Disclaimer: I don't own "Sherlock Holmes" or any of its characters. That all belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Guy Ritchie, etc.
Inspired by: "Don't Get Me Wrong" by The Pretenders.
September 25th, 1894
The naming of the twins was something the Holmes' were not entirely prepared for. Certainly they had ideas of names for the children, but they had not fully committed to anything. Lists were pinned to the wall of what they didn't want (John noted, with amusement, that Irene was the first name scratched off the girls' list), with a few circled, but nothing really stuck.
Thankfully, it didn't take long for Madeline and Sherlock to figure out the labels they would put on their offspring.
"Who is this dashing young lad?" Watson asked when he came to check up on the mother the day after the birth. Madeline was doing well, for the most part, other than being weak and exhausted. Content with her vitals, he went over to check on the boy first. The child's eyes retained the dark color of birth, and watched the doctor's face intently while he was being scrutinized.
"You, my friend, are holding Anthony Pascal Holmes," Sherlock announced from his seat in the corner. He was perusing the newspaper, while at the same time watching his comrade inspect the baby.
John raised an eyebrow. "Pascal?"
Holmes shrugged. "My grandmother's maiden name. I rather liked it for a first name, but Madeline utterly refused. Went on about the Holmes clan and our 'strange affinity for nonsense names'. Makes one wonder how she would've felt about Sherringford."
"I'm sure your brother could tell you all about that one," Watson rejoined, setting little Anthony back in his cradle. "And what about the girl?"
Sherlock's smirk slid right off his face, and he went very still. His gaze were riveted to a spot above the now-barren mantel, as he could see a ghostly image there.
"Isabel. Isabel Alice."
The good doctor blinked in surprise. "Your mother's name?"
"The first one, at least. Madeline…actually suggested it. My father concurred. Strange that he should do so, considering he has not cared one whit about anything to do with Mum since the divorce," Holmes murmured with aplomb. He seemed completely nonchalant about the naming of his daughter, but John could see how deeply it affected his compatriot. "Perhaps it's nostalgia."
"Perhaps it is…for all of you," Watson suggested, surveying the baby closely. She, in turn, had Sherlock's brooding look, even at a day old. Snickering, the doctor shook his head. "You can certainly tell these are your children, Holmes. They're both watching me, as if they can understand what is going on and gathering data."
The detective smiled at that. "I'd have to call their paternity into question if they did not do so."
Madeline groaned from the bed, "Trust me, they are yours, Sherlock. Only your babies can arrive in the midst of a painful, hellish nightmare and behave as though nothing were awry."
John laughed outright at that, trying to still the now-fussing baby in his arms. Isabel would not be quiet, no matter what the poor doctor tried. Soon enough, he went to hand her to Madeline, but was intercepted by Holmes.
"Allow me."
"Holmes, she probably needs a feeding."
"No, no, she does not," Sherlock countered, reaching out for his girl. "I have been with these children for twenty-seven hours and have gotten to know their cries. All she wants is to be held, and not a by a stranger. And by all accounts, despite your deft catching of her on the way out, you are still a stranger."
Madeline tried to sit up, but was quickly admonished for her efforts. She had been advised to rest for the day, the sleuth reminded her, and would enforce that advice if need be. Shaking his head, John handed off little Isabel to Holmes. The child nestled quickly into her father's embrace, mouth forming a tiny "o" as she began to finally settle down. Both friend and wife looked on in fascination as Sherlock rocked Isabel gently, muttering something under his breath in a soothing manner.
"Anyone who has ever called Sherlock Holmes an unfeeling automaton should see this, and then stick their opinions elsewhere," Madeline crooned, growing teary-eyed at the adorable sight before her. Her husband pulled a grimace.
"Oh dear me, I've become a sentimentalist, haven't I?"
John snorted. "No turning back now, old boy."
Watson concluded then, and affirmed it now, on his way to the baptism of the twins, that even if Holmes completed turned his life around and dove head-first into the arena of emotion, he still would be seen as heartless and calculating. But frankly, he also thought that the world's vision of Sherlock Holmes was entirely unrealistic at this point. Especially with him being married, with two children. However, he was still Holmes in that he was obdurate and unwilling to sacrifice his morals for mere emotion.
Which is why, instead of going into the church with his wife, he was riding along with Watson and his ilk in a Landau. Victoria was settling Willy into his seat and all her attention was clasped on the child for once.
"Organized religion is a sham and I wish to have no part in it. I go merely for the sake of my family."
"How selfless of you," John remarked, cutting a glance across the seat at his companion. "You don't care for it because it's organized. Were it scattered three sheets to the wind, you'd be completely happy with the idea."
Holmes glared at him, but otherwise kept his face blank. "Of course, I believe there is something greater out there. Whether or not I choose to call Him 'God' is another matter entirely. With so much information, like the Koran and the Buddhist teaching, not to mention the Torah-"
"Which makes up the Old Testament anyway," Watson pointed out, hoping to pause the sleuth in his tirade. It did not work, though.
"Indeed, and the rest of the Bible, one should take in consideration all religious texts and come to a conclusion for oneself at the proper age. Baptism at a few days old is no guarantee of anything, and I wish that there was no pressure to conform. Not for my boy and girl, at least."
"I suppose you do recollect your marriage in an Anglican church, or is it not relevant to the conversation at this point in the juncture?" the doctor cut him off entirely. An eyebrow rising was the only reply. "Look, you agreed to this for some reason or another, and not merely out of familial obligation. You want to provide your children with a base of belief, and that's admirable in a father. It's also admirable that you also want them to eventually learn there is more out there. But there is one thing you have not taken into account."
The detective clicked his tongue. "I think not."
"You did," John said, leaning in conspiringly. "You have to keep in mind your children are only eleven days old. At this age, belief is not a major issue for them. And leaving Madeline to manage those two on her own in front of all your friends and family is not noble."
Holmes and Watson stared one another down for a few moments, before the detective flicked his eyes out the window of the carriage.
"Perhaps there is…some merit in what you say," Sherlock admitted, choosing to ignore John's triumphant grin.
"As long as you see that there may be something to it."
So, with that said, the cab halted in front of the church at the end of the conversation, the occupants descending swiftly. The waiting Mrs. Holmes was standing at the door, fixing her husband with a level gaze before handing him Anthony and leading the way to the font. Alastair and Mycroft, who was one of the chosen godfathers, were already at the front, with Julianne Tyler as the chosen godmother. Watson stood beside the elder Holmes men, blood brother with bond brother, everyone crossing themselves accordingly to the priest's blessings.
"I baptize you, Isabel Alice, and you, Anthony Pascal…"
Indeed, anyone looking at Sherlock Holmes at this moment could not think him an empty vessel. It appeared as though, John mused, his cup was running over with goodness.
xXxXxXx
October 3rd, 1894
Dear John,
We have not heard from you in quite awhile. Tell your friends Sherlock and Madeline congratulations on the birth of their twins. My, she's a brave woman. I thought having only Charlotte was a trial. I extend my best wishes.
Your niece Charlotte is doing well, and of course my husband Sir Robert continues his work with Parliament. Being even of the minor gentry has its perks, I must say. It helps certainly in the fact that we have secured a fine tutor from Oxford for Lotte.
In any case, I'm writing to confirm a rumor I've heard about you, dear older brother. I have heard, through some acquaintances of some of your patients that you are engaged in an illicit affair with your son's nanny. Big Brother, I would like to tell you that I, for one, will not censure you. After all, being the children of a butcher, we have no noble bearing that makes such unions improper. However, since it is your servant, one has to wonder what you intend towards her.
Knowing you, you are most likely bombarded constantly with the question. Again, I judge you not, because I myself was raised from nearly nothing to being Lady Leland. But have you offered her such security? From what I hear, she is still in your employ and that is all. I beg you, John, bear in mind the future. Or if you have, then perhaps you should make her privy to your plans as well.
Love,
Your sister Katherine
John rolled his eyes at his sister's questions. Kitty had always been the inquisitive one in the family, and the one without tact as well. How well that served her as a Lady was still in debate. However, she did provide valid points. The gossip was reaching a scandalous level; if Victoria ever showed her face at his office, even if just to bring Willy in, the women waiting to be treated made evil remarks behind her back. Once she merely walked in to deliver him a message from his lawyer, and the insults hurled at her caused them both to go red in the face with fury. For months, it had been just been the two of them in their protected grounds of Cavendish Place. He liked it that way; in the privacy of their home, he could kiss her and be with her without repercussion for his actions. But John knew he had to think about where they were headed.
At least, he had to wonder if she wanted to go in the same direction as he did. Something about the courtship reminded him of the times he had with Mary. He felt like he did when he was with her: giddy, under the heavy wraps of manliness. A fire was lit in his soul, one that he could no more deny its burning than he could the fire burning in his fireplace at that moment. Very rarely were people in his world given second chances at love, and he knew he was extremely lucky.
But if she didn't want him for life, he knew he would be broken inside permanently.
He stuffed the letter into a sheaf of papers just as the object of his affections came into his study, talking animatedly about her day with his son. William had been toddling about, then choosing to spring upon the animal for a ride and scared the bulldog under the tables in the parlor. She accompanied the reenactment with voices and wide hand gestures, entertaining her crowd of one. John didn't hear much of the story, but just saw her black eyes dance with merriment and her mouth contort joyously.
"Victoria…what are your thoughts on marriage?" Watson asked suddenly, shocking both the nanny and himself. Before he could ask for her pardon, she bit her lip and indicated that she needed a moment to process.
"I think…it's a fantastic way of showing how much two people love each other. Cleaving to one person for the rest of your life, devoting yourself to not just one person but to the future you can have with that person is beautiful," she formed the words carefully, smoothing down the skirt of her dress. Dropping her eyes, she continued, "But for me, I've never considered it a possibility. Nobody wants an actress."
Letting the silence fill the space briefly, John rose from his desk, taking measured steps towards this young woman. The only indicator of his deep nervousness was the slight shake in his hand as he gripped her hands tenderly. Waiting for her to look him in the eye, he half-grinned at the fact that she did not have to crane her neck to look at him like so many other women. He smiled, pleased that she was in no way like other women. She was something more; protective, brave, smooth, infuriating, cold and hot at the same time. She was the spring after his hard winter.
"And what if…you were to be asked, right now?" he queried, heart hammering in his chest. For the longest time, her wide eyes blinked uncontrollably, her mouth unable to form a single syllable. Sharp, cutting pain began to form in Watson's heart as she continued to be silent. As his face flushed red with incredible embarrassment, he almost didn't hear her answer.
"I'd say I'd certainly consider it," she whispered. "If it is you asking, then I would say there is a strong possibility I would go through with marriage."
They both let out a laugh, and John gathered her in his arms. He'd have to get a proper ring right away, and put her confession to the test.
Author's note: Yay, named babies! Yay religious discussion! Yay, possible engagement! I will be honest with you all; this is the second-to-last chapter of this story. I have indicated before that it would not be nearly as long as "Blood Bond", frankly because I find this story to be way more taxing and challenging than BB, and I'm not having fun writing it anymore. But I can't leave a story unfinished, and there is one more chapter to go before it is done. I will be doing my thank-yous then, but I still hope you'll stick around for the last one even though it's almost over.
Should be posting the next chapter soon…until then, please read and REVIEW this! Thanks!