Author's note: I'm sorry that it had been so long. Good thing is, this one is still nipping my heels and refuses to leave me alone.
There are two lasting bequests we can give our children.
One is roots. The other is wings.
~Hodding Carter, Jr
Siger Holmes
Sherlock's need to vacate the room turns out to be a blessing and afterwards it doesn't take Siger long to figure out John Watson. Poor Sherlock, he probably thinks that figuring out John Watson is an impossible task to which he wants to devote the rest of his life. It's actually surprisingly easy once he applies himself to it and once Siger is certain that the idiot is just as much in love with his son as his son is in love with him he sends the doctor on his merry way upstairs. Hopefully, they will figure it out on their own. And if they won't? Well, tomorrow he can try more drastic methods but he hopes that he won't have to resort to them.
So, he takes the teapot and the mugs back into the kitchen. He putters around for a bit and returns to the living-room for only long enough to pick up the sandwiches and the photo album. He stores the sandwiches in the fridge and prepares new pot of tea before he parks himself in the kitchen's armchair with a photo album in his lap. It isn't as comfortable as the one in the living-room or even in the study but Sherlock's bedroom is right above the study and it does share a small part of the floor with the living-room ceiling.
It's not that he's counting that something will actually happen but… Okay, he's counting that something will happen, preferably tonight to put these two idiots out of misery but… The realisation that your adult child is having sex is a bit like the realisation that your parents are having sex. Rationally, you know that's happening because contrary to what she has been saying your mother isn't finding your younger siblings in the cabbage patch but you just don't want to think about it.
It's the same thing except in reverse. He wishes Sherlock with all his heart everything that Sherlock wants from John Watson (buggery included) but he doesn't want to hear it if he can help it. He does have limits on how much he can handle and tonight he blew past most of them.
Just in case he will need to drown out any sounds coming from upstairs he turns on the CD player and smiles fondly when he hears the first notes of Fiddler on the Roof.
It seems kind of appropriate for the moment. A little nostalgic too. It used to be Sherry's favourite contemporary music to play and just like it used to be one Sherlock's favourite albums to listen to (as long as Sherry was playing along with the recording, outside of it he had pretty ambivalent feelings about musicals).
Prologue/Tradition/Main Title sequence from Fiddler on the Roof was also the first piece Sherlock learned how to play on the violin from start to finish. It happened when he decided that he one day wants to play a duet with Sherry.
It brings also other fond memories of Sherry teaching first Myc, and later Sherlock dance to Matchmaker. Of Sherry playing Miracle of Miracles or Sunrise, Sunset while he and Mal danced. Or Sherlock dancing while Sherry plays Chava Ballet Sequence.
Had Sherry lived to this day and found himself seated in a chair in front of Siger he most certainly would start turning Tevye's Dream into a complete butchery of the original into something that was same sex appropriate for the occasion.
When he wanted Sherry had quite a flair for drama. He made a terrific Fruma Sarah at the very least, one that made Sherlock laugh rather than scare him. It used to even make Myc smile and Myc was never a big fan of musicals. Given a chance and a brief return to life for few minutes Sherry would have wrapped himself in one of Mal's shawls and he would Fruma Sarah late Mary Watson at Siger with unhidden glee. Then he would pour himself and Siger a glass of whiskey and they would Mazel Tov the idiots upstairs until they would fall asleep or fall under the table (whichever came first).
He doesn't miss his oldest son often these days but it's one of the days when Sherry's presence is something he physically aches for.
Over thirty-one years had passed since that fateful day when he lost his oldest son and only daughter. Had she lived Rosie would have been turning thirty-two this month and imagining her as an adult is hard. She didn't even make it to her first birthday. She was an open book and a world of possibilities. Would she be spoiled rotten or would she be simply a good person? Would she have Mal's brain like the boys or would she be like Siger, intelligent on her own but no match for the genius in the family. Would she resent that if she was or would she simply adore her brothers the way they always adored her? Would she have a family on her own by now or would she devote herself to a demanding career?
Imagining Sherry is easier. Sherry would have been fifty-two by now. He would definitely have children on his own, at least two if not more, most probably more. He would start to go grey around the temples and would have to put up with endless ribbing from his brothers. Maybe he would finally find his path in life or maybe he would keep wandering.
He misses them terribly. Especially Sherry, because Sherry sought his counsel and he always made him feel included in his life and in the decisions he made. Obviously, he was his oldest son but he as the time passed he also started to feel like a friend. Granted, they wouldn't be able to jump through father and son barrier but the older they grew the closer they would get. Possibly.
He tried to duplicate the approach with Mycroft and Sherlock after Sherry's death but it didn't work on Mycroft at all and only slightly on Sherlock. They never reached the same level of easiness as he did with Sherry but Sherlock did come to him for counsel far more often than he came to Mal and sought him out when he wanted to be quiet with someone. That counted for something.
"Looks like you are getting another son, Papa. A blessing on your house," he can practically hear Sherry say and he nearly snorts.
"Mazel Tov," he answers to no one in particular because he knows that Sherry isn't there.
But if he had been he would have a good laugh.
The phone startles him, a bit. Enough to pause and look around the room for the source of the noise. Blessedly, it lies on the sideboard and he doesn't even have to stretch too far for it.
It's Mal.
To answer or to answer not? Oh boy. It's a very good question. If he won't, it won't be the first phone call from his wife that he would have miss. It won't even be the first one that he would miss deliberately. But if he will answer it and will lie to her face about Sherlock's presence here, even by omission and by not bringing it up in the conversation he knows that he will end up being in very big trouble.
Sleeping old fart or the dutiful husband that picks up every call from his wife?
"Good evening, Mal," he says when he answers the call. "How is Edinburgh at this time of the night?"
"I wouldn't know," she answers. "I'm in my room, contemplating the hideousness of the manicure which Doreen's niece did for me. Doreen herself headed to bed like the young old woman she is, as did her mother, except she's the actual old woman in the equation. As for Sammy, the only somewhat sensible and not ancient woman from that family? Well, she took the bridal party to a club and I can just feel their impending hangover. The wedding is going to be a disaster."
"Hopefully no one will get stabbed," says Siger philosophically.
"Darling, are you reading the blog again?" she chides him. "That thing hadn't been updated in ages and that man…"
"… isn't as much of a monster as you want him to be," he interrupts her. "I'm not saying that he's a bloody saint or that he doesn't deserve having the fear of God put in him," he pauses and smirks to himself. "Mal, he's a good man. I like him. He's a little crazy but I like him. What's more important Sherlock likes him, Sherlock loves him. So what can we do?"
"You aren't honestly quoting Do you love me at me, are you?" she asks with a huff.
"Do you?" he asks cheekily.
"I'm your wife," she sighs but he can hear her smile.
"I know," he quips. "But do you love me?"
"If I didn't I wouldn't devote fifty-three years of my live to you and I would most certainly reconsider the idea of giving you more children after the first one," she answers fondly.
"I'm glad that you didn't," he answers. "Our lives would have been very boring without them," he sighs. "Calmer too," he admits.
"Sherlock?" she asks swiftly. "What that man had done to him this time, Sig?"
"In so far everything right by our son and if I'm right he stands a chance to do better," he answers simply. "That, I will know tomorrow or maybe in the early morning."
"Why would you?" she asks suspiciously.
"Because I helped you bring up four kids and I know what kids on the brink of toddlerhood are capable of," he answers dryly.
There's a very long pause and finally she says, "They're both there and they brought little Rosamund too?"
"Katherine and Josephine," he corrects her.
"But the Watsons only had one child. If not Sherlock then Myc would mention something about the second baby…" she pauses for long enough to catch a breath. "And what happened to Rosamund?
"Got renamed into Katherine," answer Siger. "Katherine Sherlock to be exact…"
"Oh, so now he wants to get into Sherlock's good graces," she huffs in indignation.
"If someone wants to get into someone's good graces then it's certainly the other way around," says Siger with a soft chuckle. "Sherlock finally decided to bring up Grandma Watson."
"And Josephine?" she asks suspiciously.
That's the hardest part and one he really shouldn't be doing on the phone. But he doesn't exactly have a choice, does he?
"Mazel Tov," he says brightly. "Grandma Malvina."
"Wait! What?!" she gasps.
"Although if you want to be exact that would be Great-grandma Malvina but I'm not convinced that our youngest son will be going by Grandpa," he keeps going, because that's the best way to manage Mal when she's in shock. "In so far he keeps going by Mama and doesn't appear to mind that very much."
"And pray tell how Sherlock obtained a grandbaby?" she asks patiently.
"That's a good question and I strongly suggest asking about it our middle son, if you can reach him," shrugs Siger. "Because he's the one that kept Sherlock's daughter away from him and away from us. He is also somehow involved in the circumstances surrounding her death but our youngest son isn't very forthcoming with details," he explains.
"Sherlock has a daughter that's dead and a granddaughter…" she whispers.
"… that's still alive," he finishes for her. "Cute baby, looks like Sherlock at her age..."
The line suddenly goes dead.