"Poor Flopsy-Plopsy, he won't eat without Sherlock," Rosie moped along with him.
"He's eaten plenty," I assured her.
"What about Bill and Prince Will?"
"I thought they were Harry and Bob?"
"Bill and Will rhyme, silly." She was right; it was very important that things rhyme at her age.
"Bill and Will have had their fill. Don't worry about them."
"Prin and Madame as well?"
"They're all fat as can be."
"What about you, daddy? Have you been eating?"
I hadn't, but I lied for her sake, "Yes and I've had all my vegetables as well."
"Is Sherlock going to be well again soon?"
"I'm sure if it, sweetheart." I gave her a hug.
"Daddy…"
"Yes, sweetie?"
"Can we get a pig?"
"No," I chuckled.
"We could name him Porky Borky! And he can live in the mud in the garden!"
I was glad to see her in a good mood but I was not getting a pig named Porky Borky or by any other name for that matter. She continued tending to a rather depressed Bartholomew. Though it was difficult to tell if a basset hound is sad or not, given their droopy and depressed features.
The house felt empty without Sherlock's chaotic energy bringing it to life. I missed him terribly. Yet as soon as I saw him awake I wanted to strangle him for having died after telling me he'd had sex.
Who else could it be with but with his half-brother? No wonder he was so distraught to find out the truth. I was quite disturbed to find out myself. By God… I wondered if Mycroft knew about it. That was quite the family affair. If word like that spread, it could jeopordise everyone's careers.
I had to get to Gregson first. How dare he blackmail the British Government!?