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Sherlock is surprised when Mycroft says it. Of course he’s not. He knows that other people are slow, but Mycroft is supposed to be one of the clever ones.
“Don’t be silly.” he counters. “Eurus is a girl, Mummy is a girl. I’m not a girl.”
Mycroft sneers at him, but it’s more perplexed than bitter. Usually he hates being corrected, but this is a different kind of expression. He’s being careful, Sherlock decides.
“What are you, then?” his brother asks. The question is not delivered kindly, but it isn’t cruel either.
“A boy, like you.” Sherlock considers tacking on a “stupid” but decides against it. If Mycroft can pretend to be nice than so can he. Mycroft shrugs.
“If you say so.” He returns to the book he’s reading, something he brought back from boarding school. Sherlock doesn’t quite understand, but he isn’t going to admit it in front of his brother. He drops the subject.
When his mummy messes up, the growing pattern starts to concern him. How can she not know? But she says it again, “my two lovely daughters.” It bothers Eurus too.
“One.” she murmurs.
“What, dear?” Father asks, but she is focused on the presents under the tree now.
“I don’t want a children’s violin. I want a real one.” The conversation quickly turns to fussing over whether Eurus peeked under the wrapping or not, and Mummy’s mistake is forgotten for a while.
“Honestly, Father, even you should have figured it out by now.” Mycroft is right. Sherlock’s gender should be apparent to even the slowest member of their family. He knows he’s a boy, Eurus and Mycroft know, even ordinary Victor knows. How can Victor be more perceptive than Sherlock’s parents?
“Figured out about what?” Father wonders, dazed as ever.
“About me. You should know, you picked out my name. It’s a boy’s name.” the middle child stresses. Father looks shocked, as he does whenever his children do anything clever.
“What? Sherlock is a girl’s name. It’s your name, why would you have a boy’s name?” Stupid. Ordinary and stupid, his father doesn’t know anything just like everyone else.
“It’s not a girl’s name. It’s my name, and I’m a boy so it’s a boy’s name. Simple.” Sherlock counters. Father gets very still and sort of pale, and does that thing people do with repeating easy questions.
“You’re a boy?”
“Yes, of course.”
“You’re a boy? That’s how you, how you feel?
“I already told you that.
“You’re sure about this? It isn’t one of your games, it isn’t like when you’re Yellowbeard the pirate?” Father is babbling now. Mycroft steps in.
“I have attempted to show you the research on this, Father. He has been sure of himself long enough to warrant a diagnosis. It isn’t unheard of.” Father remains still, blinking with his mouth open, looking at one son and then the other. Eventually he seems to understand, and he and Mycroft go upstairs to discuss this with Mummy. Sherlock goes out to play with Victor, who never babbles and is much more fun than any of his relatives.
Sherlock doesn’t really want John and Mary’s daughter to be named after him, and he knows it won’t happen even if John wanted it. Mary is definitely going to be choosing the name. But he can’t leave John like this. He can’t go off and die and leave his best friend to start a family and forget about him. It’s selfish, but Sherlock wants to be remembered. He wants John to do what he does best, to care about people, to keep caring about him long after this exile kills him. So Sherlock Holmes is going to leave him a puzzle.
Something not too obvious, but easy enough to look into after the funeral. John will surely speak to Mr. and Mrs. Holmes there, in an attempt to console them. Taking care of others before thinking about himself is a very John Watson thing to do. Six months from now, when Sherlock is dead, John will have remembered and replayed their last conversation over several times, and he will see that there is something to look for in this next sentence.
“Sherlock is actually a girl’s name.” John giggles at this, Sherlock is pleased. He wants this to be as painless as possible for his only friend.
“It’s not.”
“It was worth a try.”
“We’re not naming our daughter after you.”
“I think it could work.” There, that’s enough about the puzzle. Time for a real goodbye. John deserves it.
“To the very best of times, John.”
It comes up one last time, after Sherlock has already told John about his transition. Of course that means that Mary knows now too. Baby Watson is held up between her quibbling parents.
“What about a name?”
“Catherine.”
“Uh, yeah, we’ve gone off that.”
“Have we?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
“Well, you know what I think.” Sherlock offers, grinning. They smile back.
“It’s not a girl’s name!” And it isn’t, it’s his name, and it feels good to hear his friends say it. It feels good to be with them.