So here you get to meet Benedict! As Mycroft has already said in the previous chapter, the little guy has a problem pronouncing L's and R's if they appear in the the front or middle of a word-he says them as W's instead. So he can't properly say Sherlock, he calls him Shewock and the army is awmy.

When you're reading his dialogue, just keep this in mind. If the word looks funny, just sub out the W for an L or R until it makes sense. You can also pick up what he's saying based on the context. The only exception to his speech problem are the words "were" and "here".

This is based off how my nephew used to talk at that same age *sigh* How I miss those days!

If you're still confused, let me know :)

Later that afternoon, a black car pulled up in front of 221 just as Mycroft had promised. And the man himself was waiting for them as they climbed in.

"Why are you coming with us?" Sherlock questioned his brother suspiciously.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I am going with you to offer an introduction. Young Benedict already knows who I am as does his caretaker. Besides, John could use all the moral support he can get right now."

The doctor was taken aback by the politician's declaration. He wasn't completely convinced as to the motives behind it, but nevertheless, it was appreciated.

"How do you already know him?" the consulting detective pressed, still wary of his brother. "You had said earlier that the child's mother died last Wednesday—yet you only just brought this to our attention this morning…"

"Yes, Sherlock," the elder Holmes replied, favoring his brother with a withering look, "I was alerted as soon as it was discovered that our good doctor here was listed on the birth certificate as little Benedict's father. I immediately arranged to meet him. The visual confirmation was almost enough to convince me that he was indeed John's son; however I do like to be thorough. I held off on bringing this to your duel attention until the DNA tests proved a positive correlation. There was no need to worry you both unnecessarily without irrefutable proof. Surely you of all people can understand that, Brother."

"Oh, for the love of—Mycroft, all you have to do is look at the boy and see that he's John's child!" Sherlock stated.

Mycroft sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. John, who had remained silent throughout the whole exchange, jumped to the politician's defense.

"He was only trying to protect me—thank you, Mycroft. I appreciate your concern." That earned him a small nod of approval. The doctor turned back to his lover and continued, "You haven't taken this news very well, Sherlock. Your brother was only looking out for the both of us. He waited until he was absolutely sure Benedict is mine. Can you imagine what would have happened if an introduction had been made sooner and it turned out that I wasn't his father?"

He saw the reasoning, he really did, it was just this whole thing had thrown him into a tailspin. "Yes I can, John. You would have formed an attachment and been heartbroken if he wasn't your son. As honorable as you are, you might have even tried to adopt the child anyway," Sherlock said into the quiet recess of the car.

Both John and Mycroft nodded at Sherlock's correct hypothesis. They were saved by more unpleasant conversation as the car rolled to a stop outside a beautiful brick townhouse located on a charming cobblestone street.

"Where are we?" John questioned as he glanced around, not having paid attention to where they were headed.

"Holland Park. Have I taught you nothing?" Sherlock asked in an exasperated huff.

"Wh-what?!" John stammered.

"There is no need to panic. Your 'friend' did not live here; this is her friend's house. And by the looks of it and the woman herself, it was a more than likely inherited or gifted to her rather than paid for out of her own pocket," the detective rattled off.

Mycroft tapped his umbrella on the ground and nodded approvingly at his younger brother. "Rightly so, Sherlock."

John looked at his companions with awed confusion. "How did you—no. Never mind."

At that moment, a petite red haired wisp of a woman emerged from the flat. All three men turned and watched her approach.

"Mycroft—nice to see you again," she greeted congenially.

The politician bowed slightly, answering, "Likewise, Miss Connor."

"Kate?!" John asked in disbelief.

The woman laughed as she ran towards the doctor and threw her arms around him. "John Watson—as I live and breathe! Was starting to think you were just a legend, mate!"

"No—no legend. Alive and here in the flesh, as you can see," he responded with a cheeky wink.

She grinned up at him. "Yes, I can see that! It's been ages! Read that you've been running around catching criminals with that genius detective."

"Yes, ma'am, as a matter of fact I have," he told her as he reached over to commandeer Sherlock's left hand, linking their fingers together and pulling the lanky man closer. "This is said 'genius detective', my partner."

With a tight smile, the consulting detective extended his right hand. "Sherlock Holmes. John's boyfriend."

Kate raised her eyebrows in surprise, recognizing the territorial claim for what it was as she shook the proffered hand. "Oh? You were always such a lady's man, Johnny. Never thought you'd end up gay."

John just shrugged nonchalantly. He was tired of explaining himself on this matter to everyone. The 'it's just Sherlock' argument always fell on deaf ears anyway, so he held his tongue. Let people assume what the will; it was of no greater consequence to him anymore.

"Well, perhaps we should start the introductions," Mycroft urged pointedly, reminding everyone why they were standing out front of his flat in the middle of Holland Park in the first place.

Kate nodded in agreement and beckoned the three men to follow her. As she led them up a flight of stairs, she said over her shoulder, "You've got someone here who's very anxious to meet you, Johnny."

John slowly released the breath he didn't realize he was holding. Sherlock gave his lover a sidelong glance and squeezed his hand reassuringly. The doctor offered his partner a small smile, grateful for his support.

"Mycwoft!" a little voice exclaimed as they entered the sitting room.

Both Sherlock and John were shocked as they watched the elder Holmes bound toward the child and drop to his knees in front of the child. The boy threw his tiny arms around the politician's neck. Mycroft laughed—he actually laughed?—and patted the child on the back in a paternal sort of way.

"Have you been good for your Aunt Kate?" Mycroft asked.

The little boy nodded vigorously, earning another chuckle from the older man. "Alright, good. I have a surprise for you then." Mycroft sat back and motioned for the others to join him.

"This is my younger brother, Sherlock," the politician introduced with a gesture of his hand.

The little boy nodded at the consulting detective and greeted, "Hi, Shewock!"

"Hello to you," Sherlock responded, forcing himself to be polite, if nothing but for John's sake. He was definitely not jealous that the child seemed to be such a fan of his brother. Nope—not at all.

"And I think you know who this is," Mycroft continued, pointing to John.

The doctor finally released his lover's hand and took a few steps closer. He crouched down next to Mycroft and addressed the toddler, "Hello, Benedict."

The little boy stared in wide-eyed fascination at John. He slipped out of Mycroft's embrace and hesitantly crept towards his father, almost as if he was afraid that any sudden movement might make the man run away.

"Can I hug you?" he asked in a small voice, unsure how his request would be received.

John nodded and opened his arms. "Of course. You can always hug me."

Not having to be told twice, Benedict flung himself into the doctor's waiting embrace and chanted, "Daddy!" over and over again.

He gave a noble effort to trying to stay calm and together, but as soon has the word—title—daddy had left the child's mouth, John broke down. He sobbed uncontrollably as he felt soft baby curls rub against his neck and chin as Benedict buried his face into his good shoulder.

Understanding his emotional breakdown, Mycroft patted his arm in reassurance. He stood and then pulled his brother back a slightly, giving the child and parent a little bit more privacy.

"This is why I waited until I was certain," the elder Holmes advised.

"You knew he'd be adversely affected," Sherlock stated.

"Mmm, I wouldn't say that he's adversely affected, Sherlock. He's acting like most new fathers do upon meeting their child for the first time."

"What?"

"He's emotional: terrified, happy, resentful that he was kept from his son for so long…" Mycroft trailed off, watching the doctor and his child talking softly to each other. "Brother, I implore you—don't make this harder on him than it already is. He needs your support more than anything at the moment."

"I don't need advice from you on how to handle my own partner!" Sherlock retorted, waspishly.

Mycroft held his hands up in placation. "I'm not suggesting you do, Sherlock. I'm merely saying that John needs our support, as I have already said."

"Why are you doing this?" demanded the younger Holmes, not trusting his brother's concern.

"Why?" Mycroft looked truly baffled. "Do I need a reason to do everything?"

"Yes."

"Sherlock—really. Despite what you might think, I honestly like John. He's been good for you. And in addition, I happen to be fond of this child as well. He's more intelligent than others his age. Reminds me a lot of you when you were still knee-high," was the answer.

John, unable to maintain his crouched position for much longer than he already has shifted to sit with his legs folded in front of him. Benedict only waited long enough to ensure the doctor was settled before crawling into his lap.

"I'm sorry that we didn't meet sooner," John told the little boy sincerely.

His son nodded solemnly as he picked at a fuzz ball on John's jumper. "Mommy said that she thought it was better this way. Said that you were busy and impowtant and that she didn't want us to get in the way."

The doctor felt his heart break at the honest confession. "Oh, my little love! You would never have been in the way. Don't think for a minute that I wouldn't have wanted you in my life. Had I known you were here, I would have been over in a heartbeat."

"Weally?" the toddler asked incredulously.

"Yes, really," John assured him with a smile. "So what did your mommy tell you about me?"

A small set of indigo eyes gazed up into his own. "Can I show you?"

"Sure, you can show me anything."

With an air of uncontained excitement, the little boy bound up off his lap and raced out of the room. He came running back in a minute later with a black leather scrapbook.

Benedict plopped back down into his previously vacated seat. He opened the scrapbook and flipped through the pages. John was surprised by the sheer number of photographs of him that Alyssa seemed to have. There was one from every uni party their group threw, as well as a number of ones from a holiday where they all ended in the British Virgin Islands. There were many of just him and Alyssa or of John and Kate.

Suddenly he felt the warm presence of his lover beside him as Sherlock lowered himself to the floor. The consulting detective looked at the book over his shoulder. "She was in love with you," the baritone voice said quietly into his ear.

"Mommy made this book for me," Benedict told his father, continuing to leaf through the book. There were more recent newspaper clippings of some of his and Sherlock's more widely known cases. "But this one is my favowite…" The toddler turned to the back of the tome to show John his military picture. It was from when he had first enlisted, fresh-faced and dewy-eyed before he had seen the true horrors of war.

"She said you were a doctor and that you save peopwe's wives and you were in the awmy. An' that you're a hewo," Benedict told him.

"Your daddy is a hero," Sherlock confirmed. "He's a good man and has saved many people's lives. Saved mine a few times."

The little boy looked up at the consulting detective in awe. "Yeah? So he's special?"

"Very special," answered the detective.

"Aunt Kate said so too," Benedict declared. "She made me my quiwt. I said I wanted a fwag quiwt because Daddy was in the awmy."

"Looks like that's another one we've gotten young for Queen and Country," Mycroft commented in an amused tone.

"Yes, Brother. Another young mind brainwashed with sentimental patriotism," Sherlock intoned, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Enough, the both of you," John scolded. He turned his attention back to his child. "Sherlock and I need to get things ready for you so that you can come home with us. Is there anything you want for your room?"

"I get to wive with you?" The hope written on that little face was endearing as it was tragic, as if he didn't' quite believe John's sincerity.

"Yes, we'd like that very much," the doctor replied.

"You and Shewock?" Benedict looked from one man to the other in question, trying to puzzle out their relationship. He showed his quick intelligence by noting how the partners leaned into each other, the closeness they seemed to share. "Wuvers?" he ventured, motioning back and forth between the two of them.

John sputtered, clearly not expecting such a frank question from a three and a half year old child. Sherlock, however, was unfazed and answered for them. "Yes. Your father and I are romantically involved."

Benedict nodded in acceptance and asked the consulting detective, "Can I call you Sher? Shewock is too wong of a name."

Mycroft burst out laughing, earning himself an evil glare from his brother.

With a sigh, Sherlock told the little boy, "Fine. I am amendable to the idea."

"Okay, Sher!" Benedict bounced happily, then remembered John's earlier question to him. "Can I have my woom bumbwe bee yewwow? I wike bees."

John laughed and said, "I think we can manage a little paint job. We'll need you to stay here with Aunt Kate for a few more days, though, okay?"

"Okay. Will you come and see me?"

"Every day."

Benedict stood up and hugged his father around the neck. Then without any further words, he scooped up his scrapbook and darted out of the room. The three men saw this as their queue to leave and silently headed down the stairs to their waiting car. Kate followed them down to see them off.

John waited until the brothers were seated in the vehicle before turning to his old uni mate and asked, "Why didn't Alyssa tell me, Kate?"

The ginger's expression softened as she laid a hand on his arm in a comforting gesture. "She was in love with you, Johnny. You had gone back to the war by the time she found out about Ben, and…Alyssa just couldn't bring herself to tell you because she didn't want you to worry when there wasn't anything you could do. Then you came home, but you were injured that didn't seem like the right time…then we heard about you working with Sherlock Holmes…"

"But he's my son!" John retorted angrily. "I had a right to know!"

"I know—believe me, Johnny. I tried to tell her that over and over since the day he was born. I've…I've been putting together a scrapbook for you of Ben from when he was a baby so that you can have it. For what it's worth, I'm sorry," Kate offered.

"No—I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I appreciate everything you've done for him. I apologize that we can't bring him with us sooner, but our flat isn't really child-safe at the moment," John apologized.

"I understand, really. Take a few days to get ready. I know this is a big adjustment for you, so…yeah."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

John smiled at her and started to climb into the car. He stopped halfway in and asked, "Odd question—about your flat—"

With a laugh, Kate answered, "It was my gran's. She willed it to me. Are you kidding? There's no way I could afford a place like this here in Holland Park!"

Having that confirmation, the doctor just shook his head and shut the car door behind him.

"I told you so," Sherlock told him with a smug grin.