We Have Something to Tell You...
I saw the prompt and I figured I’d humour myself a bit… And the reaction was based on a conversation I had with my mum about her adoption… So yeah…
They exchanged a look again and then looking away to check the time. There was never the right moment and before they knew it, sixteen years have come and gone, and their precious boy would be leaving for university soon enough. It wasn’t as if they had purposely avoided talking about it, just that it seemed like there was always something interrupting their planned talks. Of course, there was also the fact that their son was attending Harrow like his father before him that they only see him when he’s home for the odd weekends and holidays. Even then he was an active child who rarely stayed put.
“We have to tell him,” she told him firmly with a nod.
He mimicked her movement. “Yes, of course.”
“Doesn’t make him less our son, Sherlock,” she replied, worrying her lower lip.
“No, not at all,” he said, agreeing with her.
Just as they finished talking, a young man barged into the room, looking all sorts of amused and sweaty. It was probably true what they say about nature versus nurture. Out of all their children, biological or not, he was the only one who was into football. The twin boys pretty much yawn the last time they were forced to attend their brother’s game. They loved their brother, they do, they just don’t love the matches.
“It wasn’t me,” the young man said as soon as he saw his parents’ faces.
Funnily enough, out of all the things their children should have in common, it was how they always denied it wasn’t their fault first without even knowing what it was they were being blamed for.
“Owen, you might want to take a seat first,” Sherlock gestured towards the empty chair opposite of where he and Molly were sitting.
“Okay…” Owen mumbled, dropping his kit by the entryway before claiming the seat.
A minute passed in dreadful silence as looks were exchanged between the three until Molly decided it was enough and she spoke first.
“We have something to tell you.”
Owen chuckled in response. His dimple deepened as a smile spread on his face. “I think I can gather as much, mum.”
“Your mother and I,” Sherlock tried to take over the conversation but chickened out, looking towards Molly for help.
“We should have told you sooner, I mean — this even a good time, you just come back from playing football with your friends—“ Molly mumbled.
“Mum,” Owen butted in. “Do you mind getting straight to the point?” he asked sheepishly. “After all, like you said, I just came back and I smell pretty bad.”
“Oh, right,” she said, chuckling uneasily. She turned to Sherlock to give him another look before looking back at their son and then brave on with the words. “I want you to know, we didn’t mean to keep this from you and we hope you understand that it doesn’t make you less of our son—“
“Is this the bit about me being adopted?” Owen cut off his mother mid-sentence again.
“You knew?” Both adults chorused.
Owen shook his head, clasping his hands together, nodding in affirmation. “You know dad, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. I don’t even look like either of you.”
“Oh,” Sherlock managed, surprised.
“W-when did you find out?” Molly asked, worried as to what would happen from now on.
“Umm… when I was nine. It wasn’t that hard to tell when everyone kept saying we don’t look alike. But, I didn’t care. You two are my parents as far as I’m concerned. I don’t think something like biology should have a say on who my parents are when you two are the ones who raised me.” Owen answered easily.
It was true, they looked nothing alike. Owen with his strawberry blonde hair and grey eyes looked different than anyone in the family. He might have the strong cheekbones like his siblings, but he looked softer than them as well. Not the kind Molly had either, more like a brand of his own.
“Your biological parents…” Sherlock tried to explain.
“I don’t need to know,” Owen said firmly. “I was your son from I was a baby. That was enough to tell me who wanted me and who didn’t. Whoever they are, all I need to know is their medical history for future reference, nothing else.”
Sherlock turned to look at Molly, as usual, having a silent conversation between just the two of them. The kind everyone grew used to over the years.
“They weren’t bad people,” Molly offered. “I think you should at least know that.”
“I know,” Owen said, smiling. “They gave me up to people who love me. But, they also never looked for me since and I figured that was enough proof to ascertain how much they didn’t want me in the first place yet still tried to give me the best.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner,” Molly apologised, hesitating to move forward to even reach for her son’s hand to comfort him. She — they were out of their depths with all that had transpired.
“Eh, I figured it’s a mix of your busy life and not really wanting to admit that I’m adopted. I was confused for a little while, but I’m not mad,” he told his mother with a sheepish smile. “And I’d hug you, but I’m sweaty and smelly right now. Dad might not care about hygiene as much, but I do. Maybe after I take a shower, is that okay, mum?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, that would be fine,” she replied, chuckling as Sherlock yelped, “hey!”
Owen was on his feet without another word, bounding towards his room, managing to stop and drop a kiss on his parents’ cheeks before grabbing his kit.
“Well, that was not what I expected,” Sherlock was the one who spoke first after Owen disappeared up to the second floor.
“Not at all,” Molly agreed. “Do you think the twins and Bee knows?”
Sherlock was the one chuckling at this point. “I bet they’ve known for a while, just that they don’t care.”
“No, I suppose it’s nothing to them,” she agreed again, beaming up to her husband.
Perhaps their children had taken a cue from them all their lives. Their family, after all, was sort of a mishmash of people coming together. There was their Uncle John and Aunt Mary who wasn’t related by blood, their Nana Hudson who they knew was technically their father’s landlady and even Aunt Meena who was like a sister to their mother. To them blood doesn’t define family, it was those who were there for each other. They agreed without speaking another word, it was nice that out of everything their children could learn from them, they learned that family is the people you chose.
