given what they did know, a human male attempting to carry a fetus to term would most likely cause serious complications.
"You mean it could be dangerous?" She'd gasped.
"I'm afraid so my dear." He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Horror and fear he could deal with. Much better than smiles.
He spent the next twenty minutes assuring her that yes, it truly was impossible for Sherlock and John to ever have a child together. He was so sorry (not not not) but some things just couldn't be changed. Best that she put the idea out of her head now before it caused her more pain.
So she left, disappointed but determined to never again suggest something that could possibly endanger one of her boys. And when the door clicked shut behind her Mycroft felt no shame in releasing one huge sigh of relief.
Drawing in a shaky breath Mycroft called in his assistant.
"Yes sir?"
"Anthea, wonderful. I want you to contact science lab six. Inform them that they are to immediately cease their research regarding male ectopic pregnancies. Under no circumstances are they to continue. Is that understood?"
"Yes sir. What reason should I give for the sudden halt?"
Mycroft winced. "Just tell them that it's too dangerous. I've come across some information that suggests such research could have truly devastating consequences. Tell them that this work is never to see the light of day. Ever." He shivered.
Anthea looked a tad confused but nodded anyway. She was nothing if not professional.
"Yes sir. It'll be done."
To: Mycroft Holmes
From: Sherlock Holmes
What did you say to Mrs. H?
To: Sherlock Holmes
From: Mycroft Holmes
Informed her that MP was medically impossible.
To: Mycroft Holmes
From: Sherlock Holmes
OH THANK YOU MERCIFUL GOD
To: Sherlock Holmes
From: Mycroft Holmes
… Should I assume that the good
doctor has hijacked your phone?
To: Mycroft Holmes
From: Sherlock Holmes
YES. John, don't touch. Mycroft – you
should know that I do understand the
significance of what you've done and
acknowledge it accordingly…
a39473uqr5id9u9dddddddddls g0e-[a
he means we O U 1 -
NO, no we do not. Apologies Mycroft, John -
STOP touching the phone.
To: Sherlock Holmes
From: Mycroft Holmes
No worries there little brother. I
am sure that even you understand
the importance of paying one's debts.
To: Mycroft Holmes
From: Sherlock Holmes
… What do you want?
To: Sherlock Holmes
From: Mycroft Holmes
All in good time brother. All
In good time.
To: Mycroft Holmes
From: Sherlock Holmes
M, it's J. Got phone from
S. Hiding in bathroom. H just up.
Now focusing on adoption. Still
wants kids. Asking what S will
not: WHAT DO WE DO?
To: Sherlock Holmes
From: Mycroft Holmes
John, please return the phone to
Sherlock. Tell him to ask Mrs.
Hudson why she wants a child. What
are her reasons for desiring a new
addition to the family?
To: Mycroft Holmes
From: Sherlock Holmes
HOW IS THAT HELPFUL?
To: Sherlock Holmes
From: Mycroft Holmes
John, you are a soldier. Obey.
No new text messages.
No new text messages.
To: Mycroft Holmes
From : Sherlock Holmes
Mycroft, it's me. Your assumption
that I need to ask Mrs. H what she
wants is insulting. Have acquired the
following through deduction:
-Desires young infant that requires
constant care and attention.
-Desires the responsibility/significance that
comes with being that caretaker.
- Desires someone she can dress in horrid
clothes of pastel colors.
-Desires someone she can hold/cuddle/smother
on a near constant basis.
- Desires someone she can give a ridiculous
name to.
-Desires someone she can 'coo' and 'baby talk'
to without risk of bodily harm.
In summary, she wishes to more fully
embrace maternal instincts.
… WHY?
To: Sherlock Holmes
From: Mycroft Holmes
Patience brother. Have solved your
dilemma. Meet me at my office in twenty
minutes. Bring the good doctor.
To: Mycroft Holmes
From: Sherlock Holmes
WHY?
To: Sherlock Holmes
From: Mycroft Holmes
See you soon brother.
Two hours later Mrs. Hudson was baking scones in the kitchen when Sherlock and John burst into the room. Without so much as a hello Sherlock stepped up and shoved something into her arms. Something small and warm and furry. She looked down and met the bright brown eyes of a bulldog pup.
"His name is Gladstone." Nodding happily Sherlock continued. "We're a strange family. A weird family. I love it. We have a mother who's not a mother and brothers who aren't brother but are actually lovers. Why can't we have a grandson who's not a grandson? That," he pointed to Gladstone "is your grandson. He is a gift from John and I. We, as parents, present him to you. Mycroft is his uncle but you are his grandmother. You will treat him accordingly. You will dress him, bathe him, feed him, and spoil him rotten. You will coo at him and give him ridiculous pet names. You will be happy. Right?"
Slowly, a bit shocked, Mrs. Hudson nodded.
"Right!" The next moment Sherlock had grasped John's hand and was leading him up the stairs, both of them grinning triumphantly.
Alone in the kitchen, Mrs. Hudson finally gave Gladstone a good look. Meeting her gaze he stretched his neck, sniffed, and promptly began lathering her face with kisses, making her laugh.
"Well," she said, hefting him more firmly into her arms. "You're not quite what I was expecting." She smiled. "But you'll do."
Fin.