Rolling in the Deep (5/?)
Rolling in the Deep
Title: Rolling in the DeepSeries: Still Waters (Run Deep) (Part III of IV)
Author:
melody_in_time
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Through S1 only
Disclaimer: I wish they were mine, but they aren't. Nor am I creative enough to have written the song that gave this instalment its title. That belongs to Adele, and whomever else had IP rights along side her.
Author's Notes: Welcome back everyone to Chapter Five and lots of cute baby Ben! Not really fluff per se, but Ben is adorable so his very presence makes this a fluff chapter, right?
Warnings: None
If you've wondered here by mistake, you may wish to start at Part I of the series, Rarest of the Rare: Chapter 1.
Chapter 1: Introduction - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A child’s laughter was by far the most innocent sound in the world, Greg decided. Ben didn’t laugh at anyone’s expense or with any sarcasm or disbelief. He laughed because he was happy and felt compelled to show it, tinkling peals rebounding throughout the nursery just because Ben could.
He was becoming a cheeky little imp, laughing and smiling at the slightest provocation, including Greg pulling faces. He hadn’t quite managed to coordinate his limbs, but they did appear to be flailing in the air slightly more on purpose. Kicking Greg in the nose had just provoked more laughter and flailing.
Cheeky.
Greg rubbed his sore nose and watched Ben curl almost in half and rediscover his toes. The discovery session didn’t last long as Ben wasn’t able to lift his head yet, but it was still amazing to watch.
Lying splayed out on his stomach on the nursery floor with Ben next to him on his baby blanket and soft strains of The Wheels of the Bus in the background, Greg could only wonder how he’d got so lucky. A year ago the most important thing in his life had been a weekly dinner date. He never could have imagined the level of contentment he was feeling now.
To be fair he would have had even more trouble imagining it six months ago, but that was behind them now. Things may not be fixed yet, but they were progressing at least and now there was Ben.
Greg knew the expression on his face was back to the stupid full to the brim with love one he’d been wearing since Mycroft had brought Ben home, but it didn’t bother him. Ben would always be allowed to know, well and truly, that he was loved.
He didn’t want to go back to work tomorrow. He had no idea how he’d ended up with two weeks paternity leave, all properly dated and signed off, that he’d never applied for, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Now it was coming to an end he couldn’t imagine how he would have coped without it. Leaving Ben everyday was going to be hard enough now, let alone when they’d first come home.
Not that his two week ‘gift’ from either Anthea or Mycroft had been entirely altruistic. After spending that first weekend either asleep or in a half-aware haze, Mycroft had headed back to the office on Monday. Greg couldn’t claim to have been particularly shocked, and while he would have preferred to have all three of them together all day, every day for the last two weeks, Mycroft had been away from the office for an unprecedented amount of time. The government was probably as desperate to have him back as Mycroft was to be back, and he had at least been coming home from the office slightly early.
He was doing half days on the weekend, but still.
Ben giggled again as Greg tickled his palm and onesie covered feet kicked in delight. He really was such a happy baby. Greg laughed back, then leant in and blew a raspberry on his tummy. He copped a fist to the temple for it, but Ben couldn’t hit hard and the fresh peal of laughter was worth it.
Ben was all dressed up in Greg’s favourite pale blue outfit, ready to meet his uncles. Sherlock and John were due any second, and Greg knew they’d love Ben. It would be hard for them both given their own struggles, but he had no doubts that once they’d seen him everything would be okay. By contrast, if it was left to drag out meeting Ben would become a thing, and that was the last thing they needed.
Besides, it would do Ben good to have influences other than him and Mycroft in his life. Dom or Sub, Ben would surely be strong and would benefit immeasurably from John’s warmth and Sherlock’s… Sherlockness.
Ben giggled again, body wiggling happily on the floor. The sound drew an answering rumble out of Greg’s chest. If left his own devices, he would have spent all day everyday next to Ben, absorbing all the changes, the laughs, the smiles.
He didn’t care if Mycroft had arranged him leave so he could go to work. It was the best gift Greg had ever received.
The doorbell startled Ben and pulled Greg abruptly from his reverie.
“Guess who that is, Benny-boy.” Greg clambered up to hands and knees, sitting back on his heels to pick up the squirming little body. “That’s your Uncle John and your Uncle Sherlock. Just don’t listen too much to your Uncle Sherlock, okay? I promise not everyone’s as stupid as he makes them out to be, your da included.”
The lion’s head knocker banged against the stopper again before he was down the stairs.
“Coming!” Greg yelled, debating whether or not answering the door with or without Ben might be better.
“I’ll get it dearie.” Mrs Potts fluttered out of the drawing room, apron and honest to God real feather duster in hand. “You just be careful on those stairs.”
“Thank you.” Greg called, hoisting Ben a little higher in his arms, who cooed softly.
Greg paused where he was and dropped a kiss to the dark hair, stopping to just breathe.
“Come in, come in. About time you got here young Sherlock. Shame on you, taking so long to come and meet your nephew.” Mrs Potts hustled a reluctant John and an even more reluctant Sherlock through the front door.
“Right.” She surveyed them both critically, mothering eye lingering on all Sherlock’s shark angles. “I’ll get an afternoon tea up then. A nice cream tea. Put some flesh on your bones. You’ll never give your Alpha a little one if there’s no spare on you, love.”
Mrs Potts bustled off to the Kitchen, happily oblivious to the mine field she’d just wondered blithely through. Sherlock’s spine stiffened and Greg would have sworn he gained a couple of centimetres height even as his expression melted away into detached boredom. His weight appeared to be balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to walk out, but Captain Watson had shifted into parade rest next to him, so Greg assumed they were staying.
It wasn’t quite the opening Greg had been hoping for.
Ben gurgled in his arms, prompting Greg to finish his descent. He didn’t miss how Sherlock was looking stubbornly down the corridor not at him, or that John was staring through him, head still at perfect military angles.
“Hey, thanks for coming.” He unconsciously held Ben a little tighter in response to the tension and had to forcibly loosen his grip when Ben squawked in protest. “The weather’s nice, so maybe-”
Sherlock had already started walking before Greg finished, thankfully into the house not out of it. He unsurprisingly bypassed the drawing room; it gave Greg the willies too, and continued around the corner. Greg waved John after him with his chin, but stuck his head into the kitchen while John continued on.
Mrs Potts was a flurry of motion, preparing this and plating that. Despite being their housekeeper not their cook, she was taking a kitchen knife to a cucumber with a proficiency that made Greg decide he never wanted to meet her in a dark alley on the wrong end of the blade.
“We’ll be in the… um…”
“Conservatory, dear. Yes, that’s fine. Won’t be a minute.”
“Right, um, thanks.” Greg ducked out, still not comfortable being served tea rather than making it himself, especially when it came with little sandwiches, scones, and pinwheels, which it looked like this one would.
There were low voices in the conservatory. Greg paused to give them time to finish talking about whatever it was, but the murmur cut off abruptly and Sherlock’s voice ordered him in.
John was the one who kindly, though precisely, opened the door for him and returned to his seat in exacting steps.
Other than that first day, Greg hadn’t used ‘the back room’. In fact, other than the two, now three, bedrooms, the bathrooms, kitchen, and library, Greg didn’t use much of the house. He had yet to go out in, or even really remember the existence of, the garden.
“She’ll bring it in here.” Greg said awkwardly. “Hope you’re hungry, cause she’s whipping up tons of…” He trailed off, then rallied. “Right, so thanks for coming. Uh, this is Ben.”
“Ben?” Sherlock raised a sarcastic eyebrow.
Greg scrambled to remember whether he’d given John Ben’s name, but couldn’t pull the information out of his brain. It didn’t mean John had told Sherlock anyway.
“Abernathy,” he admitted, “but I’m not yelling that up the stairs in a few years’ time.”
The afore mentioned Ben yawned and looked startled at himself.
Sherlock’s mouth twisted into a sneer and he glared at Greg through cold, hard eyes.
“Abernathy,” he repeated in guilt inducing tones.
It took Greg longer than he wanted to admit to remember that heartfelt session of mental gymnastics over the table at 221B before Ben was born, before Sherlock had stopped speaking to him, before Mycroft had even left.
Before Sherlock started glaring at him like he’d failed, and let everyone down with a name.
“Abernathy Francois.” He met and held Sherlock’s gaze.
Sherlock didn’t stop sneering, but he did break eye contact before it became a staring match in acknowledgement. It wasn’t what Sherlock had wanted, or Greg either for that matter, but as what Sherlock had wanted was for his brother to throw years of self-sacrificing obedience in an attempt to make up to Mummy out the window… like Greg he could see the compromise and acknowledge that Greg hadn’t completely failed.
“Do you want to hold him?” Greg asked when no one said anything else to fill the silence.
John glanced at Sherlock, then held out his arms wordlessly, looking more like he was going to face a firing squad than be handed a baby. None of the tension left his body once Ben was in his arms, though it did seem to change a little so John looked less stiff and more brittle.
He didn’t say anything for some time, just sat there ramrod straight watching Ben blinking sleepily up at him.
“Hello,” John said eventually. “I’m your Uncle John. Ben.” He took a deep breath, then repeated “Ben.”
He didn’t say anything more, just sat and continued to watch Ben watch him, until all of a sudden he seemed to start and come back to himself.
“Right, right. Well, Sherlock?” John held Ben out toward Sherlock.
Ben wriggled in his grasp and John instinctively pulled him close, flinching as he realised how close he was holding him. The tension broke through whatever remaining amazement or good will that had up to then held Ben’s childish grumpiness in check and he began to add loud pitched protests to his treatment to the air.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Greg crooned to Ben, scooping his son out of a bewildered John’s arms. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”
Ben just wailed louder, waving his fists in the air and his little face scrunched up in disgust at the world.
“Shh, shh…” Greg began walking around the room, holding Ben close and gently jigging him a little. “I know you’re tired, but it’s okay. Shh.”
He was vaguely aware of Mrs Potts delivering her rather extensive cream tea and filling Sherlock’s plate to the brim. In retrospect Greg wasn’t sure whether the fact that Sherlock accepted the plate and ate everything on it said more about Mrs Potts’s position in the family, or Sherlock’s insecurities. As it was he didn’t even notice until later.
By the time Ben wore himself down to plaintive hiccups the tea was almost gone. Not the food, Sherlock had eaten everything on his plate and nothing more and Greg didn’t think John had touched anything, but the actual tea had been drunk and what was in Greg’s cup looked cold.
“I’ll have to put him down for a nap in a sec. Sorry, he crashes quickly when he goes.” Greg walked back over to the couches. “Last chance to hold him.”
They both looked at Sherlock expectantly, who in turn looked quite happy for Ben to go to his nap without having to engage in physical contact with the pint sized human.
“Come on, Uncle Sherlock.” Greg leant over and deposited Ben in his arms, not giving him time to refuse. “Your turn.”
Ben looked as startled at being in Sherlock’s arms as Sherlock was to so suddenly have him there. Certainly Sherlock was no expert on baby holding. He was probably the only Omega on the planet who looked more natural cradling a skull than a living infant.
“Not like that,” Greg with all his two week wisdom corrected him. “Under there and,., that’s right, support his head there.”
Holding him properly meant Ben was brought closer to Sherlock’s body, close enough to really catch his scent. That’s what Greg assumed anyway, because even he could tell the second Ben’s interest in this new person sharpened. Unsurprising for a Holmes, even a young one. Surprisingly, he went completely limp, entirely relaxed in Sherlock’s arms.
Sherlock blinked in shock and raised a finger, undoubtedly to do what he always did to objects reacting unexpectedly and poke Ben, but at the unconditional trust ended up gently stroking one cheek instead. Ben sighed and, reassured by the presence of someone who to his instinctive understanding was Mummy-but-not, closed his eyes and went to sleep.
Maybe Ben was missing Mycroft more than he’d thought, Greg frowned. Ben was certainly never so willing to settle down for a nap for him.
“Yes,” Sherlock whispered.
“Huh?” Greg blinked in confusion.
Sherlock had to swallow several times before opening his mouth resulted in speech.
“Yes,” he repeated.
A weight seemed to slide off John’s shoulders as his body finally lost its military form. With a relieved exhale he moved across the sofa so his leg was brushing Sherlock’s and stretched up to drop a kiss in the inky curls. Until they suddenly were, Greg hadn’t noticed the space between them as they avoided touch.
“I’ll make the appointment tomorrow.” John murmured into Sherlock’s hair.
Sherlock nodded, watching the minute twitches and plays of muscles as Ben dreamt. John smiled, resting against Sherlock as he finally looked at Ben and seemed to really see him.
“He’s gorgeous, Greg.”
Greg couldn’t have stopped himself preening if he’d tried. Not that he did try.
“Thanks, he is, isn’t he? His eyes are getting darker. They were almost colourless when he was born.”
“That happens.” John agreed.
He brushed a hand lightly over the fine brown strands covering Ben’s head. Sherlock just watched, eyes darting over his nephew’s body as he stored whatever data and performed whatever calculations he was deeming important for his mind palace.
“So what’s happening once you go back to work tomorrow?” John asked.
“Mrs Potts has moved down here for a bit,” Greg settled in his seat, “so she’ll be watching him while we’re at work. I’m going to have to cut down on the overtime. Mycroft’s been back at a reasonable hour most days so far, so we’ll have evenings and weekends with him.
“Won’t be enough,” he sighed, “but nothing would be so… It’s not like I can quit my job or anything.”
“Definitely not.” John agreed, a little too firmly for Greg’s tastes.
He cocked an eyebrow as best he could and John quickly returned to gazing at Ben.
“I think,” John changed the subject, “he’s ended up with Sherlock’s lips, more than yours or Mycroft’s.”
Always willing to talk about Ben, Greg happily let him.
“That’s what I thought.” Greg’s breath caught as Ben screwed up his face at something in his dreams he didn’t like, but all he did was nestle slightly closer into Sherlock and settle back down. “He certainly seems to like you.”
“Instinctual pack behaviour. In the absence of his bearer he’s automatically seeking comfort from the closest genetic match in the vicinity.” Sherlock’s haughty tones didn’t cover up the pleasure and warmth underneath.
He ran a long finger down Ben’s blue clad foot and watched him twitch.
“I suppose when there’s no better cases on offer you might be able to impose upon our time when Mrs Potts is otherwise occupied.” Sherlock tested Ben’s reaction to the finger down the other foot. “We will of course require suitably complex and interesting cases in compensation afterwards.”
“I think you just said you’d be happy to babysit because you love Ben and I so much.” Greg tapped his fingers idly on the arm of his chair.
“For cases.” Sherlock clarified with a frown.
“Because you love Ben and I so much.” Greg repeated. “You want cases, talk to your brother. I’m not giving you murders to look after my son.”
“They don’t have to be murders.” Sherlock muttered. “Just interesting.”
“No cases, and no experiments, on or around him.” Greg waved a finger sternly in Sherlock’s direction.
Sherlock looked like protesting, but Ben shifted in his sleep drawing Sherlock’s attention back down.
“I’ll talk to Mycroft about the cases.” He grumbled.
“You do that.” Greg smiled and stood, picking up the tea pot. “Now how about some fresh tea?”
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Previous - Next
Title: Rolling in the DeepSeries: Still Waters (Run Deep) (Part III of IV)
Author:
melody_in_time
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Through S1 only
Disclaimer: I wish they were mine, but they aren't. Nor am I creative enough to have written the song that gave this instalment its title. That belongs to Adele, and whomever else had IP rights along side her.
Author's Notes: Welcome back everyone to Chapter Five and lots of cute baby Ben! Not really fluff per se, but Ben is adorable so his very presence makes this a fluff chapter, right?
Warnings: None
If you've wondered here by mistake, you may wish to start at Part I of the series, Rarest of the Rare: Chapter 1.
Chapter 1: Introduction - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A child’s laughter was by far the most innocent sound in the world, Greg decided. Ben didn’t laugh at anyone’s expense or with any sarcasm or disbelief. He laughed because he was happy and felt compelled to show it, tinkling peals rebounding throughout the nursery just because Ben could.
He was becoming a cheeky little imp, laughing and smiling at the slightest provocation, including Greg pulling faces. He hadn’t quite managed to coordinate his limbs, but they did appear to be flailing in the air slightly more on purpose. Kicking Greg in the nose had just provoked more laughter and flailing.
Cheeky.
Greg rubbed his sore nose and watched Ben curl almost in half and rediscover his toes. The discovery session didn’t last long as Ben wasn’t able to lift his head yet, but it was still amazing to watch.
Lying splayed out on his stomach on the nursery floor with Ben next to him on his baby blanket and soft strains of The Wheels of the Bus in the background, Greg could only wonder how he’d got so lucky. A year ago the most important thing in his life had been a weekly dinner date. He never could have imagined the level of contentment he was feeling now.
To be fair he would have had even more trouble imagining it six months ago, but that was behind them now. Things may not be fixed yet, but they were progressing at least and now there was Ben.
Greg knew the expression on his face was back to the stupid full to the brim with love one he’d been wearing since Mycroft had brought Ben home, but it didn’t bother him. Ben would always be allowed to know, well and truly, that he was loved.
He didn’t want to go back to work tomorrow. He had no idea how he’d ended up with two weeks paternity leave, all properly dated and signed off, that he’d never applied for, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Now it was coming to an end he couldn’t imagine how he would have coped without it. Leaving Ben everyday was going to be hard enough now, let alone when they’d first come home.
Not that his two week ‘gift’ from either Anthea or Mycroft had been entirely altruistic. After spending that first weekend either asleep or in a half-aware haze, Mycroft had headed back to the office on Monday. Greg couldn’t claim to have been particularly shocked, and while he would have preferred to have all three of them together all day, every day for the last two weeks, Mycroft had been away from the office for an unprecedented amount of time. The government was probably as desperate to have him back as Mycroft was to be back, and he had at least been coming home from the office slightly early.
He was doing half days on the weekend, but still.
Ben giggled again as Greg tickled his palm and onesie covered feet kicked in delight. He really was such a happy baby. Greg laughed back, then leant in and blew a raspberry on his tummy. He copped a fist to the temple for it, but Ben couldn’t hit hard and the fresh peal of laughter was worth it.
Ben was all dressed up in Greg’s favourite pale blue outfit, ready to meet his uncles. Sherlock and John were due any second, and Greg knew they’d love Ben. It would be hard for them both given their own struggles, but he had no doubts that once they’d seen him everything would be okay. By contrast, if it was left to drag out meeting Ben would become a thing, and that was the last thing they needed.
Besides, it would do Ben good to have influences other than him and Mycroft in his life. Dom or Sub, Ben would surely be strong and would benefit immeasurably from John’s warmth and Sherlock’s… Sherlockness.
Ben giggled again, body wiggling happily on the floor. The sound drew an answering rumble out of Greg’s chest. If left his own devices, he would have spent all day everyday next to Ben, absorbing all the changes, the laughs, the smiles.
He didn’t care if Mycroft had arranged him leave so he could go to work. It was the best gift Greg had ever received.
The doorbell startled Ben and pulled Greg abruptly from his reverie.
“Guess who that is, Benny-boy.” Greg clambered up to hands and knees, sitting back on his heels to pick up the squirming little body. “That’s your Uncle John and your Uncle Sherlock. Just don’t listen too much to your Uncle Sherlock, okay? I promise not everyone’s as stupid as he makes them out to be, your da included.”
The lion’s head knocker banged against the stopper again before he was down the stairs.
“Coming!” Greg yelled, debating whether or not answering the door with or without Ben might be better.
“I’ll get it dearie.” Mrs Potts fluttered out of the drawing room, apron and honest to God real feather duster in hand. “You just be careful on those stairs.”
“Thank you.” Greg called, hoisting Ben a little higher in his arms, who cooed softly.
Greg paused where he was and dropped a kiss to the dark hair, stopping to just breathe.
“Come in, come in. About time you got here young Sherlock. Shame on you, taking so long to come and meet your nephew.” Mrs Potts hustled a reluctant John and an even more reluctant Sherlock through the front door.
“Right.” She surveyed them both critically, mothering eye lingering on all Sherlock’s shark angles. “I’ll get an afternoon tea up then. A nice cream tea. Put some flesh on your bones. You’ll never give your Alpha a little one if there’s no spare on you, love.”
Mrs Potts bustled off to the Kitchen, happily oblivious to the mine field she’d just wondered blithely through. Sherlock’s spine stiffened and Greg would have sworn he gained a couple of centimetres height even as his expression melted away into detached boredom. His weight appeared to be balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to walk out, but Captain Watson had shifted into parade rest next to him, so Greg assumed they were staying.
It wasn’t quite the opening Greg had been hoping for.
Ben gurgled in his arms, prompting Greg to finish his descent. He didn’t miss how Sherlock was looking stubbornly down the corridor not at him, or that John was staring through him, head still at perfect military angles.
“Hey, thanks for coming.” He unconsciously held Ben a little tighter in response to the tension and had to forcibly loosen his grip when Ben squawked in protest. “The weather’s nice, so maybe-”
Sherlock had already started walking before Greg finished, thankfully into the house not out of it. He unsurprisingly bypassed the drawing room; it gave Greg the willies too, and continued around the corner. Greg waved John after him with his chin, but stuck his head into the kitchen while John continued on.
Mrs Potts was a flurry of motion, preparing this and plating that. Despite being their housekeeper not their cook, she was taking a kitchen knife to a cucumber with a proficiency that made Greg decide he never wanted to meet her in a dark alley on the wrong end of the blade.
“We’ll be in the… um…”
“Conservatory, dear. Yes, that’s fine. Won’t be a minute.”
“Right, um, thanks.” Greg ducked out, still not comfortable being served tea rather than making it himself, especially when it came with little sandwiches, scones, and pinwheels, which it looked like this one would.
There were low voices in the conservatory. Greg paused to give them time to finish talking about whatever it was, but the murmur cut off abruptly and Sherlock’s voice ordered him in.
John was the one who kindly, though precisely, opened the door for him and returned to his seat in exacting steps.
Other than that first day, Greg hadn’t used ‘the back room’. In fact, other than the two, now three, bedrooms, the bathrooms, kitchen, and library, Greg didn’t use much of the house. He had yet to go out in, or even really remember the existence of, the garden.
“She’ll bring it in here.” Greg said awkwardly. “Hope you’re hungry, cause she’s whipping up tons of…” He trailed off, then rallied. “Right, so thanks for coming. Uh, this is Ben.”
“Ben?” Sherlock raised a sarcastic eyebrow.
Greg scrambled to remember whether he’d given John Ben’s name, but couldn’t pull the information out of his brain. It didn’t mean John had told Sherlock anyway.
“Abernathy,” he admitted, “but I’m not yelling that up the stairs in a few years’ time.”
The afore mentioned Ben yawned and looked startled at himself.
Sherlock’s mouth twisted into a sneer and he glared at Greg through cold, hard eyes.
“Abernathy,” he repeated in guilt inducing tones.
It took Greg longer than he wanted to admit to remember that heartfelt session of mental gymnastics over the table at 221B before Ben was born, before Sherlock had stopped speaking to him, before Mycroft had even left.
Before Sherlock started glaring at him like he’d failed, and let everyone down with a name.
“Abernathy Francois.” He met and held Sherlock’s gaze.
Sherlock didn’t stop sneering, but he did break eye contact before it became a staring match in acknowledgement. It wasn’t what Sherlock had wanted, or Greg either for that matter, but as what Sherlock had wanted was for his brother to throw years of self-sacrificing obedience in an attempt to make up to Mummy out the window… like Greg he could see the compromise and acknowledge that Greg hadn’t completely failed.
“Do you want to hold him?” Greg asked when no one said anything else to fill the silence.
John glanced at Sherlock, then held out his arms wordlessly, looking more like he was going to face a firing squad than be handed a baby. None of the tension left his body once Ben was in his arms, though it did seem to change a little so John looked less stiff and more brittle.
He didn’t say anything for some time, just sat there ramrod straight watching Ben blinking sleepily up at him.
“Hello,” John said eventually. “I’m your Uncle John. Ben.” He took a deep breath, then repeated “Ben.”
He didn’t say anything more, just sat and continued to watch Ben watch him, until all of a sudden he seemed to start and come back to himself.
“Right, right. Well, Sherlock?” John held Ben out toward Sherlock.
Ben wriggled in his grasp and John instinctively pulled him close, flinching as he realised how close he was holding him. The tension broke through whatever remaining amazement or good will that had up to then held Ben’s childish grumpiness in check and he began to add loud pitched protests to his treatment to the air.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Greg crooned to Ben, scooping his son out of a bewildered John’s arms. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”
Ben just wailed louder, waving his fists in the air and his little face scrunched up in disgust at the world.
“Shh, shh…” Greg began walking around the room, holding Ben close and gently jigging him a little. “I know you’re tired, but it’s okay. Shh.”
He was vaguely aware of Mrs Potts delivering her rather extensive cream tea and filling Sherlock’s plate to the brim. In retrospect Greg wasn’t sure whether the fact that Sherlock accepted the plate and ate everything on it said more about Mrs Potts’s position in the family, or Sherlock’s insecurities. As it was he didn’t even notice until later.
By the time Ben wore himself down to plaintive hiccups the tea was almost gone. Not the food, Sherlock had eaten everything on his plate and nothing more and Greg didn’t think John had touched anything, but the actual tea had been drunk and what was in Greg’s cup looked cold.
“I’ll have to put him down for a nap in a sec. Sorry, he crashes quickly when he goes.” Greg walked back over to the couches. “Last chance to hold him.”
They both looked at Sherlock expectantly, who in turn looked quite happy for Ben to go to his nap without having to engage in physical contact with the pint sized human.
“Come on, Uncle Sherlock.” Greg leant over and deposited Ben in his arms, not giving him time to refuse. “Your turn.”
Ben looked as startled at being in Sherlock’s arms as Sherlock was to so suddenly have him there. Certainly Sherlock was no expert on baby holding. He was probably the only Omega on the planet who looked more natural cradling a skull than a living infant.
“Not like that,” Greg with all his two week wisdom corrected him. “Under there and,., that’s right, support his head there.”
Holding him properly meant Ben was brought closer to Sherlock’s body, close enough to really catch his scent. That’s what Greg assumed anyway, because even he could tell the second Ben’s interest in this new person sharpened. Unsurprising for a Holmes, even a young one. Surprisingly, he went completely limp, entirely relaxed in Sherlock’s arms.
Sherlock blinked in shock and raised a finger, undoubtedly to do what he always did to objects reacting unexpectedly and poke Ben, but at the unconditional trust ended up gently stroking one cheek instead. Ben sighed and, reassured by the presence of someone who to his instinctive understanding was Mummy-but-not, closed his eyes and went to sleep.
Maybe Ben was missing Mycroft more than he’d thought, Greg frowned. Ben was certainly never so willing to settle down for a nap for him.
“Yes,” Sherlock whispered.
“Huh?” Greg blinked in confusion.
Sherlock had to swallow several times before opening his mouth resulted in speech.
“Yes,” he repeated.
A weight seemed to slide off John’s shoulders as his body finally lost its military form. With a relieved exhale he moved across the sofa so his leg was brushing Sherlock’s and stretched up to drop a kiss in the inky curls. Until they suddenly were, Greg hadn’t noticed the space between them as they avoided touch.
“I’ll make the appointment tomorrow.” John murmured into Sherlock’s hair.
Sherlock nodded, watching the minute twitches and plays of muscles as Ben dreamt. John smiled, resting against Sherlock as he finally looked at Ben and seemed to really see him.
“He’s gorgeous, Greg.”
Greg couldn’t have stopped himself preening if he’d tried. Not that he did try.
“Thanks, he is, isn’t he? His eyes are getting darker. They were almost colourless when he was born.”
“That happens.” John agreed.
He brushed a hand lightly over the fine brown strands covering Ben’s head. Sherlock just watched, eyes darting over his nephew’s body as he stored whatever data and performed whatever calculations he was deeming important for his mind palace.
“So what’s happening once you go back to work tomorrow?” John asked.
“Mrs Potts has moved down here for a bit,” Greg settled in his seat, “so she’ll be watching him while we’re at work. I’m going to have to cut down on the overtime. Mycroft’s been back at a reasonable hour most days so far, so we’ll have evenings and weekends with him.
“Won’t be enough,” he sighed, “but nothing would be so… It’s not like I can quit my job or anything.”
“Definitely not.” John agreed, a little too firmly for Greg’s tastes.
He cocked an eyebrow as best he could and John quickly returned to gazing at Ben.
“I think,” John changed the subject, “he’s ended up with Sherlock’s lips, more than yours or Mycroft’s.”
Always willing to talk about Ben, Greg happily let him.
“That’s what I thought.” Greg’s breath caught as Ben screwed up his face at something in his dreams he didn’t like, but all he did was nestle slightly closer into Sherlock and settle back down. “He certainly seems to like you.”
“Instinctual pack behaviour. In the absence of his bearer he’s automatically seeking comfort from the closest genetic match in the vicinity.” Sherlock’s haughty tones didn’t cover up the pleasure and warmth underneath.
He ran a long finger down Ben’s blue clad foot and watched him twitch.
“I suppose when there’s no better cases on offer you might be able to impose upon our time when Mrs Potts is otherwise occupied.” Sherlock tested Ben’s reaction to the finger down the other foot. “We will of course require suitably complex and interesting cases in compensation afterwards.”
“I think you just said you’d be happy to babysit because you love Ben and I so much.” Greg tapped his fingers idly on the arm of his chair.
“For cases.” Sherlock clarified with a frown.
“Because you love Ben and I so much.” Greg repeated. “You want cases, talk to your brother. I’m not giving you murders to look after my son.”
“They don’t have to be murders.” Sherlock muttered. “Just interesting.”
“No cases, and no experiments, on or around him.” Greg waved a finger sternly in Sherlock’s direction.
Sherlock looked like protesting, but Ben shifted in his sleep drawing Sherlock’s attention back down.
“I’ll talk to Mycroft about the cases.” He grumbled.
“You do that.” Greg smiled and stood, picking up the tea pot. “Now how about some fresh tea?”
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