Hi! I was going to mash this up with next chapter, but since this was ready before that, I thought I might as well post this little thing.

God I forgot to wish you a merry Christmas! Well, too little too late but the feeling prevails, Merry Christmas and a happy new year, I hope you can keep all your resolutions, mine is to sit and stand with my back straight.

And of course to update sooner. We're down to, like, 5 chapters, I think...

But now on with the story.


He had to be going insane. Either that or he was still dreaming.

The youngest Holmes kept crying, and Sherlock the first wasn't doing anything to soothe him. He just couldn't bring himself to care, he wanted to lay down, even if it was in the cold wooden floor, and go back to sleep. He was exhausted, he just couldn't handle it anymore.

The door opened wide and Cleo walked in, saying "Daddy, that noise doesn't let me sleep" in a very demanding tone.

Perfect, just perfect, exactly what he needed right now. Holmes' face scrunched up and his head dropped to his chest. She started approaching him, hands on her hips and eyebrows knitted together. If he didn't have more pressing matters at hand, he would've thought of how she looked adorable when she was upset. She walked straight past him and stopped in front of the basket. "What is that and why is it making that noise?" she once again demanded.

He sighed, and it took him a moment before he could find his voice. "That's a baby" he muttered hoarsely.

"Oh! I see, and what is the noise?"

"The baby is crying" he answered numbly, staring off into the opposite wall.

"Crying? Oh, poor thing!" Her hands covered her mouth and she knelt beside her father. "He must be sad because he's lonely, can I take him out of there?" but of course she wasn't one to wait for permission. Cleo grabbed the baby and it was obvious by the way she struggled to lift his weight that she would drop him. Holmes snapped out of it and reached towards her, snatching the baby away.

"I want to hold him!" she whined. Holmes just let out a sigh of relief.

"He's too heavy" he explained, his breathing slightly raged from the scare. Cleo crossed her arms and glared at him, but he didn't notice.

He knew what would happen once he held the baby, he wasn't surprised to have a déjà vu as he stared down. His same long forehead, the thin lips, wide, round eyes all too big for such a small creature. How could he neglect his very own child? Besides, he was tremendously relieved to see that the little ruffian didn't look quite so much like her... except for that damned curly hair.

"What's his name?" he jumped at the sound of Cleo's voice, who was leaning forwards to look at the baby.

"Sherlock" Holmes answered, a little fondness already noticeable in his voice.

"Like you?"

"Yes"

"Why?"

"Because he is you brother" Holmes explained, saying the words more to convince himself.

"Really?"

"Yes" he whispered.

She seemed to be mulling it over as she sat back. They staid like that, sitting on the hard floor, and the moonlight gave them a sense of tranquility as Holmes' mind readjusted to the situation, to the new member of their family. It was 1897, Holmes was 43 and surprisingly he was a father. For the second time. His life most certainly hadn't played out the way he would've thought.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered that it was Christmas day.

"Cleo, you should go back to bed. Saint Nicholas will be here soon and he doesn't like it when children are awake to see him." It was a pretense he had not wanted to keep, but Watson insisted that Christmas was a very important part of childhood. Holmes begged to differ. His brother told him the truth when he was six, and he grew up just fine.

"But he already came"

"What? How can you know?"

"He already brought my gift. Didn't you say the baby is my brother?"

Under different circumstances, he would have dared to laugh. What an unusual gift Saint Nicholas had brought. Well, he always knew Mrs. Nicolasso had a strange taste when it came to gifts...

"Well, you don't want to be on the naughty list next year, do you?"

Cleo sighed, pouted and crossed her arms. "Can I at least sleep here?"

"Of course." He couldn't help smiling, even if just a little.

Cleo climbed into bed and settled in the right side. It was her side, and even when she wasn't around, Holmes respected the space and restrained himself to the left side. By doing this he made sure her scent concentrated on that particular place, on that particular pillow that no one was allowed to touch, or in Mrs. Hudson's case, wash. He sighed a little, now it would be contaminated. But how could he tell his daughter, his sunshine, that she couldn't sleep where she was seemingly so comfortable?

"Daddy, where do babies come from?"

He really didn't need this now; he thought he would have a few more years before he had to face that question.

"They, um, they come from Paris..." he technically wasn't lying, right? This particular baby did come from Paris.

Cleo didn't seem too convinced, but she was tired and she soon settled back down.

He laid little Sherlock beside her and sat on the piece of bed left for him to sleep on. The image in front of him was a lovely one, Cleo was fast asleep and her brother was dozing off, apparently being just as exhausted as his old man. It was all so ideal, so perfect, and it downed on him that there was only one thing missing in that picture.

He figured out then, that there was a way for his pillow to smell like her again, permanently.

He didn't sleep that night. Maybe he should have, for very long day was awaiting him.


Watson rubbed his eyes tiredly, yawning in annoyance as he went to answer the door. He was having a nice breakfast with his beloved wife and the pounding on the door prying him away wasn't welcome. What could anyone possibly want at eight in the morning on Christmas day?

He shouldn't have been surprised to see Sherlock Holmes when he opened the door.

"What are you doing here? I thought we were going to Baker Street..." Watson trailed off when he noticed the little strolling car.

"Dear Watson," Holmes made his way inside, followed by Cleo, and shut the door for his stunned friend. "Let me introduce you to Sherlock Holmes the second"

"Uh?" was all that left Watson's mouth. His mind was still a little foggy and he had to rub his eyes again, this time harder.

Nothing changed, inside his house there was still a little strolling car and the baby inside didn't seem to be going away anytime soon.

John Watson stood by the closed door in astonishment.

"Holmes... would you mind..." he helplessly gestured towards the baby.

"Explaining?"

"Yes, please." Watson gulped and took a step forward.

"Why don't we sit first?"

Watson nodded shakily. Holmes and Cleo, who was also groggy and almost stumbled across a little table, made their way into the living room. As Watson followed, Mary called from the kitchen: "Who is it, honey?"

"Mary, dear!" Holmes called back, "Will you please regale us with you presence in your lovely living room?" he said in that condescending tone he saved only for his friend's wife. "I don't want to explain this twice" he added for only Watson to hear.

"Holmes, isn't it a little too early for you to..." she stopped at the threshold, taking notice of the vacant look in her husband's eyes. "Darling, are you feeling alright? You're so pale..." she muttered, pressing a hand to his forehead.

"Oh, his perfectly fine, dear, he's just a little shocked" Holmes intervened.

"Then you must have really bad news" she replied.

"Well, I believe it depends on how you decide to view it. I, personally, think it's quite the contrary."

Mary sighed in exasperation. Holmes smirked, he loved getting on her nerves.

"Mary, let me introduce you to my son."

She blinked, her eyes landing on the previously unnoticed strolling car. Her eyes widened infinitely.

"Uh?"

"My thoughts exactly" Watson murmured.

Holmes snorted, he'd tortured them for long enough.

"The story is a simple one. You see, Irene..."

"Of course" Mary huffed.

"Say no more, Holmes. It all makes sense now" Watson sighed, apparently back to normal.

Holmes rolled his eyes and went to sit down, but the only remaining seat was already occupied by a sleeping Cleo. He pursed his lips. Her head was hanging to the side in a very uncomfortable position, he winced to think of the pain she'd feel in her neck when woke up.

Mary was already kneeling by the strolling car, analyzing the sleeping baby. "Is this one yours?" she meant no offense, but couldn't help cringing at the way that came out. Watson was giving his wife a warning glare, but the effect was lost in Holmes' calm answer.

"I'd like to think so, yes."

Watson raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Holmes was in a very good mood. If that wasn't strange enough in itself, he was in a good mood after Irene Adler left him yet again.

"And well? Deductions! You want to tell us what you know" Watson sentenced.

Holmes grinned complacently and went to lean against the wall by the fireplace, hands buried deep into his pockets. "The little fellow was born September the seventh, he weighted seven pounds and was full term."

"And you can tell all that from looking at him?" Mary asked, a sarcastic edge to her voice.

"Of course not, Mary, don't be ridiculous. The note she left said so, that's how I know his name is Sherlock."

"Really? Hmm, I thought it was you who named him."

"Oh Watson, please, do you really think me so self-conceited?"

"Well, then, it was a nice gesture from her."

Holmes rolled his eyes again. "Very nice, indeed" he muttered.

"Come now, don't be so sour. What else do you know?"

Holmes sighed. "She was going to keep him" he explained.

"How can you tell that?"

"She kept him for three months, it was impossible for her not to become attached and she knew it. If she had really wanted to give him away she would've brought him a few days after he was born. That and the fact that she bothered knitting the blanket herself."

"Did she? Well, it seems her knitting skills have not improved much" Mary chimed in. Holmes decided to ignore her.

"What could've possibly made her change her mind?"

"That's what I'm set to discover"

"What? What are you going to do?"

"Something I should've done a long time ago, Watson. I'm going after her"

"You can't do that, Holmes! What of Cleo and Sherlock?"

"Well, you didn't think I just stopped by to tell you all this, did you? They're staying with you and Mary."

"And just what made you believe we would agree to this madness?" Mary intervened.

"Well, then. I'll just have to take them with me like I originally planned."

Watson and Mary exchanged a look, was Holmes really capable of that? They sighed at the same time. "Alright, they'll stay here. But just tell me, what exactly are you planning to do? How will you even find her?"

"I'll start by going to Paris. Believe me, Watson, finding her is the easy part of it."

"Holmes, I understand what her absence does to you. But really, where's the point? You already manage well enough without her, and the more time she's gone the more you'll realize that your life is not as miserable as you thought. Why chase her? Only to have an argument, hurt each other then go your separate ways? Why not leave her be?"

"Watson, she and I have been playing this game for almost a decade. She has won too many battles, but it's time that I win this war."

"And what's your strategy, Coronel Holmes?" Mary asked sardonically.

"I have my ways. And I have the conviction that I won't be setting foot in London unless she's coming with me and I have the certainty that she's going to stay."

"Holmes, this goes beyond a game, you're obsessed…"

"Well, yes! I've admitted a lot of things, I can admit that to. I am most definitely obsessed with her, and to tell you the truth, I would not wish it differently. I've lost her too many times, and I've lost to her for far too long. Damn it all, I'm even raising her children! If anyone is entitled to be obsessed with her, God knows that's me!"

There was silence. Holmes stood by the fireplace, panting slightly and staring at Watson with a fierce gleam in his eye. Why didn't he say so earlier? Watson thought. Those had to be the most human, full-of-sentiment words to ever leave Holmes' mouth, also the most irrationally insane ones. A small smile started creeping into his face.

"Go, Holmes" Watson said, a tint of amusement in his voice. "Find her."

Any other day, Holmes would've questioned his friend's sudden change of mind, but he was in a bit of a hurry since the train was leaving at eight thirty. He decided to take the opportunity before Watson could regret agreeing to his conditions. It was time for goodbyes, then. Running a hand through his tousled hair -which was for some reason more tousled than usual- he said: "Watson, if anything shall happen to me..."

"Oh no, do not give me that!"

"I trust that you will take care of my children as if they were your own."

"Holmes..."

"I'm just being precautious."

"Holmes, if you dare die on this trip-"

"Don't be ridiculous, I'm not going to die, when have I?" he joked

"Well, how about that time you fell from Reichenbach falls? Didn't we think you were dead?"

"Oh, Watson, will you ever leave that behind? It was only once and it's not like I'm going to Germany... I don't understand why that country brings me such bad luck! I mean, wasn't it Bohemia's current King's fault that I'm in this situation in the first place?" Holmes was starting to wander off. "If it hadn't been for him, my path wouldn't have crossed hers and I wouldn't-"

"You wouldn't have a beautiful daughter whom you love to death and a son to follow on your footsteps." Watson stopped him.

"Well, then I guess there are a few things I should thank him for..." Holmes shook his head, as if to get rid of the previous train of thought. "But what I'm trying to say is that I'm only going to Paris, I've been there dozens of times; don't make such a drama out of it."

"I'm being dramatic? You're the one who's saying goodbye like you're sailing off to war or something of the sorts!"

"I am going to war, I just said so, weren't you paying attention?"

"I thought it was a metaphor..."

"It was a metaphor, a very accurate one. The only difference between Irene Adler and a war, is that she's more pleasant to the sight than fellow soldiers dying around you. But other than that, she's far more destructive."

"And yet you want to live with her, I always knew you were a masochist." Mary smirked smugly and Holmes couldn't help shooting her a glare.

"She picked that up from you." Holmes accused, pointing a finger at Watson. Watson just rolled his eyes.

Holmes approached the strolling car and bent down, carefully lifting little Sherlock in his arms. He could feel Mary and Watson's eyes on him and it wasn't a comfortable sensation, he walked towards the far window and turned his back to them.

"Now you, little chap..." he mumbled thoughtfully. "I only met you a few hours ago and now I have to tell you goodbye..." Holmes sighed, trying to understand from where she drew the strength to do this, to leave her children, because he honestly had no clue how to do it himself. "I guess I will be seeing you again... I can't really assure that but..." he bit his lips. He was making things more difficult than they should be.

He felt a little foolish, the child was asleep, he couldn't even hear what he was saying. He must be getting really old to be doing all these sentimentalities, he thought, and with a one-sided grin of appreciation, Holmes leaned down and kissed his son's forehead. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he made his way back to Mary.

"You two better start getting acquainted" he said as he delivered the sleeping baby in Mary's arms. She offered Holmes a genuine smile, Holmes gave her the best one he could manage, and for a moment they felt like they could be friends. The feeling was nice but it didn't last long.

He left the hardest of goodbyes for the end. Kneeling in front of her, he gently shook Cleo awake. She moaned and moved her neck a little, blinking sleepily at him. "Darling, I'm going to be away for some time..."

"It's Christmas, daddy, you can't go..." she slurred on the words, rubbing her eyes with her little fists.

"I know, dear, but-"

"Don't go..." His heart shattered.

"I have to." He gulped and reached out to pull some hair away from her face.

"Where are you going? Why?"

"I'll be looking for someone, in Paris, I'll bring you a souvenir..."

"Paris, that's a nice place, can I go with you?" He couldn't help considering her request. He was already missing her, he hadn't been away from her longer than a day since she was born... and maybe if she saw her, well, it could soften her a little, weaken her defenses... how could she not come with them if her own daughter asked her to?

It was too tempting. But this was between Him and Her. It was more than her being a mother, it was a... lovers –and he shuddered at the term- thing, he guessed. It wasn't fair to put Cleo in the middle of that.

"I'm sorry, Cleo."

She sighed, folding her hands on her lap. A small pout formed in her lips. "Who are you looking for?" she whispered, her voice small like a mouse.

"You'll meet her when I come back" he promised.

"And when will you come back?"

"I don't know, dear." She stayed quiet, and by the way she was fidgeting with the hem of her dress Holmes understood that she wasn't going to say anything else. "Do I get a hug?" he asked hopefully. She nodded once and reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck. He smiled, squeezing her tiny frame against him.

"Daddy, I can't breathe!" she giggled. He chuckled and gave her one more squeeze before pulling away.

"Be good to Uncle Watson and Aunt Mary, but not too good, they need a little excitement in their lives."

Watson chuckled and Mary rolled her eyes. It was nice to be acknowledged, though.

"I'll be like you" she answered. Everyone laughed a little, even Mary.

"I bet you will" Holmes whispered, giving himself one last moment to memorize her face. "I really have to go now" he stated. Cleo nodded again, it was really all she could do. "This is not a goodbye, I will never tell you goodbye. It's just a 'see you later', please remember that..." She nodded once more, biting her lips to avoid crying. Holmes kissed her forehead briefly and stood up, he really had to peel himself away from her.

Holmes took a deep breath and looked around, his eyes meeting Watson's and Mary's for a moment, before he made his way out.


God, this was all so out of character... and i'm thinking i kinda went back to fillers, but anyways :S

I want to make something clear, this is not Nero Wolfe I'm going for, I have just a few chapters left so I won't be able to develop Sherlock junior's character the way I would've wanted, I did have some things for him in mind, he would, for example, dislike the violin and end up play the cello. But sadly I don't have time for that :(

Sorry, I already talked to much, thanks for reading!