[Sholmes listens, busying himself with watching people pass by on the street and sidewalk below as they go about their daily lives. A man with a slight limp, whose wife is either away or neglectful. A hansom cab whose driver is but on the second day of the job, and whose passenger exhibits clear anxiety. A pair of children dashing down the opposite side, playing a trick on an unseen third. His pipe exudes smoke like an indolent dragon, lazily carried past 221B's window, his elbows propped up on the sill.]

With any luck, you should remain in London through no inconvenience at all.

[That things would not have become so complicated, upending life as they knew it for these many years. A sea change is upon them, and there is little Sholmes can do about it, but it still wrenches at his insides, knowing the days of their great adventures are soon behind them. Knowing that this flat shall soon be a much emptier place.

Still, when Sholmes turns just enough to straighten and rest his hip against the window--leaning aside just enough so that the breeze catches his smoke--the look he gives his partner is a faint smile, no less fond of the sight of the man cradling an infant in his arms. Somehow, despite its improbability, Mikotoba is rather suited to the role, he thinks.]

But that will not do, will it? You must return, and this child must have a caretaker. And what will happen when these two prerogatives continue to clash? Do you have a plan for that?