"If you want to see the children, it will be in my terms."

"Why, mummy?"

Jane hugged her eldest son tightly against her chest. "He's your daddy, Hamish."

"But he left! He left me alone! He's a liar!"

"He's not a liar, Hamish. I've already told you he didn't lie... he had to do it. And I know it hurts you," Jane said softly. "But he's your daddy and he needs to see you," Hamish said nothing. "And you need to see him too. You're his son."

Jane realised she couldn't do it. She knew she couldn't tell her children Sherlock had lied, that he faked his own death to keep them alive. Jane didn't know how to tell Hamish Sherlock was back, but somehow she managed.

Now she was in her room, curled up on bed, crying without knowing what to do. She had just told Hamish his daddy was not dead but alive and Hamish's reaction broke her heart. She told him there was a bag guy who wanted to hurt them, so Sherlock had to fake his own death to keep them safe, but Hamish only rejected her touch and moved further away from her and shouted she was a liar. Hamish was so angry. The six year old boy shouted Jane was a liar, that his daddy had been a liar and that he didn't love them any more.

It had been only one day since she'd seen Sherlock again after three long years and she decided to let the detective see his children. That's why she talked to Hamish and tried to tell him, by all means, that his daddy was not dead. But she didn't expect the boy's reactions. Jane knew Hamish was angry, somehow hurt, but she thought Hamish would be happy to know his daddy was back. However, Hamish didn't want to see Sherlock.

When Jane told Matthew Sherlock was alive and all the things she knew, she cried for long minutes in his arms. He only kissed her tears and told her everything was going to be all right, that he was going to do everything within his power, and beyond, to help her and the children to go through this. Matthew never asked her if her feelings had changed now that Sherlock was back. When they met, Jane was still mourning, sad, heartbroken after her husband's death. But some time later she fell in love with him and now both were building a life, a family together. Without being asked, Jane had kissed Matthew and told him she loved him. Jane asked Matthew to help her and to love her because she needed him more than anything else in the world.

While Jane cried in their room, Matthew sat between the boys and hugged them tightly. Hamish cried for minutes. He went breathless for a moment and Matthew had to give him some medicines so Hamish would sleep and stay calm.

"Mish?"

Matthew was feeding Locky when the two year old spoke for the first time in hours after he and Hamish had been told their daddy was not dead but alive.

"He's a bit tired."

"Mummy?"

"Mummy needed to sleep. So do you, poppet," Matthew smiled and took Locky in his arms. "Time to go to bed!"

Locky rested his head on the doctor's shoulder. "Daddy, want story pwease."

Matthew put Locky to bed and sat next to him. He read him a story about a wooden puppet whose nose became longer every time he said a lie.

The doctor kissed Locky's forehead and covered him with a duvet. "Goodnight, Locky. I love you."

"Love daddy."

Matthew hesitated for a moment. "I'm not your daddy. I know you're very little to understand," he whispered. "But I'm not your daddy."

Locky started crying. He had never liked to get a no as an answer. Matthew knew they should have enforced more limits and that they shouldn't have spoiled Locky like they have been doing so far. It took them a while until Locky finally accepted sleeping in a bed and not in a cot any more. The same happened with the high chair and the pushchair. Now it was very hard for him and Jane to get Locky to stop using his baby bottle and use a proper cup. Just like Jane had once told him, Matthew knew Locky was a little boy who didn't want to grow up. And he was a very special boy too. Locky was a very quiet, sometimes lonely child and if it had been difficult to raise him so far, the doctor didn't know what was going to happen now that his real father was back.

"Don't call me 'daddy," Matthew said softly, whilst cuddling the two year old boy.

Locky let out some silent tears and snuggled against the doctor's chest.

"I know it's difficult for you to understand. But I'm not your daddy, Locky. I'm sorry. I wish I were. I would've never left you," Matthew put Locky to bed again. "I will never leave you."

It broke Matthew's heart to see Locky's sad eyes looking straight into his, as if asking why he wasn't allowed to call him 'daddy'. But it didn't matter how much it hurt the doctor, he knew the boys had a father and he was alive. It didn't matter how much he loved them or how much they loved him, they couldn't call him 'daddy'. And Matthew couldn't call them 'my children'.

Mycroft was the one who told his parents Sherlock, their son, was indeed alive and not dead. Mycroft decided to do it himself instead of letting Sherlock walk into their house without a previous warning. The politician knew their parents were more likely to die of a heart attack at the sight of their youngest son, whom they believed had been dead for the past three years, coming back to them.

Elizabeth cried and cried. Richard said nothing.

Both of them were angry. And then the five stages of Kübler-Ross model happened during one hour and several cups of tea. They denied, rejected the idea Sherlock was alive. They said it was impossible and that Mycroft had probably fallen off the bed and hit his head to say such thing. Then, the typical anger. Mycroft was asked several questions and he also got told off too. Elizabeth was the angriest of the two of them. She had always been the closest to Sherlock of the whole family and losing him had been hard.

The bargaining and the depression happened one within the other.

The acceptance came almost immediately. They wanted to see Sherlock, check if he was okay, tell him how much they had missed him and Mycroft couldn't even escape from the question.

"Has Sherlock seen the kids?" Elizabeth asked optimistically. "Has he seen Locky?"

"Jane doesn't want him near the children."

Something similar happened at 221 Baker Street once Mrs Hudson was back from her sister's.

Mrs Hudson passed out as soon as Sherlock stepped into her small living room. When she woke up, she asked Sherlock if she had died and he was greeting her and showing her what Heaven was like.

"If I had died, I would have never go to such place called 'Heaven'."

The old landlady patted his shoulder and placed a plate with warm food for him. "You're so thin! I'm going to fatten you up this winter, young man!"

The young detective told him some of his adventures around the world and all the things he had seen. He avoided most of the gory, violent scenes and days he had to endure, as the time he had been kidnapped and almost killed. But Sherlock asked most of the questions he had, about Jane, about his children, how they were when he left. How Jane managed.

"Hamish suffered, dear. He wouldn't eat, or drink his milk. He lost weight and he was very weak," Mrs Hudson said with sad eyes, remembering seeing Jane exhausted and still sad after Sherlock's death trying to get his son to eat while she was just a few days close to have her second baby. "He wouldn't sleep at night and Jane..." the landlady trailed off. "The poor thing was devastated and she felt helpless."

"She doesn't want me near them, Mrs Hudson. I need to see Hamish. And I need to tell Sherlock I'm his father."

The landlady let out a long sigh. "They need time, dear. Hamish had lived these three past years thinking his daddy had died because he was ill and because God needed a consulting detective in Heaven. His mind is... you need to take things slowly with Hamish."

Jane stared at the coffee on the table, unable for a moment to meet those grey, icy eyes on her. The coffee was just like she remembered. Speedy's hadn't changed at all. The distinctive smell of the place, of fresh baked bread, cookies, coffee and tea made the place warm, enjoyable.

But Jane couldn't enjoy being there when in front of her was Sherlock Holmes.

"Where are they?"

"At home," Jane cleared her sore throat.

"I knew you wouldn't bring them," Sherlock said, staring at her blankly, not giving any emotion away. "At least I know you've told them."

She blinked twice and sighed inwardly. "Yes, I have," Jane lanced at her phone and then at Sherlock. "Do you really think this is the best place for two little children to meet their father?"

Sherlock said nothing.

"I was thinking you can come tomorrow -"

"Too predictable," Sherlock cut Jane off. "And I'm not meeting your boyfriend."

Jane was about to shout when she remembered where she was. She felt her own blood boiling inside her. These past days she had to go through an emotional roller coaster and not only her but her children as well. Her whole family was going through an emotional roller coaster in which everything they had lived so far - their entire life turned upside down. Hamish wouldn't eat unless she or Matthew sat with him and practically forced him to eat. Hamish had nightmares and he started to wet the bed again.

Locky was still very little to understand, but they had to try very hard to make him call Matthew 'Matt' and not 'daddy' as he had been doing for almost most of his life. Jane sat with Locky and showed him all the pictures she had of Sherlock: pictures of them when they were teenagers, when they got married, pictures of those short years they had shared together and she told him he was his daddy. His and Hamish's. That he had to go away for a long time but now he was back. Jane had to tell Locky, in a suitable way for a two year old, that his daddy was that man they had seen the other day and not Matthew. That Matthew was her boyfriend and that his daddy was Sherlock.

Jane clenched her teeth. "I'm not bringing the kids here when Hamish doesn't want to see you."

And Sherlock now understood, conceived of, that the Jane sitting across him was not the Jane that he had within his memories. This Jane was new, she was talking almost offensively, angrily.

"And what have you told him?"

"I told him the truth. That you had to fake your own death because someone wanted to kill us," Jane said firmly. "I told him you never wanted to leave him. If you don't believe me, go and ask him yourself," Jane glanced again at her phone. "I would never lie to him."

They had reached a point in which neither of them was being civilized and polite. They had reached a point in which both were fighting to see who was the best parent. Sherlock was fighting to see his children. Jane was fighting to preserve, keep her children safe.

"So you want me to go to the house where you live with him to see my own children?" Sherlock asked sarcastically.

"I didn't come here to talk about my personal life. I came here to talk about Hamish and Locky," Jane said firmly. "Hamish had a mild fit when I told him you were alive," Jane paused and looked straight into Sherlock's icy eyes. "He is very fragile. Have you forgotten that?"

Sherlock's face changed. "Of course I haven't."

"If you want to see them, it will be in my terms."

The following day Sherlock was standing in front of a very nice house and trying to deduce whether he was going to see Jane's new partner. The house in front of him was big, important, and it looked a lot like the kind of house Jane had always dreamt of. It was placed in a nice part of London, not so far away from the city and in a very calm neighbourhood.

Sherlock noticed there were no car outside, so certain Doctor Morstan was not at home.

Sherlock had got some information from Mycroft. Jane's boyfriend, fiancée actually, was a Doctor, a paediatrician who worked at Bart's. He was several years older than Jane, was a widower and he had lost his family in a car crash years ago. He had had a four year old son named Oliver and a two year old girl named Josephine. The detective knew Jane and Matthew met the very same day Hamish woke up from the comma and since then he had been his and Locky's doctor.

Doctor Morstan was a man who liked the quiet life: afternoons with a hot cup of tea and scones, go to the movies, to the park, go to the gym, take Jane and his children to have dinner out every now and then. He had money and he was a very important Doctor actually. At least Sherlock knew his children had had everything. But yet it made him angry the fact his children had been raised by that man.

Sherlock rang the bell and waited. He was dying to see his children again, tell him how much he had missed them and somehow, try to bond and heal their relationship. A couple of seconds later Jane opened the door. If the expression on her face was everything to go by, Sherlock knew she was not pleased to have him there, in her house.

Jane opened the door and moved so he could get in.

"Come in."

The detective felt his heart pounding inside his chest. As soon as he was in, Sherlock's eyes focused on the living room. It wasn't that big, but it looked spacious because of the white walls and the minimal décor. The furniture was cheap, but Sherlock noticed it had been fixed and painted so it would look expensive. Immediately the detective knew the decoration was not the product of Jane's work but her partner's dead wife. There was a coffee table in the middle and two large sofas and two armchairs. There were two wide bookcases filled with medical books, a fireplace and a mantelpiece where lots of framed pictures had been placed over and a telly.

Sherlock couldn't help but focus on the pictures placed everywhere, on the walls, on the coffee table, on the mantelpiece. There were pictures of Jane and the boys, pictures of the boys in the park, pictures of Hamish with his school uniform, pictures of Locky standing on a chair and in front of him was a cake with a single candle; his first birthday. There were pictures of the boys together and that man, Jane's boyfriend. Sherlock felt his own blood boil inside him when he stared at the pictures of Jane, that man and his children. That man was was holding them tightly and he had an arm around Jane's waist. In all those pictures they looked very happy, almost like a family.

Over the coffee table were a tray with two cups of tea, a plastic mug with a superhero printed on it, two baby bottles and a plate with sponge cake.

"Tea?"

Sherlock sat in the middle of one of the sofas, across Jane and nodded. "Please."

Jane poured tea into two cups and handed Sherlock one. Their fingers brushed slightly and Sherlock couldn't help but notice how warm Jane's hands were. He tried to look at her, so their eyes could meet, but Jane looked away. There was a deep pink shadow on her cheeks when she cleared her throat and walked to the small coat placed close to her.

Sherlock realised he had dismissed, ignored the small, modest cot and the little baby girl sleeping inside.

Jane took the baby in her arms and returned to her place, across Sherlock and took the baby bottle and started feeding her baby. "They're napping. They'll wake up soon."

There was a long silence in which neither of them said a word. Sherlock observed Jane feeding that baby he wished could be his. Theirs. Sherlock noticed how much love was in Jane, how much she cared for that baby.

"When she was born?"

Jane shrugged. "We don't know the exact date. She's two months old."

"She's not yours - of course," Sherlock sipped his tea. "What's her name?"

"Sophia."

Sherlock remembered that was the name Jane had always liked for a baby girl. Sherlock remembered them being two mere teenagers when Jane told him if she was ever going to have a baby girl, she wanted to name her Sophia. When they were expecting Locky, and Jane was only a few weeks pregnant, they dreamed of having a little girl. Sherlock had always wanted to have a little girl and spoil her. He wanted to have a baby girl who would look a lot like Jane.

Once the baby had finished her bottle, Jane placed her across her chest and patted her little back softly. "The boys love her," Jane said and moved the baby again so she would lie on the crook of her arm. "Do you..." she hesitated, after seeing Sherlock's eyes on Sophie. "Do you want to hold her?"

He only nodded.

Jane left her seat and sat next to Sherlock but not so close, yet not so far away. Sherlock took off his coat and loosened his blue scarf. Once he was done, Jane leaned forward and placed baby Sophie on Sherlock's arms.

"Be careful," Jane whispered.

Sherlock, when Jane leaned down, took a deep breath and inhaled Jane's scent. He could smell her soft perfume, soap, tea and the milk she had used to fed the baby girl.

Once the baby was in his arms, Sherlock curled his lips upwards, just slightly, and caressed the baby's soft cheeks with his thumb. He couldn't help but think how alike Jane, that man who was her boyfriend and Sophia were. She just looked as if she was indeed their daughter.

It hurt.

"She's beautiful," Sherlock whispered and turned to face Jane who was sitting next to him. "She's beautiful like you."

They faces were so close, so close, just inches apart and yet so far away from each other. Jane's eyes focused on Sherlock's, on his lips, on those lips she had missed so much, on those lips she had craved for so long.

"Sherlock -"

"Mummy..." Locky said stepping into the living room and rubbing his eyes. "want milk," he said sleepily and stopped his steps as soon as he met Sherlock's figure sitting next to his mummy and holding his little sister.

Locky immediately ran to the sofa across Jane and Sherlock and hid behind it. Jane took the baby off Sherlock's arms and placed Sophie on the cot. Then, she went to Locky and Sherlock could hear their soft whispers.

"Come here, Locky."

Sherlock couldn't see his son, but he was sure he was shaking his head, not wanting to be with him. It hurt Sherlock. It hurt him to know his little son was afraid of him. It hurt Sherlock to see his son feared him.

"No mummy, pwease."

Jane pressed a soft kiss to Locky's forehead. "It's okay. I'm here. Just come here and drink your milk. I've baked a cake," she said softly. "Come here with me and your daddy."

Locky wanted his milk. And Jane had just told him she had baked a cake. Locky couldn't resist to the promise of milk and cake, but he feared that man with dark hair, sharp eyes, pale skin and the icy looks of his eyes.

Sherlock watched Locky emerging from behind the sofa and sitting next to Jane and across him. He buried his face into Jane's chest and started pulling at her shirt. "Mppphhh!"

"No," Jane said softly, eyes focused on her son. "We've talked about this, remember?" Jane handed him his bottle. "Here."

Locky shook his head. "No. You milk, mummy."

Sherlock looked at the scene before him with sad eyes. That's the moment when he realised how much he had missed. How much of Locky he had missed. His youngest son was a two year old now. He could talk, not much, but at least he could articulate a few words and make himself clear. Sherlock saw the way Locky's grey eyes, like his own, gave the boy the appearance of a sad, lonely boy.

"You're a big boy. I can't feed you -"

"Pwease," Locky whispered softly and little tears started to fall down his eyes. "pwease mummy."

Jane let Locky lay on her lap and started feeding him his bottle just like she had done with Sophie and as if Locky was a very little baby. "I can't get him to stop using his bottle," Jane said, eyes focused on her son.

Once Locky had drank all his milk, Jane caressed his curls and the toddler sat next to his mummy. His grey eyes focused on the tall man sitting across him. Sherlock smiled at him, but Locky just tried to hide himself behind Jane.

"Locky, he's your daddy."

Locky said nothing.

"Hello," Sherlock said softly. "Hello, Sherlock."

Locky said nothing.

Jane bit her lip. "Remember the pictures I've shown you, Locky?" she asked. "He's your daddy. Your and Hamish's daddy. He's daddy Sherlock."

Locky remained silent.

"Remember the stories Hamish told you? He's daddy Sherlock," Jane said softly. "He's uncle Mycroft's brother and Nan Lizzie and Grandpa Richard's son."

Locky looked up to his mummy, but he said nothing. However, Jane couldn't help but let some tears fall down her face when she looked into her son's eyes. There was a mixture of fear, sadness and confusion. And Jane didn't know what to do. She wanted Locky yo meet his daddy and she wanted them to bond. She knew they were not going to have a close relationship, now, like any father and child have. But at least she want them to try. But seeing Locky and his eyes, almost begging her to take him away from Sherlock, because Locky for some reason feared him, it broke Jane's heart.

And Sherlock's.

Without saying a word, Sherlock moved further and sat next to Locky. Being very careful, a long, warm hand migrated to Locky's cheek. The detective caressed his son's cheek and then his dark, wild curls and smiled at him. Sherlock smiled at him as much as he could, trying to swallow his own tears. "Hello, Sherlock."

Locky said nothing. He snuggled close to Jane, but his eyes were still focused on Sherlock.

"My name is Sherlock," the detective said. "I'm your daddy."

The little boy turned to Jane and started pulling at her shirt. "Scar'd mummy!"

"Sherlock, I think you should go -"

"Mycroft told me you like this," Sherlock said, cutting Jane off and produced five bouncing colourful balls from inside his pocket. "These are for you."

Locky looked at the balls and his eyes lit up. He took one with his little hand and threw it on the floor. He noticed the ball bounced and it rolled down the coffee table. "Ball!"

"Yes! Look at this," Sherlock said and made the famous magic trick of hiding the ball in one hand and producing it on the other. "See? Here's the ball!"

Locky smiled and clapped his hands together. He moved close to Sherlock and both started playing with the little balls.

Sherlock saw how the fear was fading away and how happy Locky was now. The little boy was smiling and laughing. He clapped his hands together every time his daddy did another magic trick and he even let Sherlock sat closer. The detective ran his fingers through Locky's wild dark curls and closed her eyes. There was a moment in which Locky was so lost in the game that he moved closer and closer until he was sitting on Sherlock's lap.

"Do you like your gift?"

Locky nodded. "Twank you."

"You're welcome," Sherlock pressed a kiss to his son's cheek and Locky kissed him back.

Jane looked away and started picking up the empty cups and the empty bottles. She went to the kitchen and once she had placed the cups and bottle in the sink, she pressed her hands to her eyes and wiped the tears off her face. She was so happy his little son was finally bonding with his daddy, that Locky had lost that fear he felt for Sherlock and that now they were playing, just like the little boy did with Matthew.

She returned to the living room and sat across her ex husband and her son. She was so focused on Sherlock and Locky playing together that she didn't see her eldest son had just stepped in the room.

There was a loud cry.

Everyone in the room turned to find Hamish was standing on the doorway. His face was wet with tears and there was a fearful, sad look on his eyes.