"What is that?" If the cat had eyebrows it would have raised them at the question. David the boyfriend took a step back. There was something knowing in the green slitted eyes that were looking at him. He had a suspicion that the cat didn't like him.

"It's a cat, obviously!" Nicky sounded so much like Sherlock that Anthea did a double take.

"Darling, you know cats irritate your asthma." She spoke gently, but firmly.

"This one doesn't!" To illustrate his point he wrapped his arms around Mephistopheles' neck and took a deep sniff. The cat smelled of cinnamon. "You'll hurt his feelings mummy!"

Mummy doubted that the animated rug currently draped across her son had feelings that could be hurt. The cat smiled a smug, toothy grin at her.

"Mycroft? Could I have a word?" The tall man had managed to regain his composure, making a mental note of his brother's attempt to flee the scene at the earliest opportunity. He looked at his assistant, and then at his small son, who was buried under stripy cat. Nicky looked up, with that slightly unnerving expression that reminded Mycroft of his dead friend that made him glad and his chest hurt at the same time.

"Daddy, may I be excused please? I'm going to take Messy for a walk. Especially as you are going to start talking about me." The cat had already hopped off the sofa and was waiting expectantly.

"Yes. But don't leave the house."

"I won't" The room of adults watched as Nicky walked out of the room, the large cat walking patiently to heel beside him. Anthea turned to Mycroft.

"You don't actually need to say anything. I do already know. My first weekend of parenting has not been my finest hour." Mycroft paused.

"But, well no one is dead. Other than the footman. And that was a long time ago. And on the plus side, mother is no longer a concern. And there might be some kind of conspiracy thing going on, but nothing to worry about." Sherlock smiled. He thought he was helping. Mycroft looked at the floor, he could really do without Sherlock's help. Helpful Sherlock was even worse than Sherlock in full sabotage mode. "Does anyone want tea? I'll make tea?" Sherlock was getting desperate.

"Sit down. The pair of you." Obediently Mycroft and Sherlock sat next to one another on the vacated sofa. Mycroft chewed anxiously at the nail of his right middle finger. Sherlock remembered that was something his brother used to do. Years ago. A half remembered echo of the boy he used to be.

"I wasn't expecting a normal weekend. Not with you two involved. But I was expecting him to be safe. Mycroft, we agreed a long time ago that he was never to know. That if he knew then we couldn't possibly keep him safe."

"He worked it out for himself." It was Sherlock who replied. "After all, he looks just like Mycroft but smaller. Did you have him cloned? I assume the whole transaction took place in a test tube somewhere and you didn't actually..." Mycroft's hand connected sharply with the back of his brother's head. "Ow!"

"Quiet!

Anthea looked from one to the other. She was waiting.

Xx

"Ungnic!" Charlie gestured as the kitchen door was opened and small boy and large cat entered.

"Hello Charlie!" Nicky smiled. Charlie held out his arms, relieved that Nicky's previous good humour had been restored. Messy purred hopefully. The kitchen was where the food was and there was a hint of tuna in the air.

"Hello Nicky, are you all right?" John looked the boy over quickly and was surprised when he suddenly found his lower half enveloped in a hug. He knelt down so he was level with the bright green eyes. "What was that for?"

"For being brilliant!" Messy rubbed against John's leg in agreement. "See. Even Messy thinks so."

"Ok."

"Daddy thinks so as well. Only he won't ever say. Not in words. Mummy is telling him and Uncle Sherlock off because she thinks I've not been looked after properly. But I have. It's just this house. It isn't a happy place. Or at least it never has been before." Nicky sighed. So did the cat. "And mummy thinks I'm allergic to Messy. But I'm not. He must have special fur." The cat smugly fluffed up his ginger fur and looked on knowingly.

"Ka! Ka! Gnuk!" Charlie was wriggling in John's arms.

"Yes Charlie. He's a special cat." In addition to his skills at Kerplunk and facial reconstruction, it seemed Nicky could speak both cat and baby fluently. John expected that would come in quite handy. And then with one of those strange leaps of conversation that children often make, and Sherlock was rather good at too Nicky asked the question. "John. What's dying like?"

John was silent for a full minute. He sat down on one of the scrubbed wooden chairs. Charlie perched on his knee expectantly.

"I don't really know what it's like. I know what it isn't like. It isn't all clouds and angels and fanfares. When I was shot there wasn't really anything. Just black. But maybe that's because I wasn't really dead?"

"Yes. I suppose so." Nicky looked thoughtful for a moment. Nicky sat on the floor of the kitchen and Mephistopheles curled around him. "Everyone has to die some time don't they?"

"Yes. I'm sorry but they do."

"It seems like a very silly way of doing things. The way you love things and then they die. There doesn't seem any point." He sighed. John slipped from the seat onto the floor, carefully holding on to Charlie, who seemed quite excited with proceedings.

"Your Daddy used to say that caring wasn't an advantage. There was no profit in love. It didn't make you better, or clever or help you. Sometimes it makes everything worse. When people you love die, or they disappoint you, or turn out not to be what you thought they were. And it is the easiest thing in the world to not do it. Because if you don't love, then you don't lose things you love." John eased his grip on Charlie , who made a spirited crawl for freedom from his towel.

"It isn't fair. All the things we love die!" John wasn't quite sure what had bought on this particular line of conversation.

"Yes. Yes they do."

"Why did Mummy and Daddy want me? I know how babies are supposed to happen. And I didn't happen like that. I was made in a laboratory, like Frankenstein's Monster. Why?"

"You know what Gay means don't you?"

"Yes. It means you're a boy that likes kissing other boys. Like daddy."

"Yes." John felt himself starting to blush. He took a deep breath. He was a doctor. He could explain a sanitized version of the facts of life to his not-quite nephew. "Like Daddy. And because daddy doesn't like kissing girls it makes it difficult for him to make a baby with a lady in the normal way."

"Why?"

"It just does. I'm a doctor you'll just have to take my word for it." Nicky pulled a Sherlock face.

"I still don't understand why they wanted me." Charlie patted Nicky on the knee and dribbled sympathetically.

"They wanted you because..."

"Because everything we love dies. But love doesn't." Sherlock smiled from the doorway. "Sometimes no matter how much we try to ignore it and pretend it doesn't matter and we don't care, The Earth carries on revolving around the sun."

The kitchen was silent, except for the slight rumble of the cat's breathing.