Sherlock pushed open the doors to the morgue, John and Oliver Trevor behind him. They were met with a smiling but sympathetic Dr Mike Stamford.
"Dr Stamford," Sherlock said, nodding at him briefly. "This is Oliver Trevor, Victor's... Victor's father."
Oliver shook the old doctor's hand and turned to face Sherlock. "What happens now?"
Dr Stamford led the men over to an examination table, taking the time to withdraw the sheet from the bones.
Sherlock let out a small gasp as Oliver sighed, placing a hand on his head.
"They're so small..." Oliver mumbled.
"There were no obvious indentations to the head nor body so Victor must have drowned."
Oliver gulped. "Would he have suffered?"
Dr Stamford replied with a sigh and a shrug. "I honestly cannot tell without a decaying body. These bones are at least three decades old. Dental records confirm Victor Trevor's identification but I will still need you to provide something for us to further confirm that fact, Mr Trevor."
Mr Trevor nodded. "We should get it over and done with. I-I want to bury my son."
Sherlock, on the other hand, stood back silently. He had not come across his dead best friend's remains and he felt himself becoming sadder at the fact. He should have searched more when he was a child. Maybe Victor would still be alive, alive somewhere safe and living his life, probably married with his third child on the way.
Sherlock closed his eyes and felt John's hand touch his shoulder in comfort. Going into his Mind Palace, he updated the one marked 'Victor Trevor', installing the picture of his bones in the file.
Closure had not been met yet as a funeral was still needed to be planned.
After the short visit, Sherlock invited Oliver to meet his parents at a high-end café for some afternoon tea.
They found Sherlock's parents waiting patiently at their assigned table, a tray of sweet and savoury treats already laid out.
"I-I went and ordered our snacks. It was just the party ensemble." Mrs Holmes mumbled, standing along with her husband.
Oliver smiled as best as he could and gave Mrs Holmes a hug before shaking Mr Holmes' hand firmly.
"Oliver," Mr Holmes acknowledged.
"Timothy." Mr Trevor replied as they took their seats along with Sherlock and John.
Mrs Holmes smiled brightly, ushering a waiter to take their orders. "Oliver, how have you been? How is dear Leona?"
"Leona's been taken unwell, Wanda."
The Holmes parents gasped.
"Surely, it isn't serious?" Timothy asked, alarmed.
Oliver nodded somberly. "Unfortunately, it is. She suffered an aneurysm seven years ago and well she has early dementia."
"Oh, my Lord!" Wanda cried, gripping her husband's hand. "We surely must visit her, Timothy. Oliver, is that all right? We can bring Mycroft and Sherrinford as well as Sherlock."
Oliver gave them a sad smile. "I'm sure she would like that. You obviously know how it feels to lose a child, especially... Eurus."
Timothy and Wanda shared a glance between them before nodding understandingly at their good friend.
"How is Mycroft doing? I hear he is the British Government and no longer carrying all that, you know, extra baggage." Oliver said, making John and Sherlock laugh.
Sherlock decided to reply. "He's become somewhat of a health nut. Sherrinford is also doing well, as expected in his new job."
"Good to hear," Oliver smiled. "What are we waiting for? Let's tuck in."
...
Molly finally entered her home, placing the keys on the kitchen counter before turning on the lights. She turned and jumped when she spotted Mycroft sitting comfortably on her new armchair.
"Molly," he smiled. "Your new home is exquisite. I am glad to have admired it."
Molly chuckled and sat in front of him on her sofa. "Thank you, Mycroft. Thank you for visiting me."
"I had to ensure your safe arrival for myself," Mycroft replied. "I can't take too long, though, I have a quick flight back to London to resume my duties. Sherlock cannot be unwatched for one second."
She gave him a small grin, bending down to pick up Toby and place him on her lap. "Well, I appreciate the visit. Would you like anything?"
"No. But I have taken it upon myself to see your fridge being stocked with healthy foods for your pregnancy as well as your cupboards."
"Oh," Molly smiled. "Thanks. I had planned to go food shopping later as I settled for eating out today."
Mycroft gave her a firm nod. "Well, I saved you the trip down to the nearest Walmart which is twenty-two minutes away."
Molly smiled gently, "Of course, you'd know that." She started to fiddle with Toby's fur, looking down as she did so. "How are John and Rosie?"
"As expected. I believe that John's taking the time to prepare a small gathering for Sherlock's birthday." Mycroft replied, his long fingers rubbing the top of his umbrella handle.
"Yes... Sherlock's birthday. I had planned to give him a cake or something but I guess America doesn't express-deliver delicatessens."
Mycroft smiled at Molly's brief plunge into European dialect and nodded. "I could deliver it."
"Sherlock's birthday is next week, I doubt it can survive that long but I'll tell you what, I did pack some things for him."
Molly stood up, placing Toby on the ground before heading over to a box marked 'Do Not Touch' in the events of the magical pixies that happened to completely rearrange and design her home. She retrieved a scarf and perfume bottle.
"This... This was Sherlock's. Well, it still is - I took it from him a while back." Molly stumbled across her words as she wrapped the perfume bottle in the scarf. "It's his favourite perfume. Don't ask how I know," she smirked lightly before handing the gift to Mycroft.
"Secret's safe with me. I'll make sure he gets it next week. Do you wish for me to give it to him or...?"
"I want it to look like it's been sent from here but don't put too much effort into it. He is Sherlock, after all."
Mycroft agreed, chuckling. "True, true. Well, I have my car waiting that has just pulled up. I will make sure to visit in the near future."
"Don't inconvenience yourself for me, Mycroft."
"No, no. It's not just you that I will be checking up on. I have an acquaintance who lives in New York. Being me, I promised to visit quite soon but I had never had the thought to until you moved here."
Molly smiled brightly. "How sweet. Is it a woman?"
The uncle to her children guffawed, shaking his head. "Well, yes but not that woman if you get what I mean. She's a friend of a friend."
"Ah," Molly replied, clasping her hands together. "Well, it was really nice to see you. Give... never mind. It was nice to see you."
Mycroft stood up, leaning his umbrella on top of his shoulder before walking over to the door. "I'll make sure to give my brother your love."
With that, he left making Molly feeling more colder than before.
...
"She's learning, you know?"
John's focus on dinner halted as he turned to face his best friend. "Sorry?"
Sherlock nudged an eyebrow towards Rosie who stuck her tongue out in determination, watching her father move about in the kitchen.
She had managed to place her little chubby hands on the sofa and pull herself up, wobbly moving against the sofa with a slight grin on her face.
"Within the month, she should be walking," Sherlock stated. "Who's a clever girl, Rosie? You are. Soon, I'll start teaching you some scientific laws."
John chuckled, returning to stirring the pasta sauce. "She's not even one, yet. Give her a break."
"Well, by her responses to some of my questions, she seems to understand..." Sherlock argued, picking the child up in order to prove a point. "Don't you, Rosie?"
Rosie babbled, placing a cold hand on his cheeks. She then put her other one on his other cheek and squished them together, giggling as she did so.
"Yes, Rosie. Uncle Sherlock looks strange." John called back, seeing what she was doing from the reflection given by the metal spoon.
Sherlock gave her a teasing glare before putting her on the seat beside him, Rosie immediately trying to climb back down to her toys.
"I would not mind one, you know?"
"Mind what?" John asked, turning to face him as he wiped sauce from his shirt.
"A... One of my own." Sherlock replied quietly.
John's eyes widened, the dish rag slowly making its place back on the counter as he sat across from Sherlock on the armchair.
"You really wanted to be a dad, didn't you?" John asked, already knowing the answer. "I told Molly that-"
"-I know that she is still pregnant."
John sputtered, gaining the attention of Rosie. "Wh-what? She's still...? But she-"
"I am not one to be easily fooled, Watson..." Sherlock said glumly. "I decided to go with it because it was what she wanted. Her telling me would prevent her from moving on and healing. I couldn't stop her from leaving, could I?"
"She can't stop you from seeing your kid, though!" John argued. "She's bloody moved to America, still pregnant and she's there indefinitely. She can't expect to just lie to you, Sherlock and run away. I love Molly; she's my good friend and godmother to my child but what she's done - doing - to you... I'm sorry, I can't accept that."
Sherlock watched John stand up, his phone suddenly in his hand and he frowned. "What are you doing, John?"
John placed the phone on his ear. "What do you think? I'm calling Mycroft, see if he can find her."
"There's no need. I already know where she is." Sherlock replied nonchalantly.
The doctor scoffed. "Of course, you know," He muttered. "But you two really need to talk about this and Mycroft can connect you."
"Why does it have to be Mycroft to connect us? It's none of his business and I highly doubt that he would be glad getting involved in my personal matters. Also, I can call her whenever I want - within the reasonable hours of the day as there is a time difference of five hours - but I do not want to nor wish to. I want to give her the space she deserves. If I do not give her that then, what is to say she never comes back after feeling pressured to?" Sherlock replied. "And face it, Watson," his eyes suddenly darkened, becoming greyer. "I am not exactly father material, am I?"
John's hand slackened and he cancelled the call, not getting through to the eldest Holmes brother anyway. He sighed and returned back to making dinner, making sure to turn back at Sherlock playing with Rosie's hair.
"Sherlock..." He said gently. "Fathers come in all shapes and sizes. You don't have to be 'father material' to be a father."
With that, the rest of the evening was in silence.