TITLE:
"Six Different Lullabies"

SUMMARY:
Third part of 'Us Against the World' and 'Finding You Again'. Jane and Sherlock Holmes are parents of five and nothing is easy because none of their children have come to the world with a textbook. Plus, all the children had inherited the stubbornness of their father. Sort of AU. Fem!John.

RATED:
T (It will change later)

GENRE:
Drama/Romance/Family/Humor/Angst

DISCLAIMER:
This is a fictional story. Neither Sherlock (BBC) nor the characters belong to me.

AN:
This is the last instalment of "Us Against the World" and "Finding You Again". You might need to read those two to understand a few things here. I'm not an English speaker and this is unbeta-ed. This first chapter is a sort of presentation to the family.

Apologies in advance for my mistakes. Thanks for reading and please, review!

They are very different.

They are five different smiles, five different laughter, five different ages, five different kisses, five different mischiefs, five different crying, five different minds, faces, hearts and souls.

But they are their five children.

If asked, Hamish would say his very first memory, or at least what he feels as his most vivid memory, he would say he remembers his third birthday party very well. People say that as kids we don't usually remember much but vague scenes, images, certain smells and colours. However, Hamish remembered that day as if it had been yesterday because that was his first birthday party with his daddy Sherlock.

What Lock remembered the most was using a proper cup for the first time in his life. He was four and both of his parents, Jane and Sherlock, said he was far too old to use a bottle. Lock remembered that every kid in nursery had a cup and he had a bottle. The teacher said he was far too old to use one. His little friends laughed and he cried. And that same afternoon he asked his Mummy Jane for milk in a cup. It surprised him how good it was to drink using a cup and not a bottle any more.

Sophia, opposite to his older brothers, she could perfectly remember the day the twins were born. It was raining and Daddy Sherlock had to call Uncle Mycroft to look after them whilst he took Mummy Jane to hospital. Sophia, only being a three year old girl, knew that if her Daddy was calling Uncle Mycroft, then something a lot not good was going on. Jane was sitting on her chair and her hands were on her baby bump. She was caressing her belly doing circular movements with her fingertips. Tears were rolling down her face and she was begging the twins to stop moving because it hurt.

It amazed Hamish, Lock and Sophie to look at their Mummy's belly and see two pair of feet moving under her skin. All the children put their hands on her belly and felt the twins moving and moving. But the more they moved the more Jane cried and the more she cried the more nervous Sherlock was. The detective moved to and fro, looking for the bags with Jane's clothes and the twins'.

Uncle Mycroft took the children to a place they had never been to before. It was a rare place where people ate all the same food and there was a brilliant golden 'M' at the entrance. Their uncle muttered something about the quality of the coffee of the place and let them get into a room with all sorts of games. However, Uncle Mycroft said they couldn't eat there because apparently Daddy Sherlock would kill him. Instead, their uncle took them to a restaurant where a man took their coats when they got inside and instead of drinking using plastic cups they had the kind of glasses their Mummy Jane put on the table when she said she and Daddy Sherlock were celebrating being married one more year. When Sophie burped after eating her lunch, without even meaning to, she earned a distasteful look coming from her Uncle Mycroft. Then, a man who spoke very funny approached their table and Uncle Mycroft spoke funny too, making his already funny nose look funnier than ever. And before they could even ask for any kind of dessert, their Daddy Sherlock called saying the twins were born.

Sophie remembered being in his Uncle Mycroft's arms when she saw her Daddy Sherlock holding two little babies, one in each arm. Lock said they were two boys because he deduced it long time ago but Hamish said their Mummy had already said the twins were two boys and that he didn't deduced it like Daddy Sherlock because it was rather obvious since the little babies were wrapped in matching blue clothes and each had a matching blue hat they had seen Grandma Lizzie knitting a few weeks ago.

The tree children had different memories of that day, but Hamish, Lock and Sophia remembered the look in their Daddy Sherlock's face when he told them the babies he was holding were their brothers.

"He's Benedict," Sherlock said, looking down to the baby he was holding in his left arm. "And he's David," he said, looking at the other baby in his right arm. "They are your brothers."

They were identical and Grandma and Grandpa Holmes were there together barely holding their tears. Grandpa Greg was there too and some other doctors who were friends of their Mummy.

Both looked so similar!

The babies had pale skin, but very pink cheeks and full lips. Grandma and Grandpa Holmes said the babies had the Holmes' facial features, but they had slightly reddish hair which resembled their uncle Mycroft's somehow. It was still too early to see if they had curly hair like Sherlock of straight hair like Jane. Both babies had their eyes closed and were deeply asleep in their father's arms.

"And Mummy?" Sophie asked.

Sherlock smiled to his little daughter and sat with her once he handed the babies to their grandparents. "Jane's sleeping now."

"I want to see Mummy."

"You can't, Princess. She's very, very tired." the detective explained with what looked a bit like a sad face.

No one else besides him and Jane needed to know that this time she couldn't get pregnant again. She had a c-section and the doctors discovered her uterus was far too much damaged even though she was a young woman of twenty seven. But this was her fourth pregnancy, her first one had complications and in the third one she lost the baby so now the doctors advised her and Sherlock not to have more babies.

"The babies look the same!"

Sherlock smiled to his six-year-old son Lock. "That's because they are identical twins."

When asked how they would tell them apart, Sherlock said he would always know which baby was Benedict and which baby was David.

Because a father always knows.

Now, if you asked the twins what was the first thing they remembered, they would say they remember being closely together for a long time and that everything around them was warm and soft. They could remember voices talking to them and that the place where they were was too tight to kick and move their limbs freely, even though their Mummy Jane smiled every time she told them they kicked far too much, specially during the hours before coming to the world.

Benedict said he remembered a strong light blinding his eyes.

And David said he remembered Benedict crying.

-oOo-

"Mummy?"

Jane looked up and met her son's blue eyes. "Yes, Benedict?"

"I'm David."

"You're Benedict."

"I'm David," repeated the five-year-old boy wearing a pair of blue jeans and a green jumper. "I'm David, Mummy!"

Jane smiled. "What's wrong, Benedict?"

The boy smiled playfully. "How you know it's me?"

"I'm your mother. I can tell between you and your brother," Jane said as she continued preparing dinner. "I thought you were watching that thing with your father and your brothers."

The boy sat on a chair and folded his arms over the table where he supported his face. "It's a bees documentary."

"Oh. You don't like it?"

"I watched it yesterday."

"What's wrong, Ben?" Jane asked worriedly, turning to see her husband sitting in the middle of the sofa with Sophie snuggling up to him on his left side, David on the right side and Hamish and Lock sitting on the floor. All of them were quiet focused on the documentary about bees.

The boy pouted. "I'm bored."

"Do you want to help me cooking?"

"OK."

A few years after Mrs Hudson died and before the twins were born Jane and Sherlock decided to rebuild the building entirely. As Sherlock bought the property to Mrs Hudson's sister so now they were free to do as they pleased. They decided to change the whole structure of the building. Now 221 C worked as a storage of old furniture, the twins' cot and so on. Mrs Hudson's flat was changed into Jane's office, where she had her books, a desk and where she could study and work calmly. But when the twins were old enough to sleep alone in a room and not in a cot any more, Jane and Sherlock decided to move downstairs so their old room would be the twins' now. Upstairs they built another room for Sophie as well.

So now downstairs Jane had her own office, Sherlock his little lab and their room. Upstairs was the living room, the kitchen, the twins' room and in the third floor Hamish and Lock's room and Sophie's.

After dinner Jane served tea and David dropped his plastic mug, staining his blue jumper and his jeans.

And his Mummy's favourite tablecloth.

"I'm sorry, Mummy," the five-year-old boy said with tears in his blue eyes. "I'm so sorry."

Jane smiled and helped him to change his clothes. "It's OK."

"But it was your favourite tablecloth. And I ruined my clothes too."

"I can wash them later. Don't cry, sweetheart."

Benedict and David were identical twins and therefore they shared lots (the same) physical features. Both were about the same height, both had wild dark slightly reddish curls, blue eyes, pale skin, full lips and the same nose. Physically speaking, both had the Holmes facial features and the curly hair. But both had very different personalities. Benedict was born first and he was far more reckless, stubborn, brave and very impulsive. He liked to run to and fro along their Grandparents Holmes' wide garden and he liked sports. On the other hand, David, who was born two minutes after Benedict, was careful, fearful, considerate and sometimes he cried far too much, which worried Jane and Sherlock to no end.

If Benedict had been the one who dropped the mug with tea he would have never said 'sorry'. But David cried and begged for forgiveness no matter how much Jane assured him everything was OK.

"Time to go to bed." Sherlock said turning the telly off, his eyes on his eldest son.

Hamish was fourteen, almost fifteen, and he was going through a phase of going to bed late. Only to regret it in the morning. As a teenager he was far more calm than others. He did his homework, studied very hard and got good grades. The teenager was good in Maths and Biology. So far Hamish wanted to be a doctor like his mother. Hamish was also very healthy and he liked football. It was hard to believe he had had suck a fragile health as child. The developmental delay was far less obvious now but Hamish struggled a bit with some subjects at school and had to study harder than his friends to keep up with them, but he was fine.

"Just ten more minutes?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Bed - now."

"You're turning into an old man," Hamish joked, adjusting his hearing aid. "Sending me to bed early with the babies."

"First, you've got classes tomorrow. Second, your mother says it's not good for your health to stay up until late," the detective glanced at his watch. "And third, I'm not old."

"Still an old man."

Sherlock smiled just little. "Brat."

Lock and Sophie were another story. Lock was a ten year old boy who was good at sports and whose main dream was to travel all around the world and observe the bees of another countries and study them. The boy had a thing for bees and he was fascinated by them to the point he insisted so much that for his next birthday Jane and Sherlock were getting him a small hive to be placed at their country house. Now the boy preferred to be called 'Lock', 'Sherlock' when his parents found out about his mischiefs, but never 'Locky' because he said he wasn't a little boy any more. Lock was very close to Hamish, whom he considered was the best big brother of the world.

However, Sophie was different. She was the only girl and sometimes having all brothers and not a single sister was a big advantage because she was Daddy Sherlock's favourite girl. Maybe because she was the only one. Though neither Jane nor Sherlock had preferences over their five children, Sophie knew she was Sherlock's weakness, his main and only weakness maybe. But Sophie was now eight and Sherlock didn't know if he should treat her like a small girl or like the eight-year-old she was now. Sophie liked to wear her long brown wavy hair lose and never on a pony tail. She said she wanted to be an actress, win awards and be very famous. When asked, she would say her Daddy Sherlock was her hero and that she loved him lots because he was the best daddy in the world.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Princess?"

Sophie bit her lower lip and batted her eyelashes. "I don't want you to pick me up from school tomorrow. I want Mummy to go."

"I'm working, darling," Jane said, washing the dishes. "But why you don't want your father to pick you up?"

"Because the other mummies are all over him! And they are noisy!"

Sherlock smiled. "Ah, that."

Jane turned. "All over him?"

"Yes. Jessica said she heard her mummy saying daddy was 'soooo hot'," Sophie said. "And it's my daddy. I don't want to share him with them."

"Me neither." Jane laughed.

"Go to sleep, Sophie," Sherlock said patting her back softly. "You've got school tomorrow."

Sophie kissed him again. "Promise me you won't let the other mummies take you away from me."

"I promise you I won't. I love your mother far too much to do that."

"Night, Daddy. Night, Mummy."

Sherlock smiled fondly to the little girl wearing bright pink pyjamas. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Sophie's eyes lit up. She ran to Sherlock and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I love you Daddy."

The detective felt her sloppy lips on his cheek. "I love you too, Princess."

Once the entire house was silent because all their five children were in their beds sleeping, Jane and Sherlock would go downstairs to their room.

The detective sat on his bed and watched Jane putting on her nightdress, brushing her sandy hair and putting lotion on her arms, legs and on her face because she said she didn't want to have wrinkles. This made the detective smile because she was young - too young and they had lived so much that sometimes they thought they were old. But they were thirty-two and thirty-three and they already had a teenage son, one who was close to be a one and three other children who were still little.

If asked, Sherlock would say he never imagined having this life and all the ingredients of it: a wife and a five children. If asked, Sherlock would say he imagined being alone, probably only working and doing little else about his life. The thing is, that this domesticity and this kind of life was everything he wanted. If asked, he would change nothing he did in the past - nothing. Because, somehow, the drugs, Moriarty, his fake death and his absence of three years had given him five children. And the detective was sure that, somehow, his present wouldn't be the same if he changed his past.

Once she was in bed, Jane liked to run a hand over Sherlock's curls and spot some grey hairs mixed in between his dark locks. Every time Jane mentioned she had found a new grey hair, Sherlock ignored it. But Jane knew Sherlock cared and she knew her husband kept track of those grey hairs. There were also two thin lines on Sherlock's forehead and around his eyes. Sherlock said nothing about them. But Jane loved them.

If asked, Jane would say she had what she always dreamt of: a husband and lots of children. Though it wasn't always easy to handle a life when you are a mother of five (one teenager, two big children and two little twins), the wife of certain consulting detective who likes to teach his children Biology by bringing eyeballs and toes from the mortuary, a doctor who sometimes worked far too long shifts and a person (all in that order), Jane loved her children, her husband, her life and everything she had.

If asked, both Jane and Sherlock would say they are happy because after all, after all the things they had to go through, they were a family, they were parents, they were friends, they were lovers and they were two people in love.

They lay in each other's arms, staring at the darkness of the night, feeling complete in each other's presences and in each other's arms.

"All over you?" Jane asked playfully. "Really?"

Sherlock caressed her sandy hair. "Are you jealous?"

"Of course."

The detective kissed her very softly and smiled. "I love you."

"I love you."