It was a beautiful Saturday in late spring. It was early enough that the traffic had not picked up in central London, but late enough that everyone in the Holmes household was long awake and stirring. Sherlock was sitting in his chair ignoring the bedlam around him, while Molly was trying desperately to corral the cat, Toby. Two year old John Mycroft Holmes, known as Jack, was also chasing the cat, but with a much less benevolent intentions than his mother. Mrs Hudson made her way up the stairs and through the front door of the flat just in time to see the cat and the kid pounce on Sherlock's chest. He grabbed each one with a different hand, and called, "Molly, were you looking for either of these?"

"Sherlock, you hold on to Jack, while I put Toby in his crate."

"Must I? He squirms an awful lot." He made an evil face as his son struggled to escape his grasp, "Have you considered keeping the child in the crate and letting the cat roam free?"

"I've considered that, Sherlock, but I fear that it would only entail additional therapy down the road. Heaven knows, with us as parents, that's going to be quite expensive as it is!"

Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective, was now rolling around on the floor, tickling his son and laughing even louder than the boy. Molly looked on with a smile, "Perhaps I should try one big enough for you, too!"

"Only if it was large enough for two," Sherlock leered up at his wife, trying to be sexy and suggestive with a screaming two year old sitting on his back and riding him like a pony. Somehow, he pulled it off.

Mrs. Hudson sat on the couch and offered Jack a homemade biscuit, which he grabbed with a semi-polite "Thank you!", and started searching the older woman for more. "Will we be leaving soon?" she asked as she ran her hand through the boys curls.

Molly answered, "I hope so, Mrs. H. Sherlock said he was arranging transportation, but he won't let me in on it. I just assumed Mycroft would send a car to get us there. He always does."

"Mycroft, Mycroft! We can't always depend on Mycroft. Trust me, Molly. I have a surprise for you." He then jumped up, kissed his wife on the cheek, and left, saying over his shoulder as he went down the stairs, "Get everything together and meet me outside!"

Mrs. Hudson rose from the couch to help Molly gather everything, everything being a bag of supplies for the toddler and the toddler himself. Today was Jack's second birthday, and they were headed to Sherlock's parents' country house to celebrate. It was also his cousin Si's birthday, but Sherlock always felt compelled to point out that Jack was the elder, having made it screaming from his mother's womb exactly one minute before his brother Mycroft's boy. Si's full name was Siger (after his grandfather) Sherlock (after his father's favorite, if only, brother) Holmes. His mother Anthea had only agreed to this when she was given naming rights for the next Mycroft Holmes offspring, which, as it turns out, was currently under construction. And from the size of Anthea's belly, could make her appearance at any time.

The two women, toddler in tow, were standing in front of the building on Baker Street, when a sleek black Jaguar XF pulled up directly in front of the building, and Sherlock Holmes got out of the driver's side.

"Sherlock, it's beautiful!" Molly said as he opened the passenger door for Mrs. Hudson to climb into the back seat. He then grabbed Jack, took him to the other side, and positioned him in a child seat next to the landlady. Molly was still standing on the sidewalk, admiring the vehicle.

"Get in, Molly. We've been married for almost three years. You don't expect me to be polite enough to hold the door for you, do you?"

"I can't believe you'd rent such a nice car just to drive to your parents house…"

"I didn't."

"When do we have to return it?"

"Molly, uhh…"

"Sherlock?"

"It's ours, Molly. I bought it."

"You bought a car? You never drive. And a Jaguar?! Really, Sherlock, how can we afford this…"

"We can afford it, don't worry. And the advert on the telly. There was something about the voice, so compelling so authoritative…"

"You fell for some advertising because of a compelling voice? Really, love…"

"Look, Molly, we've got a child now, others on the way. We can't rely on cabs forever! What if we have six kids? We couldn't fit them in a single cab!"

"We can't fit them in a Jaguar, either!"

"Mrs. Hudson likes it, don't you Mrs. H?""

The landlady replied dreamily from the back seat, "My husband used to have a Jaguar. Before he was executed, you know. Lots of the better drug lords drove Jags…"

"Sometimes it good to be bad," purred Sherlock, repeating the words of the advert. Molly was amazed at the similarity. Then, looking over at his wife, he added, "We'll talk later."

"You bet your sweet arse we will!"

It took a little over an hour to reach the cottage. Molly was always taken aback by the use of the term "cottage". She had pictured cottages as small picturesque affairs. This house, while indeed picturesque, was hardly small, and was surrounded by lovely gardens and green lawns. Naturally, when they arrived, Mycroft and Anthea were already there.

Violet Holmes greeted her younger son and his wife warmly, as was to be expected. Violet was a warm and kindly woman, with most of her sons' intellect and none of their attitude. Siger stood smiling next to her. He was also a kindly man, but while he was much more reserved than his wife, he was considerably less so than his sons. Jack bounded out of the cars and into his grandmother's arms.

"He looks so much like you, Sherlock!"

"He has Molly's eyes," Sherlock said fondly, as he put an arm around his wife's waist.

"No I don't! I have my own eyes! Mommy has her's!," the boy pouted. Then he shouted, "Where's Si?", and started squirming out of his grandmother's arms.

"Come on through to the back garden, we have a surprise," Violet said excitedly as Siger led the way.

A table had been set for lunch out back, with an enormous birthday cake in the middle of the table.

"Isn't the cake a trifle large for such a small party?" Sherlock said, but followed up with, "Ahh, but I was forgetting about Mycroft! And where are the birthday boys?"

Sherlock, finally finished insulting his brother, and disappointed that he was getting no reaction, finally looked in the direction of everyone's stares. And there stood a pirate ship! Not a small, prefab model, as one might find in a toy catalog, but a gigantic, custom built wooden monstrosity. Siger Holmes had a grandson in each hand as he walked toward it.

"I think Mummy has lost her mind," Mycroft said coolly, but he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of it.

"Your father actually drew up the plans," the eldest Mrs. Holmes said with a laugh. "I think he's going through his second childhood!"

"I reckon this to be his third, possibly his fourth," added Sherlock, also refusing to remove his eyes from the giant ship seeming to sail across the back lawn. "I see he's named it the 'Redbeard'."

"Vaguely appropriate for a pirate, or a pirate ship," sniffed Mycroft. "Rather strange for a canine, though."

"He was red, Mycroft, an Irish setter!" Sherlock was speaking of his dearly departed childhood pet.

"But beardless!" Mycroft, of course, had to get the last word.

Luncheon turned out to be a serve yourself kind of affair, as they could never seem to get everyone together at the table at the same time. Siger and the boys had disappeared into the bowels of the pirate ship. They were shortly joined by Sherlock. When they lost Mycroft, too, the women decided to have something to eat and let the men fend for themselves.

Mycroft found his brother on the far side of the ship, leaning against the hull and inhaling the smoke of a forbidden cigarette. "Ah, brother, the one thing we have in common," Mycroft spoke as he reached into the pocket of his trousers, lit one up, and leaned next to his brother.

The brothers looked nothing alike, aside from the fact that they were both tall and had blue eyes. Mycroft's hair was lighter and thinner than Sherlock's abundant dark curls. Sherlock was dressed in jeans and a casual shirt, while his brother had worn a suit to the two year olds' party, his only concession to comfort being in removing his jacket. They did share, however, a superior intelligence, and an equally superior attitude.

Sherlock decided to play nice. "So, brother, how is Anthea faring this late in the pregnancy?"

"Better to ask how I'm faring. When my wife says she wants Szechuan Chinese food, she means Szechuan Chinese, not from the local takeaway. From China, Sherlock! China, for god's sake. I almost caused an international incident over a plate of kung pao chicken! And the amount of cakes and pastries she consumes is amazing, even by my standards. Good lord! You know my predilection for sweets. She's eaten everything in the house. I have been tempted to dive down her throat in pursuit of an eclair…"

"I don't envy you, and I'm not looking forward to it myself…"

"Oh, god, brother, you're not thinking of reproducing again, are you? I'm not sure the world is ready…"

"I'm afraid it's well past the thinking stage. We're already well into the morning sickness and the 'do I look fat?' stage."

"Mummy doesn't know yet, I presume?"

"I think not, as I have yet to hear any squeals of delight from the patio."

Both men lit up another cigarette, and Sherlock started to look around curiously. "Do you suppose we should check on the boys? I can hear them playing, but I haven't heard Dad. Have you even been inside this thing, Mycroft? It's really rather impressiive."

"You were the one who dreamed of being a pirate, Sherlock…"

"A perfectly normal daydream for a six year old, I daresay. But how many little boys want to grow up to be the British Government?"

"I must point out that you are not a pirate, whereas I…"

"Am in the position to start a war over Szechuan food?"

The fathers now went in search of their spawn, and their errant grandfather.

"Jack, let your cousin off the plank, and tell me where Papa is!" Sherlock accosted his son. Jack pointed toward the bow of the ship, but neither man could see their father.

"Do these proportions seen correct to you, Sherlock. There seems to be some space unaccounted for…"

But his brother was already investigating the area at the very front of the vessel, finally locating a suspicious looking hook, from which hung a pirate hat, on a wall which extended across the bow. When he pulled on the hook, a panel opened onto small room containing padded benches, ash trays, and his father. "Took you long enough!" said the older man, as his sons entered.

"What have we here? Your own smoking lounge? I didn't even know you smoked!" Not for the first time, Sherlock's father had surprised him.

"Your mother found all my old places. I calculate I have another month or two before she figures this one out."

Mycroft was examining the room. "Air filtration. Nice. Leather banquette seating. Very nice!"

His father opened a drawer in the base of the bench. "A more than sufficient supply of fags. Excellent! I'm impressed."

"I call that high praise from such a Mummy's boy!" the old man smiled affectionately at his elder son, before turning to his younger son. "Did I overhear correctly? Are congratulations in order?"

"How did you hear…"

"Surveillance system surrounding the vessel. Primarily to watch for your mother, but in a pinch I can spy on the nearest neighbors and order pizza."

"I join my brother in my admiration, Dad," Sherlock laughed.

"By the way, son, that's a lovely new car you have there. Well worth the dip into the family trust. You should treat yourself more often. Or better yet, treat your wife. Have you considered buying another house? One large enough for your soon to be larger family."

"I think we're going to remodel 221 Baker Street. A flat for Mrs. Hudson downstairs, as always, family quarters on the upper floors. Laboratory in the basement…"

"When do you intend to tell Molly about all this, Sherlock?"

"About what, Mycroft?"

"Your wealth, you git. You can't hide it forever. Maybe she'll want to leave her job after the new child is born…"

"Molly loves her job…"

"You love her access to St. Bart's! Don't worry, we all know she didn't marry you for your money, but for your cheekbones…"

"And my charming personality!"

"Definitely the cheekbones!"

"Enough of this. Tell me about my grandsons!"

"Si wants a puppy," Mycroft spoke with a sneer. "I told him that Her Majesty has promised me pick of the litter when her bitch delivers…"

"Really, brother, show some respect for the Prince!"

"How droll, baby brother!"

"Anyway, you should get an Irish setter. Corgis are poufty dogs!"

"Get your own setter, Sherlock!"

"Wish I could, but we have a cat. A cat that we have to keep in a cage."

"Does it get nasty with Jack?"

"No, Jack gets nasty with it. Even I feel sorry for the damned cat, under house arrest for Jack's offenses. He tried to shave it last week. Have you ever seen a bald cat, Mycroft. Not a pretty sight. I tell you!"

"Si tried to shave his mother. Also not a pretty sight. That's why she's been wearing that ridiculous sun hat all the time!"

"We had to disconnect the microwave after what Jack did to the goldfish. He thought the poor thing looked cold…"

"Funny, our canary looked a little warm to Si…"

"Let me guess...freezer?"

"Canarysickle, alas, yes."

All three Holmes men were now laughing uproariously, unfortunately at the expense of an imprisoned feline, a parboiled fish, and a frozen bird. They were still laughing when Siger picked up something on his surveillance system.

"They're probably down in that smoking lounge that the dear man doesn't think I know about."

"Perhaps we had better tell them that it's time to cut the cake?" Molly asked with a slight giggle.

"Not to worry, Mycroft will sense the nearness of cake soon enough!"

Martha Hudson was enjoying having a gossip with one of her oldest friends and the two younger woman. "When do you think Sherlock will get around to telling Molly about the house? And the renovations? And the car? And the money?"

"About the same time he gets around to telling me I'm going to be a grandmother again!"

"How did…"

"The same way I know that Anthea is half bald under her hat, dear! I have my ways and I have my secrets…"

"I'm beginning to understand why your boys have such Mummy issues!" Anthea snorted.

"What renovations? What money? What…" Molly was very confused. But Mummy Holmes waved her hand in friendly dismissal as the three men and two boys approached the patio, and the giant birthday cake.

"Not to worry, dear, we all know you married Sherlock for his cheekbones, not his money..." Mrs. Hudson patted her hand.

"And certainly not his personality!" his own mother snorted.

"I just hope some of that cheekbone DNA shows up here," Anthea smiled as she patted her over large belly, and the women were laughing heartily as the men joined them for cake and some long overdue conversation.