"Are you sober?"

At the sound of Sherlock's deep voice, Harry looked up from feeding her tiny niece. She smirked at Sherlock from the rocking chair. "You can't deduce it?"

Of course. Sherlock remained in the doorway of the nursery. "You are sober tonight, and it appears like you've been sober for months. But what I don't understand is why you didn't attend your brother's wedding if you weren't drinking?"

"You don't think I could have attended his wedding sober, do you?"

Her answer caught Sherlock off guard. He stared at her in confusion. "Don't you want him to be happy?"

"You think being married to that woman makes him happy?"

"It's what he has always wanted. The wife, the child, the practice…" Sherlock trailed off, his words sounding hollow even to himself.

"See, you have always known that about him, that he was just selling himself on the life he thought he should have. But do you know what he really wants?"

Sherlock gestured around the room, painted in appalling pastel colors John loathed. "This is what John says he wants, and I have learned to respect his wishes."

Harry adjusted Willa more firmly in the crook of her arm. "Well, to respond in full to your question, I am sober, I've been sober for a year. I met Olivia through work, because I did some photography for her firm. Unlike my last few exes, I did not meet Olivia at AA meetings, and she is a naturally inclined teetotaler. Does that set your mind at ease?"

"I'm sure it has set John's mind at ease."

"He hasn't even asked."

Sherlock noted the regret in her voice. He knew John and Harry were not close, but her present unhappiness about her brother was unusual from what little Sherlock knew of their relationship.

He decided to pursue the matter. "So, why didn't you attend the wedding?"

Harry moved Willa to her shoulder and began to pat her back gently. "Did John ever tell you about the day I came out to our parents?"

Sherlock raised one eyebrow at the turn of the conversation. He closed the door behind him as he moved into the room and leaned back against the flowery pink wallpaper and said, "No, but I imagine it was quite fraught."

Harry stood up from the rocking chair and said, "Your turn to feed Willa, and I'll tell both of you the story."

Sherlock only hesitated a moment before he sat in the vacated chair and held out his arms. Even after a month of life, Willa still seemed the tiniest object in the universe. The most precious. She was her father's daughter, after all. He arranged Willa to his satisfaction and began to feed her with a soft smile on his face.

"Huh."

"What, did you think me incapable of holding a baby?"

"No, but I did not think it would suit you so well."

Sherlock liked children, not yet ruined by the idiocy and inanity of adulthood. Babies terrified him, completely unreadable blank slates. He was indeed surprised by how right it felt to cradle Willa in his arms. Perhaps he was used to unreadable Watsons.

"Don't tell anyone." Sherlock winked.

Harry winked back and said, "I knew the reaction wasn't going to be good. We had very traditional, conservative parents, as you might be able to tell from our names."

Willa. A break from tradition. Sherlock gave Willa a soft kiss on the forehead, then focused his attention on Harry.

"It was even worse than I could have imagined, and I had imagined quite a few awful things."

"I'm sorry." And he truly meant it.

"How did your parents handle it?"

Sherlock chuckled. "I'm a late bloomer."

Stunned, Harry asked, "You haven't told them?"

"I honestly think they'd be thrilled I found someone, anyone, to tolerate me." Sherlock hoped this truth did not offend the woman in front of him.

Harry laughed. Sherlock decided he just might like Harry Watson.

Still laughing, Harry said, "Wow, what did they think about you and John after the two of you moved in together?"

Sherlock felt a twinge of sadness remembering the many conversations disabusing his mother of any hopes in that direction. "Mother has met the Watsons. She knows better now."

Harry fidgeted with an unidentifiable anthropomorphic blue plush toy. "Oh, the Watsons. Are they over whatever kept them separated last autumn?"

Sherlock knew his chest wound did not hurt in reality, but the pain burned sharp and deep nonetheless. "John was helping my recovery."

"Don't lie to me. He did not live here even while you were in hospital."

Sherlock spoke through clenched teeth. "You'd have to ask John."

Harry gave Sherlock an appraising look. "You're very loyal to him."

Sherlock straightened in the chair and said proudly, "He is my best friend."

"Worth jumping off of a building for?"

Sherlock bent his head and inhaled Willa's comforting baby scent. Harry had no idea of the things he'd done, of what he'd do. No answer was adequate for the question of what he was willing to do for John Watson.

Clearly understanding no response would be forthcoming, Harry continued her story. "Our parents were strict, but not mean. Do well in school, behave in church, mind our elders. That sort of thing. But I realized pretty early on I would disappoint them. I'd heard their casually homophobic jokes shared with friends, but I knew they meant it, you know? It wouldn't be a joke if one of their kids turned out gay."

Sherlock did not know what to say, so he nodded for her to go on.

"You've probably guessed I started drinking while very young. You'd be correct. I needed to deaden the pain of lying about who I was, who I wanted to be." She fixed Sherlock with her gaze. "The life I thought I should lead."

Harry walked over to the window and drew the curtains closed against the cold coming through. "When I was sixteen, I met a girl. Instantaneous young love. I stopped fighting my sexuality, and I stopped drinking, and my marks started to climb back up. My parents were thrilled, and I decided to tell them why." Harry paused.

"John was with me that night."

The dread Sherlock felt surely must be evident on his face.

"Yeah, he was in the room, at my side for the whole thing."

Of course, he was. "That was good of him."

Harry snorted and said, "You'd think that of him, wouldn't you? You always think the best of John."

The derision in her tone was unmistakable. His feelings of protectiveness for John overwhelmed Sherlock. Holding the baby close to his chest, Sherlock protested, "Of course, I do. He's the best person I've ever known, and this is just another example. It was good of him to be there to support his older sister."

"Oh, Sherlock, we were supposed to come out to our parents together."