Mycroft arrived right on time, armed with the promised documents. He met Sherlock at the main entrance, and in an extraordinarily rare act of affection, hugged his brother tightly. "How is she?" he asked quietly.

"Better. Her lung was slightly punctured, but she is expected to make a full recovery."

"And the child?"

"Winston is fine. Adjusting well to having her in the hospital. He slept through the night last night; the first time he's done that."

"And how long have you known about Miss Adler?"

"Known what?"

"That she wasn't quite dead?"

"Who do you think prevented her death?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed. "Why am I surprised?"

"But Winston was a surprise. I'm not entirely sure about what happened to produce him."

They reached the room and Irene smirked when she saw Mycroft. "I suppose you nearly had a heart attack when you heard that you hadn't quite gotten rid of me yet," she hummed.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and then noticed the small child curled up next to Irene. "Winston?"

"Yes. He's quiet for once," Sherlock remarked.

Mycroft was certain that Sherlock had seen the similarities that he, Irene, and Winston shared, but wanted to make sure that there weren't going to be any nasty surprises down the line. When neither Irene nor Sherlock were watching, Mycroft swabbed Winston's mouth for testing. Even if nothing of any great importance came from the sample, it would be nice to have Winston's genetic material and information on hand in the off chance that Mycroft needed the information. With the information that he had been bombarded with in the last twenty-four hours, he needed to catch up.

Sherlock and Irene gave their statements, secure in Mycroft's arrangements and their amnesty. The Santa Fe Police Department seemed satisfied with their answers, and Irene and Sherlock were released from the security of the police. They were free to go as soon as Irene could be discharged from the hospital.

A month later, they returned to London, the first time in almost five years for Irene, the first time in about three and a half years for Sherlock. They had heard little from Mycroft during the month interim period, save for receiving confirmation for their travel plans and the assurance that they would be allowed into the country without any trouble. Since they had nowhere to stay, Mycroft graciously allowed them to stay at his home.

What he failed to mention to them was that Mycroft had taken a few liberties with the information that he knew. Mycroft had informed the infamous Mummy Holmes that her youngest son was alive and was married to a lovely woman and had a son. Madame Holmes took much delight in the prospect of a grandson, and went about bragging to all of her socialite friends about the little boy whom she'd yet to meet.

There were a few other slight details that Mycroft had failed to mention to Sherlock or Irene, but those finer details were less shocking than the boisterous welcome that Mummy Holmes gave them as soon as they stepped out of their car at Mycroft's home.

The older woman swooped in and started cooing over her grandson before even acknowledging Sherlock. "Hello Mother," Sherlock muttered as he handed Winston to his mother.

"Hello darling… oh goodness. Look at those curls!" she squealed.

Irene shot a terrified glance back at Sherlock, but remained otherwise composed. She was wearing her old uniform, a form-fitting linen ivory dress paired with a pair of shiny black stilettos. Her hair had been dyed back to its natural color and was twisted up onto the back of her head. There was no indication that she had been stabbed in the side or the back and had punctured a lung only a few weeks earlier.

Mycroft stepped out to greet them, amused by the sight that he was met with. Winston was clearly a delight to Mummy Holmes, and Sherlock and Irene were clearly surprised by how out of their element they were. Regardless, Mycroft knew that they were pleased to be back in Britain and were itching to get back to some relative normalcy. "Mr. Holmes," Irene called. "I would like to speak to you regarding my status."

"Certainly," Mycroft answered smoothly as he led her into the house.

Sherlock stood outside awkwardly waiting for his mother to stop cooing over Winston, but when it became apparent that that was just not going to happen, he gathered their luggage and walked into the house. He placed their bags in their room (their room, in the sense that seemed as though Mycroft and/or Mummy seemed to be under the impression that their marriage was consensual) and then proceeded to wander the hallways for about half an hour.

When he tired of the wandering, he walked to the sitting room and peered inside. He saw that Irene sat back against the cream-colored sofa, cradling Winston's head against her chest. His downy hair contrasted sharply with the color of the fabric of Irene's dress and Mummy Holmes' sofa. His feet, swathed in cotton booties, dug into Irene's abdomen as he snuggled against her. Sherlock thought that she almost looked maternal in this moment, as he stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb, watching the situation unfold.

Mycroft walked up behind his brother. "Miss Adler says that she seeks asylum."

"She should be put in an asylum," Sherlock muttered.

Mycroft smirked slightly. "But considering Miss Adler, for all intents and purposes, is dead, this proves difficult."

"Send her back to Santa Fe. She will be fine there," Sherlock instructed.

"And then there is the matter of the child. Genetic testing shows some interesting information."

Mycroft tapped Sherlock's shoulder with a manila folder. Sherlock took the folder from his brother's hand and unwound the string that held the file closed. From the folder, he pulled the documents out and began to pore over them. His brow furrowed when he reached a particular place on the paper. "But that's impossible. Irene swears that she cannot have children. She cannot possibly be his mother," Sherlock remarked quietly to his brother.

Mycroft shrugged slightly. "She didn't carry the child?"

"It was her assistant, Kate, whom I suspect might have also been her lover."

Mycroft hummed in reply before gesturing for Sherlock to continue through the paperwork. "But that's hardly the most interesting part."

Sherlock paused as he glanced back up at his brother. Hesitantly, he looked back down at the document and turned the page. He let out a loud cough as he learned that Irene's statement regarding Winston's appearance, how Kate had chosen a donor that shared physical characteristics with Irene, had been absolutely true. "How in the world…" Sherlock murmured. "No."

Mycroft watched his brother intently. "You didn't know about this? I thought you two had somehow made an arrangement."

Sherlock gaped at his brother. "You honestly think I would have arranged for this to have happened? You honestly think I would have allowed for my genetic material to be passed along to another human being?"

"Not necessarily, but then again, I didn't think you would ever marry, and look how wrong I was in that assumption."

Mycroft smirked at the scowl his brother gave him. "What are you insinuating, Mycroft? What is it that you need me to do?"

"That child, by this documentation, is your flesh and blood. Since Miss Adler is your wife and his both his biological and legal mother, you have an obligation to this child."

"No, I don't. I did not enter into either of these situations willingly, and I can prove that this is the case in both situations."

"Sherlock, he's your son!" Mycroft hissed. "Don't you understand that? That child, that very small boy over there, is your child, which means that he is my nephew. And despite my feelings towards Miss Adler, I have every intention of taking care of my kin. If you choose to abandon them, I will take up the slack, and I can assure you, you would much rather I didn't."

"I am married to a woman whom I have no recollection of marrying, and I apparently have a son whom I had no part in creating. Please explain to me why I should… care!" Sherlock hissed. "Besides, isn't caring a disadvantage?"

Mycroft sighed. He knew that the conversation that he and his younger brother had had a few years previous would eventually come back to cause him problems. It was imperative that Mycroft handle this matter with his brother in the most delicate of manners. "Sherlock, look at your life. You have no one and nothing beyond these walls. You have Mummy, Winston, Irene, and me. You do not have Dr. Watson, you do not have a real home, and you do not have your life. You are still at liberty of one of the most extensive crime webs in history, despite the fact that you have successfully taken it down—congratulations on that, by the way. But my point is: you have nothing except for what is right here. And you cannot see that."

"Since when did you become the manager of my life?"

"When you became incapable of seeing what you have in it."

"And what do you mean, I don't have John?"

"John has gotten married and has moved out of London. He and his wife have a child on the way. I sincerely doubt that John will be joining you on your future escapades."

"What about Mrs. Hudson? What about Molly Hooper? What about Lestrade?"

"Dr. Hooper has married and also has a child on the way."

"Mrs. Hudson?"

"She is still at 221 Baker Street. Not as healthy as she was when you fell, I'm afraid to report, but she is doing fine."

"Lestrade?"

"Still at Scotland Yard."

Sherlock looked back into the room and saw Winston grabbing at Irene's face. Irene was blissfully unaware that Sherlock was very upset with the situation and wanted her as far away from him as humanly possible. "Mummy is aware of Winston's paternity?"

"She was the one who drew my attention to the uncanny resemblance. A photo of Winston could easily be mistaken of one of your own."

"Which means that she certainly knows about Irene."

"Of course she knows that you are married."

"Excellent," Sherlock sighed as he drew his hand through his hair and braced his other hand on his hip.

"You know, if the pretenses for the relationship with Irene were not as tenuous and compromising as they are, she would make a fine wife. And without a doubt, Winston will be able to get into the best schools in the country. Doctor or a lawyer, most definitely. He could be quite useful."

"You are not using Winston as a pawn in your little games," Sherlock snapped. "He is not a plaything for you. I don't understand why you or Irene can't comprehend that thought. You two seem to think that he is something that can be manipulated without consequence. He is a child, not a resource."

"You do care about him."

"Not enough to raise him."

"Or enough to know that you shouldn't raise him," Mycroft pointed out.

"I am not father material. Everyone knows that."

"In my experience, things happen for a reason, and that reason may not be immediately obvious, but once you see and understand that reason, things make sense."

"Are we going to completely gloss over the fact that somehow, my genetic material was obtained from me without my knowledge or consent and was used to create another human being?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"I will have someone look into the matter," Mycroft assured him.

Mycroft provided Sherlock with the various documents pertaining to Winston and left Sherlock to his own accord. There was only one thing left to do: confront Irene. She had left the sitting room and had retreated to the bedroom for Winston's nap.