25-year-old Mycroft Holmes was sitting in the living room of his parents' house in an armchair, trying not to fidget impatiently, for he felt it would be a very unbecoming behavior for a serious business man and politician like himself who was well on his way to become one of the most important persons in whole Great Britain. Still, he had better things to do than partake in that ridiculous, hastily convened family reunion.
He had been invited by Mommy to talk about a 'very important family-matter that cannot be postponed any longer, young man'. He already had a very good idea what it could be about: his 18-year-old little brother, Sherlock had just been expelled from the second collage in a time-span of two years. The younger Holmes brother, while indisputably being a genius just like Mycroft, sadly lacked all kind of ambition to find himself a purpose, pursue real career plans and work hard towards them.
Quite honestly, Mycroft couldn't even imagine how his brother had gone through the regular school stuff in the first place, matriculating at the age of 16. (Just a year later than Mycroft himself, who had finished high school material and gotten a certificate when he was 15.) Not that Sherlock didn't have the ability to learn very fast anything he set his mind to; the problem was: he just didn't show any inclination to do so.
Mycroft agreed with him whole heartedly most of the time: it was really frustrating trying to please authority persons, do what was expected of you all the time, while you knew very well they were all stupid and absolutely clueless… but this was what real life was like, you just had to do it to be able to climb higher and higher in position, until these people would only seem from his perspective like little ants running around on the floor. And besides, it was not as if any of them had had to go to actual school and socialize with unbearable people on a daily basis – thank God, they had both been spared of that horrible ordeal. They had both been homeschooled and only had to do examinations from time to time in front of real teachers. Maybe that's why Sherlock had somehow managed to do it, he was actually pretty good in manipulating others when he really put his mind to it.
But as soon as he had started with college studies, it had turned out his luck had totally run out. As it was, professors required more cooperation even from the correspondence students than whatever Sherlock was willing to offer for them by sacrificing his valuable free time, and it meant he hadn't even been allowed to start his exams when the time had come for him to take them.
So now, Mycroft had to sit here in the living room of his old childhood home and wait for his parents to ask him to try and do something about his little brother's future. Typical that it would fall on his shoulders to take care of every emerging problem in this family! Mycroft was well-aware of his influence in… well: everywhere, but this was ridiculous, really. He shouldn't have to use his power to ensure his little brother doesn't become homeless in the years to come.
The one in question, Sherlock, having also been summoned by their parents, was perched in front of the other armchair on the floor, looking rather bored or even half-asleep, not showing the slightest bit of interest in the coming conversation.
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The Holmes parents entered the room and sat down on the couch, right in front of their sons.
They took each other's hand and Mr. Holmes cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Boys, there is something we need to tell you."
"It's all right Father, I know. I'm going to think of something." – Promised Mycroft, trying to rush things. He really didn't have all day for pleasantries.
"What?" – Both their parents looked confused.
"Well, about Sherlock, of course. You want to talk to us about his failure again, don't you?"
Sherlock kicked his chair so hard, he nearly toppled over with it.
"Shut it, you big moron!"
"It's enough, Sherly! And no, Myc, it's not what we wanted to talk to you about at all. We wouldn't ask you for help with anything like that."
The two Holmes children exclaimed simultaneously.
"It's Sherlock!"
"It's Mycroft!"
"Now, boys!" – Continued their father. – "What we wanted to tell you is that our family is getting extended!"
The shocked silence that followed could be cut by a knife. Sherlock suddenly stopped trying to trip his brother's armchair over, and Mycroft stilled with his arm he had wanted to slap Sherlock with still extended in midair.
Their mother – probably in a vain attempt at trying to lighten the mood, asked with a strained laugh.
"Well, isn't that great news, boys? You'll get a little brother or sister! There'll be another baby in the house!"
Sherlock looked like he might actually vomit. Mycroft blinked in disbelief.
"Mommy… Not to sound disrespectful, but you're 49 years old, Father is 52 and you have two grown-up boys…"
"I know. Believe me, it wasn't planned. It just happened."
"I think I don't want to hear any more!" – Declared Sherlock and covered his ears with his hands in protest.
"Honestly, boys, if you're really so grown-up as you claim to be, then you could try to be a little more understanding towards us! It's a new and unexpected situation for us, too, but it's a fact and now we'll have to make the best of it." – Chided their father.
"Well, get rid of it then!" – Instructed Sherlock, as if it was the most simple and obvious thing in the world and he thought everyone who hadn't come up with it on their own was an imbecile.
"Sherlock!" – Their mother looked absolutely horrified at the idea. – "This is a human being we're talking about! Your sibling!"
"Do you know how risky it is to have a child at this age, Mommy? And with all due respect but how are you planning on raising it? By the time it'll be 10, you'll both be around 60!" – Tried to reason Mycroft, in hope that a different approach – logic – might work better.
"Besides" – Butted in Sherlock, catching on. It was actually ironic how well they could work together if they could find a common aim to do so. – "It could be damaged. Or worse yet: an idiot, like most of the people!"
"First of all: the baby is not an 'it'! And secondly: whatever he or she will be like, this baby is going to be loved dearly." – Explained their mother sternly and clearly very disappointed in their reaction.
Their father looked sad but also as though he had expected something like that from their extraordinary sons.
"If you really don't want to, then you won't have to have anything to do with that child. We're not having the baby to then burden the two of you with the task of raising a little girl or boy. And I am aware we can't force you to love your sibling either. We just wanted you to know about it, so you can decide what you want to do with that information."
"I know very well what I want: I don't even want to know anything about that monster growing in there!" – Declared Sherlock, pointing at his mother's belly, even though there was nothing to see there yet.
"All right then, if that's what you really want." – Sighed their mother dejectedly. Her husband had warned her that their sons were not likely to react favorably to the news, for they – and especially Sherlock – always had had problems with facing new situations and accepting changes. But she honestly hadn't expected that.
"When is it… I mean: he or she due?" – Asked Mycroft, trying to appear calm and collected while in the reality, he was anything but. Damn it, his life had been difficult enough already as it was, he really didn't need another problem that could stand in the way of his career! What would his politician friends and colleagues – or worse yet: the opposition – say when they found out he would be the big brother of a baby!? At his age?
"Sometime in the middle/end of November. Around the 21th."
"Oh, well. I guess it is decided then, isn't it. So, when do you want me to move all my remaining things out of my old room? I think I can arrange it by the weekend, soonest…"
The parents blinked confusedly.
"Son, what are you talking about? Why would we want you to move out your things?" – Asked their father baffled.
"Because I imagine you'll need a room for the next child, and since Sherlock is still living here it would be logical to assume you'd want my old room." – Explained Mycroft, trying very hard – and failing – to appear as if that idea wasn't bothering him at all.
"My God, Myc, of course we don't want to throw you out, how could you even think that? You could even come back for good anytime, just like we told you when you moved out. You're always welcome here, and you'll always have your room!"
"But Mommy, you can't put the child into a bathroom… And we don't have any more rooms."
"Yes, we do." – Said calmly their father. – "My study."
"What? But Dad, you need your study, that's where you work! It has always been like that." – Exclaimed Sherlock, feeling as if his whole life were going to be shattered by an invisible little cell that probably didn't even look anything like a human being yet. So how could it hold such a power already?
"Sherly, don't worry, everything is going to be fine, you'll see." – Soothed Mommy, finally understanding that their sons, most of all Sherlock, were desperately trying to grip into anything familiar, because of their fear of changes. It was not easy raising unique geniuses with autistic tendencies... She could still remember going through a similar phase with 6-year-old Mycroft when he had been first told he'd get a little sibling. But then after a few weeks he had gotten used to the idea, finally becoming even very excited and happy about it. In the end, he just hadn't been able to wait for his little brother to arrive and had become the proudest big brother ever… So there was maybe still hope. – "We're going to have to reorganize things a little bit here, that's true, but it's all right. Daddy is going to move his study into the separate room in the garage that will be converted into a study. We only store junk there now, so it won't be an inconvenience. And you won't even realize it, I promise."
Their father really did need a study, everyone knew that. He was a journalist of an internationally known and respected online news-site called The Analyst, writing political studies and scientific essays. He had to be up to date with the world's happenings all the time, sometimes working in the middle of the night if an interesting event had happened in a different time zone and he had to report about it in real-time. Of course, it wasn't a question where young Mycroft had gotten the inspiration from to go into politics, though admittedly, he had chosen quite a different path for himself to do it.
"But isn't the study too small for a child's room? Both Mycroft and I have much bigger rooms than that…"
"Well, true, but I don't think any child's happiness is going to depend on the size of their room. And it's the farthest from yours, so you don't have to be afraid you won't be able to sleep when the baby is crying during the night. It also won't interfere with your concentration on your studies – which, of course, you will have to continue, young man! Though that's a conversation for another time."
It seemed to placate Sherlock a bit. Maybe hearing that they won't be asked to move out/change anything had helped him a little to accept the news. Or at least try to think about it with a slightly more open mind.
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Sherlock never did admit to making peace with the fact that he was becoming a big brother, but his approach to the subject gradually started to change: first, his mother noticed him regularly researching articles, books, statistics… anything he could get his hands on really, about birth and the caring for babies. He always tried to hide these from his parents of course, but honestly, he was totally hopeless at being subtle.
As soon as his mother's belly started to grow and the pregnancy showed, he began examining the bump skeptically, frowning at it and comparing it with photos he had found online about pregnant women. One day, his mother couldn't take it anymore, and asked what his doubtful expression was about. Sherlock first tried to deny it but then relented:
"Mommy, are you sure the baby is all right in there?"
"Of course, dear, I was by Doctor Harrison just two days ago; according to him, everything is just as it should be at this stage of the pregnancy. Why are you asking?"
"Well… I read… I mean… Ahm… whatever. I read that the baby should be somewhat bigger by now…" – He looked almost ashamed for his concern.
"Oh, Sherly, you don't have to worry. Not all babies are the same you know. I guess he's going to be a bit on the smaller side, yes, but it's not a problem."
"Why would he be small? Neither Mycroft nor I were small, a looked it up. Daddy is considered tall in his age group and you are of average height, too. There's no reason the baby should be small!"
"Well, my parents weren't very tall and your uncle Christian is rather on the lower level of average."
"Well, if you say so…" – Sherlock didn't feel very convinced. He decided to talk to Mycroft about it.
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The next morning, Mommy found a small, previously unseen bottle on the kitchen counter when she wanted to prepare breakfast. She picked it up, and read the descriptions. Vitamins… Pregnancy vitamins. 'For the healthy mother and baby.' There was also a note beside it, with the elegant and neat handwriting of her oldest:
I had it delivered extra from Australia. It's supposed to be the best. Holmeses deserve the best. Please, don't forget to take it every day according to the instructions.
Mycroft
She smiled and took a pill. It tasted like strawberry. The baby in her belly gave a happy little kick at that, apparently appreciating the flavor. That was the first movement she could feel from her unborn child!
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The next question came a few weeks later from a very flustered-looking Sherlock who was holding a big and heavy book with the title 'Everything There is to Know About Pregnancies – Be Prepared for Anything That is to Come'.
"Mommy, are you really absolutely sure that everything is all right with the baby?"
His mother looked up from the soup she was cooking and turned her full attention to her (yet) youngest.
"Yes, Sherly, I am still totally, a hundred percent sure."
"It says here" – He began, waving around the book wildly, nearly dropping it in the process. – "that babies should be moving in there by now. And however crazy it sounds to me that something in there could be moving around, if they write it here, it should be true I guess, because this book is a medically approved one, and… Mommy? Why are you laughing?"
"Oh, dear, I'm so sorry, I'm not laughing at you, it's just… You're so adorable!"
"Why? What did I do?" – Now Sherlock was really confused… Though he could faintly remember having read about pregnant women being very emotional to the degree of sometimes even being unpredictable and irrational…
"Is that an unexplainable sudden emotional outburst? It's all right then I guess, it is supposed to happen according to some authors. I think I read it in a different book somewhere… Or maybe in the leaflet I got from the gynecologist's a few days ago?"
"You went to a gynecologist?" – Asked her mother gathering herself a little bit. – "Why?"
"Well, I had questions! How am I supposed to understand all these mumble-jumble about fetuses, gestation, ultrasound and what else… Mommy, you're laughing again!"
"Son, come here."
"I'm here."
"I mean: here, close to me. Stand next to me. Yes, like that. Now give me your hand, please. Let me just-"
"Mommy, what are you doing?"
"Don't whine, you're not the baby here! Now, put your hand here."
"Oh, Jesus… JESUS! What was that!?" – Sherlock jumped as if he had been bitten by a wasp and looked at his hand rather worriedly.
"That, Sherly, was your little brother. He just wanted to say hi to his big brother, I guess."
"Brother?"
"Yes. It's a boy. I found out yesterday. We wanted to tell you tonight, with Mycroft here, but seeing that you can't seem to stop worrying… Maybe it's best if you can feel that everything is right. He's moving around a lot, like you did so many years ago." – She reminisced smiling. – "Mycroft was much lazier, he mostly only moved voluntarily after I had eaten something sugary."
"Not much has changed then…" – Muttered Sherlock under his breath. – "It's incredible. He's really able to move like… you know, normally? Move his arms and legs?"
"Of course, Sherlock, he has every body parts already. He is a very tiny but complete human being, just this small." – She shoved the baby's size with her hands.
"Wow. And you can feel him move?"
"Yes, it's a wonderful feeling, but naturally also very funny by the first pregnancy. So, does that mean you're excited to become a big brother?" – Asked his mother teasingly.
"Oh, no, no, no, I don't care about the baby at all!" – Declared Sherlock and returned to his room sulking.
His mother couldn't stop laughing for a long while, with the tiny baby positively dancing in her belly, seemingly not at all disturbed by his brother's declaration.
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That afternoon, Sherlock did something that was certainly not very usual for him: he called Mycroft.
Mycroft Holmes.
It's me.
Sherlock? What's wrong? Is everything all right with Mommy and the baby?"
It's a boy!
What?
A boy, Mycroft, do try to pay attention! The baby is a boy!
Wow, that's… wow… It's… wow…
As eloquent as ever! Mommy and Daddy wanted to tell you this evening, when you'll be coming over for dinner. But I couldn't wait.
A boy… Another little brother.
And Mycroft, I could feel him moving! I think he might have kicked me, or something like that. You do know what that means, don't you?
Yes, of course I do, I'm not daft. I'll do something about it, don't worry. See you this evening.
Yeah, see you, I guess.
It had always been like this with them. They just instantly knew what the other meant without actually speaking it out. This time, it was about their little brother, so it was not to be taken lightly!
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In the evening, around half an hour before Mycroft was due to arrive for dinner, there was a knock on the door. It was their father who opened it and then instantly had to jump out of the way, for at least a dozen or so construction workers literally stormed into the house, chatting among themselves, not bothering with any explanation for their presence. They were followed by a rather unorthodox-looking man (thin, tall with colorful cloths and a quite ridiculous-looking hat), with Mycroft in tow; the both of them in an ongoing, passionate conversation.
Father looked alarmed.
"Mycroft, what is this all about?"
"Oh, Father, this is Mr. Fitzroy. Mr. Fitzroy, that is my father, Siger Holmes."
The stranger shook the eldest Holmes' hand excitedly.
"It's a pleasure, sir, a pleasure indeed! Oh, what a beautiful house! It is going to be a great honor to reconstruct it!" – And with that, he was already gone, disappearing into the first room he could find: the living room. He could be heard praising the style it had been furnished and promising to improve it even more with a new design.
Mr. Holmes looked after him scandalized.
"Reconstruct!? But, Mycroft, what-"
"Father, really, it's so obvious! Our little brother needs a bigger room, that's no question. You need your study and definitely not in the garage. The garage is for the cars and also for storing our childhood things. We can't throw them out – we may still need them in the future; who knows. And you're right: both Sherlock and I are quite fond of our own rooms. So, the only thing to do is to build a new one for the baby!"
"Ahm…" – Mr. Holmes seemed undecided which question to address first. – "You want to build a new room into the house?"
"Yes, of course. Mr. Fitzroy is the best interior designer there is. He's French, you see. He may be a bit of an extravagant, but believe me: the house is going to be perfect. And I happen to know there are a lot of other things you've wanted to change here for a long time. Now, they're going to be solved, too, just make a list. These workers are practically going to live here for the coming weeks so that everything will be ready in time for the baby."
"They are going to live here? And what about us?"
"I have already arranged for a hotel room for you and Mommy: it's a five-star hotel, with a swimming pool, a gym, massage and everything. It's going to be a well-deserved vacation for you two. Of course, I've made sure to rent a room with an internet connection and a desk, so you'll be able to work, too. You'll get breakfast, lunch and dinner. And Sherlock is going to come and live with me for the time being. I wouldn't want to curse the hotel personnel with having to put up with him after all; he'd wreak havoc."
"Son, I don't think we need a reconstruction just because a baby is coming…"
"Nonsense, father, the baby is a boy. Boys need a big space to move, we all know it. If it were a girl then it might be a different thing altogether, but a boy is constantly running, climbing and jumping… The little one needs a normal room, not a small cupboard!"
"You know, in other families two or three children might live in a room that's the size of my study and what you so easily title as a 'cupboard'."
"Well, in other families perhaps. But we're not other families. We're the Holmeses."
And the matter was considered closed with that. The Holmes parents moved into the most luxurious hotel they had ever been to on the same day with Sherlock moving in to Mycroft's flat – strangely not even complaining about it. The reconstructions started and continued on for three full weeks. It was a record time for an extra room to be built and also smaller changes to be made all over the house – which, in everyone's opinion, had been turned into a manor and made all the neighbors jealous.
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One forenoon, not long after Mommy, Father and Sherlock had been able to move back into their own house, Mycroft's phone was ringing. He picked it up with trepidation, already having an idea who it could be and what it could be about.
Morning, Mommy.
Mycroft, how did you know it was me? Oh, never mind. Listen, I've just come from Doctor Harrison, and he was behaving rather peculiarly. He was also asking about you a lot and looking around nervously all the time as if afraid you might appear there. Do you maybe have an idea why he would be like that?
Is my little brother all right?
Which one?
Both. Though I know about Sherlock, I talked to him yesterday.
You talked? Wow, the both of you talk a lot more nowadays than usual.
Well, I have to prepare him for his big brother responsibilities, don't I? He doesn't have any practice after all.
I'm sure he'll do just fine; he's had you to learn from after all. And yes, the baby is all right, too. Still a bit small for his age but not dangerously so.
Are you taking the vitamins regularly, Mommy?
Of course I am, Myc. I have to; the baby just loves that strawberry-flavor.
Then why is he small?
He's just like this, that's all. So, what about Doctor Harrison, Mycroft?
I might have talked to him.
Meaning you did… And just what did you talk to him about if I may ask?
I just informed him what kind of an obligation it means to be treating a Holmes-family member. I needed to make sure he knows his duty.
You mean you threatened him?
Oh, no. I just cautioned him.
Myc, you can't do this!
Why not?
Because you don't go around intimidating people!
Why?
Because you just don't do it!
It gets the job done, Mommy. Don't worry; you and the baby are going to be fine.
Mommy just sighed, giving it up. It was hopeless trying to argue with any of the Holmes men. She smiled at the thought that soon she was going to be even more outnumbered.
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One late September evening, when all members of the Holmes family (even Mycroft who had become a more regular guest than ever over the last few weeks) were sitting in the rebuilt living room watching some boring television program after dinner in a comfortable silence, Sherlock unexpectedly cleared his throat to get everyone's attention.
"The baby will need a name. What is he going to be called?"
The parents looked up startled, while Mycroft, as if having been waiting just for that occasion to arise, fished out a neatly folded piece of paper from the inside pocket of his suit, clearly absolutely prepared for that conversation.
"Well, we have a few ideas but haven't decided on a particular name yet." – Answered their father, carefully eyeing the sheet of paper in his oldest son's hand.
"We have thought about it, too." – Explained Mycroft. – "And we have made a list of approved names for you to choose from."
"You have made a list of approved names?" – Blinked their mother.
"Well, of course, Mommy. He's going to be a Holmes baby. He needs to have an adequate name!" – Declared Sherlock as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"And what names are on that list, son?" – Though she sounded as if she were half afraid to ask.
"Here are a few: Blake Remington Holmes, Jensen Raphael Holmes, Kiefer Conan Holmes, Ephraim-"
"Ephraim? I surely never approved that one!" – Exclaimed Sherlock, horrified.
"Yes, you did! It's true, you were asleep by then but you snorted loudly when I asked if it was all right! I took it as agreement."
"Well it's not! Or if it is, then you'll have to approve my idea: Humphrey."
"I thought we agreed that he shouldn't have a first name with 'H'. It wouldn't sound good with 'Holmes'."
"It would, if he had another one, too. For example: Humphrey Shephard Holmes."
"HSH? Isn't that a German Bank's name?"
"Whatever…"
"Boys, boys! Don't you think your mother and I should have a say in it, too?"
"Ahm… well, I haven't really thought about it, no…" – Admitted Sherlock reluctantly.
"Of course, Father, you may choose anything you want from that list." – Tried to reassure him Mycroft, giving a withering look to his brother. – "If you don't like anything so far, there's also Woodrow Zacharias Holmes, Breaker Maxen Holmes or even Caspar Thelonious Holmes."
"Thelo- what? Boys, it's really very nice of you to have given so much thought to the matter…" – Mommy actually seemed very touched. – "but we also have a few ideas we'd like to discuss with you, if you don't mind. What do you say about these: Noah, Mason, Benedict, Logan, Carter, Dominic, Grayson, Nathan or Connor?"
They boys thought about it for a moment.
"Hm… I like Benedict, I think" – Said Sherlock after a while.
"I'd prefer Dominic." – Admitted Mycroft.
"What about that: Benedict Dominic Holmes?" – Asked Father thoughtfully.
"That's… well, that's perfect!" – Exclaimed Sherlock and their mother and Mycroft nodded in agreement.
So that's how the Holmes family decided on the name for their youngest, yet unborn member. Now they just needed for little Benedict Dominic Holmes to actually join them in person.
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Little Benedict seemed to be a very impatient baby, even though he wasn't born yet. Every time his mom wasn't doing something that required movement, he tried to make up for it by kicking her mercilessly.
Sherlock had found an article somewhere during one of his research sessions in which the writer assured the reader: it was possible to play with a yet unborn baby and thus entertain them enough for a time so that the mother could have a bit of peace as well.
Well, that was all well said, but of course the article didn't mention how to do it. Sherlock tried to think back to his childhood as far as he could, to remember what he had liked to do. For example: he knew he used to like playing with toy cars. Hmm… maybe they still had a few of them in the garage somewhere…
He quickly found what he was looking for and hurried back to his mom, who was sitting (actually, rather half lying, with her legs put up as well) on the couch, reading a book and drinking tea.
"Mommy, I would like to try something."
She put down the book and gave her son her full attention.
"What, dear?"
"You'll see. It's for Benedict." – And without further ado, he rather unceremoniously pulled up his mother's shirt, ignoring her indignant shriek and placed a toy car on her belly.
It wasn't very big (as a matter of fact, Sherlock and Mycroft were still sure it should have been much bigger by now but they had agreed not to worry their parents with it), but there was enough of a bump that could keep the small car in place.
Mother and Son stared at the car sitting on top of her belly, unmoving.
"Ahm… Sherly, what are we waiting for to happen?" – Asked Mommy uncertainly.
"Well… I thought maybe Benedict was bored and wanted to play…" – Suddenly, Sherlock felt unsure. Maybe it had been a stupid idea. Really, how could the baby play with a toy car? Impossible, idiot…
Just then, the car started to sway and hobble up and down. Both looked at it in surprise.
"Mommy, do you think…?"
"I think he can feel there is something and is moving it from inside…"
Then the car rolled down her belly, making her chuckle at the tickling sensation.
Sherlock placed the car back on top of her belly, and watched it all happened again.
The third time the baby tried to kick at the rolling car – missing it but making her mother let out a startled little cry as a perfectly good visible little protrusion appeared on her belly that looked like a small fist or a little foot…
The fourth and fifth times were the same. At the sixth try, the baby managed to kick (or shove?) at the car while it was rolling down, making it fly a good 20 inches and land on the floor in front of the couch.
Sherlock wanted to praise his little brother, though didn't have any idea how to do it under the current circumstances, so he put his hand on his mother's belly, palm down, right where he had been able to see the movement just seconds ago.
He received a kick for his trouble, which made him move his hand a little to the right. He could literally feel some movement in there ('God, it is so weird!'), a bump under his hand, and then a kick again to his palm.
Next time he moved his hand further up – the movement, bump and kick followed again.
Mommy blinked in surprise.
"Well, that's certainly new… I have never experienced anything like that with either of you to tell the truth…"
From that day, every time little Benedict wouldn't let their mother rest, Sherlock played with him until the baby got tired and fell asleep.
Sometimes Sherlock would initiate a game even without the need for it at the time, claiming that "According to some studies, it's important to let him know that we're here all the time with him!", in reality only wanting to have contact with his little brother.
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Other days, little Benedict just didn't want to go to sleep, however tired their mother was.
Sherlock discovered by chance (because he of course didn't care and certainly wasn't intentionally trying to find a solution) that the baby just loved listening to him play on his violin.
In reality, he loved every kind of music: Mycroft's piano, daddy's guitar, mommy's singing or even the radio… but it was only when Sherlock started to play, that the baby stilled right away, sometimes moving just a little bit as if swaying to the rhythm.
It didn't even matter if he was only making screeching noises or really playing a melody, but it had to be Sherlock himself. Nobody knew how the baby could tell when they were only listening to a recording but it never had the desired effect.
So, it quickly became Sherlock's task to lull his little brother to sleep even before he was born, a responsibility the younger Holmes brother was – secretly – very proud about. (Out loud he complained at least half-heartedly about it of course, claiming this was a highly unnatural behavior for a fetus and it surely predestinated how unconventional he would be as a child.)
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Aside from the fact that Mommy's belly just didn't seem to want to grow as much as it should have – by the end of the 7th month, she still hadn't had any problems moving around normally, sleeping, or even putting on socks and tying her shoes – everything was said to be absolutely fine with the pregnancy despite her age.
Until middle October, that is.
For a week now, Mommy had looked somewhat ashen and tired, but had assured everyone repeatedly, it was normal for the autumn-time. Mycroft had even bought her another bottle of vitamins to go with the strawberry-flavored ones (these tasted like pineapples, and the baby didn't appear to appreciate it at all), and Sherlock had realized when he had wanted to play with his little brother their customary 'catch my hand'-game that Benedict had been moving rather sluggishly, or sometimes even not reacting at all.
Mommy had explained he was probably developing at a very fast rate – hopefully growing and gaining weight –, and simply needed more sleep because of that. Sherlock's instincts (that were pretty good, really) told him there had to be something more to it.
Their father had insisted on Mommy spending all day in bed, her legs popped up, resting. It worried everyone even further when she didn't as much as put up a struggle about it.
It was the 12th October when it became quite obvious there was something wrong when she woke up just to realize she had started to bleed suddenly. Mycroft wasn't there at all, Father was working in his study, writing an article about a political event in Pakistan and Sherlock was doing some experiment or another in his room. Both men ran into the bedroom upon hearing her frightened shouts then stopped at the door abruptly at the sight that awaited them.
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Mommy had been brought into hospital immediately by an ambulance and now the whole family (joined by Mycroft as well) was waiting for any news from the doctor.
Sherlock paced up and down the corridor, making everyone around them nervous. Father had tried to stop him at least five times already to no avail – the teenager hadn't reacted to him at all. Mycroft was no help whatsoever: he sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair, looking with vacant eyes into nothingness, equally unresponsive.
When the doctor finally appeared 1,5 hours later, he looked exhausted and somewhat sad. All three Holmes men gathered around him anxiously.
"Mr. Holmes?"
"Doctor?"
"I am Doctor Harrison, I've treated your wife during her whole pregnancy and I was the one to receive her today."
"Doctor, please, tell me: are my wife and son all right?"
"Well, as you know, your wife started bleeding heavily a few hours ago, which is not a good sign. Luckily, she has been brought in in time, and it could be stopped, so she fortunately hasn't lost too much blood. She should be all right now."
"Oh, thank God! And the baby…?"
"I'm sorry to say, I'm not so sure about the baby at this stage. He's still alive and I can't detect any lasting damages on him now, but this is when I have to say, we can't be certain yet."
"What the hell does that mean!? It's your job to know these things! I have already told you how important it is to pay very good attention to them and what would happen if you don't!" – Threatened Mycroft dangerously.
"Myc, pull yourself together! I'm sure Doctor Harrison has done, and will do his best."
"Of course. I will monitor the pregnancy from now on. I'm sorry but Mrs. Holmes will have to stay here until the birth. We can't allow her to move at all and she will have to be under medical surveillance around the clock."
"But we're going to be able to stay with them, right?" – Pleaded Sherlock. – Benedict can't fall asleep most of the time if I'm not there to help him and he also gets bored very quickly without me playing with him."
"Is Benedict-?"
"The baby, yes. That's his name." – Explained their father grief-stricken. – "Sherlock has developed a rather unorthodox but efficient method to communicate with him."
"I see. I'm sorry but you can't stay here, we don't have enough rooms. But you'll be allowed to come of course during visiting hours. Every day, if you want."
"But… but…" – Sherlock literally started to panic. He was shaking his head disbelievingly and backing off from everyone.
They were making quite a scene and all the others present were watching them pityingly, whispering among each other, glad it wasn't their family getting this kind of news. Some of them even had the nerve to loudly coo about their newborn family member, saying how beautiful she was or how adorable he looked. Mycroft shot them a glare that shut them up immediately.
"Mr. Holmes, do you think your younger son is going to need a sedative? I could call someone to-"
"No, don't you dare!" – Interrupted him Mycroft before they father could so much as open his mouth. – "You have done enough already, doctor, I suggest you leave us alone now!"
"MYCROFT, it's enough! Please, excuse him, Doctor Harrison, it's been a very tiring day…"
"Of course, Mr. Holmes, it's quite all right." – Assured him the doctor, eying Mycroft warily. – "If you think you can handle it, you might all go to see Mrs. Holmes now."
"You can bet we will!" – Stated Mycroft, then – taking Sherlock by one of his arms and forcibly pulling him with himself – headed for the room he knew he would found their mother in.
"I'm really sorry, Mr. Holmes, I wish I had better news for you about your baby…"
"Thank you, Doctor." – And with that, he followed his sons to see his wife.
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Mommy was crying hard when they arrived.
"Oh, God, Sig', they said he might not live! We might lose our little baby!"
Mr. Holmes went to hug her while Mycroft stood uncomfortably at the end of the bed, eyeing her belly ruefully and Sherlock tried to get the baby's attention by poking at the bump.
The baby in there remained completely unresponsive to everything he did though. If there hadn't been monitors showing the life signs of the baby (a very-very faint heartbeat), he would have thought he had died.
"Sherly, leave him now, I'm sure he's asleep, after…" – She needed a few seconds to be able to continue. – "… after what happened."
"But, Mommy, we haven't played today yet…"
"It's okay, son. Don't the two of you want to eat something in the cafeteria, or drink a coffee…?"
"No, I want to-"
"It's a good idea, Father. Come on, Sherlock."
"But…"
"Let's go!"
The boys reluctantly left the room and closed the door behind them, leaving the two parents alone.
"Siger, what are we going to do now?"
"Dear, it's all right, it's going to be fine, you'll see. You'll just have to rest and do everything the doctors tell you to. Doctor Harrison said that he couldn't see any damage on the little one. This baby is strong: he's a Holmes!"
"I hope you're right…"
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Mrs. Holmes remained in the hospital, with her family visiting her the next day, too. She was feeling better and even Benedict aimed a few good kicks at the toy car Sherlock had brought for him in the gift shop downstairs.
Their game was witnessed by the doctor and two nurses, all three of them looking absolutely flabbergasted at the display. ("This is just plain impossible, no unborn baby is capable of such coordination and deliberate movements!") One of the nurses even filmed it all, with her luck catching a spectacular occasion of the small car flying in a neat arc right into the nearby trash bin.
Sherlock placed his hand on his Mommy's belly in a gesture that has come to mean a 'high five' between the brothers, and Benedict immediately moved under his hand to requite it, pushing his (probably) head into his palm. His heartbeat had improved a lot too since they had started their game.
"That's incredible! We could sell that video to the television, you'd become famous!"
That day, the three Holmes men left the hospital feeling cheerful and relaxed, not suspecting the horrors that would be awaiting them the next day…
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Sherlock, Mycroft and Father were standing in the living room, getting ready to drive with Mycroft's Government-issued car to the hospital, they driver waiting for them in front of the house.
As they were about to leave, the phone started ringing. It was their father who answered it.
Hallo?
Mr. Holmes? I'm Doctor Harrison.
Doctor Harrison, what happened? Is everything all right? We were just about to-
Mr. Holmes, I think you and your sons should come as soon as possible…
What? Why? We… we were just getting ready to leave. What happened?
When can you be here? Maybe it would be best to talk about it in person, but it needs to be very soon.
We'll be there in half an hour, but please, tell me something!
I don't… Ahm… I'm sorry but your wife has started bleeding again two hours ago and whatever we do, it just won't stop. We need to operate her and take out the baby to save her life right away.
What? But… It's too early! He's not ready to be born yet!
I know that but in this situation, the mother's life is first priority. I'm very sorry. Please, come soon. We'll try to wait but I can't promise anything."
Mr. Holmes dropped the phone and – ignoring his sons' questions completely – forcibly pulled them out of the house, towards the car, instructing the driver to go as fast as humanly possible and not to even dare worry about traffic rules.
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As soon as they entered the hospital and ran upstairs, Doctor Harrison was waiting for them on the corridor that led to the OP-room, already in his operating scrubs.
"Mr. Holmes. Your wife is being prepared for operation. It will take a few hours, so don't worry about the time being too long or something like that. She has been stabilized enough so now I can say there's a very good chance there won't be any complications for her and she will make a complete recovery."
"Please, save her, please…"
"I'll do everything."
"And Benedict?" – Asked Sherlock, running to keep up with them.
"He… I'm sorry but he hasn't got good chances. He is quite small for his age, not much over 4 pounds, and will be very premature. We will try to do everything for him, too, of course, but I don't want you to have too high hopes."
"What chances?" – Presses Mycroft. He always needed to have numbers; that came with his job.
"I don't really want to predict things like that. And I'm sorry but the longer I'm out here, the worse for my patient – your mother. I promise to try to keep you updated but please, do not spend the whole time worrying about what it means that nobody has come to talk to you yet. It only means we're working hard."
"All right, doctor, thank you very much."
With that, Doctor Harrison disappeared into the area they were not allowed to follow him to, leaving the worried and desperate family standing alone on the corridor.
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It was absolutely nerve-racking and maddening having to wait for hours without any information about what had been going on inside the OP-room.
At first, Sherlock had paced a hole into the floor with his father and brother watching him grimly, but then, after an hour or so, he got tired, and sat down on a plastic chair.
After a while (a quarter of an hour, at most), he jumped up again, startling his father out of his stupor and making Mycroft sigh loudly.
"Do you think this is all my fault?" – He asked his father.
"WHAT? Sherlock, how can you think that? How could it be your fault?"
"Well, who knows, maybe that game I played with him all the time didn't do him good… Maybe I didn't let him sleep enough, or grow enough, or eat enough, or-"
"Sherlock, stop it!" – Said Mycroft sternly, grabbing Sherlock by the shoulders and steering him back to the chair. – "It is NOT your fault! Babies don't work that way, you can't just stop them growing and especially not eating. They have a fetal chord to feed them."
"Yeah, because you know so much about babies…"
"Well, you're forgetting I already have a younger brother! Besides, you're not the only one who can read, you know."
"Then how can you say it's not possible he couldn't sleep enough because of me!?"
"Because you were the reason he COULD sleep well every night, Mommy has told me!"
"I'm not… I wasn't happy when I learned about the pregnancy! I told Mommy to get rid of the baby… Oh, my God…" – Sherlock started to shake uncontrollably, and fell to the floor, not being able to sit upright anymore. – "I am the reason that baby is going to die!"
"Sherlock, son, it's all right, it is not your fault."
"Yes, it is, he's just doing what I told him to do!" – Sobbed Sherlock inconsolably.
"Don't be stupid, he couldn't hear or understand it." – Tried to reason Mycroft. – "There hadn't even been a 'him' back then."
"That's not-"
"Mr. Holmes?" – They all turned towards the voice and saw a nurse emerging from the OP-room, stopping them from coming closer with raised hands. – "I'm sorry, please, do not come here yet; I will need to get back in soon. I just wanted to inform you, that Mrs. Holmes is going to be fine, she's out of the woods."
There was a collective sigh of relief from the three men as Sherlock clumsily climbed back onto the chair.
"And my son…?" – Their father looked afraid to ask.
"He's still alive but just barely. The doctor wants to try to do something for him, but if he won't show any improvement soon, then you'll be let in to see him…"
"What is he like?" – Asked Sherlock tentatively.
"Very-very small… but the cutest baby ever. He has more hair than any other babies I have ever seen – and I've seen a lot. And he's cold, actually shivering, so they're trying to keep him warm now. I'm sorry, but I really do need to go back now. I promise to let you know what's happening to the little one as soon as possible."
"My poor baby…" – Said their father, with tears in his eyes.
"Father, he's going to be fine. He's a Holmes after all!" – Assured him Mycroft.
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It turned out, he wouldn't be fine. At least not in the doctor's opinion. So the three of them had been led by a compassionate-looking nurse into a small semi-separate room inside the OP-area where the little baby had been put up with his Infant incubator that bore his name on a plate 'Benedict Dominic Holmes'. Their mother must have told the doctors before the beginning of the operation.
They were all a little bit afraid to get closer and look into the incubator. They were afraid of what they might see…
"You may go closer, you know. He's a perfect little angel. Like a small toy doll with lots of hair…" – She sniffled a little then excused herself and hurriedly left them alone.
It was Mycroft who pulled himself together first and took the final steps towards his new baby brother. He looked into the transparent box and felt instantly mesmerized. The baby was perfect! He had very dark brown curls that resembled more that of a two-year-old's rather than a newborn baby's. He was incredibly small but also absolutely baby-like, not the little frog-like being he had been expecting when they had been told about his condition… And he was wide awake, seemingly looking around with his huge green eyes! That was of course impossible, but still…
His father and Sherlock had come to stand beside him, too, and now the three of them were looking in wonder at the small human being, with the baby giving the impression of looking right back at them, thoughtfully analyzing his family.
That's how Doctor Harrison found them around 20 minutes later, all rooted to the spot, watching each other. He whispered, so as not to startle them:
"Mr. Holmes, your wife is fine. She has been brought into a private room. She's still asleep of course; otherwise I would have given her the chance to see the baby, too. She'll wake up in an hour or so, but will be very drowsy for a while after that."
"Do you think, she'll see…?" – Asked their father, motioning to Benedict.
"Well… it only depends on him now. We sadly can't help him anymore."
"Is he in pain?" – Inquired Mycroft.
"No, we've made sure of that."
"How can he be awake at all then? He looks to be so aware…"
"What?" – The doctor looked honestly confused and stepped closer to take a look. Then he exclaimed. – "My God, really, he's awake and he has even opened his eyes! That's truly incredible!"
"May we hold him, please?" – Their father particularly begged. None of the Holmes children had ever seen him so lost before.
"I normally wouldn't recommend it. He's being kept warm in there and it's a disinfected environment. But given the current circumstances… You may do as you wish."
"However warm and disinfected it is, I think it would be best for him to be with us. We're his family." – Declared Sherlock determinedly and opened the incubator. He very-very gently picked up the unbelievably tiny baby, careful not to jostle the IVs and the oxygen tube. He would never have thought before that he'd ever have the courage to even touch such a small creature but now it all came naturally to him, as if he had been doing it his whole life.
He laid the baby on his left arm and tucked him into his jacket. It was not disinfected, but it gave him a bit of warmth at least, he decided.
The baby looked him into the eyes and as Sherlock caressed through his curls with his free hand, grabbed one of his fingers, holding on tightly.
"Now, he won't be able to let you go for a while." – Joked Mycroft, sounding suspiciously tearful.
"He never has to let me go." – Stated Sherlock simply and sat on a chair with the baby. He put his palm on the baby's body – covering him completely – and as if the baby were remembering something, his eyes literally lit up and he tried to curl into the hand in a fetal position.
Doctor Harrison, who was still in the room to be able to help should it be necessary, was just standing in a respectable distance away from them to give the little family some peace.
"Doctor, are all these IVs and the air tube really necessary? The poor child looks like a Christmas tree with them." – Asked Mycroft annoyed.
"The IVs give him painkillers and he's not breathing on his own." – Explained the doctor patiently. He knew very well that it was usually frightening to see a little baby hooked up to so many things, all much bigger than him, dwarfing the poor thing.
"Then why has he pulled the tube out of his nose and why is he trying to eat it instead of using it for breathing?"
"What are you talking about?" – And sure enough: the baby now had the tube in his mouth, toothlessly chewing away on it happily. – "That's impossible, a newborn can't do that!"
"It would seem he's full of surprises then." – Shrugged Mycroft, gently pulling away the tube from the baby's mouth and pinching his nose ever so gently. Benedict sneezed then looked rather confused at this development.
"Have you fed him, Doctor?" – Asked Mr. Holmes. "I think he actually looks hungry… Mycroft used to have this look in his eyes right before he started to scream for food."
"I'm sorry, sir, but he wouldn't be able to eat. He's just not developed enough for that."
"Well, let's try it anyway, shall we?"
So a nurse had been summoned to bring the smallest bottle available with a little bit of infant nutrition formula. The nurse tried to show them how to feed the baby, but without success. Benedict wouldn't even open his mouth for her. He only smelled into the drink once then turned away his head.
"Oh, come on, you're a bunch of incompetents!"
"Mycroft! Behave!"
"I'm sorry, Father." – He pulled out a small bottle of his pocket that contained… – "Strawberry flavored vitamin drops for babies! This child has brains: he won't eat some flavorless liquid when he can have this instead!" – And he put three drops into the 'milk' of the vitamin. – "Try it like this, Sherlock."
Sherlock did so and after a few attempts the baby seemed to get the idea and started to happily consume the flavored drink, sometimes kicking contently at Sherlock's stomach. ('So, that's what Mommy felt for months… This chap is strong!')
The doctor and the nurse just watched amazed, couldn't say a word at the fact that the baby was eating, nor to the big yawn he let out when he felt he had finished, or that he fell asleep still clutching Sherlock's finger, his breathing as deep and even as any healthy baby's.
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Benedict didn't die that day. Nor on the next, when his nearly completely recovered Mommy hugged him for ten whole minutes, crying into his hair and giving him hundreds of kisses – it seemed to annoy him a little bit though, and gave a strong kick in an attempt to get away and made everyone laugh heartily at his antics.
He didn't die when Mycroft insisted they pull out all the ridiculous tubes from his small arms but nearly punched the nurse for the pain he had to go through when he was finally totally free to move and flailed his arms around wildly to celebrate it.
He'd never once cried, not even when he was born, not when he was tired or hungry… never. But still, it was always quite clear what he wanted or didn't want. It was as if he were a much older child, communicating through gestures and facial expressions.
He ate very little and only if the drink was strawberry-flavored (their father one day insisted they should try something different and so one of the nurses brought him a special, vanilla-flavored baby nutrition milk. It all ended up on Father's face and on his clothes, and with Benedict refusing to trust anyone else but his brothers with feeding him for days to come…) – but it was still more than any of the personnel had initially given him credit for. It was also enough for him to slowly start to gain a little bit of weight.
When after a week he still refused to die just because some doctors said he would, everyone had started to hope – with the exception of Mycroft and Sherlock, who claimed to have known the whole time that their little brother was strong and would pull through, thus not being surprised about it at all.
"He's our little brother." – Declared Mycroft proudly to anyone who would listen.
Mommy was soon cleared to leave the hospital but Benedict had to stay until he gained at least some more weight. Very unusually so, Sherlock insisted on him being the one to move in and stay there with the baby, because "Mommy has to recover anyway and I'm the only one who doesn't work or study. Besides, he likes playing with me." – Nobody could argue with that logic, so Sherlock stayed and the others visited daily.
It was after two more weeks when the now complete Holmes family was saying goodbye to the doctors and nurses, as they were finally all going home together. By that time Sherlock had developed new kinds of games for them to play now that there wasn't Mommy between the two brothers, and Benedict had convinced everyone he was no ordinary newborn. (Even though their parents still insisted – maybe even hoped? – he might eventually turn out to be normal rather than a genius. Rubbish, of course, but what did they know?)
"I think we can expect great things from you, young man!" – Said Doctor Harrison smiling, 'shaking' the little baby's hand who was looking up at him with an expression that could be interpreted as smirking if someone wanted to. (Not that newborns could smirk.)
"Well, of course you can" – Declared Sherlock, holding Benedict close, having refused to give him to anyone else, even their parents. – "He's a Holmes after all!"