"Molly...?" I say, stern. "Can we talk outside?"
"No point in that. He can.."
"Lipread. Of course he can." I muse.
"You know.." She stuttered "he is so much like you, you would never know." Her stuttering irritates me.
"Of course I know. I can see that. Not hard to miss." I smile.
"Yeah. Of course." She shifts from foot to foot, blatantly awkward. Her clothes were rumpled, her hair messy.
"Get up late?" I say, lowering my eyes back to the newspaper, hoping she would catch the hint - she had interrupted my routine and I was annoyed. Oh, and
the fact she decides to show me I have a son after 8 years.
"Yeah.. how did you..?"
"Mum. Your clothes are messy, your hair is too." He, my son, says calmly. He did not even look up from the toy he was clutching in his slender yet short fingers.
I chuckle and he diverts his attention onto me.
Raising my eyebrows, he understands my question.
"My name is your name." He says this with a little despair riddled within his surprisingly low voice.
"You know why she didn't tell me, don't you." I was testing him, and he knew it. Grinning, he began to tell me of a letter Molly had bestowed upon him two
years ago.
"Obviously forged, I knew." He was untroubled, everything matter of fact, like looking in a mirror. "It smelt of her Petunia perfume, the handwriting all wrong
too. It also didn't have your name on it, so I had to work out who you were from other things. I saw you on TV, I knew that you were... my... dad." He lets it
linger on his tongue "because I walk like you, and the hair, the nose, the eyes et cetera. I realised this about a year ago, keeping it a painful secret until last
week. Mum fainted when I told her." He paused "it was a little scary but I knew she wasn't, well, dead or anything."
I smiled at him, he continues.
"Hey dad. I'm in top class for maths... and well, everything."
"Great!" It was my time to be awkward.
Children are so confusing to me, their reactions and emotions on a different scale to adults. I hoped he was different, mature in his maegre age.
"Sherlock... junior... you didn't answer my question." I wasn't sure how that, as it was so blunt, would affect him, though he just smirks.
"I know. Mummy didn't tell you because she didn't think you had the mental or physical capacity because you are a robot, cold to the world." He quotes.
"A text, right?" I test him again.
"Yep." He grins "she doesn't lock her phone, she doesn't even use a password. I told her it wasn't a good idea because we live in London. You know what I
mean, thieves surrounding everything and everyone."
"Wow." I was stunned, I could predict, give or take childish vocabulary, every single word which came out of his mouth.
"Dad...?" He asks as he walks over to the desk "there's dust on the corner."
"I know."
"They spelt jewellery wrong on page 7."
"I know."
"Your office.. laboratory... room smells like lavender disinfectant."
"I know."
"Your floor is sticky. Someone has spilt Diet Coke on it."
"I know.. well it's just regular Coke actually."
Molly clears her throat, which is both completely childish and extremely high pitched, most likely in order to surprise us. It didn't work, we raised our eyebrows
at each other, like previously said, it was like a mirror."
"I think you should be getting ready for school!" She lies. I could hear she was, Junior's confused reaction and her prompt timing proved she was simply trying
to get away. Though she did have to return after for work, stupid really.
"It's an inset day. No school." I say, he nods in approval. "What do you want to do today, eh junior?" Wincing, I am a little unsure of his reaction to this. That
was my attempt at sounding child friendly, yet it sounded simply patronising to me.
It was to him too. "I have decided to stay here with you." He announces, Molly groans with her head in her hands.
"Sounds reasonable. I 've never had a 'take your child to work day' before."
"You've never had a child." He really does catch on quick.
"Skipped past the nappies and sick, I have one ready made. Lucky that, the one thing I can't stomach is babies." I shudder, he chuckles as I finish.
She clears her throat once more, no doubt in an attempt to feel included and show Sherlock that she was still, well, alive.
"You owe me a hell of a lot of money." She whispers, sharp, under her breath.
"Not in front of the kid, Molls." They both knew I was taunting.
My son sat on the floor, his palm flat on the tiles. "You have underfloor heating."
"I know."
"You need to turn it up, your feet are cold."
"I know."
He gets up and looks out of the window. "The pub across the road looks just like the Queen Vic."
"I kno... what?"
"The Queen Victoria."
"What on earth are you talking about?" I really didn't have a clue.
"From Eastenders."
I sigh, causing Molly to laugh suddenly as she sees my face, a mixture of horror and complete and utter disappointment.
