"Tell me, Watson, why, if you are the younger brother, did you originally receive your Fathers name? "
Watson looked up, startled from a medical journal he was endeavoring to memorize.
"Hmmm? What? Um, if you must know, when my mother was having my brother, she almost didn't pull through. In a fit of frenzy, my father promised she could name the baby "Whatever the deuce you wish!". My mother remembered that and once she and my brother were out of danger she triumphantly named him John." He blinked.
"At least, that's my Mother's version. My Father just grunted and said that he had read too much Shakespeare and History, and later when it came to my name he just got "too dammed lazy to think of another name."' He chuckled quietly. "Mentioning that subject was the one sure way to get him grumpy all day." He continued to read the medical journal, occasionally chuckling at the memory.
Sherlock Holmes went quietly back to his chemical experiment, glad to get his information but happier to get a smile from Henry…no, Watson's face. I can't allow myself to call him Henry, even in my thoughts. It might slip out accidentally if I get too in the habit of calling him "Henry"... although the name's not bad.