Chapter Text
John Watson watched the odd assortment of children play in the yard of St. Carolyn’s Orphanage. Mycroft had done a well enough job of choosing the children; some looked like John while others reminded the doctor of his passed flatmate. He had almost been offended when he spotted the two oldest of the bunch. A boy and a girl, both with fair-skin and dark curl wreathing their faces. The resemblances weren’t accurate enough for a perfect match, but it still served as a severe reminder of the great friend John had lost. All of the children had been introduced at the beginning of the day, about ten in his batch. Mrs. Andrews, the caretaker of the orphanage, had explained carefully that the groups were usually smaller but today had ‘an unusually long list’. John had told her he was happy to have so many to view, and she had been content with that. The age range was from 3 years to 6 years, which was likely the older Holmes’ doing.
John had taken time with each of the children, asking them what they liked and didn’t like as well as answering any questions they had for him. Almost all of them asked if he had a wife or if they would have a mother. He answered them honestly and wasn’t upset when they mentally decided they didn’t want just one parent. John figured that the children all had a picture of their perfect family set in their minds, Mum and Dad as well as some sort of small house. Some possibly even wished for a family pet. He was somewhat put-out that Mycroft had neglected to take the children’s wishes into account when he had made his selection. As he watched the children play he thought back to why he was actually there. He had met with Lestrade about three weeks ago, over a drink at the pub.
They had been having a drink and Greg had been talking easily about how work had been treating him since he’d lost his ace in the hole.
“You seem to be doing better.” John had said, somewhat envious of the silver-haired Detective Inspector.
“Well, to be entirely honest I’ve… Had a bit of help in dealing with,” he gestured vaguely before continuing. “An’ I tell you its worked wonders.”
“Help?” the blond had asked, tilting his head slightly.
“My kids have been real understanding, yeah?” He laughed and took another drink. “I’m really grateful to them for it.”
That had been the first moment in John’s life that he realized that he thought about having a family. He had done his research and had asked around, even knuckled down and called Harry to get her opinion. She had seemed enthusiastic, and had even offered her services as a babysitter for the future Watson-to-be. Then he had reluctantly gone to Mycroft Holmes. He wasn’t sure what had provoked him into seeking his late best friend’s brother out, but almost immediately Mycroft had sent a car for John and soon the doctor had found himself explaining his thoughts to the man who likely already knew them. Mycroft had made an odd face but readily offered his help, both financially and ‘emotionally’ (John had tried very hard not to spit out his tea at that). John had a feeling that the Holmes had already made arrangements with a specific orphanage and there was a greater chance that he’d already had a few kids in mind.
So here he was, watching ten very-uninterested-in-Dr-John-Watson children play about while he himself considered the things that had lead him to this point. While John waited patiently for the right decision to come to him, he idly counted the children as they played. Presently he felt a tap on the shoulder, and he turned to see Mrs. Andrews.
“Sorry to bother you, dear. But it appears I’ve found another paper slipped in with the ones that were meant for you.” She said with a bit of a self-depreciating laugh. “He’s playing in the gardens, if you wouldn’t mind following me.”
“Oh, yes of course.” John stood and leaned heavily on his cane. Mrs. Andrews nodded and lead the doctor through a latticework archway lined with flowering vines. He noted idly that the flowers near the bottom had been picked bare, likely by the children of the orphanage. Mrs. Andrews led him down a small path over to where a young boy was kneeling in the dirt, playing by himself while a tall woman watched him idly over her book.
“Oliver, dear.” Mrs. Andrews called, stopping just shy of the boy’s position. John paused behind the caretaker and shifted his weight slightly to get a better look at the boy. ‘Oliver’ looked up from his game of pretend with large hazel eyes, a surprised look on his freckled face. The boy stood slowly, as if unsure how to proceed with the situation. He had a fiery mane of curly hair, which had the slight appearance of being hard to keep and a slightly owlish look to his features.
“Oliver, this is my friend John. Would you like to have a chat with him?” She asked, bending down to Oliver’s height. The woman who had been standing by stepped forward, kneeling down beside the boy who turned then and wrapped his small arms around her neck. She lifted him gently and walked over to John, who found himself smiling.
The woman gave John a kind smile while Oliver watched John shyly, head tucked snugly beneath the woman’s chin.
“Would you like to hold him?” She asked, shifting the boy’s weight so it bore upon her hip. If she saw the cane she took no notice of it, as if she was sure that John could handle himself with a three year old boy even with his bum leg. John’s smile faltered a bit and a look of concern crossed his face. He found himself searching the small boy’s face, as if somehow the child could be expected to make up his mind on his own. After a few moments, John turned to Mrs. Andrews and asked her quietly if she would hold his cane for a bit. She took it gingerly, a look of great anticipation across her features. Once steadied without the cane, the doctor held out his hands towards Oliver in a gesture he had remembered his father giving him when he was young. The boy glanced just past John for a moment, eyes searching the line of bushes calmly for a moment. Then slowly, Oliver refocused on John and started to lean towards the doctor, arms stretching out in approval and want.
The boy was lighter than he looked, and John held him securely. Mrs. Andrews and the woman sat down on a nearby bench to chat quietly. Oliver petted John’s jumper idly, before he finally rested his head on the blonde’s shoulder.
“You’re a very good boy.” John said arbitrarily, shifting his weight from foot to foot. The boy shrugged a shoulder, tracing the cording of the jumper with a finger.
“Would it be alright if I… Was your dad?” John asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper. He couldn’t help asking, unable to deny a sense of purpose when the boy had allowed the doctor to hold him. John couldn’t quite place the warmth that crept through his chest when Oliver had leaned his head down to rest against the leather of John’s jacket. There, in the garden of an orphanage, John had found peace in the form of a three year old ginger who was currently tugging on a loose strand from John’s jumper. After a moment of trying to dislodge the thread, the boy nodded and curled the thread around his finger.
“What’s your favorite kind of food?” John asked, as he turned to walk over to Mrs. Andrews, his limp not as bad or as painful as before.
“Grill’cheese ‘n mashed ‘tatoes.” the boy replied softly, not bothering to move his head from John’s shoulder to answer.
“That sounds delicious.” John replied, before nodding to Mrs. Andrews. She jumped up with a quiet clap of joy.
“I’ll go and start the paperwork, dearie.” She said, before hurrying off to her office. The woman smiled up at John, who returned the gesture.
“Please take good care of Oliver. He’s really a sweet boy.” She said, standing up and brushing her skirt off. “Follow Mrs. Andrews to her office an’ I’ll go and pack up Ollie’s things.”
“Thanks very much.” John said. As he walked John found himself idly stroking Oliver’s back in a way that gave him comfort and apparently put Oliver to sleep, judging by the way the boy’s breathing evened out. Shortly after stepping into Mrs. Andrew’s office, Mycroft arrived to sign the waivers as Oliver’s guardian incase of emergency.