Welcome to this story by TwoMoon'sLite and littleblackneko, AKA Watson-HolmesGEN2! It will be told in a specific way. During the summer, they are at the Watsons, During Christmas break, they are at the Holmeses, and in between will be Interludes, in which we show messages (i.e. letters, texts, and emails) that have been sent. We really hope you enjoy this collab of ours! Review please people because I am just self conscious like that.
THE FIRST SUMMER 2023
Little Emelia Holmes's eyes widened as she beheld the box her uncle was carrying.
"Mymy!" she yelled, bouncing over to her uncle.
"Hello Emelia. Where are your parents?"
"Mommy is at da store and Daddy is in his lab," She said pointing to a closed door, which had been comically plastered with radiation symbols, "He doing 'speriments."
"Well, why don't we get him and call Mommy so you can open your birthday present, hmm?"
The now six-year-old girl's eyes widened and she ran into the kitchen. She hurried back to her uncle with the housephone. "Here, Mymy. You call Mommy," she ran over to the door and stood on her tiptoes. She started pounding on the door, alternating her tiny fists. "PAPA! PAPA! MYMY IS HERE, PAPA!
"Have I taught you nothing? Tell him to piss off!"
"But Papa, it's my birthday and there's a present!"
"Already with the bribery, Mycroft. You start them young."
"Shall I take back the nitrogenous sodium samples then, Sherlock?"
"Papa, stop fighting with Mymy and come out. I wanna open my present!" She crossed her arms and pouted, and Mycroft almost laughed at how cute she looked pouting.
Sherlock opened the door and stuck his head out, looking around then finally down to his daughter, smoke drifting up from his hair that no one exactly wanted to question. Emelia was using it to her advantage that she was fairly close to being her father's twin to get what she wanted. He begrudgingly paced out into the sitting room and flung himself dramatically on the couch, "Alright, let's get on with this."
"But Papa, Mommy isn't home yet."
A dark-haired woman chose that exact moment to throw open the door. "Mycroft, dear, how are you? Oh Sherlock, do stop sulking, it is our daughter's birthday," She said, adding the last part upon noticing her husband on the couch.
"Irene, lovely to see you as well. I stopped by to give Emelia her present."
Emelia looked up from her father to her mother. "Can I open it now?" she asked quietly, eyeing the box Mycroft was still holding.
Irene smiled at her daughter and nodded.
Before he could realize it (or Irene could take back her okay), Emelia had extracted the present from Mycroft's grip and was tearing it open.
Sherlock thought his brother would get the six-year-old something outrageous. A computer. A cell phone. A copy of all of Parliament's laws dating back to the birth of the government. He had not expected the actual gift though. So one can imagine the speed with which Sherlock Holmes sat up and peered over the back of the couch when he heard, "KITTENS!"
There, crawling out of the box were two small cats. One was a brown-gray tabby with bright blue eyes and long hair. The cat crawled out of the box, looked around dissatisfied, and proceeded to sit and lick his paw while glaring at the box. A second kitten was poking his head out of the box. He yawned and crawled out lazily, looking at the people with interest, his gray eyes calculating in a way everyone quickly realized was VERY similar to Sherlock's.
Emelia picked up the black kitten, which mewed at the contact. She touched her nose to his and set him down.
"Thank you Mymy!" she looked so excited that Mycroft could not help the smile that found its way onto his face.
"You're welcome Emelia. I, of course, will be providing everything for their care, at least at first."
Sherlock glared at his brother.
Irene knelt down to Emelia. "What are their names?"
"The black one is Sherlock and the brown one is Mycroft."
"WHAT?" Both men simultaneously looked at Emelia, who squeaked and curled in on herself a little.
Irene laughed, "Why those names?"
Emelia immediately brightened. "That one," she pointed to Sherlock the cat, "has Papa and my eyes. He's skinny like Papa and he looks like he's deducing people. The other one has a belly like Mymy's and eyes like Mymy's too. And the color matches too!"
At his niece's reasoning, Mycroft laughed with his sister-in-law. How had such a serious man like Sherlock conceived such a cute, funny child? Sherlock glared at the cat that shared his name, and then was surprised to be met with a glare that was indeed strikingly similar to his.
"No."
"Oh, Papa!"
"Sherlock."
"Irene."
Your... OUR daughter is keeping the cats and you will NOT experiment on them. Need I remind you of Charlie the lizard?"
["Mommy, you said Charlie ran away with his girlfriend cuz they were in love and that's what people do when they're in love."]
In order to avoid a full-scale Holmes on Holmes explosion, the topic was quickly changed by Em's mum, "Oh, Emelia, you got post from Crystal.'
The little girl's demeanor instantly changed. "WHERE DID YOU PUT IT WOMAN?"
Sherlock shook his head as daughter performed a thorough search of anything she could reach, searching for her best friend's post.
Irene walked to the kitchen and grabbed the letter. She waved it in the air to grab her child's attention. The girl saw it and ran over, jumping in the air and waving her small arms as if it could get her closer to it.
"GIVE IT!"
'Emelia, manners. Say the magic word."
The girl looked puzzled for a moment. "Now?" Then her face lit up and she pulled the cutest, most unignorable grin. "Please!"
When the papers finally landed in her palms, she all but massacred the seal to get to the letter inside, from her friend that lived cross-country, the adopted daughter of her father's best friend and former flat mate John, Crystal Watson. Conveniently, the girls had locked into an extreme level of closeness the moment they met. Almost similar to John and Sherlock's former bond, before Sherlock started dating Irene.
The adults looked on as Emelia read the letter aloud, tripping over her words in her excitement. She read:
Dear Em,
Dad and I have finished our move to Stratford! We have a lot of extra space and there's a barn out back which a lot of stray animals have made their home in, and there's a tree fort on the property in which I've been waterproofing and dog proofing (Small, floppy little thing, since I couldn't name him John, as a little kick I named him Jawn: said with that exact inflection). The space is giant and brilliant and I finally have space for all my books and CDs. Which brings me to my point... As a birthday present for your sixth and my eighth DAD SAID HE'D PAY FOR YOU HOLMSES TO COME STAY WITH US FOR THE SUMMER! It will be absolutely brill Em. Can't wait to see you (and maybe start up our writing operations again)
With all my feels, Crystal Cecelia Watson
Emelia smiled largely. "PAPAPAPAPAPAPA! JAWN'S PAYING FOR US TO VISIT!"
Mycroft smiled."Well, happy birthday Emelia. I'll have the kittens' items dropped off in the morning. Goodbye Emelia, Sherlock, Irene. Kittens."
"Bye Mymy!"
Sherlock ignored his brother, still glaring at Sherlock the kitten, who glared right back. Irene walked her brother-in-law out. "Emelia, why don't you write Crystal to tell her you and Sherlock are coming?"
"The cats too, right? Crys says there's lots of space!"
"Yes, Emelia, the cats too."
The small girl ran to her very blue bedroom and pulled out a piece of paper and began writing.
Crys woke up early that morning, which had annoyingly become habit since the sun's rays felt like burning her eyes out at half past eight, she rolled until she fell off the bed and landed by where her iPod touch lay, checking her emails before groggily pacing to her bathroom. She arranged her hair (Shortish and somewhere between brown and blonde) into some semblance of a human form and shrugged on her white shirt and faux leather vest along with some cargo shorts. She slowly stumbled down the stairs into the dining room, popping in a bagel to the toaster, pouring some of the more sugary iced tea in the fridge for herself, and rubbing Jawn's shaggy little brown head. Dad was nowhere around. Well that fit according to plan very well.
"Don't tell," She declared to her dog as she proceeded to decorate her breakfast with a quarter stick of butter and far too much parmesan cheese. She gulped some tea before shaking just a bit more awake.
She was about halfway through when she heard her dad on the stairs. Busted. 'Crystal, that is really not healthy for you..."
"Ugh, why do you have to be a doctor? Why can't I just get fat like a normal person?" She intended to say that, but what came out through her stuffed mouth was ,"Ghwaddrwhftlinrmmlprn," She swallowed the last bit and looked expectantly at her father for any news, be it what happened at his new clinic that deserved reporting, an anecdote from the past, or what new creature had turned up in the hazardous barn this morning (yesterday was a snake that was in no way wild, but they still got to keep due to the fact that the owner was an old woman who said she couldn't take care of him anymore. As a jest, she had named him Jim, causing her Dah to glare.
"Letter from Emelia came today, Crys." His eyes were hazed over, signifying a long and stressful night at the clinic. Not to mention, neither of them were exactly morning people. She found said letter on the table and tore it open eagerly, and began to read:
Dearest Crys,
'Ello love! I can't wait to see you! Papa is extremely excited to come with.
Mom got mad at him for burning a hole in the lab floor and brought up the whole Papa-faked-his-death thing. I don't think Mom is very happy with him.
So today Uncle Greg came around (I think John has told you about him. He was the acting DI during all of their adventures). He gave me a turtle. I named it Greg. He got mad at me for naming it that but then I told him that his name was Gregory and the turtle was Greg and that Mymy didn't have all day.
I got in trouble. Mom yelled at me and sentenced me to one whole day without my Chemistry set, but Sherlock gave me some stuff to analyze, an old case. (It was the maid, because no post on Sundays.)
Little Lock is doing well, although I think he's going through Jawn-withdrawal. He swats at little My more often and hid in my suitcase (I think I might have one of his jumpers, Little Lock's doing I'm guessing, seeing as he was asleep on it.). I found My hiding in the umbrella stand, true to his namesake. And I had to save Sherlock from HIS namesake, because he went in the lab and ate one of Papa's spare fingers (Thank God it wasn't one he experimented on).
I have more info to share about the past. Mommy filled me in and I found Papa's old journal. (There's some juicy stuff in here Crys. We're gonna have a field day!)
See you soon love! Sherlock, Mycroft, Papa, Greg and I will be there on the twentieth.
With all my deductions,
Emelia Genevieve Holmes
Crystal leapt out of her chair, "Da, when did you book the train tickets for Em and them?" She was buzzing with excitement. A new Holmes-Watson artifact had been unearthed, and Em wouldn't have bothered mentioning it if it wasn't relevant.
'Um, a few days from now," Her dad said, rubbing at his temples, "June...8th? Yeah, that sounds about right." She bounded up the stairs, anxious to set up. They had been having camp meetings since they were four and two. When she reached her room, she began searching, hoping that the stuff she needed was in one of the boxes she had bothered to organize. Aha! There it was. She took hold of the slightly heavy box and dashed off to the tree fort in a strange spurt of energy. It would be perfect as a place to hold the secret meetings.
She arranged the blankets and stacked the slight amount of paraphernalia they had collected over the years. It had started as a way to try and be official sisters, but had eventually become real hope. Crys didn't have a mum, and Em got tetchy with hers at times. They had found the perfect solution. That their dads were so blindingly obviously in love with each other. They would meet in undisclosed locations with the same blankets and papers and analyze the evidence. As a final touch, she fixed to the wall a sign that read THE HOLMES-WATSON CAMP FOR JOHNLOCK LOVERS in curlicue letters. There. It was ready for Em now.
On June 8th, Emelia found herself sitting on the train next to her father, who was also nervous. She was getting better at deductions and could read her father's every expression, even though she was only six. It helped that her father's facial expressions were hers as well.
She looked to the carriers both on her lap and next to her. Little Lock had simple refused to sit in the same carrier as Mycroft the cat. Hence why she had Little Lock's carrier on her lap and My's blocking her view of her father's body from the chin down. Her turtle, Greg, was under My's carrier, in a little glass portable terrarium.
She looked around, deducing the boring people in the train car with them, grinning with satisfaction when she realized the sneezing man furthest away was allergic to cats and did NOT have a simple cold.
The train conductor announced their stop was next.
Em and her father stood up, Sherlock taking their bags and Greg's terrarium. She watched with rising excitement as her father effortlessly hailed a cab to bring them to John and Crys's place. She thought about the leather-bound journal that lay in her bag, underneath her zither. She couldn't wait to tell Crys the best stuff she had found yet.
The cab pulled up and Emelia left Sherlock to grab their bags, instead launching herself up the stairs two at a time (made possible by the long legs she had gained from her father), her black waves bouncing as she did. She threw open the door to Crys and John's home and yelled, at the top of her lungs, "WATSON! I'M HOLMES!"
Behind her, Sherlock rolled his eyes.
Crys sprung around the corner with her deerstalker on that she wore whenever Sherlock came, to annoy him. She ran towards her best friend, scooping her up into a hug, whispering in her ear in the process, "I've set up camp." Crystal started to run in the correct direction, Em following after, still gripping a cat carrier. Their two fathers looked on in slight confusion as the girls made their way to the tree fort. Crys scrambled up, taking the carrier from Em so she could climb up too.
They both got crazy grins on their face. Crys pulled the hatch back up so that the fort was completely sealed off at all sides as Em opened the carrier and the little cat bolted out, giving his owner a dirty look for having contained him. "Meet my father's feline counterpart. The cat ran from wall to wall, exploring the new environment. The girls both giggled as they watched the hyper little fuzzball dash about.
"He certainly suits his name," Crys agreed before laying down on her designated pillow, which was from her toddler years and smelled like strawberries and was decorated in glitter glue, and looked at her companion, "So, what's this about a journal that I hear may or may not contain pivotal information about our fathers' romantic interests
"Well, my dear Watson, my brilliant father wrote down all, and I mean ALL the small things my father noticed about our dearest John." She reached into her bag and pulled out the worn brown journal. She took one look at her friend and opening it. She began reading:
"John Watson Observations. Occupation Doctor. Served in Afghanistan. Psychosomatic limp in right leg. Shot in right leg. Shot in shoulder. Very loyal very quickly Blonde. Needs flat. Homosexual sister. Uses said sister's old phone. Non-Smoker. Adrenaline junkie. Shoots with right hand. Shoots to kill. Crack shot. Eats toast with too much jam. Likes excessive amounts of jam on toast. Takes tea with milk. Cooks. Defensively heterosexual. Dates pointless women. Cannot keep women straight. Handsome in an odd sort of way Refused to take money from brother. Wears ridiculous jumpers. Does not like experiments next to perishables. Do not touch his jam. Scarily loves jam. Does not like the pin and chip machines at Tesco. Hates using cane. Must burn cane some day. Does not like when not paid attention to. Dislikes me speaking to attractive women. Very much dislikes attractive nude women speaking to me. Makes me very upset when his life is threatened. Must look into this further. -The Tenth of May,2012"
"I bet he's talking about my mother," Em declared, looking at the entry and scowling. Crystal appeared lost in though.
"He does pay a rather large amount of attention to John, Em. Don't get too discouraged. I mean I very much hope that's the only girl he's seen naked." She flipped to the next entry, dated a few days later:
"John takes his coffee black. Most likely resonant of army life. He responds very powerfully to stimuli, especially audile. Did not fear the Hound, even when I did. Very kind. Warm eyes. Makes me feel odd when he looks at me. Must be investigated soon, perhaps through an experiment? He is five feet and six inches tall and makes me look taller. I complimented him today, but they were the words he's used on me, as they were the only ones that came to mind. He says that he is my friend. He is my only friend. I must protect him, no matter the cost. I should buy a new toaster. He doesn't like human remains touching the things we eat."
Em shut the book and filed it in between the David Levithan books and the Percy Jacksons. "Have to make this last all summer," she said in a matter-of-fact tone and reclined against a conveniently placed beanbag chair. Crystal locked eyes with her in a serious manner, and she arched an eyebrow.
"Hate to break this to ya, Em, but Sherlock's on the ceiling..."
"MY FATHER IS WHERE?" Emelia freaked out and looked up... only to laugh at the sight of a very frightened black cat on the ceiling. "Little Lock," she groaned, reaching up to the cat, only to find that she was a few inches short. She looked to her friend with a pleading expression. "Crys... I'm too short."
"I got it," she told her friend, she stood up on her tiptoes and stretched her arms out, and was just able to pull the cat from its resting place, receiving a few scratch marks in the process. Little Lock glared at her. Either he did not like being moved by a strange female, or was angry at being referred to as 'it.' Whatever his reason, the small black cat turned on Crystal, claws out and scratching her arms. Emelia snapped into action immediately and took the raging cat from her friend just before the cat could scratch at her face. As soon as he was out of Crys's arms, Little Lock went limp.
Emelia furiously smacked the cat on the head. "No bad Sherlock, we don't scratch people." She roughly threw the cat back in the cage and yelled at it. "No seeing Jawn 'till tomorrow!" She turned her attention to her best friend, and winced.
"New pets," her friend shrugged, "It happens. Should we head back before suspicion rises too high."
"I'd be able to throw anyone off of my trail, but if you are so quick to return to the land of the adults, I suppose we could go back into the house, I haven't seen John in quite a while. She managed to force Little Lock back into his carrier as Crys opened the hatch as they climbed out, and started the trek back to home for the summer.
Once outside, the girls took their time walking to the house. Emelia opened the door for Crystal and the two friends walked into the kitchen, where Sherlock had apparently been being himself. Emelia immediately saw the worry lines on her friend's father's face. John was looking determinedly into his tea.
Sherlock saw the two girls enter and raised an eyebrow to the cuts on Crys's arms. Emelia raised the cat carrier. "Little Lock didn't appreciate Crys pulling him off the ceiling."
John looked at her. "Little Lock?"
Emelia sighed and set down the carrier. "Is little Jawn in your room?" Crys nodded. "Good." She pulled out the limp black cat, who glared at his name sake. Emelia held him close to her and the cat suddenly looked at John and purred. Emelia laughed and Sherlock mumbled something. "Here, Jawn," (Oh joy, John thought, she sounds just like him.) you hold him. He wants you to."
John was passed the cat, which curled up on his lap and purred. He tenaciously ran a hand over the black thing's fur. The cat arched up to meet his hand and Sherlock the elder glared furiously at Sherlock the younger.
Out of nowhere, a little brown flash threw itself at Sherlock, causing the tall man to fall off his chair with a shout. Emelia rushed forward and John stood up, jolting the cat that was on his lap. Sherlock the elder was staving off the advances of a fluffy brown dog that was trying to lick his face off. "JAWN! GET THIS THIG OFF OF ME!"
Crystal ran forward and frowned at the dog. "No, bad Jawn we don't attack Sherlock."
"Jawn?"
John sighed. "The dog is Jawn. J-a-w-n. Exactly how you and Emelia say it."
"Jawn." Sherlock laughed. "Jawn has a dog named Jawn."
"Very funny Sherlock."
"Jawn has a Jawn!"
"We get it, Sherlock."
"Ugh! Jawn keeps putting his tongue in my mouth," Sherlock cried out as the girls burst out giggling. "I see where the name dilemma comes from. Girls, I was obviously not talking about the human Jawn, get your common sense together."
"Oh, but it's so much more fun this way," Emelia cackled.
"Why don't you girls go upstairs while I order dinner. God knows Sherlock isn't going to let me cook."
"Sherlock will want to pet Jawn," Emelia quipped.
"Yeah, he's going to want some more hot tongue action from Jawn," Crys added as her and Emelia started going up the stairwell.
"Upstairs, Crystal, Emelia." John said firmly. The girls didn't bother to contain their laughter as they made their way into Crys's room.
The bedroom had been quickly decorated upon the girl moving in. Supernovas and stars and planets covered the plaster, and posters and computer printouts of actors and bands were displayed amongst the walls, the two primary features being large posters of Misha Collins and Green Day
"Oh," Emelia sighed, "that was too easy."
Sherlock looked at John, who was currently calling in dinner. The ex-detective looked at the doctor. He was slumped against the counter and had a considerable amount of grey hairs and worry lines. Life had not been kind to John Watson since that day. Sherlock recalled the day with a frown. He remembered being rude to John, screaming that he didn't need his only friend. He recalled with startling clarity how hurt John had looked and how much he had felt afterwards in being alone again, knowing it would come to this eventually, that he would always be left alone. Finally, they were talking again, but it wasn't the same as it had been. It hadn't been the same since he had walked off that building all those years ago and realized how much he needed John with him. How much it had pained him to not have that existence at Baker Street. When he had come back, it had worked... for a bit. Then that uncomfortable pit in his stomach had begun brewing again with much more intensity, and he had to run away, had to leave this thing that was destroying everything he thought he had once known. That knot in his stomach that showed when John looked at him. What was he thinking? He was Sherlock Bloody Holmes, master of his transport and his mind! But the fact remained. John Watson made him feel. It had been a surprise when he came back later that year to find John had adopted a little Afghani girl, and was moving on with life. No wife, Sherlock had noted, but forced himself to shove that thought to the back of his mind. Especially now, when his mind began to wander. He had a wife now, for goodness sake, and a daughter. There was no time to be dwelling on what could have been. The time had been wrong. And not only did his daughter tease him about it, as well as her best friend, but his journal was missing! That journal held everything he'd ever noticed about John Hamish Watson. Plus a few things he did NOT want John to read...
So priority fell to finding that journal again, another mystery since {he did not think Em or Irene would completely understand, least of all take the book,} so it was probably somewhere amongst his cluttered belongings.
