Work Text:
"Are you sure that you want to make references to that 1960's television show in your wedding vows?" Mycroft asked Sherlock as the two sat across from each other in the flat.
"John likes the show and I am writing these vows to please him," Sherlock grumbled, about to scribble on yet another failed attempt at personalisation.
"It is not canon, you know, those two characters never got together," Mycroft continued, quieter because John was in the kitchen now, attending to a meal that smelled incredibly weird.
"Isn't it, though? They beat around the bush, constantly avoiding their true feelings, but coming close enough so that everyone else knows the feelings are there. They are best friends, closer even. Neither man holds a lengthy relationship with a woman, one even has his marriage broken off. When the second in command thinks that there is even the slightest chance that his leader is dead, he loses it. He always has to be with his one true love. Those two hold hands, stare longingly at one another complimented by violin music in the background. So yes, it is canon and John loves it."
Mycroft rolled his eyes at his younger brother. "That is far fetched and you know it. No one would ever believe that. My goodness, what is that terrible smell?"
Sherlock inhaled deeply. "Siracha,"
"It is disgusting,"
"I happen to like it. I crave it. The baby wants spicy foods and I provide them, despite the heartburn that follows." Sherlock said, a snide smile on his face from causing discomfort to his brother's nose.
Mycroft continuously checked his watch as he sat across from his pregnant brother. He had somewhere to be, but had every intention of playing it off as nothing when he went to leave. The last thing he needed was Sherlock going on about goldfish, and how much he needed one.
It wouldn't have taken someone as intelligent as the Holmes brothers to pick up on what was going on. Sherlock hid his smile on Mycroft, having it on good authority that he would turn into a yelling twat if he mentioned it.
"I'll be leaving," Mycroft said, standing up and adjusting his jacket.
"Have fun on your date," Sherlock laughed.
"My what?"
"Your gay, gay date with your new friend, Gregory,"
John dropped the spoon he was using to cook the stir fry he was making. "Did you just remember Lestrade's name?"
Mycroft didn't resist the urge to smack his forehead with his palm. "That was the part that stuck out to you?"
"Yeah," John resumed cooking. "Point?"
Mycroft quickly sat back down in the chair. "No, I am not going, I can't,"
"Yes you are," Sherlock mumbled while sending a hard kick into his brother's shin. "Don't want to upset Lestrade?"
"How did you know I was meeting Lestrade?"
Sherlock laughed. "I didn't, you told me,"
John dropped his spoon again, this time on the verge of a ridiculous outburst of laughter. He stepped out of the kitchen, taking a break from the sinus clearing concoction Sherlock had requested from him. He stood and watched the two silent Holmes brothers glaring at each other.
"So, out of curiousity, did you plan on telling him today?" John asked. "Only have three months to go, let's ruin the surprise."
"No, he is going to be late for his date with Lestrade and we can't have that,"
"Ooo...please do tell..." Mycroft said smoothly.
"No,"
"I will stay here if you don't tell me, brother dear,"
"John," Sherlock whispered. "Remind me to get you back for this,"
"Just tell me,"
"Oliver Mycroft Holmes-Watson, or Watson-Holmes, John can't decide on one just yet," Sherlock couldn't either, but he didn't care to mention that.
Mycroft cocked his head to the side. He was so taken aback by the gesture from his brother that he almost didn't believe his ears. A part of him was certain that the namesake was entirely John's idea, but he didn't have time to argue about it. He was late for his date.
"Are you going to say anything, Mycroft?" John asked after a weirdly prolonged silence.
"I must be going," Was all that came out of the elder Holmes' mouth. He darted out of the flat without so much as a wave.
"That was rude. He could have at least smiled."
Sherlock's head snapped into the direction of his future husband. "Have you met my brother before?"
"Yeah...met you, too, and yet...I am still here...that means that I am either ridiculously stupid or a glutton for punishment." John laughed.
Sherlock was going to stand up, until he realised there was no way that was happening, especially when both babies were kicking his sides.
"Stir fry burning," He simply stated.
"Oh hell," John said, running into the kitchen.
Sherlock put his hands on his bump. He loved the attachment he had to his growing children. This whole thing had turned him into a monster that wasn't allowed to smoke, solve cases everyday, or do anything that involved much physical activity. It wasn't pleasant, but it was worth it. Plus, he was able to concentrate on the experiment factor of it all, his original intent before the hormones kicked in.
Of course, hiding the second child was all part of the plan. It was a gift. It would work out well, as long as he could hold out until after the wedding.
"John?"
"Yes, Sherlock?"
"What about Josephine? Do people still use that name?"
"That is a girl name, but I imagine,"
"Do you like the name?"
"I guess, why?"
"No reason, just a curiousity,"