Chapter 3

John awoke on Saturday to Sherlock playing loudly on his violin, the notes high and agitated. He groaned, looking at the watch on the bedside table. Not even 8 am yet. He sat up, noticing Hudson's tail poking out from under the pillow beside him, as if she were trying to cover her ears and sleep as well. He reluctantly got out of bed and pulled his robe on, trudging into the living room where Sherlock was already showered and dressed in his trademark black suit, back to the hall as he played his instrument. "Would it kill you to let me get some sleep for once?" he mumbled to him. Sherlock stopped and looked over his shoulder at John, setting the violin on his chair.

"Of course it wouldn't kill me. What a completely inappropriate metaphor. " he pulled the wand from his suit jacket and flicked it toward a tray of tea beside him, which floated across the room and settled itself in front of John. "I can spike that if you want me to. Lord knows we could use it today." He ran a hand through his slightly damp curls.

"Please, Sherlock. It's just dinner. You'll be fine." He rolled his blue eyes and poured himself a glass just as Penny could be heard upstairs, yelling out things in her own little language. At least she wasn't crying. They both set down their things and ran up the stairs, throwing open the door.

"Happy birthday, Penny!" John grinned and scooped her up into his arms. She laughed as he planted a kiss on her cheek and handed her to Sherlock, who also wished her a happy birthday. She looked between her two fathers, smiling sweetly.

"Da da da da da!" she cooed, and the men looked at each other in shock. "Da da da!" she insisted, pulling on a lock of Sherlock's hair, demanding his attention.

"She just said dada." John said.

"Yes, John, I heard her, thank you." His voice was just as strangled as his though, and he grinned down at her emerald eyes. "You are so smart! Haha! That's my girl." He kissed her cheek and she laughed again, pulling on his hair once more before settling against his chest.

John was thankful for Penny's little progression, because it completely took the edge off of Sherlock. He was almost giddy as he put the little green dress on the girl, a gift from John's sister that Sherlock had said looked ridiculous, making her repeat her new word over and over. She obliged, of course, because she completely doted on Sherlock and she knew, even at a year old, that she could get anything she wanted if she cried about it, or in this case just called him dada. John was harder of course. She saw less of him and therefore was very demanding of his attention, almost possessive of the man when he was in her line of sight.

It seemed like only moments later when Mycroft came into the flat at exactly noon, smartly dressed as usual. He grinned when he walked into the nursery to his brother tying a green ribbon in the girl's brown curls. "Well aren't you quite the mother hen?" his tone was amused to say the least, but Sherlock ignored him. "Happy birthday princess!" he completely changed his tone as he approached the child, who smiled sweetly at him. "Ready to go see grams and papa?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Grandfather and grandmother will suffice, thank you. No need to give the impression that they are some sort of warm and loving people. Papa. Please." He sniffed and balanced Penny on his hip.

She looked to Mycroft with a determined gaze and pointed a chubby finger to Sherlock. "Dada." She said, waiting for her reward of excited exclamations and kisses. Mycroft looked stunned. "Dada." She insisted and finally her uncle grinned and kissed her head.

"Well, well. Aren't you a genius? I'm not surprised, really, but I was hoping her first word would be Mycroft. Or Uncle." He sighed dramatically, waving a hand in front of his face. "Are we ready, then?" He turned to face John, who had just walked into the room.

"Oh I suppose." Sherlock sighed, and they walked one by one down the stairs and to the fireplace, where John lifted the skull on the mantelpiece to reveal a small bag of floo powder. Mycroft went first, throwing the powder into the fireplace and calling out "Holmes Manor" before disappearing in a flash of green flames. John went next, and then finally Sherlock with Penny in his arms. He stepped out of the marble fireplace at his parent's estate, brushing the dust out of Penny's hair as she giggled. She preferred floo powder to apparating by a large margin. John turned to his husband, clearing the dust off of his narrow shoulders and adjusting his tie, giving him a meaningful look that clearly said for him to behave.

Marissa Holmes made her appearance there, reaching up on tiptoes to kiss Mycroft's cheek. She was smartly dressed in a pale blue business suit that made her gray, catlike eyes shine under her classes. Her pale blonde hair was, as usual, pulled into a bun. She greeted John with a small smile and went to Sherlock, placing a small hand against his angular face. "Hello dear. Thank you so much for letting us do this. Your father was so adamant that you would deny us." Sherlock snorted, shifting Penny in his long arms. The little girl looked up shyly to her grandmother, who smiled at her. "Happy birthday, darling. Are you ready for your party?" Penny gargled something incoherent at her and Sherlock set her on the ground. "Wolfgang! They're here!" Marissa turned and hurried out of the room, heels clicking against the tile. John scooped up Penny and followed her and Mycroft out of the room, Sherlock sighing and trailing after a moment.

After a few moments of exchanged pleasantries with Sherlock's parents, during which Wolfgang appraised Penny with a hard gaze and she glared back at his cold black eyes stubbornly, they went to the overly large dining room and sat around the table, where a maid brought in a ridiculous amount of food. Sherlock sat Penny between himself and John, tearing up her food into small pieces so she could eat it without much trouble, but John kept a wary eye on her.

"So, boys…how is she doing? Developing normally?" Marissa said after a long silence.

John and Sherlock glanced at each other, "Yes she's doing great, really." John swallowed and smiled, "Just said her first word this morning. 'Dada'. Surprised the hell out of us."

"Her first word? She's a year old and not speaking yet?" Wolfgang snorted and Mycroft made a start to defend Penny, but the man held up his hand to silence his oldest son. "When you boys were her age you were speaking full sentences. You're quite sure she doesn't have any sort of developmental problems, doctor?" he turned a judgmental eye to John, who was flushing.

"Wolfgang!" Marissa chastised her husband, smacking his arm. He didn't even flinch.

"Well, she's a Holmes isn't she? Gonna have to start living up to the name."

"Well, actually—" John was cut off as both Sherlock and Mycroft kicked him under the table directly in his bad leg. He yelled out and quickly coughed to cover the sound, realizing his mistake.

Wolfgang looked to his youngest son, "Actually what." His voice was like ice, and Sherlock raised his head a fraction, defiant.

"Her last name is Watson. Not Holmes." He met his father's wolflike gaze head on, placing a long fingered hand on Penny's back.

A red flush was creeping up Wolfgang's pale throat and onto his face, "Why would you do something like that? Are you insistent that this family name will die out?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as if to say "so what if I am?" and Wolfgang slammed his fist against the wooden table. Sherlock didn't so much as flinch, though the others did. He could feel Penny's green eyes on him protectively, and he knew he couldn't back down on this one. "We did it to honor John's father. And Watson is a perfectly respectable name. In case you didn't realize, John is the only son in his family, and if you want more Holmes in the world why don't you pester your favorite on this?" He gestured to Mycroft, who shifted uncomfortably. His father didn't look away from him.

"This family has been in prominent in the pure-blooded community for generations! I was accepting when you told me you were marrying a man but this! You didn't even consult me on this!"

"Consult you? Oh that's rich, as if it was any of your business! You never gave a damn about me or what I did so why care all of a sudden? Don't think I missed the way you mentioned our blood status, the way you keep appraising my daughter as if she were some sort of freak! She is muggle born, father, I'm so sorry that is so inconvenient for you and your title in this damn country! If I didn't know better I'd say you were just like those filthy death eaters, just like the monsters who murdered her family. Blood status, you make me sick."

"Don't you dare use that tone of voice with me! You dare suggest I would side with those foolish, horrid death eaters? Sometimes I wonder, Sherlock, how you are even my son! Do you really think so low of your father? The man who raised you?" He was standing, his deep voice echoing through the room, and Marissa had a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

Penny reached up toward Sherlock, who was also standing, hands balled into fists at his side, and John stopped her, pulling her into his lap. Her emerald eyes were wide and frightened. "Dadada…" she whimpered, but Sherlock couldn't look at her, couldn't control the rage inside of him. She turned her gaze to her grandfather, eyes narrowing in a facial expression that was so similar to John's look of anger that it was uncanny. Suddenly she wailed loudly, not as a cry but more of an angry noise, and the flames of the candles shot up three feet in the air. Mycroft, whose eyebrows were nearly seared off, jumped back in surprise, and the whole table was silent, looking at the little girl as she displayed her first bout of magic. This melted Sherlock, who grinned at her, scooping her into his arms. "That's my girl." He whispered to her, and held her close. "Let's go, John." He patted his mother's shoulder and strode from the room, John and Mycroft following right behind them.

"Don't say it." John said as soon as they arrived back in the flat. Sherlock glanced at him in confusion. "Don't say 'I told you so'" he added tiredly, collapsing onto the couch.

"I wasn't going to. None of us would have imagined father to be quite that much of an arse. And anyway, without that spectacularly instructive argument we wouldn't have seen Penny's talent. So I'd consider the dinner a basic success." Sherlock shrugged, moving to set Penny on the floor, but she clung to him. Sighing, he say opposite John with her in his lap.

Mycroft frowned at his brother, "You knew she was a witch since the day we found her, though."

"Well yes, it was obvious by the way she conducted herself, but now she's gone and proven herself. It's a pity we have to wait ten years before she'll be at Hogwarts. She'll be an exceptional witch, of course." He sniffed, glancing at John, who merely rolled his eyes at Sherlock, smiling tiredly.

"Which reminds me," Mycroft said suddenly, pulling out a plain muggle wallet. He reached his hand inside of it, and dug about until his entire arm was in the pouch – expendable charm. He finally pulled out a long parcel and handed it to Sherlock and Penny. It was tied with a blue ribbon. "Happy birthday, Penny dear. I hope you can do it justice." Sherlock helped his daughter open the box; inside was a broomstick that was shrunken for a toddler's use. Penny's eyes were wide as she appraised the gleaming handle, but Sherlock frowned. He hated flying and was rather hoping Penny would pick up on the trait so as to not injure herself.

"Brilliant!" John cried, going to them and lifting the broomstick out of the box. It hovered less than a foot from the ground. He took Penny, ignoring Sherlock's reprimands, and set her lightly on the handle. She wobbled a little, and John held her steady as she floated across the room, laughing manically. Soon she was able to zip around on her own, nearly taking out Sherlock as he attempted to cross into the kitchen. A year old and Penny was already a talented flyer. It was certainly a birthday to remember.

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