Rough-drafty 221B
Mar. 23rd, 2014 12:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vulgarweedGenetic Markers-verse, with all that that entails.
Fandom: Sherlock
Rating:: PG
Warnings: None.
Content notes: consensual polyamory, triad marriage, and good things born out of that. John takes great pleasure in telling Mycroft the truth about Mary's second child.
John had never seen Mycroft's resemblance to his brother quite so strongly as in the long-awaited, now-cherished moment when the elder Holmes stood frozen, speechless, and blinking. Oh, John was savouring this. Apparently so was little newborn Victor in his arms, who fixed Mycroft with a vague silvery gaze and seemed to snicker.
“Just trying to save you some expense on those sneaky DNA tests I know you run,” John said offhandedly. “Molly already did that. She didn't believe me when I told her, and now she owes me twenty quid.”
Oh yes. Mycroft really could gape like a . . . well you know. John wasn't going to let a single nuance of this moment slip. “Be nice,” John said, “Or I'll tell you all about watching Sherlock and Mary making him. The old-fashioned way. Not a turkey baster in sight.”
“I . . . don't believe that meets the criteria for 'need-to-know basis.'”
“But you're a nosy bastard.” And a terrified but morbidly fascinated one too, if John's skills in reading Holmes faces were at the level they should be. “Now – here, put your hands out like this. So you can hold your nephew.”
Before now, Mycroft had been seven years old the first and only time he'd held a baby.
Fandom: Sherlock
Rating:: PG
Warnings: None.
Content notes: consensual polyamory, triad marriage, and good things born out of that. John takes great pleasure in telling Mycroft the truth about Mary's second child.
John had never seen Mycroft's resemblance to his brother quite so strongly as in the long-awaited, now-cherished moment when the elder Holmes stood frozen, speechless, and blinking. Oh, John was savouring this. Apparently so was little newborn Victor in his arms, who fixed Mycroft with a vague silvery gaze and seemed to snicker.
“Just trying to save you some expense on those sneaky DNA tests I know you run,” John said offhandedly. “Molly already did that. She didn't believe me when I told her, and now she owes me twenty quid.”
Oh yes. Mycroft really could gape like a . . . well you know. John wasn't going to let a single nuance of this moment slip. “Be nice,” John said, “Or I'll tell you all about watching Sherlock and Mary making him. The old-fashioned way. Not a turkey baster in sight.”
“I . . . don't believe that meets the criteria for 'need-to-know basis.'”
“But you're a nosy bastard.” And a terrified but morbidly fascinated one too, if John's skills in reading Holmes faces were at the level they should be. “Now – here, put your hands out like this. So you can hold your nephew.”
Before now, Mycroft had been seven years old the first and only time he'd held a baby.
