Chapter 3

The Blog of Dr John H Watson

Well, how do I start? I have some wonderful news to share. I didn't want to post it here until I was 100% sure the most risky time period had passed, which thankfully it has!

To cut a long story short I've become one of The Chosen. I'm over the moon! At first I couldn't understand why of all the people in London I was picked! But hay! I'm gonna be a daddy! Of sorts anyhow.

My egg is doing well. The little-one is growing steadily and looking strong.

My pal Mike thinks the little-one is going to be extraordinary once hatched. Well time will tell on that one. No matter what I'll love the little-one with every fibre of my soul.

Something that any followers might find funny, my bed was made into a nest! Let me tell you having a winged-folk nest in place of your bed is no teddy-bear picnic! I can't very well sleep beside the egg. I could knock it out of bed or overheat it. Not to mention all the other things, that might happen to the little treasure. Just thinking of them give me nightmares. So I purchased an inflatable bed. Sleeping on the floor is giving my bad shoulder Hell! I feel nothing but love for the little-one. I'll do anything for this unhatched soul. Suffering some pain for a few is nothing.

Anyway...If I sleep on, that hellish inflatable bed for the whole gestation, I'll be in no state to care for the little-one. Anyhow my bedsit is no place for a child, so a flat hunt, is a must! A.S.A.P. I will find a new home. A place worthy for my winged-child. After the first trimester the egg can be moved as long as it's done correctly. I'm a doctor. I know these things! So don't try it, without medical assistance.


Is that why you've been missing your appointments? I tried to call.

E Thompson

Been rushed off my feet. Sorry. Will phone soon.

John Watson

Why didn't you tell me bro?! Are we going to meet up soon?! After all I'm going to be an aunt!

Harry Watson

Much like humans, winged-babies develop over time within their eggs, marked by trimesters. The first scary trimester has just passed for John's egg. Three long months. Just as it's for humans, the first trimester is the most risky for the embryo. Any given moment the embryo could up and die with no likely reason to why. A miscarriage of sorts. An egg, which the embryo starts growing, then stops are known as quitters. The greatest fear for any Chosen.

John has been lovingly caring for his egg, turning it three times daily and rotating it once a day. Keeping the temperature of his bedsit the same throughout the day and night. Protecting it from getting chilled, by keeping it half wrapped in the jumpers. Ensuring the egg is kept clean, by cleansing the shell with a warm sponge. John has also been talking to it as he potters round the bedsit. Unborn winged-babies at a point can hear sounds through the shell. It's important that the winged-child learns their carer's voice. During hatching the winged-child will seek out the voice/voices they learnt. Once the hatchling lays eyes on their carer, they'll imprint on whomever they first see. Imprinting takes only a matter of moments. So it's paramount the hatchling imprints on the right person.

The candling, that morning had shown clearly a fully formed tiny winged-baby, moving and everything. John feels a tad downhearted that an ultrasound is impossible. The nature of winged-folk eggs makes it so. Only candling, shining a bright light through the shell to see the unhatched winged-baby is possible. The light shining through the fetus makes it glow red.

The airsack, and yolk are both clearly visable. Pores in the shell are well-defined. A network of blood vessels under the fetus' thin skin are plain as day. A thin red ring wraps round the yolk. The fetus' eyes look like huge black dots.

Seeing the fetus move it's arms, legs, and wings! Gave John a high he never knew he could experience.

After the midwife who came for the candling gave the all clear, a huge weight was lifted from John's shoulders. One he never knew existed until it was no longer present. The fetus looks strong and healthy. Those words! Oh God! What beautiful words.

The egg's parents have already deposited a huge chunk into his bank account. John's eyes had popped out of his skull at the sight of the digits and he'd even phoned his bank to question it. The bank informed him it is a Rearing Allowance. This knowledge didn't cease the shock of just how much he found awaiting him. It made him wonder why him yet again. The clan clearly is dripping in money. Anyone whose heard of the Holmes Clan knows of their wealth. Just as they know of their intelligence. Normally the wealthy clans pick just as wealthy carers. John pushes aside all negative thoughts, he'll look into the Holmes Clan later. After he has found a flat, afterall, John can now look comfortably for a place in London without worrying about the high rents.

John's feeling a growing excitement forming in the pit of his stomach. Time will fly and there'll be a little bundle of joy in his arms in 12 months time. Winged-folk take 3 months longer than humans to be born. Hatchlings are a little more delveloped than human newborns. John is in part relieved for the extra time. More time to sort out his shit.

John's standing at the door to the address at the end of his list. 221 Baker Street. The flat is on the second floor, flat B. Flat C is also available, but winged-folk need their living spaces up high. Flat C is a basement flat so it rules that one out on the get go. As John knocks the door he can only hope this is the one. He's feeling weary. John wouldn't be surprised if he's walked the stretch of London many times over.

Soon enough John hears movement on the other side of the door, then is greeted by an elderly petite human woman. She looks to be in her late sixties with short light brown hair, wearing a purple patterned dress and a kind smile.

"Hello, I'm John Watson. I'm here about the flat 221B. I sent an email this morning. Is it still available?" John asks warmly, smiling gently.

"Oh, yes...yes...of course. Come right in dear," the woman says opening the door as she steps backwards allowing room for John to enter "It's right at the top of the stairs hun. Make your way up, while I fetch the keys. I'm Mrs Hudson by the way. The landlady. Oh, it's so lovely to see a young handsome face."

John smiles at the kindly woman as she natters on. Once she's breezed down the hall out of sight, faster than anyone her age should move, John climbs the stairs. Thankful his limp is no more. These stairs would of been murder.

Mrs Hudson is unlocking the door to 221B soon enough.

"It comes fully furnished dear," Mrs Hudson says as she pushes the door open and walking in.

As John steps over the threshold, he knows this is the place he wishes to raise his winged-child. It has a homely feeling. Although the wallpaper and whatnot is in a word...outdated. Mismatched patterns, furnishings and all. It's still rather lovely. The living-room is spaceous, large windows facing onto the main street, with a small balcony. This is great for a winged-child. Winged-folk hate to feel caged or blocked off from seeing the sky. John eyes the fireplace for a second, then figures he can get a fireguard. The kitchen is joined to the living-room kind of like an open plan layout, although it can be closed off by double doors, perfect for safety, don't want tiny fingers getting into anything in there. Kitchens are highly dangerous to any child, human or winged-folk.

A small corridor leads to a fairly nice bathroom, a shower hangs above a rolltop bath and plently of room to swing a cat.

At the end of the corridor is what John suspects to be the master bedroom. A double bed sits comfortably in the centre, wardrobe against the wall beside the doorway, chest of drawers facing the bed, two bedside tables one on either side of the bed. The window is large here also.

As John exits the bedroom Mrs Hudson is waiting for him.

"There's another room upstairs. If you'll be needing two."

John nods, then follows Mrs Hudson to a second set of stairs. Leaving her at the foot, he ascends.

This bedroom is much smaller. A queen size double is next to the near wall, a single wardrobe is opposite the bed, a small chest of drawers right next to it and an equally small single bedside table next to the bed. The window in this room is very small, a view of the neighbouring building's wall.

John decides, that this room would be his. The master for the winged-child. With his mind made up he descends the stairs.

John finds Mrs Hudson in the living-room. Fussing with odds and ends.

"What do you think dear?" Mrs Hudson asks looking hopeful.

"It's rather nice. I think it could be lovely."

Mrs Hudsons beams.

"Why are you needing two rooms hun? Got a flatmate?"

John chuckles at that absurd idea. Who in their right mind would want him as a flatmate? He's grateful he doesn't have to find one. At one point he did think of that line of action. Anything to stay in London. The egg changed all that. Not to even think about his gun singing it's siren call.

"Lord no. Believe me Mrs Hudson. That wouldn't work out. No. I've been Chosen. I have a winged-child on the way. So. The need for two rooms," John informs with a touch of laughter in his voice.

Mrs Hudson's eyes widen saucer like, then suddenly she claps her hands, following it up with "Oh! That's delightful! You're one of The Chosen! Is it just you?"

"Yeah. Me and soon the little-one."

This time Mrs Hudson hops. Actually hops! This woman is fascinating to John. He's sure he's never met a woman like her.

"Please say you're taking the flat. I just adore children," Mrs Hudson sings. Viberating with joy.

"The place is perfect. Yeah. I'll take it."

John suddenly finds himself being crushed in a tight hug by the petite woman. All John can think, is how can this woman be this strong?!

Mrs Hudson led John to her flat 221A. Much of the same decor as 221B follows through here.

"You just sit there love and read through the papers. I'll get you something to fill that belly of yours. You look positively starved."

"I'm fine. Really. I don't want to put you out."

"Not putting me out at all dear," Mrs Hudson throws over her shoulder as she rummages in a cupboard.

John shrugs off his jacket, then drapes it on the back of his chair. He's picking up the rent agreement just as Mrs Hudson plops a plate with a sizeable piece of a dark brown moist looking sponge cake beside him, a fork resting next to the sponge. John can't help but stare at the sugary treat. He can't imagine being able to finish it.

"Tea or coffee hun?"

John smiles at her answering with "Tea would be lovely. Thanks Mrs Hudson."

Mrs Hudson waves the comment away.

"What a polite young man," she gushes, trotting back to the cupboards.

John sets to reading the agreement as Mrs Hudson makes up a pot of tea, scooping fork fulls of coffee cake into his month one handed. The agreement is fair and rent reasonable for the location. Everything is at a stone's throw. Shops, pubs, restaurants, train station, you name it.

"Hope you like the cake hun. I made it," Mrs Hudson's cheerful voice floats into John's thoughts.

Swollowing the chunk he'd just chewed John replies "Oh yes. It's wonderful."

Indeed it is. Looking down at his plate, the cake, which just moments ago he'd thought was impossiable to get through is almost gone.

"You're a talented cook Mrs Hudson."

"That warms my heart dear."

Pouring tea into cups covered in a flowerly pattern Mrs Hudson questions "How does it feel to be one of The Chosen hun? It must be life changing. I've never met a Chosen in my long life. Seen the winged little darlings of course, but never had the luck in meeting a Chosen. Until today of course. I can see why you've been Chosen. Such a sweet young man, with manners. You don't see that much these days. Oh, in my day..."

John had to stop himself from zoning out as Mrs Hudson chatted endlessly, he likes the woman. She has a warmth about her, clearly lonely. Finding someone new to talk to must be a real joy for her.

" yourself to sugar and milk dear."

"Thanks," John says making his cup just how he likes it.

He notices Mrs Hudson taking a mental note for future refence.

"Was it wonderful when you found your egg?" Mrs Hudson asks sipping her tea.

"It was a shock. A wonderful one I might add. Never thought I'd be a Chosen."

"Nonsense dear. You're clearly worthy."

John nods "As I've been told."

"When will the little winged darling be here?"

"Some time yet. The egg just passed the first trimester. I want everything ready before the little-one arrives."

"Of course dear. I'll be happy to help in whatever way I can."

"You don't need to..."

"Oh, I know that hun. I want too...Oh! I could knit some things. I'm sure there are patterns for winged-babies out there. Oh! I'm going to knit..."

It took longer to sign a rent agreement, than John had ever thought possible. Mrs Hudson continued to talk about knitting patterns for an age. He was relived, when it came to sign a cheque covering both deposit and first months rent. That way there was no reason to remain any longer. He likes Mrs Hudson but she's a little to much in one go.

The sun had long left the sky by the time John returned to the bedsit. Turning his laptop on he found an email waiting for him. An old rugby buddy had found his blog.

Hey John!

It's Ben. Remember me? From Blackheath. Yeah you do! I just read your blog. So you're back from Afghanistan! Got yourself Chosen have ya?! Two fab news in one? Told the lads and we all agreed we must meet up for a piss up. Celebrate your good fortunes. So write back soon! Yay!

Your good buddy Ben

John types a quick reply, the lads at Blackheath were some of his closest friends before signing up for the army. Before the egg popped into his life John wouldn't have replied to such an email. He would of hated the idea of having a few pints with old pals. Something he loved prior to being shot. Now through he feels he has a reason to live. To enjoy life.

Once the winged-child hatches John wont have the time to get pissed. He never drank that much anyway. With his family's history. He would of been brainless to do so, but sometimes he would let his hair down.

What could be better for a booze up, than celebrating the little-one's journey into his life? John can't think of one.

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