Uncles

"He's going to back out," predicted Holmes, lifting the sterling silver rattle from its pristine wrappings and shaking it before his nephew. "Look, he's following it with his eyes, he's reacting. Bright boy!"

"Holmes, he's just wriggling a bit. He's not yet a week old," Watson sighed, wrapping the as of yet unnamed girl back up in blankets. It was warm weather but no risks were being taken with the precious progeny. "And what do you mean he's going to back out."

"Mycroft, the elder of course, is going to back out of naming the girl, the younger. He's going to hem and haw and wonder which name the girl, the elder, will like best, and eventually he'll be too nervous about upsetting her with a terrible name and will relinquish the duties to her."

"I am hoping it does not come to that," rumbled the father from behind him, striding down the hall and requesting his daughter. "I need to… test out a few, so to speak. Just to see how they feel."

The doctor watched him leave, but his attention was quickly redirected when Holmes, pondering Sigeron's blond hair, questioned "Is there a minimum age on which you can use hair dye on a person?"