"She takes after her mother then, I presume," he says, a quirk to his lips. It still pains him sometimes that Watson won't be a father; thank God for the Lestrades, for their children, because it's good to see that proud smile in Watson's eyes.

Breakfast is good, but over quickly for Holmes, his stomach unaccustomed to eating very much at one time these days. He sips at his coffee and presses his leg against Watson's as he considers the fact that they have all day, and all the next day, and the one after that.

"I think I'd like to take a bath," he declares, the idea coming to him. A bath in his own bathtub. He turns a hopeful smile on Watson. "Would you care to join me?"