Hidden Truths

by loulouflowerpower

Sherlock/OC-Moriarty's final game is not yet over, but while Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Wilson work to try and uncover his final puzzle, life as they know it changes. A sudden death causes a rift between old friends and buried secrets are forced to light. Can they work to overcome it? Or is this truly the end?

2. Chapter 2 The Six Thatchers, Part 2

The Six Thatchers, Part 2

It was another week later, and Amelia found herself sitting in John's old armchair in the living room of Baker Street, letting the sound of John's fingers tapping away on the keys of his laptop wash over her, feeling strangely nostalgic to hear that familiar noise again as he wrote up his next blog entry. Ever since Sherlock was let off the hook, things had been pretty busy, almost the very same afternoon that they'd had the meeting, someone very high up at the Louvre in Paris actually reached out to them concerning the apparently missing Mona Lisa. Sherlock, however, found the case to be rather boring, far more interested in solving another case that involved a missing horseshoe that was somehow connected to a bright blue deck chair on Brighton beach. In the end, Amelia had taken on the missing masterpiece, leaving Sherlock and John to deal with their horseshoe case, though she suspected that John would have rather tagged along with her to Paris, instead Amelia had convinced Molly to join her. It was probably better that John stayed in London with Sherlock, anyway, someone needed to keep an eye on him after his so very recent relapse.

She couldn't help sighing as Sherlock suddenly re-entered the room from the landing with a rather large handful of letters, some already opened, in his hand, looking rather pleased with himself as he crossed the room to the fireplace, pulling his multi-tool knife out of his blazer pocket and literally stabbing the letters to the mantelpiece. She cringed at the sound of the knife piercing into the wood. God, she hated it when he did that.

"If this get's any better, I'm gonna get two knives," he remarked happily, turning around from the mantelpiece.

"It pays to advertise," John said distractedly, still tapping away at his laptop.

Amelia fixed Sherlock with an exasperated look as he flopped down into his armchair, "Must you stab things into the mantle, Holmes?" she frowned at him, waving a hand over towards the pinned letters, "My God, if I was your land lady, I would kill you for the damage you've inflicted upon this flat".

"It's an occupational hazard, Amelia," Sherlock replied dismissively, crossing one leg over the other as he fished his phone out of his breast pocket of his blazer, focusing on the screen.

She rolled her eyes at that, it was practically his excuse for everything relating to the mess he made around the flat, like his miniature laboratory that he had set up on the kitchen table or the time when she came home from a day out with Molly to find him using the bathtub to determine how quickly one could dissolve a frozen pig carcass. Thankfully, however, she had managed to domesticate him somewhat, he washed the dishes without her needing to nag him about it anymore and he had even cooked her dinner…for the last and final time, ever. She still suspected he was actually trying to test something on her, though he denied it, but why else would he cook something for her? This was a man who seemed incapable of making his own tea.

"I'm going to buy you a cork board," she pointed at him sternly, her dark eyes narrowed. He rolled his eyes dramatically, not looking away from his phone, "And you will use it, Sherlock, not the walls or the mantle, you've already put this place through enough".

"Yes, dear," he muttered sarcastically.

Amelia's eyes darkened and she grabbed the glossy copy of Vogue Paris she had been reading earlier from the small table next to her chair, throwing it at him. He went to catch it, only to miss in his distracted state, resulting in the magazine slapping him directly in the chest with a thump. It was a rather thick edition this month, and he grunted at the impact, finally lifting his gaze from his phone to shoot her a disgruntled look.

"That's for using that tone with me, mister," she told him sharply, watching as he shoved the magazine onto the pile of books sitting on the floor by his chair. The front page was now slightly crumpled, but it had been worth it.

Mary turned away from the far window, one hand lightly pressed against her rather large stomach, while the other grabbed painfully at her lower back, "So…" she began, holding back a wince, "What about Moriarty, then?"

"Ooh, I have a plan," Sherlock said as he returned his attention onto his phone, his fingers tapping rapidly on the keys. Mary grimaced again, rubbing her baby bump, while Amelia watched her with a small smile, "I'm going to monitor the underworld, every quiver of the web will tell me when the spider makes his move".

Amelia pulled her eyes off Mary, throwing him an amused look, "As dramatic as ever," she smirked, just as he phone dinged, signalling another Twitter alert. She slipped her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans, shaking her head at the post Sherlock had just made on his feed: 'Hashtage 221Bringit!'

John frowned slightly, glancing across to Sherlock, "Basically your 'plan' is just to sit there solving crimes with Amelia, like you always do," he translated, nodding across to Amelia as he spoke.

Sherlock looked up from his phone and smiled, "Awesome, isn't it?" he said brightly, uncrossing his legs and jumping up from his chair, crossing across to the mantle and ripping the top letter off the pile pinned to the mantle.

….

Amelia tried very, very hard not to allow her own annoyance to show on her face as she sat in Sherlock's usual chair with her jean clad legs crossed, watching out of the corner of her eye as Sherlock paced back and forth before the fireplace, tapping away at his phone, seemingly totally ignoring the middle aged, female client currently trying to talk to them about her case that she had written to them about, sitting on one of the dining chairs that had been turned to face the fireplace. John was sitting across from her with a bright yellow teacup in his hands, looking suitably sympathetic towards their clearly grieving client, though even he had spared Sherlock a quick look, while Mary sat perched on the armrest of his chair, listening intently.

"He drowned, Mr Holmes, Miss Wilson," the woman was telling them, and Amelia nodded, struggling to remain professional and not snap at Sherlock to put his damn phone away, "That's what we thought, but when they opened up his lungs…"

"Yes?" Mary asked quickly, quite engrossed with the story.

"Sand".

Sherlock finally looked up from his phone, "Superficial," he said to the woman, who blinked, taken aback as he swiftly turned his attention back onto his phone as it whistled his text alert.

Amelia gave the woman a strained smile, "What Mr Holmes means…" she shot him a pointed look at that, though he likely didn't even notice with his attention so fixated on his phone, "Is that we are very sorry to inform you that your husband did, indeed, drown," she turned back to the woman, giving her a apologetic look as the woman's eyes widened slightly, "It's not uncommon to find sand within the lungs of a drowning victim. Sand or dirt are disturbed at the bottom of the ocean or lake floor when the individual goes into the water, they thrash around, trying to get to the surface, and…" she trailed off as the woman gave a shuddering sob, quickly covering her mouth. She winced, "I truly am very sorry for your loss".

….

Sherlock was sitting in his usual chair, peering through a pair of Mars binoculars at a plastic zip-lock bag, filled with melting ice and a served thumb. Amelia was leaning over the back of his chair, eyeing the bag with a small grimace. Their latest client in the ever growing string of clients to come passing through their door the past two weeks had arrived on their doorstep, horribly pale and bleeding rather profusely from a truly terrible wound on his hand. Why he thought it would be a better idea to come to them, rather than a hospital, Amelia still didn't quite understand, having been forced to quickly run and grab the first aid kit that John had kept well stocked in the bathroom upon their client's arrival. It was rather unfortunate that John happened to be attending another doctor's appointment with Mary, meaning that he hadn't been around to play doctor.

"Come back!" Sherlock called suddenly, making Amelia jump slightly, quickly straightening and rubbing her left ear, "It's the wrong thumb!"

Amelia frowned as she looked across to the dining chair that had become 'the Client Chair,' only to find it quite empty, their client gone. She glanced at Sherlock as he lowered the binoculars and also seemed slightly puzzled, when the sound of the front door downstairs slamming shut sounded.

"Huh," Amelia absently tugged her dark green blouse straighter, eyeing the door, "He's really quite light on his feet for a badly bleeding; over-weight, fifty seven year old, isn't he?"

"We should very likely be going after him, Amelia".

She sighed and nodded, moving to grab her coat, while he leaped up from his seat. She probably should have gone with those flats this morning.

…

It was evening, less than three weeks since Sherlock's almost exile, and Amelia had her arms crossed over her chest, peering down at the table littered with photographs of a dark haired, mid-thirty year old man. The pictures had obviously been taken without the man's knowledge while he walked down a footpath, stepped outside of a brick house, or crossed a street. Their latest client had approached them with concerns about the very man featured in the photographs they were currently pouring over, apparently she had been dating him for the past five months, when he had suddenly been murdered just before Christmas, even though there was proof that at the same time as the man's death, the exact same man had been attending his office Christmas party. There had been an entire room of witnesses who knew him and had seen him at the party, but yet, the very same man had supposedly been murdered at the same time, in another part of London.

"Sherlock…" John began, standing next to Amelia, looking over the evidence scattered across the table, "Amelia…"

"It's never twins," Sherlock cut across him sternly, busy rapidly typing something into his phone as he stood at the end of the table. John glanced across to him, looking slightly taken aback by how quickly he had responded.

"Well…" Amelia dragged out the word slightly, drawing both men's attention to her, Sherlock lifting an eyebrow and John curious, "Sometimes it is twins," she said lightly, before shrugging, "Just perhaps not in the same context as this. Plus, I never did keep the fact that I had a twin brother secret, did I?"

"Amelia," Sherlock fixed her with a firm look, speaking quickly, "Would you please confirm that it's never twins, regardless of your own personal history, so that John can move off the frankly absurd idea that Dennis Parkinson had a 'secret twin'".

John blinked, "I never said Parkinson had a secret twin…"

He looked across to him briefly, rolling his eyes, "You considered it".

Amelia sighed, reaching up to rub her forehead briefly, "Why do I feel like you've had this conversation before, Sherlock?" she eyed him curiously, "You seem rather determined to move off the subject, like you think John might actually think having a secret twin is a real thing".

Sherlock didn't have a response to that, apparently, his eyes lingering on her, as though considering saying something, before he quickly returned his attention back onto his phone. He might have told Amelia bits and pieces about his Victorian drug induced dream, but he wasn't quite ready to go into explaining how fixated Victorian Watson had been about a possible secret twin. For one thing, both John and Amelia would probably find it hilarious that his own mind had come up with the idea, and secondly, any mention of what happened last month typically resulted in only upsetting his two closest and dearest friends. He did not have time to be dealing with that tonight.

….

Sherlock was an impressive man; Amelia had always thought that about him, even when she had tried so desperately to distance herself from him during those first few months when she feared he might deduce that her brother was a criminal. But even she didn't think he was capable of solving two completely separate cases at once, but yet here he was, sitting in his armchair one evening five week after his almost exile, his face lit up from the light of his laptop sitting on his knees, though he was busy rapidly typing on his phone. Mary had joined them twenty minutes ago, looking larger than ever as she very rapidly approached her due date, sitting in John's chair with a cup of tea in one hand, while the other rested on her protruding stomach. John was standing by the fireplaces, eyeing Sherlock with a slight frown, his arms crossed over his chest. Amelia shook her head, feeling strangely amused as she sat perched on the armrest of Sherlock's chair, her legs crossed and her feet bare, her heels sitting neatly on the floor next to the chair, looking at the laptop screen.

"Hopkins, arrest Wilson," Sherlock ordered over the Skype call he currently had set up on the screen, two separate windows opened, side by side, "Dimmock, look in the lymph nodes".

"Wilson?" Hopkins exclaimed, her dark eyes widening, appearing to be currently sitting in her office, judging by the background of her window.

"Lymph nodes?" Dimmock repeated loudly, looking puzzled as he seemed to be walking along a street with cars rushing past him. It had been surprisingly nice to actually work with Dimmock again, he was far more willing to actually listen to them now, and it had been nice to work with someone from those early months of Sherlock and Amelia's working together. Sherlock had scoffed, with fondness, and called her a sentimentalist again when she had remarked on it, but she liked it when he did that. He said it differently with her then he did with other people, almost tender.

"Sherlock…" Mary called, while Amelia sighed slightly.

"Yes," Sherlock said, finally looking up from his phone to focus on Dimmock's little window, "You may have nothing but a limbless torso, but there'll still be traces of ink left in the lymph nodes under the armpits. If your mystery corpse had tattoos, the sign'll be there".

Amelia nodded in agreement, though she quickly stopped and yawned behind her hand, blinking her watering eyes rapidly, too tired to even feel embarrassed. She hadn't had more than two hours sleep in the past twenty four hours since Sherlock had decided to take on both cases, hardly pausing to ask her how she felt about the idea of working on two cases at once. Granted, they had been relatively simple cases, but still, she didn't think she could keep this up for much longer. One case had involved a mysterious, badly decomposed, limbless body in the boot of a car, while the other had featured a man who was apparently a canary trainer, of all things.

"Blood hell!" Dimmock stared back at Sherlock through his camera, frowning deeply, "Is that a guess?"

"Oh, no, don't ask that," Amelia shook her head quickly, seeing Sherlock's eyes instantly narrow on the screen. She reached up to run her thumb under her left eye, trying to stop what little that was left her makeup from running down her face. She really hoped she didn't look like she was crying; her eyes were watering so badly she felt like it was an easy mistake to make. She yawned again behind her hand, "Deductive reasoning is…is an art form, not guess work," she managed to say through her yawning, her voice muffled slightly through her hand, just as Sherlock hit a button and ended Dimmock's call.

"Amelia, are you okay?" Mary asked worriedly, eyeing the positively exhausted woman sitting slightly slumped on the armrest. Her usually carefully arranged hair looked slightly croaked and strands of hair had escaped around her face, while her makeup had largely worn off. Amelia waved a dismissive hand in her direction, only making her frown even more, while John shot Sherlock a dark look, "Sherlock…" she tried again, this time sterner.

"So he's the killer?" Hopkins cut in, while Sherlock ignored Mary, going back to typing into his phone, "The canary trainer?"

"'Course he's the killer," Sherlock rolled his eyes, throwing her a quick look.

"Didn't see that coming".

"Hmm, naturally," he hit the button again and closed her window, not pausing in the slightest as he went straight back to his phone.

Amelia sighed in relief, closing her eyes, "Oh, thank God that's over," she groaned, positively longing for bed right now. She had gone without sleep plenty of times without issue before, but she hadn't needed to work on two cases at once, plus she couldn't remember the last time that she and Sherlock actually had more than a day without a client or a case to work on since his almost exile five weeks ago. She needed a break, if not physically, then mentally.

John frowned deeply at Sherlock, his eyes lingering on Amelia with a concerned look, "Sherlock," he said sharply, turning his gaze onto his ex-flatmate, "You can't go on spinning plates like this, Amelia needs a break…"

"That's it!" Sherlock cried, his head snapping up suddenly and his mouth slipping open, "The place was spinning".

Amelia blinked slowly, glancing sideways at him, "I…don't even want to know," she shook her head, slipping off the armrest with a frown at him, "I'm going to bed now; I don't even care if the bloody Queen wants us for a case. You deal with it yourself, Sherlock. Night, Mary, John".

And with that, not even waiting to hear their response, she swiftly left the room and headed towards the kitchen, ready to curl up in bed, even if she doubted Sherlock would be joining her any time soon.

…

Amelia carefully examined the young man sitting in the dining chair before her, he looked completely relaxed and calm, and why shouldn't he? It's not like he could actually remember what had happened, having come to them seeking help for the murder of his own older brother, who he had unexpectedly found strangled to death in the bedsit they both shared. The police were stumped over the crime, though why, Amelia couldn't say. It seemed like a pretty obvious one to her, was it possible that Scotland Yard was actually getting slower?

"You take heart medication, yes?" she lifted an eyebrow at the man, ignoring Sherlock as he wondered into the room from the kitchen, tapping away on his phone, as he always seemed to be these days. She had managed to get the damn thing away from him for a little while, though it was hardly an appropriate time to be trying to seduce him when they currently had a client sitting in their living room. She didn't wait for the man to answer, already knowing, "Are you also aware that one of the side effects of that form of medication happens to be amnesias?"

"Yes, um…I think so," the man said slowly, frowning slightly, confused, "Why?"

Sherlock flopped down into his armchair, not looking away from his phone, "Because the fingerprints on your brother's neck are you own," he informed him, typing away.

Amelia gave him an almost sympathetic look at the shocked, horrified look that crossed the man's face. Well, they'd all been there, hadn't they? The desire to strangle a sibling…apparently, their client just took it to the next level.

…

"A jellyfish?" John giggled as he, Amelia, and Sherlock made their way up the stairs of Baker Street towards the living room one evening six weeks after Sherlock's almost exile.

"It sounds absurd, but I promise, it's all true," Amelia grinned, laughing slightly along with him, one hand grasping the banister railing as they moved up the stairs, Sherlock following two steps below her. He was, as always, tapping away on his phone, he even took the damn thing into the shower with him, sealed in a waterproof bag.

"You can't arrest a jellyfish!"

"Well, you could try," Sherlock commented, smirking slightly to himself.

He threw him a look back over his shoulder, "We did try," he pointed out, just as he stepped up onto the landing.

"Not overly successfully, either," Amelia sighed mockingly, shaking her head as she smiled brightly. It had been a strangely refreshing case, given just how amusing the end result had been. She stepped up onto the landing beside John, reaching up to start undoing the golden buttons on her coat, just as John's phone alerted, "Still…" she continued lightly, turning towards Sherlock as he joined them, "You have to admit, it would have been amusing to see Lestrade's face when we handed him our murderer".

Sherlock's mouth twitched at that and he even lifted his gaze up from his phone long enough to catch her eye. Beside them, John pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the screen.

"Oh God," he breathed, staring at the screen, drawing their attention instantly across to him.

"Mary?" Sherlock asked quickly, eyeing the phone in John's hand, while Amelia quickly re-buttoned her coat, knowing what was coming next.

"Fifty nine missed calls".

Amelia winced, "We need to get to her," she said quickly, grabbing John's arm, "Come on!"

She turned and dragged John along behind her, managing to actually jog back down the stairs in her five inch heels, Sherlock hurrying along behind them.

….

It was just as Amelia had feared, Mary had gone into labour. They managed to get back to John and Mary's house to find poor Mary, grimacing in pain and clutching her stomach, snapping at John to hurry up and get her to a bloody hospital…Yeah, Amelia could so see her as the deadly assassin she once was right now, even while moaning and clutching the doorframe in agony, she half expected Mary to just snap John's neck when he fumbled with the car keys and dropped them in his hast to unlock the door. Thankfully, Mary did manage to get into the back seat of the car, Sherlock somehow ending up sitting next to her, while Amelia took the front passenger seat, John practically squealing the tires as he sped off down the road.

"Hurry up, John," Amelia called urgently, straining against her car seat as she looked behind her seat into the back, looking worriedly at Mary as the poor woman groaned in pain and clutched at her stomach, her face scrunched up painfully, her dress pulled up rather high, "I've got a feeling this baby's not waiting around!"

"Ow!" Mary cried out again, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, one hand gripping the roof above her head, "Oh my God," she breathed, before she lifted her other arm up to the roof, bracing herself against it, "Oh my God!"

"Blood hell," she murmured, her eyes wide as she stared at how much pain Mary was in, and it could easily be said that Mary had a high tolerance for pain, given her previous profession. Dear God, who the hell said that childbirth was a beautiful experience? This wasn't beautiful, this was hell and there hadn't even been any blood yet!

John glanced worriedly into the rear-view mirror to his wife, "Relax," he urged her, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel, "It's got two syllables…"

"I'm a nurse, darling," Mary cut him off, gasping for breath through the pain; "I think I know what to do".

"So do it, Mary," Amelia encouraged her, her neck and shoulder starting to ache from the position she was forced to sit in in order to see Mary, but she ignored it, "Come on, just breath it out, relax…"

"Re…" Mary began, before she broke off with an agonised cry.

"…lax," John finished for her, pursing his lips as he mimicked breathing.

"No, please just drive!" she practically screamed, withering painfully in her seat, grabbing at practically everything in an attempt to find something to brace herself against the next contraction, the back of John's seat, the roof, the armrest on the door, "Please, God, just drive! God, drive!"

She broke off with her loudest scream yet and Amelia flinched, her eyes widening as she stared at Mary's screwed up face. Witnessing this was enough to make one never, ever give up birth control, in fact she was rather feeling as though she ought to send Sherlock to get the snip at this point…of course, the image of Mr and Mrs Holmes swam through her mind, and she knew she couldn't take away pretty much their only chance to possibly, one day, have a grandchild. Still, this was really, really making her reconsider any chance of giving birth herself. Speaking of Sherlock, who had remained utterly silent for far too long for her liking…She almost lunged through into the back seat as she caught sight of him sitting in the seat behind her, tapping away on his phone, totally ignoring Mary's screaming, withering form beside him.

"Sherlock!" Amelia snapped angrily, actually making him jump and look up, meeting her eyes with a startled expression, "For God's sake, Sherlock, how can you ignore Mary like that? She's literally about to give birth in front of us, and you're frigging texting!"

Sherlock sighed loudly, glancing across to Mary, "That's it, Mary…" he turned back to his phone, tapping away as Amelia stared at him in disbelief, "Re…" he pursued his lips and sucked in a deep breath.

Mary managed to lift her head enough to glare at him, murder positively burning in her eyes, kneeling on the seat, "Don't you start!" she snarled savagely at him.

"…lax," he finished slowly, eyeing her warily, right before Mary's hand shot out to the side of his head and pressed his face against the glass of his side window.

Amelia's eyes widened, "Okay, who's stupid idea was it to put Sherlock in the back seat?" she shook her head, "Why the hell is John, the doctor, driving when he should be in the bloody back seat right now!"

John glanced across to her, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles were white, "Um…" he licked his lips, "That's actually a really good point".

She glanced nervously back to Sherlock, his face still pressed painfully against his window, "Yeah, no kidding," she muttered, hoping he wouldn't end up bruising.

"John?" Mary gasped out, bracing herself against the back of Sherlock's head, while the detective remained pressed firmly against his window, "John, I think you have to pull over!"

"Mary…" John said calmingly, glancing up into the rear-view mirror. Amelia could only watch over the top of her seat, her expression filled with horror, "Mary…"

"Pull over!" she positively shouted, falling back into her seat, finally releasing Sherlock, who actually lowered his phone and finally seemed to be paying the screaming woman next to him attention.

Amelia flinched at the loud yell, paling as she looked down at Mary's legs, just as a gush of water suddenly came from beneath her skirt. Next to Mary, Sherlock had an expression on his face that Amelia was certain she had never seen before, a look crossed between pure horror and terror at what was happening, staring with wide eyes at Mary's legs.

"Oh my God!" he exclaimed, actually lifting his feet up slightly, as though he was worried about getting his shoes wet, just as Mary gave a feral scream that almost rattled the windows.

"Get us to a hospital," Amelia breathed, swallowing hard, unable to take her eyes off Mary as she began sobbing loudly, "John, I swear to God…break whatever road law you have to, just get us there. Now!"

John glanced at her and then up into the mirror back into the back seat, just as Mary gave another agonised scream. Amelia flinched again and clapped her hands over her ears, very seriously considering a life of celibacy, after all…there was only one birth control that was one hundred percent effective.

…

Thankfully, they did end up making it to the hospital before Mary ended up giving birth in the backseat of the car, Sherlock and Amelia had very quickly found themselves rather useless from then on, John and Mary were quickly ushered off into a private room within the maternity ward with a midwife, leaving the detectives to awkwardly linger in the small waiting room out by the reception of the maternity ward. From behind the closed double doors that John and Mary had disappeared through, they could hear the muffled noises of other patients screaming in pain. Amelia winced and crossed her legs uncomfortably in her seat, avoiding looking at Sherlock as they waited. A full fifteen minutes of silence must have gone by without either of them even saying a word, Sherlock looked as though he might never speak again after the shock of what had just happened, for once his phone was held loosely in his right hand, staring distractedly at the wall ahead of them with several health promotional posters stuck to it.

"So…" Amelia said softly, feeling slightly better now that she wasn't expecting to have to help deliver a baby on the side of the road. It also helped that she didn't have to hear Mary screaming and sobbing, that had been rather disturbing to witness, being unable to do anything to even try to help her. She licked her painted red lips, glancing sideways at Sherlock's profile, "That was…an experience".

"That's putting it lightly," he replied, sounding perfectly normal, though Amelia could see how rattled he actually still was by the tense way that he held himself.

She breathed a small laugh, tilting her head back into the wall behind her chair, "Yeah, it was pretty intense, wasn't it?" she did feel lighter now then she had back in the car, the idea of going celibate had been a bit of a rash reaction, "Still, it was interesting".

"Oh, yes. You seemed terribly interested back in the car, Amelia, I do believe the words 'Sherlock Holmes, don't you dare think you're ever coming within ten feet of me again,' came from you just as we arrived outside the hospital".

She blushed, "That was…I was shocked, okay?" she said lamely, glancing embarrassedly at him as he pulled his gaze off the wall to fix her with a look, "I didn't know what I was saying".

He pretended to look thoughtful, "Hmm, perhaps I should have also reminded you that you happened to be shouting at the time," he added, his tone light and casual, while Amelia's cheeks were positively burning as she remembered, very clearly, saying those very words to him as she helped grab Mary's hospital bag out of the boot. He wasn't finished, it seemed, still looking thoughtful, "I also seem to recall one of the nurses happened to be there at the time…"

"Okay!" Amelia turned in her chair and quickly covered his mouth with her hand, looking mortified as she remembered, vividly, the rather stunned expression on the barely twenty five year old nurse who had been just coming off her shift had given her when she had…screamed the words at Sherlock. In her defence, she had only been screaming to be heard over Mary's own cries of pain, which probably wasn't much of a defence, when she thought about it. She lowered her hand from his mouth, grimacing slightly as he arched his eyebrows at her, almost seeming amused, "Just…shut up," she sighed, deflating slightly in her chair, which truly was horribly uncomfortable.

"Remind me again how it was such an interesting experience, Amelia?"

"Well…" she hesitated slightly, still feeling rather embarrassed by his teasing, it didn't help matters that he managed to tease her while sounding and looking so perfectly calm, even though she knew that he had been anything but when they had arrived at the hospital, "It's the start of a new life, John and Mary are going to be parents, which in itself is still something we'll all need to get to used to. I don't know…" she released a long breath through her lips, glancing out of the corner of her eye at Sherlock, who had his eyes slightly narrowed, his head turned towards the wall again, though he was obviously listening intently, "I suppose it just makes you think about the future".

"Really, Amelia?" he sighed, closing his eyes and tilting his back slightly.

"What? I'm just saying, Holmes…"

He lifted his head and opened his eyes, looking at her with a half-exasperated look, "After the experience we just had, you really think now is a good time to try broaching the subject of children?"

Amelia opened her mouth to deny it, panicking slightly at the fact that he had figured it out so quickly, before she paused, pressing her lips together. Oh, why was she even panicking right now, she had been the one to bring it up, hoping he would catch on…though, she supposed she hadn't quite expected him to catch on that quickly, she had rather hoped some of the shock was still lingering, slowing him. But she supposed it was just better this way, she wouldn't have to be subtle about it, though she had expected him to have slightly more of a reaction then he had.

"You're not even surprised, are you?" she huffed slightly, fixing him with an annoyed look of her own. It figures he wouldn't be, while she had spent the past few months trying to figure out when to try and bring up the subject, trying not to completely freak him out. Most guys got twitchy talking about the subject of kids as it was, who knew how Sherlock Holmes would react?

"Obviously," he rolled his eyes, making it sound as though she was being an idiot for even thinking any differently, "Amelia, I've expected you to at least attempt to speak on the matter ever since I got shot. I have to admit, I thought you were going to say something at Christmas".

"And you never thought to…oh, I don't know, perhaps bring up the subject yourself?"

He shrugged, pressing his fingertips together and bringing them up beneath his chin, gazing absently across the room, "Eventually you would come to it," he said lightly, while Amelia stared at him in disbelief.

"I've spent the past five months waiting for the time to even subtly bring it up," she said softly, shaking her head slowly, not taking her eyes off the side of his face, "And you're telling me…all that stress, all the time I tried to think of how to speak to you about it…was for nothing?" she barely kept her voice from rising to a shout at the last part, reminding herself firmly that she was in a hospital and they would throw them out if they started shouting at each other.

John and Mary would not be impressed about that.

Sherlock glanced back across to her, his expression perfectly calm, despite the hint of anger now bubbling in her dark eyes, "Yes," he frowned suddenly, looking almost confused, as though he had suddenly realised that she might be just a little upset with him, "Problem?"

Amelia inhaled deeply, her hands squeezing the hard, plastic armrest of her seat as she glared at him, desperately trying to remind herself that she couldn't shout at him that yes, she did have a problem, she had a problem with the fact that he could have so easily have just said something months ago and allowed her to simply deal with it then, without spending all this time worrying about how she was supposed to bring up such a important topic with him without completely freaking him out. She had been trying to make it easier for him, while he could have just said something. God, it took every ounce of her self-control not to smack his arm or get up and storm out of the room like a child.

"Sherlock," she began after a moment, her voice tight, "Next time you know or suspect I have something of a sensitive nature I wish to speak to you about…just say something!" she finished with a slightly raised voice, though she wasn't quite shouting, it would still likely earn her a disproving look and a warning.

"Shh!" he hushed her, casting the nursing sitting behind the desk on the other side of the room a quick glance, before turning back to her with an almost disproving expression of his own.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," she snapped, mindful to keep her voice low as she shot the front desk a quick glance. The nurse sitting behind it hadn't even seemed to notice them, busying doing some paperwork. She fixed him with an angry glare, "I swear to God, I am this close…" she held up her fingers to show her thumb and index finger held just an inch apart, "…to slapping you right now, so don't tempt me. I can't believe you let me stress for all this time!"

"Really, Amelia, threats? We're in a hospital…"

"Good for you, since they'll be able to fix your nose when I punch you, then".

Sherlock swiftly snapped his mouth shut, eyeing her with a vaguely wary expression now as Amelia gave him a positively murderous expression, daring him to say something that would only anger her further. He shifted slightly away from her, as though preparing himself to throw himself out of his chair, should he need to.

"Amelia…" he said after a long moment, his voice sounding soft, gentle, even, "I…realise I might have…handled this a little poorly…" he hesitated as Amelia huffed, crossing her arms across her chest with a dark expression written across her face, "But I am…sorry".

"Huh," Amelia eyed him closely, her expression unchanged, her body tense with annoyance as she regarded him, "It seems that you're starting to make this apologising thing a habit, Holmes".

He seemed to take the use of his last name as a good sign, his body relaxing slightly as he settled himself more comfortably in his seat, "Don't tell anyone," he told her with a cool look, though she knew it was just a pretence to the fact that he was relieved that she wasn't about to actually do anything, "I'd hate to have to call you a liar, Amelia".

She scoffed, her eyes softening very slightly, "Who's the liar now, Holmes?" she caught his eye and he smirked very slightly, which earned him an exasperated eye roll. She uncrossed her arms, clasping her hands together on top of her crossed legs, feeling her anger draining away almost as easily as it had washed over her. He had apologised, which was a big deal for him, but what was an even bigger deal was the fact that he had admitted that he had perhaps been wrong in the way that he had handled the situation, she knew he didn't take doing that very lightly, so she had to give him some credit. Even if she was still annoyed, though not nearly as annoyed enough to want to shout at him.

Sherlock was watching her again, his eyes very serious as he seemed to be considering his next words carefully, silence washing over them, "I think you would make a good mother, Amelia," he said suddenly, shocking her as her head snapped back around to stare him, her eyes wide as his words hit her as though someone had slapped her. His voice was perfectly calm as he spoke, as though he was stating a fact or a deduction, regarding her with those pale blue eyes of his, "You're one of the most patient individuals that I know, you are warm and kind and you would certainly have the best dressed child of all of London…"

She laughed at that, which made him smile softly, "Careful, Sherlock," she warned gently, giving him a teasing smile, "Someone might think you're sentimental if you keep saying such lovely things about me".

"I already warned you I'm not above calling you a liar," he told her with a hint of smirk on his lips, making her laugh again, his eyes soft and gentle, almost tender, as he watched her. He reached out his hand, allowing it to just lightly brush against her arm through the gap of the armrest between them, which made her just as happy as she would have been if he had grabbed her hand, as anyone else might have, "I think motherhood would suit you," he continued, his tone growing more serious, "In fact, I would go so far as to say it would be a shame for you not to be a mother".

Amelia swallowed hard at his words, her heart pounding in her chest, almost making her feel light headed as she glanced down at his hand lightly brushing against her own arm, feeling the warmth of it through the fabric of her coat. She felt almost shaky, as though her blood pressure had suddenly dropped, but giddy at the same with an almost sickening sense of excitement and delight that his words brought to her. It meant so much to her that he thought that highly of her, and that he actually thought it would be a shame for her not to be a mother, she never would have imagined that he, of all people, would express something like that to anyone, including her. She felt such a rush of affectation and love for him that it took everything inside of her not to just grab the front of his shirt and pull him to her, but she forced herself to keep her fingers firmly clasped in her lap, knowing that while they were out in public, she had to let him be the one to set the rules of what he was comfortable with in regards to affection. Even if right now, in this moment, she wanted nothing more than to just kiss him.

"Sherlock," she said finally, her voice thankfully sounding stronger then she had expected it to, bringing her gaze back up to his, "You have no idea how much it means to me that you think that, honestly…I would kiss you right now, if we weren't in public," she took a slightly shaky breath as he lifted an eyebrow very slightly, almost looking amused, "You think I'd make a good mum, but what about you?" she searched his face carefully, looking for any hint of what he might be feeling as his expression became blank, "What do you think about parenthood?"

Sherlock pulled back from her, withdrawing his hand from her arm, "I think we both know that would be a mistake," he said after a very long, tense silence, his tone carefully controlled. He looked away from her, gazing back across the room towards the wall once again, his tense shoulders the only hint of how he might be feeling, "Fatherhood…it's hardly something I've ever considered, Amelia".

"So was falling in love or dating, but yet…here we are".

"That's hardly the same thing".

"It could be," she eyed him closely, wishing she could look into his mind and see what he was thinking, what he was feeling that he was trying so hard not to show her right now. She knew that there had to be a part of him that hard considered it, his dream while he was high and where they had been married with children was proof enough to her that a part of him, deep down inside, had thought about it enough for his own drug induced mind to somehow latch onto it and turn it into a story.

Sherlock still didn't look at her, though she noticed that he did clench his fist before he grasped the armrest of the chair on his right hand side, away from her, "I doubt very much if you could consider me to be an ideal father figure, Amelia," he said, his voice sounding quite stiff, "I'm a drug addict, after all, and a high functioning sociopath, even if you disagree".

"And my twin brother was a psychopath who tried to kill us both. You think I haven't consider all of the possible genetic complications we could both pass on to any child we had? I have, I've considered it all, and I know the gamble that I'm willing to make, Sherlock Holmes, and I would chose to make it with you. Every. Single. Time".

She reached out and placed a hand over his left hand as it grasped his knee, grateful when he didn't pull away, though he still seemed to be trying to pretend as though she wasn't sitting right next to him. She swallowed, hard, turning her gaze onto the wall ahead of them, squeezing his hand.

"I would never force you into anything, Sherlock," she went on in a softer tone, not letting go of his hand, "Don't think for a second that this changes anything, for God's sake there's no way in hell I am ready to have a child now, or even within the next year, but eventually…maybe. And I need to know where you stand on the subject, because there's only a few years left for me to think about it. Just…" she paused, releasing a slow breath through her lips, closing her eyes, just wanting to try and get him to actually consider it, not dismiss it because of the fact that he was different and a drug addict, "Think on it, be open minded, because there is no one else in this entire world that I would even consider being the father of my children, Sherlock".

She let her hand linger over his for a second longer, before she smiled faintly and opened her eyes, releasing his hand as she rose, her legs aching slightly from sitting for so long. She didn't spare Sherlock another glance as she crossed the waiting room and slipped into the ladies bathroom, though she felt his gaze on her back as she went. She crossed the white tiled room, coming to stand before the large mirror that hung over the sink, meeting her reflections eyes. She looked tired, though that was nothing new, she carefully reached up to lightly run her finger beneath her eyes, carefully wiping away any smudges, before sighing heavily, letting her hand drop onto the top edge of the sink.

She hadn't quite expected that the conversation concerning children would be quite that heavy, she'd had it before, once, when she had been married the first time and she had been quite firm back then that she wouldn't be having any children for a long time. Her first husband hadn't been quite as happy, but she had held firm to it, now she knew that if she did want to have a child, she needed to do it within the next few years, if that was what she wanted. For all she knew, perhaps it was just the fact that she was so excited for John and Mary, perhaps motherhood truly was something she had long since put behind her, but she didn't think so, not completely. And the idea of it coming between herself and Sherlock was the last thing she wanted, but she also couldn't stand the idea of one day resenting him because she didn't speak up when she had the chance. They needed to have this talk, which certainly hadn't finished, but now Sherlock needed to come to terms with everything she had said and figure out what he wanted. It was a part of being in a grownup relationship, after all, it couldn't all be flirting bickering and solving crimes.

Amelia straightened herself, lifting her chin as she looked back at her reflection, absently straightening her coat. She gave herself a nod, before turning on her heel and heading back outside into the waiting area, just in time to catch John throwing the ward's doors open, grinning broader then she had ever seen him, laughing with pure joy as he almost jogged out to them. Sherlock stood from his chair, coming to stand by Amelia as John reached them.

"She's here!" he cried through his laughter, his eyes looking quite damp, as though he had been crying. He suddenly grabbed Amelia, pulling her into a tight hug, which made her gasp in surprise, "I'm a dad!" he practically cheered, right in her ear, making her wince around her delighted smile as she hugged him back.

"Oh, John," she smiled, pulling back enough to kiss his cheek, feeling her heart instantly lighten with happiness and relief that everything had seemingly gone well, "I'm just so happy for you both. How's Mary?"

"Tired, but fantastic," he said, reaching up to absently wipe his eyes, before letting her go to suddenly throw his arms around Sherlock, who grunted very slightly at the impact, "They're both just so amazing," he told them, laughing again as Sherlock awkwardly stood there, his arms hanging as his sides, giving Amelia an almost pleading look over John's shoulder…Amelia simply smiled and shook her head. John finally pulled back from Sherlock, his smile lighting up the room with his joy and excitement, almost taking Amelia's breath away, "Come on, you've got to come and see them…"

"Oh, I'm sure Mary's probably not in the mood for visitors…" Sherlock began hastily; eyeing John with a slightly wary expression, as though fearing another hug attack from the obviously overjoyed man before them.

"No, no, no," John cut him off, almost buzzing with happiness, unable to quite keep still, "You've got to come and say hello, Mary's waiting".

"Sherlock," Amelia gave him a stern look, reaching out to grab his arm, just in case he should try and sneak away, "This is your goddaughter we're talking about, you can't not see her after she's just been born".

Sherlock sighed heavily, looking resigned as he gave John a tight smile, "Congratulations, John," he told him, holding out his hand towards John to shake, sounding completely sincere, even if he obviously felt a little uncomfortable by how happy John was. He apparently didn't quite know how to handle it, which Amelia found positively hilarious, though she kept her amusement to herself.

John almost looked as though he might cry again, grabbing Sherlock's hand and shaking it firmly, "It means a lot," he told them as let go of Sherlock's hand, looking between them both, his voice sounding a little chocked, "Having you both here for this. I wouldn't have wanted anyone else".

"Oh, John," Amelia bit her lip, feeling her eyes welling up slightly at his words, truly feeling so very grateful for his friendship, "You're going to make me cry, and I swear, I'll never forgive you if you make me ruin my makeup".

He laughed again, sniffing slightly, "Not even if I let you hold my daughter?" he smiled widely.

"Okay, so maybe I can completely forgive you for everything, including ruining my makeup and burning my entire wardrobe if you let me hold her, but…only this one time, Watson".

"Well, come on, then".

Amelia really didn't need to be told twice, tugging Sherlock alongside her as they trailed after John, who led them back through the double doors and onto the main section of the maternity ward, which was mostly a long hallway with several doors leading off it, before the hallway turned to the right and went down another hallway with more doors off it. Some pieces of medical equipment had been left sitting outside a couple of the doors, such as what Amelia thought might be a scanner, like the ones she had seen on One Born Every Minute that she and Mary had binged watched one evening with Molly. They didn't see anyone as they went down the hallway, though they could hear muffled screams coming from some of the closed doors, though Amelia was far too excited to pay them much mind as John led them to one of the rooms, reaching out to grasp the metal doorhandle and swinging it open.

The hospital room was rather nice; with a door connecting into what Amelia imagined must be the bathroom just on the left hand side as they entered. A large section of darkened windows ran across the other side of the room, while the hospital bed was pushed up against the left wall, where Mary was sitting propped up with several pillows behind her back, looking very tired with her hair pushed back off her face, her cheeks slightly paler then normal and dark circles under her eyes, but the joyful smile on her face possibly reviled John's own. She was wearing a pair of flannel pyjamas with a floral design across them, cradling a small bundle wrapped up in a pale pink blanket in her arms.

"Hey," Mary greeted them, smiling widely as she caught sight of them, her voice sounding slightly horse. John instantly moved to her side, bending over her to press a kiss to her forehead, which made her close her eyes, before he turned his attention onto the bundle in her arms, looking utterly besotted.

"Mary," Amelia couldn't help whispering, feeling as though to speak at normal tones was simply too loud for the small, peaceful room. She felt slightly awkward as she moved closer to the end of the bed, while Sherlock lingered by the doorway, no doubt feeling even more out of his element right now then she did, though she couldn't really say she understood why she was feeling so funny. Perhaps it was because she had never been in this sort of setting before, after all, no one she knew had any children, certainly no one she was close to, anyway. She caught a peek of the sleeping baby girl bundled up in the blankets and felt her heart melt, "Ooh, look at her," she cooed softly, her lips stretching into a thrilled smile, "She's beautiful, Mary, John".

John looked proudly down at his daughter, "I think she looks like Mary".

"Maybe a little bit around the eyes," Mary agreed, peering down at the baby in her arms, her smile tired but undeniably happy, "I think she's got the Watson nose".

"Poor thing," Amelia teased lightly, shooting John a smirk.

He barely seemed to even register her teasing, pulling his eyes off his daughter to glance over to her, "Do you want to hold her?"

Amelia hesitated, licking her lips slightly nervously as she eyed just how tiny and very fragile looking baby Watson actually was, it seemed like a terribly daunting task to be given such a great responsibility as to hold her. But she couldn't deny that she desperately want to hold her, regardless of her own concerns, this was John's daughter, after all, and her goddaughter, but still…baby Watson really did look like the slightest move could end up breaking something.

"Are you sure?" she looked between John and Mary, sensing Sherlock's curious gaze on the side of her face from where he still lingered by the door, no doubt trying to deduce why she suddenly seemed so anxious, "I mean…you guys do know I've never actually held a baby before, right?"

"What, never?" Mary blinked, surprised.

"How many friends do I have with kids?"

"You'll be fine," John reassured her, which Amelia thought was rather confidant for him to say, given what she had just admitted. He carefully bent down over Mary, who delicately lifted baby Watson up into his arms, John cradling her as though he had done it a hundred times before…which he likely had, given his profession as a doctor, "Take a seat, it'll be easier," he nodded over to where another plastic framed, vinyl chair was sitting up against the wall beneath the window, for guests.

Amelia quickly moved across to it and sat down, feeling her nerves and excitement rising as John came to stand before her, bending down slightly as he carefully lowered baby Watson into her arms, carefully lifting her left elbow up a little higher so that she was supporting the baby's neck properly. She released a breathe, barely daring to move an inch as she cradled baby Watson in her arms against her chest, the baby still sleeping away. She barely weighed a thing; if Amelia had to guess she would estimate that she was just on seven pounds, with a surprising amount of light brown hair covering the top of her head. Looking down into her face, Amelia couldn't help finding herself falling just a little in love, warmth filling her chest and the sense that no matter what, she would try to be the best godmother she could possibly be. She was so going to spoil little Watson, she'd never want for anything, Amelia was already trying to think of how she could get John and Mary agree to letting her help get her into the best private schools in the country, even if it meant paying the school fees herself.

Who would have thought that when she first came into John and Sherlock's life all those years ago that she would be sitting here, holding John's daughter in her arms. She felt as though they had come a very long way since those early years, back when she tried so hard not to allow herself to get close to Sherlock for fear of him learning her secret, from John desperately seeking some way of relieving the boredom of being back to an ordinary life without a war to fight, and then there was Sherlock…he had perhaps come the furthest in the past several years. He went from being a man who barely interacted with the rest of the world unless it related to a case, to now having real, proper friends and relationships with people. Amelia thought he was happier for it, she remembered how cold and distant he had seemed at the start, but now he actually showed that he was capable of being tender and caring and, dare she say it, human.

Amelia was so focused on her own thoughts, she barely even noticed that John had snapped a picture of her, "See?" his voice was brought her back, making her blink and look up, finding him lowering his camera…apparently he had decided to do things properly and bring an actual camera along with them, rather than just their phones. He grinned at her, "If you can handle chasing criminals halfway across London in six inch heels, Amelia, I'm pretty sure you can handle holding a baby".

Amelia smiled a little embarrassedly, avoiding glancing at Sherlock, who had edged slightly closer to the bed, "High heels are a lot less fragile, John," she reminded him, privately thinking that chasing down criminals in heels seemed like a lot less danger then possibly dropping baby Watson right now. She finally looked over to Sherlock, finding him regarding her with a curious expression on his face, his moth very slightly lifted, though the second he seemed to notice that she was looking at him, it was gone, making it difficult to tell just what he had been thinking, "You're being very quiet, Sherlock," she said pointedly, hoping to try and get him to relax a little, "What do you think?"

Sherlock moved to stand by the side of her chair, peering down into the blankets, "Hmm…" he hummed thoughtfully, eyeing baby Watson for a moment, "I think Mary's quite right, she'll have John's nose, of course it's a little too soon to tell just what eye colour she'll have, though genetically…"

"Sherlock," John cut across him, making him stop midsentence and glance over to the other man, standing just by the end of the bed, looking vaguely exasperated, "What do you think of the baby, not who do you think she'll look like".

He hesitated slightly, clasping his hands behind his back, a gesture Amelia suspected was his way of trying to not seem as though he was feeling completely out of his element right now, "She seems…pleasing," he finally said.

Amelia smiled faintly, giving him a proud look, though she resisted the urge to make any comment on how difficult she imagined it must have been for him to even say something like that right now. Pleasing was certainly a better way of describing the baby then what he might have used, like saying that seemed to be healthy or calling baby Watson perfectly ordinary for an infant. With Sherlock, it really could have gone either way.

"Do you want to hold her?" Mary asked him, giving him an encouraging look.

Sherlock took a small step back from Amelia's chair, "I don't think that's very wise," he told her, his tone quite stiff, "She seems…breakable".

"It's really not that bad, Holmes," Amelia said gently, giving him a hopeful smile as he looked at her quickly, "If I can do it, you can. Go on".

Sherlock looked far from thrilled by the prospect, though he made no more attempt to argue the matter as Amelia nodded to John, who carefully took the baby back into his arms and Amelia rose from the chair, gesturing for Sherlock to sit down as she moved to stand next to the chair, instead. Sherlock made a show of sighing loudly as he sat down, though he became very still as John placed the baby into his arms. Amelia gripped the button on her coat, watching his face intently as Sherlock looked quite odd sitting there in his favoured coat, cradling a bundle of pink in his arms, though she couldn't say that the sight didn't make her heart rate increase just a little bit. John quickly took another picture, and Amelia made a mental note to get a copy of it.

"See?" she murmured, placing a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, squeezing it through his coat, "Not so bad after all, is it?"

He looked down into baby Watson's face for a moment, "Perhaps not," he admitted quietly.

John and Mary tactfully pretended not to hear him, while Amelia couldn't stop the massive smile from blooming across her lips.

…

Mary and baby Watson were released from hospital just three days later, declared to be perfectly healthy. Amelia had returned to the hospital each afternoon, during the visiting hours, just to check up on them both and make sure that Mary had everything that she needed, bringing with her a massive bouquet of brilliant pink roses in honour of baby Watson's gender, along with a large gift bag with an assortment of baby things, such as a couple of little dresses that she simply couldn't resist buying and a box of expensive bubble bath and location for Mary, wanting to make sure that the new mum would have something nice, just for herself, to enjoy and relax with once she got home. Of course, she hadn't forgotten John, she had given him a nice bottle of top shelf scotch with a customised label on the front of it, marking the date, time, and place of baby Watson's birth. Sherlock had reluctantly joined her on the last visit, which he spent largely tapping away on his phone, until Mary ordered him to put it away and hold the baby.

The afternoon that Mary and the baby got out of hospital, the Watson's decided to hold a small gathering at their home. Mrs Hudson was practically cooing over the baby even more then Amelia, which was saying a lot, while Molly hadn't stopped smiling since she had arrived, while the new parents sat on the sofa, Mary cradling their daughter as helium balloons floated on strings just behind the sofa. Several gift bags had been left on the coffee table before the new family, along with the vase of roses that Amelia had given them, and a large white teddy bear that had been a gift from Molly, which sat beside the sofa.

Amelia smiled brightly, lifting her champagne flute up to her pale pink lips as she took a sip of the bubbling liquid, watching from beside Sherlock across the room from the couple as Mrs Hudson instructed them to smile, trying to take a picture of them. John looked years younger than Amelia had ever seen him, his eyes lit up in pure happiness as he sat close to his wife, one arm wrapped around Mary's back, while Mary smiled up at the camera as she held baby Watson's tiny hand with two of her own fingers. It warmed her heart to see how truly happy and settled they were, though she did wonder how long it would take before that wore off. Baby Watson had only been home for twenty minutes, after all.

A small, bright flash of light emitted from the camera in Mrs Hudson's hands, and she frowned slightly, "Has that come out?" she asked Molly, who stood beside her as she sipped her own champagne, peering at the tiny screen on the camera. She laughed in exasperation, "They never come out when I take them!"

Molly swallowed her mouthful, giving her a small smile, "Let's have a look," she said as she placed her glass down on the corner of the coffee table, straightening as she took the camera from the older woman.

"Aww," Mrs Hudson cooed, again, as she turned her attention back onto the baby cradled in Mary's arms, Mary lightly rubbing the baby's back as she started to fuss, "She's so beautiful".

"She really is," Amelia agreed, her smile softening as she eyed the baby, feeling the urge to just want to hold her and cuddle her into her chest. She had to admit, she might have been just a little overcome by baby fever, she was quite sure she had probably driven Sherlock up the wall going on about how adorable she thought baby Watson was, which was still something rather new for Amelia to experience. She had never really been interested in babies or kids, not until now, anyway. Next to her, Sherlock dragged his eyes off his phone long enough to give her an exasperated glare, before quickly becoming engrossed with his mobile device once more.

Molly glanced over to Amelia and gave her a broad grin, looking rather amused by Amelia's obvious affection for the baby, before she held the camera out towards Mrs Hudson, "Have another go," she told her.

Mrs Hudson took the camera back, eagerly looking back across to John and Mary, "What about a name?" she asked them, just as Amelia's phone buzzed in her blazer pocket, something she choose to ignore for the time being, unlike someone…she shot Sherlock a small glare. They might have been working on a case, but it wouldn't hurt to take a break for an hour or so.

"Catharine," John replied, smiling broadly.

"Uh, yeah," Mary cut in quickly, glancing at him, "We've gone off that".

"Have we?" he blinked, giving her a slightly surprised look. Amelia lifted an eyebrow, amused.

"Yeah".

"Oh".

"Well, you know what I think…" Sherlock commented without so much as glancing up from his phone, his thumbs rapidly texting.

"It's not a girl's name," John and Mary said in unison, making Amelia shake her head in amusement, lightly nudging Sherlock's side.

Sherlock smirked, his eyes flickering briefly across to Amelia, "Of course, 'Amelia' and 'Grace' are both very feminine names…" he continued in the same tone, his gaze returning to the screen on his phone, though his smirk remained firmly in place.

"They're not naming the baby after me, either, Holmes," Amelia sighed, giving him a look caught between amusement and fondness, before she paused, smiling faintly as she looked back across to John and Mary, "Or though, I certainly would be very flattered if you did".

"Maybe if we have another one," Mary said with a small smile, which was more than enough for Amelia, who instantly brightened.

John shook his head, looking across to the other side of the room to Molly and Mrs Hudson, "Molly, Mrs H," he began, looking hopeful, "We would love you to be godparents".

Instantly, both women broke into excited and delighted laughter, Molly couldn't seem to believe that they had actually asked her, her expression one of complete shock. Amelia smiled; taking a sip from her glass, having already expected that John and Mary would likely ask either one of the women…she hadn't quite expected them to ask both of them, but it was such a lovely idea. Baby Watson would certainly never want for a female role model as she grew up.

"Oh!" Molly gasped, grinning widely.

"If you…" he went to go on.

"Really?" Molly cut across him, laughing slightly again in delighted surprise.

"So lovely!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed, positively thrilled.

John smiled slightly, apparently realising that he really didn't need to ask if they were happy to accept the role, shaking his head faintly in amusement as he climbed onto his feet and caught Amelia's eye. He carefully edged around his coffee table as he moved towards the detectives, leaving Molly and Mrs Hudson to coo over the baby, Molly perching herself on the edge of the couch next to Mary, who settled the baby in her arms. He cleared his throat slightly, raising his eyebrows at them as he stopped before them.

"So, uh…" he shot Sherlock a quick look, though Sherlock was utterly engrossed with his phone, "I know we pretty much just told you that you were going to be godparents, but we…eh, didn't really ask if that was okay…"

Amelia gave him a warm smile, remembering how John and Mary had pretty much just said that she would be the godmother of their child, no matter what, while she had spent that week from hell waiting for Sherlock to be exiled or thrown into some sort of dark prison. They had come around to Baker Street the morning after everything had happened on that horrible Christmas day, and told her then, no doubt trying to cheer her up and distract her at the time. It had helped, she had to admit, it reminded her that no matter what might happen with Sherlock, her life would still go on without him, which had been a horrible thought to think of, but it had also forced her to start thinking about what to do should the worst happen. That, in itself, had provided a useful distraction. Sherlock being the godfather was pretty much just a given, after he managed to escape being exiled to certain death, they had all known it was what would happen once the baby was born, but no one had technically asked him. It was just…implied.

"Oh, John," she said happily, reaching out to place her hand on his arm, "Nothing could make me more delighted. Of course I'll be your daughter's godmother".

"Thank you, Amelia," he returned her smile with an even brighter one of his own, and she thought she might have even detected a slight hint of relief, as though he had actually feared she might turn it down. He cleared his throat again, turning to Sherlock, his expression growing slightly nervous, "Um, Sherlock?" he said, trying to get his attention.

"Hmm?" Sherlock hummed absently, still texting.

"Godfather, Sherlock? We'd like you to be godfather, officially".

"God is a ludicrous fiction dreamed up by inadequate who abnegate all responsibility to an invisible magic friend".

Amelia closed her eyes, sighing, "Sherlock," she said warningly.

John gave him an mildly annoyed look, though he didn't seem the slightest bit surprised that Sherlock had to make even this difficult, when he pretty much already had the job, "Yeah, but there'll be cake," he told him, giving him a stern look, "Will you do it?"

Sherlock managed to drag his eyes off his phone long enough to give him a faint frown, "I'll get back to you," he muttered, returning to his texting once more.

"Of course he'll do it," Amelia said firmly, grabbing Sherlock's arm and tightening her hold on his elbow, making him frown again and throw her a quick look. She ignored it, smiling happily at John.

"I don't suppose you could also try and get him to leave the phone at home, too?" John asked hopefully, giving the phone that seemed to be permanently fixed in Sherlock's hands theses days a quick glance, but if anyone might be able to get Sherlock to leave it at home for a few hours, it would be Amelia; he just didn't really want to know how she convinced him.

Her smile became slightly more fixed, "Let's focus on one miracle at a time, shall we?" she told him warily, before lifting her champagne glass in a toast towards him, ignoring the scoff Sherlock gave, "To fatherhood".

….

Six weeks later marked the day of the christening and Amelia found herself trying desperately hard not to glare at Sherlock as he stood beside her during the ceremony, tapping away at his phone…because apparently the man didn't just have one phone, but two, something she had failed to consider when she had confiscated his original phone that morning and hidden it in her garter beneath her floral dress, pretty much the one place she had been certain even Sherlock Holmes couldn't sneakily steal it back, not unless she was foolish enough to let him get close to her. But yet, here he was, texting away by her side without any hindrance, she really ought to have known he didn't put up much of a fight when she demanded he hand her his phone unless he wished to spend a week on a cruise ship with his parents and brother.

She pressed her lightly glossed lips together, turning her attention back onto the elderly vicar as he stood at the front of the church over the top of the baptismal font, John and Mary, cradling the baby, standing next to him. Molly was standing on the right of Sherlock, watching the vicar, looking rather pretty in her floral dress and white cardigan, while Mrs Hudson stood on her other side, next to Lestrade, close to where a middle aged couple were standing with delighted expressions on their faces.

"Father," the vicar was saying over the top of the water, "We ask you to send your blessing on this water…" he leaned over the font and made the sign of the cross over the water, "…and sanctify it for our use this day, in Christ's name," he lightly shook the water off his hand as Amelia resisted the urge to say 'Amen,' her Catholic upbringing rearing its head. The vicar turned towards John and Mary, "Now, what name have you given your daughter?"

Mary glanced at John, sharing a smile, before looking back up to the man, "Rosamund Mary," she replied happily.

"Rosamund?" Sherlock repeated, looking up briefly from his phone with a frown.

"Yes, Sherlock," Amelia whispered, giving the side of his face a small glare of annoyance, "Now, please pay attention".

"Did you know it means 'rose of the world?'" Molly said quietly, smiling as she glanced at Sherlock, who had already gone back to his texting, "Rosie for short," she paused as Sherlock shot her a disproving look, just as little Rosie gave a small wail from her mother's arms. Molly blinked slowly, staring at him in realisation, "Didn't you get John's text?"

"No," he muttered distractedly, and Amelia's eye twitched as the sound of his phone's keys being pressed seemed horribly loud in the quiet of the church, "I delete his texts. I delete any text that begins with, 'Hi,'" he tilted his head slightly towards Amelia without taking his eyes off his phone, "If it had been important, Amelia would have told me, I imagine".

"I did tell you," Amelia huffed, while Molly looked at Sherlock as though she had never seen him before. She shot her ever so dutiful boyfriend an angry look, "You didn't bother to listen".

"I always listen to you, Amelia, I simply deleted it".

"Oh, that's so much better!" she hissed, her expression positively icy. Mrs Hudson cleared her throat pointedly, making Amelia sigh, "Sorry," she smiled apologetically across to the older woman, who gave her a mildly disproving look. She turned her gaze back onto the ceremony, discreetly touching the back of Sherlock's hand, "Put it away, Sherlock, or I swear…we'll be playing Bingo with your parents and avoiding Mycroft at the buffet table on that cruise ship".

Sherlock glanced at her with a dark look; Amelia simply glared right back at him, watching as he rolled his eyes and reluctantly put his hands behind his back. She didn't fail to notice that he didn't exactly follow her demand, but as long as he was discreet, she could live with it. She took a deep, calming breath and turned back to watch as the vicar now cradled Rosie, who was still fussing.

"And now, godparents," the vicar called, looking directly down from the platform he stood on to Amelia, Sherlock, Molly, and Mrs Hudson, "Are you ready to help the parents of this child in their duties as Christian parents?"

"We are," all three women spoke in unison, Amelia and Molly both giving Sherlock a look when he remained noticeably silent. Molly nudged his side sharply, causing him to flinch and look up quickly.

"Sorry," a male SIRI voice emitted from behind Sherlock's back, drawing everyone's eyes upon the curly haired detective, "I didn't catch that," Amelia closed her eyes tightly and internally begged for the willpower not to strangle her boyfriend, while John stared at Sherlock's frozen form and Mary narrowed her eyes, "Please repeat the question".

Amelia opened her eyes and, with far more self-control then she felt currently when everything inside of her wanted to slap him, plucked the phone out of his hands.

….

It was four months later and Amelia was delighted to say that baby Rosie truly was turning out to be a rather wonderful five month old. She had even managed to convince John and Mary to let her babysit a couple of times, which had been an experience in itself…she may or may not have needed to Google how to change a nappy the first time, Sherlock certainly hadn't been any help in the matter, since he seemed to disappear the moment the possibility of needing to change a nappy came into the picture. But Sherlock was not nearly as opposed to the idea of having a baby around Baker Street, as Amelia had feared he might be, she had even caught up trying to comfort Rosie after she had woken up from a nap and Amelia had been called away to help Mrs Hudson with her shopping. It hadn't been overly successful, but he had tried, and it had warmed her heart to witness the moment.

John and Mary seemed to be adjusting well to parenthood, though Amelia noted with some amusement that the novelty of having a baby quickly wore off once Rosie started waking them several times during the night. Amelia had been forced to gently wake John more than once after she had found him snoring during one of the few times he had escaped the house without Mary and Rosie in toe. For the most part, the little family unit seemed to stick together, where one went, they all went, resulting in Amelia spending an entire afternoon trying to desperately baby proof the flat, which was an impossible task. Thankfully, it would be a while before Rosie would be walking or crawling, but it still set Amelia on edge seeing how many hazards the flat held.

"As ever, Watson, you see but do not observe…"

Amelia blinked slightly, Sherlock's exasperated voice travelling through into the kitchen as she made herself a cup of tea. John and Mary, with Rosie, of course, had dropped by to try and help them on their latest case, though it sounded as though one of the Watsons wasn't being overly helpful right now. Curious, she left her cup behind on the kitchen counter and moved to open the sliding door between the living room and kitchen, raising an eyebrow as she found Sherlock standing before John's old chair in his camel coloured dressing gown that Amelia had bought him for his last birthday.

"To you," Sherlock continued, oblivious to his audience, "The world remains an impenetrable mystery, to me, it is an open book. Hard logic versus romantic whimsy. That is your choice. You fail to connect actions to their consequences. Now, for the last time…" he stepped closer to the chair and bent down, picking up a lime green toy that rattled as he shook it slightly, "…if you wish to keep the rattle, do not throw the rattle, hm?"

Amelia barely contained a giggle, realising that he was actually speaking to Rosie as she sat up in her baby chair secured on the armchair. She settled on smiling widely as she watched Sherlock hold the rattle out to the baby, who gurgled happily and took it, Sherlock smiling happily…right before he was smacked in the face by the toy. It bounced off his face as he blinked, his smile instantly falling as Amelia chocked on her laughter, slapping a hand over her painted red lips as Sherlock straightened quickly at the noise, looking startled to find her watching from the doorway.

"How long where you standing there?" he practically demanded, pale blue eyes narrowed on her.

She smirked, stepping into the room, "Oh, just for the whole thing," she told him brightly, making him huff, likely from the embarrassment. She glanced across the room to where poor John and Mary were fast asleep on the sofa, John snoring lightly as he lean sideways into the side of the sofa, one hand resting heavily on top of Mary's leg as it was slung across his knees, Mary lying across the other half the couch, "Poor things," she said softly, glancing down over the top of the armchair at Rose, "You've been keeping them on their toes, haven't you?"

Rosie grinned up at her from around her fist, dribbling slightly.

"We should wake them," Sherlock remarked, flopping down into his favoured armchair, bringing his fingertips together beneath his chin as he regarded the sleeping couple with a small frown, no doubt not overly pleased with the fact that their sleeping would interfere with their work on the case if it meant that they also had to babysit.

"No," Amelia shook her head, smiling faintly at the utterly exhausted pair, "Let them sleep. I'm pretty sure they've earned it".

So, did I ever mention how much I hate maths? I hate it so, so much, I just don't understand it, but I have to in order to do my medications for my nursing…so, yeah, that's been super great. Thankfully, writing this helped distract me and helped me stress a little less. Anyway, so, this was a pretty big chapter in regards to relationships, Amelia and Sherlock had the very adult baby talk, which I felt was very important to include because it's a part of a real relationship. People have to speak about that sort of thing; even if they might never have kids, it's something I felt needed to be included and given what else was going on at the time, it seemed to fit well. Having said that, will Sherlock and Amelia have kids? At this point, it's up in the air; they still have more progress to make in their own relationship before that.

Next chapter, Amelia knows just how to break through even Sherlock Holmes's walls, is John hiding something? And Amelia's still got it. Tell me what you thought, please review :)