My bed felt uneasily cold and uncomfortable that night. If I were to say I slept well, it would only be for Dad and Father's sake. They never like when I don't sleep well, but I can't really help it. I probably got it from Father, the restlessness. The constant thoughts running through my head, so fast that it's impossible to even watch them fly, and impossible to analyze them, which in the the case of being Sherlock Holmes' child can be quite obnoxious. I come to realise the particular bumps and folds in my sheets as I do anything but sink into my bed, and it only adds to the impeccable amount of thoughts running through my brain. I see the array of miniature stars outside my window and chuckle to myself. Father despises the solar system, or learning about it at least, so Dad will constantly tease him about it. Not that this is ever anything but flirting in their eyes. John Watson does not ever intend to hurt my father's feelings of course, as that would cause for a much more annoyed response from Father than a mere kiss on the cheek.

The night became stiller through the city of London, but 221B Baker Street did not go quiet in the slightest. I could hear Father doing one of his experiments somewhat quietly in the kitchen downstairs, but this was completely normal. I wondered if Dad had gone to bed after hopelessly trying to get Father to get some rest, and failing of course. That would be the probable option, considering it happens almost every night. Of course they don't fight or anything, because this is too normal for Dad to even get angry.

I sighed to myself as I stared up at the ceiling, 'Shut up, brain,' I whisper as I lightly hit the side of my head. The perks of being Sherlock Holmes' son. Should be a novel. Then again, Father hates novels as he is much more interested in the complexity of nonfictional science and history than anything else. Mostly science. Beside the point of his insane amount of disinterest in fiction, I realise how lucky I am that my light is turned off as well as my laptop, so neither Dad nor Father will know I'm still awake at this hour. Even at the age of 15, they still want me to be asleep by midnight. I can understand why, as Father doesn't want me to follow in his footsteps. He will never admit this of course, as he simply labels it as 'good parenting' whenever it is brought up in conversation, but I think Dad and I both know it's true. I know Father knows I'm smart enough to see past his denial about things, but he likes to pretend that he doesn't whilst still treating me like a child. Dad told me that when they first met, he liked to be the most clever and brilliant one in the room. Needless to say, this hasn't changed in the slightest, so good one on trying to make me seem young, Dad.

To my surprise, I hear footsteps from outside my door and a quiet knock on my door. Quiet enough not to wake someone up if they were sleeping, but loud enough so they could hear it if they were. I shut my eyes quickly, not answering to make it seem like whoever was at the door was free to open it since I was asleep. It was Father, as I could tell by almost hearing his gait when he walked in. He whispered, 'Good-night Jesse,' and kissed my forehead lightly, again not enough to wake a sleeping person up, but enough to make an awake person feel it. Obviously, he knew I was awake, but he knew I was uninterested in talking to him about it, and talking to me didn't seem to be a part of his agenda either. Just a kiss on the forehead, and a wish good-night. It was slightly out-of-the-ordinary for him to do this, since he never actually slept much at all, but tonight I came under the impression he was going to at that moment. Slightly strange, sure, but not completely foreign to my father. He left the room quietly and walked back downstairs, to join Dad I assumed.

I just lay there, restless and constantly thinking. Thanks, Father. Though, what I was thinking about was not his fault at all. I was thinking about the occurrence at St. Bart's that day:

I was in the lab with Father, looking through my microscope that he bought me for my birthday last year. I was looking at his slides that he has created for me from past cases that he had kept. Molly had come in to attempt making conversation with either myself or Father, I wasn't quite sure at the time. She usually appeared happier when she was about to talk to Father, but today she was neither really happy or in her normal mood.

'What are you two looking at?' she asked, as I collected she was trying to create an open conversation. Father ignored her, as he normally does, so I balled up the part of me most like Dad, and said, 'He's working on a case. Footprint analysis. I'm helping and looking at a pollen sample from Sussex.' I didn't talk to Molly much, so she gave a slight look of surprise when I spoke up.

'Oh. Anything interesting, Sherlock?' she responded, obviously attempting to talk to Father.

'He won't respond to you, you know. He doesn't waste his time conversing much during cases,' I said, staring into my microscope. Apparently something I said was rude to her and her brow contorted with frustration. 'He can speak for himself, your father,' she shot back.

'Well clearly that is not something of interest to him, as our conversation,' I gestured to her and myself, 'Hasn't caused him to have the urge to interrupt.'

She sighed and walked away from the table Father and I were sitting at, to look at some other things. I didn't feel satisfied with all I had said and, for some reason, the Sherlock Holmes side of me came out of the shadows and said, 'He is married, you know.' That set Molly Hooper off completely.

'I'm aware of that, Jesse. Why would think that-'

'Because he has the ability to observe, Molly,' Father butted in finally. I smirked to myself as I looked back down at my microscope.

'Well, I, um, I, I have to go,' she stuttered in embarrassment. She walked out of the lab and shut the door loudly. I turned to Father and chuckled.

'Thank you for that, she was bothering me,' I said to him and he grinned.

'She is your dad's and my friend, but she has times of obvious bothersome behaviours,' he replied.

'You sound so official when you said that, but you simply meant she gets annoying when you get too much of her,' I remarked and he chuckled lightly. The only time I heard him laugh was with Dad and me.

'Good deduction, Jesse.'

'I learned from the best, Father.'

What happened at Bart's was usually viewed as a normal occurrence for the Holmes-Watsons, but this time felt different. Molly had never actually been annoyed with me before, since she mainly ignored me and thought the double arrogance from both Father and I would be too much, but this time she actually got upset with how I spoke to her or something. It shouldn't bother me, since things like this hardly ever do, but then again anything can bother someone who can't sleep.