"Please," a man said as he rocked a baby in his arms, eyes pleading and tired as his gaze met a strong-willed woman's "you know the business in which I act with. I don't want him killed or worse. Whatever killed his mother is after him, not Sammy."
"Mary," the woman said, speaking the widower's wife's name "she would've wanted to raise this child herself with you along with Sam and Dean but things are different now. I guess, my husband and I could take him. My son, Mycroft, is a little more than seven, he'll understand."
John nodded in thanks as he handed his youngest son to Mrs. Holmes. The woman took the child warmly while the boy gave a small cry as his father handed him away. "Thank you, I cannot tell you how thankful I am. At least he'll be raised by friends."
"You made the trip from America to London just to give him to us?" She asked, warm grey eyes scanning over him. "Persistent, I must say in the least. You can trust me, he'll be raised well if I have to sell it on my last breath."
He nodded as he wrapped his coat firmly around him, eyes downcast as he turned away. Before he melting into shadows Mrs. Holmes called after him "John, what's his name?"
John Winchester turned back, dark eyes sad and tired as he called back "Sherlock. His name is Sherlock Winchester."