It´s a Martha!

We´re slowly coming to the finale! Wanna purpose names?

It was their families' weekly trip to the lab. Sherlock towering over the microscope, John fiddling with a dead mans´ feet, baby playing with an empty petri dish.

Molly seemed kind of helpless. Seeing Sherlock like this, married, a father… it hurt.

"So you say he died after running down a staircase? How will you possibly know that?" John glanced at Sherlock.

He was in full detective-mode, not even looking up as he replied. "Of course. Don´t you see how the left side of his right foot is still a bit swollen. Also the heel of his right hand. Clearly from running for his life down a staircase and holding onto the banister. Five stores minimum. Only one building of this height in the area. Lestrade´s so slow…"

John snorted. "Yeah… right…"

Sherlock looked up. "What John?"

"You, saying Greg´s slow… The man who can´t name his own child… Sherlock, do you realize that he is four month old by tomorrow and people call him ´baby´, ´little one´, ´Holmes junior´ and ´thing´! We even have trouble with the DFCS, because you refrain from telling them a name for their registers!"

"I just want the name to be unique, like Sherlock. Not something boring like..." Sherlock was pacing.

"…like John? Come on, say it!"

"Something boring like John!"

"Oh, you dare it!" John was nearly shouting.

"What? You didn´t decide on that name."

"But I am called like that for 41 years now!"

"True, but…"

"Why don´t you call him Sherlock then?" John mocked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"… moreover… I will not decide on a name which starts with M. Reminds me too much of Mycroft."

"Oh stop being so childish! We all know that you love him!

"Ah…!"

"And he loves you too! There´s nothing wrong with that! It´s brotherly love! Come to terms with it!"

Molly thought about how to stop them, as they looked ready to shred the other into pieces.

"… ah… would you…" The shouting continued. "… ähm… maybe you… should…" She was totally ignored.

"WAHH!"

John and Sherlock stopped instantly.

Turning with horror to their child.

It was quiet again, looking accusingly at his daddies as if to say: ´Stop it, boys!`

Soon it was being cradled by four joined arms and kisses were exchanged.

It really got a hang on handling them, like Martha Hudson.

´It´s a Martha!` Molly thought, a jealous smile engraved on her face.