This story takes place approximately 6 years and a bit after the events in "Namesake". Try as I might, I can't stop the fluffily from spilling onto my computer screen! This story, as always, is complete and will be posted in regular intervals.
"Daddy… just ONE more hour… PLEASE?!"
One Mr. John Victor William Holmes, aged 6, gazed up at his father, Sherlock, with all the adoration he could muster.
Sherlock sighed, thinking. Well on the one hand, he could encourage his son, who was appearing to be something of a child prodigy with the violin his Aunt Eurus had insisted on giving him as one of her "treats", not to mention the violin lessons she had taken upon herself to teach him… but now the child – to the chagrin, or delight – depending on who you asked in 221B Baker Street – had begun to compose his own pieces.
Perhaps little Will Holmes – dubbed as such to avoid confusion with his godfather, Dr. John Watson – was simply nearing the end of his day's inspiration, and needed to complete it.
But on the other hand, he might be better to keep to a stricter schedule.
Decisions, decisions. Sherlock took just a few moments to weigh his options. Encouragement and support vs discipline. Well you can't rein in a creative soul. The question would be, what would Molly say to it?
Dr. Molly Hooper – chief medical examiner at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, wife of Sherlock Holmes, and mother to said young Mr. John Victor William – budding child prodigy - smiled from the kitchen, hearing the entire exchange between her 6 year old son and her husband.
Their landlady, and so much more than JUST their landlady, Mrs. Hudson, winked at her.
"Always ask your parents for one half hour more than you really need," Mrs. Hudson had advised the young lad. "That way, you have plenty of time, and they think they have bargained you down, and have WON." He had rewarded his godmother with as big of a bear hug as his little 6 years old arms could reach, she had returned the favour with not two but FOUR fresh oatmeal biscuits - which he had promptly shared equally with his best friend and flatmate, Rosie Watson.
"Do you REALLY need one more hour?" Sherlock had brought himself down to a level to look at his son in the eye. "Think about it carefully, son. It's your bedtime. Is it REALLY IMPORTANT?"
Will gazed at his father steadily, saying with absolute sincerity, "Yes daddy. It's REALLY important."
"Really, REALLY important?"
"It's really, REALLY, super DUPER important. Please daddy, I promise I'll go straight to bed as soon as I've finished. Mummy said I could, if you agreed."
Sherlock sighed, stood up straight, and smiled down at his young doppelganger. With those words, Sherlock knew that he was well, truly, and utterly screwed. "Mummy said I could if..." was pretty much the ace up his son's sleeve – every bloody time.
"Alright then son, ONE hour. Not a MINUTE past it." He picked the young lad up, still small enough to scoop up and cuddle, and young enough to appreciate it without protest, and squeezed him, kissing the head of the beaming young boy.
"Thank you daddy!" he whispered into Sherlock's ear. He snuzzled his head under his dad's chin for a moment, truly content. "I LOVE you daddy!" Sherlock smiled. He was such a sucker to his son's charms. God help him if anyone figured it out.
William Holmes smiled to himself as his father put him back down on his feet. He really only needed maybe half what he'd asked for. But he knew that always being under budget at his bedtime extension requests would grant him favour.
He really, really DID need the extra thirty-five though. This was special, and he wanted to make sure it was absolutely perfect.
Even his Dad knew that composing a piece couldn't be interrupted. It had to be followed through, or it would be utterly ruined.