Chapter 10:

Grandparents

"That's stupid!"

"I don't think it's stupid -"

"It's the stupidest thing I've ever heard of," Benedict cut his twin brother off. "Come on Rich!"

Richard frowned. And that was something he did quite a lot every time his grandchildren, especially Sherlock's children - especially the twins - visited.

How come they started calling him by his first name? Richard remembered his own grandfather - Rupert Holmes, a tall white haired man, whose green eyes could look deep into you and who also owned the most severe expression you could find. Had he called his grandfather by his first name, he was sure he would have been slapped.

Children were so different. But times changes, he supposed.

"I would have never dared to call my grandfather by his first name," Richard said as he sipped tea from one of his most expensive, oldest and favourite tea cups. "Do you call your other grandfather by his name?"

Benedict rolled his eyes. "Of course. Greg's cooler than you."

Why was that? "Oh, is he?"

"Yeah, he plays football with us. And take us to the Yard and he even let us see a real jail!" Benedict said. "And handcuffs."

David nodded. "But Grandpa Greg doesn't have an old house like yours."

Old house? His house was not old - it was classic, Victorian. In that same house several generations of Holmes have grown up within its walls. The house was not old.

And Greg was 'cooler' than him just because he was younger.

"Here you go," Elizabeth appeared and placed two big chocolate milkshakes for the twins and a tray with pastries, cookies and cakes of all the sort for them. "Are you enjoying yourselves?"

Benedict merely nodded, already munching on half a big slice of chocolate cake.

"Daddy's old room is so boring," David pointed out. "There are no toys. Just books."

"And we can't play football because Rich here is a stick in the mud," Benedict mumbled still with food in his mouth.

Richard wouldn't play football not because he was a 'stick in the mud' as the children said, but because he couldn't and because he had to use a walking stick.

Elizabeth wanted to laugh. "It is not polite to speak when you are eating," Benedict rolled his eyes. "And you are not allowed to call us by our first names."

"Why?"

"It is disrespectful. Do you call your other grandparents by their names?"

"We call Grandpa Greg 'Greg' sometimes," David said with a shrug.

Benedict nodded. "And we call his wife 'Auntie Annie' because she says she's too young to be called 'Grandma'."

The truth is that Greg got married to a woman who was as young as Jane was. Anna, or 'Annie' as she insisted to be called, was indeed as young as Jane was and she was very sweet and nice. According to Sherlock she was not leaving Lestrade as all his previous girlfriends did and she was willing to give him the children he wanted. Annie got along with everyone in the family, even with Jane, who Greg loved as if she were is real daughter.

"And does Annie prepare you chocolate milkshake and all these sweet things for you?"

Both shook their heads.

No.

"She buys cake and takeaway because she can't cook," David said. "Once she tried but she almost burnt Grandpa Greg's kitchen."

"And does your Grandpa Greg have horses, a big garden and take you abroad on holiday like me?" Richard asked playfully.

Both shook their heads again.

No.

Grandparents, The Holmes', were so different from the other grandparents, The Lestrade's. Grandpa and Grandma Holmes liked to sit, to have tea, to chat about old things, old furniture, old people they didn't know who they were, and so on. For the twins it was funnier to stay at Grandpa Greg and Auntie Annie's because they could drink chocolate milkshake wherever they feel like, in the garden, in the room Greg had always prepared in case one of the children would want to stay at his place. Auntie Annie liked to talk about action films, about music bands, about Doctor Who and so on.

Grandpa Richard liked to drink special tea, play chess and read very, but very fat books. Grandpa Greg liked to drink coffee, and well, he was drinking coffee most of the day. He liked to watch and play football with them, and he was always carrying a gun, a pair of handcuffs (that they had already pick-pocketed from him a couple of times) and he and Auntie Annie liked to buy takeaway rather than having boring food like the one the maids at their other Grandparents' prepared.

Given the chance to choose, both David and Benedict would always prefer to stay at Greg's.

But that didn't mean they loved Richard and Elizabeth less.

On the contrary.

David smiled. "Well, you're cleverer than Grandpa Greg. You know all about everything!"

"Yeah," Benedict agreed. "You're cool, actually."

Both grandparents smiled fondly to their twin grandchildren.

Both remembered the day they were born. It rained as if the sky was about to fall over their heads. Sherlock called very early in the morning and told them Jane was in hospital and that the rest of the children were with their Uncle Mycroft. As soon as they got to the hospital, Jane was already swearing and telling the nurses and doctors to please give her some medications and to have a c-section because she knew she would never be strong enough bring two babies to this world on her own.

They waited expectantly for a long time until their Sherlock appeared carrying two identical babies. One was insanely big and cried far too much - Benedict. The other was smaller and was very calm and barely cried - that was David. Elizabeth remembered holding David in her arms when the little baby curled his very little fingers around hers. Richard remembered holding little Benedict in his arms and saying how he reminded him of Mycroft when he was born.

Then, the years passed and the twins grew up so fast that every time one of them swore (always Benedict) or when one of them asked difficult questions about life (always David) it was hard for Elizabeth or Richard to remember the day they were born and the day they were so little they could hold them in their arms.

"Grandpa Richard, play chess with me," Benedict said, holding an old board that used to be Sherlock's.

The old man smiled. He slowly made his way to the sofa where his grandchildren was sitting on and with big efforts managed to sit next to him. "'Grandpa', uh?" Richard asked, placing his walking stick next to him.

"Do your knees hurt?" David asked from his place, sitting opposite them and next to his Grandma.

"Yes. Sometimes."

"Is it because you're old?"

Yes.

Richard merely nodded and let out a very tired sigh.

Elizabeth caressed David's dark mop of curls. "Do you want to help me with my roses?"

"Yes!"

"And who's this one?"

Richard smiled. "My father. Sherrinford Holmes."

"They all had weird names, didn't they?"

"I named your father 'Sherlock' after my father," Richard explained. "And Elizabeth named Mycroft after hers."

"Grandma's father's name was 'Mycroft'?"

"No, 'Marcus'."

What? "'Marcus'?"

Richard smiled. "We wanted our children to have different names so we changed it a bit to 'Mycroft'."

Hamish, a seventeen year old boy now, returned to the old pictures he had found on photo albums at his grandparents' house. He wanted to know more about his family, about his grandparents, his father and his Uncle Mycroft's childhood and where do the Holmes came from.

"It's all weird."

"What is it?"

The teenager shrugged. "To feel related to you, to all the Holmes' when I'm not even Dad's son."

That was unexpected.

It was a sunny Sunday. They had all come to visit, and by all, it means Mycroft and his wife and their son Tim, Sherlock and his wife Jane and all their children and soon the house was filled with more than ten people and the maids were working non stop preparing food and cleaning the rooms. The children had a thing for sleeping, especially Sherlock's children, who apparently had been raised in a way in which after lunch they all liked to have a nap, but just the little ones. So beds had to be prepared, old toys had to be looked for in boxes and pastries, sweets and cakes had to be baked for all their grandchildren.

They all had lunch outside in the garden and Mycroft, Anthea, Jane and Sherlock and Elizabeth were drinking tea in the sitting room while all the children were in the garden playing football when Hamish, the eldest grandchild joined him in his room. Richard was getting old and he had to rest his legs. His knees were giving up and he had to walk using a stick.

"You are his son, independently of what DNA tests say," Richard said softly.

Hamish nodded.

Not an understanding nod.

A tiredly nod.

"I know you and Grandma didn't want me when I was born."

"Who told you that?"

"No one," Hamish said, not looking at Richard, but focused on the pictures on a very little Sherlock and a teenager Mycroft Holmes. "It's not difficult to deduce, you know. Mum struggled to pay the rent and buy food until Dad appeared... and you own half of this country," Hamish looked into Richard tired, old blue eyes. "And I didn't met you until I was three, when you knew Mum was expecting Lock, who's Dad's biological son."

"Hamish -"

"It's OK, you know," the teenager said, cutting his grandfather off. "I know all about it... about Dad lying to you saying I was his from the beginning... It's..." Hamish bit his lip and curled his lips upwards, but just slightly. "Why would you have wanted me then? I was Mum's baby, not Dad's."

And they thought Jane had got pregnant of their son because of his money.

The day Mycroft appeared and told them he had to take Sherlock to the States because he was a junkie and needed to get into rehab, they blamed Jane Watson. Elizabeth and Richard blamed Jane Watson saying her background and she herself was not good enough for their son. But when Mycroft told them what Sherlock did, that he hit Jane, pushed her down the stairs and almost killed her and the baby she had inside - they couldn't believe it.

And then, when Mycroft told them the baby Jane Watson had just given birth was not Sherlock's biological son, they called her a 'prostitute'. Mycroft explained Sherlock had always known and that he had married her to save her and her children, because Suzanne Watson would have made her have an abortion.

Richard remembered telling Mycroft not to give Jane Watson and that child, that bastard, any money because they were nothing.

"We blamed your mother," Richard confessed. "We thought..."

He was at a loss for words.

Hamish patted his back softly and smiled. "It's OK, Grandpa."

"We should have helped you." Richard's trembling hand reached out for his grandchild's. "We should have known what was happening between your mother and Sherlock."

"It's OK," Hamish repeated and helped his grandfather to his feet. "Grandma will be angry if we don't appear for tea."

Taking his eldest grandchild hand, Richard walked downstairs where he found his wife, his two sons, their wives and their other five grandchildren waiting for them.

"She's Sophia, our daughter," Sherlock said as he took the baby off her pushchair and placed her on his lap. "We adopted her."

Sophia was the prettiest baby girl they had ever seen.

"We have a granddaughter!"

Richard smiled and caressed the baby's soft hair. "Hello there."

Sophie buried her face into Sherlock's chest.

Shy.

"Sophia, say 'hello'," Sherlock murmured softly. "Little princesses are polite."

Both Elizabeth and Richard look each other and smiled.

The eighteen months old baby girl looked at her grandparents and waved her little hand shyly. "'lo."

Sophia was wearing a pink dress and matching shoes. Her brown hair, slightly curly, was combed into a ponytail and she was holding an old teddy bear.

The same teddy bear that had been Hamish's, then Lock's... and now was Sophie's.

"What a beautiful baby," Elizabeth said. "She's got Jane's eyes."

Richard nodded in agreement.

Both had seen that little baby girl growing into a child. Sophie had always been a 'Princess' as her Daddy Sherlock always called her. She was a nice, lovely, always cheerful girl very fond of pink, of horses, costumes and films.

"This is beautiful!"

"Isn't it?" Elizabeth said as she leaned close to her granddaughter. "It was given to me by Richard's mother the day of our wedding. She had worn it the day of her wedding. This necklace has been in the Holmes' family for generations."

Sophia admired the lovely, expensive and important necklace with wide eyes. "And did you give it to Mummy too?"

"Yes," Elizabeth smiled. "I gave it to her when she married your father."

"And how come you have it?" Sophia asked. "Shouldn't Mummy have it?"

"Yes, of course. But she give it back to me when Sherlock -"

No.

Sophie should never know that. She didn't need to know that Jane had given that necklace back to her when Sherlock had already been 'dead' for a year and when Jane was already dating another man - a man who turned out to be Sebastian Moran.

"Yes?"

Elizabeth smiled. "She gave it back to me for safekeeping."

"I want to wear it!"

"You will the day you get married."

"Then I never will," Sophie groaned.

"Why you say that, darling?"

"Because Daddy will never let me get married," the ten year old girl explained. "He said I must have his permission."

Elizabeth laughed. "Of course you will have his permission."

"No, I won't. Daddy said there will be no man good enough for me."

Oh, Sherlock.

"I am sure there is," Elizabeth smiled. "And when he appears, your father will give you his permission and his blessing."

"You think?"

"Of course."

"Grandma?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Promise me you'll help Mummy."

"Help her?"

Sophie nodded. "Mummy says the day of my wedding Daddy will surely do something a lot not good. So she promised me she'll keep Daddy locked in a room until I said 'Yes, I do.'" The girl laughed.

Elizabeth placed the necklace over her granddaughter's neck and smiled to the mirror. "Don't worry, Sophia. I will make myself sure your father behaves during your wedding."

But Sherlock never behaved.

Tim frowned and then smiled when he realised he could beat his grandfather.

"Checkmate!"

The boy beat him again.

"You are rather good at chess."

Tim smiled proudly. "Daddy taught me."

"He was taught by the best."

Tim sipped more of his chocolate milkshake and looked at his grandfather drinking tea with some pills. "Who taught him?"

"I did."

"How was Dad?"

"When he was a kid like you?"

Tim nodded.

Richard smiled at the memory of his first son learning how to play chess at the age of seven when Sherlock was merely a baby.

"Checkmate!"

"That was impressive, Mycroft. Well done."

The seven year old boy smiled. "Was it?"

"Yes," Richard pressed a kiss to his straight reddish hair. "I'm proud of you, Mycroft."

"Father, I want to be a king when I grow up."

"A king?"

"Yes. I want to be 'The King of the World Mycroft Holmes'."

Richard smiled. "But to be a King you have to marry a Queen to belong to Royalty -"

"I don't want to be a Royal," Mycroft cut her father off. "I want to dominate the world."

"Dominate the world?"

"Yes."

Mycroft was not the king of the world, but he certainly dominated quite a part of it.

"Mycroft was... he was a very good boy. He liked the chocolate pastries Elizabeth bakes. He was never fond of physical exercise and -"

"How come? Dad says he can't live without going for a run every morning."

Things changed. "He changed, I suppose."

"What else?"

"We... we didn't share much. We sent Mycroft to a boarding school and we only saw him during holidays and some weekends," Richard explained. "He liked Politics and Sociology..." Richard ran a hand over his face. "It's getting difficult for me to remember some things."

"It's OK," Tim said reassuringly. "It's time you had your nap, Grandpa."

Richard laughed softly. "I should be the one taking you to bed."

The thirteen year old boy smiled and helped his grandfather to get to bed and to drink some tea.

He was old. He was forgetting things. Richard could hardy walk and the stick he was using would soon be useless.

Richard, as well as Elizabeth, both knew they were going to die soon.

But at least they had got to see their two children growing up, getting married and having lots of children.

They had been given lots of grandchildren and lots of years of happiness.

Lots.

"When I wake up I will tell you more about your father."

Tim nodded. "Get some rest, Grandpa."

"I love you, Tim."

"I love you too, Grandpa Rich."

"I'm so bored."

"Why don't you go and play with your brothers and your cousin?" Richard suggested.

Lock twisted his mouth. "They are playing a boring game."

"Do you want to have tea with us?" Elizabeth asked.

"Coffee. Black. Two sugars."

"And then she dropped her cup. You should have seen the look in your father's face when he told us Jane was pregnant."

Lock smiled slightly.

"You look a lot like him. He was your age when he stepped into this same room and told us he was having a baby," Elizabeth said softly. "My baby was having his own baby."

Lock had heard that story once, maybe twice. The young seventeen years old Sherlock Holmes told his parents he had a girlfriend and that she was pregnant. Lock laughed every time he imagined that scene, his father, a mere teenager, still a child, not an adult yet - it was funny.

"We hope you never do that to your parents," Richard added.

They didn't know.

"Men can't get pregnant."

"Of course they cannot," Richard said, sipping more tea. "But -"

Silence.

Both Elizabeth and Richard went silent when realisation hit them.

"His name's Mark," Lock said out of the blue. "I thought Dad told you."

Silence.

He didn't then. "Mark is my boyfriend."

An afternoon like this one, twenty years ago, his son Sherlock was telling them he had a girlfriend, that she was pregnant, that they wanted to get married and move to London.

And twenty years later their grandchild, Sherlock's son, Sherlock, was telling them he had a boyfriend, and that his name was Mark, and that he was lovely and that he wanted to meet them.

At least, Lock, like Sherlock, wasn't telling them he was getting married, or having a baby.

"Your silence is quite amusing given the fact you are not homophobic," Lock said, drinking his coffee and enjoying, inwardly, the look on his grandparents' faces. It was funny.

The first one speaking was Elizabeth.

"My God, when are you bringing him?"

What? Lock frowned. "What?"

"I've got a dinner to prepare."

"What? - No way! Why would you prepare a dinner?"

Richard and Elizabeth looked at Lock as if what he had asked had an obvious answer.

"When Hamish introduced us to the lovely Janine we prepared a special dinner with the family -"

"No way!" Lock said. "I'm not -"

"But it will be lovely!"

Richard nodded. "Have you already introduced Mark to your parents?"

"Are you nuts? Of course not!" Lock wanted to laugh. "I'm not bringing Mark."

"Why not?"

Lock shook his head. "I... do you really think I could introduce my boyfriend to my parents? Especially to Dad? I'm sure he would subdue Mark into an excruciating interrogatory."

"That is exactly why I'm suggesting we prepare a nice dinner," Elizabeth said sitting next to his grandchild. "Mark will enjoy it, I'm sure."

Lock rolled his eyes. "I'll think about it. Thank you."

"For what?" Richard asked.

"For understanding. Old people like you... sorry, but people your age," Lock corrected himself. "Thinks of homosexuality as a disease."

"We will always love you, Sherlock," Elizabeth said. "Always."

Richard nodded in agreement. "Now tell us, what's Mark like?"

Lock smiled. A deep pink shadow already tainting his cheeks.