Nature and Nurture (48/57)
Mar. 5th, 2014 09:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
earlgreytea68Title - Nature and Nurture (48/57)
Author -![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
earlgreytea68
Rating - Teen
Characters - Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Molly
Spoilers - Through "His Last Vow"
Disclaimer - I don't own them and I don't make money off of them, but I don't like to dwell on that, so let's move on.
Summary - The British Government accidentally clones Sherlock Holmes. Which brings a baby to 221B Baker Street.
Author's Notes - Thank you to hobbitts for permission to use the art in the icon, and to everyone on Twitter who helped name the baby, and to everyone on Tumblr was who was supportive and encouraging while I was going crazy over this, and to arctacuda, who's been reading this over for me and making sure it works and I'm not going crazy, and to flawedamythyst, who took one for the team and made sure that my British sounded, well, a bit more British.
Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve - Chapter Thirteen - Chapter Fourteen - Chapter Fifteen - Chapter Sixteen - Chapter Seventeen - Chapter Eighteen - Chapter Nineteen - Chapter Twenty - Chapter Twenty-One - Chapter Twenty-Two - Chapter Twenty-Three - Chapter Twenty-Four - Chapter Twenty-Five - Chapter Twenty-Six - Chapter Twenty-Seven - Chapter Twenty-Eight - Chapter Twenty-Nine - Chapter Thirty - Chapter Thirty-One - Chapter Thirty-Two - Chapter Thirty-Three - Chapter Thirty-Four - Chapter Thirty-Five - Chapter Thirty-Six - Chapter Thirty-Seven - Chapter Thirty-Eight - Chapter Thirty-Nine - Chapter Forty - Chapter Forty-One - Chapter Forty-Two - Chapter Forty-Three - Chapter Forty-Four - Chapter Forty-Five - Chapter Forty-Six - Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter 48
It was an unusually rainy summer, even by London standards. Or maybe John just felt the weather more keenly now that he was locked inside with two bored, restless Sherlock Holmeses instead of one. Sherlock spent his time creating explosions in the kitchen or throwing his still-unsolved puzzle ball against the wall. Oliver spent his time applauding the explosions in the kitchen or making John have a heart attack by finding ways to sneak past the baby gate to go up or down the stairs.
John rang Lestrade on his way to the shops. Because, despite the fact that they were both bored out of their skulls, both of his stubborn Sherlocks would still prefer their exquisite sulks to leaving the flat to go shopping.
“Why haven’t there been any crimes?” John demanded, hunching a bit when confronted with the persistent cool rain outside.
“There was a crime last week,” Lestrade pointed out.
“That was last week.”
“You sound desperate, mate,” said Lestrade, as if this was all amusing.
“Of course I’m desperate. This morning he decided it would be interesting to test the flammability of gerbil embryos by throwing them into the fireplace, Greg.”
“Why do you have gerbil embryos in your flat in the first place?” asked Lestrade, sounding curious.
“They were a Christmas present,” John grumbled, “and never mind about that, you’re missing the point. He threw them into the fire and Oliver contributed to the experiment his book about purple elephants, so now I’m going to have to explain to Mrs. Hudson that Oliver burned the book she bought him for Christmas.”
“Purple elephants doesn’t really seem like Oliver’s thing,” remarked Lestrade.
John gritted his teeth as he walked into the shop. “Again: not the point. You need to find a crime. Sherlock has been scathing about the inbox, so you’re it for me.”
There was a pause.
John, scanning the shelves for something he could take home that might tempt someone in the flat who wasn’t him to eat, heard the pause and straightened a bit, shifting his full attention to Lestrade and narrowing his eyes. “What?” he demanded, flatly.
“Nothing,” answered Lestrade, hastily.
“You’re keeping something from me.”
“I may have taken a few days off,” Lestrade blurted out, quickly.
John blinked and looked at the steady rain outside. “Are you on holiday right now?” That sounded like the best idea John had ever heard, actually. Maybe they should ring Mycroft and ask for use of the house in France again. Mycroft.
Lestrade was saying, “I mean, I haven’t gone anywhere but—”
John interrupted him. “Are you on holiday with Mycroft?”
“I was just telling you that I’m still in London—”
“Right, but you took a few days off. Did Mycroft take a few days off? Does Mycroft take days off?”
“He…said he would be less busy for a little while,” said Lestrade, awkwardly.
John looked unseeingly at the boxes of cereal in front of him. “This is serious, you two. Really, properly serious. I mean…How long have you been seeing each other now?”
“It’s difficult to say,” said Lestrade.
“Difficult to say?” echoed John.
“We have different interpretations on when it should be counted from.”
John smiled and thought of Sherlock, giving him an anniversary gift early because he insisted John had never understood their proper anniversary date. “Yes,” he agreed. “They do that, make up milestones in their heads that they think you’re going to be aware of.” John selected six different types of cereal and thought maybe he would propose some kind of experiment. And he said, “We should go to dinner.”
“We should what?”
“The four of us. If you’re going to be part of the family now, then we should welcome you into it properly. With a barking mad dinner somewhere where you and I can get drunk while Sherlock and Mycroft frown at each other. A double date.” John was warming to the idea. “It’ll be fun.”
“You’ve been with Sherlock too long,” Lestrade told him. “You’ve forgotten the proper definition of ‘fun.’”
John scoffed. “I think it’ll be lovely. Tell Mycroft I’m serious about this. We’ll even pick a nice restaurant, because we can’t possibly have you over to ours and Mycroft’s house makes me nervous.”
Lestrade sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with his house.”
“You’re good for him,” said John, fondly, and meaning it. It hadn’t occurred to him to think that Mycroft was lonely but it was nice to think that he wasn’t any longer.
“Oh, it’s, you know—” began Lestrade, clearly minimizing everything.
“You think there’s nothing wrong with him,” interrupted John, firmly. “That’s good for him. And I’m happy for both of you. And we’re definitely having dinner. Tell Mycroft I’m on to him and I know he’s not half as busy as he pretends.”
“Mycroft says I’m spending too much time on the phone with you.”
“Ah,” teased John. “Young love. I remember those halcyon days.”
“Shut up,” said Lestrade, and ended the call.
The prospect of actually having something to put on his calendar put a bounce in John’s step and almost made up for how wet he was when he walked back into the flat.
Sherlock and Oliver were in the kitchen. John had said they weren’t allowed in the sitting room while he was out because they’d already caused quite enough destruction in there for one day. The chemistry equipment had been pushed to one side of the table, which had been strewn with a variety of parts. Oliver was rhythmically banging a piece of clear plastic against the table; Sherlock appeared to be doing some kind of sorting.
“And what’s this?” asked John, looking at the deconstructed whatever-it-was and hoping it hadn’t been anything too irreplaceable.
“My puzzle ball,” said Sherlock. “I have solved it.”
“Clearly,” said John, looking at its guts all over their kitchen table.
“Stupid sodding ball,” said Oliver.
John lifted his eyebrows at Sherlock, who said, brightly, “What did you bring back from the shops?”
John decided to let it go and presented his line-up of cereals with a flourish. “Ta-da!”
Both Sherlock and Oliver regarded the boxes with identical expressions notable for their lack of enthusiasm.
“What are we meant to do with those?” asked Sherlock.
“A bit of eating, a bit of experimenting,” suggested John.
Sherlock and Oliver both considered.
Oliver said, “Stupid sodding cereal.”
John said, pointing at Sherlock, “You need to cure him of that.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, I said it once whilst you were out,” complained Sherlock.
“And he knew you weren’t supposed to, so it’s the one thing he’s going to say from now on.” John put the milk in the food fridge. “He’s you, Sherlock, he’s not an idiot.”
“Traitor,” Sherlock told Oliver. “If you keep doing things like that, I’m not going to let you see that liver Molly cut in half for us.”
Oliver looked unimpressed, which John understood, because Sherlock never denied Oliver anything, and Oliver had realized that long ago.
“I talked to Lestrade while I was shopping,” said John.
“Oh? Does he have a crime?”
“No. He’s on holiday.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I hate it when he goes on holiday. He comes back looking like a walnut and thinking it’s delightful. I can’t even look at him for weeks, it hurts my retinas.”
“Well, he hasn’t left London.”
“How is that a holiday? Just because he doesn’t go to work every day? By that definition, you and I are on holiday constantly.”
“He took a few days off work to spend them with your brother.”
Sherlock sat up straighter and frowned and put his hands over Oliver’s ears. Oliver likewise frowned, although he was frowning at Sherlock instead of John. “Why would you say that?” Sherlock hissed.
John looked at Sherlock’s hands over Oliver’s ears in surprise. “Because it’s true. What are you doing?”
“I don’t want him to have to think about Mycroft and sex,” said Sherlock, struggling to keep his hands in position over Oliver’s jerking head.
“Okay, first off, I don’t think he would, since I’d be surprised if he knows what that is yet. Second, are you just going to ignore the fact that your brother is dating Lestrade?”
“I only have to ignore it until they break up. It can’t be that much longer.” Sherlock gave up on keeping his hands over Oliver’s ears.
Oliver glared at him and said, “Sodding,” and threw the piece of plastic he’d been holding in clear protest.
John frowned at Sherlock. “Don’t wish for them to break up. That’s cruel. What if people wished that about us?”
“They’d be idiots. You know I don’t care what people think.”
“I think Lestrade makes your brother happy. And you should be pleased about that.”
Sherlock snorted. “Nothing makes Mycroft happy.”
“As usual, you are completely wrong when it comes to Mycroft. And we’re going to dinner with them.”
Sherlock stared, and John enjoyed having garnered that reaction. “We’re what?”
“Going to dinner. A double date. It’ll be nice.” John walked into the sitting room.
Sherlock followed, Oliver in his arms. “A date?”
“Yes.” John sat in his chair and stretched out his legs. “It’s going to be fun.”
“I really don’t think you know the definition of that word,” said Sherlock.
***
Mrs. Hudson had decided to flee the cloud hovering over London by going to visit her sister in the countryside, where it was just as gray and rainy but, she claimed, more picturesque. This meant that John called in Molly to watch Oliver. She arrived with a heavy book tucked under her arm, which she showed to John as she came up the stairs.
“An Illustrated Guide to Every Part of the Human Body,” read John.
Molly practically beamed. “I thought Oliver would like it.”
“Yes,” agreed John. “But if he doesn’t, he’ll rip it to shreds. He’s in a bit of a phase now. So maybe don’t—”
“Oh, it’ll be fine,” said Molly, breezily, walking into the sitting room, where Oliver was sitting next to his skull on his periodic table blanket and energetically ripping out pages of a poetry book that John had found on their shelves and that neither one of them could ever recall having acquired. “Hello, Ollie-Ollie-oxen-free,” she said to him.
Oliver smiled at her and said, in delight, “Moll!”
“Look what I brought you,” said Molly, and put the book down next to Oliver.
Oliver pulled it over and opened it and turned the pages reverently, completely engrossed.
“See?” Molly grinned up at John. “Told you. He’s going to be a doctor.”
Sherlock told him this all the time. Certainly it was borne out by Oliver’s fascination with John’s medical bag. Oliver enjoyed Sherlock’s experiments but he loved it when John had to patch Sherlock up from assorted mishaps, clapped in delight whenever John had to break out gauze. But there was an odd part of John that didn’t dare to hope for such things. He didn’t think he’d be one of those fathers who wanted his children to follow in his footsteps but it meant more to him than he’d anticipated, Oliver’s interest in medicine.
John said, “Sherlock prefers chemistry to biology.”
“You know that doesn’t matter, right? It’s nature and nurture,” said Molly.
John knew. John also thought it was the type of thing that Peter Thorpe would have been interested in. And he hated that he thought about Thorpe.
He frowned briefly and said, “He shouldn’t give you much trouble. He can keep himself entertained for hours as long as he thinks that you’re waiting to be at his beck and call should you need him. He won’t sleep, but don’t worry about that. He almost never sleeps, no matter what I do. And that is nature, my nurture’s not helping at all.”
“We’ll be fine,” said Molly. “I’m going to teach him the bones of the hand.”
“His language skills are advanced, but that might be asking for a bit much,” John warned her. He felt as if he was always recalibrating expectations. Sherlock was endlessly impatient that Oliver hadn’t learned to read yet.
“Don’t mind John,” Sherlock said, coming out of their bedroom. “John is constantly saddling Oliver with low expectations. Ollie and I regularly ignore him, don’t we, Ollie?”
“Yes,” agreed Oliver, and turned a page of his book.
John shook his head and looked at Sherlock, who was wearing his plum-colored shirt and looked really quite lovely. John smiled at him. Sherlock had threatened to go to dinner in a bedsheet, and then John had decided they should go to Angelo’s for dinner, and Sherlock had amended his plan. Angelo would have let Sherlock dine in a bedsheet, but Sherlock didn’t want to deter other diners from Angelo’s establishment. Sherlock’s loyalty was reliable, but John wasn’t going to tell Sherlock that he sometimes manipulated it. “Ready?” asked John.
“No,” said Sherlock. “This is a terrible idea and, Molly, you should expect us back within the hour.”
“No, you shouldn’t.”
“Tell him all sorts of macabre stories and you should get along fine,” said Sherlock.
“Okay, let’s go,” said John.
Sherlock walked past him to lean down and kiss Oliver’s head.
Oliver said, “Look,” and held out his book.
Sherlock glanced at it briefly. “That’s the shoulder and upper arm. Molly can tell you all the muscles.” Sherlock passed a fond hand over Oliver’s curls.
“Shoulder,” Oliver said, carefully, trying out the word, and studied the diagram of muscles.
John thought he was going to have the only child on the planet who was going to recognize body parts from their internal parts before he could name where they were on the human body.
He followed Sherlock down the stairs and then pressed him up against the wall before he could open the door. “You are fantastic,” he said, “and I am going to be very nice to you later on tonight.” He kissed him fiercely.
Sherlock made a sound that was half-approving, half-inquiring.
“Anything you want,” John promised.
“Oh, excellent, I’m going to be considering this all through dinner,” said Sherlock, and kissed him.
Bingo, thought John, but didn’t say. He would have no problem with Sherlock thinking about sex all dinner, as long as it kept Sherlock quiet and in a good mood.
Next Chapter
Author -
earlgreytea68Rating - Teen
Characters - Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Molly
Spoilers - Through "His Last Vow"
Disclaimer - I don't own them and I don't make money off of them, but I don't like to dwell on that, so let's move on.
Summary - The British Government accidentally clones Sherlock Holmes. Which brings a baby to 221B Baker Street.
Author's Notes - Thank you to hobbitts for permission to use the art in the icon, and to everyone on Twitter who helped name the baby, and to everyone on Tumblr was who was supportive and encouraging while I was going crazy over this, and to arctacuda, who's been reading this over for me and making sure it works and I'm not going crazy, and to flawedamythyst, who took one for the team and made sure that my British sounded, well, a bit more British.
Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve - Chapter Thirteen - Chapter Fourteen - Chapter Fifteen - Chapter Sixteen - Chapter Seventeen - Chapter Eighteen - Chapter Nineteen - Chapter Twenty - Chapter Twenty-One - Chapter Twenty-Two - Chapter Twenty-Three - Chapter Twenty-Four - Chapter Twenty-Five - Chapter Twenty-Six - Chapter Twenty-Seven - Chapter Twenty-Eight - Chapter Twenty-Nine - Chapter Thirty - Chapter Thirty-One - Chapter Thirty-Two - Chapter Thirty-Three - Chapter Thirty-Four - Chapter Thirty-Five - Chapter Thirty-Six - Chapter Thirty-Seven - Chapter Thirty-Eight - Chapter Thirty-Nine - Chapter Forty - Chapter Forty-One - Chapter Forty-Two - Chapter Forty-Three - Chapter Forty-Four - Chapter Forty-Five - Chapter Forty-Six - Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter 48
It was an unusually rainy summer, even by London standards. Or maybe John just felt the weather more keenly now that he was locked inside with two bored, restless Sherlock Holmeses instead of one. Sherlock spent his time creating explosions in the kitchen or throwing his still-unsolved puzzle ball against the wall. Oliver spent his time applauding the explosions in the kitchen or making John have a heart attack by finding ways to sneak past the baby gate to go up or down the stairs.
John rang Lestrade on his way to the shops. Because, despite the fact that they were both bored out of their skulls, both of his stubborn Sherlocks would still prefer their exquisite sulks to leaving the flat to go shopping.
“Why haven’t there been any crimes?” John demanded, hunching a bit when confronted with the persistent cool rain outside.
“There was a crime last week,” Lestrade pointed out.
“That was last week.”
“You sound desperate, mate,” said Lestrade, as if this was all amusing.
“Of course I’m desperate. This morning he decided it would be interesting to test the flammability of gerbil embryos by throwing them into the fireplace, Greg.”
“Why do you have gerbil embryos in your flat in the first place?” asked Lestrade, sounding curious.
“They were a Christmas present,” John grumbled, “and never mind about that, you’re missing the point. He threw them into the fire and Oliver contributed to the experiment his book about purple elephants, so now I’m going to have to explain to Mrs. Hudson that Oliver burned the book she bought him for Christmas.”
“Purple elephants doesn’t really seem like Oliver’s thing,” remarked Lestrade.
John gritted his teeth as he walked into the shop. “Again: not the point. You need to find a crime. Sherlock has been scathing about the inbox, so you’re it for me.”
There was a pause.
John, scanning the shelves for something he could take home that might tempt someone in the flat who wasn’t him to eat, heard the pause and straightened a bit, shifting his full attention to Lestrade and narrowing his eyes. “What?” he demanded, flatly.
“Nothing,” answered Lestrade, hastily.
“You’re keeping something from me.”
“I may have taken a few days off,” Lestrade blurted out, quickly.
John blinked and looked at the steady rain outside. “Are you on holiday right now?” That sounded like the best idea John had ever heard, actually. Maybe they should ring Mycroft and ask for use of the house in France again. Mycroft.
Lestrade was saying, “I mean, I haven’t gone anywhere but—”
John interrupted him. “Are you on holiday with Mycroft?”
“I was just telling you that I’m still in London—”
“Right, but you took a few days off. Did Mycroft take a few days off? Does Mycroft take days off?”
“He…said he would be less busy for a little while,” said Lestrade, awkwardly.
John looked unseeingly at the boxes of cereal in front of him. “This is serious, you two. Really, properly serious. I mean…How long have you been seeing each other now?”
“It’s difficult to say,” said Lestrade.
“Difficult to say?” echoed John.
“We have different interpretations on when it should be counted from.”
John smiled and thought of Sherlock, giving him an anniversary gift early because he insisted John had never understood their proper anniversary date. “Yes,” he agreed. “They do that, make up milestones in their heads that they think you’re going to be aware of.” John selected six different types of cereal and thought maybe he would propose some kind of experiment. And he said, “We should go to dinner.”
“We should what?”
“The four of us. If you’re going to be part of the family now, then we should welcome you into it properly. With a barking mad dinner somewhere where you and I can get drunk while Sherlock and Mycroft frown at each other. A double date.” John was warming to the idea. “It’ll be fun.”
“You’ve been with Sherlock too long,” Lestrade told him. “You’ve forgotten the proper definition of ‘fun.’”
John scoffed. “I think it’ll be lovely. Tell Mycroft I’m serious about this. We’ll even pick a nice restaurant, because we can’t possibly have you over to ours and Mycroft’s house makes me nervous.”
Lestrade sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with his house.”
“You’re good for him,” said John, fondly, and meaning it. It hadn’t occurred to him to think that Mycroft was lonely but it was nice to think that he wasn’t any longer.
“Oh, it’s, you know—” began Lestrade, clearly minimizing everything.
“You think there’s nothing wrong with him,” interrupted John, firmly. “That’s good for him. And I’m happy for both of you. And we’re definitely having dinner. Tell Mycroft I’m on to him and I know he’s not half as busy as he pretends.”
“Mycroft says I’m spending too much time on the phone with you.”
“Ah,” teased John. “Young love. I remember those halcyon days.”
“Shut up,” said Lestrade, and ended the call.
The prospect of actually having something to put on his calendar put a bounce in John’s step and almost made up for how wet he was when he walked back into the flat.
Sherlock and Oliver were in the kitchen. John had said they weren’t allowed in the sitting room while he was out because they’d already caused quite enough destruction in there for one day. The chemistry equipment had been pushed to one side of the table, which had been strewn with a variety of parts. Oliver was rhythmically banging a piece of clear plastic against the table; Sherlock appeared to be doing some kind of sorting.
“And what’s this?” asked John, looking at the deconstructed whatever-it-was and hoping it hadn’t been anything too irreplaceable.
“My puzzle ball,” said Sherlock. “I have solved it.”
“Clearly,” said John, looking at its guts all over their kitchen table.
“Stupid sodding ball,” said Oliver.
John lifted his eyebrows at Sherlock, who said, brightly, “What did you bring back from the shops?”
John decided to let it go and presented his line-up of cereals with a flourish. “Ta-da!”
Both Sherlock and Oliver regarded the boxes with identical expressions notable for their lack of enthusiasm.
“What are we meant to do with those?” asked Sherlock.
“A bit of eating, a bit of experimenting,” suggested John.
Sherlock and Oliver both considered.
Oliver said, “Stupid sodding cereal.”
John said, pointing at Sherlock, “You need to cure him of that.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, I said it once whilst you were out,” complained Sherlock.
“And he knew you weren’t supposed to, so it’s the one thing he’s going to say from now on.” John put the milk in the food fridge. “He’s you, Sherlock, he’s not an idiot.”
“Traitor,” Sherlock told Oliver. “If you keep doing things like that, I’m not going to let you see that liver Molly cut in half for us.”
Oliver looked unimpressed, which John understood, because Sherlock never denied Oliver anything, and Oliver had realized that long ago.
“I talked to Lestrade while I was shopping,” said John.
“Oh? Does he have a crime?”
“No. He’s on holiday.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I hate it when he goes on holiday. He comes back looking like a walnut and thinking it’s delightful. I can’t even look at him for weeks, it hurts my retinas.”
“Well, he hasn’t left London.”
“How is that a holiday? Just because he doesn’t go to work every day? By that definition, you and I are on holiday constantly.”
“He took a few days off work to spend them with your brother.”
Sherlock sat up straighter and frowned and put his hands over Oliver’s ears. Oliver likewise frowned, although he was frowning at Sherlock instead of John. “Why would you say that?” Sherlock hissed.
John looked at Sherlock’s hands over Oliver’s ears in surprise. “Because it’s true. What are you doing?”
“I don’t want him to have to think about Mycroft and sex,” said Sherlock, struggling to keep his hands in position over Oliver’s jerking head.
“Okay, first off, I don’t think he would, since I’d be surprised if he knows what that is yet. Second, are you just going to ignore the fact that your brother is dating Lestrade?”
“I only have to ignore it until they break up. It can’t be that much longer.” Sherlock gave up on keeping his hands over Oliver’s ears.
Oliver glared at him and said, “Sodding,” and threw the piece of plastic he’d been holding in clear protest.
John frowned at Sherlock. “Don’t wish for them to break up. That’s cruel. What if people wished that about us?”
“They’d be idiots. You know I don’t care what people think.”
“I think Lestrade makes your brother happy. And you should be pleased about that.”
Sherlock snorted. “Nothing makes Mycroft happy.”
“As usual, you are completely wrong when it comes to Mycroft. And we’re going to dinner with them.”
Sherlock stared, and John enjoyed having garnered that reaction. “We’re what?”
“Going to dinner. A double date. It’ll be nice.” John walked into the sitting room.
Sherlock followed, Oliver in his arms. “A date?”
“Yes.” John sat in his chair and stretched out his legs. “It’s going to be fun.”
“I really don’t think you know the definition of that word,” said Sherlock.
***
Mrs. Hudson had decided to flee the cloud hovering over London by going to visit her sister in the countryside, where it was just as gray and rainy but, she claimed, more picturesque. This meant that John called in Molly to watch Oliver. She arrived with a heavy book tucked under her arm, which she showed to John as she came up the stairs.
“An Illustrated Guide to Every Part of the Human Body,” read John.
Molly practically beamed. “I thought Oliver would like it.”
“Yes,” agreed John. “But if he doesn’t, he’ll rip it to shreds. He’s in a bit of a phase now. So maybe don’t—”
“Oh, it’ll be fine,” said Molly, breezily, walking into the sitting room, where Oliver was sitting next to his skull on his periodic table blanket and energetically ripping out pages of a poetry book that John had found on their shelves and that neither one of them could ever recall having acquired. “Hello, Ollie-Ollie-oxen-free,” she said to him.
Oliver smiled at her and said, in delight, “Moll!”
“Look what I brought you,” said Molly, and put the book down next to Oliver.
Oliver pulled it over and opened it and turned the pages reverently, completely engrossed.
“See?” Molly grinned up at John. “Told you. He’s going to be a doctor.”
Sherlock told him this all the time. Certainly it was borne out by Oliver’s fascination with John’s medical bag. Oliver enjoyed Sherlock’s experiments but he loved it when John had to patch Sherlock up from assorted mishaps, clapped in delight whenever John had to break out gauze. But there was an odd part of John that didn’t dare to hope for such things. He didn’t think he’d be one of those fathers who wanted his children to follow in his footsteps but it meant more to him than he’d anticipated, Oliver’s interest in medicine.
John said, “Sherlock prefers chemistry to biology.”
“You know that doesn’t matter, right? It’s nature and nurture,” said Molly.
John knew. John also thought it was the type of thing that Peter Thorpe would have been interested in. And he hated that he thought about Thorpe.
He frowned briefly and said, “He shouldn’t give you much trouble. He can keep himself entertained for hours as long as he thinks that you’re waiting to be at his beck and call should you need him. He won’t sleep, but don’t worry about that. He almost never sleeps, no matter what I do. And that is nature, my nurture’s not helping at all.”
“We’ll be fine,” said Molly. “I’m going to teach him the bones of the hand.”
“His language skills are advanced, but that might be asking for a bit much,” John warned her. He felt as if he was always recalibrating expectations. Sherlock was endlessly impatient that Oliver hadn’t learned to read yet.
“Don’t mind John,” Sherlock said, coming out of their bedroom. “John is constantly saddling Oliver with low expectations. Ollie and I regularly ignore him, don’t we, Ollie?”
“Yes,” agreed Oliver, and turned a page of his book.
John shook his head and looked at Sherlock, who was wearing his plum-colored shirt and looked really quite lovely. John smiled at him. Sherlock had threatened to go to dinner in a bedsheet, and then John had decided they should go to Angelo’s for dinner, and Sherlock had amended his plan. Angelo would have let Sherlock dine in a bedsheet, but Sherlock didn’t want to deter other diners from Angelo’s establishment. Sherlock’s loyalty was reliable, but John wasn’t going to tell Sherlock that he sometimes manipulated it. “Ready?” asked John.
“No,” said Sherlock. “This is a terrible idea and, Molly, you should expect us back within the hour.”
“No, you shouldn’t.”
“Tell him all sorts of macabre stories and you should get along fine,” said Sherlock.
“Okay, let’s go,” said John.
Sherlock walked past him to lean down and kiss Oliver’s head.
Oliver said, “Look,” and held out his book.
Sherlock glanced at it briefly. “That’s the shoulder and upper arm. Molly can tell you all the muscles.” Sherlock passed a fond hand over Oliver’s curls.
“Shoulder,” Oliver said, carefully, trying out the word, and studied the diagram of muscles.
John thought he was going to have the only child on the planet who was going to recognize body parts from their internal parts before he could name where they were on the human body.
He followed Sherlock down the stairs and then pressed him up against the wall before he could open the door. “You are fantastic,” he said, “and I am going to be very nice to you later on tonight.” He kissed him fiercely.
Sherlock made a sound that was half-approving, half-inquiring.
“Anything you want,” John promised.
“Oh, excellent, I’m going to be considering this all through dinner,” said Sherlock, and kissed him.
Bingo, thought John, but didn’t say. He would have no problem with Sherlock thinking about sex all dinner, as long as it kept Sherlock quiet and in a good mood.
Next Chapter
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-03-06 02:33 am (UTC)I adore John thinking dinner with the four of them is going to be FUN while the other three guests know that "fun" is probably not the exact word they will end up using, although "funny" is what I'm thinking I'll be using, which is close to "fun"!
Ollie's "sodding"s had me giggling madly. That is so the type of word children, all children, pick up and use and use and use...
MOLL! It's so sweet, the way those two get on. She really knows what he likes, and he will totally learn at least some of the bones of the hand for her!
Hahahaha, the idea of Sherlock going to dinner in a bedsheet is... Well, if it's good enough for the Palace!
***
Okay, I hope I'm being paranoid, but while John may now be able to shunt aside thoughts of Peter Thorpe, I'm nervous about him and I really hope you mentioning him is not foreshadowing.... *nibbles fingernails*
no subject
Date: 2014-03-06 04:15 am (UTC)Molly and Oliver have a mutual adoration society, basically. It's kind of adorable.
And no spoilers!
no subject
Date: 2014-03-06 04:27 am (UTC)And I was afraid you'd feel that way about spoilers....
***
I shall have to take what comfort I can in the fact that Molly is observant and no fool and would protect Oliver with her life without hesitation! *Also reminds self of the promise of sequels--and the bee museum*
no subject
Date: 2014-03-08 11:22 pm (UTC)I love getting to see Oliver get bigger and bigger with all these new words, and that both John and Sherlock are able to trust enough to both leave the house together once in a while :) Loved their entire anniversary night, and I know that Oliver and Molly will have a lovely evening- can't wait to see the dinner with Mycroft & Lestrade!!
no subject
Date: 2014-03-06 02:52 am (UTC)I can totally believe Oliver would be very careful with certain books. The only books Andrew ever destroyed were the ones he didn't like. Or the pop-up books, those just annoyed him. (And now when we look at them, he tells me what's missing and that someone tore it out.)
Lestrade on a stay-cation holiday with Mycroft! And everyone thinking John has to re-evaluate his definition of "fun"! Although I don't know, if he turns it into a drinking game or brings along a couple of Holmesian bingo cards that he and Lestrade can use, it might be a lot of fun.....
Hmm. There are nine chapters left. Isn't it usually around now when the shit hits the fan in your stories? And John and Sherlock just left Ollie alone with Molly, who is trustworthy of course, but Mrs Hudson is away so they're all by their lonesomes? IS THAT WHY I'M NERVOUS?????
no subject
Date: 2014-03-06 04:08 am (UTC)And yes, Oliver is very careful of the books he values and very disdainful of the ones he feels are beneath him. (Hence why the elephants ended up in the fire.)
As for the future: no spoilers!!
no subject
Date: 2014-03-06 03:44 am (UTC)“They were a Christmas present,”
I swear this is the only fandom where those sentences would ever be uttered. :P
no subject
Date: 2014-03-06 11:40 am (UTC)Of COURSE he picked up on that word, and of course he will go on saying it if they react to it in any way.
Love the thought of the four of them going out to dinner, and Lestrade being good for Mycroft because he doesn't think there's anything wrong with Mycroft.
In summary - still reading, still loving.
no subject
Date: 2014-03-06 01:43 pm (UTC)*bites lip*
“Stupid sodding ball,” said Oliver.
Of course Oliver would pick up on the one phrase of bad words that Sherlock said in front of him and is using it as his new 'go-to' phrase. At least he's out of the "no" stage. :D
Lestrade sounds a bit scared to go on a double date with Sherlock and John. Not that he's ashamed of his relationship with Mycroft, but that's it's too new and they are still feeling each other out.
no subject
Date: 2014-03-07 04:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-06 04:41 pm (UTC)I am really, really, REALLY looking forward to this dinner. It will either go very well, or very badly. And I can't wait!
no subject
Date: 2014-03-07 04:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-06 09:17 pm (UTC)Oh! That was so unexpected, I laughed for ages!!
"He would have no problem with Sherlock thinking about sex all dinner, as long as it kept Sherlock quiet and in a good mood."
Mmmm, without a case, that's probably the only thing that would!
no subject
Date: 2014-03-07 01:46 am (UTC)Well, what is John complaining about? His two Holmeses entertain each other, it's perfect! :D
“He…said he would be less busy for a little while,” said Lestrade, awkwardly.
That's true love!
“You think there’s nothing wrong with him,” interrupted John, firmly. “That’s good for him."
And he knows what he's talking about...
“My puzzle ball,” said Sherlock. “I have solved it.”
That's hilarious! And I can totally see Sherlock do that.
I can’t even look at him for weeks, it hurts my retinas.
Well, it certainly doesn't hurt mine.
“He took a few days off work to spend them with your brother.”
Sherlock sat up straighter and frowned and put his hands over Oliver’s ears.
*giggles* Yes, gerbil embryos are fine but the idea of Mycroft billing and cooing... Yuk! (Please notice that it's absolutely NOT my point of view.)
John shook his head and looked at Sherlock, who was wearing his plum-colored shirt and looked really quite lovely.
Last time the four of them dine together, Sherlock wore his pyjamas and his dressing gown. This is such an improvement!
He would have no problem with Sherlock thinking about sex all dinner, as long as it kept Sherlock quiet and in a good mood.
Hmm. Except if Sherlock feels the need to proclaim that he only behaves because John promised him Fantastic Sex. Or if Mycroft guesses everything with just a glance at Sherlock and spends the dinner looking at John knowingly. :D
I love the little nods to previous chapters like the puzzle ball and the gerbil embryos, they make this universe so real. And I love the idea that, even when Mycroft of Greg don't pop up in a chapter, Mystrade happens and develops in the background. :D I look forward to the dinner, much more than I looked forward the double date Janine proposed in His Last Vow!
no subject
Date: 2014-03-07 04:17 am (UTC)John indeed knows the value of loving an unusual man and thinking that there is nothing odd about him.
It doesn't hurt my retinas to look at Lestrade, either!
Sherlock has slightly odd ideas about what children should and shouldn't be exposed to.
no subject
Date: 2014-03-07 04:40 am (UTC)And omg, is fantastic wonderful story. At first I saw Ollie as Sherlock, but then for me he became his own persona.
I just enjoy so much the way you portray each character and you made me squeal when I saw your second paring was Mystrade is my favorite couple :D
As I'm terrible at following stories on journals because I need to be reminded. Do you have this story on AO3? If not, could I friend you? I promise I don't bite :D
no subject
Date: 2014-03-07 04:53 pm (UTC)And look, I have found the PERFECT picture for you: Yehudi Menuhin playing to his newborn son: