'Have another scone, dear,' Violet gestures towards the beautifully arranged table, 'after all, if you can't indulge when you're expecting, when can you?'

'I really can't manage any more, thank you,' John says, shifting position in the wingback chair and rubbing his bump, 'Little one seems to have woken up and started doing gymnastics.'

'I'll get some boxed up for you,' she says but her eyes are fixed firmly on John's abdomen and, somewhat belatedly, he realises what she's thinking.

'Would you like to feel?'

'Of course she would,' Sherlock's off his own chair and kneeling beside John before he's taken a breath, long fingers practically dancing over the bump as he pinpoints the movement, 'come here and give me your hand.'

'I did attempt to teach him manners,' she says as she gracefully complies, 'but as you probably already know they didn't stick … oh my!'

'Little one likes you,' Sherlock's beaming at his mother and John wishes he had a camera to capture this; Sherlock completely unguarded and happier than he's ever looked in public.

'I should hope so,' Violet says, only the merest tremor in her voice betraying her emotions, 'I am his Grandmother, after all.'

'Not you as well,' John says, just as Sherlock's saying 'We think she's a girl,' and, for a second, Violet looks completely bewildered.