We Have Something to Tell You...
I saw the prompt and I figured Iâd humour myself a bit⌠And the reaction was based on a conversation I had with my mum about her adoption⌠So yeahâŚ
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 wasnât 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 heâs home for the odd weekends and holidays. Even then he was an active child who rarely stayed put.
âWe have to tell him,â she told him firmly with a nod.
He mimicked her movement. âYes, of course.â
âDoesnât make him less our son, Sherlock,â she replied, worrying her lower lip.
âNo, not at all,â 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 brotherâs game. They loved their brother, they do, they just donât love the matches.
âIt wasnât me,â the young man said as soon as he saw his parentsâ faces.
Funnily enough, out of all the things their children should have in common, it was how they always denied it wasnât their fault first without even knowing what it was they were being blamed for.
âOwen, you might want to take a seat first,â Sherlock gestured towards the empty chair opposite of where he and Molly were sitting.
âOkayâŚâ 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.
âWe have something to tell you.â
Owen chuckled in response. His dimple deepened as a smile spread on his face. âI think I can gather as much, mum.â
âYour mother and I,â Sherlock tried to take over the conversation but chickened out, looking towards Molly for help.
âWe should have told you sooner, I mean â this even a good time, you just come back from playing football with your friendsââ Molly mumbled.
âMum,â Owen butted in. âDo you mind getting straight to the point?â he asked sheepishly. âAfter all, like you said, I just came back and I smell pretty bad.â
âOh, right,â 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. âI want you to know, we didnât mean to keep this from you and we hope you understand that it doesnât make you less of our sonââ
âIs this the bit about me being adopted?â Owen cut off his mother mid-sentence again.
âYou knew?â Both adults chorused.
Owen shook his head, clasping his hands together, nodding in affirmation. âYou know dad, it doesnât take a genius to figure that out. I donât even look like either of you.â
âOh,â Sherlock managed, surprised.
âW-when did you find out?â Molly asked, worried as to what would happen from now on.
âUmm⌠when I was nine. It wasnât that hard to tell when everyone kept saying we donât look alike. But, I didnât care. You two are my parents as far as Iâm concerned. I donât think something like biology should have a say on who my parents are when you two are the ones who raised me.â 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.
âYour biological parentsâŚâ Sherlock tried to explain.
âI donât need to know,â Owen said firmly. âI was your son from I was a baby. That was enough to tell me who wanted me and who didnât. Whoever they are, all I need to know is their medical history for future reference, nothing else.â
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.
âThey werenât bad people,â Molly offered. âI think you should at least know that.â
âI know,â Owen said, smiling. âThey 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 didnât want me in the first place yet still tried to give me the best.â
âIâm sorry we didnât tell you sooner,â Molly apologised, hesitating to move forward to even reach for her sonâs hand to comfort him. She â they were out of their depths with all that had transpired.
âEh, I figured itâs a mix of your busy life and not really wanting to admit that Iâm adopted. I was confused for a little while, but Iâm not mad,â he told his mother with a sheepish smile. âAnd Iâd hug you, but Iâm 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?â
âOh, yes. Yes, that would be fine,â she replied, chuckling as Sherlock yelped, âhey!â
Owen was on his feet without another word, bounding towards his room, managing to stop and drop a kiss on his parentsâ cheeks before grabbing his kit.
âWell, that was not what I expected,â Sherlock was the one who spoke first after Owen disappeared up to the second floor.
âNot at all,â Molly agreed. âDo you think the twins and Bee knows?â
Sherlock was the one chuckling at this point. âI bet theyâve known for a while, just that they donât care.â
âNo, I suppose itâs nothing to them,â 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 wasnât related by blood, their Nana Hudson who they knew was technically their fatherâs landlady and even Aunt Meena who was like a sister to their mother. To them blood doesnât 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.