Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Eight months.

It had only been eight months.

To some, eight months is nothing. Days creep by blending into weeks and eventually months. Eight months later, a baby is born or a solider is returning home to his family after a long and brutal tour.

To others, eight months is an endless span of time. It feels infinite. The mother of that baby who waits to meet the child she adores and nourishes. The soldier longing to sleep in a proper bed, arms cradled around his wife and children.

Eight months.

That's all it took.

John still wasn't entirely sure of what woke him from his deep slumber in the first place, only that he'd found himself creeping along the hallway wall towards the sitting room.

It had been a particularly warm day, the heat carrying over well into the night, and his pajama bottoms were clinging uncomfortably to his skin. He paused mid stride and looked down. Resting his temple against the wall, he squeezed his eyes shut. I'm gonna die and they're gonna find my body in Minnie Mouse pajamas.

He froze as he heard rustling of papers and someone muttering to them self. A string of OHSHIT raced through his mind and John tightened his hold on the armful of shoes he'd grabbed along the way. John wasn't a large man. Standing at 5'6, he had a small frame but what he lacked in size he made up for in muscle. He could hold his own in a fight if need be.

Taking a deep breath, John barreled out into the sitting room screaming and flinging shoes in the direction of the perpetrator.

“NYAAAAAAHHHHHHH-”

Flip flop.

“Get-”

Boot.

“Out-”

Sneaker.

“Of-”

Hello Kitty slippers. Where the hell did those come from?

“My-”

He ran out of shoes to throw and had resorted to wildly flailing his arms against the intruder. John vaguely heard someone shouting in the distance.

“John-”

Smack.

“John, stop-”

Hit.

“OW.”

Kick. oh good aim.

“JOHN IT'S ME-”

Slap.

“JOHN, YOU ARE BEING RIDICULOUS.”

John stopped abruptly, finally piecing the voice to a face.

“Sherlock?” He panted and slapped a hand to his sweaty forehead. “Sherlock? What the hell?”

Of course.

Who else was crazy enough to break into his flat at two forty-five in the morning? Sherlock was cradling his now bloodied nose. Serves him right.

“Was that really necessary?” Sherlock complained.

John gaped at him. “Was that...Was that really necessary? Christ, Sherlock I thought you were breaking in to kill me.”

Sherlock scoffed, “Please, as if anyone would waste their time trying to kill you. How tiresome. No, I only needed paper to burn so I could begin to evaluate the rate of which-”

John cut him off, "Right, because any explanation you attempt to provide totally justifies why you were breaking into my flat at," He glanced at his watch, "Almost three in the morning."

"You gave me a key."

"For emergencies, like if you're dying or you blew up the kitchen table or something!" John practically shouted.

"It was an emergency."

He gave up. "Right, how stupid of me. How could I not know running out of paper was a catastrophe."

Sherlock blinked at him. "Exactly."

John let out a hysterical giggle and turned towards the bathroom.

This is what eight months had brought him.

Sherlock Holmes, John's genius and quite frankly ridiculous neighbor, who lived downstairs in 221B.

John had been looking for a new flat for some time, seeing as finding roaches in his fridge and mice scurrying through his drawers had become a tad irritating. He was in a horrid mood, already running fifteen minutes late to his lecture, and had spilled a cup of coffee on his trousers so it looked like a pee stain. There was a Chinese restaurant nearby, so he'd run in to grab tissues. Dabbing at his trousers with the crumbling napkins he noticed an ad on a nearby window.

Baker Street Flats For Rent

Call Hudson

07700 900709

He ripped the paper off the window and shoved it in his school bag. He would make the call after the lecture he was now twenty minutes late to.

***

Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, was quite possibly one of the sweetest women John had ever spoken to. She sounded delighted over the phone and had all but begged him to stop by and look at the flat. It was an old, white, stone building that was nestled alongside what appeared to be a very crowded sandwich shop. Across the street from him was an identical building. There was a man, who freakishly resembled a rat, on his knees with his arms wrapped around the waist of a tall, dark-haired woman who looked thoroughly embarrassed of the scene he was causing. A floor above from them were two men watching them. The shorter of the two was sipping his martini with an amused grin. The taller one was leaning on his forearm against the window, wearing a bored expression.

John shifted his heavy bag on his shoulder and had barely knocked on the door when it flung open and he was almost knocked backwards.

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Here let me help-” Her voice was drowned out by the sound of a wailing baby. Presumably the one tucked in her arms. The person who had almost run him down was a petite woman with tired, brown eyes and brown hair pulled into a sloppy ponytail...and she was thoroughly distracted trying to console the screaming child.

“No, no, no, no, don't cry, you're fine, you're fine. Shh. Don't cry.” She looked up to the sky and quietly muttered 'God help me.'

John cleared his throat which startled her and she gazed back at him apologetically.

“I'm sorry, we're in a bit of a hurry. I'm Molly.” She rocked the now whimpering child in her arms. “...and this is Audrey.”

He gave a little wave.

“Joh-”

“Molly, you forgot your purse. Oh! You must be John,” An older woman pranced over with a black bag slung over her shoulder, “I see you've met Molly and little Audrey.”

Molly grabbed the bag and gave the older woman a quick kiss on the cheek

“Thank you Mrs. Hudson, we've got to get going. We'll be back later.” She rushed by, calling over her shoulder, “Nice meeting you Jack!”

He frowned and muttered 'It's John' even though she was already more then halfway down the block. “Well! Shall we take a looksie?”

The other woman, Mrs. Hudson, clapped her hands together in obvious delight.

Mrs. Hudson lived on the first floor. There was another door adjacent to hers that led to a flat in the basement but she'd said that it it was already occupied. On the second floor he could hear yelling coming from behind a closed door. Loud enough so the shouts were traveling into the hallway.

“You had no right!”

“Oh, come now brother dear, there's no need to be so melodramatic. I'd like to think I did you a favor.”

“Do us all a favor and eat this so you can DIE faster. Obesity suits you.” The voice paused, “...and mind your own business!”

There was man leaning against the wall outside of the door with his arms crossed. “Dear god, make it stop.”

The poor guy looked drained. It seemed as if the small patches of grey in his hair were multiplying as the commotion behind the door continued. He wiped a hand over his tired face.

“They're going at it again?” Mrs. Hudson patted the man's shoulder.

“Of course. He never stops.” He nodded at her. His gaze flickered over to John.

“Who's this?”

“This is Mr. Watson. He's interested in the flat upstairs.” She said with a wink.

The man stuck his hand out. “Greg Lestrade, Good to meet you.”

John clasped hands with him. “Likewise.”

There was a loud bang against the door, like someone threw a heavy book at it.

Greg sighed, “Oiy, good luck mate.”

With that he turned and went down the stairs hollering over his shoulder, “I'm going out My, be back in a mo'.”

Mrs. Hudson clicked her tongue. “Always arguing with each other, it's not decent.”

John was used to the yelling and screaming. He had a sister, Harry, who he didn't particularly get along with. He thought she drank too much and she'd told him to fuck off on more than one occasion. Her girlfriend, Clara, was a saint and John could not understand how she put up with her.

Mrs. Hudson led him up a second stair case and pointed to the first door on the right.

“Molly and little Audrey live right over there. Poor girl, she's had a hard time sleeping with the little one constantly crying. Colicky, if you ask me,” She sighed, “Ms. Adler lives upstairs and helps babysits during the day. A bit frisky that one,” whispering the last part.

“Well I won't be young forever.” A striking woman, with lips painted in the most offensive shade of red he'd ever seen and a dress that left little imagination, came bouncing down the steps. She blew a kiss to Mrs. Hudson and strolled by with a wink over her shoulder. John raised his eyebrows and turned toward Mrs. Hudson who giggling like a school girl.

“Now you'd be right over here.” She unlocked a door that said '221 D' for him and he shuffled in.

It was a decent sized sitting room with two very large windows overlooking the main street. He could see the man and woman across the road were still arguing. It was connected to a small kitchen, which was no problem seeing as John very seldom cooked because when he did, the fire department was often called. The hallway attached led back to a bathroom and a bedroom. It was small but cozy and more than enough for John. He thought about his current flat and how tired he was of going for a bowl of cereal and finding a box of bugs. He wasn't high maintenance by any means, but just for once he'd like to be somewhere where he could put his socks in a drawer without finding three generations of mice making their homes inside of them. He shuddered at the memory. There may have been an undignified amount of screaming when he'd opened that drawer. As he looked around, checking corners, opening cupboards, and looking in closets he heard a piercing strain of, God is that even a violin? It sounded more like a cat shrieking in pain. Good lord, that's awful.

Mrs. Hudson sighed loudly and John jumped. He'd almost forgotten she was was there.

“He does that at unholy hours of the night.” She muttered, shaking her head. She tossed a pair of keys over to John and him a bright smile she gestured towards to empty space.

“So, what do you think dear? I'm afraid it's a bit of a nut house most of the time, but you get used to it. Got some lovely people here, just lovely.”

John had a feeling she'd say that about a serial murderer as long as he used his manners. He snickered to himself as he pictured Mrs. Hudson sitting across from a 200 pound, buff man drinking tea and eating pastries with their pinkies up.

He quietly took in his surroundings; Someone was laughing, someone else was banging on a door, another person was shouting, a baby was crying, cars were driving by and honking, probably at oblivious pedestrians crossing the streets without so much as sparing a glance over their shoulder, and that god awful violin was still screeching an agonized melody. Won't be getting much sleep, I suppose. He thought back to the mouse incident and shuddered. Nope, he was pretty sure he'd rather live in a box than have to wake up with a mouse on his pillow wishing him a good morning. He gave a firm nod to himself and turned to Mrs. Hudson.

“Where do I sign?”

* * *

It was his last box and of course it was the heaviest. He was grumbling to himself, trying to balance the weight, and fish his keys out from his pocket at the same time. His arm was killing him from moving his stuff and arranging and rearranging furniture, not that he had much, over the past few days. Thank god for Mike Stamford. He was one of John's closest friends at school and hadn't hesitated to lend a hand with the move. Unfortunately for John, Mike was at work and wasn't able to help with the box so he could get his keys.

"Goddammit, where are they...I'm...almost...done...come...on" He grunted.

John wasn't even sure he knew what he packed in the cardboard, he'd been in such a hustle to get out of the shit hole he was living in. His arm was about to give out when he saw a large shadow loom over him.

“It's unlocked...idiot.”

Oh.

John quickly reached a hand over the knob and turned. To his relief it was indeed unlocked. Stepping over the threshold, he hurried to put the box on the steps to relieve his arms of the strain. Straightening his back and rolling his neck he turned to address the individual who'd spoken and insulted him.

“Thanks, although the idiot  was probably uneces-”

He stopped abruptly and stared at the man in front of him.

Jesus.

Was everyone in this building undeniably...pretty?

The man was standing at an absolutely ridiculous height. Who the hell needs to be that tall?  His cheekbones were alarmingly high and he had piercing, blue eyes that made John feel like his entire life was written on his forehead. A curl slipped out of place, dangling over his brow. Probably because this guy had a head full of dark, unruly curls that looked like they refused to be tamed.

Christ, if he'd ever had to stamp a name on his balls, it'd probably be this guy's.

If lost please return to man with high cheekbones.

The man cleared his throat and looked at John with obvious irritation.

“You're blocking the stairs.”

John blinked.

Holy shit, his voice is deeper than my love for a good hot pocket.

“Sorry,” he paused and held out a hand, “I'm John Watson, I just moved in upsta-”

“Must we state the obvious?” The man sighed deeply.

John lowered his hand and shoved them in his pockets. "Right, well I suppose the boxes gave it away.”

The man looked oddly amused at this. “Something like that” He stated, “Sherlock Holmes.”

What the hell kind of goofy name is Sherlock Holmes?

"Nice to meet you” is what John said instead.

The man-Sherlock, rolled his eyes. “Are you going to move any time soon or should I begin writing my obituary?”

John frowned. He noticed the man was carrying a bag of

“Are... those toes?”

Sherlock raised the bag and beamed with adoration for his severed appendages.

“I'm calculating the quantitative relation between necrotic tissue and time of death.”

Well yeah, that cleared things up a bit.

John let out a nervous chuckle and turned to leave before he lot the piggy that went to the market.

“Okay, well you do that. Let me know how it turns out.”

“Really?”

“What?” John said, knitting his eyebrows.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed, “Shall I inform you of my results when it is completed?”

Was he serious?

“Uh, sure. I love necrotic toes first thing in the morning.” John grinned.

Sherlock eyes glimmered in excitement and he stared at John with wide eyes. “You too?”

John's grin faltered. Oh shit. He's a cannibal, and he's going to cut my toes off and use them as tea bags and hide my body and no one will ever find me and I just paid first months rent-

His string of thoughts were cut off by a boisterous laugh. “Stop.”

John released the breath he didn't realize he was holding. “What?”

“You were thinking that I had cannibalistic tendencies, but I don't. I was simply engaging in what I thought was normal conversation between neighbors.”

Normal?

John narrowed his eyes at him,“Do people often think you're some sort of deranged killer?”

Sherlock flashed him a toothy smile. “Now and again, yes.”

Great.

Well, at least he wouldn't be bored.

“So...necrotic toes?”

* * *

Sherlock's flat was a mess and that was putting it mildly. There were books, and papers on everything. A human skull sat on the mantle next to a board game that had been stabbed against the wall with a pocket knife. Aside from his obvious messy habits John learned Sherlock was 23, only two years younger than himself, and that he was some sort of consulting detective. He wasn't sure what to make of that but Sherlock had said he was the only one in the world. John didn't argue. He was eccentric and bounced around from thought to thought. John struggled to keep up with him...and of course the man was absolutely brilliant. He could observe someone and be able to accurately describe their personality, work style, romantic life, and just about anything else he wanted to without even speaking to them. He was also quick to complain about how dull they were.

He'd also learned that Sherlock worked with the people across the street he'd seen arguing a few days prior, Sally and Anderson. Using the term work loosely.

“They're the epitome of idiocy. Especially Anderson,” He sniffed.

John just nodded. He was completely entranced by the small craters that formed in Sherlock's cheeks when he spoke.

You could fit a baby in there.

“I highly doubt that.” Sherlock was staring at him, a slight smirk graced his lips and he arched his brow.

Oh shit, had he said that out loud?

John felt his face heat up and he cleared his throat. “Anyway, what's the deal with everyone?" He shifted in his seat," It's like everyone is related or something.”

Sherlock stood by the window.  "Not quite. We all know one another for different reasons. For example, my insufferable brother Mycroft," He shuddered, "actively participates in regular intercourse with Lestrade downstairs."

"You mean Greg?" John clarified.

"No, Lestrade. He lives downstairs? Surely you must have noticed him by now. Even you couldn't be that oblivious." Sherlock curled his lip in disgust.

"Yeah, his name is Greg." John was sure of this.

Sherlock waved his hand. "Yes, yes. Gavin, George, Greg, whatever."

Okay then. That's more than I ever needed to know.

"So Greg works with you, Sally, and Anderson?" Sherlock scowled at the mention of Anderson.

"Yes, and they live below Jim Moriarty."

Who?

"He used to date Molly as a matter of fact. However that didn't last very long. I assume it's because he's gay."  Sherlock pursed his lips.

"Who's Jim?"

"Do keep up John. Jim Moriarty, he lives across the street."

Oh.

"Is Jim Audrey's father?"

"No, what? Absolutely not." Sherlock looked horrified at the idea. "Audrey is Molly's niece," He paused, "Irene helps with her I suppose.".

 John started carefully, "Why is Molly raising her niece? I mean, where's her mother?"

Sherlock didn't turn to him. "Deceased. Molly's sister and her husband died in a vehicle collision shortly after Audrey's birth," He paused, "I assume Molly was the only living relative able to care for her."

Oh.

Poor Audrey.

Poor Molly.

He couldn't imagine finding out that Harry and Clara died and left behind their child for him to raise. Then again he couldn't really imagine Harry doing anything other than vacationing in a gutter, piss drunk.

"So correct me if I have this wrong, Mrs. Hudson is our landlady. Mycroft is your brother and is dating Greg who lives downstairs and is a DI that works with Anderson and Sally across the street who live below Jim, who once dated Molly from across the hall, who is friends with Irene. Did I miss anything?"

"Precisely."

Well then.

John wasn't really sure what he thought of that. It was like they were their own little community...and he was an outsider. It made his stomach knot. He wasn't sure why but he knew he wanted to be a part of it.

"One week."

What?

"You've been here for one week."

John counted the days in his head. "Yeah, just about."

I hope it lasts much longer.

Eight months.

That's all it took.

Eight months of living in the same building and spending practically every day together.

Eight months had led him to this.

Sherlock was now sitting on his couch, holding a bloodied tissue against his nose, glaring at John.

“So you broke in and decided of all the paper there was to use, you'd grab my homework. Nice.” John leaned to press another tissue against Sherlock's nose.

“You received a bad mark on it anyway, I was simply sparing you the torment of looking at it. Plus, I needed paper.” Sherlock huffed and hissed in pain. John may have accidentally pressed too hard on Sherlock's newly bruised nose.

“Oh, how considerate of you.” John rolled his eyes.“You couldn't ring your brother and have him send you paper? He's downstairs.”

Mycroft, Sherlock's brother.

Who was in a relationship with Greg.

Who lived downstairs.

Where Mycroft was.

Where Sherlock could have gotten paper.

“Don't be absurd. God knows what they're doing down there.” Sherlock grunted in discomfort as John applied a clean tissue. “In any case, I do not wish to see the atrocity he calls a nose. ” Of course he had something against his brother's nose.

John sighed and moved to sit next to Sherlock. He handed him the tissue.

“Eight months.” He rubbed at his eyes.

“Eight months, two weeks, three days, and four hours.” Sherlock grumbled.

“On that note, goodnight Sherlock. Make sure you actually close the door. I don't want to flash poor Molly again.” John heaved himself off the couch and started towards his room.

“You were the one who decided to walk by without pants!”

Chapter Text

John loved to sleep. It was one of his favorite parts of the day. He loved the feeling of getting into his bed after a long day at school or work. The familiar stretch of his back and the release of tension in his neck as his head hit the pillow was a welcomed sensation. So when his sleep was disturbed by a certain annoying neighbor he tended to be a bit more cranky than usual.

"John, wake up."

Maybe if I stay really still he'll go away.

"John, I know you're awake."

Don't...move...a muscle.

"John, your respiration rate is increasing. Not to mention you're saying that out loud."

John sighed heavily, refusing to open his eyes. "What Sherlock?"

He felt all the air escape his lungs as something heavy landed on his chest.

"Sherl-"

When he opened his eyes he was face to face with a tiny human who had bright green eyes and drool smeared on her cheeks.

"Sherlock why does she have macaroni noodles stuck to her face?"

Audrey, Molly's ten month old niece was sitting on his stomach chewing on her fingers. She was still teething, white little knubbs protruding through her pink gums. Poor Molly had barely slept the past few weeks because she was constantly getting up to rub numbing gel on Audrey's sore flesh. John was often up late, studying and doing homework or forcing Sherlock to watch reruns of Doctor Who with him and constantly heard crying coming from Molly's flat. He honestly wasn't sure whether it came from the baby or Molly.

Sherlock heaved a great sigh and threw himself down next to John. The movement caused poor Audrey to slip to the side. John grabbed her before she could fall over and steadied her on his chest. She began to clap her hands over John's face in approval.

"Molly begged me to watch her." Sherlock rolled on his side to face them.

"Where's Mrs. Hudson?" He began to pluck the macaroni off of her.

"At her sisters. I was going to tell Mycroft to kidnap her and bring her back but he was...otherwise preoccupied." He shuddered.

Audrey was blowing little spit bubbles at Sherlock. One popped and splattered into his eye. Sherlock looked offended.

John cackled and poked her belly.

"Where's Irene?"

"Unavailable." Sherlock stated flatly.

John didn't push any further. He knew Irene loved to bring various men and women back to her flat. There were some nights giggles in the hallway and slamming doors woke him up. Audrey moved to climb off John's chest and rolled on the bed to Sherlock's side. She grabbed hold of his locks and yanked herself in a standing position.

Sherlock winced. "John, Get her off. John. PLEASE," He pleaded in a strained voice.

"I'm quite alright where I am." John yawned and closed his eyes.

Audrey began yelling and smacking her little fists against Sherlock's head.

John smiled at Sherlock's grunts of pain.

"I'm getting in the shower. Think you can handle her for ten minutes?" He didn't wait for a reply and hopped out of the bed and ran to the bathroom.

He took his time on purpose. He spent a little more time than necessary washing his hair. The toothpaste tube needed straightening, so he'd taken the time to untwist that too. When he heard banging on the door and the doorknob rattling it suddenly hit him. He needed to shave as well. Sherlock's screams and Audrey's loud babbling outside of the door left John feeling oddly domestic. It wasn't until all was well and silent the thought that maybe Sherlock killed her crossed his mind. John swiftly exited the bathroom and entered the kitchen.

"SHERLOCK."

Sherlock popped his head from behind the refrigerator door, biscuit in mouth and eyes wide, "What?"

Audrey was covered in grey tape, all four limbs free, and was dangling from the wall. There was a stuffed bear taped by the neck next to her. Somehow he'd managed to literally duct tape her and the bear to the wall.

Where did he even find tape?

She swung her chubby legs wildly and violently mashed a slobbery biscuit on the tape over her belly. John scrambled to find scissors, cursing at Sherlock the entire time.

Sherlock slammed the fridge door close. "She's fine! She's not crying or anything. Look, I even sent Molly a picture."

John could have smacked him. In fact, he did. Sherlock rubbed his shoulder and glared at John. He'd found the scissors and pointed them dangerously close to the genius's face. "Get her down." Sherlock snatched them out of his hand, muttering "Killjoy."

Audrey took the rest of the mashed cookie and smeared it on his shirt as soon as he lifted her out of the wall contraption. John howled in laughter, leaning on the wall for support. Sherlock shoved her in John's arms and stormed out of the room and slammed the front door behind him. John jiggled her and set her on his hip. He wiped a tear from his eye.

"Good job but next time do you think you can put it in his hair?" She ignored him and continued to gnaw on her fingers.

"Alright little lady, lets go get Sir Grumps-a-lot and go do something fun." She didn't even glance at him.

John decided to walk to the nearest park after practically shoving Sherlock out of the building. It was a warm spring afternoon and people were taking advantage of the sun so the streets were busy. Sherlock was pushing Audrey in her baby pram. She was babbling incoherently to her bear.

"How can she even expect anyone to understand her? She's not making any sense. It's all ridiculous." Sherlock griped.

"That's how I feel when you speak." John muttered under his breath.

They both stopped dead in their tracks when they reached the park. To say it was crowded, was a bit of an understatement. Every single bench was taken and John was pretty sure he saw a kid push someone off of the slide.

"Brilliant John," Sherlock scowled and walked over to a group of mothers perched on a bench.

John sat on the ground next to Audrey's pram. "Twenty quid says one of them will kick him in the bollocks."

Together they watched the scene unfold. Sherlock's hands were clasped tightly behind his back and his lips were moving rapidly. John watched the womens' expressions go from irritation to fury in an instant. One of them stepped up and cocked her hand back, giving him a firm slap. They all stood and stormed off in the opposite direction.

"Close enough. Pay up." Audrey handed him one of her mashed biscuits. Sherlock walked over rubbing his cheek.

"Bench is all ours."

John stood up and brushed dirt from his trousers. "Good uncle Sherly." John patted Sherlock's cheek and chuckled.

"Don't call me that." Sherlock pushed the pram away from him.

They'd spent the rest of the afternoon trying to get Audrey to take her first steps. Sherlock became frustrated when she wouldn't, claiming his instructions were precise and clear. He gave up completely when she began rolling away from him. John thought it was hilarious and snap-chatted videos of the two to Molly and Greg. He got them hot dogs to munch on for lunch. It wasn't until the sky was beginning to dim that she started crying. Screaming was more like it.

"Oh my god, what is she doing?" Sherlock practically cried, staring at John with wide eyes.

"She's probably tired." He'd barely finished his sentence when the smell hit them both.

Oh.

"She just needs a change. Pass me the nappy bag." John held a hand out.

Sherlock froze. "What nappy bag?"

Oh, no.

"YOU FORGOT THE NAPPY BAG?" John yelled.

"You forgot it too!" Sherlock pointed his finger at him

"That's because I was busy trying to drag you out of the flat! You had one job Sherlock!"

"She's fine, look she's quieting down."

Quite the opposite in fact. She'd began screaming bloody murder and several parents stared at them in confusion.

"John, quick, take off your jumper."

What?

"Sherlock I'm not taking off-" Sherlock reached forward and yanked his jumper up and over his head. He'd quickly grabbed Audrey and made a mad dash for the bathrooms. John just stood there swinging his arms. Several annoyed parents yelled at him for being indecent and accused him of being a pervert. When Sherlock finally came back, Audrey was playing with the buttons on his shirt. She had John's jumper wrapped around and between her little legs like a makeshift nappy.

"You used my jumper as a nappy." John said flatly.

Sherlock scoffed, “Well I wasn't going to ruin mine.”

John glared at him. “Lets just go home you tit.”

***

By the time they got home, John's stomach was growling again. Sherlock shoved Audrey in John's arms once again.

He cut him off before John could protest. "I need to grab something. I'll be right up." Sherlock jumped up the steps, three at a time.

The two made their way up to the third floor. Irene was leaning against John's door. She cast him a wicked grin and raised her brow at his current state.

"Well, well, would you look at that. You'd never know that was under all those heavy layers," She clicked her tongue, "You certainly know how to keep it hidden." Sherlock appeared behind John. He was glaring daggers at Irene.

"Find your own," He growled between gritted teeth.

Irene winked, "Aww, how domestic you two look. Daddy duty suits you."

"You have no idea" John laughed and passed Audrey along to her.

Molly heavily relied on Irene to watch her when she had to work. Surprisingly, Irene was magnificent with her. You could tell just how much she adored Audrey. Irene held her tightly, softly stroking the curls that crowned Audrey's little head. John unlocked his door and Sherlock stormed in.

"Would you like to come in?" John offered. "I was going to make sandwiches."

Irene kissed the little girl on her forehead and passed her back over to John. Straightening her dress, "No I have to run. Thank you. Could you tell Molly to call me when she gets home?" She turned toward the steps.

"Sure thing." He nodded.

She waved, disappearing around the corner.

He made his way inside and found Sherlock kneeling against his coffee table with a bag of mini marshmallows and a green notebook.

"Sometimes I am perfectly OK with not knowing or understanding what you're doing. This is one of those moments." He plopped Audrey in front of Sherlock and made his way to the kitchen. The cheese he intended to use was abnormally green. He was starving and there wasn't much in his cupboards either.

"Sherlock, I'm going to order some takeaway," He made his way back to his neighbor, "What do you want me to-" John trailed off.

Sherlock was sitting on the floor a foot away from Audrey and was tossing marshmallows at her. Poor thing was actually sitting there, mouth open trying to catch them but they kept bouncing off of her forehead.

She's not even supposed to eat those

Oh look, he got one her right in her eye.

"Molly is never going to let us watch her ever again." He muttered under his breath and turned back toward the kitchen.

Chapter Text

The glowing red number glared at him.

John stepped off the scale, waited for it to reset to zero, and stepped back on. The numbers reappeared identically.

Six pounds.

He had gained six pounds.

Between Mrs. Hudson's cooking and having to quickly scarf down food whilst running about the city streets with Sherlock, he gained six pounds. It shouldn't have been surprising seeing as he developed a nasty habit of binge eating before bed and aside from Sherlock dragging him all over the city, he didn't exercise. He angrily stepped off and shoved the scale back behind the sink. With a sigh he pulled his jumper over his head and made his way to the kitchen to grab an apple.

It was quiet. Unnaturally so considering the building he lived in.

Between Sherlock's midnight violin sessions, Audrey and Molly's crying, Irene's late night escapades, and Mrs. Hudson's radio constantly at it's maximum volume, John rarely had a moment to hear himself think. Not to mention across the street, Anderson and Sally were back on again and for some reason felt the need to leave the window open to let the entire street know what they were doing. John laughed loudly remembering the first time he heard it.

He was sitting on the front steps playing a game on his phone, waiting for Sherlock. By the time he finally came outside, John was already sprawled on the steps hand over heart, hysterically laughing. To make matters even worse, or better depending on whose point of view, Sherlock bellowed "She's faking it". The sounds stopped abruptly and that set John off again. 

Unfortunately that did not stop them, in fact, Anderson seemed even more determined to prove his...abilities.

Oh and of course there was Jim. John learned very early that Jim was obsessed with Sherlock. He frequently sat on the stoop of his building calling for him to come and play  with him. He'd recently taken up singing love songs outside his window often when the rest of the world was trying to sleep.

John felt a flare of anger.

He wasn't an oblivious man.

John knew just how beautiful his neighbor was and often found himself wondering if Sherlock thought the same about him. But Jim? Oh, that annoyed him to pieces. He felt very territorial. Knowing he had no right to, he always felt a little better when Sherlock rebuffed Jim's advances.

John smiled to himself at the thought of having a bit of peace and quiet. He stole a glance at his watch. It read 9:45. He didn't have to get to his lecture until eleven.

He and his apple made their way over to the sofa.

Might as well get some studying done before class.

John had literally opened the cover of his textbook when he heard the front door slam against the wall. It sounded like a hundred people screaming at each other, one of the voices, of course, being Sherlock's. John leaned back on his sofa and dug the heel of his hands in his eyes.

There went that idea.

He heard thunderous foot steps on the stairs, presumably coming right to his door. He sighed heavily.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two-

"JOHN!"

His door flew open, and Sherlock waltzed right in heading straight for the kitchen. He frowned.

I'm not always in there...am I?

"Over here." He rested his arm above his head. Sherlock whirled around and squinted at him.

"What are you doing there John?"

"Oh you know," He tossed the apple in the air and caught it, "Just counting the time it takes me to eat an apple."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Approximately three minutes and twelve seconds. You don't like the skin, so you chew it as fast as possible only to reach the core where you begin to slow down and savor the last few bites."

John looked at his apple. I'll be damned.

"Not to mention you also wipe your sticky hands on your hideous jumpers."

He frowned.

They're not hideous.

"He always did know how to ruin a meal."

Mycroft strolled in twirling his umbrella. That thing was like his child. Greg came up right behind him and glared at Sherlock. As if suddenly remembering he was angry, Sherlock jabbed a finger in Mycroft's direction.

"John!"

"He's right there Sherlock," Greg pushed past them and plopped down next to John rubbing his temples. "Shut up." He muttered.

Mycroft held his hand out "John. Pleasure as always."

John wiped his hand on his jumper,damn, before reaching forward and clasping the man's hand.

"John. Please explain to Mycroft why we simply cannot pick up and leave at his every whim. You have classes to attend and I have my work."

He took another bite from his apple and looked to Mycroft.

"Where are we going? " He chewed.

"It seems our mother has learned of your," He paused, "influences on our dear Sherlock. She is very set on having you over for dinner Mr. Watson."

John blanched. He was meeting Sherlock's parents now? She wanted to meet him?

Does she think we're married or something? What influences?

He swallowed the lump of mushed apple.

"Well, why not?" Sherlock's mouth fell open.

"But...John...why-" He was stuttering arms flailing wildly. Greg chuckled quietly next to John.

"It's settled. I'll clear my calendar and send Anthea over with details." Mycroft moved toward the door, "Do close your mouth dear brother. You may just swallow a bug."

Sherlock's mouth snapped closed and he glared at his brother. Greg heaved himself off the sofa.

"You up for a pint sometime this week John?"

"Of course." John stood and walked him to the door.

The soft click of the door seemed to snap Sherlock out of his daze. He stalked over to John and threw himself dramatically into his arms. John was unprepared and his knees began to buckle with the strain. Sherlock was thin, unnaturally so, but he was solid and it felt like John was being covered in a ton of bricks.

"Sherlock, you're too heavy."

"Why must you hurt me so." He carried out the last syllable and John couldn't help but laugh.

"It'll do you some good to see your mother." John tried to accommodate Sherlock's weight.

He scoffed. "Yes, stuck at a table with my mother, Mycroft and Lestrade. How delightful." Sherlock sighed. "I suppose having your company will deter her from pestering me for not bringing anyone home sooner."

John ignored the fluttering in his belly at Sherlock's words.

"Who knows it might be fun." John offered. Sherlock removed his self from John and turned to the door.

"In any case, Molly will probably be too preoccupied to accompany us. She usually proves to be a decent distraction for our mother." He exhaled sharply.

"I'm sure you'll be fine."

The genius grumbled and stormed out of the flat leaving John alone to his thoughts. He glanced at his watch again. It was 10:15.

Might as well go now.

He shrugged on his jacket and stuffed his books in his bag before locking his door and making his way out of the building. His phone buzzed in his pocket.

I need milk. SH

So go get some you lazy git.

He ignored the text. It buzzed again.

Might need two. SH

He stopped to grab a cup of coffee and a doughnut on his way completely ignoring the dance his phone was doing in his back pocket. When he finally made it to his lecture it was already half packed with students so he turned his phone off without checking the messages. He was unpacking his books when he heard someone plop down in the seat next to him.

He didn't look up.

It was a few moments before the person spoke.

"So tedious. I don't know how you can stand it."

No.

John froze. He didn't move a muscle.

You've got to be shitting me.

He turned slowly and looked at the being next to him. He felt his face heat up and he sucked in a big breath.

"Sher-" He began.

“Pop quiz.” The professor slammed a thick bundle of paper on the front desk. A collective groan from all the students filled the room. They begrudgingly made their way to the desk. John didn't move. He kept his eyes fixed on his soon to be dead friend.

“John, I'm certain you're meant to partake in this quiz.” Sherlock rolled his eyes at him. When John didn't move, Sherlock exhaled sharply and moved to the desk to grab two exams. Sherlock made his way back and handed him a paper.

John snatched it from his hand hoping he gave Sherlock a paper cut.

He read over the test questions, silently brooding.

"Wrong."

Fuck.

"Hah!"

John squeezed his eyes shut.

"Is he even even licensed to teach?"

He exhaled sharply through his nose and gritted his teeth.

"That's just pathetic."

John's knuckles were almost translucent from the death grip he had on his pencil.

"Sherlock. Shut. Up." He hissed.

"But John, this is pitiful and completely inaccurate."

"Sherlock, I swear to god-"

"Is there a problem gentlemen?" The professor bellowed at them.

John's response was a quick 'No' but it wasn't quick enough to thwart Sherlock.

"Yes, I do believe there is a problem. You see, this school is designed to educate and encourage students to further their learning. Such a task is impossible when the material being given, is inaccurate information for starters and from an incompetent professor nonetheless." Sherlock smirked and crossed his arms over his chest, "Tell me professor, when did you cease to put effort into your teaching? Was it before or after you broke off your sexual relationship with your teacher's assistant?" His gaze flickered over to the now red faced woman who had been quietly sorting files in the corner of the room. "The amount of times you've stared at her breasts is staggering."

The room was silent aside from the professor's loud and incoherent spluttering. John's ears were bright red as be packed his books back into his bag.

"Sorry sir, he was dropped on his head as an infant." John grabbed Sherlock's hand and led him out of the lecture hall. He'd barely made it out of the building before he turned and grabbed Sherlock by the lapel of his coat.

"Explain." He hissed.

Sherlock shrugged. "You weren't answering your phone. I thought you might have gotten yourself killed. You're foolish enough. I was worried."

"THAT IS-"

John's mouth snapped shut.

Slightly sweet.

In the most ridiculous way possible.

"I also wanted to make sure you got the right kind of milk."

He rubbed his temples vigorously. Sherlock gently took his hands in his own. John's stomach flipped and he stared at his friend with wide eyes.

"John." He murmured.

Ohmygod. This is it. He's going to ask me to marry him and we're going to have twelve kids and a dog and a Mycroft.

Sherlock moved his hand to caress John's cheek. "I still need milk."

John made Sherlock buy the milk and buy him lunch since he was the reason John missed his class. His heart was still racing from the earlier moment of affection.

He wasn't really sure what to make of it. Sherlock never brought anyone home or expressed any interest in men or women. He spent most of his time with John and when he wasn't, he was tormenting the police at Scotland Yard. Greg had begged John many times to rescue them and pick Sherlock up.

They were close. John even considered Sherlock his best friend. They did everything together. He'd often woke up with Sherlock crouched down by his bed staring at him. "Science, John." was the most frequent excuse.

He walked in on John taking showers.

He was there when he was eating, more often than not paying for the meals.

He helped John study and came up with effective ways for him to retain the information.

He played the violin on the nights John couldn't sleep.

Sherlock was always there even when he had no reason to be.

Could he?

John felt a bit lightheaded at the thought.

He just couldn't be sure but he would no doubt be paying attention.

"John you've stopped eating. Did they get your order wrong?"

He had in fact stopped eating, his fork was in the air and Lo Mein noodles were hanging from his lips. Quickly slurping the noodles into his mouth, he resumed chewing.

"Sherlock, can I ask you something?" He twirled the fork in his Chinese container avoiding the penetrating stare Sherlock was no doubt giving him.

"Of course."

"Why don't you have a girlfriend?"

Silence.

John looked up. Sherlock was giving him a strange look.

"Not really my area." He bristled.

Oh.

Oh?

"Boyfriend then?" John's voice cracked. "Which is fine by the way."

"I know it's fine."

John's heart sank.

"So, a boyfriend then?"

"No." Sherlock continued to stare at him. "I never had the time nor interest."

John looked down at his food and grinned.

"I'm sure Jim would be more than happy to accommodate you."

As if on cue, they heard the unmistakable tune of "I Will Always Love You". They ran to the window, food abandoned. Jim was in fact lounging on his building steps, staring right at them through their window. He was singing to Sherlock, well more like screaming. Sherlock scowled and John cackled at him.

"I dare you to go down and pretend to propose to him."

Sherlock laughed loudly and considered it. "What will I get from you in return?"

He could practically see the words leaving his lips before he realized he was saying them. "I don't know, whatever you think of."

Sherlock gave him a wicked grin. "Done." With that he ran to the door.

John knew in his heart that he sealed his doom with those words but couldn't help bu run to the window and watch the scene unfold. Sherlock crossed the street and stood right on front of Jim. His lips were moving quickly. John couldn't hear what they were saying but from the faint look on Jim's face he knew whatever Sherlock was saying was completely convincing. John had tears streaming down his face from laughing so hard by the time Sherlock got down on one knee. Jim looked as if he was about to burst into tears at any moment. Sherlock was on his knee, holding Jim's left hand in his own awaiting a response.

He never got one because Jim fainted.

Wow. People actually do that.

John roared with laughter and leaned against the window.

Sherlock stood and scowled at the sprawled man in front of him before shaking his head and turning back to cross the street.

He looked up at John and winked.

John's heart jumped inside his chest.

Oh dear god, I think I could love this man.

And that was truly terrifying.

Chapter Text

John was in a particularly pleasant mood.

For once Sherlock hadn't found some bizarre way to interrupt John's sleep, allowing him to get a full eight hours. He woke up feeling refreshed and had more energy than he had in weeks. It was a sunny and warm Saturday morning. Walking over to the sitting room window, he could see Molly in the front playing with little Audrey while Mrs. Hudson worked on her small garden of tulips. People were bustling up and down the street, many of them stopping in to the sandwich shop next door. He looked at the building across from him and noticed Jim standing behind his window, glaring daggers at him. He stifled a laugh with his hand, giving a short wave with his other before turning his back. Guess he's still pissed.

Aside from his homework and books strewn carelessly on the floor around his desk from the previous night's study session, the room was satisfactory. Instead, he busied himself with the dishes, singing softly along the way. "There is no one like you. And in a world of black and white, you are the only one in color"

"Someone's in a good mood." Irene was leaning against the archway to the kitchen, smiling delicately at him.

"Sherlock's been gracious enough to let me sleep in." He rolled his eyes and grinned.

“That is unusual.” She said moving toward him and sliding onto the counter. John raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

“I need a favor.” She looked at her unnaturally sharp nails.

“Isn't Sherlock the one you kind of go to for favors? I mean he's probably more capable. Don't tell him I said that.” He wiped his hands on the towel hanging from the oven handle.

Her lips twitched, “In this case, no.” She sighed and folded her hands in her lap. “I need to you watch Madame Meow for a few days.”

John blinked at her. He scratched his head, “Who?”

“My cat, John.” She rolled her eyes as if it were as obvious as the nose on his face.

“You have a cat?” His lip curled in amusement. “That you named Madame Meow.”

He bit down on his lips to keep from laughing but a giggle slipped through.

“Yes John, I would have asked Sherlock but he's allergic and Molly has Audrey.”

Sherlock is allergic to cats?

“I wasn't aware Mrs. Hudson died within the five minutes I haven't seen her.” He raised his brows and folded his arms.

“Book club this weekend.” She formed quotation marks in the air. "What she really meant to say was, no."

He considered refusing her but he couldn't bring himself to form the words. She almost never asked him for anything, seeing as she provided for herself more than well enough. A few days couldn't hurt. Obviously the cat isn't a complete terror if she'd managed to keep her hidden from him.

“How many days is a few?” He said with narrow eyes.

She grinned, obviously expecting him to turn her down. “Only until Tuesday afternoon. I'm due to leave in a few hours but I'll be home before three on Tuesday.”

Okay, roughly four days. He could handle four days. Plus, he had Sherlock in case the cat tried to murder him in his sleep.

“Alright...” He trailed off. She'd hopped of the counter, leaving him with a brief kiss on the cheek before running out his front door.

What did I just get myself into... He went and plopped down on his sofa, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. It took no more than ten minutes for her to return with what was the fattest beast of a cat he'd ever seen. The feline was grey and had one green eye and one blue eye. It was probably the size of John's entire torso, and he stared at her with wide eyes.

“That's not a cat. That's a small child.” He raised his brows and pointed at it. “I said I would watch your cat, not babysit.”

She ignored his comments. “She will only respond to her name and she needs to be fed a special cat mix. She's very picky. ” Irene handed him a small list of tasks with little boxes next to each, obviously meant to be checked off. “She likes a massage before bed. If you play a little music beforehand, she get's better sleep.”

John sprawled on his sofa and put a throw pillow over his face. Where was Sherlock when he needed him?

“Goodbye my love. I will return to you in a few days.” She gave the beast a kiss on it's head and let her down to the floor. “Bye John.”

A mumbled "bye" emitted from under the pillow. He heard the door click shut and concentrated on the sounds of his breathing. He suddenly felt the beast pounce on his legs and stalk his way up to his chest. She weighed a ton. Holy crap. John peaked from under the pillow.

Ohmygod.

It was staring at him with the rage of a thousand angry gods.

“Okay, nice kitt-” He moved to bring his palms up in a non-threatening gesture and she hissed loudly at him.

John was stuck.

If he moved, she would attack. He barely restrained a jump when he felt her claws dip in between the fabric of his shirt. He tried to think...of anything.

Sherlock.

Sherlock!

His phone was in his pocket. He could just slip his hand... She started growling the lower his hand moved. The little shit... He just had to do it. Fast and efficient. With as little movement as possible. Easier said than done. He slowly moved his hand down, keeping an eye on her, until he felt his fingertips brush against the cool plastic in his pocket. He quickly pulled it out and brought it to his face.

Shlck.helpme.angrycat.stuck.irene.comehelp.please.

-John

He stole a glance at her. She was still glaring at him, patiently waiting for him to screw up. His phone buzzed in his hands.

John,

I know your observation skills are severely lacking but I have no doubt you've already noticed that it is simply a cat.

Nonetheless, I will make my way up to rescue you.

SH

He didn't have time to send a reply because no less than thirty seconds later John's door opened and in waltzed Sherlock.

Sherlock who was not moving.

Sherlock who was snapping a photo of him with his phone.

“Get her off.” John pleaded.

He watched as Sherlock walked into the kitchen and came back out with a pot and a spoon. He walked right up to Madame Meow and without warning began smacking the spoon against the pot. John tensed waiting for the inevitable pain that would come with her sinking her claws into his skin, but it never came. She simply looked at Sherlock with bored eyes and hopped off of John's chest, trotting towards his bedroom. John flew off the couch clutching at his jumper.

“She's evil.” He breathed heavily, staring at Sherlock. He just rolled his eyes.

“If that's all, I was quite busy and would like to resume my activity.” Sherlock moved toward the door and John trailed behind him. No way in hell was he staying with that beast of a cat.

“What are you doing?” John struggled to keep pace with him.

Sherlock smirked. “It has come to my attention that certain video games are created to stimulate the player's sense of fear. I was merely attempting to download such a game and see if I could produce an emotional reaction. Plus, Anderson has a bet with Lestrade that I'll chicken out before I pass the first level.”

He opened his door and practically ran to his bedroom. John had been in Sherlock's room plenty of times but it didn't stop him from feeling fluttering in his belly. He cleared his throat before his imagination could catch up with him.

“What game?” Sherlock sat in the middle of his bed, pulled his laptop on his lap and patted the spot next to him. John walked over and sat next to him peering at the screen.

“Lestrade and Anderson were discussing a game called Slenderman. Stupid title.” He yanked his blanket over his head like a cloak.

John perked up. “Yeah! Mike played that a few weeks ago. Said he couldn't sleep for days and wouldn't walk the campus at night alone. Really funny actually,” He laughed.

“We shall see.” Sherlock looked up at John and grinned. “Turn off the light and close the door.”

There were so many thoughts that raced across John's mind and he was certain Sherlock could pick up on every one of them because he just laughed at John's distress.

“If I'm going to create an intense reaction of fear, I might as well be thorough and apply common stimulants that cause fear,” He paused, “...being surrounded in darkness.”

John swallowed thickly. “Right, yeah, of course.”

...can think of other things to do in the dark...hell, I'll do them in broad daylight...

He chastised himself and walked to the light switch. He flipped it and looked at Sherlock who was only visible by the light from the computer that illuminated his face. His window curtains were made of a thick black cotton and no light got through so it looked like it was midnight rather than early morning.

“John, it's starting.” Sherlock held his arm out, the blanket forming a cave large enough for John to sit under. He shuffled over, stubbing his toe on the edge of the bed, before sliding on the bed next to Sherlock. They were shoulder to bicep, cocooned in a blanket of warmth, the laptop shining on their faces in front of them. Sherlock raised the volume to it's max as the beginning sequence pulled up. The word Slenderman slowly revealed itself in white, chicken scratch letters. The scene changes and they're suddenly in the woods, with a small orb of dim light coming from a flashlight, with the words 'Collect all 8 pages'.

“Here we go” Sherlock grinned. He was in control of the keys and began moving toward the trees in front of him.

“You can barely see anything.” John leaned in closer, leaning into Sherlock's arm.

“That's the point.” He continued to walk through the woods in no specific direction. The only sounds were the feet crunching on the ground and their labored breathing.

“THERE!” John yelled and pointed a finger at the screen. Sherlock glared at him.

They came to a big tree isolated in the middle of the woods. There was a paper attached. It read 'CANT RUN'. Sherlock scoffed but continued to make his way through the forest.

“The quality of the graphics is horrible,” he quietly muttered. After a minute of walking they came across an abandoned truck with a trailer behind it.

“Check it Sherlock!”

“I AM John.”

Suddenly there was loud static and the screen was blurring. They'd both jumped slightly.

“What was that?”

“I'm assuming that would be the Slenderman.”

“Oh.”

They were both quiet.

He kept moving.

John could have sworn he saw something lingering behind a tree but kept silent. A few minutes later they came along a an open field with brick walls intersecting each other creating four corners. There was another page sticking against the wall, this time a picture of a tree and a black stick figure with the word 'FOLLOW'.

“2 out of 8.”

John chuckled nervously. Sherlock grabbed the page quickly and turned in the opposite direction. Multiple rows of massive oil drums were presented to them. Making their way down line, they found a third page that said 'DONT LOOK OR IT TAKES YOU'. Sherlock continued straight and this time John was sure he saw something.

“Sherlock, I swear to god I saw something in between the oil drums.” He looked at him with wide eyes.

“Quiet John.” Sherlock said between gritted teeth. “Why don't we have some sort of weapon?”

They finally came across a small brick building with archways but no doors.

'”In we go.” John bit at his nails. They moved through the halls. A broken chair came into view and they both jumped.

“THERE! SHERLOCK! QUICK!”

“JOHN” Sherlock screamed at him.

He picked up a fourth page. This one read 'ALWAYS WATCHES. NO EYES.'

“oh my god”

“Shut up John.”

They backed out of the room and moved to turn the corner.

A resonating boom of a drum screamed through the speakers as well as the loud static they'd heard before.

A white man in a suit with no face appeared.

John screamed at the top of his lungs and threw himself into Sherlock's lap just as Sherlock kicked the laptop off the bed, gripping John. He screamed for a solid minute, with Sherlock's face buried in his shoulder.

“What's going on? Are you two ok-” Lestrade chose that moment to hurl the door open.

The two huddled men looked at him and screamed even louder. Sherlock grabbed John around the waist and somehow managed to throw him over his shoulder and bolt past Lestrade, out the door, into the hallway, and through the building. They made their way past Mrs. Hudson digging in her flower bed. Molly and Audrey just stared at them.

Sherlock regained his sense and stopped running. He slowly let John slide off of his shoulders. Both of them shaking, they stared at each other. Sherlock nervously laughed and rubbed the back of his head. John blinked away tears and sat on the sidewalk.

Lestrade made his way out of the building, smug smile on his face and arms crossed over his chest. “You played didn't you,” He looked toward the window across the street, “They played,” He yelled.

“Yeah, I got the video camera after the first scream. Filmed the whole thing.” Anderson hollered from Sally's window with a devious smirk on his face.

Sherlock blinked at them, shoved his hands in his pockets, and turned to walk down the street. John drew his knees to his chest, rocking slightly. He was chewing the hell out of his bottom lip. Lestrade walked back inside laughing and wiping tears from his eyes while Molly walked over and patted his back with comforting words.

Later that evening, long past Sherlock's return and John's emotional breakdown, he tried to get some sleep.  He had spent the rest of his day sitting on his couch watching TV trying to get his mind off of the game they played so many hours previous.

John turned off the telly with a sigh, heaved himself off of the couch and made his way to his room. When he flicked the light on he saw Madame Meow sprawled in the middle of his bed. He slowly reached forward to move her off but she got on all fours and hissed at him. He stepped back, hands up, and exhaled sharply.

He could sleep on the couch. His back would kill him the next day though.

There was always Sherlock's rarely used bed. He didn't really want to sleep by himself in the dark anyway.

He considered this.

Ehh, it won't kill him.

John changed into pajama pants and a t-shirt, swiftly reached for a pillow without being mauled and made his way downstairs. With his pillow tucked under his arm he opened Sherlock's door and walked right in.

Odd.

He wasn't in the sitting room or the kitchen, his usual night time residence. John walked past the bathroom. He didn't hear the shower running either. Adjusting his pillow he gave  Sherlock's bedroom door a swift rap with his knuckles and went in.

The light was off but the window curtains were open allowing a small sliver of moonlight to fill the room. John could see a large lump under the covers on the bed.

"I've been evicted from my bed. Move over." He made his way toward Sherlock and pulled the covers back.

Sherlock was curled in a ball staring at him with a confused look.

"John?"

"Yes. Irene's demon cat kicked me out of my bed and quite frankly I'm too terrified to sleep alone. So move over." Sherlock scooted back allowing John to slide in under the covers.

 He fluffed his pillow and faced his friend.

After a few moments, "Can't sleep?" John asked.

"Not even if I tried." He blinked.

John was exhausted and his sense of personal boundary was lacking. "Turn around." Sherlock complied and rolled on his side, his back to John.

He reached his hand up and gently stroked the base of his neck where Sherlock's soft curls began. John tugged on one until it was completely uncoiled and let it go, watching it curl back up. He repeated this for a while and eventually he heard quiet snores coming from his friend.

"Goodnight Sherlock. Don't let Slenderman get you."

Chapter Text

He could feel the warmth of the sun kissing his skin. The window curtains were open and the daylight was seeping into the room, shining on the bed. There was a light sheen of sweat across his forehead from being bundled up so tightly in the blanket, his body heat having nowhere to escape. John slowly breathed in and out acutely becoming aware of his conscious mind. He could feel pressure on his chest that didn't belong to any of his limbs. Without opening his eyes, he furrowed his brows and reached to touch whatever was weighing on him. His hand came into contact with soft skin. He skimmed his hand up further and felt coarse hair. His eyes snapped open and he was greeted with a face full of large feet.

Confused, he tilted his head around the foot to look at it's owner. He smiled softly. Sherlock. He had stayed in Sherlock's bed last night. That cat was good for something. Somehow during the night Sherlock shifted all the way to the opposite end of the bed and planted his feet on John's chest. Sherlock's pant leg was pushed up to his thigh and John's hand was currently resting on his shin where he could feel his leg hair. John had to cover his mouth with his other hand to keep from laughing and waking him. Sherlock's was laying on his cheek, mouth slightly open and actively drooling. He was snoring like a chainsaw. John wished he had brought his phone down with him.

What time is it?

The clock on the bedside table read 8:25 AM.

He wanted to shower and brush his teeth but he didn't want to disturb Sherlock because he rarely slept. Trying to slide out from Sherlock's heavy foot he managed to get half off the bed before his friend had, thankfully, rolled off of him.

John quietly padded out of the flat and into the hallway.

He came face to face with Mycroft.

Ah shit.

"John." Mycroft's lips were turned up in a smug smirk.

John sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "It's not what it looks like."

"I'm certain you were simply visiting my brother in the early hours of the day in your night clothes." He said coolly.

"N-no-the-upstairs-my bed-,” He stopped himself. “Cat?" John stated as if he were asking a question.

"Are you inquiring about a feline?" Mycroft tilted his head at him.

John cleared his throat "Irene's cat. I'm pet-sitting. She kicked me out of my bed."

Mycroft twirled his umbrella and raised his eyebrows at John. "Ah, so naturally you concluded my brother's bed would suit your sleeping needs."

John narrowed his eyes. "He's still sleeping." He jerked his thumb toward the closed door and turned to the steps.

"Oh John, before I forget..."

John snorted. Yeah as if you could ever forget anything in that massive head of yours.

"Our mother is insisting we attend dinner sometime this week. Would Tuesday evening be acceptable for you?" He inquired.

John tried really hard not to panic at the thought of meeting their mother. The same mother who was so eager on meeting him.

"My lecture ends at three." He trailed off.

"Perfect. I'll send a car there to pick you up." He nodded at John. "Good day John."

He all but ran up the steps and into his flat. He leaned against the door and tried to steady his breathing.

He could do this. It was just dinner. With Sherlock and Mycroft's mother. Who was probably just as posh as the pair of them. Wait, is their father going to be there too? Do they even have a father? What if he's dead? Would it be rude if he asked? What if he wasn't what she was expecting? What if she expected him to be taller, or more handsome, or rich? Did he have to wear a suit and tie? Should he bring a dish? Isn't it rude to go empty handed? Would they be cooking or ordering out? That latter seemed unlikely. Does she think they're a couple? What if she expected them to hold hands and whisper sweet nothings to each other?

He had to stop. Pushing himself off of the door he went to his bedroom. Madame Meow ran out as soon at the door was open and went straight for the kitchen. John had almost forgot about her. He went to fill a bowl with food and set another aside for water.

She glared at him and walked to her food bowl to begin eating. John rolled his eyes and made his way to the shower. The hot water and soap felt refreshing on his skin as he attempted to work some knots in his shoulder. He could feel his body relaxing and the tension draining away.

"Are you going to be much longer John? I did have plans."

John yelped and slipped on a bit of soap crashing into the wall, narrowly avoiding ripping his Tardis shower curtain.

"SHERLOCK!" He yelled and steadied his self, "How long have you been there?"

"Entirely too long. You are so slow." He heard Sherlock huff.

John peeked his head around the curtain, water dripping from his wet hair to the floor. Sherlock was still wrapped in his blanket, perched on the counter digging through his medicine cabinet.

"Sherlock. I'm in the shower. You know. Taking a shower. Naked." John stared at him.

Sherlock's gaze slowly slid over to John. His eyes flickered down and back up briefly. John could feel the fluttering in his belly again.

"I know."

His penetrating stare made John feel like he was completely exposed even though he was fully covered behind the curtain.

"In any case, I couldn't sleep anymore." Sherlock grinned to himself so quickly John wasn't sure if it he had imagined it. He cut the shower off.

"Could you at least pass me my towel?" John stuck his arm out.

Sherlock definitely grinned that time. He ran his fingertips across the fabric before picking it up. "I'd rather not."

With that, he took the towel and exited the bathroom.

"Wha- Sherlock! You twat!"

Damn.

John was going to have make a run for it. He poked his head out from behind the door, looking left and right. The coast was clear, so with a deep breath he cupped his goodies and dashed toward his bedroom.

He could have sworn he heard a ghostly chuckle behind him.

He locked his door. Making sure he had his keys and his wallet, he jogged down the steps straight for Sherlock's flat. He reached for the doorknob, pausing as he heard a woman's laugh from the other side of the door.

Odd.

Sherlock rarely had anyone, not including Mycroft's frequent and unwelcome visits, other than John in his flat. He rapped his knuckles on the door twice and walked in.

“Molly!” John grinned.

Molly was sitting on the sofa with a cup of coffee in her hands. She had bags under her eyes and looked exhausted, but she was smiling at him nonetheless. He sat down next to her and leaned over to give her a hug. She rested her head on his shoulder. She had been watching Audrey play with Sherlock on the floor. John pulled out his phone and snapped a photo.

Sherlock was sitting on the floor holding Audrey's little waist as she balanced on his long legs. His curls were parted into four sections, tied separately into short ponytails adorned with yellow bows.

“That's a good look for you Sherlock.” John laughed. He snapped another photo. “This is going on my wall.”

Sherlock shot him a dark look.

“Molly says she requires a few hours of sleep.” Audrey yanked on one of his ponytails and he winced. “I do not understand your biological need to sleep. Such a waste of valuable time.”

“Says the one who was snoring and drooling like an infant this morning.” John muttered.

Molly giggled. “Only for a few hours Sherlock. I worked later than usual and she wasn't feeling well last night.” Molly sighed and rubbed at her eyes.

“Go, we've got her for a bit.” John said softly. He nudged her with his shoulder. She stood and stretched, mumbling a 'thank you' before leaving and going to her bed.

Audrey put both her arms around Sherlock's neck and squeezed, resting her little head in the space between his jaw and shoulder. John's heart melted a little. As cold and heartless as Sherlock tried to act, even he couldn't deny that she was a blessing for everyone involved in her life.

“She'll be walking soon. Almost one years old.”

“Mycroft didn't start walking until after his first birthday, the lazy git. I began at nine months.” He smirked.

Of course you were you freaking overachiever.

Sherlock's phone rang out, much to Audrey's displeasure- His attention was deterred away from her.

“John pass me my phone.”

“Where is it?” John looked around.

“In my pocket.”

Really.

“You lazy prick.” He walked over and bent to retrieve the phone from Sherlock's pocket.

“It's from Lestrade. He needs us. ” He scrolled through the phone.

“Of course. Unintelligible fools.” Sherlock cupped his arm around Audrey's back and stood, before promptly handing her over to John.

“But-”

They had Audrey. They couldn't just get up and go to a crime scene with her. Was he planning on leaving John behind? The thought made John's chest ache. Sherlock reached behind him and threw a baby carrier at him. He caught it with his free hand.

“Sherlock,” He closed his eyes, “Why in God's name do you have one of these?”

“I needed it for a case.” He shrugged on his coat even though the sun was beaming it's excessively warm rays.Drama Queen.

John patiently waited for him to continue. When Sherlock realized he wasn't going to move until he explained, he sighed. “It was essential for a case to compare an average male's gait when carrying the weight of a child on his chest.”

“You stole a baby didn't you.” John said with mock horror and then winked at Audrey who was busying herself by slobbering on his neck.

Christ this girl drools a lot.

“Of course not John. Don't be ridiculous. I filled it with rocks.” John tossed the baby carrier back to him.

“Good. Then you're more than acquainted with wearing it.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes before shoving his arms through the straps and clicking the snaps together. John snickered at Sherlock and tucked Audrey into the carrier. She kicked her little legs against his stomach in protest and squawked.

Sherlock sighed. “John...you completely suck.”

“Not for free.” John deadpanned and made his way out of the flat.

Lestrade slapped a hand to his forehead when he saw the dynamic duo. Sherlock was pointing his finger in John's face and waving his arms animatedly. His lips were moving at a mile a minute. Not to mention his curls were still parted in the ponytails with the yellow bows. John had his arms folded and was looking at his nails with a bored expression. Poor little Audrey was slumped over in her baby carrier on Sherlock's chest fast asleep and drooling all over his shoes.

The closer they got, the more of the conversation he could hear.

“...and it will be all your fault. I refuse to take even an ounce of blame.” John was staring up at the sky willing the Gods to strike him down.

“She's sleeping. I doubt she'll get PTSD over a dead body with her eyes closed. Just saying.” John puts his palms up. “Besides, she's quiet and you're doing fine.”

“I cannot work like this. Look at the amount of saliva on my shoes. They're covered, John!”

John mashed his lips together to keep from laughing. It was true. There was an impressive amount of dribble coating Sherlock's shoe. “You decided it would be okay to bring her. You made your bed, now lie in it.” John smiled at Lestrade. “He's all yours, Greg.”

Lestrade cleared his throat. “That's a good look for you Holmes.” He chuckled.

John grinned at the DI. “That's what I said. I took a picture, I'll send it to you later.”

Sherlock had apparently forgotten about his new hairdo based on the alarming shade of pink his face turned. John saw Sherlock's finger's twitch as if he were trying to restrain himself from strangling the life out of him. He saved Sherlock the embarrassment of anyone else seeing and plucked the yellow ties out, shoving them in his pocket. John heard Sally scoff and she stalked over.

“You can't just bring a baby to a crime scene. It's not right. Where's Molly? She allows this?”

“She's-”

“Ahh, Sally. Is that bitterness I detect? So sorry to hear Anderson has dumped you yet again. Tell me, when do you think you'll learn your lesson and take a hint?” He flashed his teeth at her before turning to look at the corpse of the older male on the ground across the parking lot.

John exhaled through his nose sharply. “Why must you set him off? You already know how he is.”

Sally wrinkled her nose. “Yeah. He's a bloody psychopath. ”

“Donovan.” Lestrade warned.

“What? Well it's true! Who brings an infant to a crime scene? It's not even his kid! Imagine if it was.”

The three of them looked over at Sherlock. He was bent down looking at the dead man's face, seemingly explaining his findings to Audrey, who was still fast asleep.

The scary part was he could imagine it. John could picture Sherlock with his own children, teaching them how to deduce someone's life or the most effective ways to blow up the tea kettle. John smiled at the prospect of having to sit them in time out for their ridiculous experiments. He could almost hear the little patter of tiny feet running around the building.

“When or if Sherlock decides to reproduce, he will be a magnificent father. The world would be blessed to have his children in it.” With that he walked over to Sherlock, who was now lying on his back next to the corpse still talking to an unconscious Audrey.

It took Sherlock three hours to solve the case. He'd pointed out some dog hairs on the man's jacket that nobody noticed. Apparently the man's wife was having an affair. According to him, the unfaithful wife and her lover planned to kill him, take the life insurance money and their dog to start a new life if Puerto Rico. However he came up with that one. John didn't really pay attention this time. He was too busy trying to keep Sherlock from terrorizing any of the officers who dared to question him. He was in constant awe of his friend's brilliance and just resorted to verbalizing it. It worked.

John plopped on Sherlock's sofa.

“I need a drink.” He sighed.

Sherlock scratched his chin in deep thought. “I might have some of your repulsive beers left over in my fridge.”

John thought about the decapitated head that was currently residing in that same fridge.

“Err, no thanks. I'll just go get some from my flat,” He paused, “O-ooh, we should play a drinking game tonight. We could invite Greg, your brother, Molly maybe? I'll send them a text.”

Sherlock was feverishly shaking his head at the mention of his brother. “No. No. No.No.”

“Too late.” John grinned as he hit the 'Send' button on his phone.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

B there in 10 with beer and Myc. Yours or Sher's? -Greg Lestrade

Sure! I could use a bit of a break. Maybe Mrs. Hudson will watch Audrey... -Molly He took a few minutes to feed the demon in his bedroom and opted to spend yet another night at Sherlock's. It wasn't unusual for one of them to find themselves in the wrong flat. Nothing weird about it. Somehow John didn't feel convinced. He met Greg and Mycroft at Sherlock's door and made confused face when Sally and Anderson were trailing behind them.

“We brought Ale and Vodka.” Greg proudly showed his choice of beverage.

“And wine.” Mycroft tucked the bottle into the crook of his arm.

Molly ran down the stairs looking frazzled. “I found some cards!” She shouted. “Mrs. Hudson is watching Audrey tonight, bless her soul.”

John laughed and opened the door leading the horde of people into Sherlock's apartment.

While Greg and Anderson set their cases down and began unpacking their drinks, Mycroft went through Sherlock's cupboards looking for wine glasses.

“He doesn't have any. He broke them all last month when he was experimenting with the cat livers.” A mess that of course John had to clean up. He reached in and grabbed a My Little Pony cup that Audrey had left there. “There. I think it suits you very nicely.”

“I can have your identity completely erased from existence, dear John.” Mycroft smiled and snatched the cup from John's hands turning back to the sitting room.

With the music blasting and the drinks flowing, John took a moment to run off and find the sulking genius.

“Come out and drink with us.” He rolled onto the bed next to Sherlock's balled up form.

“No. They're insufferable morons.” He mumbled into his duvet.

“Don't make me drink alone. Just think of all the stories Mycroft will have to tell.” John gasped. “Oh no...” He trailed off.

Sherlock flipped in the bed and looked at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“Oh nothing...just...hmm...” He bit his lip.

“What? John! Tell me!” Sherlock was now sitting up in the bed staring at him.

“Well, it's completely reasonable that since Mycroft will be with us, and you will not, that he will tell us stories all about your childhood from his point of view. A lot of room for error and heinous lies don't you think. Not to mention all the embarrassment...” John feigned a look of terror.

“He wouldn't.”

John shrugged his shoulders and slapped his hands on his thighs. “Guess you'll never know.” He rolled off the bed and made his way to the door.

“John! Wait!” He crawled off the bed and followed John out of the room.

“There he is! The man of the hour!” Greg tipped his beer to Sherlock. “What're you having?”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose and reached for an Ale. John brought few beakers over.

“Sorry, Sherlock like's to break the glassware.” He shot a dark look to his friend.

“Kings?” Molly shuffled the deck of cards.

“Not without me, you're not.” Irene appeared in the doorway, a bottle of Tequila in her hand.

Oh thank god.

“Irene? I thought you were out till Tuesday.”

She plucked a beaker from John. "The hotel was atrocious and I refuse to be subjected to that level of filth. Unfortunately I have to go back in the morning.” She clapped her hands. “Circle!”

“I don't know how to play” Sherlock whined.

“You'll pick it up as you go along.” Molly set an unopened can of beer on the table and spread the cards face down around the can in a complete circle.

“Everyone got a drink?” Greg checked. “I'll start”

He drew a seven.

Everyone except Sherlock pointed their finger to the sky.

“Drink”

“What! Why?” Sherlock looked outraged.

Irene rolled her eyes. “Because seven means heaven. You didn't point, so you drink.”

“This is absurd. Isn't there like a rule book?” He sniffed his beer before tentatively taking a sip. Greg stuck the card under the tab of the beer.

“Ace is waterfall, Two is you, Three is me, Four is floor, Five is guys, Six is chicks, Seven is heaven, Eight is mate, Nine is rhyme, Ten is categories, Jack is 'never have I ever', Queen is questions, King is ruler. Make of that what you will.” John guzzled his drink.

“My turn.” Sally plucked a card. “Ace, waterfall.”

She began drinking, followed by Irene, then Anderson, Molly, Sherlock, John, Mycroft, and lastly Greg.

“This is disgusting John. How can you stand it” Sherlock wiped his mouth.

Irene pulled an eight. “Mate.”

She sent a wicked grin to Sherlock. “John.”

John shrugged. Sherlock looked murderous.

They drank.

“Rhyme” Anderson's nasally voice rang out. “Dead”

“Bed”

“John”

“Sherlock, it has to rhyme with Molly's word. Drink.” John rolled his eyes.

Molly laughed. “Six. Chicks!”

“Mycroft that means you.” Sherlock blinked innocently at his brother who in turn sarcastically smiled at him.

Irene, Molly and Sally drank and waited.

“Sherlock! It's your turn.” Greg pointed out.

He sighed heavily. “If I must...Three.”

“You.” Everyone shouted at him.

“This game is rigged.” Sherlock drank and John snickered.

“Five. Guys.”

“All the men.” Greg laughed.

John took his swig. He was feeling warm and fuzzy inside already. “He's a man alright.” He mumbled.

Everyone including Sherlock looked at him.

John stared back wide eyed. “What?”

“I do believe it's my turn.” Mycroft shook his head, pulled a card and stuck his under the tab. “Queen.”

“Oh how fitting.” Sherlock muttered.

“I do believe Sherlock is acting quite childishly, don't you think so Gregory?” Mycroft looked to Greg.

“What ever could he mean Sally?” Greg asked.

“Do you think he knows how much of an arse he is?” She looked to Irene.

“Do you think he cares ?” Irene looked to Anderson.

“Is there anymore wine?” Anderson asked.

“Yeah, right-” Molly stopped. “Oh drat.”

“Drink up,” Irene winked at her.

Greg clapped his hands. “Back to me...Two, you.” He looked through the circle. ”Sally, drink!”

She obliged.

“Jack. Never have I ever. Everyone, three fingers up.” She waited until everyone had their three fingers up. “Never have I ever been caught stealing.”

John and Molly put their fingers down.

“It was just a candy bar! Honest!” Molly cried out.

Sherlock looked to John. “John.” He slurred.

Lightweight.

“I stole a carton of milk at lunch when I was five.”

“How cute,” Irene snickered, ”Never have I ever gotten anything other than my ears pierced.”

Sally, Greg, and Sherlock put their fingers down.

“Sherlock?”  John stared incredulously.

“I had a phase when I was seventeen. I pierced my own nipple.”

He gaped.

“Prove it.” Irene challenged.

Sherlock fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, pushing the fabric on his chest away.

He pointed at the scar. “See, there was a hole there.”  He pushed his nipple in John's face.

“Nose.” Sally shrugged.

“Eyebrow.” Greg grinned.

“Never have I ever run away from home.” Anderson said.

Sherlock, John, Irene, and Molly put down a finger down.

“Never have I ever had a hickey” Sherlock slurred.

They all put a finger down.

“I'm out.” John drank his beer. “Never?” He quietly asked Sherlock.

“Nope.” He took John's drink and chugged it.

“I didn't know our precious Sherlock was one for drinking.” Sally rolled her eyes.

“Mm'not.” Sherlock rested his head on John's shoulder.

Irene winked at him. He blushed furiously, “Seven.”

Sherlock flung his arm up toward the ceiling. “Look!” He slurred, “I remem-”Hiccup.

“That one was all you Mycroft.” Molly giggled.

He sipped at his wine and pulled a card. “Four. Floor.” Everyone but Sherlock slammed their hand to the ground.

“Why?” Sherlock frowned.

“That's all you Sher.” Greg pulled his card and cackled. “King. Every time someone says John's name, Sherlock has to drink.”

“Yay.” Sherlock cheered quietly into John's ear.

“Nine. Rhyme,” Sally rolled her shoulders.”Sleep”

“Sheep”

“Weep”

"Beep"

“John.”

“Sherlock!”

“Drink you idiot.”

“Mmkay.”

Irene stretched her legs. “Ten. Categories. Animals. Cat” She grinned and John scowled at her.

"Panda"

“Moose.”

“Equus.”

“What the hell is an Equus?” Greg shook his head at Sherlock.

“The hell if I know.” John slurred. He was on his seventh? No eighth beer? He lost count honestly. But the tequilaaaaa...

“It's Latin for horse.” Molly squeaked.

“At least some of us have brains.” Sherlock tipped forward.

“John.” Anderson glared at him.

“Damn.” Sherlock drank.

“Whose turn is it?” John asked.

“I don't know but I'm setting up shots.” Sally stood and grabbed the beakers from the table and brought them to the kitchen.

“W-wait!” Sherlock struggled to get up so John helped push him up. “John. Your hand is on my butt.” He giggled.

John shrugged, “I don't mind”. He got up and walked over to the kitchen with Sherlock.

Sally set up four beakers on each side of the table, filled them a quarter full with Vodka and placed the bottle in the middle.

“Me an' you Holmes” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Fuzzy Duck. I'll start, you repeat. If either one of us says Does he?, the game is reversed to Ducky Fuzz. Got it?” She swayed on her feet.

“Mm...yeah.” Sherlock put his thumb up. “Fuzzy duck”

“Fuzzy duck”

“Fuzzy-” He paused, “John what's the word again?”

“Duck. Drink.” John laughed.

“Oh yeah. Fuzzy duck.”

“Does he?”

“Durry fuck.” Sherlock grinned.

“Drink. Ducky fuzz”

“Fucky duzzy."

John was cracking up. Sherlock had already downed three shots and the game had been going on for less than a minute. He stumbled back to the sitting room.

Molly was knocked out on the floor, head in Irene's lap. Greg was having an argument with her.

“Mycroft. He's definitely got that dangerous 'I can kill you without lifting a finger' thing going on.”

“Nope. Sherlock's got that brooding, 'I'll make you fall in love with me and make you regret it in the same minute" kind of thing. John knows what I'm talking about.” Irene dangled her hand in John's direction.

“John!” Greg yelled.

Molly jumped awake. “I don't breastfeed!”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “It seems my Gregory and Ms. Adler are heatedly debating which one of us Holmes is...What was the word you used dear?”

“Hotter. Sexier. Either one.” Greg opened another can. Anderson snorted.

John stumbled slightly. “Sherrrr” He trailed off.

“HA! SEE.“ Irene screeched. 

“Naaahhh! Myc all the way.” Greg feverishly shook his head.

“FURRY DURRY!”  Sherlock threw his hands up.

“Christ, Sherlock give it up! You're hammered!”

“Don't tell me what to do.”

Chapter Text

It began as light ache behind his eyes but as he slowly regained consciousness it transformed into a sharp, splitting pain that dominated his entire sinus. The room felt like it was spinning even though his eyes were closed and under his lids he felt his eyes rolling. His throat felt as if he hadn't been hydrated in months. John's tongue darted out past his lips, trying to give them some moisture.

He groaned at the throbbing pain worming it's way through his head, clutched his head, and rolled over. His face bumped into soft flesh. John tried to slowly crack his eyes open, but in the process of doing so made his migraine pound even harder and his eyes screamed in protest. He noted that the window curtains were in fact closed but a small sliver of light escaped the confounds of the black material and directed itself over his face. John focused on the figure lying in front of him.

What the fuck happened last night.

John tried to rack his brain and pull up information from the night before. He came up blank.

Blacked out.

The last he remembered, he was dragging Sherlock away from the shot game he and Sally were playing. He'd been trying to take shots from the table and sneak into the bathroom to drink them. John had caught him and dragged him out to say goodnight and put him to bed. He vaguely remembered hearing cat calls and whistles.

However it did not explain when or how he ended up in Sherlock's bed...again. He could almost hear Mycroft's annoying voice. “Two nights in a row Mr. Watson. Are we developing a habit?”

He scoffed and attempted to roll his eyes but it hurt too much so he settled for a mental eye roll. John stared at the man who was currently passed out in front of him. He finally noticed Sherlock had his arms locked around his waist and his head had been resting on his shoulder.

They had been spooning.

Does he even know he does this? Normal friends don't do this kind of stuff. Maybe he does it on purpose. Maybe...

John's heart was pounding. He had to stop before he got too far ahead of himself so he tried to shuffle from out the the iron death grip that Sherlock had on him. The movement caused Sherlock to stir and he loosened his grip. John froze and held his breath as he watched his friend stretch his long body out along the bed. He did a double take and almost passed out on the spot.

Nononononono.

As Sherlock stretched, he rolled his head to the side exposing his jugular. Resting at the base of his neck was an angry, bright red bruise. It was the kind of blotch that appeared from a constant source of pressure in one spot for a decent amount of time. Kind of like what would happen if a certain person sucked on the skin of his drunken friend for a while. Unfortunately for John, against Sherlock's pale complexion, it would be completely visible.

John swallowed thickly and lowered his gaze to the rest of his friend's ridiculously extended body.

Ohthankshitforthat.

He had clothes on.

They weren't naked.

They hadn't had sex.

John released his breath and sucked in as much oxygen as he could. He felt relieved for the most part. If they were destined to have sex, he wanted to remember it the next morning. He continued his journey out of the bed, leaning against the bed post as he regained equilibrium. Passing through the kitchen was like passing through an active war zone. There were beakers filled to various levels everywhere. Cans and bottles littered the counters, table, and made a trail out to toward the sitting room.

He snorted, trying to stifle his laughter. Thankfully his phone was lying on the floor next to the couch so he crept over to grab it. He loaded the camera and snapped as many pictures as he could before the scene was disturbed.

Somehow Greg ended up sprawled on the couch, completely bare with the exception of his pants. There was a large red penis drawn, amazingly detailed, on his chest and he had two sharpie markers sticking out of his ears. John recognized the Minnie Mouse ears that were resting on his head. Sherlock had bought it for Audrey during one of their babysitting outings. Mycroft was sitting, head thrown back and mouth slightly open, in the arm chair he'd been sitting in from the night before. His arms were stuck to his body as his entire torso was taped to the chair.

Again, where do they find tape?!

John wondered how much more Mycroft had to drink after he and Sherlock had gone to bed. It must have been a lot more because there was an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips while he slept. Sally was laying face up on Sherlock's coffee table. There were cans of beer lining her entire body, well as much as could fit on the table. Poor Molly was sleeping on Sherlock's desk. How she got there John wasn't sure, but she was virtually untouched, aside from the empty beaker balancing on her forehead. It was Anderson however that took the cake, quite literally. He had cake frosting covering the entire surface of his face, two cucumbers over his eyes and a carrot sticking out of his left nostril. There was a bra strapped across his chest as well, presumably one of Irene's or Sally's.

Irene was nowhere to be found so John assumed she was the culprit and sent her a picture text.

He heard movement behind him and he turned to find a stumbling Sherlock, wrapped in a sheet, coming toward him. Sherlock groaned and held his head in his hands. “Never again...”

“SHH” John cut him off and brought his finger to his lips. Sherlock grimaced in pain at the loud noise and scowled in John's direction. He regarded at the scene in his sitting room and blinked.

“Go sit somewhere so I can get a picture.” John whispered, trying to ignore the pounding in his head. Sherlock moved toward his brother and gave the most sinister grin he could muster. Trying to suppress a giggle, John aimed the camera and snapped a picture. That was going in a frame.

Sherlock leaned down to Mycroft's ear. “I ate your birthday cake.”

John had to turn and leave because Mycroft jumped awake at that and yelled a deafening “No!”

His leg bounced rapidly and he tapped his pencil on the desk, constantly glancing at the clock. Ten minutes. He rolled his neck and tried to focus on the lesson his professor was monotonously teaching. He glanced at the clock again. Nine minutes. John sighed heavily gaining an irritated look from the student sitting next to him. His phone buzzed. He had two unopened text messages waiting for him.

Mycroft said the car is waiting for u in front. -G. Lestrade

Is your lecture finished yet?
SH

John ignored both texts. He was already nervous; he didn't need reminders. Tuesday came faster than he was prepared for. One one hand it meant that Irene had finally returned home for good and took her demon cat back. He ended spending the night previous on his couch and woke up with piercing pain in his lower back. He didn't have it in him to ask Sherlock if he could stay another night. They hadn't talked about the hickey that had "mysteriously" appeared on his neck and if he was being honest with himself, he wasn't ready to talk about it anyway. On the other hand it meant that in approximately, seven minutes, he'd be getting into a car and driving over to his best friend's childhood home to have dinner with his parents.

He had spent entirely too much time that morning washing his hair twice, shaving, clipping his fingernails, and then accidentally ironing his pants instead of his trousers. Picking out his outfit was the worst part. It had made him late to his lecture. He wasn't sure how formal or casual to dress but he was too embarrassed to ask Sherlock or Mycroft. It didn't even occur to him to ask Greg. Nonetheless he'd settled on a striped grey jumper, nothing too fancy and nothing too casual.

He glanced at the clock again. Four minutes. Breaking out in a light sweat, he suddenly realized how stupid it was to wear a long sleeve as the weather was leaning a bit on the hot side. He felt his phone buzz again.

Whenever you are ready, Mr. Watson.

MH

He genuinely couldn't take the pressure any longer and packed his things into his bag as slowly as he could. Fortunately by the time he slung his bag over his shoulder, the lecture was finished and the hall was emptying out.

John made his way out to the front of the campus, where a sleek black car was waiting for him. The driver had been leaning on the passenger side, waiting, and opened the door when John approached. With a deep breath John climbed in and sealed his fate. He watched as the tall buildings became more scarce eventually turning into larger country houses. The space between each house grew and he watched them become vast green pastures filled with cows.

I can't even imagine what they did for fun.

They'd been driving for a little more than an hour when they came up to a beautiful stone manor. It had large windows overlooking the property and John could see figures moving from behind the windows. It was dusk and the front lawn was sparkling with tiny gold flashes from the bulbs of the lightening bugs. The paved driveway lead to the side of the manor. It met up with a patio adorned in ivy weaving between the cracks of the stone wall. Little purple and pink flowers budded in various patches of the greenery. John could imagine a much younger Sherlock running around trying to catch assorted insects and bringing them inside to experiment on.

He remembered where he was and what he was doing there and felt his stomach flip. The driver opened his door and he clambered out looking around at the endless fields that spanned in every direction.

“You must be John.” He heard a soft voice speaking and he looked to see an older woman clad in a light purple sun dress and slightly grey hair pulled neatly into a bun. She advanced toward him and enveloped him in a hug. “I've heard much about you.” John was momentarily startled and froze.

She's hugging me. What do I do? Hug her back you idiot.

John regained his sense and swung his arms lightly over her shoulders. She squeezed him tight before releasing him.

“Pardon my wife, she gets excited when we have company.” An older man, much taller than John, approached him extending his hand. “Siger Holmes,” John took his hand and shook it firmly, “This would be my wife Violet.”

He could see it now. Sherlock was the perfect combination of the two of them. He had his mother's eyes though. Mycroft looked more like their mother but had their father's eyes. Both men got their height from their father.

“Hello Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, I appreciate you having me over for dinner.” John politely smiled. “Your home is quite lovely.”

She shook her head, “No, please call me Violet. I insist,” She grabbed his hand and led him through the front door. “I was so excited to hear that you were coming for dinner. I simply had to make you a wonderful meal. We may have gone a tad overboard. I hope you like duck. My sons never bring anyone home. Until you and lovely Gregory of course. He's a dear. I can already tell you are too. Oh, goodness.” She was rambling at a mile a minute. John loved her. With the look on Siger Holmes's face, he felt the same way too.

“He hasn't even had the chance to take his jacket off dear. Give him a moment.” Siger Holmes kissed his wife's forehead successfully ending her ramblings. “Let me take your jacket, son.”

John shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to him with a quiet 'thank you'.

“Oh, you must miss Sherlock terribly. Let us go and find him” She grabbed his hand again leading him out of the large foyer. He didn't even bother to tell her her son wasn't his boyfriend as it would likely fall on deaf ears. They made their way to a very large and open sitting room. A beautiful black grand piano sat in the corner next to a grand fireplace that took up most of the wall. The windows spanned from floor to ceiling on both sides overlooking the green fields.

Sherlock was sitting on the sofa arguing with an unamused Mycroft. Greg was hunched forward sitting between them, elbows on his knees and face in his hands. When he spotted John he jumped up and ran over.

“Thank god you're here, I don't even know what they're arguing about this time.” Greg clapped a hand on John's shoulder.

Violet shook her head at her two sons. “They used to be so close. Thick as thieves. When our dear Sherlock was just a boy he used to cry and cry until we agreed to let him sleep in Mycroft's room.” She sighed. “Gregory, do take John up to Sherlock's room. I'm sure he'd love to see it! Oh dear, I smell something burning.” She ran off, her purple dress billowing around her small frame. She was adorable and John smiled at her retreating form. She reminded him of Mrs. Hudson a bit.

“Come on John. They'll do this for hours before they realize no one is listening.” Greg jerked his thumb in the opposite direction. John nodded.

He was led up a large staircase and came to a very wide hallway. The walls were covered in photos, some of Sherlock, some of Mycroft, and some of people he didn't recognize for obvious reasons.

“I think it's this way. I can never remember. This place is too big, it's ridiculous.” Greg muttered under his breath.

They finally found the right door after three tries. Sherlock's room was...completely different from the flat he lived in on Baker Street. It was neat. There was a full bed in the corner covered in black cotton sheets. There was a desk supporting a microscope and a few test tubes overlooking the only window in the room. A semi empty book case made it's home in the corner by a closet door.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

John spun around in the room. It was like no one had ever lived there. Immaculate was the word that came to John's mind.

“Where's all his stuff?” He asked incredulously. Greg raised his brows and shrugged.

“I guess he took it all with him to Baker Street.”

John opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a loud bang coming from the floor below them.

“JOHN!”

“Guess he finally noticed.” Greg smirked. “Come on, lets get back. I smell potatoes.”

John laughed. “You lard.”

They exited the room, shutting the door closed behind them and made their way back to the stairs. When they finally got to the top of the stairs, Sherlock was standing on the first step looking agitated, probably because his mother was holding on to his shirt, keeping him from running up.

“See Sherlock, he's right there. I told you he'd come down when he was ready. WAIT!” Sherlock had ripped himself from her grasp and shot up the steps. He stopped one step before John.

“Hi, John.”

John raised his eyebrow at him and walked past him down the stairs offering his arm to Violet.

“Come on dear, dinner is ready.” Violet tucked her arm into John's and led him into the kitchen.

She had in fact cooked a duck. Which would have been lovely if it weren't for the fact that she had literally put an uncooked duck in the oven. She didn't clean it or even season it, just stuck it in there. And she did in fact cook potatoes but the smell of smoke she noticed earlier, were the potatoes burning.

John learned quickly, she was an awful cook. Nonetheless they all, including Sherlock, took their portions and ate as much as they could without puking at the dining room table. Violet was oblivious to all this and John was grateful. Sherlock, of course, fought anyone who tried to take the seat next to John promising their imminent death if they tried. After the third threat, John had to yell at him and threaten to hide his microscope for a week. Violet look absolutely entranced with them and Siger looked entranced with his wife.

She'd been questioning him about his family, his childhood, where he grew up, what his parents were like, how he met Sherlock and just about everything else she could come up with. John noticed how intrigued she was. Quite frankly, he thought that she looked as if she was speaking to the Queen.

“It was all pretty boring before I moved.” John smiled to himself. “He keeps me pretty busy.”

She grinned at him and gave him a suggestive wink.

His eyes widened. “Oh! No-not like that” He slapped a hand over his face.

Siger chuckled. “We were young once too John. We know how the midnight escapades work.”

John looked to Sherlock for help but he just shrugged at him.

“Come dear, let's not embarrass John with any of our stories.” She put her hand over her husband's and kissed his cheek. “In any case, I've plenty of stories to tell John of our lovely son.” She smiled wickedly at Sherlock.

That seemed to get him moving. “Look at the time, we really must be goin-”

“I'd love to hear all your stories about Sherlock's childhood.” John grinned at him.

“I have plenty of photos and home videos, Oh dear! Let me go get them. Sherlock bring him to the sitting room.” She ran off to retrieve her collection.

“John.” Sherlock glared at him.

“Oh, come on Sherlock. I saw all of Myc's videos the first time I had dinner here. I distinctly remember you laughing and making commentary the entire time.” Greg folded his arms over his chest.

Sherlock stayed silent so John stood and patted his cheek before walking off toward the sitting room.

“Your turn, little brother.” Mycroft smiled baring his teeth.

“I'll make popcorn.” Siger shuffled to the cabinets hanging in the kitchen.

John sat between Sherlock and his father on the sofa while Violet shuffled through her box of videos in front of the telly. Mycroft and Greg were sharing the loveseat, conversing quietly.

“John, you don't want to do this. Believe me.” Sherlock hissed at him. John grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl sitting between his thighs and popped a few pieces in his mouth.

“No, I'm sure I do.” He flicked a piece at Sherlock who stared at him with a look of betrayal on his pale face. “Pass the tea.”

“Oh! Here's one! Oh, so cute. I had such beautiful boys.”

Sherlock threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. On the screen was a much younger version of Violet Holmes, holding an infant Sherlock in her lap waving his little hand at the camera.

“...And here we have my beautiful wife. Say hello darling!” Siger Holmes's voice boomed through the speakers. Violet waved and gave a bright smile. “...holding our son, say hello Sherlock.”

Sherlock had his little hand wrapped around her finger as she was making him wave. He was sucking on a pacifier, drool escaping from the corner of his mouth. His baby blue eyes were wide open and he stared into the camera. His other little hand was tangled in his unruly curls that were sticking in every direction.

“Oh dear, he's got a bit of-, hold on.”

The camera jerked around a bit before it focused back on Violet and Sherlock. A younger Mycroft made his way to the edge of the screen.

“There's our other son. Myc. All knees and red hair. Say hello!” A younger Mycroft grinned, his front teeth missing.

“Hello father.”

Sherlock began to wail and Mycroft went to his mother's lap to pick him up. He stopped crying at the sudden movement and stared at his older brother. Mycroft held him and faced the camera again.

“This is Sherlock Holmes. All he does is cry and poop. Mummy says he'll grow out of it, but the chances of that aren't looking too bright.” At that moment Sherlock decided it was appropriate to spit up all over himself and Mycroft.

“Oh shit-”

John was doubled over in laughter. “Sherlock, you were bloody adorable. What happened?” He laughed even harder.

Violet was giggling along with him. “He was,” she looked at the tape “5 months old. Mycroft was such a quiet baby. It was quite alarming when Sherlock came and screamed for attention every fifteen minutes.”

“Then nothing has changed.” John grinned at a distraught Sherlock and watched the screen for the next video.

Sherlock was crawling now.

“Wait, Sherlock. You're moving too fast.” Violet's soft voice spoke to him. “We need to put your clothes on. Wait!”

Sherlock had ducked under the kitchen table and sat on the floor where she couldn't reach him. He had nothing but a nappy on and was chewing on his fingers, smiling around them. His little belly was heaving, his lungs gathering the much needed oxygen. There was a yellow lollipop stuck in his messy black hair.

“Come to mummy,” She paused, “Jesus Sherlock, how did you get that stuck in your hair?”

He turned over on his knees and shot off again toward the hallway trailed by a slow moving Violet.

“I'm going to get you.”

Sherlock squealed and shuffled off eventually bumping into his father who picked him up as he wriggled to break free.

“I believe you were looking for this.” Siger held out a squirming Sherlock.

“I do believe I was.”

Sherlock smiled, all gums; small craters forming in his cheeks.

A large dog barked and trotted by on the screen. Sherlock screamed and reached for it.

“Redbeard, did you miss Sherlock?” She cooed. “Put him on.”

Siger carefully sat a vibrating Sherlock on the dog's back, making sure he had a grip.

Sherlock stared wide eyed at the camera before bursting out into tears and screaming at the top of his lungs.

“GET HIM OFF-” The camera cut out.

“These are gold.” John nudged Sherlock's shoulder.

“Yes, priceless.” He muttered.

There was shuffling before the camera focused. Violet's face appeared on the screen.

“So, It's about noon, and it's Mycroft's eighth birthday.” She whispered into the camera. “We went to check on Sherlock about ten minutes ago and found him in the sitting room. Let's go see what my baby is doing.”

She moved behind the camera and made her way quietly to the edge of the archway to the sitting room. Peaking the camera out just enough so it could capture the scene, she quietly laughed trying to not to startle her son.

Sherlock was sitting on the floor his little legs crossed in front of him. There was a massive cake, almost the size of his entire body, stationed in front of him. He had his little hands inside the cake and was pulling out pieces and shoving them into his mouth.

“Sherlock, baby, what are you doing?” Violet moved into the room and tried to stifle her laughter. He whipped his head around, being caught red handed. He looked into the lens, wide eyes and a hand still in his mouth. There was cake covering his entire face and it was clumped into his hair.

“MUMMY. HE ATE MY CAKE. MUMMY.” A distraught Mycroft pointed at Sherlock and stared into the camera, tears threatening to spill over.

“It's okay baby, we'll go out and get you a new one.”

Sherlock bounced in place and flung a piece of cake at the camera.

“SHER-”

Even Sherlock was laughing at that one. Mycroft looked horrified.

“I get it now. I get it.” John choked through his laughter.

A two year old Sherlock was sitting in the bathtub surrounded by bubbles, flailing his arms happily.

“Sherlock, do you like the bubbles?” Siger asked his son.

Sherlock took some of the bubbles in his tiny hands and offered them to his father.

“Thank you son.” Siger reached out and let the bubbles be placed in his hands before setting them on top of his sons head. His curls were slicked back from the water. He tried to stand up clutching at the edge of the tub. His little naked body was covered in bath bubbles. Sherlock got excited and tried to bounce but lost his footing, slipped, and went under the water.

“Crap. VIOLET.”

Siger had dropped the camera in effort to save his son but it was still on and pointing in their direction.

Sherlock appeared above the water and looked at his father with eyes the size of the moon.

“No, no don't. You're fine. See? I saved you.” Sherlock's bottom lip trembled and he latched on to his fathers shirt before climbing out of the tub. When his feet hit the floor, he grinned and ran off past the camera.

“My parenting skills are seriously lacking right now.”

The video cut out but resumed after a minute.

“Get- COME BACK HERE. WHERE ARE YOU GOING. YOU CAN'T GO OUTSIDE LIKE THAT. NO. SHERLOCK.”

The camera was bouncing as Siger ran after his naked two year old who was currently wetting everything imaginable and giggling about it.

Sherlock's naked figure turned the corner squealing before running into a room and shutting the door.

“Can I have a copy of that?” John grinned at Violet.

“No” Sherlock glared at them.

“Mummy.” A slightly older Sherlock was sitting naked on top of a canopy bed reaching his arms out toward his mother who was standing off to the side, arms crossed.

“Do you belong up there?”

He tried to move but slipped further back and panicked.”Mummy, help.” He was gripping the rods holding the canopy up. His face was tear stained and he was gasping in between breaths.

“Who told you to go up there?”

He cried even harder. Violet snickered.

“No one told you to climb up there. I'm not getting you down. You’re going to fall.”

“NO!” Sherlock screamed and wiggled around trying to get off the canopy.

Siger's laugh echoed. “Get him down, he's learned his lesson.” She reached for her son who all but clawed his way to her arms before sobbing into her neck. She mashed her lips together to keep from laughing.

A kernel punched his uvula as John laughed over the rare footage he was seeing and tried not to choke to death before seeing any more.

 Sherlock, now seven years old,  is standing in front of the camera. He's outside and wearing a white lab coat too big for his small frame.

“What are you doing Sher?” Violet asked him.

“I am checking the combustion rate of bananas.” He grinned, two front teeth missing and dimples wrinkling deeply in his cheeks.

“Okay, my son the scientist, get on with your experiment” He ran over, briefly tripping over the too long fabric before regaining his footing.

She sat at a reasonable distance to watch her son try to blow up some bananas. Sherlock leaned over a metal bowl that had four bananas sticking out. He put goggles on and poured a small amount of lighter fluid in the bowl. Producing matches from his pocket, he ran over to his mother and asked her to light it. He ran back, one hand covering the flame and carefully tossed it into the bowl. It immediately took fire and he grabbed his notebook and pen, scribbling furiously.

“Maybe if I add more lighter fluid-” He leaned over the bowl and poured more fluid into it.

“Sherlock, NO!-”

The liquid spread through the bowl and the flames immediately burst up catching Sherlock's masked face.

Violet ran over, camera in hand, to check her coughing son.

“Are you okay?” She checked his face for burns. "We should go to the hospital.”

“I'm fine.” He coughed. His face was covered in black smudge.

“Oh my boy.” Violet laughed as she wiped his face.

“What?” Sherlock asked cautiously.

“You burnt off your eyebrows.” She burst out laughing.”Where's your father-”

“In my defense, that was probably considered bad parenting.” Sherlock bristled.

Siger and Violet looked at each other and shrugged.

The video zoomed out and Sherlock's thirteen year old face appeared. He was glaring unhappily into the camera.

“Come on Sherlock, they're not that bad.” Siger jostled the camera and zoomed closer into his son's unhappy face. His hair had grown longer and his face was more mature. There were a few pimples scattered across his forehead.

“They really are.” Sherlock's voice had deepened. He crossed his arms and looked away.

“Oh, no they aren't. Smile. I can barely see them when you're talking.” Siger coaxed, “I'll buy you that lab kit you were looking at online.”

Sherlock visibly contemplated this and let out a resigned sigh.

He gave a quick toothy smile. There were metal braces with pink rubber bands weaved around them.

“Sherlock had a visit with the orthodontist and they failed to tell him the only color they had available was pink. So naturally he's more grouchy than usual.” Siger snickered.

Sherlock stormed away from the video camera. “You owe me!” He yelled over his shoulder.

“Don't you dare say a word.” Sherlock glared at the snickering blonde next to him.

Violet's face appeared and she grinned into the lens.

“He says it's an experiment. That is all I will say.” She hid behind the camera and made her way to Sherlock's room. She opened the door and pointed the camera toward her son.

“MOTHER.”

A shirtless Sherlock, who'd been laying on his bed, pulled a pillow over his face.

“I just want to take a look. Let me see.”

“No.”

She yanked the pillow away.

“Here is my son, demonstrating typical teenager rebellion. I guess this is what the cool kids are doing now.”

She zoomed out, getting his entire body into the frame. His long hair was covering most of his face but his heavily lined eyes were visible. He had black leather pants on and boots laced up to his knees.

“And there's the piercing.”

Sure enough, there was a barbell going through his nipple which was clearly irritated and swollen.

“OUT.” He stood and pushed her toward his door. She laughed the whole way out.

John was steadily wiping tears from his eyes. He wished he had Sherlock's impressive memory capabilities because he didn't want to forget a single detail from those videos. “I have loads more but with the murderous glares my son is giving me, I'll just stop here.” She giggled. “We'll watch more next time.” She whispered to John and patted his knee.

Mycroft and Greg were grinning at a sulking Sherlock.

“Is it time to go home yet?” Sherlock complained.

“There is indeed a car waiting for us outside whenever you're ready” Mycroft didn't even finish his sentence before Sherlock was off the couch and out the door.

John smiled and turned to Violet. “Thank you so much for that. I had a lovely evening.” He embraced her willingly this time. “Oh John, you're always welcome here. You've done wonders for my boy. I can't thank you enough.” She let him go and turned to embrace the others.

Siger held out a hand and smiled. “John, you're a good kid. Glad to see my boys have good taste.” John didn't have the heart to tell them that he wasn't actually dating their son so he shook his hand and left it at that.

The three men made their way to the car, laughing amongst one another. When he got close enough, Sherlock's hands darted out of the car and latched on to John's jumper, yanking him inside.

"I love them." John rested his head against the seat as he waited for Mycroft and Greg to climb in.

"Wonderful," Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Can we go home now?”

With you, always.

“Off we go.”

Chapter Text

“Excuse me.”

John sucked in a breath and squeezed his eyes shut before turning toward the nasally voice. Only a little longer.

“How can I help you ma'am?”

The customer thrust her cup against his chest. She was severely obese and sweating profusely which surprised John because the front door was open and a strong breeze was sweeping through the shop.

“This coffee is bitter. Did you even put sugar?” She grunted. “I told you to put sugar.”

Yes, half the fucking bag.

He'd been on shift at 'The Bean' for four and a half hours and so far the customers he'd served had brought him to a very unstable, simmering rage. Truth be it, he was a crappy barista and Sherlock frequently complained about the way he made his coffee and tea although John made a habit of ignoring his friend's objections. However, this woman had ordered two large coffees, presumably all for herself, and made it unmistakably clear that she wanted it very sweet. John had complied and put enough sugar to put the woman in a diabetic coma.

“Well make it again,” She sniffed, “It's disgusting. Don't they teach you anything?”

Other customers were watching the rude woman, some of them throwing sympathetic glances toward him. She was holding up the line and the customers behind her were becoming restless. John forced a smile and narrowed his eyes.

Oh, I'll make a new one alright.

“Of course,” He said between gritted teeth and yelled over his shoulder “Sarah, take my register please.”

He'd been working with Sarah, his quirky co-worker, for almost two years. She had offered him the job in the first place. Sarah was a mature and funny woman who always made his shifts at The Bean entertaining and for the most part, peaceful. Thankfully she was a sweetheart and had been very eager to hire him, possibly because their original barista had left on short notice to elope somewhere in France. In any case, he was grateful and considered her a reliable friend. Every time they worked together she brought homemade pie and they would huddle together to make up stories about the customers they'd dealt with that day.

“I've got you.” She patted his shoulder empathetically before asking the obese woman to step aside so she could ring up the rest of the line.

John carried the cups to the back, muttering under his breath the whole way, and slammed them down on the counter. He was so aggravated that he didn't even bother getting new cups or pouring new brew, which was likely considered a health hazard but he was too irritated to care. He yanked open the cupboard over the counter dragging the half full bag of sugar out. He popped off the tops of the cups, setting the aside and positioned the bag over the liquid.

“I'll give you sugar alright.” He grumbled and proceeded to divide the rest of the bag between the two cups. He could see the mound of crystals beginning to peek through the top of the coffee.

“God, she's awful.” Sarah walked in and tucked her hair behind her ears. “She took all of my samples.”

John laughed lightly and replaced the tops on the cups. “Sherlock would have a field day with her.”

Sarah smirked at him. “Oh yes. How's was your visit with the in-laws?” She plucked the cups from his hands and leaned on her hip against the counter.

“It was great. They're really wonderful,” He paused and rolled his eyes at her, “They're not my in-laws. How many times have I told you? Sherlock is not my boyfriend.”

She snorted loudly and made her way back to the obnoxious customer. “You keep telling yourself that John. Whatever helps you sleep at night,” She cackled,”You know, in his bed of course.”

“That's why I don't tell you anything!” John yelled. He could feel the heat prickle under his cheeks. She was relentless. “I'm taking five.”

“Tell Sherlock I said hello,” She yelled back to him "...and that he should just ask you out already because it's getting kind of pathetic watching you come in all lovesick over him.”

He shot a dark look in her direction before exiting through the side door. There was a plastic crate flipped upside down next to the loud metal fan protruding from the wall. The breeze felt good on his warm skin. John yanked his phone from his pocket and sat on the crate, resting his head against the wall behind him. The phone read a quarter to five. He'd be going home in less than an hour.

Thank fuck for that.

John noticed there were eleven unread text messages, all from Sherlock. His heart jumped in fear. He scrolled through them as quickly as he could.

Where are you John?

SH

John?

SH

Are you ignoring me?

SH

John.

SH

John, I know you don't have class this late.

SH

John.

SH

John.

SH

John.

SH

You're at work aren't you?

SH

JOHN.

SH

John, I am coming to your job.

SH

He let the phone fall to his lap and rubbed at his eyes. Great. The last time Sherlock visited John at work, it was to inform him that he'd accidentally set his sofa on fire. Not to mention he hadn't even attempted to extinguish the flames, he just let them eat away at the sofa until Lestrade ran up with the fire extinguisher. At least he'd gotten a new sofa from it; paid for and carried up the steps by a complaining Sherlock. John didn't even want to think about what shenanigans Sherlock had gotten himself into this time.

You better not have set anything on fire again.

-John

I'm so serious.

-John

He slipped his phone back in his pocket as he stood up. As he turned, he miscalculated the angle of the fan and proceeded to walk face first into the metal cage.

“SHIT.” John cupped his right eye with his hands. There was a searing pain around his orbital bone and he saw stars from his left eye. He stumbled back and leaned against the wall. John moved his hand away from his face and blinked rapidly. “Oh hell. That's gonna leave a nasty bruise.” He rubbed around his eye and made a dramatic arc around the fan before slipping inside the shop.

He caught his reflection on one of the coffee machines. A vivid purple ring was already forming around his swollen eye.

“John, what the hell happened.” Sarah rushed forward and cupped his face, tilting it toward the light on the ceiling.

“I had row with the fan out back,” He grunted in pain as she gingerly touched his face, “It won.”

Sarah dropped her hands from his face and grinned at him.

“Clearly,” She tilted her head.”It's pretty badass. Sherlock might like it.”

John made a futile attempt to roll his eyes at her. “You're definitely going on my list of worst friends ever.”

She wrinkled her nose and jiggled her shoulders in a little dance. “I'm the best and you know it.”

He moved past her to the front register and reached under the counter to retrieve his book bag. His face was throbbing and he always kept a little bottle of Aspirin in his bag just in case. Sarah appeared next to him with a cup of water.

“Thanks,” He popped the pills in is mouth and took a swig of the water, “I should warn you, Sherloc-”

“JOHN.” Sherlock's loud voice echoed through the shop.

“- is on his way.” He trailed off. Sherlock, all legs and high cheekbones, stalked over toward the register. The other customers gawked at him in obvious shock of his loud and obnoxious entrance.

John sighed deeply.

“John, whats on your face?” Sherlock pointed a finger, centimeters away from John's injured eye.

He grimaced and slapped Sherlock's hand away. He opened his mouth to speak but Sarah beat him to the punch. “He walked into a fan.”

Sherlock contemplated this. “Typical.” He shook his head.

John flipped them both off. “I don't get off for another thirty minutes so go sit somewhere and try not to terrorize anyone.” He pleaded.

Sherlock flashed him his best smile.

Thirty minutes later John was still apologizing to Sarah. Apparently it was too much for Sherlock to handle because he made his way around each table and deduced every single person in the shop, making half of them cry. Sarah, bless her soul, hadn't fired John or killed Sherlock, though he wasn't sure he would practice the same restraint. She simply laughed and waved him off.

“See you tomorrow John. Bye Sherlock. Stop harassing my customers.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but John pulled him by his arm and dragged him outside. As soon as they were on the sidewalk and away from the inside of the shop, John glared at Sherlock.

"You did say try, John."

He watched Sherlock squirm for a minute before bursting into laughter.

“That made me feel so much better.” John winced as he accidentally brushed a finger over his purple eye. “I had the worst day.”

Sherlock's lips twitched in amusement. “Oh?”

“God Sherlock, you should have seen this one lady. Ohmygod, you would have had a picnic with her. She was just,” John shuddered, “Horrendous. I'm pretty sure her pancreas is going to fall out of her belly button or something.”

Sherlock chuckled. “Interesting choice of words. Although highly improbable if not ridiculously dramatic.”

John looked around and realized they hadn't moved. “Can we walk today? It's not far from home.”

The air was warm but refreshing. The sidewalks were packed with people who apparently had the same idea. Being cooped up in The Bean and dealing with the most ridiculous customers had left John feeling claustrophobic and he had the urge to stretch his legs and walk.

“Certainly.”

John slid his book bag over his shoulder and shuffled into the pace of the crowd. “So, what did you do today? Beside blow up my phone.”

Sherlock struggled to keep pace with John's short strides. “Lestrade required my assistance on a case.”

“Oh.” John said in a small voice. He hated not being able to drop everything and run around the city with Sherlock. Even though many times it left him dehydrated, starving, in need of a bath and beaten-up, he couldn't deny his love for the adrenaline spike he got when the case took them on a particularly dangerous course. “How was it?”

“It was the maid. Very boring.” Sherlock threw a sideways glance. “You didn't miss anything of importance.”

“Good to know.” John grinned to himself and ran a hand through his hair.

“John, look.” Sherlock grabbed him by the shoulders and pivoted him toward a grey, stone building across the street.

“I don't see anything” John knitted his brows.”Where am I looking?”

Sherlock sighed. “As usual, you never cease to amaze me with your unyielding ignorance.” He pointed at the building. “Look closely, what do you see?”

Through the glass doors John could see a line of people standing still and smiling in the same direction. “Um, there's a group of people,” He squinted, “They're all dressed up and there's flowers everywhere. The men are in suits and the women are in dresses...” He trailed off. One woman in particular was in a large white dress. Oh.

“A wedding?” John looked back to Sherlock who was wearing a devious grin.

“A wedding John.”

“And this means?” John stared at him confused. Was he implying they get married or something?

“Let's go.” He grabbed John's arm and made a beeline for the building.

“Woah! Woah! Wait. Sherlock, wait. We can't just,” He waved his arms in front of him. “...go to a wedding! We don't even know them!”

Sherlock scoffed. “Oh John, I envy you. Always playing by the rules. What's that ridiculous phrase you say to me? Let your hair down every once in a while.”

John couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sherlock, of all people, wanted to crash a wedding just because he felt like it. Not that it didn't sound like fun, it was just shocking coming from him.

“Sherlock, we can't crash a wedding.” He blinked at the genius.

“Of course we can. It's very simple. We'll go through the back. If the bride and groom are still in the lobby then the guests are already in the dining hall waiting for them to make their grand entrance.” He rolled his eyes, “We'll blend right in.”

John blanched. “We still have a problem.”

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh dear lord, what now John?”

He gestured to his work uniform. “I'm not exactly in proper attire and it's not like I carry my wardrobe in my bag.”

Sherlock pursed his lips and slipped off the jacket accompanying the suit he was already wearing. “You trousers are fine. Just put this on.”

John sighed and let his bag slip off of his shoulder. He yanked his work shirt off and stuffed it in his bag. “We're not exactly the same size you know.” Buttoning up the jacket, he stuck his arms out letting the extra fabric on his arms dangle.

Sherlock reached forward and folded the sleeves neatly up to his wrists. “There. You don't look completely inappropriate.”

John gave him a flat look and pulled his bag over his shoulder. “Lead the way.”

They did in fact get in through the back. There was door that lead them through the kitchen. Sherlock walked right in past the confused kitchen staff. Passing through the kitchen doors, they were led to a dimly lit hallway. Music was pulsing through the speakers and they could barely hear each other. Sherlock led them to the reception hall, blending right in among the sea of people. He had a firm grip on John's arm and pulled him past the unsuspecting guests. John tugged on his arm.

“Where are we going to sit?” He brought his lips up to his friend's ear.

Sherlock simply nodded his head to a semi empty table in the corner secluded from the rest of the party. When they got closer, John could see there were three elderly people sitting, looking exhausted. Probably past their bedtime. John snickered to himself.

Sherlock let go of John's arm and extended his hand toward one of the elderly women. She glanced up at him in awe and put her wrinkly hand in his. He bent down and brought his lips to her hand.

“Good evening,” His voice sounded like liquid gold, “Are these seats taken?”

She covered her mouth with her other hand and giggled. “No, my dear boy. By all means, have a seat.”

“Thank you.” He flashed a smile at her before moving to pull a chair out for John.

What the hell?

John stared at Sherlock like he had three heads before sliding into his seat.

“I'll be right back.” Sherlock spoke into John's ear before turning in the opposite direction and venturing into the crowd. John held his hand out to the woman. “Hello, I'm John.”

“Hello dear, It's very lovely to meet you. I'm Maude.” She clasped his hand. “These old geezers are Midge and Henry” She nudged their shoulders.

Henry jerked awake at the movement as he'd been nodding off.

“WHAT?” He shouted, looking momentarily confused.

“THIS IS JOHN” Maude yelled into his ear and nodded her head in John's direction.

“WHAT'S GONE?” Henry yelled back.

“JOHN” She grabbed his face and turned it in John's direction. He gave an idle wave.

John could see Henry make the connection. He held his hand out across the table and shook John's hand.

“Nice to meet you son.” Henry tapped the shoulder of the woman next to him. “Midge, wake up.”

Midge glared at Henry for interrupting her sleep. “WHAT?”

“JOHN.” He hollered and pointed a finger in John's direction. She blinked at looked at him.

“Oh, hu'llo dear. “ Midge waved her crooked fingers.

“Are you with the bride or groom, love?” Maude rested her hand on his shoulder. John's brain shut down momentarily. Ohshit.Ohshit

“Erm, the bride.” John looked over his shoulder for Sherlock.

“I figured as much. Beautiful place isn't it?” She sighed in content

It was a beautifully decorated room and it was huge. There were dozens of tables donned in pale yellow table cloths and flowers scattered around a very large tile dance floor. White roses weaved around the arch way of the door that led into the grand hall. Just in front of the dance floor was an oval table with the center cut out for a large bushel of white roses and a magnificent crystal chandelier dangling overhead. The room was absolutely filled to the maximum capacity with people holding wine glasses and pointing at the various ornaments that decorated the venue.

“It is.” He smiled.

“Where did your boyfriend run off to?” Maude patted his hand and looked out into the crowd.

“Oh, he's not my boyfriend. We're just friends.” He continued his visual sweep over the swarm of people.

“Don't worry dear, there's all sorts around here.” She winked.

He turned to look at her, “No really-”

“Here you are John.” Sherlock appeared out of thin air with two wine glasses in his hands. That's where he went.

“Thanks”

“No one ever puts their friends at the same table with grandma and grandpa. It dampers the high.” Sherlock leaned and spoke quietly into John's ear, not helping his case.

Maude winked at him and John turned bright red. He cleared his throat and took a sip of the wine. “I was just telling Maude here, that we're friends with the bride.” John smiled tightly at Sherlock, who only chuckled. Just as Sherlock began to speak, the DJ's voice rang over the speaker.

“Will everyone please stand for the bride and the groom.”

The sound of scraping chairs against the floor resonated in the hall as everyone stood up. The three elders at their table didn't stand but sat back even further into their chair. Sherlock loomed closely next to John, leaving him with a fluttering feeling in his gut. He bent to John's level, “The groom is sleeping with the bride's maid of honor.” John's jaw dropped and he turned to face Sherlock.

“What? No. How? “ John spluttered.

“Watch how his gaze is always focused on the woman in the lavender dress. If you look closely, you can see he's slightly turned in her direction. There's a crease on her dress, just around her knees, that is not present on any of the other bridesmaid's dresses. Considering that her breasts are spilling out, I'd say it's safe to say that that crease didn't come from the dress being poorly fitted. The groom's zipper has slightly fallen and his shirt is no longer tucked in as it was when they were taking photos. His jacket is also buttoned improperly and the flower that was pinned to the lapel is now crushed. There is a petal in her hair. ”

“Really?” John looked at the genius, who only nodded. “Are all marriages doomed to divorce?” He grumbled.

“Yes.” Sherlock grinned before they were all allowed to take their seats.

Soon after the happy couple had made their grand entrance, everyone was served their first course. John felt increasingly worse with every bite he took. He made up for the free loading by cutting Maude's rare steak for her. John was slightly nauseated at the thought of her eating a practically raw steak but said nothing. He stared at her plate with wide eyes until she noticed and smacked his shoulder. Sherlock picked at the vegetables on his plate but hadn't touched much more. John let out a boisterous laugh when Midge had accidentally flung a piece of her mashed potatoes at Sherlock and it landed on his cheek. Henry was leaning back in his seat, mouth slightly agape, sleeping and missed the whole meal entirely.

A few children had run by, clad in tiny dresses and suits. One of them climbed straight into Sherlock's lap and grabbed a fistful of broccoli before stuffing it into his little mouth. Sherlock gawked at the child in either disgust or shock. John couldn't really tell. Probably both. The boy looked at John and climbed over Sherlock's legs. He sat on the plate that was in front of John, smearing his bottom with food, and continued munching on his half eaten broccoli. He reached forward and dug his hands into John's hair, food and all, before hopping off the table and running after the other children.

Sherlock smirked and folded his arms over his chest. John kept a straight face and excused himself to the restroom. He ran a wet hand through his hair, trying to get the tiny green clumps out without smearing them. A few drunk men stumbled in; one of them stunk like vomit and proceeded to undress as if he was home alone. John ran out before they could notice his presence. Making his way back to the table proved to be an adventure all on it's own. He had two drinks spilled on him, three people shoved into him, someone stepped on his foot and another elbowed him in the back. He all but collapsed into his chair when he finally made it to the table.

“Where'd he go?” John yelled to Midge. Sherlock had disappeared again leaving John momentarily panicked.

Please god, tell me this git didn't leave me here by myself because tonight will be the night I strangle him.

Midge couldn't hear him over the loud music. “What was that?”

John pointed to the seat where his friend had been stationed earlier.

“Oh! Your boyfriend took old Maude to the dance floor.” She yelled across the table.

As if on cue, Sherlock appeared one arm resting lightly on Maude's waist and the other holding her hand. They swayed elegantly to the music. It was a particularly humorous sight. The little old woman barely reached his shoulders and had her feet on top of Sherlock's as he adjusted to the height difference. She had her head thrown back in laughter. Sherlock had a slight grin on his face as he watched the old woman allow herself to be swayed off of her feet. Literally. John pulled out his phone and snapped a few pictures, sending one to Greg, Molly and Irene.

“Will you dance with me?” A small voice snapped John out of his thoughts. He looked to the source of the voice and saw a small blonde girl, wearing a pale green floral dress, tugging on his jacket. “Mister.” She blinked at him.

He looked around for her parents but didn't see anyone looking for her. “Where are your parents?” He bent down to her level.

She pointed at a couple three tables down. “Over there.” She stared back up at him.

“Tell you what, if you get permission from your parents I will gladly dance with you.” He smiled gently at her. She nodded vigorously before running to her table. John looked back toward his friend and his dance partner. The song had changed tempo and they were moving accordingly.

“My mum said okay.” The little girl tugged on his jacket again. John looked to her parents, who nodded and raised a glass to him.

“Well little lady, I believe I owe you a dance.” He stood and held out a hand to her. She stuck her warm, chubby hand in his and led him to the the dance floor. John mirrored Sherlock's position and placed the little girl on his feet while holding her hands above her. She giggled maniacally when he began to sway to the music. She threw her little head back, her blonde ringlets cascading down her back.

John smiled at the little girl who was having the time of her life. He looked up to find Sherlock staring right at him. He raised his eyebrow and smiled before turning back to his tiny dance partner. They danced for fifteen minutes before she let go of his hands to wrap her arms around his legs and ran off.

“You've been abandoned.” Sherlock's deep voice traveled past John's ear. He sighed deeply.

“Yes, It would seem so.” He faced Sherlock. “Where's Maude?” She was nowhere to be found.

“Loo. Apparently all the movement disturbed her bladder.” He shrugged. John bumped his shoulder into Sherlock's bicep.

“You looked pretty dashing out there. I'm pretty sure every guy in here is fighting for their girlfriend's attention now.” John laughed.

“They're all incompetent on their own.” Sherlock sniffed. “Would you like to dance?”

What?

For what seemed like the hundredth time that night, John's synapses faltered and was rendered speechless.

“Erm, with you?” He squeaked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and held his hand out, “No, with the boogeyman.”

John stared at his hand briefly before covering it with his own. “Okay.”

“I don't think I need to step on your shoes.” John grinned nervously as he was led deeper into the dance floor.

He was pressed tightly against Sherlock's firm chest, trying not to hyperventilate. It was just a dance.

Just a slow dance between two best friends, yes, because that's clearly-

“Breathe John.” The corners of Sherlock's lips were turned up slightly.

John sucked in as much oxygen as he could without passing out and nodded in reassurance. Sherlock stared a moment longer before taking the first step. John tried really hard not to step on his toes but he knew he caught Sherlock's feet a couple times. He never faltered or acknowledged John's mishaps and continued their waltz as gracefully as he did with Maude. John eased into the dance and became gradually more relaxed, eventually resting his head against the genius's chest. He smelled faintly of coffee and pine from his soap.

John tried to stifle the large yawn in against Sherlock's chest but of course the detective noticed.

“Ready to go home?” He looked down his nose. John just nodded. They stopped mid-dance and made their way to their table to say goodbye. They both kissed the women on their cheeks. Maude had snagged Sherlock and John into a tight group hug. Henry was still sleeping so they didn't wake him.

The pair made their way back to the street.

“I'm knackered.” John yawned. “That was surprisingly more fun than I thought it would be.”

Sherlock chuckled and hailed a cab. They climbed in and watched as the city lights passed blended into one another. John rested his head against the window and shut his eyes.

“Sleep John, I'll wake you up when we get home.”

He didn't reply. He simply drifted off into a deep slumber, the smell of coffee and pine radiating around him.

Chapter Text

“Um...” John started nervously and cleared his throat, “Enjoy your summer?”

The professor briefly scanned his form before resting his glare on John's face. He simply grunted in response, his nose wrinkling in mild disgust. John rubbed his neck and put his exam paper on the table. Ever since his genius friend's outburst concluded in thoroughly embarrassing his professor, he did everything to make sure he stayed as invisible as possible. He'd even resorted to finishing the semester sitting in the last row, all the way in the back of the lecture hall.

He tugged his bag over his shoulder, relieved that there was no longer the massive weight of textbooks slamming between his shoulder blades. “Right,” John turned on his heels and met up with Mike, who was waiting for him outside of the double doors.

“It's over,” Mike clapped a hand on John's shoulder, “At least for now.”

John cracked a smile, “Just handed in my last paper.”

It was his last exam before the long break. He was more than thrilled to delude himself into thinking that he had no other obligations for a few weeks other than working and paying his rent.

“You up for a celebratory pint tonight?” John felt they deserved it. They'd just spend months devoting their lives to no sleep, caffeine highs, and an occasional mental breakdown. He was determined to reward himself for pulling through, yet again, rather than giving up and just devoting his life to stripping. It was an accomplishment.

“Nah, can't. I've got a date tonight,” Mike winked at him, beaming with pride. “Where's that nutty mate of yours? I'm sure he'd love to terrorize half of London with you.”

“He's out of town tonight. God knows where. He doesn't tell me anything.” John muttered.

He'd known for a few days that Mycroft had requested- more like demanded- that Sherlock accompany him to some formal dinner because Greg couldn't take time off of work. Both of the Holmes brothers failed to mention where that was.

“Not that he's mandated to tell me or anything.” John backtracked.

“Bummer. We'll plan a night out this week. Shoot me a text,” Mike smiled smugly and wiggled his brows, “Gotta get going. Don't wanna be late.”

John shook his head in amusement and waved him off. It took an twenty extra minutes to get home partially because he was moving at a sloth's pace. Tucked away from the busy city hustle was a small video store that he decided to stop into and rent a few seasons of Grey's Anatomy. It seemed he would be having a quiet evening in. He was most definitely not sulking. In fact, John was excited to have a relaxing evening at home without being dragged out of his bed in the middle of the night. Sherlock's last case had led the pair of them to a stake out at a local floral shop. Unfortunately, nature decided that a thunderstorm was necessary and he and Sherlock had come home soaking wet and chilled to the bone. John tried to convince himself that it would do some good to spend time alone. Most importantly, he was not sulking.

“Oiy, what's with the face?” Irene frowned at him. John looked up and glowered at her. She and Molly were sitting on the front steps watching Audrey color on the sidewalk with a blue chalk. He hadn't realized he was already home, even with the slower than usual pace.

“What face?” John feigned ignorance. He wasn't sulking.

“That one.” Irene pointed at his face. “You see this right?” She whispered to Molly who simply giggled and covered her mouth.

“I'm not making a face.”

Audrey squealed, noticing his presence and crawled over to using his pant legs to pull herself up. John shoved the DVDs in his back pocket before bending down to pick her up.

“You are.” Irene raised her brow, “Where's the other half? Never see you two apart.”

“How should I know? I don't own the man. It's not like he has to tell me where he goes all the time. You know, I don't spend every second with him.” John shrugged.

“Sure-”

“So he breaks into my flat every other night. Big deal. Who cares that I have to celebrate the end of term by myself. It's alright. It's not like I'm the one who loses sleep almost every night because his stupid experiments go wrong. Nope. I don't deserve to know what he's up to every once in a while or anything. Who caaares about little ol' John and his feelings. ” John breathed sharply. Whoops.

Yeah, still not sulking.

The women gaped at him before turning toward each other and nodding.

“Alright, come on John. We're going to celebrate with you.” Molly stood and ran into the building to retrieve their purses.

“Wait, what? No?” John furrowed his brows in confusion. “No I'm supposed to have a night in. Alone.”

Irene plucked Audrey from his arms. The little girl shrieked in protest from being disturbed. “No.”

Molly reappeared and shut the door behind her, both bags hanging from their straps in the crook of her elbow. “Ready to go?”

“Wait! No! It's-I'm having a quiet-” John struggled to pull the set of discs from his pocket.”See?! I got DVDs!”

Irene patted his shoulder with her free hand. “That's nice John. Let's go.”

“Okay, Would you rather be half of your height, which isn't much mind you...”

“Wow.”

“...or double your weight?”

The four of them had settled on a popular Indian restaurant a few blocks away. It wasn't overly packed but there was a decent buzz of different conversations resonating in confines of the eatery. The air was thick from a mixture of spices and the abundance of incenses burning. Irene had picked a table nestled in the corner away from the rest of the patrons.

She had somehow coerced John into participating in a game on the way over and was resorting to insulting him at almost every chance she got.

“You know, I am 5'6. I'm not a dwarf or anything.” John glared at her. She didn't look up from her menu.

“Standing next to your boyfriend you are.” She glanced at Molly. “What are you giving her?”

Molly preoccupied herself with trying to entertain her fussy niece who felt the need to climb out of the high chair. She put a box of crayons and some napkins in front of the child.

“And you,” Irene glanced at John, “Answer the question.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I don't know!” He yelled exasperated.

She glared at him “Think.”

John leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. He could have been at home on his sofa with a cold one and the telly but no, he was being subjected to her endless questions. “Half my height.”

Irene snickered at him.

“Fine. You.” He pointed at the waitress who had come to take their order. “Half your height or double your weight?”

She looked between them with wide eyes and stammered “I don't know. I just started here.”

John dropped his chin against his chest and closed his eyes in defeat. The skittish waitress took their orders and scurried away from the table.

“She left the menus.” Molly waved them in the air, twisting her body in the direction the woman had run.

“Would you rather live one 1,000 year life or ten 100 year lives?”

“Jeez, where are you getting...” John trailed off before narrowing his eyes at the woman currently scrolling through her phone, “Are you Googling these?”

“Yes.” She said without looking up, “Now answer the question.”

John fiddled with the straw in his glass of water. “I don't know.” He looked to the child who was coloring on the table- not the napkin, of course that would be too civil-chaotically with her crayons. “What do you think Audrey? One life or ten?”

She looked up at him with disinterest. “No.”

“I think I'd choose ten 100 year lives. As long as they were at random. I'd want to experience as much as I could in different time periods. That would be pretty neat.” Molly sipped at her tea distractedly, eyes on her niece. She didn't even attempt to disarm her.

“See.” Irene nodded in her direction. “Good answer. Now you.”

The waitress arrived at their table effectively deflecting Irene's questions. She set down a plate of samosas and a bowl of banana chips before hastily retreating to her other customers. Crayons forgotten, Audrey reached across and tipped the bowl in her lap. Molly jerked forward catching it before they lost all of their appetizer. The little girl glared at her aunt and threw one of the banana chips from her lap at her.

“Ten 100 year lives.” John speared a samosa and twirled the fork in his hand. “I wouldn't want to watch everyone I love die while I live on. I'd rather live multiple lives to the fullest. Kind of like reincarnation.”

“You are so slow at this John.” Irene pursed her lips at him. “Here's one, you big nerd. Would you rather talk like Yoda or breathe like Vader?”

“Talk like Yoda.” Molly and John agreed.

“Wow. Moving on.” She scrolled for a minute before letting out a sharp laugh. “Would you rather have no one show up at your wedding or funeral?”

Molly grimaced. “Where are you finding these? That's depressing to think about.”

“No.” Audrey shoved a banana chip in her mouth and grinned at the trio.

“Funeral. No. Wedding. Wait, when you say no one are we talking about no one showing up or no one showing up.” Molly contemplated through squinted eyes. “Because there’s a difference.”

“How is there a difference? No one means absolutely no one. Not even the gold digging cousin, twice removed.” Irene replied, mildly concerned for her friend's sanity.

Molly chewed her nails. “Wedding only if my fiance is there. If not then definitely my funeral.” She nodded slowly to herself.

“Ditto.” John said offhandedly, checking his phone. No texts or missed calls. He elected to ignore the slight ache in his chest. John was grateful for the arrival of their food as a means of distraction. As soon as all their plates were on the table, their server ran off again leaving the three of them to quietly inspect their meals. Molly broke the silence first.

“Does it look, “ She paused and poked her curry chicken, “A little green?”

John's forehead wrinkled in distress. “Maybe it's the seasoning?”

“Have we ever eaten here?” Molly looked to her friend, who's cheeks were puffed out to maximum capacity.

Irene looked like a deer caught in headlights. “What? I haven't eaten today. I'm starving.”

“I'm not giving this to Audrey. I have some of her cookies in my bag.” She dug in her purse producing a Ziploc bag of cookies and emptied it in front of the little girl. John nodded slowly to himself and began to cut his chicken. They ate quietly, debating whether or not their choice to eat the food would bite them in the arse later.

“Oh, this one is disgusting. Would you rather eat a diarrhea dipped banana or a sperm filled Twinkie?”

John was in the middle of taking a sip of his water and choked, coughing profusely. He thumped his fist against his chest, trying to ignore the fact that the entire restaurant was now staring at him. When he finished coughing his face was bright red and he greedily sucked in much-needed oxygen. “I'm okay.” He croaked.

“No.” Audrey shoved a cookie at him.

“That was pretty gross.” Molly wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“You think?!” John choked out.

“Answer the question.” Irene chewed her food, waiting patiently for him to answer yet another part of her never ending interrogation.

He shook his head feverishly. “They're both equally disgusting.”

“I'd choose the Twinkies.” She pushed her empty plate to the center of the table and leaned into her chair.

Her answer didn't surprise him in the slightest. With the amount of 'visitors' she had coming in and out of her flat, he wouldn't have been surprised if she did it just for the hell of it. He knew she had her odd preferences and kinks. She'd asked for his opinion on her 'adult toys' on more than one occasion. It was slightly unnerving. John had also been forced to sign for her shipments a few times, gaining concerned looks from the postman. He had to resign his duties when the postman asked if he wanted company to break in the new equipment.

“Probably the Twinkies.” John shuddered.

The two women looked at each other.

“Interesting. Next question.”

“Oh god.” John wiped a hand over his face.

He shifted uncomfortably in his bed. His skin prickled as he became aware of the heat emitting from his body. Kicking the covers off and flipping his pillow to the cooler side, he tried to relax and focus on the images coming from his television. The clock on his bedside table read half past eleven. They'd gotten home from the restaurant around seven and parted ways. He hadn't been in the mood to entertain company and had retreated to his room with a bowl of kettle corn and Grey's. As many times as he checked it and rechecked it, his phone never rang. He considered texting his friend and had gotten as far as completing the texts, but never sent them. John figured that if Sherlock needed him, he would call.

The room was becoming increasingly warm so he got up to turn on his fan. As soon as he stood he felt an unpleasant pressure deep in his gut. He felt like there was a lump sitting at the base of his throat and he tried to breathe slowly through his nose. Crawling back on his bed, he tried to lay as relaxed as possible. John reached an arm out slowly to the nightstand and palmed his phone. The bright light irritated his eyes and produced a painful throbbing in his head. Scrolling through his contacts, he selected the names he was looking for and opened a group text.

Are you feeling weird?

-John

He set the phone on his chest and closed his eyes. His eyelids felt heavy against his face. He wasn't sure how much time had passed but he sat up suddenly and clutched his stomach. The mild queasiness had morphed into full blown nausea. He could feel his food from that evening slowly ascending from his stomach up to his throat as reverse peristalsis took effect. John jumped out of his bed and fled to empty his belly. He didn't make it to the toilet. Rather, he leaned into his sink and heaved out the contents of his stomach. The disgusting feeling of rice pellets sliding out of his throat and hiding in the nook between his lips and gums made him gag even harder. He leaned against the wall, panting for breath. The stench of the vomit made his stomach turn so he quickly rinsed out the sink and his mouth. Sliding to the floor, he laid his cheek against the cool tile. John wasn't sure how much time had passed before he heard the front door open and close.

“John?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. Sherlock. He heard footsteps coming quickly towards him.

“John? Are you in there?” Heavy knocking. Too loud.

“Go away.” John croaked.

The door slammed open against the wall. He flinched.

“John?” Sherlock breathed, bending down to his level. John didn't open his eyes but he could feel Sherlock assessing his current state. “What did you eat?”

“Chickennn...” John mumbled into the floor.

“Indian, according the the pungent smell of your sick.” He wrinkled his nose. “Do you want water?”

“No.”

John heard rustling of fabric and cracked his eyes open slightly. His friend was shifting to sit next to him.

“Umm.” The genius began awkwardly. “Should I...rub your back? Or something?”

“No.” He whispered, “Movement. Nauseous.”

John could hear the clicking of the buttons as Sherlock typed away on his phone. “You didn't go to eat alone, it's obvious you dislike the lack of company, and I wasn't present. So I will assume one of the ladies of Baker Street accompanied you. Likely Ms. Hooper and Ms. Adler.”

“Mmm.” John could feel the churning in his stomach slowly subsiding. He knew it wouldn't be long before he felt sick again.

“John. You have food poisoning and according to Google, you need fluids and rest. Can you stand?”

He didn't answer immediately but eventually took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “I think so.”

Sherlock sprang to his feet before reaching down and hooking an arm under John's armpit. John leaned heavily against his friend's large frame.

“You smell good.” He mumbled quietly. “But I'm mad at you.”

Laughter rumbled through Sherlock's chest. He slowly led John to his room before helping him climb into the bed. John scooted fluidly onto bed not wanting to make any jerky movements in case it set him off again. Sherlock propped the pillows behind his back and tried to cover him with the duvet but John protested.

“Mm' too hot.” John rolled his head and looked at Sherlock through droopy eyes. “I feel like utter shit. Never eating again.” He curled up in a tight ball as a wave of nausea surged through his abdomen. Sherlock briskly left the room- John assumed he didn't want to see what was inevitable. He lay miserably in his bed trying to keep the contents in his stomach, in his stomach.

“Can we join?” A raspy voice came from his doorway. He slowly uncoiled and rolled over to greet the voices. Irene was hunched with a pillow tucked under her arm. Her hair was sticking in every direction and her eyes were as red as her smeared lipstick. Molly was dead on her feet and was holding onto a bucket for dear life. Half of her hair was in a sideways ponytail and the other half splayed across her cheek. They both looked just as miserable as John felt. He wondered how he looked.

“You too?” He whispered. He never got to check his phone for their replies. In any case, he was looking at his answer.

“Damn rancid chicken. They tried to kill us.” Molly groaned. Her eyes widened and she shoved her face in the bucket as she ran out of the room, presumably to the bathroom.

“I'm never eating again.” The dark haired beauty crawled to the opposite side of the bed, and curled into her pillow.

“Where's Audrey? Did she get sick too?” John closed his eyes and tried to ignore the churning in his belly.

“Nope. Mrs. Hudson-.” She moaned loudly and curled even further into herself.

“Bathroom's free.” Molly came back a little less green. A light sheen of sweat coated her forehead.

John gagged. He covered his mouth and dashed toward the toilet.

He made it this time. There wasn't any food left in his stomach so he resorted to puking bile, his stomach spasming painfully. John could feel tears springing to his eyes from squeezing them so tightly.

When the spasms subsided and he was able to move again, he rinsed his mouth and crept back toward his bed. Irene was laying at the edge on one side, still curled but cuddled up closer to her friend. Molly was sitting up against the headboard, a pillow behind her back and her bucket in her lap. John slowly slid back into the bed and rested on his side in fetal position. It took away some of the strain from the muscles in his abdomen.

He was beginning to doze off when he heard the bedroom door creak open.

“Sh'lck?”

Sherlock waltzed in carrying what seemed like a dozen grocery bags. He went straight to John's dresser and set the bags down, pulling out the items onto the surface. He turned around and opened his mouth to speak but caught sight of the three sick people in John's bed and furrowed his brows.

“I didn't know what you needed, so I got one of everything.”

Sure enough, there was a case of water, four bottles of blue Gatorade, a box of Alka-Seltzer, a bundle of bananas, a box of saltines, a pack of dishtowels, a plastic garbage can, a bottle of Listerine, and a pack of new toothbrushes. John wished he could adequately convey the adoration and gratitude he felt toward the man standing uncomfortably in front of him. He groaned lightly and gave a weak attempt at a smile.

“I'll be right back John.” Sherlock grabbed the garbage can, the dish towels and left the room. John could hear movement in the kitchen. The clatter of mugs being knocked against each other and the fridge opening rang loudly through the flat. A loud crash resonated through the air followed by an angry curse. John chuckled weakly before being yelled at by Irene complaining he was shaking the bed and upsetting her stomach.

A little while later Sherlock came back into the room, looking badly disheveled. His usually pristine shirt was darkly stained and his hair was dripping. There was a small trash bag tucked into the front of his trousers as he tried to juggle three tea mugs, three empty glasses and the newly soaked rags.

“J-John. I made tea. I think.” Sherlock spluttered and tried to put the mugs on the bedside table without spilling any liquid. “I tried to boil the water in the kettle but it evaporated so I had to start again. Then I couldn't find your tea bags, you should really find a better spot for them by the way. The oven isn't the smartest place to keep them. Then I dropped the jar of sugar, I'll buy you a new one and then-”

“Shut the hell up Sherlock.” Irene hissed at him and then groaned in pain.

He glared at her.

“I don't feel good.” Molly was as green as a piece of broccoli. Sherlock set the glasses down on the dresser and poured water in all three. He ripped open the box of Alka-Seltzer and popped one in each glass. John watched as he fought with the plastic bag, trying to get it to stay in the trash can. The more it stuck to his hands the more frustrated he got. John was too nauseous to laugh. Sherlock had apparently forgotten about the wet rags on his shoulder-streaks of water racing down the back of his shirt-and yelped when he felt cold water drip down his trousers.

He quickly yanked them off his shoulder and brought them over to the bed. The man stood awkwardly, unsure of how to go about taking care of his ill neighbors. He placed on rag carefully over John's forehead, assessing his reaction. Satisfied by the small moan John made, he moved on to the two women, placing one on both of their foreheads as well.

“Sweet Jesus.” Irene breathed.

“Thank you Sh'lck.” Molly sighed.

“You should drink something.” Sherlock carried over the fizzy water to the three of them. John's stomach lurched at the taste and he covered his mouth in effort to subdue his nausea.

“I'm going to puke.” Irene hopped off the bed and ran too relieve her stomach.

A loud snore ripped through the air. Molly had nodded off and had her mouth open slightly. The rag was slipping from her forehead and instinctively John reached to catch it- the jerky movements effectively upsetting his belly.

“Bucke-”

Thankfully Sherlock had quickly handed him the bucket because John barfed what little fluid he had consumed. The loud noise disturbed Molly, who jerked awake, and also began puking in her bucket. The look on Sherlock's face would have been comical if John weren't so miserable. The genius had two of his neighbors puking in bed and the other probably dying in the bathroom. Oh well. Misery loves company.

“You can-” Gag. “Go.” Gag. “Don't have” Gag. “To stay.” John coughed up more bile.

“I know.” Sherlock murmured.

“Water.” Irene stumbled in. “Please.”

He walked her back to the bed and opened a bottle for her.

“Can you take this?” Molly whispered, holding out her bucket to her distressed friend.

Sherlock somehow produced gloves, shoved his hands inside a pair and took both buckets out of the room. He returned them clean and vomit free.

“Mm' hungry.”

“Christ. You're joking right?” John grumbled.

There was a long pause before he heard a quiet 'Don't judge me.'

“Sherlock, I will puke again if you don't change this show.” Irene muttered.

John forget he had been watching a big of Grey's and the screen was showing a disturbing clip of a man who's intestines were hanging out into the arms of a doctor. Sherlock quickly switched it off and put some random channel on.

John's clock read one thirty in the morning. He was nauseous and exhausted. He was also not in his right mind.

“Sherlock, can you sit with me?” John whispered pathetically. His throat was sore from the overuse of his esophageal muscles. Sherlock looked unsure of the request and opted for standing closer to the bed.

“No. Here.” John weakly patted the spot next to him.

“John!”

“Get in the damn bed Sherlock so he'll stop moving.”

The three of them scooted back slowly to allow room for the taller man. He slid in the bed next to John stiffly and sat with his back against the bed frame.

“Okay?” He murmured.

“Mmm.”

Silence fell over Baker Street if only for a few minutes.

“Would you rather die from food poisoning or from being murdered?”

“Ohmygod.”

“Isn't it kind of the same thing?”

“Ask Sherlock about the Twinkies.”

“What Twinkies?”

Irene's voice was muffled by her pillow.“Would you rather eat a diarrhea dipped banana or a sperm filled Twinkie?”

“I'm going to vomit all over you when you fall asleep.” John muttered. Without thinking, he rested his head on his best friend's lap.
Sherlock stiffened momentarily before relaxing. He lightly rested his hand on John's shoulder after a while.“The Twinkies, for sure.”

“Yessssss.”

“Oh you poor thing, you probably want your Aunt.” Mrs. Hudson cooed at the wide eyed little girl. Tears threatened to spill over and her bottom lip trembled.

“Let's just see...” She trailed off and made her way into the hallway.”Oh, Mycroft. You come back here this instant. I know you saw me.” Mycroft Holmes rolled his eyes upward and turned on his heel to face the building super.

“Of course. How can I be of assistance to you Mrs. Hudson?” He tilted his head and plastered a fake smile on his face.

“Do me a favor, poor dears came in sick as a dog last night. Go see if you can find them, will you? Little Audrey is missing her aunt.”

“If my memory is correct, and I'm quite sure it is, I do believe Ms. Hooper, Ms. Adler, and Mr. Watson are snuggled up against my dear brother and are fast asleep. They are tucked quite cozily in Mr. Watson’s bed. Now if you'll excuse me, I must be getting to work. Good day.” Mycroft tipped an invisible hat and turned from the elderly woman.

He'd known that the three of them had fallen ill and required assistance to which his brother was strangely eager to oblige. It was quite a sight. Mycroft had strolled into John's flat and obviously deduced there was only one place the four of them could be. Sure enough, they were nestled up against one another. His brother was sitting up, arms wrapped around the blonde man who reciprocated the gesture. John was curled up against the younger Holmes's side, arms locked around his waist. Ms. Hooper was spooned against his back, her head resting on his hip, one arm around a bucket. Irene Adler had her legs intertwined with the other young woman and was cuddling her pillow.

Little moments, as such no matter how disturbing, come and go. Without proper documentation, there can be no evidence. Without evidence there can be no case. Fortunately Mycroft Holmes knew this much and snapped a photo, deciding to hold it until it became useful. Although it would come in handy sooner than later.

Chapter Text

Maybe it was because the building was stuffed with mildly psychotic tenants and a toddler. Surely too many people that close together can cause a bit of mayhem.

It could have been due to the fact that he was still recovering from the bout of food poisoning that wreaked havoc in his flat. But that was almost a week ago.

Or perhaps it was because he was a complete sucker and didn't know how to say no. The latter was more likely.

That was precisely how John found himself sitting on a white, leather couch with his feet soaking in a massaging foot bath, reading a magazine. He had just taken a hot shower and was freshly shaven. His hair was wrapped in a towel turban and the airy smell of coconut from his shampoo lingered around him.

This may seem relatively normal.

“Christ, this is making my balls itch. John, do these pantyhose make me look fat?”

John glanced up at the man who was elbow deep in his pantyhose scratching furiously at his manhood.

“No Greg, you do not look any fatter than you did ten minutes ago.”

He looked back to his magazine.

“It is highly unlikely my penis will magically phase through the fabric and wave at everyone. So I'd greatly appreciate if you'd stop walking behind me with that penile contraption because I'm not wearing it. John, get her away from me.”

John sighed heavily, closing his magazine, and rested his head against the couch. Useless. The word he was looking for as he tried to come to reasoning as to why he continued to find himself in situations as such. The universe was plotting against him, he convinced himself. John fantasized about his bed and a chicken sandwich. Suffering from food poisoning and having to readjust to his normal appetite had left him hungry more often than not. He could be at home in his bed with a chicken sandwich. Key word, could. He, of course, was not. No. Instead, John found himself surrounded by glitter, sequins, and rhinestones, inhaling ten pounds of hairspray and perfume. A feather boa flew past his face and a young man, who looked completely drained, made his way to John with a basket of nail polish. John noticed the man had a name tag on that read 'Peter, Asst.'.

“I'm thinking we'll just put press-on nails, we're running later than expected, and I'll give you a french on your toes. Where did I put the sparkle polish.” He dug through the basket furiously.

“Sherlock, stop moving! I've seen you naked!”

“Not by choice!” Sherlock yelped loudly as the gaff snapped harshly against his skin. “You intentionally did that.”

Irene Adler grinned at the dark-haired man. The entire fiasco was her fault and she was enjoying it way more than was necessary. “Your arse is pastier than glue. You need some sun.” She rubbed her chin, admiring the view.

“You could kill someone with these bad babies.” Greg offhandedly told absolutely no one and continued to busy himself modeling different pairs of heels.

This is where his life was taking him. He was meant to sit in a room watching Greg Lestrade strike poses in front of a mirror, clad in tan pantyhose and a pair of white stilettos, while Sherlock Holmes, genius extraordinaire, dug out the gaff riding up the crack of his arse.

John closed his eyes and relaxed, allowing Peter to work on his toes. He could vaguely hear Sherlock insulting Irene and Greg click-clacking around the room. The only thing he could do was focus on his breathing as he attempted to find his happy place instead of wondering how he ended up getting ready to participate in a drag contest.

-A few hours earlier-

John stretched his legs under the afghan, pressing his toes hard against his friend's thigh. With the glare Sherlock threw him, he grinned and dug his toes harder into his leg. Sherlock responded by reaching under the covers and yanking on one of his leg hairs. John yelped and retracted his legs, drawing his knees up. The genius looked back to the film they were essentially ignoring. Hellboy flickered on the television screen. The pair were sitting on the sofa in Sherlock's flat barely watching the film, instead choosing to not so subtly torment each other. His stomach rumbled loudly. He threw his head back and groaned.

“I'm hungry.” Heaving himself off the couch, he made his way to the cluttered kitchen in search of food that would prove to be futile. The man barely ever kept any food in his refrigerator, deciding the cold box would be more suitable for severed body parts and bags of blood. Ahh, there were rotting mice in bags this week. Fantastic. He found a measuring cup behind expired milk filled to the brim with-

“Sherlock, is this pee? Please tell me this isn't pee.”

“It's horse urine, John. I needed it for a case.” John swore loudly as he sniffed the putrid liquid. Sherlock's phone rang out and he fiddled with the buttons before answering with a curt 'what do you want'.

John gave up his search in the fridge and moved to the cabinets over the sink. They weren't as terrifying as the previous location. Most of the cans that resided there were already out of date. The sound of his stomach growling filled his ears in contrast to Sherlock, who was animatedly yelling into his phone.

“No, don't come down here. Stay where you are. NO-” Sherlock pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at John. “She hung up on me.”

John scoffed loudly. “Oh yes, call the queen.” He threw away another overly expired can of tuna. It read two years back. Curiosity willed him to open it, just to see what it looked like, but sheer terror prevented him from doing so. “Who was that?”

Sherlock's door slammed open, hard enough that the walls vibrated. John sighed when he saw the perpetrator. This was not going to be good.

“You promised.” Ms. Adler sauntered right up to the genius and poked his chest rhythmically to her words. “You said you would. I am relying on you.” She folded her arms and glared at him.

“I was highly intoxicated when you asked. I wasn't in my right mind and therefore should not be held accountable for my promises.” Sherlock picked invisible lint off of his shirt.

She shook her head and finally noticed John. “Oh, hello John.” He wiggled his fingers at her. “Can you please tell this liar that he has to help me because he promised”

“What did he promise?” He leaned against the counter. Eventually he would figure out that was the worst question he could have asked.

“There's a show tonight. Well it's more of a contest. An old friend of mine asked if I knew anyone who could participate. Some of the contestants dropped out and she needed more bodies.” She grinned to herself, “I asked Sherlock the night we all got drunk and he said he would do it.”

So?

“Well, that doesn't sound too bad Sherlock.” John furrowed his brows and looked to his friend who was glowering at the brunette beauty.

“It's at a gay club.” She paused and took a deep breath, “It's a drag show. He would have to wear a dress.”

John shrieked in laughter and doubled over at the thought of the genius in a dress. If looks could kill, Sherlock would have brutally murdered both of them three times over. Suddenly, he chuckled darkly and looked at John through his eyelashes. John's laughter faltered and he nervously cleared his throat. “What?”

Sherlock backed up next to Irene and stared at him. “On one condition.” She grinned. “You have to participate too.”

His mind screeched to a halt.

What.

" No entiendo Inglés, lo siento.” John tried to retreat from the flat but before reaching the door Sherlock appeared behind him and grabbed his shoulder.

“If I remember correctly, you owe me.” He smiled humorlessly. “I'm cashing in my favor. Now.”

John gaped like a fish.

“But-Sherlock-No-Why-WHY-” John stumbled over his words. Sherlock removed his hand from John's shoulder and clasped them behind his back.

“Oh John, you should really choose your words more carefully. I believe when I asked what I would get in return you said, I don't know, whatever you think of.” Of course he would use that against him. He should have known. Damn. “This is what I'm thinking. If I am to suffer, I will make you suffer with me.”

“Great!” Irene clapped her hands together and grabbed the pair, dragging them from the flat. “We've got to get going. We've got a lot to get through tonight and you two are going to be pampered until your skin comes off.”

John wordlessly let himself be thrown out of the building. He shut the front door behind him and followed the genius to the cab waiting for them. Irene slid into the vehicle, followed by Sherlock. John tried to come up with a plan that would allow him to escape without Sherlock kidnapping him and stuffing him in the trunk.

“Don't bother, John. I'm faster and more adept. I will catch up.”

He pouted and climbed into the cab. It was true. There was no point. He folded his arms and looked out the window as they began to move.

“She got you guys too?”

John whipped his head around and was greeted by a sulking Greg.

“GREG?” He stared open-mouthed at the DI. “What are you doing here?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “John, your inability make connections is astounding. Obviously, Lestrade here is in the same predicament we are. He was blackmailed. Ms. Adler here, has been doing her homework.”

Irene batted her eyelashes at them and smiled. “You're all so gullible. It was easier than taking candy from a baby.”

It was a short car ride. No more than twenty minutes. They pulled up to a large brick building that was nestled between two bars. The exterior business sign was dominated in neon pink and purple flashing letters that read 'Candy Needles'. Windows on the terrace above had multiple rainbow flags swinging in the wind. A few women, lingered outside smoking and laughing with one another.

“This is your stop.” The cabbie peered at them through the rear view mirror. John, Irene and Sherlock made a mad dash out of the vehicle leaving Greg to pay the fare.

“You lot are the worst.”

The men followed behind Irene as she strolled up to the building entrance.

“Irene!” The women who were smoking rushed forward and enveloped the beauty in a hug. “Where have you been darling, it's so good to see you.”

“I've brought you presents.” She gestured for the three men to come forward. The closer they got, John realized they weren't women. They were men in drag and boy, were they stunning. He could barely tell the difference. There was a slightly darker tint around their jaws where stubble was poking through. One of the men had on a silk robe and, assuming it was what it looked like, a blonde wig. The other had on shorts and a t-shirt. His wig was a deep red and was pulled into a ponytail. John was momentarily confused because he could see what were very clearly bulges where breasts would be.

“So handsome. Look at this one.” The blonde grabbed Greg's chin and pulled it forward, inspecting his face. Poor Greg stood there, eyes wide and arms dangling.

“Mmm.” Irene and the red-head were standing together analyzing Sherlock and John. Sherlock shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and rolled his eyes. He looked cool as a cucumber as opposed to John who was fidgeting restlessly.

“Well gentlemen, this is Ginger,” She put her arm around the red-head, “...and Heidi. You'll be under their direct supervision tonight.”

“We'll take good care of you.” Heidi winked at the trio. Greg shuffled quietly towards his neighbors.

“Oh sweetie, you shouldn't frown so much. Your face will freeze like that. Then you'll look like Heidi.” Ginger took a drag from her cigarette, gazing at Sherlock who was frowning.

“Impossible. Unless one loses control of facial muscles, symptoms of specific diseases that are generally indicated at birth, or develops a illness in which muscle control is affected, it is simply an old wives tale.” Sherlock sniffed.

“Excuse him, he's naturally rude.” Irene waved her hand in his direction.

“No, I'm naturally intelligent and it's common sense.”

Ginger grinned at him and stubbed out her cigarette with her heel.

“Let's get moving, shall we.”

Compared to the plain exterior of the building, the interior of the club was magnificent. There was a massive 'T' shaped stage; It was sleek black and outlined in vivid gold. The runway portion of the stage intercepted the middle of the room. Tables covered in sparkly white table cloths and candelabras lined both sides. The part of the stage that ran perpendicular to the runway had a large archway overhead. There were gold swirls lining the cut of the archway. It was painted to look as if there were large pillars were holding the structure up. Adjacent to the pillars were various sizes of gold triangles and blue circles that scattered across the walls. Inside of the archway was a long silver curtain that was cut in long strands. It reminded John of Christmas tinsel. Cut out stars and diamonds were dangling in front of the curtain. To the far left, against the wall, were three bars lined alongside each other.

It was quite a sight.

Ginger and Heidi led the four of them past the stage, through a barely visible black door. It was virtually undetectable unless you knew what you were looking for. They were led into a large stage room filled with half naked performers running around preparing themselves for the show. John coughed loudly, trying to clear his lungs of the hairspray and perfume that thickened the air. The walls were an eggplant purple and there were makeup stations lining the room. Neon lights were strung across the ceiling. There were two leather couches pushed together, back to back, and a coffee table in the middle of the chaos. An entire shelf of wigs dominated the left wall. He could see racks holding costumes and dresses, everywhere. Every corner and every wall had a metal rack overly stuffed with clothes. Walking through the room was like walking through a mine field. Various heels littered the floor and John tripped three times before even making it halfway across. There were fake breasts on almost every station.

“Unfortunately you three are going to have to share a work space. You'll have someone over to help you get ready. Ms. Adler will stay with you and give you the run down.” Heidi winked at the men. “Now we're raising money for a larger performance space. I know you're unfamiliar with our glamorous ways but give it your all. Be fierce. We desperately need the money.”

“Oh crap.” Ginger sucked her teeth and looked at the two women. “They need a persona. Or at least names.”

Irene grinned wickedly. “Oh leave that to me.” She ran off, disappearing into the horde of people.

“Alright, gentlemen. Strip!” Heidi clapped her hands together.

“Okay, honey. Slip these on and we'll get you over to makeup.” Peter handed him a pair of foam slippers. John sucked in a deep breath and tucked his feet into the slippers, careful not to focus too much on his painted toes.

“Hey John, how do I look now?” Greg was giving him a shit-eating grin, and fondling the silicone breastplate hanging from his chest. “I have tits.”

“And a beard, so go get that shaved. But before you go,” Irene held a hat upside down and gave it a shake. “Pick a piece of paper and that will be your stage name for the evening. You first Greg.”

Greg hobbled over, grinning like a fool. John felt that the man got way too much excitement from this. He dug his fingers in the hat and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He opened it and stared for a long while.“Pandora. That's weird.”

Peter came back with an armful of makeup and set it down on the work table. He gestured for John to close his eyes. The assistant applied a cream foundation over John's face.

“I didn't forget you Sherlock. Get you arse over here.” She snapped.

“Your hostility is unappreciated.” Sherlock's deep voice resonated through the room. John still had his eyes closed, but he could hear the rustling of the parchment as his friend picked his name. “Delirium” The monotony to his voice did not go unnoticed. John cackled like a mad man earning a glare from Peter.

“That's so fitting, it's scary. You make people crazy.”

“Yeah, crazy with rage.” Greg chortled. “Ahh, I'm just kidding Sherlock. Jeez, take a chill-pill.”

“Careful Greg. There's no such thing as a chill pill. Let's not be stupid.” John mocked the genius. He felt a sharp pain in his left nipple. “OW!” His eyes snapped open and he stared at the taller man in shock. “What was that for?”

“Take a chill pill John.” Sherlock glowered at him. He turned on his heels and plopped on the couch, folding his arms over his chest like a two year old.

“Last but not least, John. I will pick your name for you since you are otherwise preoccupied.” She said a little too sweetly. “Jeronimo, with a 'J '.”

“Oh dear god.” It was typical of fate to give him the most ridiculous name of the batch.

“Look up please.” Peter quietly demanded him. John obliged and could not help but blink like a moron when the curler slipped over his eyelashes. It took Peter twenty minutes to apply eyeshadow over John's lids, line them, put mascara on, apply false lashes, and add more mascara. John was becoming restless much to Peter's dismay.

“Stop moving or I will shave off your eyebrows.” He threatened. John stilled immediately. After a few moments he felt soft pressure lining his lips. “John, you have really thin lips.” He heard Irene mutter.

John grumbled through barely parted lips.“Eat one, lady.”

“Gladly.” She smirked. “Sherlock get to makeup. Greg, stop playing with your nipples and find someone to help you with your wig.”

John suppressed his laughter for Peters sake. He couldn't really blame Greg for being excited to spend a few hours as a woman. It was typical for a man to wonder what it's like to have breasts, but nothing ever compelled him to figure out how to make it happen. He decided that this one experience was enough to last a lifetime. John sat in his chair with his eyes closed for what seemed like an eternity. He listened to the loud buzz of people conversing in the room. Someone was listening to 'Black Velvet' on the radio. Sherlock was busying himself criticizing the makeup artist while Greg was practically tap dancing in his heels around the room.

“All done.” Peter leaned back and held his hands together in obvious delight. “I'm amazing.”

John looked in the mirror on the work station and felt his heart palpitate.

I look like a goddamn woman.

His lids were thickly lined in black, coming to a sharp point just before the bridge of his nose. There was a sliver of tan that peaked behind the thick fringe of his false lashes. Rather than have his eyebrows plucked, Peter simply shaped them to the angle of his eye to make him appear more feminine. His cheeks were defined sharply in a dusty rose that put Sherlock's cheekbones to shame. His lips were the most striking as they were a deep, glossy purple. He stared at the newly created woman in the mirror and broke out into uncontrollable giggles.

“I look like a woman, holy shit.” He giggled and turned his head striking different poses, never taking his eyes off himself.

“Alright Narcissus, let's get this hair piece in.” Peter made his way behind John and began clipping in the hair piece. He had short hair so it took magic and a lot of bobby pins for the assistant to fasten the piece in place. “Done.” There was a bun, the same color of his sandy blonde hair, poking out from behind his ear. John took in his image and smiled at himself.

“I make a hot woman.” He pursed his lips and grinned.

“Woah, John. I thought you were a bloody girl.” Greg waltzed over, still in his heels. John leaned further into his chair and threw his head back in laughter at the sight of the DI. The man had completed his look and was officially a drag queen named Pandora. There was a wig full of bright red curls atop his head. It was a hilarious contrast compared to his usual short hair. Like John, his top eyelids were heavily lined with black eyeliner and false lashes however his bottom lids were lined in hot pink. They painted his lips in an alarming shade of magenta. His eyebrows were defined to a sharp point and his cheeks were much more softly blended than John's. It was nothing compared to the sequin mermaid gown he was strutting around in. It was a V-neck dress that illuded cinching at the waist. The top portion of the dress was striped in purple, orange, and yellow; They met in the middle and formed a line that angled the stripes upward to his cleavage. At his knees began the large pink and orange ruffles that danced around his calves.

John was gasping through his laughter. “Your-arms-are-so-buff.” He tried to control his breathing but took another look at the man and began all over again.

“To hell with you. I look amazing.” Greg placed a hand on his hip and struck a pose.

John shook his head. “I'm sure Mycroft wouldn't be able to resist you now.” He choked out another laugh at the thought.

“I'm surprised you'd willingly think of such an atrocity, John.” Sherlock made his way over, fastening a clip-on earring to his earlobe. Neither man said anything and chose to gawk at the genius instead.

“What?”

They were deathly silent.

“Is there something on my face?” Sherlock folded his arms and glared at the two men.“What is it?”

The consulting detective was standing, even taller than he normally was, in a form fitting black dress. It was an off-the-shoulder, long sleeve gown. There were large beads in various shades of black, grey and white covering it's length. The dress cut out a deep 'U' shape in the middle of his chest that just barely covered where his nipples would be. It completely accentuated the curves of his skinny frame. They hadn't put a wig or hair piece on him-he most likely complained and threatened to leave- but instead parted his curls and clipped a red flower by his ear. His light eyes looked freakishly demonic as his eyes were lined in a crimson, covered by thick lashes. They'd outlined his lips black and filled in the middle a light grey. It blended beautifully and reminded John of the moon.

Greg let out a low whistle. “Are you sure you're not really a chick?”

Sherlock scoffed.”If by that you mean, am I sure I have a fully functional set of male genitals, then yes. I am completely positive.” He looked to John, who was still staring at him. “Mm. That's not your color John.”

“Well, well, well.” Ginger and Heidi sauntered over to them accompanied by a smug Irene. “You boys clean up very well.”

“John, lets get your dress on.” Peter appeared with a long purple and turquoise, sleeveless gown decorated in sequins. It had a sweetheart neck-line and long slit that stopped mid thigh. It was striped in an angle that would elongate John's body and add height. He slipped it on with Peter's help and shoved his feet in a pair of black peep-toe pumps.

“Thanks for putting up with us Peter.” John smiled and patted the man on his back.

“Pleasure was all mine. See you in a few.” Peter squeezed his shoulder and exited the room.

The three men stood together analyzing each other. Irene bumped hips with them and smiled before facing the middle of the room. Ginger and Heidi were standing on stools trying to hush everyone’s excited banter.

“Alright ladies, tonight is the night. I'd like to take a moment and thank all of you that came out, especially last minute. Tonight, we will make history. You will go out there and you will be fierce.” Heidi clapped. The other queens in the room cheered loudly.

“You will be sensational.” Ginger snapped her fingers.

“You will be seductive.” Heidi slid her hands over her hips. Catcalls and whistles filled the air.

“But most of all.” Ginger gestured for the room to quiet down and she clasped her hands together. She smiled wickedly and winked. “You will be Queens.”

They erupted in cheers and screams. John and Greg laughed and clapped their hands. Sherlock was ignoring everyone and was busy texting before being nudged harshly by John.

“Okay, I have the order of which you will be exiting through that door” Ginger pointed behind to the door they entered earlier, “and onto the stage. Make sure to smile and wave. Alright, as I call your name, line up.” She skimmed over her list. “Dee Licious, May Hemm, Kata Klismic...”

Greg leaned over and whispered “And I thought our names were weird.”

“Ivy Dripp.”

John laughed quietly. “At least it's not as ludicrous as Jeronimo with a 'J '. Mine sucks.”

“Paris Ite.”

That one was on the more ridiculous side. Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Why would anyone want to ever be classified as a parasite?”

“Pandora.”

Greg grinned. “Oh, that's me. See you pricks out there.” With that, he all but ran to take his place.

“Polly Amorous”

“I bet I'll beat you.” John bumped shoulders with his extra tall friend. Sherlock chuckled humorlessly and gave him a sideways glance.

“No you won't.”

“Ophelia Cox”

John feigned mock offense. “I bet you I will.”

“Don't you realize that you are stuck participating in a drag show because of your incessant need to gamble.” Sherlock looked at him through his lashes.

“Jeronimo”

He couldn't let it settle like that. “If I beat you, you owe me. If you beat me, I owe you. Deal?”

“And if Lestrade wins?” Sherlock raised his brow, “Highly unlikely, but still. It's best to cover all bases.”

“Jeronimo?” People were looking around, waiting for him.

“Then we call it a draw until next time. Deal?” John began walking towards his place in line, never looking away from his friend.

Sherlock grinned. “Deal.”

“Miss Diagnosed, Tequila Mockingbird, and last but never least, Delirium.”

As soon as everyone was in their place Heidi led them single file to the stage door. They could clearly hear intro music and the energy in the room immediately changed. John could tell that all the queens were adapting to the role of their alter ego.

“Hello! Hello! People of London! Welcome to Candy Needles! Where we are deliciously dangerous! Allow us to heal your maladies with our delectable confectioneries! Let's give our ladies a very special welcome! Your drag-queen pageant contestants!”

Ginger snapped her fingers at the first woman. “Count to thirty and begin walking. Good luck.”

John chewed on his lip. He was buzzing with energy, filled to the brim with excitement and nervousness. He felt a tap on his shoulder. John looked to the brunette man with large silicon breasts and fake butterflies scattered across her neck, intertwining with her hair.

“Oh darling, you look positively stunning. I don't think we've met before.” She kissed both his cheeks. “I am Magnolia.” She flipped her hair with her hand. He could see the distinct lines of her bicep. It should have looked weird, a man in a dress, but she looked truly gorgeous. Biceps aside.

John smiled. “Nice to meet you. I'm Jo-” He faltered. Was he supposed to give his real name or the name Irene assigned him. “Jeronimo. Or John, whichever you prefer.” He shrugged. Might as well give her both.

“Ooh,” Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips. “I like that. It's adventurous. Tell me John, are you adventurous?”

He looked past her, at the end of the line. Sherlock sitting in a chair, texting away, completely unaware of the line that was steadily moving. He would probably get up right before his name was called or even wait until it was.

“Apparently today I am.” He smiled at his ignorant friend. Magnolia noticed because she turned with him and hummed in appreciation.

“Oh my breasts, who is that beautiful creature? He is magnificent.” She narrowed her eyes at Sherlock and licked her lips. John stared at her, brows raised in mild concern for his friend. If Sherlock were a lollipop, he would have been devoured with the way this lady was staring at him.

“That's my friend. Um, Delirium.” John scratched at his forearm, a nervous habit. Normally, Sherlock would catch him and move his hand before he could cause angry, red marks but his friend wasn't around to do so.

“Oh, he drives me delirious just with a look. A beautiful man, he is.” She whipped her hair around and faced John. “You are so very lucky. If you ever get bored of him, pass him my number. Tell him I bottom.” She winked.

John nodded slowly. “Will do.” He faced the front of the line trying to shake off the awkwardness that was literally behind him. Greg-Whoops. Pandora must have already gone on because he was nowhere to be found in the line. It didn't take long, less than ten minutes before he was three away from the door. Ginger approached him, clipboard in arms and kissed both his cheeks. Was that a normal thing? He didn't know.

“Okay, I know you're new and all so I'll give you tips. Walk tall, keep your shoulders back and neck elongated. Walk out with a smile and blow a kiss. Keep your chest tight and move your hips more than you're used to. Okay? Good luck!” She gave him two thumbs up as Heidi grabbed him and pushed him through the door.

“Jeronimo!”

John sucked in a deep breath and plastered on a wide smile. He glided out onto the stage, momentarily blinded by the flashing lights. He genuinely hoped no one had epilepsy. Latin music blasted through the speakers. The room was packed to maximum capacity, maybe even beyond that. Almost every individual was standing around the stage, cheering and whistling. There were various flowers that covered the platform. He remembered Ginger's words of advice and blew the audience a kiss. They loved it and screamed louder. He could hear people yelling 'Jeronimo' in absolute adoration. He raised his brow, slipped a hand on his hip and sashayed his way down the runway.

He couldn't deny the thrill he felt knowing, even if they didn't know him, there were people literally throwing themselves at him. The more people reached, the more confident he felt. He even bent down to brush his hands against the outstretched arms. He saw one man burst into tears. At the end of the runway he looked into the crowd. John wanted to both die and laugh as he saw Mycroft, Molly and, Irene smiling and wildly waving at him. Well, not Mycroft. He just tipped his head in John's direction.

He waved and turned on his heels back up the runway. His dress almost caught under his foot but he caught himself before anyone could see and continued his journey to the stage room. He met up with Greg, who was giving him thumbs up and grinning.

“That was exhilarating.” John laughed breathlessly. Greg clapped a hand on John's shoulder and laughed with him.

“Can't wait to see Sherlock.”

“Delirium!”

“Here we go.” John's stomach flipped and his nerves began to eat at him. What if Sherlock didn't even come out.? What if he tripped? Like John almost did.

His nerves were settled as he saw the genius make his way out on the stage. Perhaps it was because he was final performer or perhaps it was because he was truly a drop-dead gorgeous man but the crowd lost their minds when he came out.

“Delirium really did fit him.” John let out a low whistle.

Sherlock never smiled, but he strut down the runway like a predator. He looked dark and dangerous. The audience was in awe. He was the epitome of seduction and mystery. Sherlock finally made it down the runway, raised his brow at the audience, and turned on his heels back to his neighbors. John was glad he decided to wear a gaff because the consulting detective locked eyes with him and stared at him with such raw power, John almost swooned. He felt a heat spreading in the pit of his belly, but he could not look away. The words themselves almost appeared in the air. You are mine.

Greg's loud wolf whistle broke the spell. John blinked furiously and shook his head.

“Holy shit, that was intense.” John whispered.

“Yeah, no kidding. He totally killed everyone out there.” Greg nodded with pursed lips. John let that sink in.

“No! He can't. I can't owe him again! Damn it.” He stomped his foot.

Sherlock made his way over to the men and grinned at John, who glared right back.

“Why do you have to do that.” John barked at him.

“Do what?” Sherlock tilted his head. He obviously knew the effect he had on people; He just wanted John to admit it.

“That whole 'I'm brooding and mysterious. Come hither and lick my cheekbones as I turn up my coat collar.' It's infuriating.” John flailed his arms. All three of them burst into laughter at that. “Okay, maybe not as dramatic. Good job.” He patted his friend's arm.

“Alright! Alright! Let's give our queens a round of applause!” The audience cheered louder than ever. “Can we please have them back on stage as we crown our Duchess, Princess, and Queen.”

The trio followed the rest of the women to the stage and stood next to one another. John waved again at his neighbors who were currently jumping up and down in applause. Again, except for Mycroft. He was completely distracted by the sight of his partner. John looked to Greg, who looked stupidly in love. He waited for his eyes to morph into pink hearts and flutter away.

“The judges have decided! This year's Grand Duchess is,” There was a dramatic pause, “Magnolia!”

Oh hell. Magnolia, who'd been standing conveniently next to Sherlock, let out a choked sob and covered her mouth. She fluttered her hand in front of her face before moving to receive her crown. She stopped momentarily before grabbing Sherlock's face and planting her lips firmly on his. It only lasted a second, as she made quick dash for her crown before anyone could change their minds. John laughed at the stunned and disgusted look on the genius's face. He actively ignored the pang in his chest and threw an arm around his friend in comfort.

“Okay! A little sugar for all you delicious people!” The crowd buzzed with excitement. “This year's Princess of Drag is...” John rolled his eyes at the unnecessary pause. “Jeronimo!”

He thought he heard wrong. Clearly he heard wrong because the universe wasn't as spiteful as to deem him the Princess of Drag. So he simply stood there amongst the real drag queens and stared into the crowd. Greg gave him a shove towards the announcer and clapped loudly. John walked slowly and awkwardly to retrieve his tiara. He let them set it on his head and he looked back at Sherlock in distress. The genius winked at him without as much as a smile. Standing back in line, newly decorated, he stood motionlessly as he processed how ironic the entire situation was.

“Congrats John. Didn’t know you had it in you.” Greg snickered at him. Sherlock leaned over and spoke quietly in his ear.

“Congratulations Princess.”

John glared at him.

“And now, Candy Needle's Drag Queen of the year is, Ophelia Cox!” John let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. He smiled at the two men standing next to him and handed over his tiara.

“We'll share it.” They all started on the ridiculous task together, they might as well end it together.

“Thank you ladies for another unforgettable year! Thank you to all who came out to support Candy Needles. We hope to see you soon! Until then, dance till you drop!”

The contestants left the stage one by one. The three men made their way through the crowd to the other tenants of their building. Irene squealed and threw her arms around each of them.

“Thank you so much for doing this favor. See it wasn't so bad. You all make great women. I'd sleep with you.” She winked.

“I believe a congratulations is in order Mr. Watson. For winning the title, Princess of Drag.” They all snickered.

“We decided to share it. See. They're both princesses of drag.” John stammered. “Not just me.”

In the sea of people, Ginger and Heidi found them sitting at one the tables far from the stage.

“You were fantastic. They loved you. Our boss wants you permanently.” Heidi jumped in place.

“No.”

“We're good.”

“I'm busy.”

Ginger chuckled and kissed all three of them on the cheek. “If you ever need us to kick someone's arse for you, call us.” The two queens disappeared into the sea of people.

Sherlock yawned loudly. The entire table looked at him incredulously.

“What?”

“I think somebody's worn herself out.” Greg snickered.

“Oh, you would know princess.” The genius snapped.

“Alright, alright ladies.” Molly put her hands up. “I think we all know, John's the real princess here.”

John glowered at her causing them to erupt into laughter. Yet again, everyone except for Mycroft. He continued to stare at Greg.

“You can go change, and we'll catch a cab together.” Molly ushered the rest of the group to the exit.

The three temporary princesses hurried to the stage room to rid themselves of any evidence that they spent the evening in a drag contest.

“Oh, my balls. Hello babies. Let's not do that again, okay?” Greg carelessly yanked off his gown and shoved his legs into his trousers.”Oh god, yes.”

Sherlock murmured quietly into John's ear. “Unzip me.” John turned and looked at the man who was now void of any makeup. He gestured for him to turn. Slowly sliding the zipper down, John took a moment to appreciate the contours of Sherlock's broad back. He felt the heat building up again and he had to fight the urge to run his fingertips down the spine of his best friend's back.

Because that's not weird.

“You're good to go.” John croaked and turned away from the taller man. Sherlock frowned and slipped the dress off.

“Do you need help, John?”
“Nope.” At least not the kind he could give. It took him a moment but he eventually slipped out of the dress and into his airy, short sleeved shirt. “Ahh, this is heaven.”

Despite the circumstances of which they were forced to wear dresses and fake breasts, John admitted he had enjoyed himself. It certainly wasn't the kind of activity he'd ever engage in again, and he was heading straight to Mrs. Hudson's flat to steal her nail polish remover, but it was a one of a kind experience.

“Hey, do you think it's weird if I keep the breasts?”

Chapter Text

“Get it! Get it!” He grunted loudly. Sweat was dripping down the side of his neck. It felt like his body was on fire.

“Harder. HARDER, SHERLOCK.” John held himself as rigid as possible. His thighs were quivering and beginning to cramp. This was more difficult than it looked initially.

“I'm-going-as-hard-as-I-can” Sherlock panted. If the kitchen table continued to scrape against the floor, Mrs. Hudson would look for the source of the noise. That was the absolute last thing the pair wanted to occur. The genius exhaled sharply and stopped. “Do you want to do it?”

“Switch with me, switch with me.” John gasped, trying to collect as much oxygen in his lungs as he could. The burning sensation was welcome. “Shit, my hands are slipping.”

“Hold...still...” The consulting detective gritted his teeth. His face was turning pink as he held his breath, grunting through his jerky movements. Just as John's hands were about to slip, Sherlock gave one last thrust. He groaned loudly and collapsed against the table.

“God, I thought that was never going to work.” John grinned lazily, wiping sweat from his forehead.

“You didn't even do anything. I did all the work.” Sherlock stretched his neck, fastening the buttons that came loose on his shirt. John squirmed at the sight of the taller man's defined muscles rippling beneath the fabric. His dark curls were matted against his temples and at the nape of his neck.

“It was worth it.” The blonde closed his eyes and rested his head against the wooden surface. “Now we can all officially be princesses.” He held up the pieces of the tiara they had won. It took them a lot longer to split than they had originally intended. Perhaps using a serrated knife wasn't the best or wisest choice of tool.

“I'm sure Lestrade will be thrilled.” The genius snatched his portion of their souvenir.

It was John's idea to divide the tiara into three pieces so each of them could display it-or hide it-for the rest of their lives. He begrudgingly accepted that there was a video of the show on the club's website. Irene had emailed him the link the night after the show and said it was the highest rated video on their web page. There was nothing he could do about that. He prayed Mike or Sarah wouldn't find it. That was one explanation he wasn't looking forward to.

“Oh man, I'm starving. Where'd I put that hot pocket?” The pastry was cold but not enough that John would get rid of it. He inspected it with a whine. It was barely wrapped in a napkin and he had set it down next to their crown. “There's metal bits on it. Ugh.” A quick dust with his hand was all it required as he bit into his cold meal. “Want some?” John offered to his friend, speaking over a full mouth.

“That is quite repulsive John.” Sherlock threw himself into the kitchen chair. The blonde shrugged and happily munched on his pastry.

He chewed thoughtfully.“What time are your parents coming?”

A loud sigh filled the room and John snickered at his friend's irritation. “Mycroft is sending a car to retrieve them. I'd rather not put a countdown on my forthcoming imprisonment.”

“You are so dramatic.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, “It's Audrey's birthday. They're just staying for a few days. Besides, you know Molly wanted everyone around to celebrate.”

Their upcoming visit left the younger Holmes in a constant state of agitation. John couldn't deny that he was excited to spend time with Sherlock's parents. He rarely got the chance to spend time with his own parents and he actively avoided his sister. The people in his building were something of a surrogate family to him. Crazy...intrusive...obnoxious surrogate family.

“So why can't they stay with her?” He complained.

“They're your parents Sherlock.”

The genius looked momentarily hopeful which left John waiting for his stupid remark. “I could be adopted.”

“No you couldn't.”

“It would explain so much.”

“It really wouldn't.”

John swallowed the last chunk of his cold hot pocket and moved to set his piece of the tiara on top of his bookcase. Most of his flat was relatively empty, at least in comparison to Sherlock's. “Besides, you look identical to both of them. If anything, your brother is the one who looks adopted.”

The genius moaned loudly, “Don't tease me John.”

The blonde blinked at his friend. Laughter spilled past his lips and he doubled over in his seat, resting his head on his forearms. “I don't understand. They're so sweet! How did they end up with you?” He shook his head in resignation and pulled his phone out of his pocket. There were four missed messages from Molly.

Can you and Sherlock please pick up the cake?

-Molly

Oh, I need green and yellow streamers.

-Molly

I FORGOT THE BALLOONS!

-Molly

Please help me.

-Molly

“We've been summoned.” He sent her a quick text and wiped the screen before shoving it back in his pocket. “We're going to the store.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Sherlock.”

"John."

He sighed. This man-child was impossible.

“Your parents can stay with me.”

“Fine.”

John threw his fists in the air. It was a small price to pay. He was fond of Sherlock's parents and didn't have a issue lending his home to them. If history repeated itself, he would probably find himself in Sherlock's bed, yet again. As platonically as his hormones would allow.

The pair exited Baker Street and walked to the nearest Tesco. John had become rather prideful in his physique as the constant exercise was doing wonders for his calves. Of course, it would never be enough as he had to lightly jog to keep stride with Sherlock, whose legs seemed longer than John's entire body. He eventually gave up and resigned to walking a few paces behind the genius. They didn't need to fill the air with chatter. It was a comfortably quiet walk that took no longer than twenty five minutes.

“She needs the cake, balloons and party streamers.” John scrolled through his texts and made his way inside the store.

“We need milk.” Sherlock walked off without warning, leaving John alone in the bakery. He walked up to the glass display filled with assorted cakes.

“What can I do for you?” The young employee looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else than near the store. He couldn't have been older than seventeen.

“Yes, I'm supposed to pick up a birthday cake?”

“Name?” The kid barked.

John scowled at him. Part of him wished that Sherlock hadn't walked off and analyzed the boy to a puddle of deductive mud. The more he thought about it the more he felt bad for wishing that upon him. Sherlock was brilliant albeit intense, he was well aware of this. John truly believed that those who dismissed him because of his brash nature would never know the magnificence of such genius. Most people felt threatened and intimidated by his loud personality. John felt nothing short of admiration for the man. He was living in a world where being different was treated in hypocritical fashion. Half of the time society encourages people to display their uniqueness and the other half they promote conformity. It took an obscene amount of confidence and bravery to function against the odds. A small part of John wished that his friend would work on his bedside manner and be a bit more empathetic. However, that side of him was easily demolished by his belief that Sherlock was in fact different and no matter how rude or obnoxious he could be, he was the best man he knew. All of the quirks and oddities that Sherlock was composed of made him infinitely more interesting.

“Listen mate, I'm trying to get out of here. Are you going to give me a name or what?” The kid was getting increasingly rude and John was getting annoyed.

“Check under Molly Hooper and get me the damn cake.” He snapped. The employee's eyes widened fractionally before he turned and scurried to the back.

“I believe you frightened him.” Sherlock's baritone voice trailed past his ear.

“Well he was being rude.” John eyed gallon of milk he was holding. “How long is that going to last? Ten minutes? Ten years?”

“Don't be ridiculous John.” The genius rolled his eyes, “That was one time and I'll have you know it was only three years old.”

He had been cleaning Sherlock's fridge and came across a carton of milk that had deep yellow color and looked freakishly like cottage cheese. Upon, stupidly, smelling the putrid milk he ending up nearly passing out and cursed Sherlock to the deepest pits of hell.

“Um, the only birthday cake we have in file is for an Audrey Green.” The store employee came back nervously staring at the intensely brooding man standing with John.

Sherlock gave a tight nod. “That's it.” He handed John the milk and reached across the display to snatch the cake from the boy's hands. With a quick glance over the surface, making sure the spelling was correct, he swiftly spun on his heels and stalked away from the counter.

“Thank you.” John mumbled and turned to catch up with his friend. “I know he was rude and all but I'm pretty sure he's going home to cry now.”

It was almost enough to make Sherlock laugh. Almost. “Take a look.” He tilted the cake in John's direction.

John grinned at the sight. It was a small cake covered in light blue fondant, with a darker blue octopus covered in yellow polka dots sitting on top. Around the sides were various sea paraphernalia such as small white circles for bubbles, green strands made to look like seaweed, and yellow starfish with happy faces. There was a purple nautilus shell and pink coral on the trims resting below the starfish. Cute little orange and purple striped fish sat along the yellow cake plate. 'Happy 1^st Birthday Audrey!' was written in blue lettering. It was truly an adorable cake.

“Why didn't Molly change Audrey's last name to Hooper?” John knitted his brows together and looked to the genius.

“Sentiment.” He stated flatly. John laughed loudly at his tone and went off in search of balloons and streamers. They found the green and yellow decorations but ended up just buying two bags of colored balloons. When John had told Sherlock to make the most of his money, he'd been rewarded with a dark glare.

“I already pay for everything.”

“No, you steal your brother's card and pay for everything because you're too lazy to go to the bank and get a new one. Maybe if you watched where you put your things, you wouldn't set them on fire so often.”

“God-”

“Nope.”

“That was one time!”

“One time too many. Now be a good consulting detective and give the cashier your brother's money.”

Sherlock didn't speak to John on the way home. Instead of walking, they opted the catch a cab. It was faster and they didn't want the cake to get messed up. So John simply sat next to his friend, mashed his lips together and tried his hardest not to laugh.

“Would you rather be deaf or blind?”

He was met with complete silence. So naturally, he began to rant.

“I would rather be deaf. It seems like an easier disability to live with. I mean, over twenty years of being able to see color and people and where you're going suddenly being taken away from you for the rest of your life. Well, that's got to be a horrible adjustment. Then again you could always get retinal implants and such but who really has the money for that. Insurance doesn't cover it. Hell, I'd rather just be deaf. I mean, it would be hard not being able to hear your voice or music or telly but I guess there's always subtitles. Sign language would be pretty cool to learn-”

“John.” Sherlock winced, “Please do not involve yourself in Ms. Adler's childish games.”

He cut off mid speech. “Well, which is it then?” John smiled cheekily at his friend.

With a heavy sigh Sherlock answered “Deaf.”

John set the bags on Sherlock's kitchen counter. He checked his watch, mentally calculating how much time he would have to shower before he was interrupted and yanked out. With a look over his shoulder, he saw Sherlock was busying himself furiously texting. He figured it was a good time as any to sneak out.

He quietly moved past the genius and straight out the door. His flat was relatively clean and presentable so he wouldn't have much to clean before Sherlock's parents arrived. Which was likely any minute. Hopping quickly into the shower, he scrubbed his skin raw and gave himself a quick shave. After twenty minutes of peace, he figured it was time to get ready for the party. He didn't bother wrapping himself in a towel and rested it upon his head where his hair was dripping. John made his way to the sitting room to retrieve the phone he left on the sofa. He didn't make it.

The blonde nearly jumped out of his skin and yelped at the sight of Violet and Siger Holmes sitting on opposite sides of their youngest son at his kitchen table.

“OH MY-” He yanked the towel off his head and fumbled with wrapping it around his waist.

“Oh my indeed.” Violet giggled furiously and stood to hug him, “Hello again John. Sorry to intrude. Sherlock said you would be getting ready but perhaps he simply wanted to show you off.”

John tightened his grip on his towel and kissed her cheek. “I'm so sorry. I don't normally have much company so I just,” He waved his arm weakly. Heat was burning beneath his cheeks. Thankfully the ones on his face.

“Don't be ludicrous John. I've seen you naked just as much as I've seen myself.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Hello again son. Good to see you. Well, maybe not all of you.” Siger Holmes stood and held his hand out.

“Yeah” John mumbled and clasped hands with him.

“Well, go and get dressed dear and we'll wait downstairs for you.” She hugged him again. He all but ran to his bedroom but not before hearing 'My goodness, Sherlock, I can see why you like him. That body!”

If he could have died on sheer will power, he just might have. He purposely took his time getting dressed. There was no point in being embarrassed since apparently his nudity was to be celebrated amongst his ridiculous circle of friends. Half of the building had seen him naked. Irene had walked in on him masturbating once and tried to stay to watch. Sherlock didn't talk to her for a week when he figured it out. Molly saw him naked walking around his flat because his genius friend left his door wide open. Mrs. Hudson popped in unannounced all the time and more often than not, he was nude. Then there was the genius himself who practically lived to walk in on John.

He concluded that he spent too much too much time in his birthday suit and his neighbors were all too comfortable with that. With a shake of his head, he made his way to his best friend's flat.

“John. It's come to my attention that your nudity is becoming something of a epidemic. Should we be concerned?” John was greeted with a smug Mycroft. He glared at the umbrella twirler and flipped him off.

“I'm going to make it my personal mission to make sure you get no cake Mycroft.” John stalked around his large frame and into the kitchen.

“How do you take your coffee, love?” Violet was braving her younger son's mess of a fridge. Thankfully Sherlock had some sense to pick up milk. It was a rare feat indeed.

“Black, no sugar, thanks.” He moved a jar of earlobes off of Sherlock's table. It made him slightly weary that Violet didn't seem to be perturbed by the body parts floating around the room. Then again, she did birth and raise him.

She passed him his cup and motioned towards the sofa. He plopped down, spilling some coffee on his already stained t-shirt.

“So, how are you doing my dear? You seem to have lost some weight from the last time I saw you. Is my son feeding you? He's so forgetful when it comes to nourishment. His father is the same. When he was a baby, I thought he was just a picky eater but I suppose it carried over into adulthood. My eldest was never like that. He ate everything. If you put it in front of him, he would eat it. Put on a few pounds, he did. But you're beginning to look like skin and bones.” She pinched his arm and smiled. “How's your family John? Still avoiding them? I'd like to meet with them someday.”

John nodded and sipped at his coffee. “I guess they're okay. I haven't really had the time to speak with them. Been a bit busy.”

She lightly smacked his arm. “You should never be too busy for your family John. Don't let my son fill your head with these ideas. If it were up to him, he'd disappear off the face of the earth without saying goodbye. He never calls.”

“I'm busy.” Sherlock entered the room with an armful of gifts they'd accumulated for Audrey. “I don't have time to waste on such trivialities.”

Violet sighed softly and shook her head. John noticed she let her hair down for the day. It was pin straight, nothing like Sherlock's, but looked very soft and silky. “My son is too good for us.”

The genius bent to kiss her cheek. “Naturally.”

“Where's your father and brother? It's about time we go.” She scooted off the sofa, placing her mug down on his cluttered coffee table.

“Probably asphyxiating himself in the cake.” John absently muttered into his drink.

Both Holmes' stared at him. After a beat of silence, John looked up. His face flushed and he mumbled a quick 'sorry' before choking down the rest of his coffee and running to the fridge for the cake. Sherlock's quick witted remarks and poor attitude was rubbing off on him, and not in the way he preferred. He chastised himself for leaving Audrey's cake in Sherlock's fridge next to a pitcher of blood rather than in his barren icebox.

Both Violet and her son had left the flat by the time he made his way back. He purposely left Sherlock's door open and made his way to his neighbor's apartment. It wasn't until he got to her door that he realized he couldn't open it.

“Sherlock, open the door. I don't want to drop the cake.”

“That would be so typical of you.”

He whipped his head around and was met with the entire Holmes family leaving his flat. John clearly spent too much time with his insane neighbors; They were entirely too comfortable with breaking into each others homes. Who in their right mind thought nothing of their genius neighbor, his brother and their parents doing that? Obviously John. It was even worse when he shrugged off Sherlock passing his mother his key.

“Oh John it's so sweet of you to lend us your home. Although you're probably used to having alone time with Sherlock, we wouldn't want to intrude.” Violet tucked an arm around her husband's waist and winked at him.

“Allow me, John.” Mycroft flashed him a sickly sweet smile and opened Molly's door for him. Again with opening each others doors without knocking.

“We're here. I have cake. Hurry before Mycroft gets to it.” John waltzed in straight through to Molly's kitchen.

“Oh, you got the cake! Great. Sherlock already brought me the decorations.”

Molly popped out from behind her green counters. She straightened herself, wiping her hands on her sundress, and shook her head at the birthday girl. Audrey, clad in a pale yellow sundress, was laying in the middle of the floor waving a block of cheese in the air. Her light brown curls were spilled around her face making her look more angelic than usual. John could hear her babbling out loud to no one in particular.

He stuffed the cake in the fridge before turning to plant a kiss on Molly's cheek. She left him to greet her visitors who had yet to make their way from the front door.

There were platters lining the counter tops of an assortment of finger foods. A dish of orange caught his eye. “Ooh, carrots.” He grabbed the whole bowl and leaned against the counter watching the one year old talk to herself.

“The first thing you do is eat. All you think about is food.” Irene emerged from Molly's bedroom and shut the door behind her.

John waved the vegetable in her face. “You're one to talk. We all got food poisoning because of you.”

She snatched it from him, bit a chunk off and handed it back. He frowned at her. “Yeah, but it was hilarious when I threw up on Sherlock.”

He snorted and covered his mouth with his hand . The genius would kill him if he heard him laughing about it. But it was funny. “Yeah, that was gold.”

“Oh, she's getting so big.” Molly led Violet and Siger into the kitchen. “You must bring her to visit more often, we hardly see any of you anymore.”

“Sherlock threatens us.” Irene grinned and reached forward to embrace them, “Regularly.” She locked arms with the eldest Holmes.

Violet giggled and patted her hand.“I'm afraid I'm not bored of him just yet, dear.”

“Pity” The brunette smiled at the pair of them. “You're all taken.” She locked eyes with John, who'd been stuffing his face.

He gaped,“What?”

“As I've said before, your ignorance is astounding.” The genius strolled in behind his parents. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall. John shot him a dark glare.

The moment Audrey heard him speak, she screamed.

“Wock” The little girl wobbled over to Sherlock. “Wock. Wock. Wock.” She latched on to his trousers and reached her chubby hands up in the air. She jumped unsteadily in place, babbling incoherently. Standing in front of him, she looked like a mouse. Then again, she was rather tiny. When he didn't move, she screeched and plopped down on his feet.

“She's knows you name, dear. How adorable.” Violet gushed. “I can't wait for grandchildren.”

A boisterous laugh emitted from the other room. It may or may not have sounded like Mycroft. Sherlock finally moved to grab the little girl and held her out, feet dangling mid air.

“Wock.Wock.Wock.” She tapped his mouth. “Eat-eat.” She pointed to John, who was still chewing.

He sighed and handed her to his mother. Violet clung to the child as if she were her lifeline.

“I remember when my boys were this little. Oh, I'm so old.” She frowned.

“Yes.”

Irene practically smacked the curls off the youngest Holmes's head. John cackled and almost choked on the carrot he'd been munching on. They were a twisted bunch.

The front door slammed.

“We're here! We've come bearing gifts!” Greg's loud voice boomed through the walls.

Violet gasped at Audrey, who looked too distressed that Sherlock let her go to be content in his mother's arms. “You hear that? Gifts. All for you and none for Sherlock. Let's go!” Siger chuckled at the sight and led the pair out of the kitchen. Irene dragged Sherlock by his arm to follow. He looked back to John, mouthing the word 'Help'. He smiled and waved his carrot.

Molly grinned until they were out of sight and then collapsed into the cabinet on the wall. “I'm exhausted. Who knew raising a one year old would be the most difficult of all tasks to accomplish. I thought finishing school was hard.” She raised a hand to her forehead. “Come on John, let's go join everyone else.”

He took the bowl with him but almost dropped it when he made it to the sofas. Mrs. Hudson was snapping a hundred pictures a minute. John doubled over in laughter at the sight of a pouting Sherlock sitting on the floor with a pink party hat tangled in his curls. Audrey was busying herself with her dollhouse, passing him the blocks she deemed suitable for their playtime. Greg stood to clap John's shoulder and thieved a veggie from him before sitting with his partner.

“What is that?” Molly pointed, horrified, to Audrey's play area. There was a tiny black Audi parked under a window. Obviously made for someone her niece's size.

“Oh dear, isn't it adorable! Mycroft bought it for her.” Mrs. Hudson squeezed his arm. “She can drive it on the sidewalk. We'll be watching her of course.”

“It's a car.” Molly blinked in awe. “A miniature car. I don't even have a car”

“I apologize if it's out of line Ms. Hooper. I did ask Gregory if it would be appropriate.” Mycroft patted his boyfriend's knee.

“No, it's great! Thank you, she'll love it. And give me a heart attack at the same time. Win-win, I suppose.” She laughed weakly.

“What did you bring her Sherlock?” Irene was perched on the arm of the sofa. “A dead puppy? A liver? How about severed hands?”

“Sherlock!” The genius's parents looked appalled at their son. He glared at her and pulled the party hat off of his head, ruffling his curls.

“I originally intended to buy her a dictionary however John loudly informed me that it wasn't the ideal gift.” He made quotation marks in the air. “So we bought her a dramatically disproportionate and inaccurately perceived wooden sculpture of an over sized bee on wheels.” Sherlock sniffed and picked off invisible lint from his shirt.

“We bought her a Wheely Bug as he so eloquently put it.” John threw an irritated glance his way.

“Muh, muh, muh” The birthday girl pointed at Molly and clapped her hands. “Hi, hi, hi, hi.” She walked over to her aunt and yanked on her dress. She giggled loudly when she was raised into the air.

“You want to play with your paint?” Molly cooed at her. Audrey bounced in her arms. “Paint” She held her hands above her head, tugging on her own curls.

“We should get her cake ready.” John tucked the bowl under his arm and pointed a finger in Mycroft's direction. “You're not getting any.”

Sherlock followed him into the kitchen and watched as John pulled out the cake and some plates.

“Do you want kids?”

That caught John off guard. He frowned at the detective. “Can't you deduce it?” Candle. Where was the candle?

“You wouldn't be opposed to having children but you don't see yourself settling down with someone long enough to reproduce. Why?”

John set his hands down on the counter. “I don't know. I just, don't think I'll meet the right person. If there's such a thing. It's not even that, I just think I won't have time and I don't want to be the eighty year old father of a three year old.” Aha! He found the candle in a drawer. “Do you? You know, want kids?”

Sherlock pondered this. He was quiet for a while, long enough for John to defrost the ice cream in the freezer. “I don't know. There's a lot to consider.”

“Like?”

“Well,” He rubbed his chin, “ In a hypothetical situation, say you and I were raising a child together through adoption, surrogacy or whatever. Who would get up at three in the morning?All they do is cry. Who would buy the milk? Who would change the nappies? Would you take it to the doctor or would I? What if I don't like being a father? Would we give it back? What if I like being a father? Am I suitable to raise a child? If I forget to feed you, could you imagine me with spawn of my own? ”

John frowned at him.“You, because you don't sleep. Me, because I already do that. Both of us because it's teamwork. Either one of us. You don't know that and you don't know that either,” He sucked in a breath, “Hypothetically, you know.”

“Where's the cake?” Greg yelled from his spot on the sofa.

“Don't worry about it cause Mycroft isn't getting any.” John hollered back. “Look Sherlock, you've got years to think about it. Live in the moment. Should you decide you want kids later on, then go for it. You'd make it work. Now take the ice cream and the plates.” He lit the candle and carefully pulled the cake onto his hands.

“Happy birthday to you...” John walked slowly to the sitting room, where he was joined in song. Audrey clapped and giggled when she saw the decorated cake. He set it down on the coffee table, where she hobbled over and tried to climb on. She started singing her own birthday song, fingering the sea decorations. “Happy birthday dear Audrey, Happy birthday to you.”

They all clapped for her which set her off into a frenzy. She hopped around on the floor and fell into Greg's legs. He picked her up and held her over his head until she stopped laughing. The little girl tried to put her feet on top of his head, so he set her down and let her blow out the candle.

Molly cut little slices of the cake and passed them around to each of her guests. Sherlock simply took a fork and speared John's piece before being swatted away. Audrey noticed and brought her fork over to him babbling 'Wock. Wock.Wock' along the way. He bent down and took the bite to please her. She passed him the fork and pointed at her mouth. “Ah.Ah.Ah.” They all laughed at the sight of the genius feeding her the little bites of cake. The little girl eventually tired of this and dragged him over to her toys again. She handed him a baby doll which he promptly dropped in his lap much to her dismay. “Baby.” Audrey picked it up and tucked it under his arm. When it slipped she yanked it out and dropped it on the floor, earning a rare laugh from Sherlock.

“Tell me Martha,” Siger Holmes started, “Are my boys driving you crazy yet?”

She chuckled lightly. “Nothing I can't handle. Although this morning these two young men were being quite loud with that table. I could hear them two floors down.” She gave a pointed look to Sherlock and John. “They were really going at it.”

The blonde coughed loudly, “We were just splitting the tiara.”

Violet looked to her husband, “Is that what they're calling it these days?” He shrugged at her.

Within thirty minutes, most of the adults in the room found themselves sitting around the coffee table with a game of Candy Land spread out. Audrey had since climbed into Molly's lap and was fighting the sleep that was threatening to take over. The three elders sat back and watched the chaos of Baker Street ensue.

“Nuh-uh Greg. Bring your arse back to Gumdrop Mountain.”

“Alright, Plumpy. Give me a second.”

“I thought we agreed Mycroft was Plumpy.”

“No, he's Gloppy remember?”

“Sherlock, it's one yellow space. Not as many as you want, yellow space.”

“Yes, but I am far more intelligent therefore I'm giving myself an extra space.”

“Don't give me a reason to take your arse back to Peppermint Forest.”

“Stop it! You're gonna make us lose!”

“Lord Licorice is looking at me weird.”

“That's cause he wants a piece of that-”

“IRENE. We have children around."

“I forgot. Sorry, Sherlock.”

“YES! I made it to Molasses Swamp!”

“Shut up, nobody asked you.”

“Fuck you, Queen Frostine.”

“Irene.”

“She wishes.”

“Really John?”

“Look, we made it to Mycroft's swamp too.”

“How very mature of you.”

“Oh no, he's got me. He thinks my legs are made of cake! I'm going down. Help! HELP! Send backup! Send the Sour Patch Police!”

Violet chuckled at their ridiculousness.

“Well, I'm afraid it's past our bedtime.” Siger helped his wife stand. “Thank you again John for lending us your home. See you in the morning.” Violet kissed him on the cheek and made her goodbyes. As soon as the door closed Greg turned to John.

“Wait, so if they're staying in your bed...” He frowned, “Where are you staying?” John opened his mouth to speak but Sherlock beat him to it.

“With me, of course. Isn't that obvious?” He snapped.

“Quite.” His brother sipped at his tea.

Molly giggled quietly. “I'm surprised you're so open with sharing your bed, Sherlock.” She rocked Audrey in her lap as the little girl's eyes began to flutter closed. It had been a long day and the poor thing was drained.

“If I had known that when we met, I would have crawled right in.” Irene winked. John felt a flare of irritation but suppressed it by sipping at his mug of tea.

“You wouldn't have made it to my bed.” Sherlock muttered darkly, “While I do enjoy solitude, there is nothing indicating that I am unwilling to share my bedroom if need be. For all you know, I could be some sex crazed idiot who invites strangers into my flat every other night.” He narrowed his eyes at her. She brushed it off and flipped him the bird.

“You've never even had a hickey, Sherlock.” Greg chuckled at him. “A hickey. It's like a rite of passage.”

“Not true. John gave me one.”

John spit out his tea, spraying the liquid a good five feet in front of him. The silence was deafening.

“Hold on, what happened? Wait, wait. John? No, wait. What?” Greg's face was twitching and he was stumbling over his words. Aside from Mrs. Hudson who was grinning like the Cheshire cat, the rest of his neighbors were gaping between the two of them. Except for Mycroft. He never seemed surprised.

“Up until three weeks ago, I would have wholeheartedly agreed. However in light of recent events, circumstances have changed and I suspect John, whom because of his reaction, was trying to disregard the incident entirely. In fact, I believe he thought I didn't notice at all.”

“Hang on,” Irene held her hands up, “Three weeks ago? Wasn't that when...”She trailed off. Her eyes widened and her hands flew to her mouth. “We were all drunk! You fell asleep in his room. Well apparently you two weren't sleeping. Oh damn, why do I always miss the good stuff...” She pouted.

“Oh my god.” John covered his face and stalked to the bathroom. “I hate you all.”

“Wait, John!” He wasn't sure who called him because he slammed the door. Thankfully there was a lock. What he really needed was air, but cool water from the sink helped just the same.

Why did he have to bring that up now. He could have said something to me in private but no, he has to tell the whole fucking world. Ohmygod, this is so embarrassing. But... he did see it. Obviously he saw it, it was bright as a fucking strawberry. Why didn't he say anything then? Was he holding it as blackmail? No, or else he wouldn't have said anything now. He seemed...proud? I don't know. I just don't know. How am I going to face them now? I'm already a mess around him. Oh my god. What am I going to do? This is so embarrassing. He could have told me. Just me. Not me and Molly and Irene and Greg and Mycroft and Mrs Hudson. Oh Christ, Mrs. Hudson! Oh my god-

Heavy knocking broke his endless stream of thoughts. Go away. He was most definitely not in the mood to deal with any of them. They would probably torment him for the rest of his life.

“John, please unlock the door.” Hell no. Sherlock's voice came muffled from behind the door. This was all his fault and now he wanted to talk privately?

“Go away Sherlock.” John pulled the cover of the toilet down and plopped on it. He held his face in his hands. The doorknob rattled for a minute and then he heard the click. He sighed. Sherlock opened the door and strolled into the very tiny bathroom.

“Must you break in everywhere you go?” John mumbled into his hands.

Sherlock stood silent wringing his hands. After a moment he squatted down and sat on the floor in front of his distraught best friend. John didn't look at him. He could practically hear Sherlock's thought process and figured he could at least be courteous enough to let him know he wouldn't move out or something equally ridiculous.

“Why did you have to do that in front of everyone? If you were upset about it you could have told me privately. You didn't need to embarrass me like that. We were drunk, I don't even remember doing it.” John looked at him through his lashes. Sherlock wasn't moving, and from the looks of it, barely breathing. He sighed and ran a hand through his curls.

“I apologize for my actions John. It wasn't my intention to embarrass you.” He stretched his legs as much as the room would allow. “It didn't upset me, quite the opposite in fact. Yes, we were heavily intoxicated but I do remember. I didn't mind but I also didn't think to consider that you would. For that I sincerely apologize.”

John pondered his little speech. “So, you liked it?” He said very slowly.

This startled the genius as he visibly jerked back. “That's what you took from all that?”

“Pretty much.” He smiled timidly.

“Obviously there is not enough oxygen circulating this room.”

He scrambled off the floor and stood with his hand out. John accepted he may never get an answer but took his hand regardless and allowed himself to be led from the bathroom. They could hear the sounds of hurried footsteps running back to the sofa.

Molly, Greg and Irene were all shifting uneasily in their seats, readjusting to make themselves look as if they never moved. The fact that Audrey was now sleeping in Mycroft's lap was pretty good indication that they had listened in on their conversation.

“John?”

John turned around and faced him. He jumped slightly at the predatory look in the taller man's eyes. Sherlock put his hand on his shoulder and leaned in close to his ear.

“I liked it too much.”

Chapter Text

The wailing screams of the alarm clock yanked him out of his slumber. Irritated, he rolled over and slammed his hand against the snooze button. He didn't open his eyes, instead he rolled back and tried to conveniently forget his responsibilities.

He felt the mattress dip. Oh boy. The weight was creeping closer and closer to his immobile form. John groaned when he felt cold fingers dipping in the space between the duvet resting on his shoulder .

“John” The voice whispered quietly, “Time to get up, John.”

He pretended to snore. The stillness of the room made the deep chuckle seem louder than it was. John had to suppress his smile because his intention was to fall back into a coma.

The fingers slipped from his shoulder and began to dance across the top of the covers. They suddenly flattened, before roughly gripping the fabric and ripping it away from John's sleepy form. “Get up.”

John groaned loudly and buried his face into his pillow, inhaling the unmistakable scent that was Sherlock. “Mmm, g'way Sh'lck.Sleepy.”

His eyes flew open and he scrambled to get a grip on the bed frame, the mattress, anything. Sherlock's cold hands locked around his ankles and were pulling him at a frighteningly fast pace.

“I'M GETTING UP! I'M GETTING UP. WAIT.” John shrieked and dug his nails into the mattress.

Sherlock chuckled darkly behind him and continued to pull at his struggling form until John's hips were parallel with the end of the bed. John's legs fell like sandbags, hard against the floor. Looking over his shoulder, he shot a glare at the smug man. Sleeping in Sherlock's bed was not an option anymore. It was like he Googled the worst ways to wake someone up, every single time he stayed.

“I'm moving out.” His knees hurts, and not for the right reasons. John pulled himself up and faced his friend, rubbing at his eyes. What time was it? He looked over to the clock, and sucked his teeth. It was in fact time to get up. “Did you remember to put the bags-” Trailing off, he was transfixed by Sherlock's sudden change in demeanor. The genius was glowering darkly at him, not moving and seemingly not breathing.

“I'd like to see you try.” He spoke, eerily placid. It was almost amusing. John raised an eyebrow, grinning a little. Sherlock was terrifying when he wanted to be, yes, but he was also his best friend. In his mind, it was almost like cross canceling.

John stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders, locking eyes with Sherlock. He confidently swaggered merely inches away from him and assessed him head to toe. Sherlock never took his eyes off of him but the emotions surging in his mind were visible in his hardened stature. The man was standing stiffly at his full height, evidently trying to intimidate the shorter man.

He wouldn't really ever move out unless it was a life or death situation, and even then he'd fight for his place. Even if he wanted to leave, Mycroft would likely kidnap him if his brother asked. It was mean toying with the man, threatening his sense of security. He had the upper hand at the moment, and decided it would be okay to keep it. Just for a minute. Lifting onto his tippy-toes, he spoke directly into the taller man's ear.

“As if you could stop me.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt his heart leap in his chest. They were his words and yet he felt butterflies in his belly. It was exhilarating. Sherlock's breath hitched minutely, almost undetectable. He turned his head slowly, and stared down his nose at the blonde. His gaze flickered briefly to John's lips. The electricity in the air was staggering, and almost made him feel claustrophobic. John swallowed thickly as he looked eye level with Sherlock's pink cupid's bow.His tongue darted out to coat his own lips. He could feel his heart slamming into his rib cage. This man ignited a fire in his blood, and he was in no rush to extinguish the flames. Time seemed to slow around them, as Sherlock's head slowly descended towards John.

The door slammed open and the pair jumped away from each other. It was as if all air had been sucked from the room. Sherlock stiffened and whipped his head to scowl at the intruder. John blinked, trying to regain his senses. With a grin that would shame the Cheshire cat himself, Irene leaned against the door frame.

“Sorry.” She didn't sound apologetic in the least, “Just coming to make sure you two are out of bed.” Wink.

John wanted to throttle her. Sherlock, however, had never looked more murderous in all the time they'd spent together. He stormed out of the room, slamming the front door with a wall rattling bang.

Trying to dissipate the tension in the room, John cleared his throat. “Um, we're getting ready now. Tell Greg, we're coming.”

“Take your time, the beach isn't going anywhere.” She winked and sauntered out of the room.

He was left alone to his thoughts, in an empty, Sherlock-less room...in Sherlock's flat. Rather than prolonging the flood of questions his brain was getting ready to bombard him with, he stepped into the bathroom and set the shower to cold. Stripping off his pajamas, he swore loudly at the frigid temperature. Confident that his hormones had once again plateaued, he turned the knobs to warm and allowed his mind to sort itself.

1. They were taking Violet and Siger Holmes on a group road trip to the beach. Fact.

2. Sherlock was going to be there. Fact.

3. They'd almost kissed. Fact.

4. He had wanted to kiss Sherlock. Fact.

5. Irene interrupted. Purposely? Unknown; Need more data.

6. Sherlock wanted to strangle Irene for interrupting. Fact.

7. Sherlock had apparently liked the drunken hickey and said so very explicitly. Fact.

8. He wanted to give him a sober one. Fact.

9. He wanted to give Sherlock every part of him. Fact.

John's heart was getting a serious workout, as it continued to beat feverishly in his chest. He thought about the ridiculous man who was likely threatening their neighbor. Sherlock was irritating, infuriating, obnoxious, selfish, ridiculous, pretentious, brilliant, intense, unintentionally funny, wild, time-consuming, brave, fearless-There was nothing more clear in his mind than Sherlock.

Bisexuality wasn't an issue for him. Having the same genitals could never lessen the chemistry or the mental connection they formed. John felt comfortable in his sexuality. He thoroughly believed that denying a part of himself, his desires and needs only prolonged the inevitable. It wasn't as if he hadn't been with men and women before. Over time, it had become easier to accept himself and what he liked in a partner. If admirable qualities were found in men, then that was okay with him. If they were found in women, that was okay too. Happiness was his only option, not society's definition of happiness.

As a result, Sherlock made him happy. In all of his ridiculous habits and his obnoxious tendencies, John was willing to be subjected to it all. He wanted to be the reason for the rare smiles on the gorgeous man's face. The first person he'd wake up to, if he ever decided to sleep. He wanted to know what Sherlock's skin would feel like pressed against his lips. John didn't have much but he knew he would have given his all into that kiss, just to prove that.

The only thing he had to offer was himself but he wasn't sure if that would be enough.

He yelped loudly, as all the hot water had run out and was once again spraying him cold. John could feel his thoughts slowly fading into a dull buzz in the back of his mind. Drying himself off, he yanked on a pair of swim trunks and a tank top.

The flat was quiet...surprisingly.

“He likes you, you know.”

John jumped out of his skin. It was barely seven in the morning and he'd been scared half to death more in half an hour than he had been his entire life.

“Maybe even loves you. He definitely cares about you.” Irene was perched on the sofa rocking a sleeping Audrey. The child was wrapped in a soft yellow blanket with dancing bananas decorating the fabric. It was best to keep her asleep as long as possible because she was going to be an unstoppable ball of energy later.

“I think he just likes the attention.” He turned back into the kitchen and pulled their lunch bag from out of the fridge. Once again, he chastised himself for stupidly putting in the putrid fridge. Nothing seemed to be contaminated, at least nothing he could see.

“It's more than that. I've never seen him look at someone the way he looks at you. He's not just deducing your life and who you are. He's trying to figure out how to write himself in it, as a part of you. It's all very romantic.” She spoke softly, gazing lovingly at the little girl burrowed in her arms. Audrey stirred slightly.

“I don't know...” John trailed off. It was too early for him to be stressing over his obvious feelings for the genius. They were going to the beach as a big, dysfunctional family. He wanted to focus on that.

“Oh John, stop being so oblivious.” She hissed quietly in fear of disturbing the child, “You're so ignorant sometimes. Tell him you love him and want his babies. I'm sure Mycroft has figured out how to impregnate men by now.”

“Yeah, you need coffee...and medication.” He studied her with mild concern. Swinging the lunch box over his shoulder, they moved the bags Sherlock had elected to ignore and locked the door behind them.

“Thanks, I've got it.” He grunted, struggling to move their belongings down the hall. “No help needed.”

“Come on John! You're taking forever. I want to get on the road by next year!” Greg's loud voice boomed through the floor. Irene's eyes widened and she slowly lowered her gaze to Audrey. Who apparently slept like a rock. Relief flooded the woman's face.

“Well then bring you lazy arse up here and help me! Jesus!” John bellowed right back. The woman stormed over and kicked him behind his knee. He almost buckled at the sudden pain but caught himself and sent her an irritated look.

Sherlock was nowhere to be found when the trio finally joined the rest of the group. Molly was leaning into Violet's shoulder with her eyes closed and mouth open. Siger was conversing quietly with Greg, who perked up at the sight of the rest of the group making their way down the steps.

“About time!” He frowned and looked past the trio, “Where's Sher?”

“We thought he was with you.” John began to worry. Had he really upset the man so badly? He had gotten so lost in the heat of the moment. Sherlock had been so close...

“I'm here.” Sherlock's voice sounded past John's ear. For what seemed like the hundredth time, he was startled and whipped around to address the genius. John searched his face for any awkwardness and discomfort, but the man just winked and placed a hand lightly on his shoulder, spinning him. He nudged him forward.

“I have experiments to get to, so let's move it along.” He ushered them out of the building, bending to allow his mother to kiss his cheek.

“Did you sleep alright?” John reached out and shook Siger's hand. “The sheets were clean and all.”

“It was just fine, son.” He waggled his brows. “No complaints here.”

John blanched and rubbed at his forearm, laughing nervously. He was burning his bed as soon as his flat was free from frisky parents. Siger winked and wordlessly let himself be pushed out the front door by his son. Spinning in place, John put his hand lightly on Sherlock's chest. He could feel Sherlock's heart beating steadily against his palm. The genius paused, raising his brows at the contact, and regarded the blonde passively.

John searched his face, “Are you okay?”

Sherlock stood motionlessly if only for a moment, before smirking and taking John's hand in his own. He examined it with careful precision. The man was likely memorizing every detail, so John let him.

“You have extremely small hands.” He pressed their hands together. John's fingertips ended where the genius's long digits extended from his palm. “It's comical.”

“Yeah, you're fine. Git” John smiled at the taller man. He breathed deeply, “Did your parents really have sex in my bed?”

“Both of their cheeks were flushed more so than usual. Post-coital glow, I suppose. Had they been exercising for physical fitness, I would have heard much more noise coming through the floor. Considering it was relatively quiet, I think it's safe to say you'd rather not know the answer to that question.” Sherlock chuckled and stepped around the blonde.

“Oh god.” He covered his face, which was flushing a bright red.

“Don't worry John. Mycroft will purchase a new bed for you.” Sherlock tugged on his arm and pulled him out of the building.

“Come on you two, I want to hit the road before traffic.” Greg finished packing the beach bags and umbrellas in the back of the black van Mycroft had sent for them. He'd been unable to spare the day, but elected to provide them with a car for their trip. “I'll take the first shift.” The DI made his way to the driver's seat.

“It's barely seven thirty in the morning. Believe me, we're gonna get to the beach in no time.” John gawked at the sight of the overstuffed trunk. It looked like they were moving out. He opted to sit with the lunchbox rather than crush everything inside of it by cramming it in the back.

“Why do we need all this stuff?” John poked his head around van. “It's just for a couple hours.”

“Let's go John, we're wasting precious daylight.” Irene motioned for him to cut the chatter and take his seat.

“Sherlock! Oh, Sherlock!” The familiar, sickeningly sweet voice rang out in the street. Jim.

The genius looked at his friend in horror. John flailed his arms wildly and pushed the man forward, yelling at him to jump in the vehicle. “GET IN THE CAR. GO! GO!”

“Does he ever sleep?”

“Do you?” John exclaimed, throwing himself in the front seat and closing the door with a bang. “Drive man, drive!” He smacked Greg's shoulder repeatedly, ignoring his shouts, until they were safely driving away.

“Why is that young man chasing after us, dear?” Blissfully unaware, Violet furrowed her brows at her youngest son.

“Because he's crazy.” John muttered trying to steady his breathing from the sudden adrenaline rush.

The tenants of Baker Street all silently agreed. Thankfully, Mycroft had sent coffee which John greedily gulped down, burning his throat in the process. It was too early in the morning for them to have intellectual conversation, and they didn't know long they had before Audrey woke up. Molly was resting against the car seat, snoring quietly. No one had the heart to speak amongst each other for fear of waking her up. They were all aware of how tired she was. Sherlock, for once, kept his thoughts to himself and quietly looked out the window, occasionally kicking at John's seat.

“Okay, it's too quiet.” Irene climbed over the seats, reaching for the radio. “I'm putting on music.”

Sherlock scowled when the car seat pushed him against the window to accommodate space for her.

“John.” He hissed in the blonde's ear to which John rolled his eyes. “I'm bored. This is all very boring.”

“I love this song!” The dark-haired beauty bounced in place and raised the volume enough so she could hear the music without waking Molly and the baby. “How will I know if you really love me, I say a prayer with every heartbeat.”

John sat stiffly in his seat. She was singing, horribly, whilst staring in the same direction of the dynamic duo. He tried not to focus on the words, but found it impossible not to relate it to his situation with Sherlock.

“Greg!” He had to clear his mind or else he was going to jump in the back seat with the beautiful man sulking at the lack of attention. “How's Mycroft?”

Sending John a puzzled look, he replied “Fine? You saw him yesterday didn't you?”

“Yes, well it's a shame he couldn't make it, right Violet?” John rushed out.

She sighed.“That boy is always busy. He's going to run himself into the ground.”

“Would you rather love and never be loved or be loved and never love?” Irene gave up trying to sing and was scrolling through her phone once again.

“Who?” John turned in his seat to face her.

“All of you.” She stared incredulously as if it were painfully obvious.

Greg laughed loudly. The man looked like he was vibrating from excitement...or excessive amounts of coffee. “I'd rather love and never be loved.”

“So nothing has changed.” Sherlock muttered. He let out a yelp, causing Molly to jump awake from her nap. Violet had flicked his earlobe and was shaking her head.

“Mm'up” Molly stretched and looked in the car seat at the sleeping child.

“Coffee, my dear.” Siger passed her a steaming cup, and patted her shoulder. She grinned sleepily and sent him a grateful look.

“Ooh, most embarrassing moment.” Irene lowered the volume on the radio, “ ...aaand go. John you first.”

He buried his face in his hands. “Harry and I were swimming and she yanked my swim trunks down in front of everyone.” John could see Sherlock fighting a smile through the mirror. “So, when I went to get her back, I pulled the strings of her bikini top and it fell off, but when she turned around it wasn't her.”

“You perv.” Irene giggled at the mental image. “So it was some random girl who happened to wear the same bathing suit.”

“Yup. She gave me a good smacking. ” John popped the 'p'. He looked to Sherlock, “Your turn.”

The genius sniffed. “I seldom feel embarrassment the way you do.”

“There's got to be something when you're not all,” Molly turned her nose up, trying to mimic his stiff posture.

“What about that time that you were trying on my undergarments. Do you remember that honey? I've never seen him so red.”

Sherlock coughed into his hand, cheeks tinted slightly pink.“It was for a case."

“You were nine.” Siger chuckled loudly and threw an arm around his wife's small frame.

“Anderson walked in on Myc' and I once.” Greg mused.

Irene scrunched her forehead, shaking her head. “How did that even happen? He doesn't live in our building.”

“It wasn't at home.” He guffawed, “It was at the office.”

“Oh god!”

“Ew”

“How many times have we gone in there since?”

“Honestly, Lestrade. Did you at least disinfect the room when you two were finished?”

The DI smirked and ignored their complaints. All was quiet until the little girl who'd been knocked out began to stir, whining for Molly.

“Mama” Audrey was yawning, reaching for her Aunt.

“No, you can't get up love.” Molly handed her a sippy cup. She gently caressed the child's soft curls. “She pulled out the vibrator Irene bought me for Christmas while Mrs. Hudson was staying for dinner.”

Violet erupted into bells of laughter. She placed a hand over her bouncing chest and tossed her head back. “Oh sweetie, it only gets worse. My eldest found our nipple clamps once.”

It was John's turn to howl in laughter. The mental image of Mycroft as a child wearing nipple clamps around his house was enough to make John question the retention strength of his bladder. Audrey giggled at the sound of his laugh and kicked her feet frantically.

“Is that funny? Does John's laugh sound like a dying cow?” Irene cooed at her.

“So Gregory.” Violet started, “When are you and my son getting married?”

The car swerved into the next lane, tires screeching on the pavement. Molly slipped and slammed into Irene, who in turn hit the door. Audrey smiled widely and shrieked whilst hitting Sherlock. “Again, Again!” Coffee spilled all down the front of John's t-shirt, the scorching hot liquid scalding his chest.

“WHAT THE FU-”

“SHE WASN'T TALKING ABOUT SHERLOCK. JESUS.”

“I need a medic.”

Irene moved forward to wrap her hands around his neck, but was held back by an apologetic Molly. Greg sheepishly mumbled out a quiet 'sorry'.

“John.” Sherlock sat forward, assessing the blonde's current state.

He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the burning of his skin. “I'm okay.”

“Well, we'll just skip that topic for now.” Siger patted his wife's hand. The elder woman pouted and sunk into her husband's arms. Silently simmering with anger at the irritating sensation of his skin both stinging and feeling numb, John tried to deflect everyone's thoughts away from the obviously sore subject.

“Would you rather know the date of your death or the cause of it?” He turned to the dark-haired genius.

“Neither, both are insignificant to me as death is inevitable.” John rolled his eyes and faced the road once again.

“Thanks Sherlock.” He folded his arms.

“The cause of my death.” Greg quietly mumbled, not taking his eyes off the road.

Irene narrowed her eyes, “I'm going to be the cause of your death if you drive this car like that again.”

Audrey, who'd been quietly watching the interaction, began singing at the top of her little lungs. She shook her head, dancing in her seat and clapping her hands. The adults all felt their irritation dissipate as they watched the little girl perform.

“Wock” She struggled to reach out her arm and pat Sherlock's arm. “Sing!”

John raised the volume of the radio, grinning manically at the little girl's request. He discreetly thumbed his phone, loading the video camera.

“Absolutely not.”

“Sherlock! Sing with the child.” Violet ordered her youngest child with the sternest of expressions.

“No.” Sherlock raised his chin defiantly.

Audrey picked up on his reluctance and began to wail, tears of utter misery forming at the corners of her eyes. He stared with wide eyes, no doubt trying to calculate the ways he could escape from the car unscathed. Molly tried to console the screaming girl, but was having little success.

“Just sing the song with her Sherlock. It's not going to kill you.” John tried to encourage him as nonchalantly as possible.

“Why is she doing that?” He looked ready to bolt out the window. As much time as he spent with her during her first year at Baker Street, he literally had no clue how to handle her when she cried. “Get her under control.” He snapped at the women.

“If you just sing with her, she will stop.” Irene glanced at her nails.

He sneered and stared out the window trying to block out the screams of the little girl. Which got louder with every passing minute. John tried to stifle his laughter, as the genius looked like he was about to stroke out. His right eye started twitching, which set John off into peals of laughter.

“Oh my GOD !” He exploded, tugging at his curls. “ The average sized arachnid crawled up the water spout, for no reason. Droplets of water from atmospheric water vapor become heavy and fell under gravity, effectually causing the arachnid to lose his grip under the heavy weight. The sun made an appearance, dramatically reducing the amount of precipitation in the air. The arachnid, stupidly, began his pointless journey up the water spout again.” The genius sang to the child. Audrey was in awe, giggling at Sherlock's desperation.

“That was...quite possibly the worst nursery rhyme I've ever heard.” Violet frowned at her son.

John raised a brow in concern of the genius with his camera still recording from their musical interaction. “Was that even classified as a song?”

“Sher, that was terrible .” Greg chimed in. “Literally the worst I've ever heard.” He pulled the van into the parking lot, shutting the engine off. “Here.”

John watched as the adults scrambled to exit the vehicle to grab their bags. Unfortunately for him, they didn't grab the bags. Instead they pulled Audrey from her car seat and bolted to the beach, leaving the front seat passengers with the baggage. Even Violet and Siger managed to creep away undetected.

“Come on John. It's just us I guess.” He opened the trunk of the car and began unloading the seemingly never ending supply of beach packs, chairs and umbrellas.

“Can I talk to you about something?” The DI continued to unpack, refusing to look at the blonde who was assessing him with curiosity.

John narrowed his eyes, “Sure.” He replied slowly.

“So about what Violet said,” Greg stopped unpacking and planted his hands on the bumper. He drew in a deep breath. “I do want to ask him to marry me.”

“Just for the record, we're not talking about Sherlock right?” John grinned.

The DI laughed loudly, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, we are most definitely not talking about Sherlock Holmes.”

“Well in that case, congratulations.” He smiled at the the DI and clapped a hand on his shoulder, “Yeah, good for you.” He paused, “You sure you wanna do that? You know you'd be stuck with both of them for the rest of your life, right?”

“Yeah, but Sherlock has you.” Greg slammed the truck door shut, “So I'm not too worried about it. Let's go find them.”

John smiled inwardly at Greg's words. Sherlock did have him but what everyone failed to acknowledge was that he had Sherlock. Sometimes it irritated him when they treated Sherlock like a child who needed to be babysat. John came into the picture as a friend not a babysitter, and it worked out just fine.

Even when there were times the genius acted like a child.

They struggled with their haul, scanning the waters for a sign of their friends. John found Sherlock's mop of black curls and pointed in their direction. It was difficult for them to walk through the sand, as it kept morphing around their feet with each unsteady step they took. The beach wasn't overly packed, so they picked a nice little spot in equal distance to the parking lot and the water. The men all but dropped the bags from their aching shoulders. Greg struggled to stick the umbrellas in the sand, swearing at them every time they tipped over.

Siger saw the trouble and strolled over to assist them. He pointed out that Greg hadn't put the base in the sand before putting the umbrellas, to which John doubled over in laughter. It was all fun and games for the blonde until he couldn't get the beach blanket to stay on the ground. He stuck shoes on all four corners but it kept blowing away. Once again, Siger pointed out he hadn't put the weights on it, the shoes were too flimsy.

Finally, they had the umbrellas up, the blankets down, the chairs settled and the coolers lingering around their little camp. John yanked his shirt off, tossing it on one of the folding chairs. Greg bolted to the waters, kicking up sand at other people, and dove head first into a wave. The eldest Holmes handed him a water bottle, as they made their way to the rest of the group.

“It's just a little water, love. See, Uncle Greg's playing in it. Look!” Molly was crouched behind the little girl, holding her tiny waist trying to move her towards the edge of the water. Audrey panicked and turned in her aunt's arms, throwing hers around Molly's neck.

“Nonono.” Molly picked her up and set her on her hip. John noticed she'd lost quite a bit of weight. She was a beautiful woman, curvy in all the right places, so he figured raising a child while working full time did take a toll on one's body.

Audrey clung to her neck and began yelling when they moved closer to the water. John moved to stand next to Sherlock, and tried to ignore the heaviness in the pit of his belly. The genius's pale skin stood out almost as bright as the sand. He stood tall, his lanky body sculpted where his muscles were most prominent. John most definitely ignored the way the line of his abdominal muscles formed a 'V' at his hips, disappearing into his swim trunks.

“Come on, we're getting in.” John chugged his drink, setting the empty bottle in the sand and pulling both Irene and Sherlock into the cold water.

The woman went willingly, encouraging the little girl still clinging to Molly for dear life. Siger was walking his wife to the shore line. He waited until she put her toes in before bending and pulling her into his arms, making a mad dash into the ocean water. Violet was shrieking through her laughter, complaining about the temperature. It was still extremely early so the sun hadn't had much time to warm the air let alone the water.

“Come on Audrey! It's just water!” Greg shouted over the loud crashing of the waves. She watched him but made no move to release the grip she had.

“Audrey, look!” Irene began splashing water all over Sherlock. He yelled and tried blocking her attempts to soak him but as soon as Audrey noticed, she perked up and began giggling. Irene's eyes widened and she heaved herself onto Sherlock's back, forcing him to slip under the water. John cackled like a madman.

When Sherlock and Irene rose from the water, he glared at her with the rage of a hundred angry bees. She grinned sheepishly and reached to wipe the drenched curls that were hanging over his eyes. He let her and when she was finished, he bent to whisper in her ear.

John looked away. He knew she wouldn't try anything to hurt either of them but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were aesthetically pleasing to look at together.

Audrey giggled and continue to laugh at their silliness, but it wasn't until John felt cold hands grasp at his legs and his arms that it all clicked. Greg and Irene latched on to his legs while Sherlock grasped his arms. They dragged him deeper into the frigid water.

“NO! IT'S COLD! STOP! STOP! PLEASE!” John begged, as he felt the cold water skimming his skin- causing goose pimples to form all over his body.

Irene yelled and struggled to keep her hold on his leg. “For the sake of the child!”

He could hear their laughter as he wrestled to break free from their grips. Sherlock's excited face was the last thing he saw before he was dropped into the water.

It was like rolling in snow without clothes. The entire surface of his body froze like a popsicle. John pushed off the ocean floor and broke the surface, gasping for air. Laughter filled his ears as he pushed his hair back, wiping his eyes.

He glared at the three crooks and flipped them off, shivering vigorously. Audrey thought it was hilarious and tried wiggling out of Molly's arms, reaching for the adults. Greg graciously fled the water and settled her on his hip before slowly making his way back in the water. She squealed when her toes first touched the cold.

“Come in Molly! The water is freezing!” John shouted over the waves crashing against the shore line. She sent him a small smile and shook her head.

“No, you guys enjoy!” She waved at her baby who was having the time of her life with Greg- They continued to splash the water at Sherlock.

“You have to force her in or she'll stay there all day.” Irene glided through the waves to John. Droplets were sliding down her neck from her wet hair. She rested her elbow on his shoulder and leaned into him. “What a shame it would be if she just happened to mysteriously fall in.” She pursed her lips and passed him a sideways glance.

He grinned and began his hunt for the stubborn woman. She, fortunately, was completely entranced with her niece and didn't even notice him coming for her until his feet hit the dry sand. John gave her the most sinister smile he could muster and began running at her. Her eyes widened and she made a futile attempt to escape.

“No!No!No!John!No!Please!JOHN!” He locked his arms around her waist and hoisted her over his shoulder. She squealed and kicked at him. Violet and Siger grinned at the ridiculous display and cheered them on.

“Mamamamama!” Audrey, now waist deep into the ocean, shrieked and clapped at the sight of her aunt joining her in the water.

John laughed and walked straight into the waves before letting her slide down to his side and dragging her under. She broke through the water, coughing and spluttering. Her hair was covering her face, and she tried to sweep it away.

“Holy crap, it's freezing.” She shivered and shuffled toward the closest person for for extra body heat, which happened to be the genius himself. He was thinner than she was, so John wasn't sure what she was expecting. He wasn't expecting the man to awkwardly put an arm around her.

John snorted at the puzzled look on the genius's face and tried to ignore the pang of jealously he felt when she wrapped an arm around his slim waist.

“M-m-m f-f-free-ee-zing.” Her lips were turning slightly blue, as her teeth chattered violently.

“That's because you have no fat on you dear. Not an ounce.” Violet intertwined her hands with her husband, splashing through the water.

Siger nodded “The more you move around, the better you'll feel.”

"Or she could leave the water." The genius rolled his eyes at his father. A beach ball smacked itself against Sherlock's shoulder. He whipped his head around to face the perpetrator. Greg stared innocently, pointing a finger at the little girl giggling in his arms.

John narrowed his eyes.“Where'd they even get that?”

“Probably stole it.” Irene scoffed. Very likely.

Molly, still shivering under Sherlock's arm. “He's in the police force.”

“Have you met him?” John and Irene spoke at the same time, smiling at each other's identical thought.

“Alright, John. Hold Audrey. We're playing chicken. Let's go.” Greg shoved her into John's arms. He almost didn't catch her, her bathing suit made her slip right through his arms. She frowned and clawed at his neck, trying to keep a grip.

Violet yanked on her husband's arm. “Oh come on dear! We haven't played this in years.”

“Probably since the dinosaurs were roaming.” Sherlock muttered. His mother yanked on one of his curls.

“How is it you know about dinosaurs but not the solar system? That makes no sense.” John gaped at the genius. That conversation was never resolved. Sherlock knew everything there was to know, except the fact that the Earth orbits the Sun.

“For your information-” The genius opened his mouth to speak but was cut off once again.

Greg nodded his head,“Alright, well I call dibs on Irene. No offense Molly, but she's sturdier.” He stupidly smiled at the women. John figured it was best he was dating a Mycroft rather than a woman.

“Did you just indirectly call me fat?” Irene set her hands on her hips, raising her brows.

“It is very likely he was implying your weight allows you to create a more solid foundation, thus creating a better opportunity to win.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, obviously bored with the unnecessary drama.

“So you're calling me fat.”

The DI sent a dirty glare at the genius.“Thanks a lot Sherlock. You're really a fantastic help.”

“You're welcome” He frowned, glancing at John as if he couldn't believe the ignorance he was witnessing.

Irene glared at him but swung her legs over Greg's shoulders and locked her ankles behind his back. John noticed how freakishly flexible she was. He quickly realized what an idiotic thought that was. Audrey babbled and fingered at the freckles scattered across John's chest.

Molly had somehow used Sherlock's hands as a step ladder and was perched a top his shoulders. Siger was tall, but his youngest son was taller. He and Molly towered over Irene and Greg, but as the DI predicted they looked less sturdy. Both of them thin as toothpicks would probably fly away if he blew hard enough. Violet grinned sweetly at the teams before yelling 'Onward husband!'.

They went straight for their son. Molly clasped hands with Violet, looking petrified, and pushed lightly.

“Come on dear girl, you've got to teach that child to stand her ground. Now push!” She pushed harder against the young woman.

“Incoming!” Greg took a running start, a firm grip on Irene's thighs, and charged for the rest of the group.

“And there's Uncle Sherlock trying to outwit everyone and failing. Oh! Look. Auntie Irene's nipple slipped out of her top. Whoops. There goes Molly. Down she goes. Sherlock's not happy. Big baby.” John spectated the sport and gave his commentary to the giggling one-year old. “Your mother is quite vicious.”

Sherlock waded in the water next to the pair. Audrey climbed out of John's arms and latched onto the genius's shoulder. John set her on them properly and she buried her tiny hands in his wet locks.

“Mycroft is the same way.” He winced as she yanked a little too hard at his sensitive scalp. “I do hope Lestrade is prepared to be the submissive one in the marriage.”

“Yeah, well-” John paused and stared at the genius in shock, “Wait, how did you know...you know what? Never mind. Stupid question.” He replied flatly.

Molly appeared beside them. “Well, I'm going to lay down. Try and get a tan or something.” She shrugged and plucked the child from Sherlock's shoulder. Audrey shrieked in outrage.

“When do you think they're going to give up?” John tilted his head and squinted.

Violet and Siger were an unstoppable force and continued to push against Irene and Greg, who began to look unsteady. As soon as they detected the moment of weakness, Siger charged again.

“We've got time.” They shuffled out of the water following Molly back to their small camp.

Molly smeared sun screen on each of them before dropping into her beach chair and pulling out a book. The one year old spotted the bag with her beach toys and pulled out some molds to make a sandcastle. John sat on the blanket with her, shoving an empty pail at the genius.

“Fill that with water.”

The genius gave him a flat look before returning to where the ocean kissed the shore. John peeked, appreciating the way his back muscles rippled when he bent. His pale skin glistened with droplets racing down his broad shoulders.

“Joh!” Audrey yelled.

She didn't appreciate him getting distracted and snatched the shovel from his hands. Molly giggled at him, her eyes peering over the top of her book. She knew exactly what caused him to lose focus.

“Shut up.” He muttered, going slightly red. He dug his toes into the sand, feeling eumoirous at the sensation.

At least until Sherlock roughly shoved the pail of water into his chest, water splashing over the sides and hitting John in his face.

“Here.” The genius paced. John raised an eyebrow at him. He was probably bored and in need of distraction, so John suggested an experiment.

“You know, I saw some fish at the edge of the water. Their scales have got to make for good research.”

“Dull.” He scowled.

“Sea shells”

Audrey pulled herself up and wobbled into the sand, digging for shells to place on her pile. A loud scream erupted from within the waters and John was met with the sight of Irene and Greg sailing through the air, into the ocean. Siger helped his wife climb off his shoulders, and kissed in their triumph.

Irene broke the surface, followed by Greg, and glared at the elders. The couple both put their arm around the woman and made their way back to the beach, leaving Greg to walk alone in shame.

“She's ferocious, don't play with them” The dark-haired beauty sulked.

John squinted his eyes. “What's on your leg?” He wiped his hands on his swim trunks and stood to get a better look. Panic flooded the woman and she thrust her leg out to get a better look.

“Get it off me!” She cried, dancing around in place. A harmless starfish was resting on the side of her calf. How she didn't feel that, John would never know. Audrey giggled and ran forward to pull it off, likely planning to use it as a decoration.

“Mama!” She proudly held it up for Molly to see. She set her book aside and reached for the little girl. Audrey carried it over to her aunt.

“Very pretty. Are you going put it back in the water when you're done?”

The little girl looked puzzled and held it against her chest, shaking her head. Molly laughed and cuddled her against her chest.

“It needs water to survive, love. We'll play with it for a little while, but then we have to give it back to it's family, okay?” The little girl considered it and then nodded her head, running back to the pile of sand and placing it at the base.

“Well at least we're not at bad as Molly and Sher.” Greg joined the group, running a hand through his wet hair. The genius huffed at him, obviously offended.

“Let's rent a boat, dear.” Siger nudged his wife in the direction of the boat rental booth. Violet grabbed her son's wrist, who in turn yanked John's arm.

“Have fun.” Greg waved, grinning at the horrified looks on Sherlock and John's faces.

Sherlock never let go of John's arm. He didn't mind it, in fact he reveled in it, but it left his mind racing with what ifs. Which he did mind.

The waves at the end of the beach were slightly less vigorous, and he saw many surfers and canoers floating around. Some people seemed to be napping in their boats, some were fishing. John saw one man tip over, and laughed loudly.

“Sherlock, spend some time with your mother. Let's go.” She tried to pry Sherlock's away from the blonde. John laughed when he held on tighter.

He nudged the taller man and sent him off with a soft smile. John watched as Violet hopped in, ordering the youngest Holmes to grab the paddles and push the boat into the water.

“It's you and me John.”

Siger clapped a hand on his shoulder. It should have been slightly awkward, but John felt like he'd known them all his life. They pushed the canoe into the water and climbed in, paddling through the small waves.

They watched as mother and son yelled at each other, trying to figure out how to paddle in sync. She used the paddle to splash him with water. A piece of seaweed slapped him in the face which left John roaring in laughter.

“Tell me, John. Do you think I love my wife?”

Siger put his paddle inside the boat and let it drift along in the waves. The question startled John, as he stared incredulously at the man. It was obvious how much he loved his wife. He stared at her like the sun rose and set on the woman. Stars practically fell from his eyes.

“Without a doubt.” He frowned at looked at the pair in the other canoe, which was rocking energetically.

“So you could say I recognize love where I see it.” He folded his hands in his lap, regarding the blonde with raised eyebrows.

“Sure, I mean I guess when you've had that experience...” John trailed off finally catching on. He opened his mouth to protest but was cut off.

“My sons are quite peculiar. They feel so deeply and are so passionate I think it scares them. They hide behind a stone wall, but peek over the top when something interests them enough. Most people assume the point of the defenses people place around themselves is to break them down, until they're exposed.”

“See Greg is good for my eldest. He climbed that wall, never losing sight of what was on the other side. But you,” He paused, smiling at the blonde.“You're helping Sherlock rearrange his stones while adding yours. You don't try to change one another, you accommodate each individual strength and weakness. You're combining your walls to create one big one.”

The sounds of the waves lapping at the canoe was the only sound he heard. John stared at his hands.

“I'm not sure if he feels the same way.” John spoke quietly. He turned to look at the genius, who was shaking his hands, animatedly, at his mother. It looked like they were having a heated debate. It was quite comical.

Siger smiled. “He looks at you the way I look at her. When you're not paying attention of course, because then that would be too easy.” He chuckled and rested his hand on John's. “Hearts are wild creatures, that's why our ribs are cages.”

Violet's loud scream rang out. The men whipped their heads to see the other canoe flipping over. Sherlock bobbed in the water, glaring at his mother who was laughing hysterically.

“Let's go get them.” John laughed loudly.

They paddled over to where they were floating gently. John grinned, leaning over and reaching an arm out to the genius while Siger reached for his wife.

“She's insufferable John.” Sherlock grabbed his forearm, resting his chin on the side of the boat. The blonde chuckled quietly and gently swept a lock of hair away from the genius's face. They both froze, eyes widening.

“We'd better get back to the group.” John stuttered, then frowned. “How are we all going to fit?”

He'd barely finished the sentence before Sherlock's grip tightened and pulled John into the water. John rose coughing, and swatting at the genius.

“Thanks. Git.” Violet had made it into the canoe, and was happily watching her boys.

The pair decided to push the boat back to shore rather than try and climb in. They left the other one bobbing and wading in the waves. John was so tired by the time they got to shore, he just laid in the sand, letting the water nip at his toes.

“Go on without me. I'm not gonna make it.” He cried dramatically. Sherlock rolled his eyes and began walking away.

“Don't keep my body for experiments!” John reached an arm out at the genius. He gasped loudly. “DON'T USE MY TOES FOR TEABAGS!”

Sherlock walked with his parents and threw a wink over his shoulder. John scrambled to stand and ran to catch up. By the time they walked back to the rest of the group, Greg had been buried in the sand while Molly and Audrey packed more onto him. His head was the only thing sticking out.

“Hey guys.” He spat out a bit of sand. Audrey frowned and climbed on his chest. “Did you have fun? Because I'm stuck and they won't let me out.”

Irene cackled and high-fived Molly. She picked up the little girl, abandoning the DI and grabbed a few sandwiches out of the cooler.

“That was for the almost car accident.”

Siger and Violet laughed, taking the two chairs and carrying it down to the shore. Audrey, whined and reached out for them, so Molly handed her a small baggy of crisps and sent her off. The one year old grabbed Violet's hand and skipped to the shore.

“John,” Greg hissed, wiggling his head in the sand. “I'm hungry. Give me a bite.”

So being the only decent friend around, John plopped a chair next to Greg and ripped off pieces of the sandwich, dropping them in his mouth like a mother bird feeds her baby. Irene walked over and emptied a water bottle over his face when he said he was thirsty.

The rest of the day was spent watching Audrey play in the waves and consoling her when a fish swam by her leg. Greg was let out of his gritty cage, belly flopping into the water. John had to control his laughter when Sherlock lost track of time, forgetting to apply more sunscreen inevitably getting serious sunburn on his back. He almost murdered John on the spot when he tried to lay ice cubes on the genius's back.

Irene flirted with some strangers, and flirted some more. Her top had mysteriously fallen off in the water and she was all too smug walking out of the waves topless. Molly was attacked by hungry seagulls and spent a majority of the afternoon fighting them off, defending her food. Siger had fallen asleep, mouth open, in the beach chair. The young adults spent the duration of his nap decorating him with sea shells, seaweed, rocks, and just about everything else they got their hands on. Violet barely put her camera down and took pictures of every passing moment. Audrey did eventually return the starfish back to it's home, and cried for an hour afterwards.

John couldn't remember the last time he'd been so happy. Sure, he had plenty of friends at home. There was just something about the chaos of their intimate group that made then unified. They complimented one another, and John wasn't sure he would find that anywhere else.

As the sun began it's downward descent, they lay quietly watching the sky blend from a light blue to a rich orange. The clouds cast a slightly lavender glow, colors bouncing off against one another. The area slowly cleared leaving a few people lingering around, some walking at the shore line. They lay there together, quietly watching the stars twinkle against the darkening sky and listening to the sea caress the earth.

Audrey was sleeping, tucked into Siger's arms, drained from the excitement of the day. Violet snapped photos quietly as they all lay, breathing amongst themselves. She'd ran a hand lovingly through his grey hair, looking through the pictures she'd taken. Not wanting to disturb the rare peace and quiet they'd been cocooned in, she laughed quietly.

There was one of her husband, clad in all kinds of ocean decorations the child-like adults had covered him in, surrounded by them all grinning and laughing at him. Greg had a crab in his hand and was dangling it over her husband's head while the two women looked on, laughing into each others shoulders. John was leaned into Sherlock, covering his mouth while giggling. Audrey was on his lap, utter delight radiating over her face.

Another one showed, John and Molly, after a particularly large wave crashed over them. He was sprawled out, face first, in the sand while she had one leg sticking out of the water. She was in mid scream, clinging onto John's swim trunks.

The third photo was one of Greg buried in the sand, face scrunched up, as Irene poured the bottle of water over him. She was grinning maliciously while John had his head thrown back mid laugh.

Molly trying to beat a seagull with her purse was the next one. It was in flight, diving straight for her as she pitched her bag at it. Feathers floated in the air all around her, some even lodged in her messy bun.

Violet had been lucky enough to snap a rare picture of her son laying still. Audrey had his head in her lap. A deep scowl decorated his face, as John smirked in the background, dropping the ice on his burnt skin.

A stranger had offered to take a group photo. Siger stood, one arm wrapped around his wife and the other holding Audrey in the air. Irene was pointing a finger at Greg, as they'd been arguing about who was going to drive home. He had his eyes rolled up and his arms folded across his chest. Molly rested her head against his shoulder, giving a tired but content smile and a wave. Sherlock had his arms hanging loosely his sides, glaring at the camera, while John reached up pushing the corner of her son's lip up with his finger. He was smiling from ear to ear at the miserable genius.

As much as she adored them all, her favorite picture-the last one- was of her son and his choice of companion. She'd snapped it a few minutes prior, and it had left a mark on her heart. Upon looking at the photo, she knew he'd be taken care of, loved and in no need of anyone else. John had his eyes closed, laying perpendicular to Sherlock using his stomach as a pillow. Sherlock was propped up on his elbows, gazing softly through heavy lidded eyes. He was completely entranced with the blonde.

Her throat tightened and she felt tears form at the corners of her eyes as she stared on. Her boys were difficult, and that was putting it mildly. But their partners moved alongside them with the greatest of ease. It wasn't until Molly tapped on her shoulder, smiling softly, and announced they were packing up.

Violet looked to the ocean- the moon was out and the stars were shining. The lunar image reflected off of the water, giving her a sense of serenity and a peace of mind. She watched as the adults broke the cocoon of silence, and began joking with one another. They were all her children, even if she didn't birth them. If they were happy then so was she.

Chapter Text

“Tell me! Tell me!” Sarah whipped the wet washcloth at him repeatedly as she skipped around, grinning like a fool. With a sharp snap she flicked her wrist one last time, aiming for his vulnerable testicles.

He cowered and jumped back before the rag could come in contact with his crotch. “Ow, Ow. Alright! Stop hitting me.”

John snatched the cloth out of her hands, tossing it into the sink behind her. The shop was buzzing with energy- customers filling every table, leaving no seat untouched. It had been the first time during the entire shift that they'd had a moment of uninterrupted peace. His feet were beginning to ache from constantly running back and forth between the machines and pastry bar. Thankfully Sarah was quick on her feet and they worked in sync, never skipping a beat as they worked alongside one another.

After their last customer had paid and walked away, content with his order, they collapsed against the counters giggling at the sudden stagnancy.

“I don't know much about the details” John wiped his hands on his apron. “I haven't really had a chance to talk to Greg yet. I've barely seen Sherlock.” He frowned, and felt a light ache in his chest.

It'd been a week since Sherlock's parents had returned home, leaving with a promise to return in the immediate future, much to the genius's dismay. Siger had left John with a firm pat on the shoulder and a wink. They hadn't discussed their conversation on the canoe any further.

John found himself asking more questions and not getting any closer to finding answers. He still hadn't confronted Sherlock. In a way, he felt as if he were waiting for the right moment. Ignorant as he may present himself, he was aware that he was holding back. He knew perfect moments didn't just happen; They had to be created. There was a constant nagging in the back of his mind, as if he were missing something crucial but had no clue what it was. John simply couldn't bring himself to say the words he so desperately needed to say. He was terrified.

Regardless, it wasn't as if he'd even had a chance to tell him. He'd been working nonstop, taking as many double shifts as possible. John had barely slept in his bed, let alone stop to spend time with his rambunctious neighbors. When he did rest, he'd slept so deeply from over exhaustion that he didn't even hear the genius's late night violin concertos or Irene's loud footsteps stumbling up the stairs. The chaos of his work schedule did not compare to the chaos that his friends caused, and he found himself missing their loud personalities. The only time he'd seen any of them was when he was running out of the building a few days prior and saw Sherlock peeking out of the window.

Greg had texted him at one point, letting him know that he had popped the question to Mycroft. Obviously the eldest of the Holmes brothers had agreed to marrying the DI. John had been on the tube when he'd received the happy news and cheered loudly. He pointedly ignored the appalled glares he'd received from other riders for disturbing the peace. They agreed to get together and celebrate at the end of the week-John had opted to take the next day off so they could get trashed without the stress of working with a hangover.

He'd told Sarah the news at the beginning of their shift mistakenly thinking they'd have time to gush over the news. An entire shift later, she was beating him with a dish towel and yelling at him to tell her about the romance.

“I don't need details, I want the juicy part.” She combed her hair back with her skinny fingers, pulling it into a messy bun. “Hold on, we need pie.”

John laughed as she ran around their work space looking for clean forks. Sarah slammed a cream pie down and shoved a fork at him while stabbing at the dessert. She shoved a forkful in her mouth, chewing and swallowing quickly, before waving her hands at him.

“Okay, there. Now tell me.”

He laughed, swiping some of the whipped cream with his pinkie before sucking it off his skin. There was a hint of banana and zeusberry, which surprisingly complimented each other fantastically. Dragging out the suspense, he chewed his dessert aggravatingly slow. When she whirled around in search of the rag, he surrendered with a laugh.

“Okay, Mycroft has like a deep, and mildly disturbing, obsession with umbrellas. I'm almost entirely sure he has a house somewhere dedicated to his umbrellas, alone.” He rolled his eyes, “So Greg, stole one from his collection. I guess right before Mycroft woke up, because apparently he sleeps, Greg hid all the umbrellas in the flat except for the one he stole. Luckily it happened to be pouring raining, not that that comes as a surprise, so he had no choice but to use that particular one.”

John paused for breath and burst into laughter. Sarah was grinning, blatantly love struck, and cradling her face in her hands. He could practically see little pink hearts floating around the crown of her head.

“Excuse me? Could I get extra sugar please?”

An elderly woman waited patiently at the counter. John smiled at her. She reminded him of Maude. He wondered if Mycroft could find her and then mentally chastised himself at the idea of thinking Mycroft could rather than would. Sarah, still lost in the romance, distractedly handed her an entire bag of sugar. She nodded at the customer without losing eye contact with John. Urging him to continue the story, he grinned and shook his head at her.

“Anyway, I guess it was raining pretty bad so he had to open it as soon as he stepped outside. When he did, it was completely cut up.”

She gasped and covered her mouth, eyes wide. “Oh my god. Did he-?”

“Yeah. Greg carved out 'Will you marry me' in the umbrella.” John laughed loudly. He felt excitement for the men bubbling in his stomach. “So now, they're engaged. They're planning to get married next month so we're celebrating tonight.”

“Oh my god.” She whispered, covering her mouth. “Oh my god. That is so freaking romantic. Holy shit!” Sarah was yelling now and jumping in place. Most of the patrons had been watching her, amused at the ridiculous outburst. “Look! I have goosebumps!” She stuck her arm in his face.

“So that was that.” He shrugged, grinning as he picked at the pie.

His coworker stood frozen, jaw hanging and a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She shook her head and sighed contently. “Wow. I can't wait for you and Sherlock to stop being idiots and do that. God, it's going to be glorious.” She smiled dreamily.

“Anyway,” John rolled his eyes and checked his watch. “I'm heading out. Sherlock is probably already on his way.” He felt the all too familiar flutter in his belly. Chucking the apron under the counter, he poured two to-go cups for the genius and himself. Sarah snapped out of her daze and nodded feverishly.

“Yes, please hurry. We're packed today, and normally I don't care that he makes my customers cry, but only when it's slow. I have to draw a line somewhere. Go. Shoo. Be gone.”

He chuckled as she pushed him from behind the counter. John felt the straps of his bag slide over his arms. With an amused glance over his shoulder, he accommodated the weight and whirled around. He gave her a light kiss on the cheek and pulled his phone out of his back pocket.

The phone alerted him that he'd missed a text. John's smiled softly as the name SHERLOCK flashed on the screen.

I'm approximately two and a half minutes away.

SH

“You could just tell him to stop.” John grinned at the eager woman.

Sarah sent him a dubious stare and ushered him out the front door. On cue, the genius turned the corner making his dramatic appearance. John almost sighed at the sight alone. Sherlock, still standing unnecessarily tall, had dressed surprisingly casual. It was almost a strange sight. Of course John had seen him in much less but it was a sight for sore eyes nonetheless. The genius was wearing a navy t-shirt, accentuating every curve in his torso, that tucked into a khaki colored pair of trousers. His curls seemed more wild then usual, the dark hue contrasting with his light eyes.

The man looked like he walked straight out of a magazine.

Sarah let out a low whistle and nudged John's shoulder with her own. John stumbled slightly, feeling his cheeks burn as he glared at her.

“Hi Sherlock. He's all yours. Have fun tonight. Don't cause too much trouble.” She winked and sent the blonde off with a wave.

And then they were alone. Sherlock stood patiently, a hint of a smile gracing his lips.

“Hi.” John swallowed thickly.

He wondered if he'd ever feel normal around Sherlock. In the sense that, his heart wouldn't be trying to break free from it's cage. He mentally rolled his eyes at himself. Probably not.

“Hello John. I presume work was dull, as usual.” Sherlock tilted his head slightly, raising one of his brows. Two dimples surfaced with every word he spoke, as if they were personally teasing John. Sweet Jesus.

“Well it was pretty busy.” John laughed and shook his head.

The genius looked momentarily confused. “I know. That's what I said. ”

John folded his arms over his chest with a smirk. He had actually missed Sherlock and everything that came with missing Sherlock. Like hearing his voice.

“Alright, humor me.”

Sherlock smirked and sucked in a breath. Sucker .

“You have fresh coffee stains on your shirt. The old ones are somewhat faded from being in the wash. Now the splash patterns suggest that you were moving quickly while holding the cups close to your chest. Likely trying to avoid with collision with Sarah. Although you are naturally clumsy, we could perhaps write it off. Your shirt is also untucked in the back, so you were obviously bending over frequently and you didn't have a moment to notice. There's whipped cream, at least I hope it is, on your neck which you would have observed if you'd looked in a mirror.” Sherlock shrugged, sparing him an eye roll,“...and I just heard your stomach growl. Considering you are constantly eating, it is likely you didn't have time to stop and take a lunch break.” He jutted his chin at the coffee in John's hand. “Is that for me?”

“Yeah, sorry.” He tried to discreetly rub his neck against his shoulder but, of course, the genius noticed.

Sherlock licked his thumb and wiped the spot clean. John swooned a bit and tried to focus on anything but the gentle sweep of Sherlock's thumb on his jugular.

“How did I do?” Sherlock muttered quietly, rubbing slightly longer than necessary.

“Brilliantly. But you already knew that.” He shrugged. “Sarah tried to murder me with a dish rag, not that her abuse is anything new.” John laughed, passing the coffee to his neighbor. Thankfully Sherlock pulled his hand away. “...and I had a few bites of pie."

Sherlock didn't say anything, but accepted the coffee graciously. Approval flickered across his face. It was the little things, like knowing how he liked his coffee or that he put toothpaste on his toothbrush first- which drove John absolutely crazy, because who in their right mind didn't wet it first - that made all the difference.

As far a physical appearances, well , it was quite refreshing to see the man so relaxed. A rarity indeed. He was torn between complimenting Sherlock- because he looked damn good- and ignoring the change, in fear of embarrassing him for even trying. He didn't want to make a big deal of it and traumatize him, so naturally he made a fool of himself.

“So, you look different.”

The genius quirked a brow at his words.

“No! Not a bad different. A good different.” John stammered. So much for smooth. “I mean, I'm not saying you look good- not that you look bad. You obviously know you're good looking.”

Sherlock's upper lip twitched and he stared stoically at the pitiful blonde.

“Wait, no!” John furrowed his brows. He tried to will away the heat creeping up his neck.

The genius pursed his lips and nodded to himself. “So I'm not good looking.”

“No!” He was making a fool out of himself and Sherlock knew it.

“No?”

“That's not what I said.”

“Isn't it?”

They'd stopped walking, much to John's surprise. The taller man was looming over him, his mouth set in a firm line. If he didn't know better, he would have thought Sherlock was truly offended, but there was a playful glint in his eyes saying otherwise.

“I'm just saying you look casual. Not that casual is bad. It's just different. But not a bad different. Good different. Neutral different. ”

“Which is it John?”

John's mouth shut with an audible snap. He grit his teeth together, trying to gain some composure.

“You look fine.” He spun on his heels and continued to walk in the direction of home. Sherlock's long legs gave him an advantage, and he caught up quickly. John could feel his embarrassment rolling off him in waves. The genius was no doubt extremely amused by John's awkward disposition.

“John?”

“Shut up Sherlock.” He warned.

Sherlock covered John's shoulder with his large hand and gave a small tug.“John, you're going the wrong way.”

The blonde stopped short, assessing at his surroundings. He was in fact walking in the wrong direction. With a nod, he decided his final destination would be with his head in the dirt like an ostrich.

“Yes. Yes I am.”

“I'll be right up.”

Sherlock turned and left him on the staircase of Baker Street. John shrugged, making his way up to the genius's flat. It was unsurprisingly unlocked however it was surprisingly occupied.

A chorus of 'John!' rang out, as they stormed over to embrace him. His heart swelled. He had actually missed these people. Molly shared the hug with Irene, greeting him with a brief peck on the cheek. Irene, a little more hostile than her counterpart, pinched his nipple with a frown.

“You little shit. Where the hell have you been?” He flinched away from her, scowling at her obvious delight.

Maybe not.

“Working.”

“Not tonight you're not.” She walked over to Sherlock's kitchen, bringing back a small glass of wine. “We're celebrating!

That reminded him. “Where's-”

“John! Good of you to finally make it! I told Sherlock we'd come pick you up but he was adamant he could do it.” Greg appeared around the archway, throwing his arm around the young blonde's neck.

“Congratulations.” John chuckled at the excitement radiating off of the DI. “You're getting married.”

“To Mycroft Holmes at that. I'm a lucky guy.”

“Unfortunate, maybe. Lucky? Probably not.” Sherlock rushed past, headed in the direction of his bedroom. He was cradling something in his arms but John couldn't make out what it was.

“Don't listen to him.”

“We don't.” They stated flatly.

John looked around. The flat was...clean. At least in Sherlock's standards. It was acceptable. Molly, Irene and the groom-to-be were all accounted for. Audrey was nowhere to be found, likely staying with Mrs. Hudson downstairs for the night. Sherlock was doing God knows what in his bedroom which left-

“Where's the bride?”

“I do hope you weren't referring to me, Mister Watson.” The British government official appeared by his side, with the sternest of expressions.

John smiled cheekily and held his hand out. “So sorry to hear about the umbrella.”

Loud cackling emitted from the kitchen. It sounded suspiciously like Sherlock. John couldn't figure out what the hell the supposed genius was doing.

“I suppose it was worth it.” A hint of a smile gracing Mycroft's thin lips.

“You suppose?” Greg slapped a hand dramatically over his chest. “I'm wounded.”

“I apologize, dear Gregory. The sacrifice was worth it.”

Something happened in that moment. Something John was both terrified of and disgusted by. He wanted to gouge his eyes out but never look away, for surely this could not be happening. Mycroft I-Run-This-Country Holmes cracked a genuine smile. To top it off, Greg moved to plant a firm kiss on his lips. John dry heaved and stepped as far away from them as possible.

“I prefer not to vomit, so please stop.” Sherlock reappeared, empty handed. John raised his brow at the genius, who just winked in response.

“Can we get going please? She's almost half done with that bottle.” Molly jerked her thumb in the direction of her ostentatious best friend.

“It's a momentous occasion!”

“Yes, not for you though.” Molly rolled her eyes at the dark-haired beauty. She knitted her brows, “John, did you want to change?”

He'd forgotten that he was still in his work attire and there were stains all over his shirt and trousers. The blonde smiled sheepishly and turned to exit the flat whilst the rest of his neighbors tried to pry the wine bottle from Irene.

They were going pub hopping, that much was obvious. Although the evening was beginning to cool down he knew they'd be running around like lunatics and opted to stick with a thin maroon button up and faded denim jeans. Slipping his wallet- although it was likely he wouldn't even be allowed to touch it- keys -an object proving to be useless as he practically lived with Sherlock- and his phone- which he would use for future blackmail- in his back pocket.

He didn't bother locking his door because practically the whole street could break in. John bounced down the steps and poked his head through the doorway of Sherlock's flat.

“Ready to-What are you doing?” He arched his brow.

“I believe the phrase is 'pre-gaming'” Sherlock set his empty glass on the coffee table, wiping his plump lips.

John fought the overwhelming urge to rub the tiny droplets of wine from the genius's mouth...with his own. He cleared his throat and looked to the rest of their group. He doubled over in laughter when he focused on the DI and his soon-to-be-husband.

“I-was-gone-for-five-seconds!” He choked through his laughter.

Somehow, they'd managed to get newly engaged couple in matching black shirts. Greg's shirt had the words 'Under New Management' with a large white arrow across the chest pointing in Mycroft's direction. Mycroft's shirt said 'He Put A Ring On It' with an identical arrow pointing in his fiance's direction. Irene cackled at the sight of the older Holmes's blatant misery, sipping at her glass triumphantly.

“You are habitually reminding us of your-” The blonde made air quotes “minor position in the British government. I don't understand how they forced you to wear that.” John scrunched his eyes at the eldest of the Holmes brothers.

“Because we're celebrating! Look!” Greg threw an arm around his future husband's waist and pointed at his own shirt. “We match.”

“Technically you don't. They simply have the same cut and color. The fit is completely different as are the ridiculous phrases.” Sherlock filled a glass, passing it to the very happy dark-haired woman. “Plus Mycroft's makes him look fat.”

Molly scrubbed her face, likely wondering how it was she came to befriend these people.

“Wait!” Irene jumped off of her chair, “Stop that. I worked hard on that makeup.” She moved forward to slap Molly's hands away.

“How much have you had to drink?”John frowned at her. She had a bit of a glazed look in her eyes.

“A bottle and a half.” She clapped her hands together. “Alright, let's go. Time to celebrate.”

She snatched the wine bottle out from Sherlock's hands, slipped her heels on and strolled straight out of the flat. Greg took Mycroft's hand and trailed closely behind her.

“Why do I get the feeling this is going to be a really bad idea?” Molly squeaked.

John could understand her concern. A government official, a detective inspector, a consulting detective, a pathologist, a dominatrix and a university student- all in one place with an endless supply of liquor. The night wasn't going to end until one of them was passed out on the street and another dead.

“Because let's face it.” He threw an arm around her whilst dragging the genius to the door, “This is the worst idea we've ever had.”

“John” The genius hissed in his ear. John grimaced and leaned away from him.”John, why is he here?”

He jutted his chin in the direction of Greg's incompetent co-worker. John rolled his eyes and rubbed his forehead, willing every deity to grant him patience for he was going to strangle his best friend.

They were sitting in a sleek black limo, waiting to arrive at their first stop of the night. On the way out of the building-leaving with an excited farewell to Mrs. Hudson and Audrey-Sherlock had become instantly agitated as Sally Donovan and Phillip Anderson emerged from the building across the street with a wave.

Greg had apparently forgotten to inform Sherlock that they'd been invited out for the celebration. Here he was now, sitting in a luxurious limo with his closest friends on his way to have a ridiculous night out trying not to murder the man he decided to fall in love with.

Fantastic.

“Because you freakin' wanker.” John hissed back, “He's Greg's friend and we tolerate him. This is he and your brother's special night, not yours. So shut it.”

Sherlock huffed and threw himself back in his seat. The blonde took a deep breath before trying to rejoin the conversation amongst the rest of their group.

“Yes, but I can tolerate Sally's mediocrity” John groaned and covered his face. “I cannot and will not be held responsible for my actions should he,” Sherlock wrinkled in nose in distaste, “-make a stupid comment.”

“You can and you will. So don't push it.” John whispered furiously. “Can we get to drinking? I'm feeling a little anxious” He shot a dark look to the genius.

“Well...whatever is left.” Irene raised her wine bottle and stared at it dubiously.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, still miserable in his ridiculous engagement shirt. “I assure you we are fully stocked for the evening's festivities. Gregory, open that cabinet please.”

The DI obliged and reached for the cabinet that below Molly and Irene's seats. He pulled out a rather expensive looking bottle of champagne, and grinned triumphantly.

“Drink anyone?”

A loud cheer went around the small space as they felt a spark of excitement surge in their blood. Greg dug around for the corkscrew before jamming it in the bottle. The cork popped, champagne spilling over the neck of bottle and all over his hands. He grinned pouring a glass for each of them.

“How about a toast?” Sally interjected with a small grin. Irene perked up and scooted forward in her seat.

“Yes! That's a great idea. Good job Samantha!” She patted Donovan's knee.

John furrowed his brows at her and snagged a glance at Sherlock, who simply shrugged. The blonde accepted his glass and held it in the air.

“Anyway. Here's to Greg and Mycroft and their hopefully happy marriage. May you never run out of murder or umbrellas.” He laughed at his own jibe. Nobody drank, instead they opted to stare curiously at the blonde.

“That's kind of morbid.” Molly commented, scrunching her forehead.

Offended, John snapped. “Whatever. You get the point.”

“You basically just said, you hope people don't stop killing each other for the sake of their marriage.” Irene tapped her bright red fingernails against her equally red lips.

John shook his head at the women. “Don't forget the umbrellas.”

All was quiet for a few seconds. Greg shrugged and held his glass in the air. “Works for me. Maybe without the dying people part.”

“It's not possible for someone not to die whilst being murdered.” John knitted his brows.

“Course it is.”

“No. No it's not. It's impossible.” Sherlock stated firmly. He stared at them with serious concern for their mental capabilities.

“It really isn't.” Greg smirked. “Figure it out. Think of it as a riddle. Now can we finish this toast?”

All but Sherlock raised their glass in the air. The genius sat like a stone, trying to rake his brain for logic in Greg's apparent puzzle. John grinned and tapped his glass against the others.

“To umbrellas and murder! Cheers.” Their drinks made a loud clink.

“Okay, driver. Raise that music!” Irene clambered in between the newly engaged couple and knocked on the glass divider. “And open the sun roof!”

The driver obliged, raising the volume in the back of the car gradually. Drinks went around and they laughed amongst themselves, enjoying the drive. Irene, already happily buzzed and on her way to a drunken stupor, cheered out of the sunroof with her arms in the air and head thrown back.

“How did you two meet anyway?” Molly smiled sweetly, keeping one hand on the back of her best friend's dress.

The woman was dangling dangerously out of the sunroof, yelling at strangers walking the streets of London. John could completely relate to Molly's relationship with Irene. She had to deal with Irene's promiscuity and obnoxious tendencies, although he didn't think she really minded as much as she worried. He looked over to the still silent man, who had yet to touch his drink, and patted his knee. As much as he hated to admit it, it was like raising a over sized child who was just smarter than him.

Sherlock's gaze snapped to his face, as he gained the genius's full attention. He looked quizzically as the blonde.

“Nothing. Just drink. Enjoy the night. Stop thinking.” John put his hand up defensively “Yes, I know you can't just turn it off, so don't. Put it on the back burner. Spend time with us.”

Maybe it was the champagne getting to him or maybe he was just high on excitement but he felt bold and went as far as to express it.

“I missed you this week. Join the conversation.”

He expected Sherlock to snort and patronize his childish mindset but instead the genius gulped his glass and turned toward the group. John smiled inwardly, feeling ecstatic in his victory.

Mycroft smirked and stole a glance at his fiance, who managed to pull one of the most sullen of faces John had ever seen.

“We were stuck in an lift together.” Greg spoke in a clipped manner. John could see Sherlock smirking from in his peripheral.

“Why?” John pressed.

“Because somebody decided it would be funny to tamper with the electrical grid while his brother was in a lift and didn't realize I was in there too.” Greg sipped at his drink, glaring at the smug genius.

“I knew you were in there. It was part of the plan.” Sherlock fiddled with his champagne glass, trying but failing to seem perfectly innocent. “I didn't anticipate you'd react so strongly to closed spaces.”

“You're claustrophobic?” Molly giggled, covering her mouth.

“Extremely.” Mycroft's lip twitched. Greg stared out the window, a gloomy expression darkening his face.

“Why were you messing with the lift?” John asked the genius. “Let me guess. You were bored.”

“I'm afraid it was not so simple then dear John.” Mycroft sniffed. “Merely another one of our many hospitals visits to my brother. I'm quite sure you can make your own deductions.”

John's heart sank and he nodded glumly. Drugs. He looked to Sherlock carefully, unwilling to upset the genius and spoil the night. Sherlock seemed unperturbed and gazed passively at the blonde. One of their first conversations had been about the genius's drug addiction as an adolescent. His choice of poison had been cocaine, leaving him prone to overdoses.

John tried to focus on the positive outcome; Sherlock had met Greg Lestrade-who hadn't achieved his detective inspector status yet. He'd been high when he infiltrated the crime scene, shooting off random deductions and firing insults at the unsuspecting officers. Being the decent guy that he was, Greg had taken him back home-leaving with the threat that if he caught Sherlock high again, he would arrest him.

The much younger Lestrade had found the genius in an alleyway near Scotland Yard with a syringe sticking out of his arm. He had taken Sherlock to the hospital and well , the rest was history. He met Mycroft and together they forced the young genius to get clean. Four years later, they were driving through London, celebrating all that their lives had come to be.

“You're telling me that while you were in the hospital- which you were in because you overdosed on cocaine- you thought it would be prudent to tap into the electrical signals of the lift to trap your brother and the officer that practically saved your life, together.” John rubbed his forehead for the hundredth time that night.

“Yes.” Sherlock stared at the roof and nodded.

“I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You were carrying severed toes when we met. That should have freakin' tipped me off right there.” The blonde snorted.

“Way to go boss.” Anderson held his glass up at the DI. John had almost forgotten he was there.

“You! Hey! No, not you grandma. You! Green shirt! Are you gay?” The dark haired beauty hollered out of the vehicle.

“Ohmygod.” John burst into laughter. She was absolutely ridiculous.

Donovan stared up at her incredulously. “Is she always like that?”

“No. She's worse when she's sober.” Sherlock stated, matter-of-factly.

The vehicle pulled to a stop and the driver climbed out to open the doors. Irene managed to wiggle free from Molly's grasp and pulled herself into a sitting position on the roof of a car. Molly scrambled out of the vehicle, grabbing Sherlock on the way out.

“You're tall, you can get her down.”

John trailed, dumbfounded how the night hadn't even started and they were already acting out. He laughed as he watched the genius stand with his back to the car, the gloomiest of expressions decorating his face, while Irene slid off the car and onto his back. Her arms locked around his neck and he reached up to hold them in place so she wouldn't choke him.

“This is fun. You're really tall Sherlock. How tall are you?” She dangled off of his shoulders, yelling into his ear.

He sighed deeply. “ Six foot one.”

Much to his irritation, she studied John . “Top.” Snickering, she let herself slide down the genius's long back. She straightened her dress and linked arms with Molly, making their way inside the first pub of the night.

It was a local joint, much to John's surprise considering Mycroft was present. He gave a questioning glance to Greg, who rolled his eyes at the unspoken question.

“My choice first. We agreed. Plus they make really good nachos.”

Inside the dim lit pub were hordes of people packed into chairs and booths, crawling all along the bar. It was going to be impossible to find seating. There was a thickness to the air-cloudy from perfumes and colognes. The walls were made of brick and had posters of their favorite sports teams, local bands and 'wanted' ads. Blinking neon lights of funny quotes and sayings decorated the bar. An old pool table sat in the middle of the pub. John could hear awful singing coming from the back, likely a karaoke machine encouraging too many drunk patrons to pretend they're Shania Twain and Michael Jackson.

“I got a booth reserved for us!” Greg grinned, leading the large group towards an empty booth in the corner near the karaoke machine. The table was cut like a half moon, so Molly forced Irene to sit in the middle where she would be blocked on both sides.

Sherlock scooted in next to John, grimacing at Anderson who had no other choice but to sit next to him. A pretty woman with short blonde hair and bright blue eyes walked up to the table.

“Hey Greg. Who did you bring us today?” She smiled warmly at the group, before settling her gaze on the only other blonde at the table.

“Mary, this is my fiance Mycroft and his brother Sherlock. Then we've got John, Molly, Irene, Sally and Anderson.”

“Are you gay?” Irene rested her jeweled ear on her shoulder and smiled suggestively at the pretty waitress.

“Nope” She winked at John. Sherlock stiffened in his seat and glared at her until she looked away, her attention refocusing on the dark haired beauty.

“Would you like to be?” Molly set her head against the table, her shoulders shaking from either hysterical sobbing or laughter. John couldn't really tell.

“Anyway,” Greg shot an incredulous look at the woman, “Can you start us off with a round of shots? We're celebrating!”

“Coming right up” She flashed a toothy smile. John smiled at her, and turned his attention to the table. He felt the overwhelming sensation that someone was watching him, and he glanced to his left, catching the genius's dark glare.

“What?” John jumped back.

“She was flirting with you.” Sherlock stated flatly.

“She didn't even say anything to me.”

“Didn't have to.” Sherlock stretched his neck. Oh lord. “Her body language said more than her mouth ever could. When she comes to bring our drinks, she'll hand them out one by one, saving you for last. She'll bend over the table exposing her cleavage, which suggests she'd like you take her home tonight. However, I deduce that she may have some sort of rash or irritation on her genitals due to the way she's walking-as if she's trying to discreetly scratch. Not to mention the redness and shape of the scars around her mouth suggesting she frequently has blisters on that area and she picks at them. ”

“You got that from a two minute conversation?” John arched his brow.

“No I got that from a thirty second interaction.” Sherlock sniffed.

John wrinkled his nose. He hadn't been planning to talk her up, but he was secretly enjoying the attention. Maybe not so secretly.

True to his word she returned, passing out the shots and saving his for last. She winked at him and left with a promise to return with a pitcher of beer.

“She slipped her number under the glass.” John lifted his shot, and long behold a small piece of paper with a lipstick stain and a set of digits. The genius snatched it from his hand and discreetly tucked it in Anderson's pocket. The blonde rolled his eyes at him.

“Okay, a new toast.” Greg held his shot and grabbed a lime from the bowl Mary had left. John wasn't sure if he wanted to risk it, considering the new found knowledge Sherlock had so graciously provided him.

“To finding family in the strangest of people. Sherlock, thank you for your drug addiction-”

John choked on his drink and thumped his fist against his chest.

“For it led me to my future husband.” Greg finished with a laugh. Mycroft shook his head and allowed a small smile to grace his lips.

“For family”

“For family” They spoke simultaneously, clinked their glasses and took their shots. John felt the strong burn from the Tequila trail down his throat and elected to suck on a lime, itchy genitals be damned.

“Technically, I'm the reason you two-”

“Shut up Sherlock.” John croaked.

“That tasted like pepper.” Molly scrunched her nose. “Gross.”

“John get us drinks.” Irene commanded. He shot her an irritated glare, before nodding at the men who were blocking him. Sherlock followed him to the bar and stole a stool from one of the other bar-goers. He received a dirty stare from the barfly and gestured for John to sit.

“Do you know what they like to drink?” John had to yell over the loud hum of voices and bad karaoke. This time it was Celine Dion.

Sherlock merely arched a brow at him. Of course he could deduce which drink belonged to whom, who was he, Anderson ? Certainly not. John chuckled and fiddled with the napkin on the counter while they waited for the bartender to acquire their order.

It was almost fifteen minutes before they made it back to the table elbow deep in alcohol. There was an empty pitcher of beer in the middle of the table that Mary must have left. Irene was leaning over the wall of their booth, conversing loudly with the table directly behind theirs. Molly was chatting animatedly with Anderson and Sally while Greg gazed amorously at Mycroft. Sherlock grimaced at the sight causing the blonde to snicker and bump shoulders with him. Well, whatever he could reach.

“Alright, we've got a dry Martini for Ms. I-can't-stay-still-without-disturbing-someone-else, Gin and Tonic for Anderson, Whiskey sour for Monsieur Holmes, Guinness-how original- for the groom, a Long Island Tea for dear Sally, Piña Colada for a Miss Molly Hooper, and a-” John paused and stared down the glass, “Well to be honest Sherlock, I don't know what you ordered.” He looked to the genius.

Sherlock pursed his lips and shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“And a Tinto de Verano for me” The blonde took a large gulp from his glass and happily licked his lips. Sherlock, unsure of what he ordered, sniffed at his drink and took a small sip. His face lit up like a Christmas tree and before John could ask, the drink was gone and the genius was wiping his mouth.

“Oiy, slow down. We've got all night.” Greg chuckled before hypocritically chugging his Guinness.

“Well, aren't you a pretty thing.” There was a loud smack as the genius yelped and whipped around to face his offender. A scruffy older man, at least in his late forties, winked and sniffed at his hand. He swaggered away, leaving the group stunned in shocked silence.

John felt a searing rage build inside his chest. “What the fuck was that about?”

“Sherlock, he slapped your arse.” Greg gaped, appalled.

Even Donovan blanched at the disgusting display of lustful affection.“Did he sniff his fucking hand?”

“Ew.” Molly snorted into her Piña Colada.

“Sherlock, does your arse smell good?” Irene slurred.

Chapter Text

He sighed deeply and rapped his knuckles against the closed door. “Did you fall in?”

No answer.

John folded his arms and leaned back against the counter. He screwed his eyes shut, trying ignore the dizziness he felt when they were closed. The room was spinning and he found himself unintentionally swaying in place. John was one drink away from boarding the drunk train to Drunkville, Drunkstonia. He giggled at himself.

So far, they'd be kicked out of one pub, Sherlock's fault of course. He made the bartender cry and resign his position instantly, infuriating quite a few drunk patrons.

Then they'd been chased out of another- Irene had royally pissed off someone's girlfriend. Unfortunately that girlfriend happened to be a professional body builder with a lot of friends. John had to drag her out of the pub before she got them all killed, although Mycroft would have never let that happen. Better safe than sorry.

The third tavern had resulted in them having to call an ambulance for Anderson, as a drunk patron had accidentally thrown a dart directly at his arse cheek and it got lodged in his skin. Although it was quite hilarious to watch him hop from foot to foot, dart in behind and overly intoxicated, John did feel bad when he cried for Sally to accompany him to the hospital.

As the night steadily carried on, Irene became restless claiming she needed to dance. Alas, Mycroft directed them to the nearest acceptable dance club. As a unit, they released the Adlerbeast into the wild and carried on getting wasted whilst keeping an eye on her. Molly was far too gone to constantly concern herself with the woman's whereabouts.

So here he was. Hiding in the ladies room, waiting for a certain intoxicated pain in the arse to finish her business. She'd dragged him in with her, thankfully not the stall, and hadn't emerged in twenty minutes.

Finally, she stumbled out from the stall. Her curls were matted against her sweaty forehead and her cheeks were still flushed from dancing.

“I didn't” Hiccup. “Go.”

He slapped a hand against his face, clawing at his eyes.

“Fine, let's go.” He wanted to see Sherlock again. God knows what the genius had been up while he was gone. John prayed they wouldn't have to leave again because it was getting tedious.

At the rate they were going, the only place open that they were going to be allowed in was at the Tesco. Barely at that.

He turned to leave but she snagged his elbow, keeping him in place.

“Wait, I need to fix my face. Hold my purse.”

She pushed her bag into his arms, unzipped it and dug for her Red Fever lipstick. Much to his amusement, she struggled to apply it as she was heavily inebriated and off balance.

“Do you want me to do it?” He set her bag on the counter and held his hand out, disappointed in her lack of skills.

She narrowed her eyes at him and passed the little tube. “John.” The woman spoke flatly, the unspoken question lingered in the air.

As gently as possible, he cupped her chin and tilted her head back. Through squinted eyes, he traced the shape of her plump, faded lips. The color red painting her lips was almost sinful.

“I have a sister, remember? She used to torture me with this stuff. Picked up a skill or two.” John swept the makeup across her lips one more time before leaning back to admire his masterpiece. “Good.”

Irene smacked her lips together and assessed his handy work in the mirror. Obviously pleased, she flashed herself a drunken grin.

As the blonde returned the tube to it's rightful place he noticed a thin stick of plastic peeking from under her wallet.

“Is that...” John squinted at the little plastic stick. “Is that a pregnancy test? Why is there a pregnancy test in here?”

She snatched her bag from his hands and slid it up to the crook of her elbow. “Oh, It's mine.”

What?

“But, it's positive!” You're pregnant?” He screeched. Irene? With a child of her own? It was perhaps the most terrifying idea he'd ever come up with. John could feel his blood pressure rising rapidly.

“No... joke for Molly.” She slurred and fished it out of her bag, holding it in his face. “See, I drew the lines on myself.”

Oh.

“Come on John. Before you blow a gasket.” She dragged him from the bathrooms. “You're worse than she is.”

The club... was packed . It felt as if no fresh air was circulating-their hot, alcohol-laced breaths heating the space more than a few degrees. John held on tight to Irene and together they navigated through the sea of sweaty people. They had to brave the dance floor and the bar area to get to their table. Irene stopped twice to flirt with the bartender. He had to put his foot down and drag her away when she started mentioning threesomes and orgies.

“Don't you ever get bored of sex?” He yelled over the blaring music. There was a fog emitter hiding somewhere in the room; It became more difficult to see each other the closer they moved toward the center of the dance floor.

“Dance with me John!” She pulled on his wrist and began swaying rhythmically to the tunes. She laughed and threw her head back, hands digging in her hair. The woman rolled her hips side to side, cheering loudly as the song played on.

John was more than happy to oblige whilst under the influence. It gave him a sense of boldness and courage to act as he normally wouldn't without the drunken stupor.

He shook his head and held his hand out to her. She lunged into his arms, laughing and wiggling to mold into their combined form. What started out as a sloppy waltz somehow turned into a careless tango. Irene twirled in and out of his hold, stumbling and cackling with ever misstep they took. John's toes were surely going to turn purple as she continued to dig into his feet with her black peep-toe pumps.

Next to them appeared an even more intoxicated Molly and Greg. John guffawed loudly as they stumbled into what was, he was sure, extremely bad Crumping. Greg wore a mask of pure concentration as he twitched and jerked sporadically, looking unnervingly like a seizure patient. His shirt was twisted sideways and looked, for whatever reason, soaked.

If that wasn't bad enough, Molly ridiculously followed in his footsteps. She, being the more frail of the two, bounced against surrounding dancers and stumbled around in the most arrhythmical of ways. The drink that was wedged in her hand spilled and sloshed all over Greg. Ahh. John pieced the two together.

The blonde was choking on laughter whilst trying to keep up with the footwork of the dark haired beauty. Sherlock and Mycroft were nowhere to be found which was never a good thing.

Greg stole Irene from John's arms, finally giving his dance solo a break, leaving the blonde partner-less. He swayed to Molly and grabbed her wrist, apologizing to people he'd knocked into on his way. She absent mindedly handed her glass to the nearest stranger- John noted not to let her take it back- and grinned as she joined him in dance.

It was incredible. She had absolutely no rhythm whatsoever.

John continued to lead, keeping one hand firmly on her waist to hold her upright. She bounced around so quickly he could barely keep up. He wouldn't have been surprised if the Energizer bunny was lurking, taking notes because she was impossible to dance with.

Mycroft wormed his way to the dance floor, glaring daggers at all who bumped into him. Which was most everybody. It was such an uncomfortable sight to see Mycroft Holmes of all people in the middle of a club wearing a tacky engagement t-shirt. The black jacket helped a little but not enough.

John could have died when one woman threw herself into his chest. Mycroft scowled at her with a vicious intensity that it even made the blonde cringe. He could see a fire blazing behind the man's eyes and felt second hand embarrassment for the drunk woman.

Eventually, he caught up to the group and handed John a whiskey glass filled golden. The blonde happily accepted, losing his grip on Molly, and downing the liquid.

Mycroft's glanced at her, obviously disturbed at her lack of rhythmical movement, and took over for John. She gave him a happy-and drunk- smile before allowing herself to be swooned properly.

The room spun slightly and John cheered loudly at the sight of his empty glass. A few fellow club goers joined in the jovial celebration and whisked him away to the bar to refill.

“Fill em-” Hiccup. “-uP!” The blonde slammed the glass on the counter, his ribs slamming into the edge of the bar as his new mates all threw themselves into his back.

The bartender- a slender, curly haired man with an absolutely divine arse- had his back turned and was seemingly struggling to open a bottle.

He actually looked very familiar-

“Sh'lock!”

The genius drunkenly spun around, stumbling slightly behind the counter.

“Jooohn.” He swaggered up to the counter to greet his friend. “What can I get you?”

“How the hell- Why the hell are you back there? You're going to get us kicked out again!” John spluttered.

One of the barflies hollered angry words at the genius.

“Oiy! Been waitin' for fifteen fucking minutes, you pisspot!”

“Oh fuck off!” John snapped at the belligerent drunk across the bar. The man grimaced and stormed away from the counter. The blonde returned his attention to Sherlock.

“What 're you fuckin' doing Sh'lock?” He slurred.

“John, don't be so...so..” The genius tapped his index finger against his bottom lip. “-Asburd. I'm retrieving drinks for our fellow-” He spread his arms open, indicating the rest of the U-shaped bar. “Them.”

“SHOTS!”

The group of rowdy men behind John cheered loudly and once again slammed him into the edge of the counter. It knocked the wind out of him-He was surely going to bruise.

Sherlock clumsily staggered behind the bar, grabbing glasses and random bottles of liquor. He set them on the counter and stepped back to pour the pints of beer. He fiddled with the taps a bit before the golden liquid finally emerged from the nozzle. It was glaringly obvious the genius had no clue what he was doing as the beer foamed all over his hand and the glass.

Satisfied, he placed four horribly concocted pints of beer in front of John. Sherlock redirected his attention of the bottle of liquor he had pulled out and began tipping them over the shot glasses until they were full. Naturally, he spilled half the bottle on the counter.

“Here.” He tossed a handful of orange slices at the blonde.

“I bet-” John gave a drunken smile to the beautiful man, God he was pretty. “I bet I can drink three full pints of beer faster than you can drink three shots.”

“Oh!” The guests sitting around him leaned over, eager to witness the impossible challenge.

The genius snorted. “John, it's not possible.” He slurred.

“Sure it is.” The blonde lined the three shots side by side in front of Sherlock before repeating the action for his three pints of beer. A crowd was beginning to form- John figured they realized they weren't getting any drinks from Sherlock and opted to join the mini party. “If I win, you have to do whatever I say for the rest of the night. If I lose, then I have to do whatever you say for the rest of the night.”

“Deal” Sherlock smirked.

“Only rule is, you're not allowed to touch my glasses and I can't touch yours. At all. Mmkay?” John's eyelids weighed heavily as he peered at the genius.

“Good, good.” Sherlock nodded to himself. He was smug, and rightfully so. However, John was a master and even though the genius was not easily fooled, he was heavily intoxicated.

“On yerr' go.” John snapped his fingers at the nearest stranger. He felt amused at the tense silence surrounding the bar. Twats. They were all waiting for him to fail.

“Ready?” The drunk barfly slurred. “GO! GO! GO!”

Sherlock snagged his first shot easily, even taking his time to give John a second to catch up. What he didn't know was that the blonde didn't need it.

John let the cold liquid ease down his throat until the glass was no longer full and flipped the glass so that it trapped Sherlock's third shot.

“OH!” The entire crowd flew from their stools and bounced around, hands on their heads or in the air pointing at the genius.

Sherlock gaped at his now encased shot glass, while John arrogantly chugged his remaining two pints.

“So” John wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Have fun with that.” He slurred, gesturing to the unreachable shot. With a wink he stumbled out of the crowd of bewildered patrons, receiving quite a few rough pats on the back. He felt cocky. There was a certain confidence in his drunken swagger.

It only took him a few wrong tables to find theirs. Mycroft was lounging in the booth looking cool as a cucumber. The body heat must have been unbearable because he had shed his jacket and was clad only in his engagement shirt. John slid clumsily into the booth with a goofy grin causing the eldest Holmes to avert his gaze.

“Enlighten me Mister Watson.” He tipped his glass at an angle, peering at the alcohol. “What is your opinion on successful marriages?”

John was too drunk for this, but Mycroft Holmes was asking for his opinion...on marriage. As if he knew anything about what it took to make a successfully relationship. The longest relationship he'd ever had was with his brother and John wasn't positive that counted.

With his luck, he'd end up stuck in a marriage with someone like Mary, never letting go of his feelings for the genius. He could see it now. John would get married and his wife would end up being some crazy assassin who would resort to shooting Sherlock.

Scary right?

He must have been lost in his thoughts for a while because Mycroft's attention was once again directed to the crowd. John followed his gaze, locking onto the sight of Greg, once again, embarrassing himself with a terrible rendition of a Crump routine. The sweaty DI looked and waved, blowing a drunk air kiss to his fiance. Mycroft's lips turned up in a semi-smile and he shook his head very minutely.

It hit John like a freight train. The man was nervous.

He chuckled...and then he giggled ...and then from somewhere in the deepest pit of his gut did he bellow out hysterical laughter.

Mycroft's head whipped around to survey the hysterical blonde.

“You're-” He choked out. “-Nervous!”

The British official appeared stunned, causing John to start another fit of laughter.

“That's quite absurd.” He muttered and sipped at his beverage. “I'm merely interested in hearing the opinions of the...common folk.”

“I'll pretend not to be offended by that.” John wiped a tear from his eye. “I think, I'm wasted.” He giggled. Mycroft rolled his eyes and looked away, a glimpse of defeat flashed in his eyes.

“No, no. I think,” He furrowed his brows. “I think if anyone has the capability of having a happy marriage, it's you two. People give up too easily. Probably because they rush off into these relationships without really knowing each other. For example,” He slurred loudly. “Did'ya know Sherlock clips his toe nails on the kitchen table? He does.” John nodded, a grave expression bloomed on his face. “So like with you and your bloody umbrellas.”

“I believe I see your point John.” Mycroft set his whiskey glass aside and folded his hands in front of him. “However, you fail to address the, for the lack of a better phrase, admirable quirks. I see it constantly. Qualities once deemed, again forgive me for the lack of a better term, cute and admirable quickly become pestiferous. To use your simple example. My bloody umbrellas.”

John felt as if he had a gelatin neck as he shook his head. “Absolutely. But you and your brother are the opposite. You piss people off first and then give them a reason to stick around.” Mycroft cracked a smile at that.

“Greg loves ya. He's not going anywhere. S' all up to you.”

A mass of limbs tumbled into the booth, black hair whipping wildly. Molly pushed Irene further into the booth before plopping down next to her.

“Did we interrupt?”

“You look so serious!” Molly garbled in her inebriated state.

“Mycroft is nervous about the wed-cer-” John stumbled over his words. His tongue felt like lead and got twisted and tied up in his mouth. “Marriage!”

“Aww” The woman both tilted their heads in sync, giving the elder Holmes a soft, empathetic smile.

He looked appalled at the emotional display. “You've been wrongly informed,” He shot a dirty glare to the blonde. “I have my concerns is all.”

“Listen 'Crofty-” Irene slurred and jerked her thumb in the direction of the dance floor. “If you're fine being seen with that-” Greg was now trying his hand at salsa dancing. It was painful to watch. "You'll be just fine getting married.”

Molly nodded tiredly. John was betting she would be the one to pass out in the street. A rather dashing gentlemen waltzed up to the table and held his hand out to her.

She giggled nonsensically and placed hers in his grip. He lifted her hand gently, as if it were made of delicate glass, to his mouth and pressed a kiss, peering at her through his eyelashes.

“Would you like to dance?”

Irene literally kicked her out of the booth. She put her bare foot on Molly's back and shoved her up and into his arms.

“Yes she would.” Irene scooted out of the booth with them. “Go. Whisk her away!” She stood barefoot on the dirty floor barking orders at the couple until they walked away.

She slurred, looking wistfully into the crowd. “Mrs. Hudson would agree.” She reached back and grabbed the almost empty glass from Mycroft. He had the decency to only look exasperated and not smother her.

John perked up. He associated Mrs. Hudson with food. Beautiful, delicious, mouth watering food. His stomach rumbled on cue.

“I'm gonna ring her!” John had to stand to retrieve his mobile and struggled to get his hand in his pocket. Punching the numbers in with his extremely sticky hands, he pressed the mobile up to his ear.

The music continued to pulse through the speakers. He had to cover his free ear to hear the voice on the other line. He swayed in place, resting an arm around a dazed Irene for support.

“Are you hungry?” He yelled loudly in her direction. “M'hungry.”

“John! You're-” Hiccup “-Always hungry.”

The blonde giggled loudly, stumbling into her small frame.

“Hello? John? John, is that you? Are you alright?” The familiar voice rang through the device.

“Mrs. Hudson!” He slapped a hand over the speaker on his phone. “Guys, Mrs. Hudson is on the phone! Hiiii Mrs. H.”

Mycroft looked thoroughly unamused and continued to watch after his jubilant fiance.

“John Watson, are you drunk dialing me?”

“We're hungry though,” He whined. Irene, lost in her own thoughts, began to swing her hips in tempo to the music.

“Where's Sherlock?”

“Over there.” John pointed in the direction where he'd last seen the genius.

“Over where?”

“There.” He furrowed his brows. Why couldn't she understand?

“Where's there?”

“He's-” John squinted his eyes at the moving figure. Surely he couldn't be seeing what he thought he was seeing. “HEY! Wait a bloody fuckin' minute! That's my-” Hiccup “...man! What the bloody hell is he doing? Irene, what is he doing?” He screeched into the phone, likely popping Mrs. Hudson's poor eardrums.

“Yeah! Go, Sherlock!” Irene raised her cup, liquid splashing everywhere, and drunkenly stumbled toward the genius. “Come on John!”

“Mrs H, I have to call you back cause someone is trying to Sherlock my steal.” He slurred into his phone and tossed it into Mycroft's unsuspecting arms.

John stumbled through the sea of dancers, latching onto Irene's arm until they made it to one of the few platforms scattered around the club. At some point, Sherlock had left the bar and climbed onto the platform- rolling his hips in sync to the music. The genius had one hand gripping his drink, waving it in the air, while his other held firmly onto some strange man's hip. John noticed upon closer inspection the man looked very similar to himself. He was practically bent at a ninety degree angle, grinding his arse into Sherlock's crotch, very enthusiastically.

Irene cackled loudly, swaying along to the music and spilling her drink on everyone within a foot of her. John stumbled around before making the decision to climb onto the platform.

“Sorry mate!” He giggled at the angry man he'd accidentally kicked in the shoulder while making his ascent. Once he climbed to his feet, John all but yanked the man off his genius. He jerked his thumb behind him, swaying on his feet.

“Beat it.”

It worked. The young man's eyes widened as he all but threw himself off of the stage. Sherlock lowered his drink, taking a large gulp before focusing in on the man in front of him.

“John? What're you doing over there?” Sherlock slurred and squinted at the blonde.

“What the hell are you doing?” John swayed, trying to seem angry but likely appearing constipated.

Sherlock stared confused at the blonde. He was doing a lot of that lately. “I was dancing with you!” He pointed his index finger at John.

“That wasn't me you tit.”

“Oh,” He shrugged, chugging the last of his drink and dropping it into the arms of an unsuspecting dancer. “I thought it was you.”

As gracefully as possible whilst drunk, he sauntered up to the shorter man. John was too drunk to appreciate the lascivious gleam in Sherlock's heavy lidded eyes. However, he couldn't help the small gasp that passed his lips at the sudden contact.

Sherlock closed the gap between them and wrapped an arm around the blonde's waist. With a firm tug, he pressed John closer against him. John's hands slid up Sherlock's chest, lost in the touch. His eyes fluttered closed as he felt the warmth from the genius's skin. Sherlock's heartbeat pulsed against his palm.

“Then dance with me John.”

Sherlock gently grabbed John's elbow, sliding his arm up his chest so that the blonde was cupping his neck. John gently caressed the skin of the genius's smooth jaw. Without releasing his grip, Sherlock slid his hand up the blonde's forearm.

John couldn't prevent the small moan when he felt Sherlock's free hand slide down to the small of his back. He could feel the genius's blatant erection pressing against his belly. If he was half hard from simply watching Sherlock, he was positively aching now.

The song blended into the next. A fight for control began as the guitars hummed their melodic tune against the beat of the drums. As the bass dropped, collaborating with the harmony of the singer's voice, the genius began to move. Sherlock took the lead, swaying smoothly to the tempo of the music. He rolled his hips rhythmically against John's body. Even in their drunken stupor their bodies spoke the words neither was willing to admit.

Together they continued to grind slowly against each other. The club was pulsating in sync with the stroboscopic lamps, every flicker creating an illuded suspension in time- it's flashing colors casting shadows over the curves and contours of their faces. There was an electric buzz crackling in between the dancing forms, causing a flow of energy to surge across the club. Breathing in the heavy cloud of perfume and sweat, the thickening of the air as sweaty dancers jumped and rubbed- The pair blended into the mix of dancing bodies all tangled into one another.

Neither spoke or broke contact. John fought to keep his eyes open, unwilling to look away from the steel gaze of the taller man. He surrendered and rested his head against the genius's cheek, breathing in the aroma that was undeniably Sherlock.

In a sea of people, John felt lost in the moment that was Sherlock. All was a blur as he focused on the mystery of the unspoken words in their movements. Sherlock was still holding his arm against his neck, stroking the skin at his wrists with his fingertips.

Feeling particularly bold- thanks to the staggering amount of alcohol surging through his bloodstream - John pulled back, letting his lips graze the taller man's cheek. Sherlock tightened his grip on his waist, skimming his nose against the blonde's temple.

John grinned and began to giggle. “You smell like a silk coconut. Or a rich red velvet cake without the cake. Cause then Mycroft would eat you and I wouldn't have you anymore.” He slurred loudly. “Y'know, cause he loves cake so much.”

“I have no idea what you're saying.” The genius pulled back, frowning at the intoxicated blonde. “Why are you talking about Mycroft when I'm trying to seduce you?” He whined.

“You're my Mycake. I mean Croft. I mean Croftycake.” John cackled loudly as he stumbled over his words, “I said Croftycake.”

Sherlock peered down at the blonde, one eyebrow raised in amusement, and then rested his chin atop his head. They swayed for a while, just lost in each others presence. Irene eventually pulled herself up onto the platform, throwing her arms around the bundled pair.

“I'm really wasted.” She cried into their shoulders. “Come and drink with us. Greg's looking at Mycroft all funny.” She jerked her chin in the general direction she thought the rest of their friends were in. “They might try and have sex here if we let them.” She whispered scandalously.

The genius rolled his eyes and begrudgingly let go of his grip on the blonde. The warmth they'd created between them dissipated into the air. Sherlock helped Irene climb down being that she was still barefoot therefore vulnerable.

They passed Molly and her mysterious dance partner. Sherlock took one glance and smirked which Irene noticed and proceeded to pinch his arm. John chortled at his face, a mix of outrage and pure betrayal. Back at their booth a very drunk Greg Lestrade cuddled up to a certain Holmes.

“Just the two I was talkin' 'bout.” Greg smiled cheekily. “You looked cozy.”

“You're one to talk.” John muttered. He slid into the booth leaving more than enough space to keep himself distanced from Sherlock. Naturally the genius ignored it and practically glued himself to the blonde. A tray of pints sat in the middle of the table. Greg gestured to them before sipping at his own.

“Cheers” John passed a glass to Sherlock and Irene, sipping at his own gleefully.

“Excuse me” A heavyset woman stalked up to the table apparently trying to appear important, which was laughable considering who was sitting at the table.

“Are you gay?” Irene questioned her.

The woman, upon closer inspection, had a serious snaggle-tooth and unibrow going on. John snickered into his drink.

“No I am not.” She sneered at the dark-haired beauty. Irene picked up on her disgust, downed her pint and prepared for the reckoning they were bound to receive.

“How can I assist you?” Mycroft regarded coldly. The blonde muttered a small 'fuck yeah' at the British official's demeanor. If this woman thought she was going to instill fear in their hearts, she was going to be sorely mistaken.

“Yes. This” She thrust a crooked finger at Sherlock (who sat sipping at his beverage, looking completely unsurprised that he'd caused trouble yet again). “-Gentleman destroyed my bar. Half of the bottles are lost or broken. The keg is empty because he filled over thirty pitchers of beer and left them out in the open. All the glasses are chipped and my own personal bottle of wine, which was very expensive by the way, is missing.” John swore he saw steam emit from her ears.

“Forgive me if I heard incorrectly but I do believe you just stated you frequent drinking on the job.” Mycroft tsked at her condescendingly. “In my experience, not only is public intoxication against the law, it's highly unprofessional.”

Irene nudged an unconcerned Sherlock smugly. The woman spluttered and turned an alarming shade of pink.

“Careful, She might combust.” John snickered.

“I beg your pardon!” She exploded. A few surrounding patrons passed her irritated glances. “You most definitely heard me incorrectly. Who the hell do you think you are?” She barked.

The blonde was pissing her off even further as he roared with laughter. “Her face! Her face!” Irene joined him and was clutching her sides. Greg held his arms behind his head as he watched his soon-to-be husband take the reins.

“Mycroft Holmes. I occupy a minor position in the British Government. I also use the word minor very loosely.” Mycroft shrugged his jacket back on. Damn. They were going to have to leave...again. “I do apologize for the state of your bar on my younger brother's behalf. We will certainly be in touch with the owner in regards to the necessary repairs, seeing as you are merely a notch above the lowest step on a staircase of authority.” He gracefully, damn him, slid from the booth. Drawing himself up to his full height, he loomed threateningly over her. “I implore you to have a good night madame.”

Greg grinned and scrambled to join his lover. Irene cackled and left to retrieve Molly from her new-found knight in shining armor. John nudged the genius out from the booth to join the rest of their group. Sherlock couldn't resist and flashed the woman the neck of her expensive bottle of wine.

If she could have burst on the spot, she might have. John yanked the genius by his arm and dashed towards the entrance of the club.

“You just couldn't help it could you?” John chuckled as they stumbled out of the building.

“I tried.” Sherlock stated unconvincingly.

Greg tucked himself into the eldest Holmes arms and grinned stupidly at the man. Mycroft blatantly struggled to keep a straight face.

“He smelled so bad though.” Molly giggled as she stumbled out with Irene. “Like worse than one of Audrey's diapers.”

“So why'd you keep dancing with him?” Irene asked.

“Well, I didn't want to be rude.” The mousy woman stuttered and blushed.

“So I'm pretty sure there's a Chinese place a couple blocks away. Open late.” Greg rubbed his belly. “I'm starving.”

“YES!” John shouted and then covered his mouth, embarrassed at his outburst.

They walked-rather they stumbled against each other and tripped over air-the sidewalks of London. Cars zoomed by and pedestrians still filled the streets. It was particularly chilly out but was welcomed with open arms-quite literally, Sherlock flapped his arms like a bird- as it was a refreshing change from the stuffiness of the club.

Irene had thought it prudent to perform karaoke in the middle of the street. She stumbled about, singing (screeching) random lyrics from the music playing from a few bars and restaurants they passed by.

“TAKE ANOTHER LITTLE PIECE OF MY HEART NOW BABY!” She yelled at a few parked cars.

“Break another little bit of my heart, now honey!” Much to everyone's surprise, Molly joined in. Alcohol really did give superpowers.

Irene whipped her head around and gave the woman the happiest smile she could muster. It almost pained him to see the rawness of the woman's lightheartedness. He simply had to join in.

“Have another little piece of my heart now, baby!” John bellowed. It was Sherlock's turn to stare incredulously.

“You know you've got it if it makes you feel good!” They harmonized before losing themselves in a fit of giggles.

Irene gasped. “Look!” She stumbled into a large window. “Tattoos!”

The sign above the white door read TATTOO SHOP in blocky, black letters. The wood trimming around the large window and door was also a glossy white. The building itself was a faded grey aside from two large rectangular patches of chalkboard paint.

A very detailed skeleton with colorful flowers and vines weaving in and out of the spaces between the bones took up the entire board on one side. Much to their surprise, the sign in the window was illuminated the word 'open'.

“Let's go in.” Irene fiddled with the door handle and all but ran in. Molly sighed. Yet another place they were going to be banned from. They followed her begrudgingly, more so out of fear that she'd terrorize the workers than anything.

Inside was equally stunning. There were no painted walls or decorative wallpaper, instead glossy oak lined the room. Picture frames of various tattoos littered the free space. There were a quite a few overhead lamps lighting the room but they were dim enough to create a sense of peace and serenity. A clear glass display cabinet placed in the entrance of the shop housed all sorts of jewelry of beautiful shapes and colors. Perpendicular to the end of the display was a counter where the register sat, surrounded by flyers and business cards. Two long black couches were pushed against the wall to their right, angled around a coffee table full of portfolios. Somber instrumental music lingered in smaller space.

A woman appeared through the archway, likely leading to the back where the tattooing stations were located. She was covered head to toe in artwork and piercings that looked painful. John could make out a red rose and some writing peaking from the top of her very short leather skirt. Her arms were decorated expertly as he could see no blank skin. She had two full sleeves but the most obvious tattoo was a beautiful mermaid swimming around her forearm.

The woman, nose deep in her book, finally looked up as she heard Mycroft clear his throat. She jerked back, obviously startled at the sight of six customers in her shop at once.

“Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize you were there.” She furrowed her jeweled brows.

Irene took one look at the woman and flashed the sliest of all grins. “Tattoos.”

“Of course. It's only me right now so it'll take quite a bit of time to get all of you...” She trailed off, chewing on her vertical labret.

“Oh it's not all of us.” Molly slurred quickly. “Not me.” She turned to the rest of her friends.

Mycroft flashed her the straightest of faces. She shrugged wide-eyed at him.

“Look Sh'lock,” John slurred. “Let's get tattoos!” The genius whipped his head at the blonde.

“Surely, you can't be serious” He stumbled slightly over his words.

“Didn't you lose our bet?” John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock and pursed his lips.

“You cheated.” The youngest Holmes pointed an accusatory finger at the shorter man.

Irene jerked her chin at the half asleep DI. “Greg?”

“Next time.” He gave her a thumbs up. “Promise.”

The dark-haired beauty faced the artist again. “Three of us. Alright?”

She nodded. “Should work.” She stuck her hand out. “Janine. Pleasure to meet you all.”

“Likewise.”

Janine dug around in the drawers under the register. She pulled out three clip boards and passed them along to the three drunk idiots.

“I need you to fill out all the release form with your information and I need to see some identification.” Janine pushed a pair of brown rimmed glasses up her nose. She handed another paper to Mycroft while they were trying to fill out each others information.

“This just basically explains the aftercare, health risks, sterilization processes, etcetera.” Janine explained.

John struggled to fill out his form but eventually finished and snatched Sherlock's to asses his progress.

“You didn't fill anything out!” John yelled at the genius.

“I was waiting for you to finish.” Sherlock grinned smugly.

John rolled his eyes and filled in Sherlock's information. “You're a right fucking twat.”

It was quite pathetic that John was able to answer every question without turning the man for help. He supposed that Molly and Greg could do the same but he felt ridiculous nonetheless. Janine collected their identification and photocopied them before returning each to it's rightful owner.

“Do you know what you'd like or would you like a moment to look at our designs?” The artist questioned the three.

“I want a butterfly...right here.” Irene lifted the hem of her dress up her leg to reveal her hip.Thankfully she'd decided to slip on panties before they left and was not flashing her lady bits around.

“You two?” Janine looked to John and Sherlock.

Oh.

Well. Sherlock liked science. No. Sherlock didn't like science. Sherlock lived and breathed for torturing, particularly John, everyone with his extensive knowledge of all things chemical, biological, experimental...just about every subcategory that filled under the subject of all things scientific. Lately he'd developed an obsession with bees...

On the other hand he solved crimes for a living. He loved murder-John had learned to accept his unhealthy and frankly disturbing fascination with the death of others-and perhaps one day he'd be insane to experiment with his own. John felt his blood boil. If the genius ever tried to pull a stunt like that he would purposely perform every possible magical spell, witchcraft, satanic worship, whatever to resurrect the man just so he could kill him.

John decided.

“He's getting a double helix wrapped around his bicep.” He nodded. Janine looked between him and Sherlock as if she couldn't understand why he was making the decision.

“Alright?” She asked Sherlock, obviously unsure.

“Boring.” Sherlock yawned. “It's his decision. I lost the bet.”

John grinned from ear to ear. “Can you do the chemical symbol for adrenaline and an EKG here?” He pointed to a few ribs below his nipple.

“Sure. Is it going to be black and white or are we adding color?”

“Color.”

“Black and white for both of us.” Sherlock nodded at John.

“Great. You can follow me to the back and wait while I draw them up.”

The six of them piled into a smaller room in the back of the shop. There was another couch pushed against the wall and a large tattoo bed in the middle of the room. It was surrounded by small tables with and shelves of ink. In front right corner was a counter with a hanging cabinet where packaged equipment was stored.

Irene plopped on the bed and stretched her lithe body. Molly shared the couch with Mycroft and Greg, leaving John to lean on Sherlock. He rested his head against the genius's soon-to-be inked bicep.

“A double helix John?” Sherlock slurred. “So predictable.”

“Don't act like you aren't secretly pleased that I didn't chose something ridiculous like an otter or magnifying glass with a smiley face.” John looked up to the genius without removing his head. “I should have said an otter holding a magnifying glass with a smiley face.” He mumbled and closed his eyes. The side of Sherlock's lips twitched and he looked away from the blonde.

“How do these look?” Janine entered the room handing them each a picture of their designs.

“Perfect.” Irene smiled, flashing her pearly whites. “How do you want me?”

Nobody missed the double entendres in her statement. Janine only chuckled and shook her head. “You can just pull up your dress enough so I can reach the area.”

She moved to wash her hands and snap on a pair of gloves. Irene complied and folded her dress up to her waist. Janine pulled up her rolling stool and sat close to the dark-haired beauty. She washed the Irene's skin with a little soap and water before taking a razor to the fine little hairs no one could really see. Making sure it was in the right place, she placed the stencil slightly over the hip bone. She set up the tattoo gun and her cups of ink. The buzz of the gun filled the room which created a tense silence as the needle descended closer to her skin.

The first line on the butterfly's wing was made. Irene barely twitched at the sensation.

“Is this your first?” Janine spoke but concentrated on her line work, tracing where the blue marker stained her skin.

“No.”

That startled John.

“No? What do you mean no?”

“It's not my first, I have another one on my-”

“You know what?” He muttered before reclaiming his spot on Sherlock's arm. “I don't want to know.”

Janine worked quickly, outlining the wings and body of the butterfly and wiped the area clean. There seemed to be a little blood, but nothing that could have been considered anywhere near life threatening. She eventually geared her machine for color and added vibrant shades of reds and oranges.

Molly had was snoring against Mycroft's shoulder, much to his dismay. Sherlock, being the prick he was, grabbed a tongue depressor from the cabinet-which irritated John because he was dislodged from his comfy spot- and tossed it at the sleeping woman. She woke with a start and wiped the drool from her cheek. Mycroft appeared to be screaming internally at the drool spot on his shoulder.

“All done.” Janine took a glob of what looked like Aquaphor and smeared it on the tattoo before covering it with a bit of gauze. “You already know no bathing, no scratching. Keep the gauze on for two to three hours and wash lightly with a bit of soap and water. Let it air dry or pat gently, don't rub. Put ointment on it every few hours for at least a week.” Irene hopped off the table and admired her new ink in the mirror.

“Thanks.” She winked at the artist before yanking Sherlock from his spot- Again, irritating John- and pushed him onto the bench. He scowled at her and removed his shirt, tossing it at John.

Janine chuckled and sterilized the area before starting his tattoo. The previous needle went in a sharps container and she changed the cups of ink. She washed her hands thoroughly, snapped on a pair of gloves and placed the genius's double helix around his left bicep. He had to lay down and rest his arm like a backwards L.

She wrapped it around his arm, making sure he agreed with the placement. He nodded in approval and relaxed against the bench, closing his eyes.

Until he felt the needle on his skin.

John stifled his laughter when the genius's eyes snapped open and his body visibly tensed. Janine held her composure and continued to outline the strands of DNA.

She outlined the Adenine, Thymine, Cytosine and Guanine.

“Hurt a bit?” John tried his best to suppress his giggles.

“Shut. Up. Watson.” Sherlock spoke threateningly through gritted teeth. He eventually relaxed into the pain as his lips were moving slightly.

“What are you saying Sher?” Greg bellowed loudly.

“I'm finalizing the plans of your murders.” He tensed again, speaking deathly calm.

“Terribly dramatic he is.” Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“He's kidding right?” Janine stared wide eyed at the group. She simply didn't understand the mechanics behind their relationships.

“We don't know.” John swayed on his feet.

She nodded slowly and returned to her work. The double helix looked beautiful against Sherlock's pale skin. The shading she added made it look almost three dimensional. Her lines were neat and clean, never deviating from their intended path.

John couldn't wait to feel it. Once it was healed of course.

“Two down, one to go.” The gun stopped buzzing. She cleaned his arm and applied the ointment before wrapping his arm in a much bigger bandage. “You heard what I told her. No soaking, no scratching. Go buy a large jar of Aquaphor. It will peel-No it's not falling off- and it will itch.” He nodded and stood, stretching his long body. John practically swooned, reluctantly returning the man's shirt.

“Your turn.” Sherlock grinned maliciously.

John gave him a flat look before unbuttoning his shirt. He shoved it in the genius's chest and took his place on the tattoo bed whilst Janine repeated her previous steps of sterilization. She grinned at him.

“Ready?”

“As ready as I'll ever be” He muttered.

She shaved the patch of hair on his chest and placed the stencil. The molecular structure of Adrenaline attached to a small section of an EKG.

He loved it.

And then he felt the sting of the needle.

Under no circumstances could he let any of them know just uncomfortable he was. It felt like a cat scratching at his skin relentlessly. Even in his completely intoxicated state did he feel the discomfort of the needle piercing his skin. Thankfully it wasn't an enormous tattoo and wasn't being colored. He felt like scratching at his skin but obviously couldn't do so. Sherlock watched intensely, waiting for the blonde's mask of indifference to slip.

Just as he felt his resolve edging away he winked at the genius, earning a small grin. The irritating sensation eventually subsided, leaving his skin with a numbness. John completely relaxed. He finally understood why people got full sleeves and full back pieces. The rush of pain mixed with the rush of euphoria was addictive. Just as he was beginning to lose consciousness, she'd shut off the gun and wiped his chest.

“Boy that was easy for you.” She smiled, clearly impressed with his nonchalance.

“It wasn't as bad as I thought.” He grunted as he sat up. Janine mimicked her actions for the third time and rubbed the Aquaphor on his chest before covering it.

“You already heard the rules. Third time is a charm.” She tossed her gloves in the bin. “Let's ring you up.”

John felt his heart sink. He completely forgot they actually cost money. Mentally running through his list of bills- what needed to be paid, what needed to be put away-he figured he could take a few extra shifts to make up for the tab.

He realized he was alone in the room. They'd left him to his thoughts, Sherlock likely knowing exactly what they were. John followed the path to the front of the shop, meeting up with the group.

“Come on. Mycroft's treat.” Sherlock grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out the door.

“But, it's his night!” John spluttered. “I can't make him pay! This was expensive”

“Hardly.” Sherlock shrugged. “He has more money than he knows what to do with. He insisted.”

“For once he is correct about me.” Mycroft spoke. “It's my pleasure.”

John felt guilty. It wasn't Mycroft's place to pay for their new ink. He was grateful nonetheless. An idea sparked in his mind.

“Sherlock, where's that bottle of wine you stole?” He attacked the genius, searching in the nooks and crannies of his body.

“I gave it to Molly! Stop that. Ow.” Sherlock winced as his flailed his arms. The bandage irritated his already sore skin.

Molly appeared, her mouth forming a small 'o' as she yawned, and handed him the bottle. John clamped his teeth around the cork and pulled until it popped.

“To Mycroft.” John held the bottle out to the eldest Holmes, who looked surprisingly chagrined. He took the bottle from John's hands and took a swig.

“To Mycroft.” They all cheered in unison. Except for Sherlock. He never cheered for his brother.

Greg took a sip and passed it along to Irene.

“Think that Chinese is still open?” She handed the bottle to Molly who politely refused and handed it to John, who didn't.

“Doubt it.”

“Let's just go home. I can whip something up.”

They walked the now quiet streets of their beloved city, passing the bottle amongst each other. A mop of brown fur caught John's attention.

“ L-look!” John stumbled into the wall, clinging to the grooves between the bricks for dear life. “A dog!” He cried.

“Leave it John” Sherlock burped, shocking himself.

“But look it's following us!” John's knees buckled and he plopped to the floor next to the panting stray dog. “It's a German Shepherd I think.”

“I can't tell if it's male or female cause I can't see straight. The wooorld is spinning again!” He giggled, laying his head on the cool pavement. The dog jumped on all fours and sniffed his way towards John's head. He then abruptly started coating the blonde's face in saliva with his tongue.

“Ewww!” Irene gagged. “He's making out with your face.”

“More than Sherlock gives me.” John muttered in between licks. “Come on, help me hide him in my flat.”

“Ab-” Hiccup “-solutely not.”

“I'll help you John!” Greg stumbled over and held a hand out to the intoxicated blonde. The dog barked and wagged it's tail. “We could train it for the force!”

“Look! He's protective already!” Molly cooed

“It. Gender has yet to be specified” The genius slurred.

“Come on Irene. I watched your demon-shit cat.”

The woman scoffed, “For like” She counted her fingers and looked up, squinting “No, I don't remember how long.”

“She kicked me out of my out house.”

“Mrs. Hudson is going to kick us all out of ours.”

“Nonsense!” Irene waved her hand in dismissal. “She-she loves...us.” She didn't sound convinced.

“It's a boy!”

Chapter Text

The very first thing John Watson noticed as he slowly regained consciousness was that his back was extremely stiff. The second thing he noticed was hot, smelly breath washing over his face and filling his nostrils. His nose twitched in disgust, the smell causing his stomach to flip like an acrobat in a circus. Somebody was rubbing wet sandpaper over his face, leaving him feeling sticky and slimy.

He wiped a hand over his face, trying to pry his heavy lids open. A wet, black nose blocked his vision. Then his eyes were closed again, as a long pink tongue continued to lick at his face. A dog. Why was there a dog?

John struggled to sit straight, using all his strength to push himself to an upright position. He clutched at his head as the world around him spun on. A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes and he blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the brightness of the room.

It wasn't until a loud groan filled the quiet space that he noticed, aside from the large canine, he wasn't alone. John stifled a groan as he realized where they ended up. They'd obviously given up walking just a few feet before reaching Sherlock's door. Greg and Mycroft must have abandoned them at some point because only four remained sleeping in the hallway of their apartment building. The animal interrupted John's string of thoughts with an head rattling bark. Well, four and a dog.

John immediately looked for Sherlock. The genius was on the floor lying spread eagle and using his shoes for a pillow. If nothing else, his wheezy snores indicated that he was stuck in a deep slumber. Irene had apparently improvised and coveted Sherlock, using his plump arse as a head rest as she slept. John was too exhausted to feel any sort of jealousy. Or searing rage. A slim, pale leg peaked over the top of the steps, the rest of Molly's small frame hidden on the staircase. The dog sniffed around, it's tongue dangling out of it's mouth as it panted it's hot breath over the seemingly dead bodies.

He let out a loud yelp as he scratched at his chest. His skin was raw and sore. Confused, he pulled the shirt from his skin and peered down. If he could have put his head through the wall, he would have. He contemplated the new ink tattooed in his skin. Well. At least it wasn't something stupid like Harry's when she came home drunk with Muno from Yo-Gabba-Gabba tattooed on her thigh. He called it the 'Red Dancing Dildo' until she got it covered. There was an immense sense of gratification for his friends not letting him do something like that. Although upon reviewing that information he realized they were probably just too drunk to care.

 “Hoo-hoo! Wake up! I've put a kettle on for you.” John's head whipped up, too fast, at the sound of Mrs. Hudson's voice. She was carrying a platter of various breakfast foods to which John began to salivate at the mere sight. However, his stomach did not agree and lurched at the idea of consuming anything that early in the morning.

"Thanks" He croaked. It was difficult to maneuver but he managed to stretch his leg out to kick the genius's foot. Sherlock startled awake knocking Irene from her seemingly comfortable position on his arse. She sucked in breath to scream at him but upon noticing her surroundings gave a puzzled glance and processed where she ended up.

"Up! Up! I've made a bit of breakfast. Come on dear." Mrs. Hudson nudged at Molly's immobile form on the steps with her slipper. Molly slowly awoke and peered over the steps uncertain of how or why she'd been sleeping there.

 John clambered to his feet as quickly as possible. The unbearable feeling of a stiff back and an upset stomach paired with a developing migraine while sleeping in the hallway was not his idea of recovery.

“I'm going to bed.” He muttered, pausing as he put one foot on the step. John turned and cocked his head to the side, assessing the rather large dog who'd been following him. “I guess...” He trailed off. With a shake of his head in resignation he whistled at the dog and continued his march to his flat.

"You'd better keep my building clean from that dog John Watson!" Mrs. Hudson's gentle voice floated through the hall.

“Gizmo?” He asked the canine, who panted obliviously at his new owner. “ Hydrogen?” That earned a bark. He'd think about it.

The door was still unlocked so he let the dog run in before following. He passed through straight to his bathroom in search of some painkillers for his migraine, allowing the dog to sniff out his surroundings.

“Molecule?” He pondered.

“No, never mind.” He popped two Ibuprofen and chugged a glass of what he desperately hoped was uncontaminated orange juice. Before peeling off his clothes he swept through his home, suspicious of any squatters.

“I'm taking off my clothes and I will walk around in my pants because I pay to live here.” He spoke aloud to no one in particular and stripped on his way to his bedroom. Tossing his trousers on top of the telly, he closed the curtains over the window and made a large dive for his bed.

“Yes.” He mumbled into his comforter. Like a slug he slid up the length of his bed and crawled under the covers, enjoying the sensation of the cotton on his skin.

Much to his irritation his mobile chirped. His mobile was in his trousers. On the television. Away from the comforts of his bed.

“I'm not getting up. I don't care.” He mumbled aloud.

It chirped again.

And again.
And again.
And again.

John screamed into his pillow, effectively worsening his already painful migraine. Kicking off the covers with an unnecessary amount of aggression, he yanked his phone from the pockets and stomped back to his place in his bed.

John's new companion made his appearance and jumped on the bed. He walked a circle before plopping down next to John, resting his large head on his paws. John groaned internally. He was going to have to wash the dog and the sheets. God knows what kind of bugs he had. Luckily he hadn't been scratching since they had woken in the hallway. Still better safe than sorry, he thought.

“Mickey?” John asked the dog. If he could have, the dog would have rolled his eyes. “You're just as stubborn as Sherlock.” He sighed and continued to rack his brain for acceptable pet names.

“Human Papillomavirus?” John snorted with laughter at the look he received from his dog. “Just kidding.”

His phone chirped again. He'd almost forgotten about it as he'd been lost in separating medical and chemical terminology from normal, typical names appropriate to name one's dog.

Six texts. Four from, shocker, Sherlock and two from Greg, the traitor.

You up for breakfast in a bit?
-G. Lestrade

:)
-G. Lestrade

John. Where are you?
-SH

John, Irene is on my sofa and refuses to leave.
-SH

Oh dear God, Mycroft is here.
-SH

What is on my arm?
-SH

He giggled profusely and when he tried to stop, he laughed even harder. The dog barked, in what seemed like an attempt to join in the the joke. Of course the genius likely forgot what transpired that night seeing as they'd all drank practically triple their body weight.

John offhandedly wondered if Sherlock remembered how close he'd come to giving in and kissing the genius...again. He would relent eventually. It was clearly inevitable. His phone chirped again.

John
-SH

He looked to his new pet. The German Shepherd was resting and watching him with curious eyes. He had to be a least a year old. John frowned at the thought of the sweet animal surviving on the streets, cold and hungry without anyone to care for him.

Although he was no great caretaker himself. He could barely get Sherlock to eat let alone take care of another living creature. But it was better than leaving him to fend for himself, so John accepted his fate and would go to buy the necessities later.

He wondered if he could convince Sherlock to do the dog walking. Unlikely.

“Spot?”

The dog actually growled at him.

“Alright, not Spot.” He chuckled at the canine's reaction. “Lucky?”

Another text appeared on the screen.

John, come get your boyfriend. He's driving us crazy and I'm trying to sleep.
-TheWhipHand

He snorted. First for her signature and second for the fact that she was trying to kick Sherlock out of his own flat. He wondered what people on the outside thought of them. Obviously they were a special brand of crazy.

Screw you Greg! You left us in the hallway. What kind of friend are you?
P.s.
Starving, btw.
-John

You do know you're on his couch right?

-John

I'm in my bed trying to sleep. He's inviting you to breakfast. The same reason there is one below my nipple.
-John

He set his phone on the pillow besides him. John reached over and gently pet his new companion's large head, receiving a very content whine.

“Inertia?”

“Buddy?”

“Raxacoricofallapatorius?”

“Marley?”

John exhaled sharply, exasperated that the dog was being uncooperative-Until he realized he was trying to get approval from an animal who most likely didn't even understand what he was saying. His phone chirped, it was an increasingly irritating sound considering his hungover state and he set the volume from high to vibrate.

He pressed the buttons on the mobile in the sequential order needed to unlock his phone. It was a picture message. From Sherlock?  It downloaded and revealed a slender pale bicep covered in new ink. John grinned cheerily at the sight. The double helix wrapped beautifully around his upper arm. The black and grey complemented his pale pallor very nicely. Sherlock's complexion was so white he practically glowed. The blind could probably see him.

What am I supposed to do with this?

-SH

Heal it.

-John

He's standing over me and I don't know why.

-TheWhipHand

Where are you? Irene said you're driving her crazy.
-John

A new picture message arrived, this time a picture of the woman staring at the camera, a deep scowl gracing her usually delicate face. She was holding her phone and lying on Sherlock's couch with his duvet pulled up to her waist. The attached message said- I'm trying to get rid of her.

Are you going to answer in pictures for the rest of this conversation?
-John

Perhaps. I am aware of your obvious fondness for my face so perhaps I should simply send you images of that.
-SH

You are without a doubt the most arrogant git I've ever met.
-John

And if we're going down that route, don't think I don't notice you staring at my arse when I walk.

-John

It's degrading!

-John

I assure you, I'm quite comfortable with my blatant affections.
-SH

Ignorance is beneath you John. Your flattery is painfully obvious.
-SH

Don't give me a reason to 'accidentally' knock over the flasks of the Barachotoxin I know you've spent months working with. (:
-John

You wouldn't.
-SH

I'm feeling rather hungover. God knows my equilibrium is still slightly off. Perhaps I'll perform my own experiment and test my balance around glassware. Sobriety versus lingering effects of intoxication. Interesting.
-John

John rolled face first into his pillow to muffle the sounds of his laughter as he heard loud thuds and crashes-which sounded suspiciously like frantic scrambling if you asked him-coming from the floor below him.

“Sherlock!”

“MOVE!”

The dog nudged John's arm with his nose after a moment. The blonde had resorted to slapping his hand against his nightstand. His abdominal muscles screamed at him, practically begging him to stop laughing. The pain only made him laugh harder.

I'm glad you found that so funny.
-SH

John?
-SH

John.
-SH

JOHN.
-SH

in
-John

pain
-John

laughing
-John

at
-John

you
-John

Okay, I'm alright.
-John

Sherlock?
-John

Are you there?
-John

…
-John

Would you rather never be able to deduce or never be able to speak, therefore never being able to verbalize your findings?
-John

I apologize for not responding. My insufferable brother felt it sagacious to throw away the milk you bought.
-SH

Sherlock, I haven't bought you milk in weeks. Not to mention the last time I did, you mixed it with stolen breast milk.
-John

From a goat.
-John

And then didn't tell me until after I drank it.

-John

It was a necessary component John. For science.
-SH

Surely you understand the importance of my work.
-SH

Oh yeah. Goat's milk. God, I love the stuff.
-John

What are you doing down there?!
-John

It sounds like nuclear bombs are going off.
-John

A terrible analogy, I assure you.
-SH

I'm barricading myself in the bedroom. Mycroft insists on agitating me this morning. It's unbearable.
-SH

You know you're going to be his best man. I mean, it's Mycroft. He doesn't really have friends. He has his umbrellas...and Greg.
-John

John!
-SH

You forgot his cakes.
-SH

You're a right bastard. I'm serious.
-John

You started it.
-SH

Unfortunately, I am aware. My mother has phoned three times daily inquiring about the tedious details of their “wedding”.
-SH

It's dreadful John. Just dreadful.
-SH

Oh, I know. She called me too. Something about keeping His Majesty in line. I hear her son is a right pain in the arse. Bit pretentious too. Cocky little thing, I suppose.
-John

Well Princess, I would deduce that he's trapped in an insignificant little world filled with boring, ignorant people who have no desire to appreciate even the slightest victory in scientific discovery and would rather spend their dull meaningless lives concerning themselves over nonsensical trivialities.

That was a run-on sentence, sweetheart.
-John

And I am offended.
-John

Forgive me, darling, for I meant no offense. You could never bore me dear John.
-SH

That's twice in one sentence, honey. Is somebody feeling a bit sentimental?
-John

I must be suffering from the lingering affects of the tremendous amount of alcohol that was recently replacing my blood supply, cupcake.
-SH

For someone who doesn't pay attention to social idioms, you sure are good at this...sugar pie.
-John

And you never answered my question.
-John

Which? You've asked many since we've become acquainted, buttercup.
-SH

I'm wounded. Just acquaintances Sherlock? I was under the impression that we've been married for three years with 3.5 kids, a dog and a Mycroft. Where's my house and white Picket fence? Marshmallow.
-John

I apologize. I'll get started on that house right away.
-SH

Pumpkin.
-SH

Sarcastic git.
-John

Would you rather never be able to deduce or never be able to speak, therefore never being able to verbalize your findings?
-John

You forgot your term of endearment. Therefore I win this ludicrous , little game you've started.
-SH

If given the choice, I'd rather not deduce at all. How frustrating would it be to be able to observe the things others don't see but be unable to communicate them.
-SH

Imagine the statistics!
-SH

'Sarcastic git' was my term of endearment :)
-John

You don't always tell us what you observe though. Not much of a difference.
-John

An enormous difference John, I assure you. If I indulged you with all my knowledge, you'd never learn anything. You must think for yourselves.
-SH

I sincerely hope you're directing that statement at Greg.
-John

Because I think for myself plenty.
-John

You know. When you let me get in the last word.
-John

I resent that. I give you equal opportunity to get the last
-SH

?
-John

-SH

??!
-John

-SH

?!?!?
-John

Oh.
-John

WORD!
-John

Precisely.
-SH

What's that noise? Why are you screaming?
-John

Rescue me.
-SH

Good show. Bit different from my usual taste.
-John

Please John. They're cleaning! Cleaning! All my experiments are going to be destroyed! All that data we've been working with!
-SH

Well, technically, you're working with. I just take notes for you because you're too lazy to hold the pen.
-John

John! Please!
-SH

You owe me dinner.
-John

And I want to be wooed. Candles, fine china, and expensive wine. I want it ALL.
-John

You're traumatizing your brother. Leave his work, I'll sort it all out later.
-John

My brother is being unreasonable. I see no purpose of keeping rodent carcasses in the freezer.
-MH

Just leave him be. It's not like he eats from it...or in general.
-John

I must say I disapprove your support of his habits.
-MH

It makes him happy. Happy Sherlock equals happy everybody.
-John

Speaking of happy, do you think it wise to carry on as you are? He can only be entertained for so long, I'm sure you're aware.
-MH

On that note, this conversation is over. Leave his experiments alone. I'll deal with them later.
-John

As you wish.
-MH

John, you are magnificent.
-SH

When you aren't being unbearably banal.
-SH

I would need lube for that.
-John

Ha. Ha.
-SH

(:
-John

What did you tell him?
-SH

That I would piss in his tea. Extra flavor and all that.
-John

Well. Now that I'm completely disgusted with myself...
-John

I suggest you learn to overcome your weak stomach if you wish to become a doctor.
-SH

What with the dead rodents and animal fluids that rot in your fridge, I think I'll be good to go.
-John

To my credit, some of it's human.
-SH

If I didn't know you and we were having this conversation, I'd call the police immediately and leave the planet.
-John

Oh please, don't insult me like that. They couldn't catch me if they tried.
-SH

That is probably true and absolutely terrifying.
-John

I thought you were a cannibal when we first met.
-John

I remember. It was a significant day for many reasons.
-SH

Because you met this beauty.
-John

I was referring to the success of stealing toes from Ms. Hooper's workplace.
-SH

So what you meant to say was, because you met this beauty.
-John

Don't be absurd John.
-SH

Meeting you wasn't significant. It was vital.
-SH

That was excruciatingly sweet of you.
-John

How much did that pain you?
-John

None at all. It is the truth. Your presence is crucial to my existence.
-SH

Wow.
-John

Did I offend you?
-SH

Nope. It's good to know where you stand.
-John

Not literally.
-John

Have I never made it clear?
-SH

Not as bluntly.
-John

And I don't like to assume.
-John

I beg to differ.
-SH

What? Why?
-John

For instance, you assumed I would be opposed to watching Doctor Who and we frequently have Whovian Saturdays, as you so eloquently put it.
-SH

You said you didn't like watching the telly. YOU TOLD ME YOU HATE THE CONCEPT.
-John

You assumed.
-SH

You stated.
-John

No, I said watching television was a ridiculous and insipid activity that normal, much more boring people frequently participate in.
-SH

How was that any different than what I just said?
-John

Technically, what you just texted. Not said.
-SH

As I was pointing out, you assumed I would not be willing to watch a science fiction show with you simply because I disapprove the concept.
-SH

I watch many movies and TV shows with you. I'm perfectly capable of adapting when it's beneficial.
-SH

Gee, thanks. In what ways is that beneficial to you?
-John

It makes you happy.
-SH

Oh.
-John

Is my point proven?
-SH
Avogadro says no, but I'll cave.
-John

If you are referring to Amedeo Avogadro, he is long deceased and incapable of holding a conversation orally let alone via text. Therefore I must say I am not sure what you mean.
-SH

The dog. I named him Avogadro. He seems to like the name. Thought you might get a giggle or two out of it.
-John

Interesting.
-SH

I am impressed.
-SH

Thank the Gods! I have managed to impress the great Holmes du Sherlock! I can pass through this life peacefully now!
-John

Yes. Yes. Moving on. When are you coming to relieve me from the hell I'm experiencing down here? They're insufferable.
-SH

I told them to stop cleaning, I don't know what else you want from me.
-John

Not the time for that conversation. Ms. Adler is trying to pick lock my bedroom door.
-SH

Okay...why is she trying to break in?
-John

John! Hel-
-SH

Hi John. (:
-SH

Don't you have your own phone? You know, the one you texted me from?!
-John

Yes, but this is much more fun (;
-SH

Leave that man alone. He's got enough problems.
-John

I resent that!
-SH

No he doesn't.
-SH

Sherlock wants me to tell you, he's in his pants laying in the bed, smiling at his phone like a thirteen year old girl talking to the most popular boy in school, like oh my god. It's like, totally so sweet. You should go to prom together! Oh look he's turning red.
-SH

I am not.
-SH

Why did she scream?
-John

DID YOU KILL HER?!
-John

No, I pushed her off my bed.
-SH

And threw a book at her.
-SH

I'm not sorry.
-SH

Oh great. Here's Molly and the one year old.
-SH

And Greg.
-SH

John! I draw the line at that fat lard! Get him out!
-SH

Who? Greg?
-John

No, Mycroft!
-SH

They're all in your bedroom?
-John

Yes! Get them out!
-SH

You say that like they listen to me!
-John

They do.
-SH

They really don't.
-John

Oh good, they're leaving.
-SH

See? I'm surprised you didn't gas the room to get them out.
-John

Don't be ridiculous. Between the two of us, we both know your flatulence is the most rancid.
-SH

It's a talent what can I say. I know how to clear a room. I'm like Pumba.
-John

Is that a Lion King reference?
-SH

Wow! I'm shocked you picked up on that!
-John

Audrey is adamant about watching these ridiculous children's movies. We are currently watching The Little Mermaid on your laptop for the umpteenth time. She also insists on wearing the red wig.
-SH

YOU STOLE MY LAPTOP? I've been looking for it.

-John

Yes.

-SH

Git. Is that her singing?
-John

Yes.
-SH

I'm not sure what's more painful for me. Knowing the lyrics to her songs or the fact that I'm actually watching it.
-SH

Aww. You could be Prince Eric. You've got the dark hair, and light eyes already. How cute. I can see it now. Halloween, here we come!
-John

No.
-SH

I stand corrected. The child has deemed herself the mermaid girl and I her prince. Thankfully she associates the octopus woman with my brother. This just might be tolerable.
-SH

Part of your worrrrld!
-John

Stop that.
-SH

I don't know when!
-John

I don't know how!
-John

John.
-SH

But I know something's starting right now!
-John

John, please.
-SH

Watch and you'll see! Someday I'll be!
-John

I refuse to converse like this.
-SH

PART OF YOUR WORLD!!!!
-John

She's insisting I call her Ariel.
-SH

Just go along with it. She's a child, let her have her happiness.
-John

Did you have a favorite movie in your youth John?
-SH

Yes.
-John.

What is it?
-SH

Can't tell you.
-John

Why not?
-SH

What was yours?
-John

I asked first.
-SH

I am perfectly happy with not knowing your answer whereas you will forever be displeased not knowing mine.
-John

So you first.
-John

I don't have one John.
-SH

I didn't frequent cinemas and I most certainly wasn't invited out for what you call 'movie nights'.
-SH

But didn't you watch movies with your mother or anything?
-John

Not that I can recall. If I have, I deleted it.
-SH

Why would you delete that?
-John

I needed the storage space. The west wing was getting cluttered.
-SH

Oh dear lord.
-John

I've answered your question, now answer mine.
-SH

The Evil Dead. Harry and I watched a lot of horror/gore films together but that one gave me nightmares for weeks. Great watch.
-John

I've never heard of it.
-SH

Of course you haven't. Bring me that dinner you owe me and we'll watch it. I'll let you commentate and everything.
-John

But it's only ten in the morning.
-SH

I didn't mean now genius.
-John

 What am I meant to bring?

-SH

I'm thinking Chinese.

-John

Again? You must be aware this marks the eighth time this month we've eaten Chinese.

-SH

No. I'VE eaten Chinese eight times this month. You always order something and end up eating off my plate!

-John

I know that you deliberately order food you don't like so you can do that.

-John

I am unsure what you are referring to.

-SH

Liar.

-John

Are you quite finished resting? This is becoming extremely tedious.

-SH

Well since I'm obviously not getting any sleep because someone keeps texting me, I guess.

-John

You've been replying.

-SH

Brilliant deduction.

-John

Thank you.

-SH

"John!"

He whipped his head around and was met with a bright eyed stare from the only toddler in the building. Audrey was clutching her stuffed teddy and was looking at him from the doorway. John raised his brows in surprise at the sound of his name being spoken clearly. Molly had obviously been practicing names and pronunciation with her.

He pushed himself to a sitting position and motioned for her to enter the room. Much to his surprise no one followed in after her. He expected at least Sherlock to waltz in after her and found himself mildly irritated that no one had seen her escape. Thankfully she was a a bright child and knew her way around the building almost as well as Sherlock did.

Missing someone?

-John

 She giggled as she attempted to pull herself upon his bed which was much taller than she. John chuckled at his new pet's reaction to the tiny human who was currently swinging her chubby legs onto the edge of the bed. Avogadro barked loudly, much to John's dismay, and wagged his tail as Audrey clapped to herself in triumph.

"What have you been up to little lady?" John grinned, picking her tiny frame up over his and letting her limbs dangle in the air. She screeched and giggled, her face turning red. He narrowly escaped the line of fire as a string of saliva slipped out of her mouth.

"John! Down!" She yelled through her giggles.

"Please."

"Please!" She shrieked.

John set her gently on his chest and held his hand out. "Truce?"

"No."

"You don't even know what that means!" He chuckled.

 "Dog!" She poked a chubby finger in Avogradro's direction. It made John momentarily nervous because they didn't know the circumstances of which the dog had been in and he had no way of knowing, other than trial an error, his hostility. Although he'd seemed to be a very friendly and loving animal, there was no way of telling what would set him off.

"Careful." He warned her.

" 'Kay." She whispered with wide eyes and scooted off his chest. Avogadro watched her with curiosity and interest. He panted his hot breath in her face to which she crinkled her nose and waved a hand in front of her face.

"Toof-brush please." She rolled her eyes and held a hand out, waiting for her demand to be met. John burst out laughing at the gesture- He could really see Irene's personality shining through. Molly was going to have her hands full with that one. Avogadro unwilling to be left out  nudged her arm with his wet, black nose and whined.

"Stinky. Ah. Ah. Ah!" Audrey, the magnificent one year old, pointed to her open mouth and explained to the canine- in her own language, of course-just how horrid his breath was.

John picked up his phone and sent Sherlock another text. 

You're missing good stuff.

-John

The sound of his front door slamming against the wall made him sigh and wipe a hand over his tired face. There was only so much that could mean and he doubted it was someone trying to burglarize his flat.

"God! Will you just fucking walk! You're going to make me drop this and then he'll really kill you! Jesus fucking- JOHN!" Irene's loud voice rang through the confines of his flat. " John, you have Audrey right?"

"No." He grinned and smoothed a hand over the little girl's curls. She grinned and scooted her way to sit in between him and the dog. Avogadro rested his large head in her tiny lap and whined contently.

"He's lying."

"I fucking told you!"

"Why are you swearing so much?"

"Because I have a fucking hangover and this twat wouldn't let me sleep on his couch! Experiment my arse!"

"We're coming in with food John."

"Do you have enough for Avogadro?" He shouted back.

"Who the hell is Avogadro?"

"The canine you decided to bring into this building has made residence in John's home."

 "Great, now we have a dog and you."

"I resent that"

 "I don't care."

"I just want food."

Chapter Text

“What did you do?” John shrieked.

“You told us to clean the chicken John, don't be obtuse.” The genius continued to study his slides through the microscope. He didn't even bother to look up much to John's irritation.

“I meant for you to get rid of the organs! Not let her pour dish detergent in the chicken's arse!”

“Bubbles!” Audrey giggled and jumped around Sherlock's hazardous kitchen trying to catch the floating suds as they poured out of the chicken's rear end.

The bird lay haphazardly in the sink, it's plucked legs sticking straight up. John only meant to run upstairs to grab his music player but got distracted as Avogadro chewed his doggy bed to pieces. It was the third one that week and John refused to put out money for a new one.

It only took him five minutes. So in that five minute period he couldn't understand how the genius and the toddler had managed to destroy the kitchen and cover it in soap bubbles.

“Sherlock” John pleaded, slapping a hand to his forehead. He was exhausted from deluding himself into believing what he was doing was called cooking. “Please. We promised your mother we could have dinner before your brother's wedding! Which is tomorrow!”

“Technically you promised.” He replied nonchalantly and rose from his chair. John watched as he went to his sink to shut off the running tap. He picked up the raw chicken. “Actually you threatened me and told me not to reply, therefore I absolve myself from this situation and leave it in your capable hands.”

John cringed as Sherlock dropped the soggy, uncooked bird in his arms and turned back to his experiment. Audrey frowned at the two men who had stopped her endless flow of bubbles and immediately pulled herself onto Sherlock's lap to sulk.

It was clear how much time she spent with him as he immediately reached behind him and opened a drawer producing a miniature set of goggles and worn gloves.

She slipped them on with help from the genius and grinned toothily at the blonde.

“ 'Sper-nent” She pointed to the microscope Sherlock was peering into. It was comical how tiny she was as he was able to work over her without the slightest hunch or arch of his back.

“Experiment.”

John yelped as the suds spilled to his wrists, suddenly remembering the disgusting sack of meat in his arms. He ran to drop it back in the sink and scrubbed his skin raw. An entire bottle of soap wouldn't make him feel clean enough. He contemplated how he was going to get dinner ready on time.

“You're going to end up ordering out so I'm not certain why your stress level is rising.” The genius murmured switching his slides.

John heaved a heavy sigh. Sherlock was right. Takeaway it was...again.

“What are you looking at anyway?” He moved to stand behind the genius and peeked over his shoulder as if he could see what was on display.

“I acquired some of your skin cells a while back.”

He nodded. “Oh, okay.”

Then it processed.

“Sherlock, is this one of those situations where I want to know?” He closed his eyes and willed his quick temper to be subdued.

Sherlock visibly contemplated it. “No, probably not.”

“John!”Audrey struggled to balance while she pulled herself to a standing position on the genius's lap. It was painfully adorable when she rested her face against the eye piece, mimicking Sherlock's previous actions.

“Move over you berk.” He playfully nudged the genius's shoulder and opted for leaning over him and following Audrey's orders.

“Wow, yeah. It's pretty cool. Good looking skin cells.” He grinned. “Even if the reason you have them is not at all cool.”

He shot the genius a sideways glance. The edges of Sherlock's lips curled ever so slightly before the pulled the microscope back in his possession.

“Order from Angelo's. He owes me a favor.”

John immediately whined his displeasure. “Every time we go he never lets us leave! He just talks and talks and talks and talks...”

“Yes, I understand your point.”

“And talks and talks and talks...” John continued.

Audrey frowned at him.“Shh!”

“And talks and talks and talks...”

* * *

"This is delicious John. I didn't know you could cook." Violet Holmes smiled as she twirled the fork in her pasta.

“He can't”

“I can't”

John glared at the table's occupants. Greg, Molly, Irene, Sherlock, even Mrs. Hudson- the traitor- had all spoke for him. It's not like it wasn't true but it's the principle! How dare they give away his secret without inquiring with him first.

It wasn't really a secret. Everyone within a five block radius to his flat knew.

The fire department knew.

Scotland Yard knew.

John was certain that the Queen knew.

“It's your son's fault. I had every intention to burn down the kitchen.” John shrugged. “Could you pass me the bread?”

They were sitting around Mrs. Hudson's table-Sherlock had accidentally spilled formaldehyde on the table and John had refused to let anyone in until the genius had bleached the entire flat...again-conversing over the last minute details to the upcoming ceremony.

Greg sat next to his nervous-but-won't-admit-it fiance looking as calm and collected as ever. He had made it very clear he needed no part in the planning just so long as he didn't have to wear a top hat.

It was panning out to be a fairly large ceremony as they'd invited the entire Yard, Greg's family, quite a few of Mycroft's government acquaintances, and the entire Holmes family.

John had been in their lives for quite some time but he was still relatively new to meeting their families. He'd already been warned away by four on Greg's side and there were too many to count on the Holmes side. Sherlock had typed up a spread sheet for that to which Violet chastised him for being so rude, speaking of his family that way. She then agreed with him and warned John herself.

As he had guessed, Sherlock was intended to be Mycroft's best man. True to himself, he gave everyone hell for it. When they went to get their suits fitted, Sherlock purposely showed up an hour late and then refused to change into the one they'd picked.

Lestrade had to promise him first dibs on a particularly gruesome case involving a decapitated photographer who'd had pictures of severed limbs in his camera. That got the genius's blood pumping real quick.

Much to his surprise, Lestrade had asked John to be his best man. He figured the DI would have asked Donovan or even Anderson. Nonetheless he'd accepted gratefully and told Greg he'd be honored. Until the DI joked he'd return the favor for his and Sherlock's marriage. At that point he flipped him off and walked away.

Rather than having bridesmaids, they had Irene and Molly standing with the best men. Luckily, Sherlock got paired with Molly leaving John to suffer under the mayhem that was Ms. Adler. She'd already been complaining over the way he held his arm out while they walked the isle.

So here they were, the last day of unmarried life sitting around a dinner table filled with the insane people they associated with, eating takeout and arguing with each other.

Irene folded her arms across her chest and grimaced. “Why do I have to do it?”

“Because you're mean and he'll probably think it's hot coming from you.” John smirked.

Her hands hit the table startling poor Audrey. Both of their faces were priceless. “I'm the mean one? Have you met him?” She gaped and pointed at the curly haired genius who was thoroughly ignoring the conversation.

“Phillip Anderson will not show up to this wedding smelling like that. My son is cruel and will probably get himself arrested and we'll have to bail him out or I will stroke because my youngest son will be missing his brother's wedding-Say nothing Sherlock Holmes- and then we'll be late and they won't have enough time to get married and then they'll break up and go their own separate, lonely ways never to find true love again and then they'll both die.”

Siger patted her shoulder and looked away from his wife. It seemed as if he were praying to the Gods to help him get through his life unscathed. Chances were slim with this family.

“And then I won't have anymore grandchildren and may every deity protect you if you do not Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes, because I promise you I will not leave this earth without another grandchild!” She stabbed a finger in the toddler's direction.

The Holmes brothers wore similar expressions of terror and looked to their respective partners. In Sherlock's case, he looked to John. The blonde did a double take and frowned.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Sherlock raised his brows and gestured to his mother. She was fanning herself with a dinner napkin and appeared to be very faint. “She's talking to you.”

John snorted. “No, she's really not.”

“John, did you pick up the suits?” Siger attempted to steer the conversation in another direction for the sake of his wife.

“Yeah this morning. They're in my closet, ready to go. “ John grinned proudly at himself.

“Unless the beast gets to it.” The genius muttered.

“Shut up Sherlock.” John whipped his head and passed a death glare at the man. “He will not, I locked them up.”

“The same way it didn't chew through your pillows or your sofa.” Sherlock raised his brows condescendingly. His eyebrows held a certain angle of condescension and John didn't appreciate it. He narrowed his eyes at the genius. Damn Sherlock Holmes and his condescending eyebrows.

“He's still a pup. He can't help it!” John flailed his arms.

“Oh, let's not forget when you let it loose in my flat and it ate through half of my paperwork and snapped my bow in half.”

“-my God! Will you not let that go? I told you I would buy you a new one and I did!”

“It would have gone for my violin if I hadn't drugged it!” Sherlock shouted at the blonde. His right eye twitched a little, distracting John from the argument at hand.

It was hilarious.

And absolutely not the topic of conversation.

“You drugged my dog?” John yelled right back. He pointed a finger in the genius's face. “You could have killed him, you animal abuser!”

The shutter of a camera broke their spell. Violet's eyes were wide, her beautiful blues staring guiltily at her two boys. Her hands were up in the air holding and pointing a camera in their direction. The occupants at the table had sat and watched them bicker as if they were at the cinemas with a bucket of popcorn.

“Don't stop on our account.” Siger blinked at them.

John looked back to Sherlock. They stared at each other momentarily before grinning like two mad men. The genius cleared his throat.

“Please continue whatever boring conversation you were having.” Sherlock waved his hand.

“Like I was saying, the suits are all ready to go.” John nodded.

“Oh this is so exciting!” Mrs. Hudson gushed.

“Our boys getting married!” Violet sighed contently and patted her hand.

“I know. I can't believe it either. It seems like just yesterday they were sneaking around and hiding each other. As if we didn't know!”

Irene snorted loudly and covered her mouth with her hand as she giggled loudly. “Do you remember when we camped out in front of Greg's door?”

There was a burst of laughter around the table, save John who had not been in the picture at that time and sat completely confused. Sherlock's lips twitched and he glanced at his brother who sipped at his mug completely unfazed at the rambunctiousness occurring at the dinner table.

John furrowed his brows. “I don't understand.”

“Oh that's right. You weren't here yet.” Molly sent an apologetic smile.

“Sherlock figured out that Mycroft had been staying with Greg and vice versa. But they tried to hide it. So we decided to catch them in the act.” Irene smirked.

“I deduced-” He shot a glare to the woman, “-that Lestrade here had been courting my brother. Hardly difficult to figure out. You really should have changed your tie.” He winked at the bashful DI.

“So, what? You just sat outside of his door until they came out?” John pinched the bridge of his nose and chuckled.

How typical of them it was to stake out their own neighbor's flat. He really shouldn't have been surprised but alas, they were forever coming up with new ways to shock him. The chaos Sherlock must have put them through was unimaginable. But the thing is, John knew it wasn't just the genius. They were all uniquely mad in their own ways.

And now here they were joking and arguing over pasta the night before a wedding; The two grooms ready to unite and dedicate a new life together filled with disorder, havoc, pandemonium and just about every other synonym for crazy.

God help England should any of them decide to have children. Poor Audrey was already corrupted and could not be saved. He felt dizzy at the prospect of having mini versions of Irenes and Sherlocks running around because of course then there would be mini Mycrofts and Gregs and Mollys.

No, he was certain they were all in for a hell of a ride.

“You lot are all mad.” John grinned affectionately over his hand.

“And you my dear boy,” Siger winked. “...fit right in.”

“Get up! Get up! Get the hell up! Today is the day!” Irene jumped furiously on the bed causing dog and human to crash against each other as if they were pieces of chicken in a Shake-N-Bake bag.

“Why did I get stuck with you?” He groaned loudly and covered his face with his hand, desperately wishing that he hadn't stayed up all night playing Apples to Apples with his neighbors. It wasn't even fun because they only yelled at him whenever he didn't chose theirs as the winning card.

“Oh Watson, you wouldn't even know what to do with me.” She let herself drop onto his bed and wedged herself between John and Avogadro. The dog whined as rested his large head on her flat belly as she scratched his head.

“Probably not.” John yawned and pushed himself to a seated position. “Where's Greg?”

She yawned, waving her hand. “Making tea.”

“It's his wedding day.” He watched her incredulously.

“Yeah, that's why he's making tea.”

John slapped his palms against the bed and groaned.“He's not supposed to make the tea, we are! God, we're terrible at this.”

“We are a hell of a lot better than your boyfriend.” The woman shrugged.

“Will you stop calling him that?” John hissed.

“Calling who what?” Greg entered with an armful of mugs. He looked at jubilant as ever. A stark contrast from his partner who was seemingly fighting an internal battle with himself.

“Sherlock as John's boyfriend.”

Greg handed the pair their respective mugs and nudged at John's feet so he could take a seat on the bed. “Oh, I thought we were talking about something we didn't already know.”

“You know, I didn't think it was your business but I guess I was wrong.” John pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Clearly.”

“Seriously.”

“Okay, isn't this your special day? Shouldn't we be focused on your upcoming nuptials rather than my relationship, or lack of, with Sherlock Holmes.” He yelled desperately.

“This is much more interesting. Mycroft and I agreed.” Greg nodded into his mug.

“Speaking of, “ John sighed and gave him a small smile. “This is it. Today.”

“What's today?”

“W-what?” John furrowed his brows, dropping his cup into his lap. Surely the man was joking. “The day! Today! You're getting married today. Remember? To Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes? Sherlock Holmes' brother?”

“I am?” Greg looked quizzically. “Hmm.”

“Yes, you are.” Irene sighed. “I hope you're ready for this.”

“Nothing to it.” He grinned.

“No cold feet?” She raised her brow.

“I'm toasty”

“You know he's freaking out right?”

“Oh yeah. That's how I know he loves me.” He winked as he took a sip. “If he wasn't then I'd be worried.”

“Any last minute regrets?”

“One.”

John's eyebrows shot up higher beneath his hairline. “Really?”

“Mmm.” The groom hummed appreciatively.

“Well what is it?” Irene snapped her fingers impatiently.

“That I didn't marry him sooner.”

“You two are disgusting.” She wrinkled her nose and sighed exasperatedly. “Really, it's repulsive. You should handle that.”

“Oh I'll handle it later alright.” Greg wiggled his brows and flashed his pearly whites.

John cried his discontent with the mental picture that immediately formed at the thought of Mycroft and Greg's honeymoon hours.

“I need to text Sherlock. Where's my phone?”

Irene smiled mockingly. “Aww, miss your boyfriend already?”

“No, I need to ask him how to delete mental images.” He gave her the stink eye. “And he's not my boyfriend.”

She made a face and rolled her eyes. Lucky of him to have gotten stuck with her.

“So where are you going on your honeymoon?”

“No idea. It's a surprise.”

“Well that's both sweet and terrifying considering it's a gift from a Holmes.”

“I'm excited.” He shrugged. “But I know we're definitely going to Greece. I threatened him into that one already.”

Tea slipped between John's lips and dribbled down his chin as he quickly covered his mouth. It started off as snort but quickly escalated into knee slapping, belly clutching, abdominal pain, giggle-harder-because-you're-in-pain laughter.

“You threatened Mycroft Holmes?” He choked through his laughter.

“Oh sure. It's very effective where sex is involved.” Greg smiled maliciously, seemingly lost in the memory of his latest tactic in the art of persuasion.

The familiar chime of his phone rang loudly. John unlocked his phone to check the notification and was all too unsurprised to find his first text of the day was from the genius, who was currently stationed at Casa de Mycroft with his parents. Likely losing his mind.

Violet had shooed her sons from Baker Street and the Holmes family fled to Mycroft's estate, miles away from his fiance. Bad luck to see the bride apparently. John snickered at his quip.

Luckily for Molly, even though she's set to be on Mycroft's side of the isle, she got to stay home for Audrey's sake. Probably for Mycroft's too. His nerves had been thin even though he held his stately demeanor.

Regardless, Violet was sending one of Mycroft's men to pick up the pair, leaving Mrs. Hudson to ride over with the trio currently lounging in John's flat.

I've calculated eleven different ways to poison both my mother and Mycroft.

-SH

John snorted. So he was losing his mind.

What, no impending death for dear, old dad?

-John

He's looking up the side effects for Xanax. I don't think he'll do it though. This family is filled with cowards.

-SH

“Your future brother-in-law is plotting to poison your fiance, so we should probably get moving.”

Greg rolled his eyes and chuckled to himself. While distracted with his incredulity, John managed to pinch Irene to get her attention. He scowled at her when she slapped his arm with the back of her heavily jeweled hand.

“Okay, so before we leave the comforts of John's dog infested bed we have something for you. We both chipped in for a pre-wedding present.” She leaned over Avogadro's large body and reached under the bed.

“Just to help with the tension.” The blonde winked.

The groom's expression flattened and he shook his head minutely. “Oh I know that look, you shits. What did you do?”

“Hey, it was thoughtful and came from the heart.” Greg arched his brow and pursed his lips disbelievingly.

She handed him a thick magazine, donned with a pretty silver bow on the spine, that read in large bold letters, 100 Tips for Hot Honeymoon Sex!

Greg almost fell off the bed laughing when he opened the wrapped present, revealing a rectangular box with the words, The Game Of Compromising Positions- Adult Foreplay Game, on the front.

John's hand met Irene's in a high five of complete and total success.

“Okay boys, it's time.” She crawled off the bed and stretched her lithe body. “In the shower, we go.”

“Not all together hopefully.” John snorted.

She raised her brows and visibly contemplated the proposition. “That's not a bad-”

“No. “ John shook his head and climbed out from his cocoon of blankets and pillows. He gently pushed her out of his bedroom.

“Meet us down in Mrs. Hudson's when you're done!” She hollered over her shoulder.

“And bring the suits!”

“Yeah, yeah. You're so bossy.” John muttered to himself. Grabbing a towel out of his closet, he made his way to the bathroom, plugging his music player to it's dock and blasting his loudest music, partially to wake himself up more and partially to get his adrenaline pumping.

Turning the dial and waiting for the water pressure to accommodate all the showers that were running at once, he stripped and assessed himself in the mirror.

His hair was sticking in every direction, closely mirroring his best friend's set of unruly, dark curls. Thankfully some gel would give it a bit of discipline whereas cement couldn't keep Sherlock's hair under control. There were bags under his eyes, likely from the game night they'd hosted after dinner. John ruffled his hair and poked at the darkened rings below his eyes, willing them to go away. Violet would have a fit if they ruined the wedding pictures. Maybe Irene could cover it up with something.

The mirror fogged as steam filled the room so he grabbed his toothbrush and some toothpaste and jumped into the shower. He faced the spray of water, reviewing his list of duties for the day. Other than delivering their suits, it mostly consisted of keep the genius out of trouble.

While Violet had pleaded to have their commitment to one another take place at their childhood home, the pair had agreed they would marry in a church, and the reception would take place at Mycroft's large estate. John had visited the large, white house- more like small city -a number of times, often for excruciatingly long dinners with the group or just simply to aid Sherlock in harassing him. The grounds were beautiful, encompassed with lush green grass and wild, untrimmed tress that twisted their branches in every which way. At night the fields looked like the starry sky as the fireflies lit up the air, their luminescence casting soft glow. Ironically enough It was naturally wild and not at all like the man who lived there.

It was indeed a beautiful estate, no matter how unnecessarily ample it was. He couldn't deny it was a prime spot for a celebration.

John wondered how marriage would change the grooms and how it would affect them all. He wondered where they would live and if they wanted children or would live contently spawn-free. He thought about how courageous they were for entering a legal partnership that would, if they were lucky, forever bind them to one another.

His mind continue to slip back to the genius and whether or not he was considering the same. Although, he likely deduced it long ago and had elected to ignore or delete it.

As badly as he wanted to focus his mind elsewhere- he supposed the aura of romance was rubbing off on him, Sherlock's face appeared in his mind with every thought.

John really did wonder if the genius would ever think of settling down someday.

He applauded Greg and Mycroft for their bravery. They were venturing into a world of uncertainty and unyielding chaos, considering whom they currently resided with. How easy it was to accept being alone. Except he wasn't so sure he wanted to be and perhaps if he gave a little push, he would realize he didn't have to be.

Could he ever take that terrifying step of commitment, John wasn't sure for either of them. But there was something about the unnecessary touches or the lingering gazes that made him feel secure in their feelings.

He could imagine the intense look in Sherlock's cool eyes. The blatant gaze of heavy affection that would settle itself in every gap of his soul. Because it was more than an obvious attraction or a connection of the mind.

Anyone can have that.

It was there on a molecular level, where his atoms ached and begged to bond with Sherlock's. It was there on a spiritual level, where John knew the fabric of his being intertwined when the other man looked at him.

The butterflies that fluttered in his belly when two dimples caved in the man's cheek could not compare to the sensation of complete and utter serenity whenever their skin touched.

It was more than just knowing the little things, like the fact that John knew Sherlock kept his baby blanket between his mattress and the box spring, although those things did matter. Yes, he knew that the genius preferred the right side of the bed. And that he had a “lucky” pair of pants. And that his sock index was not according to color or quality, but in alphabetical order to the chances of their utilization.

Yes, he knew these things. And they were important.

But he also knew that Sherlock's left ear went pinker than his right when he's embarrassed. And the genius would almost immediately fall asleep when his scalp was massaged. John knew about the hand fetish and the cracking of his toes and why he flushes the toilet twice before leaving the bathroom.

He knew all of this. He observed it.

And yet they spoke nothing of it.

Maybe, John thought, it was because they didn't need to. They just knew.

Perhaps it was the enthusiasm of the circumstances that made John feel more courageous. No longer could he understand why the silence between them needed to speak more clearly than the actual words they shared. It was clear everyone was aware of their wordless sentiments, except them. Happiness could be knocking at his door and he was hiding behind the wood, peeking through the peephole, too scared to open up. Something in his mind clicked, and he knew he couldn't hide anymore.

Maybe it was just the spirit of the celebration at hand, but John knew, regardless that he was utterly terrified, it was time for him to speak up for the both of them. Whatever the outcome may be.

Toothpaste began to drip onto his feet and he realized he'd been standing in the same position squeezing the tube until the water ran cold. He hurried to brush his teeth before he turned into a Popsicle and jumped out to dry himself.

He returned his dental products back to their rightful place and wrapped a towel around his waist for good measure. Lord knows who was lurking around, especially on the momentous day.

Humming his way to his bedroom, he dropped his towel on the bed and slipped on a pair of pants before heading to his closet,

His heart paused.

His blood went cold.

Time stood still, a second illuding an eternity.

Because his closet door was wide open.

“No.” He whispered.

John looked at the remaining shreds of the tuxedos they were supposed to be wearing in a few hours. Avogadro whined guiltily in the corner, black fabric poking out of his mouth.

“This can't be happening.”

“You are in so much trouble.” The rich, baritone voice spoke behind him.

John almost jumped out of his skin and whipped around. Sherlock stared at the mess with his arms folded and a reflective look on his face. For some reason he was wearing a navy blue uniform with a name tag that read, Black Top Driving Services.

“No, I can fix this. I can...I can-” John rushed to the closet to pull out the remaining scraps of the suits that were once whole. He didn't realize he'd fallen to his knees until Avogadro nudged his shoulder with his large head and stared guiltily with his big brown eyes.

“What am I going to do?” The suits were completely ruined and they were supposed to be getting ready for the wedding! Violet was going to murder him violently if he didn't fix it. But there was no way they were going to be able to get new suits and get them tailored them in time. It was already ten thirty and they were supposed to be at the church at twelve; The ceremony was starting at half past noon.

“Oh my god.” He whispered to himself.

“I told you the beast would get to it.” John wanted to snap his neck.

“What are you even doing here?” He cried.

“Well my mother wasn't looking and I couldn't handle it any longer, so I stole the car that was coming here.” Sherlock smirked as he recalled his hijacking of the vehicle.

“Sherlock, what are we going to do?”

“Hold that thought.” He fished through his pocket for his phone and frowned at the screen. John had been so lost in himself he didn't hear it ringing. “Yes?”

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, where the hell did you take that car?” Violet's angry voice shrieked through the speaker. “What the hell is wrong with you? It's your only brother's wedding day and you abandon us to go God knows where. You know what? I don't care where you went. Let me tell you right now Sherlock Holmes, you better get that car over to Baker Street and pick those girls up and hightail it right back here or I will do things to you that will make your serial killers look tame.”

He hung up without a word and looked at John. They shared a mutual expression of utter terror.

“Sherlock, I have to fix this. She's going to feed me to the gators.” He whispered dejectedly.

“Not likely.” Sherlock spoke confidently. “Wolves, possibly-”

“Sherlock” John yelled. “Please!”

“Get dressed and meet me at Molly's. Leave the suits and the dog.” He turned swiftly and exited the room leaving John to sulk on the floor with the big brown dog panting ignorantly.

“You're making us look bad.” He glared at the canine. Avogadro barked appreciatively and nuzzled his hand before climbing back on the bed to nap.

* * *

John was across the hall pacing in Molly's flat within three minutes. Greg, thankfully, was still waiting in Mrs. Hudson's oblivious to the crisis.

Audrey was sitting on the couch with her Teddy in her lap watching him walk back and forth while Molly packed some bags of their stuff so they'd be able to finish getting ready on the way to the church. He was all but yanking his hair out over the stress his wonderful pup inflicted upon him.

If he didn't find someway to fix this, he was as good as dead.

“Alright!” Irene ran in, half dressed in her gown. It was a beautiful plum, strapless dress that billowed around her curvy frame and danced around her feet. A decorative floral embroidery wrapped around her waist and connected in the rear where the dress dipped, exposing her smooth back.

If the situations wasn't so dire, John would have died at the mere sight of the unkempt woman. She looked utterly hilarious because her curly hair was half done as was her makeup and the dress, that usually fit her like a glove, was semi tucked in the waist line of her pantyhose. John recognized Mrs. Hudson's pink flamingo slippers on her feet.

Sherlock, still dressed in his driver's uniform, strolled in lazily behind her and jingled the car keys.

“Here's the plan,” She spoke briskly as she grabbed one of Audrey's little backpacks and ran around stuffing miscellaneous items in it. John saw her stuff a box of condoms at the bottom and slapped a hand to his face.

“We're sending Mrs. Hudson off with Greg to the church and we're going to get the new suits. And we're going to make it to the wedding on time and they're going to get married and I'm going to get roaring drunk and sleep with as many people as I possibly can in one night, so let's get moving.”

Molly nodded obediently, a determined look flashing across her face as she slipped on a pair of flip flops and grabbed as many garment bags as she could carry.

“Wait! What did you tell Greg?” John clawed at her arm with wide eyes.

“That you forgot to pick up his suit, now let's go. We only have a small window of time to get this done.” She all but heaved the little girl over her shoulder, threw their bags at Sherlock and ran out of the flat screaming, “Double time!” the whole way out.

If they ever needed theme music, this was that moment.

The citizens of London had the utmost privilege of witnessing a half-dressed woman carry a toddler, who was screaming for her Teddy that had been left behind, while screaming at a six foot tall genius, dressed as a city driver, who was carrying an armful of bags and running to the car followed by a distressed blonde giving a piggy back ride to a petite woman-who'd tripped down the steps on the way out-with garment bags hanging from the belt loops on said blonde man's trousers while trying to soothe her crying child, and then watch them stuff themselves into the car, as they screamed profanities at one another, and pull away from the curb in a cloud of smoke.

It was in fact a great day for a wedding.

“Sherlock step on it!” Irene screeched at the genius, trying to stuff her breast back into her dress while comforting the screaming child.

“I'm going ninety!” He gritted his teeth and slammed his foot harder on the gas pedal. John clutched his seat belt and pressed his leg against the door for support as he was jerked around wildly.

“Time?” John managed to choke out. He yelled an apology out of the window as he saw a young couple duck out of the way of the speeding vehicle. He pitied the man paying the violation tickets the driving company was bound to receive.

“Five to eleven!” Molly poked her head out from behind the mound of bags they had stuffed the car with.

“Drive faster!” John screamed as loudly as his larynx would allow.

“Hold on.” He could see as the malicious glint darkened Sherlock's eyes and a wicked smile graced his lips.

They were surely going to die.

Screeching tires on the pavement and the smell of burning rubber combined with the screams of both passenger and Londoners on the street carried on for more than two miles. Thankfully most of Scotland Yard was likely busy making their way to the church and wouldn't be patrolling most of the one ways and back alley streets Sherlock was demolishing.

“I think that was a cat.” Molly's voice trembled as she stuck her face against the window and frowned at the twitching feline, now roadkill, on the ground behind them.

“We can get it later.” Sherlock glanced at her in obvious distaste for her emotional attachment for animals.

“It's dead!” She erupted.

“I know.” He gritted his teeth. “Can you shut her up, please!”

“Shut the hell up Sherlock. She's a baby and she's scared.” Irene smacked his arm.

“We all are.” John muttered, a bit lightheaded from the whiplash he was most definitely acquiring.

“Right there! Pull over! Pull over!” Molly jumped in her seat and pointed at the brick building tucked away in one of the quieter neighborhoods of the city. John had never been more glad to see a tuxedo shop.

Sherlock drove the car up onto the sidewalk right in front of the door and put it into park. He barely took the keys out of the ignition when they started yelling and emptying out of the car, hurling themselves into the shop.

“Ahh, Monsieur 'Olmes-”

“Get her dress on! Get her dress on!” Irene stumbled in with Audrey while trying to change her footie pajamas to her flower girl dress.

The tailor clutched his chest as the discombobulated mess of people bombarded his shop with their horde of bags, purses, children backpacks, garment bags and pile of heels. Molly hobbled in and began to unpack the bags.

“Monsieur-” The old tailor started, eyes widened in fear and confusion.

“Shhh! Listen. His dog ate the suits and we need them for the wedding that's happening today. Please, please help us.” Irene fumbled with settling the whimpering child and getting the puffy dress on her.

John clung to Sherlock, heavily nauseated from both fear from driving and from his terrifying mother.

“Je suis désolé, mais je crains que je ne vous comprends pas.” Her eyes bulged when she heard him speak.

French.

Of course.

“Sherlock-” She warned.

“Je m'excuse, mais nous sommes pressés. Nous avons besoin des répliques des smokings nous avons choisi l'autre jour et ils ont besoin d'être redimensionnée.” Sherlock instructed immediately. John would have openly swooned at the way the genius's tongue curled through his French vernacular but he was distracted otherwise.

The tailor looked perplexed and wrung his hands nervously. “Je m'excuse Monsieur 'Olmes, mais je crains que ces smokings ne sont plus disponibles. Je peux posséder quelque chose de similaire à l'arrière si vous me permettez de vérifier.”

"Oui, dépêchez-vous.” Sherlock snapped and waved his hand. The man jumped and all but ran to the back of the shop.

"Zip me up!" Molly moved to stand in front of a frozen John. Sherlock nudged him gently in her direction, snapping him out of his daze. John pulled her dress closed and asked what he could do to help.

"Brush her hair please!" Irene snapped at him. She was trying to do a million things at once and was looking more frantic than ever. She'd managed to get the little girl in her puffy white dress. The torso was covered in large purple flowers, fabricated of course, with a matching plum colored sash around her middle. Audrey twirled in place, giggling and laughing every time she almost lost her balance.

John kicked it into high gear and snatched the little girl, who protested loudly.

"Please Audrey. Just a minute." John pleaded with the child. He brushed out her curls as gently as possible, watching as they uncoiled and re-coiled. Irene finally took a moment to check herself in the mirror and shrieked.

"You let me leave like this?" She stared at her reflection horrified.

"We were in a bit of a hurry." John snapped at her.

The tailor returned with an armful of garment bags. "Monsieur 'Olmes, j'ai le même smoking mais ce n'est pas la même couleur et doit être ajusté."

"Bien, juste se dépêcher." He commanded.

"Combien avez-vous besoin?" The old man asked him.

"John, how many were ruined?" Sherlock turned to the blonde who was struggling to keep the toddler still.

"Yours, mine and Greg's." John grunted.

"Trois. Je suppose que vous avez les mêmes mesures et êtes capable de les achever à temps."

"What the hell are you saying?" Irene muttered, exasperated.

The old man nodded and proceeded to bring the suits to the back to complete the fittings.

"Time?" John asked.

Sherlock checked his watch. "We've got forty minutes until noon."

"Chop, Chop!" Irene clapped her hands.

Amazingly, it took the old man thirty of those minutes to finish the fitting. John had never been more appreciative to have his neighbors come together as a team to clean up the mess his dog made. He knew it was technically his fault for forgetting to close the closet door he just wasn't ready to admit it.

In those thirty minutes, Irene managed to help Molly finish getting dressed, do her hair, apply her makeup, fix Audrey's hair-John was clearly a mess and incompetent at that-and finish getting ready herself. Sherlock with great ease and a lot of practice, managed to get both he and John in their best man suits, presentable and ready to go. Pedestrians walking by got a good show as all of them forgot their sense of dignity and undressed quickly in front of the large windows in front of the shop.

In the end, the two women looked flawless in their deep purple gowns along with their toddler who continued to twirl in her fluffy dress and tiny shoes. John noted how handsome Sherlock looked-even more so than usual- in his three piece suit. Unfortunately the tailor hadn't had the color they had originally been fitted in but the charcoal gray on black looked infinitely more striking. Greg's suit was charcoal on plum rather than the black. Regardless, they looked chaos free and as if they walked straight out of a magazine.

Sherlock and John worked together to re-stuff the car with their belongings and get the other three passengers seated. The genius shook hands quickly with the tailor and handed him a large wad of bills. John thanked him profusely before being screamed at to get in the car.

Seven and a half minutes later, the hysteria began to set in again. They were stuck in bumper to bumper traffic. John pulled at his hair and rocked in his seat, trying to ignore the loud argument unfolding between Irene, Sherlock and the rest of London's drivers.

"We're going to be late." Molly chewed her nails, looking worriedly out the window.

"Mama, late." Audrey stared seriously at her relative.

"Drive you morons! Drive! God-" Irene was sticking out of the open window, swearing at all who dared to defy her.

"Sherlock, we're going to be late and your mother is going to kill me when she finds out-" John began to see spots as he panicked over their dire situation.

"Wait-Sherlock, look." Molly rolled down her window and pointed at the large hunk of metal parked at the curb. A sleek black Motorcycle idled with the key in the ignition and all. A mischievous gleam overcame the genius and he put the car in park. He nodded at Irene through the rear view mirror.

"You know what to do."

"Go." She climbed over the seat as he climbed out of the car.

"Let's go John." He reached in to grab Greg's tux from Molly and raced over to the parked bike. John watched with wide eyes and flung himself from the vehicle, running after the genius. Sherlock climbed on, tossing a helmet to John and shoving the suit between their closely situated bodies. John wrapped his arms securely around the genius and squeezed his eyes shut, for the owner who'd had his back turned, noticed and chased after them as they pulled away from the curb.

They were already breaking a ton of laws, why not break a few more?

Sherlock weaved in and out of the traffic, never dropping below eighty. Thankfully, the church was relatively close. John almost passed out as Sherlock took a shortcut down the subway stairway and through the platform filled with people waiting for the tube. He yelled his apologies to the people who were jumping and running away from the speeding motorcycle.

The rush of adrenaline combined with the sexiness that was riding an expensive motorcycle through the streets of London, was almost to much for John. He tightened his arms around the genius, trying to get as close as the bulky helmets would allow. John could feel the rumbling through Sherlock's chest as he laughed.

They heard the bells of the church ring and John almost cried as he realized they were nearing their destination. The closer they got the louder the bells rang. The boys finally came into view of the beautiful cathedral.

It was a magnificent white stone building, adorned with extraordinary stained glass that contained glorious colors that took up most of the space on the high walls. People were already lined outside of the large, white doors all dressed and prepared to witness the ceremony.

Sherlock turned the corner and pulled up to the curb on the street behind the entrance. They all but flew off the bike and ran in through the back entrance to the room they knew Greg would be waiting for them.They both froze and turned to each other as they heard the one voice they were hoping to avoid.

And boy was it angry.

“Where the hell have you been ?” Violet Holmes snarled and stalked to the young men. Her face was red and blotchy from anger but it didn't dissipate her radiance in her tea length, cream colored dress. It draped elegantly across her shoulders, bare from her locks that were pulled into a neat bun atop her head.

“It's my fault.” John croaked and rubbed at the back of his neck, handing the suit over to Sherlock.

She noticed the frightened look in his face and sighed softly before greeting them both with tender kisses on their foreheads. “What happened?”

“Mother, it is wise for you not to know.” Sherlock carried the suit to the room where the groom was. “At least not at this moment.”

“Well, where are the girls?” Violet looked around in search of the women they were supposed to be bringing over.

“We're here!” Irene held her dress above her feet while carrying a giggling Audrey and hurried down the hall with Molly.

“Oh my goodness.” Violet closed her eyes. “He's right, I don't want to know. Let's get moving!” She ushered them into the tiny room.

Greg sat calmly on the sofa reading a newspaper as he waited for them to fill in the room. Mrs. Hudson retrieved Audrey from Irene and pulled her aside to give her the little basket of flowers she was meant to carry.

“So.” Greg started and threw the paper aside next to him. “I went to see where you all ran off too, and come to find the suits are torn to shreds all over your bedroom.” He raised his brows at his soon to be brother in law and best man. “Care to fill me in?”

“The suit? Yes.” Sherlock pulled him up and shoved the suit in his arms. “Anything else? No.”

Greg stood unmoving and examined each of them with an intensity that almost put Sherlock to shame. John fidgeted under the pressure and guilt.

“It's my fault-” He started but was cut off by Greg's loud laughter.

“I”m just kidding. Let's get married!” He grinned and moved past them to the small bathroom. The four adults who'd just ridden through hell and back together glanced tiredly at one another and collapsed in a fit of laughter. Except John, he just collapsed in sheer exhaustion.

And Sherlock, whose lips merely twitched.

It only took Greg a few minutes to slip on his trousers, the dress shirt, his waist coast and the jacket; A complete ensemble that made him look exponentially immaculate and breathtakingly good-looking.

“John.” Sherlock handed him a small grey box. He looked uncertain and fidgeted restlessly.

“Are you proposing to me?” He joked before opening his present. Nestled in the cushion was a small silver pin. On the pin was a exquisitely crafted and expertly detailed Sun.

“Sherlock” He breathed, astonished at the beauty of the celestial body compressed into a tiny replica of the real thing.

“It's for the groomsmen.” Sherlock coughed and shifted his gaze. John knew the man well enough to know he was embarrassed. “Lestrade's is a bullet. I figured you teased me about my lack of knowledge for the solar system, so I-”

“Thank you. It's magnificent Sherlock.” John smiled tenderly at the warmhearted man who strived so hard to seem cold and uncaring. He pulled the tiny Sun out and pinned it to the lapel of his jacket and smiled.

By the time he looked back to the genius, he was gone. Across the room he stood speaking quietly with his father, who looked equally dashing in his black suit. His shirt underneath the jacket matched the color of his wife's dress.

“It's time.” Mrs. Hudson announced excitedly and took Audrey out of the room, pulling the Irene and Molly with her.

“Sherlock, go to your brother.” Siger patted his youngest son on the shoulder. Sherlock made a face and exited the room in compliance. His father winked at Greg and followed Sherlock out. Violet patted his cheek and pulled out a handkerchief as she turned away from them. John chuckled as he heard her blow loudly into it.

“Come on.” He put his arm around the groom and walked them to the doors that would eventually open and lead him to his soon to be husband.

“Ready?” Irene smiled genuinely.

Molly had taken Audrey and begun walking down the aisle already. They could hear the loud chatter of the guests from behind the doors. Gentle music filled the halls of the church and all to soon, it was their turn to walk.

Greg turned to face John and Irene, his eyes wide and a mask of sheer terror decorating his face. He shook his head and pushed past them.

“I can't do this.”

Chapter Text

Greg turned to face John and Irene, his eyes wide and a mask of sheer terror decorating his face. He shook his head and pushed past them.

“I can't do this.”

They spared each other a glance before bolting after the runaway groom. Surely this was a joke. The man was all too giddy to get married a few hours prior and suddenly, he wasn't. John couldn't understand what went wrong.

And after all they went through to get the suits!

“Greg!” John huffed and puffed as he chased the DI back to the small gathering room. They stumbled through the doorway, trying to catch their breaths. John leaned against the wall and watched as the groom paced restlessly, violently running his hands through his hair.

Finally his brain caught up with his mouth. “What the hell do you mean you can't do it? He's waiting for you out there!” John faltered as he looked at Greg; There was clear, wild panic on his face.

“I can't do this. I can't marry him. I just can't”

“Of course-” John tried to interject to no avail.

"“He's Mycroft Holmes, for Christ's sake. I'm nobody. He deserves more. Better." He stuttered and stumbled over his words, wearing a hole in the floor as paced back and forth. "What if one day he realizes he wants more? What do I do? What if I can't give him more? What if I can't give him what he wants-"

A loud thwack resonated through the room, cutting off Greg's panicked word-vomit. The silence was deafening and the two men gaped in shock. Irene shook her hand out as she removed it from Greg's face and grabbed tightly on to the lapel of his jacket.

“You stupid, silly man. Do you really think Mycroft Holmes, of all people would just up and agree to a proposal from any old bloke? No. He chose you because you chose him. He's the same person who has been a bundle of nerves, ready to piss himself empty because of this wedding.” She poked a finger, clearly growing more agitated by the second.

Greg cradled his cheek, still appalled at the violent action. John had never seen the woman so angry in their entire relationship.

“You are more than good enough for him and you know it, so put on your big girl panties and get out there because so help me God, if I left my flat with my dress tucked into the crack of my arse for nothing, I will annihilate you.” She ended in a whisper.

Greg's eyes widened and he nodded in agreement. A moment passed and he breathed deeply, hanging his head in resignation.

“You're right. I-I just panicked. It's a big step, what if we mess it up?” He sighed. “I don't want to fail him.”

“You will. Over and over again. And there will be times when he fails you.” John stepped closer and patted Greg's shoulder soothingly. “It's inevitable, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't try.”

“You're one to talk.” Irene muttered, arching her brow.

“Just wait until we start walking down the aisle.” He threatened, “ I'm going to trip you. I swear to God.”

“As lovely as you are, I doubt your boyfriend would give your hand in our marriage so I must pass. Your gender may have something to do with it too.” She smirked. “My sincerest apologies always.”

He wiped a hand over his face and laughed. “Greg, are you ready to try this again?” John's voice came muffled from behind his hand. “You can do this.”

The groom took a breath before slowly nodding, his lips forming a wide smile. “Yeah. I'm ready.” He turned to the mirror to readjust his face. A scowl at his reddened cheek and a glare at the woman who provided it; He suddenly grinned mischievously.

“You slapped me.”

“You needed it.” Irene insisted, unapologetic.

There was a devious glint in his eyes as he pulled his phone from his trouser pockets. John watched confused as he snapped a photo of her, pressed a few buttons, and tucked the mobile back in his pockets. Irene folded her arms and glared, waiting for his next move.

“Yes, I agree.” He shrugged. “But nonetheless, you assaulted an officer and since I do not have time to book you-as I'm getting married and a moment-I've sent a picture to my soon-to-be husband informing him that you are banned from all alcoholic beverages from now, through the entire wedding ceremony and reception. He is informing all the staff, who now have a very clear photograph of you.”

Her face was priceless.

John snickered loudly. “That's a bit cruel, no?”

“Yes!” She shouted at him. “It is. I was trying to help you, you useless man. I can't believe this! I am not a child!”

Greg smoothed his hand over his jacket before holding his arm out to her. She took it glumly. “You'll survive.”

“Not even one glass?”

“Nope.”

“A sip?”

“Nope.”

“A drop?”

“Nope.”

“Well what about the toast, I have to have something then.”

Greg pondered this. “You'll have water.”

He led her back to the closed doors, trying but failing to keep a straight face as her excitement for the evening's festivities crumbled around her. They stood quietly in front of the doors, listening to the loud murmur of the guests and light music flowing gently through the halls. Greg jerked violently, startling the woman. For a second John though they'd have to coax him into the wedding...again.

“Oh, I almost forgot my-my-my-” He squeezed his eyes and snapped his fingers as he tried to work through his brain fart.

“The love paper thing.”

“The love paper thing?” Irene repeated, clearly baffled at the stupidity of the phrase.

“Yeah, where I tell him I want to take care of him, and I promise not to poison him and that stuff?” He walked backwards, pressing a hand over his face. Clearly it was an exceptionally large brain fart.

“Christ Greg, your vows?” John exclaimed incredulously.

“Yeah! That. Don't go without me.” He disappeared into the room.

“Why would we...” John trailed off.

Suddenly the closed doors were now open and Sherlock was pushing through, followed by Molly and Audrey. From what he could briefly see, the room was packed, all space in the pews filled.

Molly gulped in oxygen and managed to force out, “We have a problem.”

“Did Mycroft run away too?” Irene shouted, finally exasperated.

Sherlock scoffed. “Certainly not. He's too fat, he can't run.”

“We lost the rings.” Molly ignored his comment.

John wondered if it was too late to quit. Everything. How could they ruin the suits and lose the rings in the space of less than twenty four hours for the same occasion!

He slapped a hand to his forehead. “Tell me you're joking.”

For once, Sherlock stayed silent.

Irene furrowed her brows.“Where did you last see them?”

“At the flat maybe?” Molly shrugged, clearly unsure of her guess.

“Maybe?” John's voice cracked.

Molly nodded.“Well remember how we were playing that board game?”

“How could I forget.” John recalled the unpleasant memory. “You all yelled at me every time it was my turn.”

“Serves you right for not choosing my card for the word delicious.” Irene huffed, brushing a hand through her curls.

“Your card said The Pope!” John cried. “That's wrong on so many levels!”

“Rings!” Molly interrupted their impending dispute. “ Rings. We lost the rings, remember?”

”Who had them last?”

All eyes went to Sherlock as he stared ahead, unfazed. Molly was right. Mycroft had entrusted Sherlock to keep guard of the rings and had given them to him right after they'd given up on the game.  John wasn't really sure what made him think that Sherlock would take care of their bands in the first place. Perhaps he'd hoped the genius would stay civil if only long enough to give him the rings.

“Well where are they Sherlock?” John asked patiently.

“I don't know.” The genius shrugged.

“What do you mean you don't know?”

“I deleted it.”

“What do you mean you deleted it?” The blonde was getting slightly hysterical.

“What was once in my mind is no longer there. I don't know where the rings are. Maybe your dog ate those too.” Sherlock gritted his teeth. John could see the muscles jumping and flexing in his jaw.

“Sherlock. You had the rings.” John grabbed his jacket and shook him slightly. “So how did my dog eat them? Explain that to me.”

Sherlock's eyes narrowed to slits and glared with such an unwavering intensity that John couldn't help but fidget slightly under his gaze. He straightened to his full height, which was unbearably taller than John. The blonde removed his hands from the jacket immediately and cleared his throat, apologizing for yanking him.

“What the hell are we going to do then? We ruined the suits-”

“Technically your dog did.”

“And we lost their rings. Does anything else want to go wrong?” John ran a hand through his hair which was now sticking up in all directions.

“Yes, I was banned from the alcohol.” Irene moaned miserably.

“That was your fault.”

“Well if Greg wasn't being such a-”

“Children. We have children here.” Molly covered Audrey's ears. The little girl frowned and shook her hand off.

“He's coming back!” John's eyes widened in panic.

Greg reappeared and tucked the slip of paper in his jacket pocket and frowned at the sight of the entire wedding party huddled in front of the church doors. He knew them all too well and suspected they were up to something.

“Oh, what are you guys doing back here?” Suddenly a broken look washed over his features. “Did he run away too?”

“No, they were just coming to check on us.” John chuckled nervously. They still hadn't found the rings or come close to figuring out where they would even be.

“Oh cheers. Let's get going.” He grinned, a dimple forming in his freshly shaved cheek. “Tell them to start.”

Molly shared a nervous glance between John and Irene before nodding and setting Audrey down.

“Remember what we talked about love?” She fixed the little girl's dress, pointing at the basket of white petals the child was clutching.

“Fwow-ers” Audrey giggled demonstrated by tossing a handful of petals in the air. Molly smiled at her and replaced them back in the basket.

“Kiss.”

Audrey's face lit up like a Christmas tree as she dropped the basket, thankfully nothing spilling in the process, and threw herself in her aunt's arms.

“Mwah!” She planted a wet kiss on Molly's face. Taking the basket in her hands again, she toddled over to the doors and slapped a palm against it.

“Wock. Open.”

The genius obliged with a bow and pushed the door open enough so the child could walk down the aisle. The guests turned in their seats at the sound of the door opening. A collective 'Aww' resonated through the church hall. John could see that Violet was in the front row with her husband and Mrs. Hudson waiting patiently to collect the little girl; A gentle and loving look on her face.

“Ms. Hooper.”

Sherlock held his arm out to Molly who grinned and took it. John smiled at the sight. If it weren't for the fact that he was selfish and completely head over heels for the man, he would have thought them cute together. Sherlock led as they majestically glided behind the little girl who was throwing petals at the floor rather than letting them float gracefully. Molly's dress billowed around her legs and trailed on the ground, picking up a few petals along the way. As Sherlock led her halfway down the aisle, John knew that was their cue to start walking.

“Let's go John.” Irene yanked his arm and pulled him to the starting point. Nothing at all like the suave nature of which their counterparts had swayed down the aisle. John rolled his eyes and held his arm out to the woman. She tucked herself in his hold and patted his bicep gently.

“Don't worry. I have a plan.”

“That doesn't make me feel better Irene.” He retorted and counted to three before taking the first step.

The soft melody of the piano guided the tempo of their gait as they plastered on genuine smiles of warmth and love for the two grooms. Flashes from the cameras lit the room like they were orchestrating a fireworks show. John smiled at the familiar faces in the pews. Sally Donovan-who was sitting next to a well groomed Anderson- was wearing a beautiful gold dress that complimented her fit frame. She cracked a small smile as he passed by with a wink.

As Sherlock and Molly took their place next to the groom, it was only then did John notice Mycroft Holmes. The British official was the epitome of statuesque as he stood ready to seal his commitment, with utter tranquility gracing his face-A blunt contrast from the man he'd seen jumping and twitching like a skittish animal. His three piece suit-tailored to perfection-hugged his body snugly, elongating his already tall frame. On the lapel of his jacket was a gold pin that John couldn't quite make out from the distance. Mycroft caught his eye and gave a barely perceptible nod in approval.

They were so ready.

True to his word, as soon as they made it halfway John 'accidentally' stuck his foot out. Irene went to step and bumped into his shoe, her dress catching under her foot and she stumbled slightly before scowling deeply at him. John smirked and tried to suppress his giggles as she openly smacked his arm.

“Prick.” She muttered at him.

He refused to look at Violet in fear of receiving the disapproved glare he knew she was giving. Finally they took their place on Greg's side and waited for him to make his appearance. John looked over to Mycroft and noticed the man's hands were trembling somewhat even as they clasped one another.

The soft melody of the piano changed it's direction and hummed a sweeter song in accommodation to Greg's saunter down the aisle. He looked perfectly content as he locked eyes with Mycroft and smiled-John breathed a sigh of relief earning a nudge from Irene. Greg didn't waste any time making his way to his significant other and appeared to be struggling to keep in an acceptable pace.

At about three quarters of the way he shook his head and jogged briskly to complete the distance-much to the guests' amusement. Even the Holmes brothers cracked grins.

It was too quiet for the others to hear but the wedding party heard the exchange of 'Hello' and 'Glad you could make it'.

John looked away as the men got lost in one another and took another sweep of their guests. He noticed Greg's very elderly grandmother sitting in the second row, her ghastly, cloche hat-that looked as old as she was-resting on her head. She was dabbing at her eyes with tissue as she watched her grandchild's ceremony commence. John knew she'd raised him from a young boy, although the details of why that came to be he didn't dare ask for he knew it was truly none of his business.

There were at least four pews on each side  of the room filled with people he had absolutely no clue who they were. He assumed they were some of the Holmes family due to their posh garments and stiff postures. John noticed they didn't particularly look similar;Rather they looked relatively ordinary.

Ordinary with nice clothes.

Violet, Siger and their sons were much prettier to look at. John snorted out loud, earning a confused look from the grooms and just about everyone else in the church. Heat flooded his cheeks and his eyes widened at the sudden attention. He looked down to the floor in embarrassment.

The officiant, a merry old man, gave the grooms a warm smile. “Let it be known these two men wish to unify in holy matrimony in the presence of their beloved and the Almighty Father...”

From the corner of his eye John could see Audrey wiggling from Violet's hold, clearly displeased. Her quiet whines were beginning to echo through the large hall. Violet struggled to get a firm grip on her and when she finally did, Audrey yelled...loudly.

“Cake! Cake! Cake!” She cried, her tear-stricken face breaking their hearts as she continued. The little girl reached out toward Molly, who was on the other side of the aisle. Finally she escaped from Violet's grasp and bolted, not toward Molly as John originally believed, but toward Mycroft.

“Why does she associate him with cake?” John struggled to contain his giggles as he consulted Irene.

“Sherlock's fault.” She snorted quietly. Unsurprising the genius stood smug as the little girl used perhaps the most embarrassing and degrading nickname possible for the most powerful man in the country.

Audrey ran her chubby legs over to the man of her affections and threw herself into his shins, wrapping her arms tightly around him.

Mycroft hesitantly lifted her to his eye level and studied the child. She giggled and placed her hands on his mouth tenderly before reaching for his neck. His surprise at her affectionate display could be seen from Jupiter.

“Cake!”

Molly, beet red, moved to retrieve the child but was stopped. Mycroft rested Audrey on his hip, cradling her within his arms.

“She is perfectly fine Ms. Hooper.” He nodded before addressing the officiant. “Please continue.”

John could see Violet scheming in her head as she witnessed her stoic son tenderly regard a child that was not his. For the first time, he pitied Mycroft Holmes. Siger wrapped an arm around his wife, likely trying to advert her stream of thoughts for the sake of his son.

“It seems we have another guest.” The officiant gestured to the child and chuckled lightly along with the wedding guests. “It is to my understanding that the grooms have prepared vows for one another.”

Greg nodded and patted his jacket frantically looking for his vows. Reaching for the paper, he smoothed out the creases and cleared his throat .

“Myc-Oh, Sorry. Mycroft.” Greg chuckled nervously. “Hi. You look lovely. I hope you're having a good day. I know I am." He put a hand over his extremely reddened face. "Wow, this is terrible.”

Irene snickered into John's shoulder as they watched the poor man try to express his feelings. They were so painfully adorable together that it was almost embarrassing to watch.

“Okay, new start.” Greg crumpled the paper and tossed it over his shoulder, effectively nailing John right in the forehead. Much to everyone's surprise, a loud laugh escaped Sherlock before he could contain his amusement.

“Mycroft, I know I'm am idiot and that I am completely unworthy of you. Most days, I don't even know what I did to get you to agree to be my partner let alone my husband. Sometimes I'm scared I'll wake up and it'll be a dream and you'll be gone.” He cleared his throat and grinned.

“But then when I do wake up and you're there, I listen to your breathing. Not in a creepy way, I promise. I know that we all have a number and at the end of it all we have to give our breaths back but there are moments like in the middle of the night when I know you just fell asleep, I wake up and I listen. Every breath you take makes me more sure that I am willing to spend eternity figuring out how to give you mine so you never run out. I know you don't believe in soul mates and you think that caring about someone that much is a disadvantage but I am asking you to allow me to dedicate my life proving you wrong. Because you are worth it. You are worth it all. I love every part of you, the good, the bad, the crazy...” Mycroft smiled gently.

“I know that there are days where your umbrellas will be more important than me, and I'm okay with that. Because I will wait for you. I will always wait for you. You have every piece of me and I willingly give that to you.” Greg took his free hand and held it in his.

“I just want you to know I love you unconditionally and I'd be honored if you'd allow me to be your husband for the rest of our days.”

“Crap, my mascara.” Irene sniffled.

“Gregory,”Mycroft started. “I apologize, I cannot retrieve my vows from my pocket seeing as my hands are full.”

The guests laughed as did Greg.

“It is clear that I am not a man of many words let alone the sentimental ones. Rather it is easier for me to convey all that is factual.”

“Barely at that.” Sherlock muttered under his breath, earning a glare from Molly.

“However, it would appear that my brother's abominable habits indeed revealed a world to which it's existence, I did not acknowledge nor understand. It is true, I do not believe in soul mates. I've stuck firmly by my opinion that caring is not an advantage. When I met you, I did not intend to enter a friendship. Imagine my surprise when I find myself at a wedding rehearsal.

Perhaps it will never be easy for me to convey how I feel but for the sake of our marriage and in celebration of your decision to choose me as I have chosen you, I will relent. There has never been a moment in our partnership that I have ever doubted you. You have won my affections, earned my trust and loyalty.

So no, I do not believe in soul mates but I know if I did, I am certain you would be mine. And if caring is a disadvantage then I would much rather survive under unfavorable circumstances than spend another moment without you by my side.

I will accept you always, as I hope you will accept me. I find that nothing would make me happier than to have the privilege of being your husband.”

The officiant chuckled. “I fear nothing I say can surpass the love and passion in the vows these gentlemen have allowed us to hear. And so, without further ado, we shall take the first step to an eternal journey between Mr. Holmes and Mr. Lestrade. May we have the rings?”

Oh shit.

As Mycroft turned to Sherlock, they froze. John could see Violet tense from where he was standing and hoped for the ground to swallow him whole. She was going to kill them.

However Ms. Adler, whose specialization includes bedazzling her body, passed John two silver bands from her fingers. He in turn handed them to Greg while avoiding his piercing stare.

Greg laughed loudly as he looked at the rings he'd been handed and passed one over to Mycroft. Apparently the only rings she'd had on were two separate skeleton's hand that wrapped around her finger, complete with the bony details.

“Mr. Holmes, do you take Gregory Lestrade to be your husband; Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, to be faithful unto him as long as you both shall live?"

“I do.” Mycroft nodded confidently and shifted to accommodate Audrey's weight so he could slide the ring on. Unfortunately it wasn't Greg's, therefore it wasn't sized and proved to only slip past his first knuckle on his ring finger. It didn't faze him and Greg managed to grin so widely, John feared his face would split.

“Mr. Lestrade, do you take Mycroft Holmes to be your husband; Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, to be faithful unto him as long as you both shall live?"

“Absolutely.” Greg grinned cheekily. He slipped the ring on Mycroft's finger, pushing it as far as it would go before reclaiming his hand.

“If there be any objections to this blessed marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

There were none.

“With that, there is nothing left to say. I'm proud to present to you, Mr. Holmes and Mr. Lestrade, eternal husbands. Now bound together in holy matrimony and through the tidings of their love, they will go forward and cherish this momentous occasion. You may kiss your husband Mr. Lestrade.”

“Oh, thank god.” Greg reached forward to cup Mycroft's face and plant a firm kiss on his lips. Jubilant cheering and loud applause filled the hall. Even Sherlock clapped for his newlywed brother. Audrey, too excited for her own good, pushed their faces apart and put hers between their mouths so she could receive some love too.

John could feel the muscles in his cheeks aching as he laughed and threw an arm around the woman at his side. Irene wolf whistled and cheered for the newlyweds, resting her head against John's shoulder as they watched the husbands kiss fondly. They laughed at the sight of Violet sobbing uncontrollably into Mrs. Hudson's arms and her husband chuckling hysterically beside her.

The blonde looked to Sherlock and met his gaze. They shared a genuine smile. and almost to quick for John to register, Sherlock sent him a wink and returned his attention to his brother.

Finally, Audrey had enough of the kissing and wiggled down Mycroft's side before taking both their hands and tugging them down the aisle. Sherlock and Molly followed soon after.

“Smart thinking on your part Ms. Adler.” John led her out of the church hall.

“Mother always said I was that intelligent one.” She winked.

* * *

“Sherlock, “ Violet sucked her teeth, exasperated because of her son's stubborn nature. “Please. Do something with your hair. These pictures will last forever.”

“I see no difference between these and the embarrassing ones you've plastered all over your walls. So, no thank you.” Sherlock clasped his hands behind back and stared forward.

“Oh, come here.” She yanked him by his tie and shoved her polished hand in his wild array of curls. John cackled as he winced in pain when she combed her fingers through his tangled locks.

“Congratulations gentlemen.” John grinned and held his hand out to the newlyweds.

After the ceremony Violet ordered them to pile into the cars so they could make it to Mycroft's estate for the wedding photos before the guests arrived. So far Sherlock was-naturally- being difficult, Audrey ripped off three of the fabricated flowers from her dress, Molly was barefoot because her heel broke when her foot got stuck in the ground, and Siger was dabbing at the stain on his shirt that formed when he'd dropped his cuppa on the way over.

Nonetheless the sun was shining, the newlyweds were happy, and Violet wasn't yelling at anyone...yet.

“John, what are you doing?” She scolded him.

Too soon.

Staring like a deer in headlights, the hand that had been reaching into the bag of crisps froze. “I'm-I was just-I'm hungry. I didn't have a chance to eat this morning.” He trailed off, unwilling to explain why that was.

“No more. You're getting crumbs all over your nice suit.” She removed her hands from her son's hair, much to his delight, and began to straighten out John's suit. Before wiping her hands over him to remove the crumbs, she snatched his bag and told him he was banned from eating before they took pictures. His stomach growled loudly in protest.

“Mother, please. You're being dictatorial.” Mycroft rolled his eyes. It went unheard as she began lining them up in front of an old weeping willow that grew by the small pond in front of his home.

“Irene my dear, give Molly the shoe opposite to your right.” Violet busied herself will pulling Audrey away from her game with the swaying branches from the overgrown tree. The disruption cause the child to begin whining again.

“She's gone mad.” Irene whispered scandalously to no one in particular.

“Ow. What was that for?” Sherlock rubbed his arm and gaped at his mother.

“I heard that. I can't smack her but I can smack you.” She shrugged unapologetic. “I birthed you.”

He gagged and turned away.

“Ready?” The photographer-who was either very skilled at feigning deafness or too accustomed to the nonsense that occurs at weddings-finally finished setting up his camera and looked to Violet for further instructions. It seemed that everyone feared her at the moment.

“Yes. How do you want us?”

“Grooms in the middle, wedding party on either sides. We'll get those first and then throw the family in.” He motioned for them to take their places.

“Sherlock, smile please.” Violet frowned at her youngest son. John mashed his lips together to keep from laughing when the corner of his lips twitched in agitation. He relented but the more John looked, the more forced it appeared.

“With teeth.”

“I am.”

The blonde lost it because the genius wasn't smiling with teeth and looked rather constipated instead of jovial for the newlyweds.

“Okay forget it.” Her eyes widened and she shook her head frantically. “Just...try not to look too pained.”

“Like when you have to eat her home cooked meals.” Siger offered and smiled cheekily at his wife.

She sent him a dirty look. “This family is going put me in an early grave.”

“No, that would still be your food.” Siger ducked out of the way as she swung her purse in the direction of his head. His height gave him the advantage while his age didn't and she managed to nick him in the shoulder due to his slow reflexes.

“See if I feed you anymore.” She rolled her eyes.

“I think that was rather the point.” Molly, of all people, spoke offhandedly. She turned as red as a tomato when they all turned on her in shock.

“Eyes on the camera, look forward. Mr. Holmes, please open your eyes. No not you, the younger Mister Holmes.” The camera pointed his camera and began snapping away. The bulbs flashed rapidly and temporarily startled John. He knew he'd blinked in quite a few of the photos and hoped for his own sake, Violet wouldn't see them.

The whole process took almost double the time they'd expected as there had been many setbacks.

Firstly, the weeping willow didn't appreciate being part of the backdrop and swung a branch that smacked both Irene and John in the face, mid photo. Greg claimed he'd almost 'pissed himself' laughing at that. It was no longer funny when it came back around and poked him in the eye.

Secondly, Sherlock walked off when a bee flew by, claiming it was a sign that he no longer needed to be there. How he deciphered that, nobody knew.

Then the same bee returned and flew into Molly's hair causing a commotion as she yelled and hopped around trying to swat it out before it stung her. Mycroft took the sting, quite literally, as he removed it from her hair. Sherlock, dejected and utterly heart-broken over the death of the bee, refused to return for the pictures. He did so until John promised to take him to a honey bee farm for a few days, whenever he wanted.

When the photographer finally allowed the parents in the photographs, Siger tripped on his way and crashed into Audrey who in turn cried relentlessly for ten minutes.

A bird decided Greg's shoulder was the perfect place to take a poop and flew away as soon as he'd left his mark. Violet sneezed in the middle of one photo.

As a gag gift, they'd all chipped in and bought a wedding veil, tiara included, and set it on Mycroft's very very unamused head.

The best one, John thought, was when they'd all given up and threw themselves on the ground-sans Mycroft who appeared exasperated-and stared up at Violet as she screamed and pointed her finger at them.

* * *

Finally, there was food. John barely restrained a cry at the sight of the plate being set before him.

As the guests had begun to arrive and they'd given up all hope of taking decent wedding photos, they retreated to the grand ballroom where the reception was to be held.

The decorated tables surrounded a large marble dance floor in the middle of the room. John had meant to ask Sherlock why on earth Mycroft even had a ballroom in his house but was distracted as Violet latched on to his arm and dragged him around for meet and greet.

John had been introduced to what felt like a never ending line of people. First it was Aunt Petunia, who snobbishly regarded John as if he were the dirt beneath her feet. Cousin Reggie, who already intoxicated and guzzling more-much to Irene's jealousy-spilled his drink on John's shoes and then walked off to puke in a garbage or something. The twins, Leila and Lila, bombarded him with questions about what the boys were like at university and didn't show any sign of stopping before Sherlock managed to drag him away.

Apparently, Sherlock and Mycroft were not the strangest of the Holmes family. It wasn't until John had met their distant cousin, Edward- who refused to answer to anything other than Zoltitron, Lord of the Cockroaches-that he was officially through with meeting new family members.

John managed to escape his conversation with the Lord and found his way back to Sherlock, who was sitting around with Molly and Audrey; Presumably hiding from his family that he clearly had no desire to interact with.

For the most part dinner passed without any complications. Aside from having to almost force feed Sherlock and then accidentally spilling some gravy on his shirt, it was a smooth affair. Too soon it was time for Sherlock and John to give their speech to the grooms and send them off with kind words.

Rather, that was John's intention.

When they stood up and began their toast however, it became clear to John that it was absolutely not going to work out that way.

“Lestrade, thank you for taking the responsibility of my nettlesome brother. I fear in his obsession with me, he has lost his touch in aggravating other people. I thank you and wish you the best under his controlling thumb. I will be diligent in using my new found freedom.” Sherlock began.

Before he could continue any further John interrupted him.“Joking. He's joking.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. What you meant to say was that we're so happy that they were able to find one another and how inspiring their commitment to each other is.” John spoke directly to the couple. “We are honored to stand beside you as your best men and wish you nothing but the best in your marriage.”

Sherlock leaned into the blonde and spoke quietly to him. “John, I'm quite certain that's not what I meant to say.”

“Then say something else Sherlock. Something decent wouldn't go unappreciated. It's his wedding day and you're being filmed.” John fiercely whispered back.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock looked pained as he attempted to fulfill John's demand. “You seem to have lost an inch and a half around your midsection. I applaud you.”

John slapped a hand to his face and tried with all his might to refrain from bursting into a fit of giggles. Violet was glaring daggers at her son, who was blissfully ignorant of the embarrassment he was causing her. One look at the genius made John rethink that. Sherlock was completely aware. He just didn't care. Mycroft, who was all too familiar with the sentiment, merely nodded and raised his glass to him.

“Anyway, “ John cleared his throat. “On behalf of Greg and Mycroft, we thank you for being here to celebrate with us. A toast for the grooms.”

John picked up his glass of wine and held it out to the husbands. He had a hard time trying to ignore the dirty glares Irene was providing everyone and anyone who had a glass. Sherlock, having deduced her predicament, purposely handed her one of Audrey's sippy cup filled with juice. This amused Greg deeply and he mashed his lips together to keep from laughing.

“To Mycroft and Greg. All I will say is, good luck. That's all. Cheers.” The blonde grinned and drank in honor of their future happiness.

“So I think without further ado we can go ahead and skip to the fun part. Dance, drink and be merry.” John looked to the grooms for confirmation.

Greg smiled at his partner and held his hand out. “Would you be so kind as to honor me with our first dance as a married couple.”

“Yes I would.” Mycroft took his hand and allowed himself to be led onto the empty dance floor. As the music started , Greg pulled his husband close and took the first step.

I took a minute had to sit right back,

Cause I'm givin' lovin' with my heart attached

John hid his face behind Sherlock as he choked out laughter because of their faces. They looked thoroughly bewitched by one another as they swayed along to their song.

And I never knew that it could be like that,

Loving you the way

I do

After a few moments Siger led his wife to the dance floor and twirled her before pulling her to his chest and moving gently to the melody. John figured people took this as a cue, and watched as the dance floor filled with couples enjoying not only Greg and Mycroft's special moment but their own.

So whether morning, noon or night

Whenever baby, I'm feeling alright

Much to his surprise John watched as Irene and Sherlock joined in the waltz. He figured Irene must have said something less than amusing to the genius because he carefully maintained a blank face while they danced.

And I'm staying with you ,

Long after loving is through

Morning, noon and night.

“Molly, may I have this dance ?” John stood and offered his hand to the petite woman. She grinned and handed Audrey over to Mrs. Hudson, who accepted the little girl cheerfully.

“I hope you can dance better sober.” John quipped.

She groaned at the memory. “I promise I won't start break- dancing” They laughed and joined the rest of the guests.

More than a lover baby, you're my friend

Got to keep on giving baby, till the end

And it hurts so much when I'm without your lips

Morning, noon and night

Molly giggled furiously as the blonde dipped her and continued to twirl around. They made their way around the dance floor, bumping into Sherlock and Irene who seemed to be having a heated discussion in the midst of their dance. Molly signaled for she and John to split them up and trade partners. What he didn't know was that she meant he would get Sherlock.

Baby, I'll tell the world about it

And never will I hurt you, baby,

John's eyes widened at the proximity. Sherlock smiled slyly before taking John's hand into his own. They'd danced before...and in much more provocative circumstances.

So why was is it, even after all that, John's heart still pounded so wildly if felt as it it would break free from it's cage?

I long for your touch

I love you so much

It was obvious to the genius, it had to be. His piercing eyes stared down at him making John want to melt under the gaze.

He cleared his throat. “So you two looked like you were having an exciting conversation.” John's question went without saying.

Sherlock, glorious in his sharp suit and fantastic dancing skills, said nothing but moved them deeper into the sea of guests. Greg and Mycroft whizzed by at one point. John couldn't help the elation he felt for the couple as he saw Greg mouthing the lyrics to his husband.

Just say that you do,

And I'll be loving you too

Morning, noon and night

A kiss between them signaled the end of their first dance. Before he knew it, Sherlock had let go of John and stepped back. Like a gentleman he bowed and thanked him for their dance.

“You appear flustered, John.” Sherlock teased. “Maybe you should drink something.”

“God, yes. Where does your brother stash his liquor?” John laughed.

Sherlock's eyes lit up like a child's would on on Christmas morning. Jerking his head in the opposite direction of the ballroom, he led John away from the crowd. The problem between them was that Sherlock had exceptionally longer legs than John and often forget that little detail. John had to jog a bit to catch up, dodging and ducking flying appendages from dancing family members.

“So,” John started awkwardly. “Zoltitron?”

“Lord of the Cockroaches, yes?” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Did he pretend his fingers were feelers and try to touch you?”

“Yeah. It was kind of scary to be honest.”

“You should have been there for birt-”

He didn't get to finish his thought because John slammed into Sherlock from behind. Somebody had flung themselves into John and he was knocked forward into the unsuspecting genius's tall frame. He yelped and latched onto the genius's arm but as Sherlock was unprepared, he lost his footing and dragged John straight to the floor with him.

They crashed into a nearby table with a clatter. John found himself entangled within Sherlock's long limbs and tried to push himself off the genius. He freed his hand and set it next to the genius's face, into something disgustingly squishy. His eyes snapped over to his hand and was horrified when he saw what it was. John looked at the genius in shock. Sherlock was sprawled on his back and covered in cake. It was everywhere. His hair was clumped together with frosting and chunks of the cake smeared across his face and his suit. John realized, not only was he now straddling the genius in the middle of a wedding, he too was covered in cake. Some frosting lodged itself up his nose and he inhaled the sickly sweet goo. He quickly climbed off Sherlock and coughed violently trying to expel it from his nostrils.

“Oh my goodness.” Violet pushed her way through the crowd and stared at her boys in horror. Shocked faces surrounded the pair and guests reached down to pull the men from the floor.

“What happened?” Mycroft appeared, Greg at his side watching partially amused at the sight.

“I don't know, someone bumped into me and I fell and...” John trailed off and gaped at the genius. A wave of dread washed over him and he stared wide eyed at the man.

“I'm so sorry.” He snorted.

Sherlock heard his amusement and his head whipped to the blonde. They held each others gaze for a moment before hysteria built up and they burst into laughter at the sight of the other.

“Let's get you boys cleaned up.” Greg stepped forward and guided them from the room and into the hall. The men cackled maniacally they whole way out. With an amused smile, Greg left them in a guest bedroom to clean up. John collapsed against the door.

“I'm so sorry Sherlock.” John choked through his laughter. “I didn't mean to drag you down with me.”

Sherlock's lips twitched. “I think my ego is more wounded than I am, John. It's alright.”

“We landed in the cake!”

“Mycroft must be experiencing some post traumatic stress now. We both managed to destroy his cake twice in his life.”

John clutched his stomach and doubled over in laughter. “God, we're a mess!” He peeled off his jacket and dropped it in a heap. Frosting splattered all over the floor.

“Don't worry about it. Mycroft's men will get it.” Sherlock raked his fingers through his cake-infested locks with a grimace. Some of it splashed in his face and he growled in frustration.

“Come here, let me do that.” John shrugged out of his trousers and threw them in the pile. He dragged the genius to the bathroom attached to the suite. Running the water in the bathtub, he ordered the genius to bend down and stick his head over the side. The genius kneeled and bent over the side of the tub, holding his head under the faucet. John had to stand in the tub to be able to soak all of Sherlock's hair.

He gently combed his fingers through Sherlock's hair and pulled the larger globs of cake and frosting off, letting them fall in the tub. Sherlock's head dipped lower. He was obviously relaxing at the sensation of John rubbing his head. John massaged some shampoo onto his scalp and let him enjoy the feeling.

He smiled at the thought of being able to bring Sherlock such delight with a ridiculously simple task. John rinsed the shampoo from his hair and began to work in some conditioner. Never mind he was getting completely soaked in the process. His wet t-shirt was clinging uncomfortably against his skin.

A small moan escaped Sherlock and resonated loudly throughout the small bathroom. John's hand stilled and he felt his heartbeat increase rapidly.

“Sorry.” Sherlock mumbled.

“It's-” John cleared his throat and resumed rubbing his scalp. “It's okay.”

It was an incredibly tense minute before John announced he was finished. He stepped out from the tub and handed Sherlock a towel to dry off.

“Oh, wait-” John turned to grab a brush he saw sitting on the counter but was startled when he turned to find Sherlock, dripping wet and standing merely inches away. Just a little closer...

“John-” He whispered as he peered down at the blonde.

A loud knock interrupted him. If he could have screamed, he would have. Sherlock looked equally frustrated.

“John.” Mycroft's voice sounded from behind the door. “Sherlock, I have fresh clothes.”

The genius heaved a deep sigh and moved to answer the door. Resignation flashed in his eyes and before he knew what he was doing, John snatched Sherlock's hand in a panic. His eyes snapped to their grasp and then up at John. A question forming without ever being stated.

“Sherlock, wait-” John's throat went dry just when he had this overwhelming urge to spill his guts to the man. “I-I need to talk to you.”

The man looked at him for a long while, studying his face and likely deducing what it was John had to say.  After a while Sherlock gave him a small smile and looked down at their hands. “Okay”

John nodded but didn't let go.

“But not here. We're both soaking wet and in dire need of clean clothes.” John chuckled. It was true, puddles were forming around their feet and he didn't want to be responsible for ruining the hardwood floors. He let go of Sherlock, nodding and trying to ignore the tingling of his hand from where they touched.

“I'll be back.” The genius reassured him, a hopeful glint in his eyes. Without waiting for a response he turned on his heels and left the way he entered, letting the door shut behind him.

The blonde sighed and rubbed at his neck. He knew he was putting his heart on the line and was fearful for the outcome. But there was no other way, no more prolonging it, no more uncertainty. He had to tell Sherlock, but he had no idea what to say or where to start.

I love you, do you love me too?

“Definitely not.” John muttered to himself and let his chin rest against his chest. He slapped a hand against his face.

“I'm in my fucking pants.”

Chapter Text

But they didn't talk.

From the moment Sherlock left that room, no words on the subject had been exchanged.

A day passed.

And then three.

Then a week flew by and they still hadn't talked.

John found himself becoming increasingly anxious as their conversation in Mycroft's house was put on hold. Sherlock had left him and returned only to bring him new clothes before removing himself from the property to go God knows where. John couldn't help but notice Sherlock avoiding his gaze and frowned at the distressed look on his face when he left.

So he had returned to the party, apologizing profusely to both grooms, and spent the rest of the evening with Mrs. Hudson and Audrey, but his mind drifted away and lingered on the person of his affections.

The one who quite literally got away.

At one point, the Lord had cornered him and proceeded to describe, in very vivid detail, the reproduction processes his 'people' undergo. Since the genius had abandoned him in the middle of the wedding, John was forced to brave the conversation, and he did so with the help of large quantities of champagne. The more drunk he became the more cranky he was. He sent a group of texts to Sherlock, ranging from 'Where did you go you twat' to 'Fuck you for leaving me here'. Albeit there were a few missing letters and a lot of misspelled words but the texts were still legible.

After an eternity, Mycroft and Greg left with hugs and kisses, promising to stay safe and enjoy their four week honeymoon. John asked Greg how he managed to convince Mycroft to take such a long vacation but the wink he received made him rethink whether or not he wanted the answer.

By the time they got back to flat, Sherlock was still nowhere to be found. Mrs. Hudson patted his cheek and smiled sympathetically as John tried to ignore the pang in his chest.

“He likes to run off that one.” She tried to assure him. John distinctly remembered giving her a weak smile.

That was week one.

Sherlock didn't return home until week two. By that point John was livid and refused to speak to him. At least that had been his plan up until Sherlock had come to his door with Chinese takeaway in one hand and The Evil Dead in the other.

“Where were you?”

“France"

“Why?”

“Reasons”

“What's in the bag?”

“Chicken in garlic sauce, not spicy”

“Did you forget-”

“-and pan fried dumplings”

“What about-”

“Soy sauce.

“Why were you in France?”

“Reasons”

“Okay”

They sat on the floor in John's sitting room eating Chinese and discussing the gore factor of the movie, essentially forgetting Sherlock's week long disappearance. Per usual, the genius complained, 'But John! They don't even look slightly realistic' and John ignored him, occasionally dodging his advances to steal a dumpling.

But once again, John's confession lay dormant in the back of his mind.

That was week two.

Then week three arrived.

And they still hadn't talked.

He had almost forgotten about the conversation. Almost. He was stretched out on Sherlock's sofa halfheartedly reading some weird book Sarah had recommended to him when he remembered.

He paused mid sentence as it flooded his mind and stole a glance at the genius. Sherlock was absentmindedly plucking the strings of his violin by the window, watching people pass by on the street.

“Sher-” He began.

“Look at it, John.” Sherlock grimaced. “Quiet, peaceful. Ugh.” Whirling around, he set his violin on a chair and rummaged through one of the drawers in his desk.

John snorted as the man fastened his unruly curls with a hair clip. Tossing his book on the coffee table he sat up and stretched his back, feeling his joints crack and pop.

“Do you need help with anything then?” The man said nothing and moved toward the kitchen table, promptly setting up his Bunsen burner and a few beakers. It was clear Sherlock was not in the frame of mind to have the conversation that was so overdue. So once again, John set it in the back of his mind.

“Guess not” The blonde mumbled.

“Where are you going?” Sherlock knitted his brows in confusion as he watched John move closer to the door.

“I'm taking the dog for a run. Be back later.”

Sherlock's baritone voice yelling 'Get eggs!' was the last thing he heard before allowing the door to slam shut behind him.

The genius stared after him, confused as to why his friend left so abruptly. Had he done something wrong? It was very likely. So he sat still as a statue replaying the extremely brief conversation over and over again, scanning for any signal of wrongdoing on his part.

His phone's obnoxious chirping pulled him out of his concentration and he snatched his phone from the freezer irritably. A few cracks, nothing too serious. He would charge the repairs on Mycroft's card anyway.

There are these amazing, I mean truly amazing, appendages that attach to your pelvis called legs. You should use them to buy yourself the eggs you're only seeking to contaminate. Just saying.

-John

* * *

“Wait, you're running too fast. I can't breathe!” John huffed, sweat rolling down his face as he tried to control Avogadro from chasing a bird he saw collecting its dinner.

A strong heat wave had hit London that last few weeks of August and the beaming sun didn't help to cool things off. Stupidly, he decided to go for a jog during the peak of the day when the sun was shining brightest.

The slight breeze the rustled that green leaves on their branches was regarded with the highest of affections. Aside from running for almost two miles to keep pace with his dog, the air was humid and he struggled to get oxygen to his lungs.

Bent over and panting, putting his canine to shame, John all but collapsed into a nearby tree. There were loads of park goers scattered around; Some walking dogs of their own, some playing with their children and some just enjoying the midday sun.

Avogadro barked furiously at the bird and pulled against his leash with impressive force. John winced as the strap around his wrist dug into his skin with every tug.

“You should really control that dog Watson.”

John whipped around and scowled at the woman.

Sally Donovan jogged up to them, glistening in sweat, before stopping to catch a breath. John was more peeved at the fact that she seemed to be having no struggle of her own and considering the fact that his best friend could probably disgrace Forrest Gump, he was a literal walking embarrassment.

“You're causing a scene”

“Don't you think if I knew how to, I would” He frowned at her, wincing again as Avogadro refocused his attention on a cat.

She smirked and let out a loud whistle. Avogadro's ears perked and he turned to the woman before promptly sitting on his hind legs and awaited his command. John gaped at his dog and ignored Donovan's smug smile.

“Traitor.” He told the dog.

Sally smiled warmly at the animal and reached to scratch behind it's ears. She chuckled when he swept his long tongue along her arms.

“I didn't know you run.”

“I don't. I have to be able to keep up with Sherlock though so the exercise is always worth it.” He shrugged, rubbing at his wrist. It was surely going to bruise.

She raised her brow at him and grinned suggestively.

“Ahh, you and the freak.”

John glared at her. “I really don't like that you call him that.”

“It's true.” She shrugged.

“That's your opinion. Which is wrong by the way.” John snapped and tugged on the leash in effort to remove himself from the conversation. The stubborn dog wouldn't move.

“Well you know him better than I so,” She trailed off. At what seemed like a pathetic attempt at an apology, she gave him a lopsided smile.

John, dubious of her intentions, studied her as he knew Sherlock would. Her tight curls, which were almost as wild as Sherlock's, were pulled back into a sloppy ponytail but it was the way her eyes shined bright with excitement and energy that made him appreciate her natural beauty.

He sighed. She generally meant well, even when she was being a complete and utter prick.

“Would you like some company? Avogadro seems to like you more than me.” John asked, gesturing to his traitorous dog.

“Sure.” She gently pulled the strap from his wrist and slid it onto hers. “Maybe we should walk. Wouldn't want the frea-”

She paused when he glared at her again.

“Err, sorry. Habit.” She smiled sheepishly. “Wouldn't want Holmes to murder me for giving you a heart attack.”

“I think he'd be upset that he missed the chance to give me one himself more than anything.” John fell into step alongside her and the dog. He couldn't think of a time when they were ever alone together. At least without Sherlock lingering around. It was strange...and awkward.

“So...” She began, casting him a sideways glance. “How are you? You're still going to uni right?”

“Yeah I'm on break right now. I start again in two weeks.” He grimaced. Break was almost over and the time simply flew by without so much as a wham, bam, and thank you ma'am. “Sucks.”

“Oh, I remember.” Sally laughed humorlessly. “I spent more time in the bookstore than I did at home. And then I had so many books that my entire dorm stopped going to the library and started renting books straight from my room.”

John's loud laughter startled a little old lady they passed. She flung her cane out a good ten feet and covered her chest with her hand. Sally mashed her lips together and snorted as John ran to retrieve her cane. Much to his irritation, the old woman smacked in him the arm with it and pushed past him without as much as an apology.

“Fuckers. I hate you kids.” Both adults gasped at the old lady's crudeness.

“Anyway,” She chuckled and resumed their walk. “I made a pretty penny off of the whole thing. Lucky for me I guess. You probably don't have that problem what with the walking encyclopedia living downstairs. “

“Oh no, he's ruthless. One time I asked him to proof read my paper and he lectured me on the basic format of a cover page for two hours.” John shook his head, chuckling inwardly at the memory. “He kept me up so late editing and re-editing that I missed the class entirely.”

“So what happened ?” John raised a brow at her. Sally seemed genuinely curious.

Perhaps she was interested in understanding a different side of the genius she very seldom experienced.

“He went to the class and handed the paper in for me. My professor made him sit through the lecture though for attendance purposes. Not exactly sure why.” He shrugged. “I think she just wanted to look at him.”

“I guess if you're into tall, lanky and awkward.” She winked. “Which you clearly are.”

John flushed and pretended not to hear the comment. But true to her character, she didn't let it go.

“So what's your deal? Are you two together or what?” She stopped suddenly and placed a hand on her hip. Avogadro whined when they stopped and stared up at her with his big brown eyes.

“He's not my boyfriend.” John tried to appear nonchalant. When she raised her brow at him, he knew she saw right through him.

“But you want him to be. And he wants to be. It's really obvious. There's a betting pool down at the yard. I've got fifty quid that you two won't last the year. Dimmock's betting neither one of you will say anything at all.”

“Is that what you do all day? Bet on my love life, rather lack of. It's no wonder you lot need Sherlock. You're all a bloody mess.” He muttered and kicked at a nearby stone.

“Lestrade's got a hundred that you won't last the month.”

“Christ.”

“We have a weekly meeting about it. Even Mrs. Hudson shows up sometimes.”

“That's sick. Seriously.” He stared at her wide eyed and mildly horrified.

She shrugged. “Ehh, passes time.”

“Moving on...” John rolled his eyes. “How's Anderson?”

“I wouldn't know. Broke up with him some time ago.” She shrugged and gave him a small smile. “Strictly workplace cooperation.”

They continued their stroll quietly for a while. John didn't have the heart to tell her that she deserved better than him anyway and she didn't seem like she was in the mood to hear it.

So he left the conversation with, “Good for you.”

“Yeah, got rid of one. Just have to figure out how the hell to get rid of the other.” She scowled.

“Who are you-” John began, confused over who she would be talking about before he figured it out. “Oh. How's that nutcase?”

“Nutcases. There's two of them. Keep me up all night with their loud noises and weird smells. I swear to God I heard gunshots the other day.”

John winced. “That actually might have been from Sherlock. He got into a row with his mobile and well...shot it.” He trailed off shamefully.

“Regardless, Jim Moriarty is one twisted fuck.” She shook her head. “And his friend is no better.”

“I don't know who the other one is.”

“Me either. He only leaves in the middle of the night and is back before dawn. They don't understand that slamming doors will wake people up.”

“Tell me about it.” He scoffed. “Irene has absolutely no respect for those of us who sleep at night. Audrey still cries, probably Molly too. Forget Sherlock, he doesn't even sleep so he looks for new ways to wake me up.”

“You live in the nut house.”

“No kidding. One time he left like twenty different alarm clocks in my bedroom and set them to all go off at the same time at four in the morning.”

Sally hunched over and held her belly as she laughed. The worst part of that morning was when they all went off John couldn't find them. Sherlock had hid them throughout the bedroom leaving a sleep deprived and extremely pissed off John to search for them all and dismiss the alarm. It had taken him almost thirty minutes.

“Oh my god.” She choked through her laughter. Avogadro barked at her and wagged his tail seemingly trying to join in on the joke.

“Welcome to my life” The blonde chuckled.

They talked about the crazy people in their lives, those they lived with and those they worked with. Eventually their discussion drifted to their families and what their lives at home were like. Sally, who was apparently raised with a whole herd of dogs, gave him some tips on how to properly potty train him-seeing as finding poo on the floor was getting tedious- and teach him some cool tricks. Avogadro finally made a friend, a squirrel that had been strolling down the streets as if it had nowhere else to be, and barked at them until they let him walk up and sniff the poor creature. They walked until they reached Baker Street and sat on the front steps of her building chatting as if they'd been friends for years.

John appreciated her conversation and learned that she wasn't all tough skin and nails. Deep down, she was like everyone else-just looking for acceptance from those she cared about. After an hour, John stood and brushed his hands over his bum. Avogadro, who's been resting with his large head in Sally's lap, perked and rose to follow his owner.

“We should do this again sometime. It was nice having a little chat.” He grinned at her.

“Don't push it Watson.” She spoke flatly but the playful gleam in her eyes told him otherwise. Leaving with a wink, she made her way inside her building. John moved to cross the street and heard his mobile chirp.

Wednesdays at 11am. Don't be late.

-S. Donovan

And bring the dog.

-S. Donovan

* * *

He had only gotten the key in the door when her voice called him.

“John!” Irene came walking up the steps, her arms full of shopping bags. John really, really didn't want to know what it was she bought this time. But after the fiasco with the postman, he was grateful she wasn't asking him to do the shopping.

“Alright.” He nodded to her and unlocked the door for Avogadro. “What are you up to?”

“Bit of shopping. I needed a new flogger.” She smiled wickedly. The woman was ridiculously attached to her whips and chains and all the other weird stuff John had seen in her flat. She kept a frame over her bed with a pair of handcuffs in them.

They were her “First pair” and needed to be “Proudly displayed for all to see”.

“Oh, God.” He shook his head and made his way inside his flat knowing she would inevitably follow.

She did.

“I want to run something by you.”

“No. I absolutely refuse to sign for your mail anymore. He touched my arse Irene. He caressed it. I felt so cheap!”

He flopped down on his sofa and dug the heel of his hands into his eyes until he saw white. She giggled and took the spot next to him. Avogadro barked at her and moved to sit beneath her feet but not without nuzzling his nose against her calf.

“No it's not that.” The woman shook her head. “Although it's a shame you passed him off for Sherlock.”

He gave her sidelong glance. “Let me guess. Because you know him.”

“I know what he likes, yes.”

Of course she did.

“Is there a point to this?” John was sweaty and in desperate need of a shower. A nice, hot, neighbor-less shower.

“Yes. I need a favor.”

“The last time I did you a favor, I ended up in a dress.” He was not falling for that again. Once was enough.

“Not this time. Can you and Sherlock babysit Audrey this weekend?”

That surprised him. The shock must have been evident on his face because she started rambling on.

“I planned a surprise trip to the spa for Molly's birthday and Mrs. Hudson won't be here or else I would have asked her. I know she trusts you and plus you're good with her. It's only for a few days and then-”

“Okay”

She paused mid sentence and studied him. “Really?”

John shrugged and waved it off. “Yeah, how hard could it be.”

It concerned him when she stood silent.

He faltered a bit.

Audrey was a relatively good baby. She drooled a lot but other than that, her nightly cries were decreasing and she was eating more solid foods. Changing her nappies would be annoying but that's what Sherlock was for.

Rather than linger on the subject and freak himself out he asked where they were going.

“The Pavilion. The mud baths are to die for.” She smiled dreamily. “You should try it someday.Your skin feels marvelous afterwards.”

He snorted. “I'm so sure.”

“John!” Sherlock's loud voice traveled through the floorboards. Thundering footsteps on the stair gave away his location and John braced for the oncoming storm that was the genius. John heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. So much for that shower.

“I just-” John's words were muffled as a warm pair of lips crushed over his. Irene had grabbed his face and pressed her mouth to his only a millisecond before Sherlock was bound to enter.

“John, where did-”

The moment the door opened and the scene revealed itself, all the air was sucked out from the room. The silence was so overpowering, you could hear a pin drop.

A small gasp echoed- one that was filled with such agony that John felt like someone had poured acid on his heart and set the remains on fire. His sharp intake of breath cut through the air like a knife.

Sherlock was gone before she took her mouth off of John's.

The shatter of their hearts breaking into a million tiny pieces rang louder than the silence that engulfed them.

John couldn't move. He could do nothing but gape helplessly. A whisper of Sherlock's name was all he could hear aside from his blood rushing and pounding in his head. Time sped up and he felt his legs moving on their own accord, racing to catch up with the runaway genius.

“Sherlock! Wait! No! This isn't what it looked like!” Irene stood suddenly and pressed a hand in the center of his chest.

The front door slamming reverberated through he floors and a heaviness settled in his chest. The sensation was like being trapped inside a concrete grave.

His lungs sucked in much needed oxygen and he felt his entire body explode with rage.

“Irene! What did you do?” He roared.

If she was frightened, she didn't show it. The woman stood as calm and collected as ever.

He was going to murder her.

"How could you do that! You knew he was coming up the stairs! You're supposed to be our friend!"

“John, you didn't see your face. But I just did," She spoke softly. "And that was utterly heartbreaking.”

“How do you think he feels!” He screamed at her. What the hell wasn't she understanding?

“John, you are not his friend. Nor do you want to just be his friend.”

A wave of panic and nausea washed over him like a flood.

“Well I'm not going to be anything now! Why did you do that?” He was still yelling, but she smiled sadly when his voice cracked.

“John, he needed to know that you weren't going to be waiting around forever. He needed to see that you are very capable of moving on with your life if he decides he doesn't want to be apart of it."

“But I would have." He whispered. Tears were beginning to form and he had the overwhelming urge to cry. "I would have waited forever.”

“You both deserve more than that and you know it.”

She tentatively cupped his cheeks and looked him in the eyes.

“What am I going to do? He's not going to speak to me ever again. It's all fucked.”
He spoke dejectedly.

“No it's not. I just gave you an incentive and forced him to come to terms his feelings. Why do you think he went to France?”

Something in his mind broke.

John ripped away from her grasp and gaped at her as if he'd been slapped across the face.

“What the hell do you mean? You knew! And you didn't tell me!” He exploded, balling his fists at his sides. He would never hit her or any woman for that matter, but the wall was looking pretty punch-able at the moment.

“He asked me not to.”

“Wow. Just...wow. Incredible. So you all conspire against me because I'm the moron of the bunch. I'm the village idiot.”

“What the hell is going on?” Molly barged in carrying Audrey on her hip. She had a panicked look on her face and scanned the room for any signs of distress other than John's obvious meltdown.

He stabbed a hand in Irene's direction. “She bloody kissed me and Sherlock saw and now he ran off.”

“What's with all the yelling?” Mrs. Hudson peeked in. John, completely exasperated and about to blow a gasket, threw his hands up and fell back on the sofa.

“Irene! I told you not to do it!” Molly shouted, startling Audrey who frowned and wiggled from her grasp. The little girl toddled over to Mrs. Hudson and latched onto her legs.

“They needed the push Molly! You should have seen poor John's face, he was in anguish. Positively wrecked!”

“It's true John, you look a mess.” Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips. She bent to pick up the little girl and sat next to the distressed man.

“I've got to talk to him. Have to say something. Anything.” John shoved his hand in his pockets digging for his mobile and became even more frustrated when he couldn't get it.

“John, relax. We'll fix this.” Molly knitted her brows together.

“-He has to know. I have to tell him-”

“John, seriously. You're hyperventilating and it's scaring Audrey.”

“-Where is it. I have to find him and tell him. I can't go on like this. He has-”

“John Hamish Watson!” Much to their surprise it was Mrs. Hudson who pulled the full name out on him.

He finally snapped out of his endless rambling when she grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her.

“We'll find him and tell him. Take a deep breath, love. Sherlock is Sherlock. He's always going to come back. He knows you'll be here waiting for him.” She spoke soothingly to him. John felt his heart rate stabilize and he regained control of himself.

“Okay” He whispered reassuringly to himself. “Yeah.”

“So let's find him.” Mrs. Hudson patted his cheek.

“Where does he usually hide, John?” Irene planted herself on his coffee table and typed furiously on her phone.

“St. Barts, The Yard, the park, my job...” He trailed off.

“Good, start there.” She pulled him up from the sofa and pushed him toward the door. “Find him and tell him everything you've been holding onto for like, forever.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I can do this.” He was almost out of the room when he stopped short and turned slowly to face the women.

“Thank you.” He spoke sincerely.

“You're welcome. Now go.” The woman encouraged.

“You,” John pointed an accusatory finger at her. “You're on my shit list now.”

“If it gets you and Sherlock to stop being stupid then you can keep me there forever, now GO!” She resorted kicking him out of the flat.

* * *

This is Sherlock Holmes. Unless you are John or dying, do not leave a message. It's likely whatever you have to say is incredibly insignificant and a waste of my time.

Beeep.

“Sherlock! Sherlock, it's me. John. Please answer the phone. We need to talk. I know what you think you saw- Well what you did see because you have eyes and they're 20/20 but that's besides the point. Listen, Irene was just trying to help us. As twisted as that sounds. She thought maybe it would push us in the right direction because there's so much I need to tell you Sherlock. I need you to hear-”

To hear your message, press one. To re-record your message press two. To return to the main menu, press three.

“Damn it.” John growled. He pressed the redial button and prayed the genius would answer the phone.

This is Sherlock Holmes. Unless you are John or dying, do not leave a message. It's likely whatever you have to say is incredibly insignificant and a waste of my time.

Beeep.

“Sherlock, please. Answer me. I've texted you a million times and called a hundred. I have to talk to you. Please answer the phone!” He all but screamed into the receiver.

Sherlock was nowhere to be found. St. Barts was Sherlock-less, nobody at the Yard had seen him, the places where they normally lounged about in the park were also empty.

Sarah had texted him back saying he was wasn't there and then called worriedly asking him what happened. He didn't have time to explain and he needed to find Sherlock.

John had been searching for the better part of an hour and a half, sent the man a dozen texts and called more then he was willing to admit.

I can't lose this. I can't lose him.

He tried calling again.

This is Sherlock Holmes. Unless you are John or dying, do not leave a message. It's likely whatever you have to say is incredibly insignificant and a waste of my time.

Beeep.

“Sherlock, please. Call me. Tell me where you are” He begged.

A raindrop splashed on his cheek and he flinched. Looking up to the sky, he saw the dark clouds moving quickly across, heavy with precipitation and practically bursting at the seams.

When his mobile pinged, he practically threw it at a tree trying to get a grip on it.

Spotted walking near the London Eye approximately seven minutes ago.

-MH

Of course Mycroft was still watching his little brother whilst on his honeymoon around the world. Why else would he know the he's looking for Sherlock.

Ms. Adler informed me of your current situation.

-MH

In the words of my husband, Go get em' tiger.

-MH

John rolled his eyes and cracked a small smile. At least they had a strong support system. He turned at the next block and tried to phone the genius again.

“John.”

The blonde almost tripped and dove head first into a brick building at the sound of Sherlock's voice.

“Sherlock! Sherlock, it's me!”

“Obviously.”

“Right, listen we need to talk. I have to explain-”

“I'd appreciate it if you stopped blowing up my phone. The bill is going to be quite high at the rate you're going.”

“If you'd just listen-”

“Good day John.”

“No! Sherlock, wait. Sher- Hello? Hello? Damn it.” He yanked the phone away from his ear and went to hit redial.

It went straight to voice mail. Damn it. He shut off his phone.

John's heart sank.

Maybe he actually did lose his chance. Sherlock was gone and refused to speak to him, so what was the point.

He wandered aimlessly for a while, kicking rocks and making ugly faces at happy children who were blissfully ignorant to the issues of the world.

John was just about to turn around and go home when he phone rang again.

“Hello? Sherlock?”

“Johnny boy! It's me!” His sister's voice boomed through the speaker.

“No.” He whispered, frozen where he stood.

“Uhh, yes. Listen, what are you doing right now? You busy?”

“Yes, very busy. Terribly busy. So busy I can't talk-”

“Oh bullshit! Me an' Clara are in town so we're dragging you off for a late lunch. Then you can introduce us to your friends.”

“No, I don't think now is a good time-”

“You know that coffee shop? What's it called again Clara? No the little place, we just saw it like two blocks ago. The Bean! Yeah, meet us there in fifteen. See ya Johnny!”

He smacked the phone against his forehead and cursed the Gods for their atrocious timing. Harry was absolutely worse than Irene in the sense that she would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. And if she wanted to meet up with her brother, then she would destroy the country to do so.

Resigned, he angrily thumbed the keys on his phone and sent Sherlock one last message.

Listen, meet me at work when you get the chance. I'll be there until you show up. Please.

-John

* * *

“Johnny!”

Harriet Watson enveloped her brother in a bone crushing hug and he grunted as he was forcefully yanked into her arms.

A very loud clap of thunder shook the shop. On his way to meet them, he'd gotten caught in the sudden onslaught of pelting rain and was drenched from head to toe. He got sick satisfaction knowing he got water all over his overbearing sister.

She was worse than Mycroft.

And that was saying something.

“Yeah, Hi. Mind letting me breathe?”He croaked and awkwardly patted her back.

“Christ Johnny, are you getting shorter or what?” The boisterous woman grinned. She almost looked identical to her brother except as genetics would have it, she was three inches taller than he was. Of course she never let him forget it.

“Well I'm certainly done with puberty.” He snapped and ran a hand through his wet hair.

“Forgive her John, you know how excitable she can be.” Clara, sweet Clara, innocent Clara, patient Clara, reached forward to pull him in a much more gentle hug than his sister had. She was a small thing, all skin and bones with the greenest eyes he'd ever seen.

“Yeah, still a pain in my arse.” He muttered.

“Oiy! I'm right here!” Harry smiled, half offended by her brother's complaints. “You ever been to this place Johnny?”

“I should think so since I work here and all but you know...” He quipped.

She chortled and threw her heavy arm over his neck. They sat at an empty table, three steaming cups already waiting for them. John nodded at the barista behind the bar. They didn't work the same shifts but had a mutual respect for one another.

“Oh, calm your tits. You're always so grumpy.”

“Well like I said, you caught me at a bad time but since you have selective hearing-”

“But when do you ever get to see your big sister, Johnny. You're always busy working or studying or running around with that ponce Shercock-”

“Sherlock.” He sighed.

“You don't even call. Mum's been asking about you. Dad too.”

“I keep telling you I'm busy.” He tried to explain for the hundredth time.

“That's a load of horse shit.”

Rubbing his temples was doing nothing for the headache she was giving him. Of all the days she could have randomly popped up, it had to be today. “What are you doing here Harry?”

“Oh you know. Sight seeing.” She gave him a bright smile. “We've been looking at a few flats nearby, thinking of moving. God knows I can't stand it back home.”

“Oh, did you run out of liquor?” He sneered.

“John!”

They both stared at him open mouthed. John could see the hurt flashing in his sister's eyes and shame washed over him.

“I'm sorry. That wasn't very nice of me.” He wiped a hand over his tired face. “I've had a long day.”

The worst so far.

“That's alright, I'll let it slide just this once.” She mock punched his shoulder. “Oh Johnny, you look like shit. You've got to relax some more. Take a break, go visit mum and dad.”

“That's not exactly a vacation. If anything that's worse.” John chuckled humorlessly.

She laughed along with him. “Don't I know it.” Harry stood from the table and excused herself to the loo.

John turned to her girlfriend and gestured to his sister's retreating form.“How's she doing?”

“Better. She slowed down to a couple of beers a night. No more hard liquor. The rehab really did help her some John. I know you don't believe it but it did. And she misses you so much.” Clara rested her hand over his.

He sighed. “Clara, you know how she is. It's just hard for me to deal with her sometimes.”

“She's your sister John. What good would she be if she wasn't?” She giggled quietly. “Besides from what I hear that neighbor of yours is quite the pain in the arse.” Clara giggled.

“Yeah he drives me up the wall but he's...” John trailed off trying to come up with a word that would adequately describe the man. “Bloody fantastic, Clara. He really is.”

Something in her face changed and John startled at the look she gave him. It was almost pitiful.

“Uh oh.”

He flinched at her tone. “What?”

“I know that look.” The corners of her lips curled up.

“What look?”

“You're in love with him.”

Oh.

“Yeah, well I blew it.”

“I don't know about that. You're not the kind to give up anyway. I mean look at your sister, persistent she is. Bugged me for two weeks before I agreed to go out with her. Now I can't bear the thought of living without her. He'll come 'round, you'll see.”

“Maybe. He's a bit pissed-”

The glass door slammed open with an ear splitting bang and bounced against the wall. John whipped his head to the front. Sherlock was standing in the doorway, drenched like a wet cat, dripping water all over the floor.

“Sher-”

The raging inferno that burned behind the man's eyes was difficult to miss. John had never seen Sherlock so completely and utterly pissed off.

Sherlock stormed over to their table, knocking into quite a few disgruntled people and soaking the floor. He yanked John up and out of his seat, dragging him back out into the relentless rain. Thunder clapped loudly and flashes of lightening flared around them.

John ripped himself away from the man's tight grip and stared at him incredulously. “What the hell Sherlock? Where the hell have you been?”

“Is this what you do?” Sherlock demanded, his voice laced with venom.

“Is-What? What are you talking about?”

That seemed to break the man. John watched as Sherlock stiffened and curled his fists at his sides.“Don't be stupid John, you know what I'm talking about.”

“Sherlock, I don't. Listen I've been trying to talk to you all day!” John cried. The only thing he'd been trying to do all day, all week, all month was talk to him.

“Oh well I figured since your lips were practically glued to Irene's, you'd be otherwise preoccupied.” He snarled.

The low blow hit him like a ton of bricks. “That's not what it looked like! That's why I've been trying to call but you wouldn't answer-”

“I got your text, John. You told me to meet you here when I was ready. Funny enough, I walk by to see you on a date?”

What?

“It's not a-” John tried to explain, shaking his head furiously.

“Is that what you wanted me to see? Did you want to send me a hint?” Sherlock ignored his protests.

“No, it's not like that-”

“I get it John. Loud and clear. Evidently my deductions about your feelings for me were wildly incorrect. My mistake. Won't happen again.”

John was failing before he'd even gotten a chance to defend himself. It was all going downhill rapidly and he knew if he didn't grab the reigns and explain soon, he was going to lose everything.

“That's not it Sherlock. Just hear what I have to say and you'll know. They said you would know-”

“Know what? That you fooled me. Congratulations because you did. I am one hundred percent fooled. Would you like a medal?”

“Sherlock, please-” John begged, gripping his hair in frustration.

“I'll be sure to have Mycroft send it to you. Hell, I'll even engrave it myself.” He continued condescendingly.

“I wasn't trying to fool you Sherlock, just listen-”

“So I will ask you again. Is this what you do?”

“Do what?” John yelled, completely exasperated and fed up with having to keep dancing around their issues. “Sherlock, what do I do?”

Something in the man's demeanor cracked and John could see Sherlock crumbling to pieces even though he was standing solidly in front of him. The glue that held him together was loosing it's adhesiveness...and fast.

“Make people fall in love with you.” Sherlock voice cracked.

John's heart soared and disintegrated at the same time. “No Sherlock, that's not what I'm doing-”

“Because well done. You've completed your task, case closed...”

Another clap of thunder rang out behind them, muting Sherlock's angry words. The rain was thick and they could barely see each other through the whipping wind of water. By that point, drenched was an understatement. They might as well have been standing in the middle of the ocean.

Sherlock's curls were hanging heavily around his face and looked a few shades darker. Droplets fell from his long eyelashes, splashing onto his cheek. Some of the water would take refuge in his dimples when he spoke, before continuing the journey down his face. As he studied at the man who stood before him in defeat, that something that had been lingering in the back of John's mind suddenly cleared.

This is it.

He loves you.

...And you're about to miss your shot.

Ignoring Sherlock's never ending rant about how horrible he is, John bellowed “Are you gonna kiss me or not?”

The genius faltered and sucked in a breath. He held it in for about a minute before starting up again, yelling even louder. Stepping closer, the genius began stabbing a finger in the blonde's face. John rolled his eyes and reached forward, fisting his hands into Sherlock's shirt. With all his strength, he yanked the genius closer, pushed up on his tiptoes and pressed his lips firmly against Sherlock's.

It was the most terrifying, soul-sucking, best, first kiss he'd ever had.

At first Sherlock stood motionlessly, his lips against John's, in what was perhaps the most passive aggressive kiss in the history of all kisses. John was certain his brain had shut down and was in state of systematic error, reboot in progress. He didn't let go; Instead he slid his hands up Sherlock's wet shirt and cupped his jaw, sliding their lips into place, molding around each other in the perfect fit.

After the initial moment of shock Sherlock relaxed and slowly raised his hands to John's face, adding more pressure and completely sealing the gap between their bodies. An inaudible hum of energy flowed within their contact. Eternities could have passed, civilizations risen and fallen, and both men wouldn't have let go of their grip on one another.

Thunder continued to clap around them and he realized they were still standing outside of the coffee shop. A shiver ran through John, whether it be from a chill or the electricity that he felt from the sensation of finally being able to kiss Sherlock Holmes.

The genius noticed and moved to break the kiss much to John's disappointment. John whined and held him tighter.

“I waited too long for this Sherlock. I don't care if I get bloody hypothermia.” He muttered against Sherlock's mouth.

A deep chuckle rumbled through the man's chest and he wrapped his long arms around John's back, keeping them nestled within one another. Air became a necessity and when they broke apart, they stared at each other through heavily lidded eyes.

The blonde grinned. “You smell like rain.”

“You smell like dirt.”

John laughed and pressed his forehead against Sherlock's. “Prick.”

“Naturally.”

John closed his eyes and let himself become engulfed in Sherlock's essence. He was cold and soaked to the bone but the warmth he felt in his soul, he embraced. His mind, his molecular makeup, all the chemicals that swirled with his flesh in blood cried in contentment.

“Sherlock, I'm shit with words but...what you said- me too.” He peeked through his lashes.

This startled the genius. John figured he wasn't expecting him to make the full commitment and took great pleasure in surprising him. He almost burst into laughter when the Sherlock's ears flushed bright red and spread along his cheekbones.

“Christ Sherlock, you're as red as a strawberry.”

“No I'm not.” Sherlock's eyes got all wide and shifty as if he were looking for a way to escape his own body.

“You are. Your nose has gone all pink.”

“Stop looking!” Sherlock ducked his head in the crook of John's neck, his eyelashes tickling his skin in the process.

John laughed. “You're embarrassed about that when you bloody cursed me to the ground.”

At least he had the decency to appear somewhat ashamed. “I apologize.”

“You reacted worse than a girl.” John teased.

“That's sexist.” The whipped their heads around to face the voice. Clara walked out of the shop with Harry, a happy smile gracing her lips while a scowl was placed on her significant other's. Luckily for them, Clara had brought an extra umbrella with her.

“Oiy, you okay John? You want me to kick his arse? I can take him” John knew Harry must have been pissed if she didn't use his insipid nickname.

“No that's okay.” John reluctantly pulled away from Sherlock but kept his hand. “Sherlock, I'd like you to meet Clara... and my sister Harry.”

Her eyes widened momentarily before a sly grin crept on her lips. She shared a sideways glance with Clara before stepping forward and holding her hand out.

“Nice to finally meet you Shercock. My brother's been holding out on us.” Sherlock physically recoiled away from her at the sound of his nickname but took her hand in his regardless.

“His name is Sherlock. Sher-lock. With an 'L' not a 'C'” John huffed.

Harry let go of his hand and threw an arm around her girlfriend.“Oh, I know. Welcome to the family. You're bloody tall you know that.”
“It's come across now and again, yes.” He quipped.

“Hi, ignore her. She's blissfully ignorant and you are absolutely gorgeous.” Clara gave a wink to John, who in turn blushed but beamed proudly.

Sherlock cleared his throat and looked at John helplessly. His rosiness, that had just started to subside, was creeping back up his neck.

“Well, you two are obviously busy so we'll let you run along.” Clara gave Harriet her authoritative look and moved forward to envelope both men in a warm hug, much to Sherlock's discomfort.

She pushed the umbrella in John's arms. “Keep it you bloody idiot. I mean honestly, who wouldn't have an umbrella in London of all places.”

Harry bombarded her brother with another one of her bone crushing hugs. “We'll be here for a few more days so don't be a stranger. I really missed you Johnny.”

Sherlock looked ready to implode when she hugged him the same way. Evidently he wasn't used to strangerly affection.

The women walked away, arms around each other. Then the awkwardness set in. John cleared his throat and offered his hand back to the genius.

“Home?”

* * *

The rain had finally let up enough so that they could walk together under the umbrella. Better than pissing off a cabbie because of their soaked clothes. They spent the remainder of the walk home holding hands and establishing ground rules.

“Yes, you can call me your boyfriend.”

“No, you cannot get that in writing and email all of Scotland Yard.”

“Yes, this means we can kiss.”

“I don't really know if it's appropriate to kiss at crime scenes.”

“If I say no, you'll still wake me up when you're bored so I'll say nothing.”

“No you cannot keep your experiments in my fridge. We actually do need to store food somewhere.”

“Sherlock, we cannot get rid of Irene. She was just trying to help.”

“Yes, we can let a spider loose in her flat.”

“No, it cannot be lethal.”

“No the dog will not sleep with us.”

“Nothing has to change Sherlock. You'll still be the same annoying pain in the arse and I'll be the witless wonder. We'll take it slow.”

Sherlock nodded absentmindedly as he soaked up all the information. John could see that he had a million and one questions but reminded him that they had all the time in the world to figure it out.

Step by step.

Hand in hand.

The awkwardness set in again when they reached John's door. It was closed so he figured the women of Baker Street had vacated his flat and were likely eagerly awaiting their return. The last text he'd sent any of them said that he still hadn't found the genius so they were probably huddled around the phone waiting for an update.

They were in for quite a shock.

Or probably not.

Actually, most likely not.

“Are you second guessing this?” Sherlock's voice broke his train of thoughts. John's eyes snapped to his and smiled reassuringly.

“Like hell I am. I spent all afternoon chasing after you, I'm not going anywhere.”

“That's...good.”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Oh god, this is so awkward.

“Do you want to-”

“I should go-”

They stared at each other, neither of them knowing what to say, do, or think.

“Oh, right. You've probably got some eyes to dissect or a cat to marinate.” John grinned.

“Right, right.” Sherlock nodded. “Ears actually but...anyway.”

“I'll see you later?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Not even the dust dared to move.

Don't go.

“Well, goodnight John.” He turned swiftly and clumsily ran down the hallway.

Please don't go

“Goodnight” He whispered.

John shut his door softly, leaning against it. Sherlock hadn't kissed him. Was it just a one time thing? Did he want to take it back? He should have kissed him. John looked through the peephole, maybe he was meant to follow? What went wrong? True, the day hadn't started out great but it wasn't a complete failure.

John wondered if maybe he was supposed to make the first move. What if Sherlock thought he was going to initiate it? The hell if he was going to miss his chance, again.

“Sod this.” John flung the door open, letting it slam against the wall. “Sher-”

He was cut off by Sherlock's rapidly approaching form. The genius stepped right up to John and covered the blonde's lips with his own.

There it is.

“I should have kissed you.” Sherlock mumbled against his mouth. John's smiled was so wide he feared his face would split.

Behind the door of 221E, the universe's worst eavesdropping session was occurring.

“Are they kissing?”

“I don't know! Your big head is in the way!”

“Let me see!”

“OH MY GOD THEY ARE KISSING!”

“Finally!”

“Sherlock and John sitting in a tree”

“F-U-C-”

“Ears! Little ears!”

Both men had to lean on each other for support and laugh at the banter. What was probably supposed to be hushed whispers and quiet eavesdropping was loud and obnoxious gossip.

“Greg wins.” John sighed.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He pulled Sherlock closer and kissed him again.

Chapter Text

“And the doctor said to give her a cap full before bed if she starts another coughing fit-”

“Okay”

“-I left Cubby bear on my bed so I'll leave my door unlocked for you or Sherlock to run in and get him. She's normally in bed by eight but she'll probably be sleeping on and off, at least that's what our bedtime routine has been lately.”

“Yup”

“I already bathed her for tonight but she'll probably need a bath for tomorrow night and please don't use Sherlock's tub- I know what he puts in there and it's not sanitary.”

“Yes Molly”

“Oh! And if her teeth start to bother her, the teething ring is in the bottom of the bag. So just stick it in the freezer before you forget.”

“Yes Molly.”

“-heat her milk for thirty two seconds before giving it to her at bedtime. I packed a ton of her favorite baby foods so you shouldn't run out but if she wants something else just go in the cabinets over the sink-”

“Yes Molly” John rolled his eyes.

This had been going on for over twenty minutes. Their weekend to babysit for Molly had arrived and so far they'd had little luck actually getting the woman to leave. She never complained but it was obvious the stress sudden parenthood had on her and she struggled to balance her career and life at home.

Luckily she had a rather strong support system and was able to trust-for the most part-her neighbors to give her the much needed time to herself. Irene's treat was most welcome.

Their suitcases had been packed for days, also thanks to Irene, but they hadn't expected the violent cold that was wreaking havoc through Audrey's system.
So here they were waiting for the sick child to be released to their care while being lectured over their terrible personal habits. She was mostly talking to Sherlock, complaining about his messes and demanding he put his experiments on hold temporarily. She inspected every nook and cranny of Sherlock's flat, searching for any hazardous material or poisonous liquids that Audrey could get into.

Molly made it clear that she had expected Sherlock to decontaminate his flat prior to the weekend as John's contained a hyper canine that would not bode well with a sick child.

John looked to the little girl and smiled sympathetically. Audrey rested cozily in her aunt's arms, the expression of misery written all over her face. Her tiny nose was chaffed and leaking more and more with every passing second.

“And you know she's allergic to strawberries so don't give her anything with that.” Molly, who had yet to release her hold on the child, dug around in the fridge much to both Sherlock and Irene's irritation.

“Obviously” Sherlock sighed and moved to take the child from her arms. Audrey went quietly and cuddled into his side, a content whine emerging from her mouth.

“I wrote a list of all emergency contacts. My mobile number-”

“Which we already know” John sighed and reached to take the bags off her shoulders. Irene looked about ready to strangle the woman before they even left and the whole purpose was to be stress free for a few days.
John grunted as he slid the straps over his shoulder. There were only two bags- two enormous, MaryfreakinPoppins bags-but they weighed a ton.

“-Irene's mobile, the pediatrician, the hospital, Mrs. Hudson-”

“Who will be downstairs” Fed up, Sherlock carried away from the nervous parent and sunk into his armchair. Molly wrung her hands as she watched Audrey. She dug in her pocket, producing a folded piece of paper, and handed it to John. He'd been mistaken in thinking it was only one piece of paper and was appalled to find it was several, neatly written and clearly labeled pages of directions.

“Molly” John spoke exasperatedly.

“-there are extra nappies next door but I think I packed more than enough to get you through the weekend. If she gets a rash don't use any ointment because it irritates her skin more, just sprinkle some powder.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes Molly”

“If she starts crying just call me-”

“Don't call her unless you're dying” Irene snapped and rushed forward to address the men herself. Sherlock glared at her, still unforgiving over her Get-Sherlock-To-Admit-His-Feelings fiasco.

“-call before bed or when she starts coughing again or whenever you feel like calling, call. Call me just to talk.” Molly panicked. She was beginning to lose it and if they didn't get her out soon, she'd never leave.

“Do not call her” Irene yelled and began moving their bags before Molly could bail out of the mini vacation.

“You already know where her car seat and pram are but if you take her out make sure you bring her medicine just in case.”

“Yes Molly”

“-The fever just came out of left field, and then she was coughing and spitting up and there were boogers coming out everywhere-”

“Molly!” John had enough. “We've got it.”

“I know.” She stared between them wide eyed. “I do, I know you can handle this. It's just that she's sick and she's a handful when she's not-”

Sherlock snorted and glanced at her dubiously. “Oh please, I could do it by myself.”

“I really doubt that.” John laughed humorlessly.

A wet cough forced it's way from Audrey's chest and John winced as she screwed her eyes shut and fisted her hands in Sherlock's shirt.

Molly's breathing kind of sped up and she ran a hand through her hair nervously. She turned to Irene who'd been all but throwing their luggage in the hall. “Maybe we shouldn't go this weekend.”

“Oh my god”

“Get out” Sherlock snapped.

“Okay, okay but please call me if anything. I'll ring later to check in.” She rushed forward to envelope her child in her arms.

“Mama” Audrey sighed contently.

“I love you.” She kissed her head, clutching her tightly against her chest as if she were trying to memorize every fine detail of her niece./p>

John looked away in respect for their moment and giggled at Sherlock's annoyed face. The unspoken 'Sentiment' rang loudly in the air.

“Okay.” Molly handed her back to Sherlock, uncertainty and concern growing in her face. “Call me.” She turned quickly before she could change her mind and shut the door with a loud click.

John turned to the genius. “It's seven pages.”

Sherlock stood abruptly and held Audrey out to the blonde. John raised his brow and took the child, rolling his eyes as the man disappeared into his bedroom.

“Oh, what happened to I can do it all by myself.”

John smoothed a hand over Audrey's hair. She was a little warm but not enough to raise alarms and Molly had already given her medicine. Sherlock reemerged with the duvet and snatched the little girl from his arms. He plopped on the sofa, letting her settle comfortably on his chest as he stretched his long body along the cushions.

“Reassurance, John. You know I could never do this without you.” He let out a small grunt as he shifted and maneuvered on the sofa. He beckoned the blonde to move closer.

“No? That's terribly sweet of you.” John remarked and grabbed the TV remote off of Sherlock's cluttered desk.

“Yes it is." Sherlock smirked. "Don't get used to it.”

“I could never get used to you.”

“I certainly hope not.”

John grinned and loomed over genius and toddler. His belly filled with the flutter of invisible butterfly wings as Sherlock peered up at him through heavily lidded eyes. His piercing icy blues bore into his soul and John desperately wanted to kiss the smirk off of Sherlock's perfect cupids bow. Before chickening out he bent and pressed his lips gently against Sherlock's warm ones.

John, mindful not to put his weight on the resting child, slid his hand into the man's soft curls and sighed as their lips molded around one another.

It was careful. There was nothing chaste about it but it wasn't filled with lustful desperation either. They were testing the waters, still working out the kinks and relearning the way the other moves. There was plenty of awkwardness, as all new relationships must endure. But for the most part, John was content with their pace and could only hope Sherlock was as well. He didn't want to rush into anything they both weren't ready for.

He gave him a peck, once, twice, three times before pulling away and resting his forehead against Sherlock's.

“I would say the same but I plan on doing that much more.” His voice sounded hoarse to his ears. But it was Sherlock. He was the cause of all sorts of strange physiological reactions.

“Good” Sherlock whispered.

The three of them snuggled on Sherlock's sofa watching some god-awful children's television program about a family of talking pigs. Audrey had fallen asleep not even ten minutes into the show, snoozing comfortably on Sherlock's chest while the man himself lay sprawled in John's lap.

John kept himself distracted by combing his fingers through Sherlock's curls, which were becoming limp and frizzy the more he played with them. He almost thought the genius was asleep, his breathing was so steady. At least until he complained about how frightful Daddy pig was and how Molly should have never let Audrey begin watching the insipid show.

John laughed quietly as not to disturb her. “When do Greg and your brother get back?”

“Two days.”

He could hear just a twinge of relief in the man's voice. Regardless of his ability to take on his own cases or search the city for something to agitate, John knew that Sherlock secretly liked having his new brother in law around.

And occasionally his actual brother.

“Are you happy?” John was thrilled. He hadn't forgotten Sally's confession over the betting pool and was more than ready to kick the crap out of the newlywed. First he was going to hug him because John actually missed having him around too, but then he was going to kick him mercilessly.

“Why would I be happy for their return?” Sherlock twisted his head and looked at John as if he had ten eyes.

John rolled his eyes. He clearly forgot who he was talking to. “Because they're family”

“Dull”

“Liar”

A particularly loud snore erupted from Audrey. The little girl was fast asleep, a blend of boogers and drool pooling on Sherlock's chest. They had placed a hand towel under her cheek before she fell asleep but its absorbency could only go so far.

“Feel her forehead”

Sherlock obliged and covered her head with his large hand. Kicking the duvet off, he cupped an arm around her sleepy form and stood to turn the fan on. John took the opportunity to stretch his legs and stick the teething ring in the freezer before they'd regret it.

“She's getting warm, John.” There was tenseness in Sherlock's shoulders as he assessed Audrey. He shifted her against his chest until she was nestled in the crook of his neck. They moved to stand next to the slightly cracked window. John stifled a giggle as Sherlock immediately began to rock her.

“I can't give her more medicine yet.” He dug around in her baby bag. Why Molly felt the need to pack that much stuff, he would never know. It wasn't like she was going to another continent; she had only migrated downstairs for a while.

“Hoo-Hoo!” Mrs. Hudson appeared carrying a tray of goodies. She stopped abruptly at the sight of Sherlock and Audrey. A sly grin bloomed on her face and she looked to John.

He grinned back. “I know”

“Getting some good practice over there Sherlock.” She set the tray on the table, her eyes widening at the sight of it actually being experiment and mess free.

“I know!” John whispered scandalously. She giggled and swatted him lightly on the shoulder before moving on to nervous, mother-hen Sherlock.

“Oh, how's the poor dear?” Mrs. Hudson frowned as she motioned to Audrey.

“Warm.” Sherlock winced as a vicious cough escaped her chest. Mrs. Hudson put a wrinkly hand on her head and clicked her tongue. “Is that normal?”

“Unfortunately so dear. Colds are always a bit more aggressive with children.” She rubbed Audrey's back lightly and rested her other hand on Sherlock's arm.

“You're doing well. Just keep her hydrated and resting.” With that the little girl awoke whimpering, burying her face deep into Sherlock's neck.

“Mama” Audrey's congestion sounded terribly uncomfortable and John cringed in sympathy. A panicked look crossed Sherlock's face and he looked to the blonde.

“John”

John blanched. They babysat all the time but it wasn't like he was an expert on child rearing. It was a struggle when she wasn't sick. Molly's pamphlet of directions was scattered across the coffee table. He cursed himself for dropping it so carelessly as he would have to reorganize all the pages.

“You know, I have it on good authority that humidifiers work wonders for a sick child” Mrs. Hudson offered.

“I don't think Sherlock has a humidifier lounging around.” John's eyebrows pulled together.

“Will steam from the shower work?” Sherlock was already making his way to the bathroom. It was simple and ingenious and of course made John feel utterly stupid for not thinking of it.

But Sherlock had the brains for a reason.

Most of the time.

“Oh, for sure.” Mrs. Hudson giggled as the bathroom door slammed shut, leaving her and John alone. “Well, if you two need anything I'll be downstairs. Let me know.”

She patted his shoulder and disappeared into the hallway. John heard the shower turn on and Audrey's excited babble. She had a healthy relationship with bath time and it was murder trying to get her out sometimes.

John slipped quickly inside as to not let the steam escape. Audrey was leaning against the tub, one chubby leg over the edge trying to climb in. Sherlock kept his grip on the back of her onesie while typing like a mad man on his phone.

“She's a menace.” Sherlock stated offhandedly. Audrey shrieked and plopped onto the cold tiles of the floor.

“Come here you.” John laughed and grabbed her, standing her in the sink before rifling through Sherlock's medicine cabinet. “Let's see what he's hiding.”

“The woman texted me." Sherlock scowled at his phone. “She said to feed her cat or she'll kill us.”

John sighed and plucked tweezers from Audrey's hands just as she was about to stick it in her mouth. “You're still not referring to her by name?” He raised an inquisitive brow at the man.

Sherlock made a noncommittal grunt and tapped away at his mobile. John poked his shoulder.

“Sherlock”

Silence.

“Sherlock, she was trying to help. In fact, she did.” He pursed his lips” And because I know you all too well, you wouldn't have said anything to me. We would have been dancing around each other until the end of time.”

Audrey turned and clasped her arms around John's neck before squealing and kicking at his stomach. He set her down, regretting it the moment her feet hit the floor because she took off for the tub again. Sherlock wrenched an arm out and snagged her by the waist. He stood to shut the shower off after wiping the screen of his phone with his thumb for the hundredth time and tucked her against his side like a sack of potatoes.

“I would have said something” He paused “...Eventually”

“And I'm straight” John rolled his eyes.

Her congestion cleared away for a while and she was able to run around tirelessly destroying the flat in her wake. John checked her temperature at Sherlock's incessant nagging and threatened to sleep in his own flat if he didn't stop.
It wasn't an hour later when she was sweating again, strands of her hair matted against her neck and forehead as she continued her game of chase-the-genius.

“Let's take her onesie off, it's too hot for that.” John took Audrey and carried her to the sofa, setting her free from the restricting outfit. She gave him a small smile before rolling over and climbing off the sofa and running away.

“Oh no, where are you going?” John smiled as she toddled over to Sherlock's arm chair and tried to climb it. Sherlock hoisted her up onto the chair before sitting opposite her. They sat watching each other, a toothy grin plastered on her face.

“I've got to take a picture of this.” John muttered and searched for his phone like a mad man.

“John” A strangled cry emerged from Sherlock's throat. “John.”

“What...” He trailed off, fear flooding his chest as Sherlock tensed all over. Audrey seemed to be fine and breathing, a constipated look crossing her face. John watched as Sherlock's nostrils flared a few times before he took heed and sniffed the air.

Oh no.

“Did she...” John trailed off, slightly frozen in fear.

“I think she pooped.”

“Okay, um.” John stood uncertainly and brushed his knees. “Let's get her changed I guess.”

Sherlock picked up the child, holding her at arm’s length leaving her dangling in the air. He carried her to the bedroom, John trailing closely behind with the bags.

They threw a towel down before placing her on top.

“Okay” Sherlock looked pained as he patted the blonde man's back. “Get going John”

“Me? Wait, what?” John faced him, aghast that he was expected to do the cleaning. “Why do I have to do it? Why can't you do it?”

“Because you're on first duty” Sherlock stated matter o' factly.

“Pun intended?”

“Certainly not.”

Audrey grabbed her feet and watched as the two men bickered over who was going to be cleaning up her mess.

“Rock, Paper, Scissors.”

“Fine.”

“Aha!” John punched the air. “My paper beats your rock! Some genius you are. You couldn't deduce that move?”

“The fumes were disorienting me.”

“Oh whatever” He laughed at Sherlock's displeased face. The man was radiating all levels of discomfort. John thought it was hysterical. “Well get going, Mister-I-Can

Handle-A-One-Year-Old-By-Myself”

Sherlock shuffled forward and stared at the cooing child. “Erm...Where's the...”

“What are you doing?”

"I don't know! That's why I said you do it first!”

“Just take the tabs on the end and rip it off.”

“I'm trying!”

“Haven't you done this before?”

“I'm not an expert on changing dirty nappies John! If you're so great, why don't you do it”

Both men almost wished they hadn't agreed to the babysitting when they finally got the tabs off.

“Oh God!”

“Holy shit!” John clapped a hand over his face. “Pun so not intended!”

“Oh hell, give me some wipes.” Sherlock looked hilariously green as he fumbled with cleaning her. “More! More! Just give me the box.”

They were already through half pack of wipes and it was still everywhere. No matter how much Sherlock cleaned her, the poo kept coming. Audrey must have thought the look on their faces funny because she giggled and giggled until she couldn't catch her breath.

“I'm going to vomit.”

“Not on her! Jesus! You can handle being elbow deep in intestine but you can't handle a bit of baby poo.” John shoved at him.

“That is not a bit of baby poo. That is a tsunami of anal butt-clusters.”

“Oh god, it's burning my eyes.” The blonde squinted and edged towards the door, hoping to go unnoticed by the genius.

“Wait! Don't leave me alone!” Sherlock whipped around and begged him, wide eyed and absolutely frightened.

“You've got it! I'm just gonna go...go...cry a little bit. You've got this” John rushed out and dashed for the sitting room where the air wasn't as pungent. He spent five solid minutes breathing and wondering how the hell Molly was able to do it all.

Sherlock emerged from the bedroom, holding a sick albeit cleaner Audrey. He shoved her in John's arms before wiping a hand over his forehead.“She's all clean, you cop-out.”

“Sherlock, you've got a bit of...” John stared wide eyed at the smear on the man's cheek.

“What?” Sherlock frowned and looked over his shoulder, half expecting someone or something else to be looming over him.

“A, uh, bit of, of-” John cleared his throat and subtly pointed at his own cheek hoping the genius would piece it together.

He didn't need to. Audrey helped him right along.

“Poo-poo!”

  * * * * *

“I said I was sorry.”
“Fine”
“Sherlock!”
“What ?”
“Give me a hug”
“No”
“Sherlock!”

Her ear piercing screams were what woke him. John sat up disoriented and clumsily stumbled out of the bed, stubbing his toe on the door frame on his way to the sitting room. Since Sherlock had offered to spare his bed for the night- probably fore-going sleep all together- Audrey's cot was in the sitting room where he could watch her for any signs of another fever.

“whazzwrong?” John stumbled into the sitting room, rubbing his eyes and blinking furiously. His eyes widened at the sight of the war zone the flat had become. “What happened?”

Audrey took one look at him and burst into a whole new tangent of pitiful tears and buried her face in Sherlock's neck.

“She-she won't stop crying John.” Sherlock himself looked close to tears. There was copious amounts of spit up, drool and tears all over him.

“Does she have a fever?” Her wails were getting louder every second and didn't seem to be stopping any time soon.

“No. I tried feeding her, she wasn't hungry. I changed her nappy, she wasn't dirty-”

As if to make her point, she gathered more oxygen for her lungs and shrieked her unhappiness for the whole world to hear. Sherlock rocked her in attempt to soothe her but it was proving to be extremely futile. The two men looked at each other in a panic before moving at lightning speed to solve the problem.

“Where's Cubby bear?” John chucked pillows in all directions, moved the sofa, checked the fireplace, looked under the tables, the fridge-he looked everywhere imaginable for the bear.

“She didn't want him and screamed every time I tried to give it to her. I panicked!”

“Where is he?”

“I threw him out the window” Audrey thumped her fists against his chest and forced a few coughs out of her chest until she was silenced.

Both men froze and watched her.

“Maybe she stopped-”

With that she looked between both men and dissolved into another fit of tears. Big, fat droplets poured from the corner of her eyes. John felt his entire being dissipate at the tear stricken look on her face.

“Give me her, let me try” He reached forward and plucked her out of Sherlock's grasp. Audrey latched on to his t-shirt and let out an impressive yell.

“What do we do?”

“I don't know! I don't speak baby, do you?” Sherlock gripped his hair and shoved himself into his chair.

"Call Molly!” John offered, rubbing Audrey's back as she sobbed into his neck.

“I tried.” Sherlock snapped. “Irritatingly enough, Ms. Adler shut their mobiles off.”

“What do her directions say?” John rushed out.

“Teething ring, didn't work. Cubby bear, didn't work. Bottle, didn't work. I changed her, didn't work. I gave her some toys, didn't work. There are too many variables!” Sherlock was losing it.

“Audrey, what do you need love? What's wrong?” John wiped away some of her tears with his thumb. She responded by shedding some more droplets and ignoring his pleas. John looked at his watch and groaned as it flashed three thirty.

They put her to bed around eight and spent the rest of the night watching reruns of Doctor Who. She went to bed with a full belly, clean and warm with Cubby bear. He couldn't understand why she was crying so relentlessly.

“Let's just go for a walk. We can go for a walk!” Sherlock blurted.

John looked at him incredulously. “It's three thirty in the morning Sherlock, we can't just go for a walk!”

*
“Did you strap her in right?”

“Yes John.”

“The buckle part goes over her chest.”

“Yes John.”

“Where's her bottle?”

“Right here, John.”

“Okay, you can start driving”

“Uhh,” The cabbie stared at the two men still wearing their night clothes and the screaming baby. Sherlock was still drenched in her bodily fluids and John was being smothered by the baby bags they decided to bring. “Where to gentlemen?”

“Everywhere.” Sherlock rubbed his temples and glared at the cabbie. “Just drive until she stops. I'll pay you double the fare if you just go.”

His eyes widened. “Yes sir.”

Baker Street didn't see the trio again until the sun had long been in the sky. As the cab pulled to a stop in front of their building, he cautiously turned to his fragile passengers. It had taken the better part of the night to get her to stop screaming as if she were being murdered and then another few hours to get her to stop crying all together.

John was fast asleep against the car seat, drool escaping his mouth and he had one arm slumped across the sleeping child. Sherlock blankly stared straight ahead, seemingly lost in his own hell where the sounds of her screams would torment him for all eternity.

“Err, we're here mate.”

Like a zombie, Sherlock handed the cabbie a very thick wad of bills and gathered the bags. He took one look at his sleeping companions and pinched John's arm.

“John, get up we're home.” The blonde startled awake and immediately looked to Audrey. Blinking away his confusion, he finally noticed they'd arrived at Baker street once more and mechanically unbuckled the little girl from her car seat.

As the cabbie drove away and the men made their way inside, Mrs. Hudson emerged from her flat, surprised to see them coming in.

“Oh, did you just get in?” She was carrying a a tray of tea and toast. Even in his sleep deprived state, John couldn't even think about eating. He walked straight past her without word or even a glance in her direction.

“Oh dear.” Mrs. Hudson watched both men carry the sleeping child up the flight of stairs and all but drag themselves along.

Neither said a word as they returned to the flat. They weren't even sure how much time they spent staring blankly into the openness, not moving or speaking to one another. All was calm as long as Audrey was contently tucked away in dreamland. It wasn't until soft knocking snapped them out of the daze that they noticed they'd made it to Sherlock's bed and were staring at the ceiling.

Mrs. Hudson cracked the door open and peeked in. “Boys, you've got visitors.”

“Now?” John silently sobbed.

“Yes dear”

He turned his stiff neck and looked at the genius. Sherlock wasn't blinking but his eyes seemed to be twitching very rapidly. John kicked at him until he got his attention.

“We have visitors”

“Now?”

“Yes”

“Why?”

“I don't know. Go find out.”

Sherlock scowled before peeling himself off the mattress. A minute passed before he heard his name being shouted into the hallway. He left the comforts of the bed to join the genius, keeping Audrey securely nestled in his arms without jostling her.

He groaned on the spot at the sight of his visitors.

“Johnny!"

"Shhh! We just got her to sleep you fool!" He flailed his arm out wildly in attempt to convey his desperation.

"Johnny" Harry's sights were locked on the drooling baby sleeping over her brother's shoulder. "Since when did you take on a child?"

He rolled his eyes. "Oh you know, Sherlock and I just really fancied being parents and decided to have a baby. Lovely isn't she."

"You'd be surprised how easy it is to take one from the park when no one is looking. It was a piece of cake." Sherlock added.

Harry blanched at his seriousness. He should have been an actor.

“I think they're joking” Clara cleared her throat, making her presence known. “At least, I hope they are”

Sherlock grunted and disappeared back into his bedroom leaving John to brave his sister.

“No seriously John,” She didn't take her eyes off the girl. “Why do you have a baby?”

“It's my neighbor's niece. We're babysitting.” Half asleep and dead on his feet he rubbed circles on Audrey's back for comfort. Who that comfort was really for was unknown even to him. Like a hawk, Harry watch as the little girl took a deep breath through her stuffy nose and nuzzled into his neck. For some reason John couldn't work out, she was utterly transfixed by her. She shocked him even further by taking a step toward them.

“Can I hold her?”

John briefly looked to Clara, who appeared as shocked as he was. If it had been Sherlock holding her, she wouldn’t have dared ask. He studied his sister. She looked fresh faced and as content as a recovering alcoholic could be. At least her clothes looked clean and the bags that usually resided under her eyes, almost nonexistent.

“She’s sleeping,” John noted the disappointment flash in her eyes. “And she’s not feeling well so be careful with her. We had a rough night.”

Harry wide eyed nodded briefly before holding her arms out. John deposited the little girl in his sister’s arms as carefully as possible. Audrey frowned at the swap but didn’t wake up. He figured that lack of bodily warmth disturbed her briefly.

“She’s so beautiful” Harry gazed into her face, brushing a curl from her face.

John nodded absently. She was a beautiful girl. Her eye color was changing to a more permanent shade of green. They reminded John of the color of leaves that you’d find at the top of rejuvenated trees in the spring. There was a rosiness in her cheeks that never left, sick or otherwise. Audrey was a happy baby considering her horrific start to life. John knew how hard Molly worked to raise her right.

“We came to bring you out to breakfast but if you’re not up for it…” Clara’s brows pulled together as she trailed off.

“Let me see what Sherlock is up to.” He turned to go to the bedroom where the genius was hiding but stopped short and looked at the little girl.

“Do you want me to take her?” John asked his sister.

Her gaze snapped to his and panic flashed across her face. “No Johnny, I have her. I promise” He could see her tighten her hold on Audrey.

“Alright” He spared one last look at them before searching for Sherlock. The man wasn’t in the bedroom as he initially suspected. John knocked on the bathroom door and poked his head in.

Which proved to be a severely miscalculated move on his part.

Sherlock was stepping out of the shower, dripping wet and completely nude.

Yes.

God yes.

“I-I’m sorry” John stuttered but could not tear his eyes away from the bare, wet, toned, chest on his partner. “I didn’t mean to barge in on you”

“It’s okay” Sherlock slung a towel around his waist and ran his hand through his damp curls.

John wanted to melt into a puddle of goo.

“John, where’s Audrey?” Sherlock’s baritone voice broke through his thought stream.

“Hmm?” He asked absently.

Sherlock huffed loudly. “Where’s Audrey?”

“Oh, my sister has her.” He flicked a hand in the wrong direction of his sister and the baby.
Sherlock nodded. It wasn’t long before he rolled his eyes, easily deducing why it was John was staring at him, unmoving. “John”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve seen me naked before you know.” He grinned mischievously, that damned eyebrow arching perfectly. Those cursed dimples caving deeper and deeper into his cheeks.

This man was going to be his downfall.

He blushed furiously. “I know but not while we were…you know…” John let his sentence hang in the air pathetically.

“Together” Sherlock finished for him.

“Yeah” John’s heart slammed against his chest as he tried not to notice the growing bulge under the genius’s towel.

ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod

"John," The blonde startled at the sudden proximity. When did he get that close? “Do you want me to remove my towel, John?”

Yes.

Desperately.

“Sherlock” He croaked. “My sister is out there.”

“Quite right.” Sherlock frowned mockingly.

“They wanted to go for breakfast” John caught his breathe and cleared his throat. He had come extremely close to losing his wits and yanking that towel off of Sherlock’s waist and spending the rest of the afternoon studying every freckle, every scar on his lengthy body.

“I presume you’d like to join. Go, I’ll wait here with Audrey” Sherlock left the bathroom and walked into the kitchen, unashamed of his indecent state. John watched as both women eyed the genius appreciatively before winking at John.

“All of us Sherlock” John cleared his throat, willing away his blush.

“Oh.” He suddenly felt extremely naked.

Even though he pretty much was.

“Go get dressed Shercock.” Harry urged him. “We’re going out for breakfast, my treat.”

"Do you want help?" Clara winked and nudged her girlfriend when both men flushed red from head to toe.

"I'm quite capable, thank you." He all but ran to his bedroom as the peals of laughter started.

John frowned at his sister and choice of significant other. They were cut from the same cloth, he was convinced. Although he liked Clara better.

"I have to dress her" He reached for Audrey, who was thankfully still sleeping but not for long. Harry sobered quickly and frowned. Begrudgingly she passed him the child, her arms feeling oddly empty.

John brought her to Sherlock’s bedroom and dressed her as carefully without waking her. For the most part he was successful and he offered prayer to all deities imaginable. He wasn’t sure if he could handle any more of her crying. Sherlock took over and let John run up to his flat to change and grab Avogadro. Poor dog had been cooped up for the better part of the night.

They left as a group, Harry once again carrying Audrey and holding Clara’s hand while John walked Avogadro and held Sherlock’s. Eventually they settled on a nearby café that Harry had noticed on the way to Baker Street. She had a knack for finding those really popular yet underrated little shops that had the best food.

Thankfully it had tables outside for the dog’s sake and they coveted a few seats. Sherlock didn’t order anything but John knew well enough to order food that Sherlock would steal. Audrey woke with a discontent cry at first; giving both men heart palpitations, but upon being picked up and seated with the adults perked up and babbled happily.

“Mamamamawockwockwockwockjohnjohnjohnjohn” She banged her sippy cup against the table. “Oh no.” She clung to Sherlock’s shirt and looked to the floor where her drink landed.

“Oh no is right.” Sherlock made no move to retrieve the cup, instead handing her a spoon to play with.

“How old is she Johnny?” Harry watched as she tried to feed Avogadro the spoon.

“We celebrated her first birthday a couple months ago.” John smiled as she put her spoon in Sherlock’s water and tried to feed her canine companion. Avogadro obliged and caught the droplets that didn’t land on John in his mouth.

“You’re very good with her Sherlock” Clara watched as he explained to her why the dog wasn’t a good variable for her experiment. According to him Avogadro couldn’t provide the adequate feedback necessary for collecting data.

Sherlock hummed appreciatively.

“Don’t mind her Shercock, she has a bit of a secret crush on ya” Harry chortled and put an around her girlfriend.

“Oh don’t worry John. I’m rooting for you two. I’m all for team John and Sherlock.” Clara sipped her drink, offering a sly grin and a wink to the pair.

“How are mum and dad?” John steered the conversation from the genius much to both of their relief.

“You’d know if you called them more often.” Harry quipped. There was bitterness in her voice that wasn’t difficult to detect even for John.

“I’m-”

“Busy, I know. I can see that now.” She bit into her toast thoughtfully. “Maybe for Christmas we could come and see you instead.”

John immediately began protesting. “I don’t know-”

“Listen John, she’s not going to stop.” Clara interjected forcefully. “You might as well say yes and get it over with. Besides you’re supposed to spend time with your family at Christmas. No offense Sherlock”

He shrugged and refocused his attention on Audrey. “None taken”

But John didn’t need to say it out loud for it to be heard.

I am with my family.

“I know but-” He tried again.

“Besides, it’s a few months away. So you’ll have time to think about it.”

“Yeah but-” He was getting flustered quickly. Thankfully Sherlock deduced his struggle and took control of the situation before it got out of hand.

“I think what John is trying to say is that he already promised my parents he’d be attending their Christmas dinner this year” He spoke firmly. The women gaped at him, not daring to combat his decision.

John looked at Sherlock as if to say, I did?

Sherlock’s kick under the table meant, Yes you did. Now shut up and let me do the talking.

“Oh but-” Clara started.

“However I know John would very much enjoy being with his whole family during the holidays so I of course extend the invitation. I’m certain my mother would be thrilled having you over for dinner.”

John whipped his head to Sherlock. Had he completely lost it? Sherlock of all people was inviting their parents, his sister, and her girlfriend to Christmas dinner at his mother’s house?

Maybe he wasn’t feeling well either.

“Oh, that sounds wonderful” Clara smiled, clearly as shocked as John felt.

“Well why didn’t you just say that Johnny?” Harry beamed. John felt guilty knowing that it was such a small request that made her so happy.

“I wonder”

“This is exciting!” Harry leaned back in her chair, smiling ear to ear. “Should we bring anything? I mean I know it’s a while away but you can never be too early to start planning.”

“I’m certain just yourselves will be more than adequate.”

Harry stared the genius intensely before turning to Clara. “I think I may leave you for him. Even if he does covet my brother.”

John rolled his eyes and pretended not to see Sherlock fighting a grin.

* *
“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” John cornered him as soon as they returned to Baker Street.

“Didn’t I?” Sherlock shifted Audrey against his hip and stepped around him.

“Sherlock, it’s dinner. And not just with your parents and brother. You invited my parents, my sister and Clara. You can’t even handle talking on the phone with your mother.” John all but shouted, astounded at Sherlock's nonchalance.

“I am certain it will be just fine.”

“Sherlock-”

“Besides, we can just give them Audrey and hope it distracts them enough to avoid conversation.” Sherlock rambled on, distracting himself with removing Audrey’s clothes for her bath.

“Sherlock!” John finally yelled. The genius stopped and turned slowly to meet John's gaze.

“Thank you.” He stepped forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Sherlock’s mouth. John laughed as Sherlock stood motionlessly.

Moving on to Audrey, he grabbed her and carried her toward the bathroom. His exhaustion was beginning to settle in and he wanted to give her a bath before he was too tired to. “Okay little lady, it's bath time and then we’re going to take another extended nap.”

“Bubbles!” She squealed and clapped her hands happily.

Eventually Sherlock made it to the bathroom, fresh clothes and a new nappy in hand. John figured that since Sherlock had showered earlier, the tub would be clean enough for the little girl. Audrey got tired of her bath toys and resorted to playing with the levers of the tub, accidentally turning on the shower. It fell from it's nook and hit the water with a splash but not before spraying everyone in it's path.

Sherlock lathered the girl with soap and bubbles before holding her at arm's length for John to hose her down. She giggled uncontrollably as the water from the shower head sprayed all over her like rain.

“Okay, a little bit of H2O for you Audrey.” John grinned as she squirmed in Sherlock's grasp.

“Yeah, if you could actually get the baby instead-”

“Just a little bit of water on ya-” John may have 'accidentally' miscalculated the angle of the child and held the shower head in Sherlock's direction.

“Great.” Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut as the water ran down his face and neck onto his once-was-dry shirt. “This is great.”

After an epic fight between the adults over who was going to get control of the shower, which resulted in Sherlock pushing John into the bathtub all together, they toweled Audrey off and stuck her in one of Sherlock's old t-shirts.

“You're getting better at this nappy thing.” John winked at his partner who in turn scowled at him.

Sherlock sat on the floor in front of the sofa with a mesmerized Audrey laying in his lap. Peppa Pig was back on and was offhandedly making sexist comments that seemed to be grabbing her attention even though she had no idea what they were talking about.

“She's warm again but I think it just because of the bath”

John dropped his towel on a kitchen chair before sitting on the sofa behind the genius.“Well we'll stay out here for a bit just to make sure.”

A few violent coughs from Audrey was all they needed to hear before they'd given her some more medicine and opened the sofa bed for a cuddle. Sleep took John first and for the first time in a long time Sherlock noted, he was snoring. After Audrey conked out, bottle dangling from her mouth, Sherlock let his eyes close.

Just for five minutes...

.....

...........

...................

“Boys-Oh!” Mrs. Hudson covered her mouth, smiling brilliantly at the sleeping men.

Audrey lay sprawled against John’s back while he slept with his head resting on Sherlock’s chest. For once, the genius slept soundly, one arm tucked behind his head and the other wrapped securely around the rest of the little family.

Mrs. Hudson crept quietly to the bedroom and grabbed Sherlock’s duvet. She covered the sleeping bodies, gently pulling the bottle from Audrey’s mouth and placing it on the coffee table. Before turning away, she shut off the television and the light. She left with a smile and a silent promise to return later with dinner and tea.

Chapter Text

"Bullshit "

A sigh.

"I can assure you I'm being completely serious"

"But that's just not possible."

"It is"

"Sherlock, you cannot know how a movie ends simply by looking at the case. It's not realistic."

"I can and I have."

"Name one movie that you figured out the ending before you watched it."

"Titanic"

"No- HA!" John dissolved into a fit of giggles, practically squashing Audrey as he flopped back on the sofa bed. She perked up at his silliness and climbed over the sea of pillows, blankets and extraordinarily long limbs from Sherlock to reach the blonde.

Sherlock stretched his legs and watched with nothing more than hint of a smile gracing his lips. He was practicing how to be patient and waited for John to get himself back under control but after five solid minutes of on and off again bursts of laughter the genius rolled his eyes and kicked at the blonde.

John yelped at the frigid temperature of Sherlock's toes pressed against his thigh, sobering immediately.

"Why are your feet so bloody cold?" He mumbled, rubbing absentmindedly at the spot.

"Poor circulation" Sherlock passed him a sideways glance. "Feel free to massage them at any point."

"Rub your own feet, you bloody git." John wrinkled his nose .

Audrey flopped into John's lap before stabbing a chubby finger at Sherlock. "Juice"

Sherlock raised a dark eyebrow at her command. "What about it?"

He rolled his eyes when she stared at him blankly.

"Juice, please ." John poked her side, gaining an suspicious smile.

"Pease" She clapped. With a nod, the genius slid from the comforts of the springy and outdated sofa bed , disappearing into the kitchen.

"How are you feeling, booger?" John pressed the back on his hand against her forehead, satisfied at its cool touch. A few more sessions with the steam from the shower had successfully cleared away most of her congestion. She coughed a little less and produced less mucus than when she'd been dropped off.

Audrey pointed at the television screen. "Pig"

"Yes, that's Peppa pig,” He sighed, lifting and settling her next to him so he could recline. “I don't know why you like this show."

A loud bang and a muffled curse emitted from behind the sliding doors of the kitchen. In the battle of juice versus the genius, it seemed as though Sherlock was sorely losing.

"Need help?" He called out trying to keep amusement out of his voice. Sherlock being Sherlock easily picked up on it and passed another swear his way.

"Do you kiss you mother with that mouth?" He accused just as Sherlock reappeared from the kitchen.

"No, I kiss you." Sherlock handed Audrey her cup of juice before shuffling beside her.

John appraised his angular form, appreciating him from head to toe. It was the way his midnight curls hovered over the gentle slope of his broad shoulders and in the way his concave abs made his hip bones jut out harshly against the sweat pants barely holding on to the curves of his pelvis.

Sherlock's ability to make him feel like the most important person in the world and the most ignorant was astounding. John couldn't deny that he enjoyed the sense of feeling secure in his beliefs and opinions but there was something about the man that made him rethink everything he thought he knew. It was almost unsettling. His presence was like a constant earthquake, shaping and reshaping his entire world, making him both stronger and weaker at the same time.

How they were able to get in so much trouble together or cause so much was beyond him. Because if anyone could get away with any of it, why not them?

If anyone could make him feel steady on unsteady ground, it was Sherlock.

But more than anything, he appreciated the fact that he was fortunate enough to find someone who made him feel whole and who he could love in return.

John's mouth formed a goofy-looking grin to which the genius rolled his eyes and buried himself under the duvet. The sound of the front door opening and closing ricocheted through the old wood floors.

"We're home!" John laughed as Audrey's head whipped toward the closed door. She squealed and climbed over their sea of limbs, running toward the sounds of the familiar voices.

"So am I!" Greg shouted in the hallway. As much as he would try to deny it, Sherlock poked a curious eye from underneath the duvet, a suppressed but excited look passing over his face.

Like the horde of elephants they were, heavy footsteps and intense yelling floated up the steps until it was right outside the door. And then suddenly it was inside the flat.

With arms overfilled with bags and suitcases, the women took one look at the comfy trio and dropped everything to the floor.

Irene and Molly both squealed loudly before diving onto the bed. Sherlock groaned, rolling into John's chest, wrapping his arms tighter around his waist. Audrey all but threw herself into Molly's arms and fell in each others embrace against John's side.

Irene made it a point to spoon cozily with the perturbed genius currently muttering under his breath and into John's chest.

"Hello love. Did you have a good time with Sherlock and John?" Molly beamed contently at the little girl who was jumping in between the spaces between the adults.

"Mamamamamamamama"

Sherlock grunted when her foot pressed on the side of his stomach.

"Ahh, if it isn't my favorite duo." Greg climbed over the abandoned suitcases, a bright smile on his face. It was evident he'd missed the bunch as much as they'd missed him.

Four weeks without Greg or Mycroft had left an obvious gap in their lives. Greg , while he often participated in the shenanigans they found themselves in, was very much like the building mediator. Mycroft, in his own way, was always there to bail them out of whatever trouble they'd gotten into that day. Spending a month without either had definitely proved to be less entertaining than any of them had believed.

Sherlock stiffened slightly at the sight of his new brother in law. John gave him a knowing look to which the genius responded with an eye roll and fired off a new deduction.

“Lestrade, it seems as if you have gained three pounds.” Sherlock sucked his teeth condescendingly. “Not very flattering.”

“Oh Sherlock, I missed you too.” Greg flashed him a toothy grin. The flabbergasted look that crossed Sherlock's face was worth the abuse. “And John! I gather everything worked out?” He waggled his brows.

John flushed. "How was the honeymoon?"

"Divine." A silly look passed over his face clearly indicating that the time spent off and in the company of his nowhere to be found husband was in fact the pinnacle of elation.

“Where's Mycroft?” Molly interrupted.

“I left him at his office. His eye started doing that twitching thing that yours does Sherlock-”

“Wha-I do not!” Sherlock fumbled over his words.

“-when we drove passed, so I let him go back for a while.” Greg shrugged it off. Typical of him to succumb to his workaholic tendencies and immediately return to work merely hours after his own honeymoon. John considered how in sync the two were. Lucky for Sherlock for him to have gained a 'tolerable' brother.

Greg watched the bunch with amused eyes, likely trying to figure out how they hadn't caused the decrepit sofa bed to snap under the weight. “Aren't you worried that will break?”

“Come join us.” Irene patted the space next to her and scooted closer to Sherlock. He pulled a face at her that left John nearly in tears laughing.

“Oh what the hell, scoot over.” Greg launched and stretched himself across their legs, folding his arms behind his head.

“Oh my god.” Sherlock shouted frustrated. He went ignored as they had long practiced doing so.

“This bed is not nearly big enough for this.” John mumbled.

With almost all the people she loved on one flimsy sofa bed in the place she adored the most, outside of her own home, Audrey babbled happily, obviously unsure of what to do with herself.

"How was she?" Molly inquired, seemingly happy to be back in her comfort zone.

"Darling" John shrugged. He purposely left out the part where they had participated in a nightly tour of the city with the wailing child.

"Don't lie, John." Sherlock interrupted. "It was a complete and utter catastrophe. If I never hear her cry again it will still be too soon."

Molly looked absolutely horrified causing John to harshly pinch at Sherlock's arm.

"He's exaggerating. She cried for a bit, but only because she wasn't feeling well. We got it under control." John attempted to reassure her.

"After almost six hours." But of course Sherlock was relentless.

"Shut up Sherlock."

Sheer panic flitted across Molly's face. "I'm so sorry! I knew we shouldn't have gone. " She directed a glare at Irene who seemed unperturbed over the incident.

"Molly, honestly it was fine. She was great and Sherlock is a prick who can handle body parts in his fridge but not a crying child."

Of which only Sherlock was capable of. He was still astonished at Sherlock's nonchalance against the gruesome and his inexperience with the mediocre.

"John you cried too."

"I did not!" John retorted, appalled at his partner. He stared wide eyed at Molly who stifled a giggle."I really didn't!"

“He did.” Sherlock snorted.

The man was a damn traitor. John was half tempted to report him to Mycroft for treason.

"I told you they'd be fine." Irene smiled smugly. She purposely ran her manicured hands through Sherlock's hair just to rile him up.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock snapped as the woman draped herself against his hip, practically planking on his body.

"Sherrrrlock , I missed you." She grinned mischievously.

"Go away"

"Don't be like that!"

She managed flip him on his back, pinning his wrists down to the mattress. Her skills were showing and John stared amused but mostly entranced.

She must be terrifying in bed.

Greg's weight was on Sherlock's legs, leaving him absolutely no room to escape, and he stared horrified at the impending attack.

"Joh-"

"Muah! Muah! Muah!" She pressed her brightly painted lips all over his forehead, nose, cheeks, eyelids-thankfully avoiding his mouth-covering his face with red lipstick stains. "Muah! Just say you forgive me and I'll stop"

“No”

“Fine.” She shrugged unfazed. “Muah! Muah!”

"Okay! Alright, I forgive you." Sherlock shouted exasperatedly. "Just stop!"

"Say, I love you Irene, you're my best friend" She mimicked his baritone voice. Audrey giggled wildly at the interpretation.

"Absolutely not." The genius peered up at her, outraged.

"Pity, I would have so loved to hear you say those words." She shrugged and resumed her attack.

"John, please! Get her under control!" Desperation oozed from Sherlock's voice.

"I keep telling you, I don't know what makes you think they listen to me. They don't." John left his partner to fend off her operation. Instead he busied himself with a simple game of peek-a-boo with Audrey while conversing quietly with Molly.

“But John-”

“Muah!”

"Though do stop littering my boyfriend's face with your mouth." Irene looked at him as to say, yeah I'll get right on that.

The blonde rolled his eyes and resumed his conversation with his quieter, much nicer neighbor. “So how was the spa?”

“Oh John I wish you could have been there. You would have loved the massage table.” Molly gushed. “Their hands were so strong and muscular, I thought I would die!”

“Me and My' went to a private mud bath in Turkey. I swear it shed like ten pounds off me. I was squeaky clean and extra exfoliated.” Greg interjected.

“Mycroft and I” Sherlock grunted out as he tried to dodge Irene's advances unsuccessfully. He could only move his neck so far and she was proving to be quite adept in predicting his moves.

“Give it to you to correct his grammar while you're in distress.” John rolled his eyes.

"Just say you forgive me Sherlock. It's not that difficult even for you."

“Alright! Alright! I forgive you!”

"Say, Irene you are the prettiest, smartest, most enchanting person I've ever met and I aspire to be just like you when I grow up."

John laughed so hard it startled Audrey.

"Yes, yes, yes. What you said. Now get off of me"

"I'm not moving until you say it."

A strangled groan escaped Sherlock's throat.

"You are mildly intriguing, reasonably intelligent and I very much prefer to stick to the occupation I currently dominate." Sherlock ground out. They could all see how much it hurt him to succumb to the woman's childish antics.

"That's the closest you're going to get, trust me." They all agreed.

“Unless you're John” Molly giggled, covering her mouth at her own jibe.

"Fine" Irene planted one last kiss on his forehead and climbed off, settling beside him once again.

Sherlock lay there, glaring between her and John. His face was most amusing as lipstick stains littered every inch of his pale face.

“So, “ A devious glint appeared in Greg's eye, “Boyfriend?”

Twin groans emitted from both men and they curled into each other, unwilling to enter in the upcoming discussion that would inevitably occur between neighbors. Uproarious laughter erupted between the adults, which Audrey obliviously joined in on. A silent conversation passed between the men.

You know they're never going to let us forget this right?

I know.

I have your back if you have mine.

I will always have your back John.

Sherlock, are we really going to do this? Move forward?

I can't promise I'll deserve you, but I'll spend the rest of my days trying to.

Me too.

Good.

Good.

John mouthed to Sherlock. Three.

Two. Sherlock mouthed back.

“Well, it was me who finally got them together.” Irene praised herself smugly but Greg wasn't having any of it.

“No. No it bloody wasn't! I'm the one that made Mycroft text John after you went off and traumatized them!”

“I'm the one who pushed both of them in the right direction. You know, towards each other!”

“We had a plan down at the yard.”

“Yes, because that was going so well! It was never going to work!”

“You don't know that!”

“Yes I do!”

“Holmes would have made the move first!”

“No he wouldn't have!”

“Have you met Sherlock?”

“Have you met John?”

“Yes, in fact I met him before you did.”

“By mere seconds!”

Chapter Text

Boooooored.

-SH

Oh. Are you actually talking to me now?

-John

He knew it was petty but he couldn't compel himself to care otherwise. John could practically see Sherlock's sullen face as he read his latest text.

Sherlock had fallen into one of his infamous “black moods” rendering him barely tolerable for days now. Well truth be told, John knew exactly why his partner had been exceptionally vulgar and hostile. In his defense, he felt it wasn't entirely his fault.

The events that had occurred only moments before Sherlock had retreated into his mind had indeed left both of them unsure of how to move forward in their newly formed and ever-changing relationship.

What had happened was...

                                                                                                                       ~*~

Sherlock was panting heavily as John worked quickly against his neck, angry red splotches leaving trails where his mouth suckled at delicate flesh. His blood thundered loudly in his ears blocking out the sweet moans escaping Sherlock's pretty mouth.

John ground his hips against Sherlock's, pinning him against the cushions. There was barely enough room to move around but they'd managed to practically glue themselves together and fit comfortably on the small sofa.

Sherlock tightened his legs around the blonde's waist and roughly pulled John's mouth back to his. The difficult angle meant that noses were bent almost uncomfortably and teeth were clinking but neither cared enough to adjust their position.

John swiped his tongue against Sherlock's bottom lip and caught it between his teeth, nibbling and sucking lightly. His trailed his fingers slowly underneath the white dress shirt, skimming his fingertips against the well defined abdominal muscles.

He grinned as a shiver ran violently through the genius. Sherlock's nimble fingers tugged impatiently at the hems of John's t-shirt desperate to remove the layers between them. But John was having none of it and gripped his wrists tightly, pinning them over his head. The excitement that flared in Sherlock's eyes was enough to make John pause and giggle.

“Christ, you're fantastic” He swooped in to reclaim Sherlock's mouth, releasing his grip on the man's wrists.

“John” Sherlock whined against his lips, “Take this off.” He tried to tug at the t-shirt again.

John sat back on his heels, swiping his tongue once more along Sherlock's plush bottom lip, and agonizingly slowly peeled off the shirt that was irritating the genius so much.

Another whine escaped from Sherlock and John raised his brow. He teased the genius by palming his abdomen as he slid the shirt over his torso.

Slack mouthed, Sherlock reached for the blonde and tried to attach their mouths again to no avail. John shifted their bodies so that his crotch was pressed firmly against Sherlock's arse, his knees pushed almost to his shoulders.

“You feel amazing” John swirled his tongue against his collarbone. “You taste even better. So sweet.”

He took the genius's small cry as a sign to further his exploration and nibbled lightly over the sensitive spot, then pressing a kiss.

He followed the pattern all the way up Sherlock's neck.

Lick, bite, kiss. Repeat.

Sherlock's control slipped with every cycle, and John knew it. But he wanted to take his time and kiss every inch of skin, taste every freckle, become acquainted with every scar.

It wasn't long before the genius gathered his wits and mustered up enough strength to force John on his back, slithering up his body and straddling his stomach.

He brushed lightly against John's straining erection.

With careful precision John teased himself as he unbuttoned the white shirt, pushing it over Sherlock's shoulders. John eyed the ink that wrapped around his partner's bicep, tracing the design with his fingertips. He reached up the press his lips at the base of Sherlock's throat, flattening his palms on his partner's chest and gently scraping his nails over tiny pink nubs.

“How did they come up with you, you beautiful thing.” John sighed, bringing Sherlock's face down to his level and pressing a kiss on the corners of his swollen mouth.

“John” Sherlock sighed, reaching down to loosen the belt around the blonde's hips.

John knew what was coming obviously. He should have been prepared; He was, and yet he really wasn't. Sherlock would get the belt off, undo the zipper and inevitably change the course of their relationship. They hadn't been working out their romance very long and he didn't want to move too fast. But hormones were flying, as they always do situations like this.

Yes but you both want this. He's trying to take your pants off for Christ's sake.

If Sherlock noticed the internal battle going on in John's head, he ignored it and kept working on unzipping the trousers.

Yes. I want this. I want him.

He loved Sherlock and would do anything for him, to him, and with him so long as the genius was willing. If this was what he wanted then it was okay with John.

And that's the plan John intended to go with but it wasn't until Sherlock slipped a hand beneath the trousers and cupped him that it all went to hell and back.

Panic filled him and without meaning to he blurted, “Sherlock wait!”

With confused eyes the genius stilled. He knitted his brows and gave John quizzical look. “John? I thought you would like this”

The blonde swallowed thickly, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“I do. I want this. I want you,” He looked up at his partner who was waiting patiently, still straddling him. “I-I just don't want to move too fast.”

John winced at the stony look that passed over Sherlock's face. The warmth from his palm left his trousers and John nearly cried on the spot.

“So what you were saying-”

“I meant it. I just, “ He grimaced “I don't want to mess this up by moving too fast.”

“Oh” A red blush worked its way up Sherlock's long neck but this time it wasn't from arousal or excitement. “Alright.”

John's heart sank as Sherlock immediately clambered off of his lap. Embarrassment laced his voice, his movements stiff and awkward as he disappeared out of John's sitting room.

The blonde called after him and received no response. One look at his still painfully throbbing erection and he slapped his hands to his face, groaning loudly .

His inner voice taunted him.

You screwed up Watson.

                                                                                                                       ~*~

In the end Sherlock, still high off of the humiliation, dismissed him for almost an entire week. John had tried to communicate with the genius and reassure him over and over again. Trying to talk him down had proved to be extremely unsuccessful.

If anything he made it worse.

So he did the next best thing and gave the genius his space. John missed him terribly and wanted nothing more but to hit the undo button on life.

By the time Sherlock had decided to contact him again, John was the angriest he'd ever been towards himself.

Pettiness is beneath you John.

-SH

He sighed.

I know, I'm just upset that I'm an idiot.

-John

Practically everyone is.

-SH

Are you ever going to let me touch you again?

-John

Scotland Yard. Come when convenient.

-SH

If inconvenient come anyway.

-SH

John did what he could and hopped in the first available cab, trying with all his might to ignore the heaviness that settled in his chest.

*                   *                      *

“He's waiting for you in Greg's office” Sally rolled her eyes as he walked up to her desk. A grateful smirk graced her lips as he set a cup in front of her. Their friendship had grown exponentially due to their now weekly runs with Avogadro. It was healthy for everyone involved.

“What's all that?” John gestured to the thick stack of files littering the small desk.

“Closed cases.” She sighed heavily. “The ones your boyfriend helped solve. It's my turn to do the filing.”

“You mean the ones I single handedly solved.” Sherlock poked his curly haired head out of Greg's office.

Sally scoffed and turned back to her computer screen. She waved him off. “He's all yours.”

“You know without them, you'd never be allowed on crime scenes. I'd probably give them a little credit.” John turned to his partner.

A wave of calm washed over him when a cheeky smile appeared on the genius's face. His smiles always made him look exceptionally young. Sherlock latched on to his arm and yanked him into the room.

Greg was talking loudly on the phone by the window and ignored them both.

“Who's he talking to?”

Sherlock pulled a face that said more than he ever could.

“Right, so what are you doing?” John looked at all the clutter on the desk. The table had an unnecessary amount of mugs littering the surface and papers were fluttering quietly to the floor. Case files were all over the place. He recognized a few photos from the various crime scenes they'd been present for.

John chuckled at the framed picture in front of the computer monitor. He remembered the atrocious photo shoot gone wrong from the wedding. Leave it to Greg to chose one of the candid photos rather than the professional ones.

“Sentiment” Sherlock wrinkled his nose.

“Don't think I don't know your phone wallpaper is Audrey.” John called him out. “You're hardly exempt from sentimentality.”

A scowl made its home on Sherlock's face much to John's amusement.

“Is this one from the murderous baker?” John pulled a file from the table. A picture of the toxic gingerbread cookies in a sealed bag was paper clipped to the folder. The genius hummed in acknowledgment.

“-Love you too-” Greg murmured into the mobile.

Sherlock mock gagged.

“-Your brother says he loves you and misses you too.”

“NO I did not! Mycroft! Those words did not form in my brain let alone leave my mouth.” Sherlock roared, throwing himself at the man in order to snatch the phone.

John fell into a plastic chair and laughed hysterically. The brotherly dynamic would likely never change and for their sake, probably shouldn't.

At one point Sally had come in the search for the source of the noise and upon discovering the scene of her boss trying to fend of the world's only consulting detective, rolled her eyes and walked out.

“Alright, alright! I'm off the phone!” Greg tossed his phone into John's unsuspecting hands. “Christ Sherlock would it kill you to let your brother know you actually do care."

The genius turned red and appeared ready to burst.

"No, forget I asked” Greg ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly.

“I take it you've had a long day.” John gestured at the papers.

“Endless. We've been sorting these files all day because somebody didn't think we were doing it right but then refused to help.” He shot an irritated glance towards the perpetrator.

“It's your job inspector, I just catch the criminals for you.” Sherlock flicked his wrist at the man, earning an eye roll from both men.

“So why'd you text me then?” John narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“To babysit him.” A mischievous grin appeared on the Inspector's face. “Say, did you know Sherlock is scared of-”

“That is besides the point, Lestrade.” Sherlock interrupted frantically. “And contrary to popular belief I did not invite John to babysit myself, I'm quite capable of doing that.”

John scoffed. The man wouldn't even do his own groceries. At one point he would barge in to collect toilet paper because he didn't feel like putting a new roll on the handle.

He probably did that just to see what kind of compromising situations he could find me in, John thought grimly.

Anything to invade his privacy.

“That doesn't answer my question and you know it.” John raised his brow. “And I know it wasn't because you're bored, so I'm going to assume it's because you wanted to talk."

“That's preposterous-”

“Although you probably won't admit it.” He folded his arms in front of his chest and watched the genius squirm. They were engaged in a pretty heated staring contest until Greg sneezed, interrupting the silence.

“Sorry” He muttered as Sherlock snapped his gaze angrily at his brother-in-law.

There was a swift knock on the door before it swung open and smacked into the chair John was sitting in.

"Hello boys." Irene strolled in leisurely, clutching a handful of brochures and a cup of straws in her hands.

John pulled a face. “What are you carrying?”

“It's that time of year boys.”

She slammed the handful of papers over their photographs and files. One look had the men collectively groaning as John stared perplexed. He reached for a paper but his hand was quickly smacked away.

“I don't understand”

“-God, I thought we agreed after last year no more!” Sherlock moaned, throwing himself into John's lap, crushing the poor man underneath.

“No, you agreed. I did nothing of the sort. Besides, I can't let that tit Dimmock think he has the upper hand.”

Greg flapped his arms wildly. “He didn't do anything to you. That was all your fault!”

She glared at him with such a fierce intensity that it made John uncomfortable for the both of them.

“Sherlock, get the hell off me I can't breathe!” John's voice was muffled behind the man's large body.

“John. John, believe me you're not going to want to.” Sherlock shifted only enough for the blonde to poke his face out over his shoulder.

“I still don't understand.”

“Pick a straw Sherlock” Her tone suggested that there would be no room to argue. So with his Holmesian attitude, he sighed dramatically and picked a straw.

“No” He took one look at it and tried to shove it back in the cup but was too slow as the woman had already moved on to Greg.

“Sherlock” John grunted and tried to get a better look at the straw. He was able to make out the word Sally, handwritten in black on the bottom half of the plastic.

“Oh nice.” A cheesy grin lit up the Inspector's face.

Irene picked a straw, peeked at the name and tucked it in her cleavage. “Damn, I've got Dimmock.”

“I can't work with her” Sherlock complained. “She threw her coffee at me the other day.”

Greg grimaced. “Yeah but you were sort of asking for it when you said her pants made her look fat.”

A snort erupted from John, earning a dark glare from his significant other.

“Suck it up Sherlock.” She turned to Greg. “Who'd you get?”

“John” He smiled confidently “This is going to be a piece of cake.”

“That's not fair!” Sherlock shouted.

“Um, yes, hello. I still do not understand what's going on and Christ Sherlock, can't you at least shift to the other leg. It's going numb.” John wiggled impatiently underneath the genius who was falling into a deep sulk.

Again.

Great, John thought.

Irene clicked her tongue and shoved a pamphlet at the blonde. He struggled to free his arms and grab it. John skimmed over the paper with furrowed brows.

Really?

“A scavenger hunt?” He looked at her dubiously. “We're doing a scavenger hunt, seriously? Isn't that for like children?”

“Not if you change the rules and make it for adults.” She waved her hand in the direction of the still sulking genius. “You know, except for him.”

“I resent that.” He muttered.

“I don't care.” She retorted. “Well, I'm off to find Dimmock so we can kick your arses. Toodles.”

Like a bullet, Sherlock shot up from his seat on John and raced out of the office. “Donovan!”

“Oh no, why you!” Sally's cry rang out from her cubicle.

                                                                                        *                   *                      *

Irene Adler's  Annual Scavenger Hunt For Fucktards and Floozies

Yes, it is that time of year again. For our newbies, AKA John, some rules and regulations. And this applies to you too Sherlock, none of that abandoning your team bullshit again. I still haven't recovered from the dumpster dive last year.
Rules
1. All teams must stay together at all times. Let me make this clear Sherlock, you may not wander, run, crawl, walk, hop, skip,fly, take a boat, pogo stick, roller blade or any other means of transportation of you away from your teammate at any point in time. You may not split up at any point unless death occurs-Except for you Sherlock.
2. For Sherlock: YOU MAY NOT LEAVE THE COUNTRY
3. All teams require a designated drinker
4. All team members must participate and be visible in documentation
5. You have until midnight to complete all signed tasks  and must return with proof of having completed said tasks. Photos and/or videos are required.
6. You must be on Baker Street by midnight or else your team will be disqualified.    
Prize
Winning group as usual get the money in this year's betting pot. Which thanks to John and Sherlock involvement with each other has significantly increased.
Sherlock, if your team should win-by some miracle- you get unlimited access to the morgue for two days (of your choice), courtesy of Ms. Molly Hooper.

List
-Picture of where you met your teammate
-Margarita
-Picture with the Queen
-Drink with an umbrella in it
-Handcuffed to an officer (Your teammate does not count)
-Shopping cart race in Tesco
-Go swimming in the Thames
-White drink
-Switch clothes with member of opposing team and stay in it for the rest of the game
-Go Christmas caroling
-Chugging beer upside down
-Find a tourist
-Have a conversation with someone in a different language
-Green drink
-Streak through a crowded store and avoid being arrested
-Play Twister in a public setting
-Take a picture in a tree
-Drink with a stranger
-Exercise in the middle of the street
-Find a menu (The more uncommon the better)
-Buy a bus ticker and go somewhere( SHERLOCK READ THE RULES)
-Cinnamon challenge
-Kiss three strangers
-Blue drink
-Sing a song in public
-Buy coffee for a stranger

Scavenger hunt begins the moment you finish reading this list.

                                                                                        *                   *                      *

“So what's first on the list?” Greg rubbed his hands together. The gears were turning in his mind, oiling themselves up and preparing for the wild night ahead of them.

John didn't know it but all the others were scheming; All prioritizing which tasks were deemed more important than others. Sabotage was without a doubt in the forefront of their brains and Sherlock further proved this by hiding all the keys to the police cruisers prior to his team's departure.

“You all take this pretty seriously huh,” John asked, giving him a strange look. “I don't think I've ever seen Sherlock run that fast, ever.” Which was saying something.

“Well,” He paused, “Yeah. I guess we do.”

“I'm going to regret this aren't I?” John sighed.

“That my friend, is entirely up to you.” He clapped a hand on the blonde's shoulder. “Let's strategize.”

John looked over the list again and took a few minutes to organize each task into separate categories according to their potential destinations. At some point, one of them would have to drink a substantial amount of alcoholic beverages. Eventually they'd have to find their way to a nearby pub but rather than complete the hunt while intoxicated, the men agreed it would be the last category to complete.

“Let's start at home and work our way from there, yeah?”

John had barely finished his thought before Greg dashed off in the direction of Baker Street. In the space of an hour, they'd all become miniature versions of Sherlock Holmes.

And God help them all, John thought.

They'd made it home in record time and surprisingly their competitors were nowhere to be found. Greg must have sensed John's confusion because he informed John that most of them had met each other elsewhere and then moved in.

John almost smacked himself. He was the only person who'd come as an outsider. Not that any of his neighbors had made him feel that way but it was the truth. Luckily, he fit right in and became apart of their little family as if that's where he was meant to be all along.

“Take a picture in the place where you met your teammate,” John checked off the first task. It seemed like only yesterday he'd knocked on the door and narrowly avoided being trampled. “Well I met you here.”

“Seems like a century ago.”

“I know,” John smiled, feeling nostalgic. “Good while we're here I can grab my phone charger and feed Avogadro, then we'll get that picture.”

“Good idea, let me grab mine and we'll meet back in front of Sherlock's in five.”

He stuffed his backpack with things he thought might come in handy at some point; His wallet, some cash, water bottles, a dictionary, pens and pencils, a notebook. Avogadro was most appreciative having received some nourishment and attacked the food bowl before settling himself on the sofa for a good snooze.

John felt his phone vibrate and paused to check it. A wicked grin graced his lips as he read his latest text.

You're going to lose.

-SH

Oh, I don't know about that

-John

I do.

-SH

You've underestimated me before. So I'll take pleasure in proving you wrong, yet again. But since you're certain I'll lose to you, I'll make you a private bet. If I beat you, it'll be me and you. My bed. All night, no misunderstandings, no interruptions. Deal?

-John

Deal.

-SH

Good luck John Watson, you'll need it.

-SH

I adore you

-John

“I hope that's not what Myc and I look like when we talk.” John's head whipped up to find a very amused looking Lestrade. “You looked ready to melt into a puddle of goo”

“Shut up” John blushed and tucked his phone back into his pocket.

“I take it all is going well?” The man waggled his brows suggestively.

“Mind your own business” John playfully shoved at him. “Let's get going, I've got a game to win.”

They stood in front of Sherlock's door and threw an arm around each other, cheesing at the camera as they snapped a photo.

"Next,” Greg rushed outside, “Exercise in the middle of the street.”

John cackled at the sight of the two bright pink exercise balls on the front steps. He desperately hoped that they were Mrs. Hudson's or something.

He narrowed his eyes at the familiar box on the steps. “Hey isn't that-”

“Oh yeah! We never got to use it and the list says twister so we can just use this”

Greg tossed the gift he'd received from John and Irene on the day of his wedding. He didn't know whether to be relieved that it hadn't been smeared with newlywed bodily fluids or offended that they hadn't even gotten a chance to use it.

They loaded the video camera and set in against the door, aiming out towards the street. John waved at the screen and spread his arms out , gesturing to the scene where the two adults would be acting like fools.

“Alright, task two. Exercise in the middle of the street. Let's go Greg, I'll race you.”

Most of the pedestrians walking around stopped to watch as the two men bounced in the middle of the road on bright pink bouncy balls, giggling wildly and holding up traffic. If anything happened to their phones, they'd have plenty of footage because most of the passerbys were also recording their silliness.

The owner of Speedy's even came out to watch. They bounced back to the sidewalk, panting and red in the face but smiling.

“Twister?”

In record time they'd tossed the balls back inside their building and spread out a very provocative game of twister in the middle of the street. Somehow John continued to spin the worst positions and ended up dangerously close the Inspector's genitals.

“No John, it says put your arm by your foot.”

“Your arse is in my way”

“That's the point.”

“What would Mycroft think.”

“You really don't want to know.”

“Get a room!” One man sneered.

“But this is so much more fun” Greg winked cheekily further irritating the stranger.

They spent another five minutes playing until John was so tangled within his own legs he collapsed against the ground, sweating like a pig.

Their building door opened to a bewildered Mrs. Hudson and Audrey. Several emotions flashed across her face to which John laughed heartily.

“I'm certain I don't want to know,” She smiled at her silly boys “Mycroft phoned. He wants to know why you're playing twister in the middle of the street and why Sherlock is Christmas caroling in front of his office.”

“Shit! Go, go go!” John's eyes widened and he rushed to grab their phones. The were circumstances under which Sherlock could win this game; None.

“Sorry Mrs. H, scavenger hunt, gotta win, gotta go.” Greg planted a kiss on both their cheeks and darted off with his teammate.

“We have to go to the park!” John almost knocked into a florist arranging the outdoor displays. A bunch of lotuses flew from the florist's arms and he cursed at them angrily.

“Regents!”

Surprisingly the park was bustling with people enjoying their evening strolls.

“A tree!” Greg pointed at a large oak in the distance. They interrupted a young couple's serious make out session so they could photograph the men.

“Give me a boost, I can't reach the branch.” John grunted. It took them a minute but they managed to hang off of the thick limbs of the oak.

At one point they spotted Anderson. Molly trailed closely behind seemingly reading over the identical list of tasks.

"Molly!” Greg shouted.

Her head snapped up and she looked around confused before spotting the men. She called Anderson and they made their way over.

“Hi guys.” She smiled sweetly. “Picture in a tree, nice.”

“What are you here for,” John asked through clenched teeth as he tried to climb down. He missed the notch where he'd needed to step, and landed next to the tree on his arse.

Anderson snickered but held a hand out to help him up. “We found a group of tourists.”

“Where did they go?” Greg asked impatiently.

Molly grinned and pointed behind her. “They were going that way when we left.”

A swift hug and both men were off in search of their next task. It took ten minutes of searching for it to dawn on them that she'd purposely sent them in the wrong direction.

“But it's Molly!” John spluttered, outraged. “She's sweet, innocent Molly!”

“That's her advantage, nobody thinks the worst of her.” Greg grumbled and checked his watch. “She's devious and no one expects that. Smart woman.”

John's phone went off again.

Tick Tock, goes the clock.

-SH

I hope you slept last night.

-John

“Oh God.” Greg rolled his eyes. Out of nowhere, the man's trousers took on the voice of Brittney Spears and started singing a familiar tune. Abashed, Greg pulled his ringing phone from his pocket.

John could vaguely make out the words, 'With a taste of your lips I’m on a ride'. A light bulb went off in his head and he stared wide eyed at his teammate.

“You're toxic, I'm slipping under!” He sang, hoping the man would catch on.

Greg's eyes lit up with understanding and he loaded the camera again before joining in on the number. It became clear very fast that neither of them had a future in the music industry.

John, bent on one knee and hand over heart, gave a one time only performance in the middle of the park. He figured if they were going to have to do it, why no go all out.

“With a taste of a poison paradise!"

“I’m addicted to you” Greg shouted.

The whole spectacle gained the attention of a relatively large crowd. Both men sang their hearts out to the mostly amused park goers.

“Don’t you know that you’re toxic.” John sang into his imaginary microphone.

“And I love what you do!” Somebody from the crowd joined in much to their entertainment.

“Don’t you know that you’re toxic” The two men harmonized. “Too high, can’t come down!”

John pretended to be singing to Greg, acting the part of the desperate lover. The man took his role as the skeptic lover and shuffled away dramatically. The crowd bubbled with laughter and a few more people joined in.

"You're toxic I'm slipping under. With a taste of a poison paradise!"

By the time they'd fished the first chorus, most everyone had joined in. A few couples danced in a silly manner, even dragging both teammates in with them.

“I'm addicted to you, don't you know that you're toxic!"

The men finished their duet turned choir collapsing on one another in a fit of giggles. They weren't able to find the group of tourists but managed to mark off the karaoke session and get the three pictures with some of the willing spectators in the park.

That was quite a spectacle. I hope you're that vocal in bed.

-SH

When I win you'll find out

-John

Where are you?
-John

Sally has dragged me on this godforsaken bus.

-SH

John looked around wildly for any sign of the genius. A bright red bus was spotted in the distance and disappeared behind a few buildings.

“Greg we've got to catch a bus, let's go.” John gestured to the other side of the park.

Twenty minutes later they were boarding a bus filled to the brim with tourists, allowing them to check off that portion of the scavenger but setting them back a bit.

The ride was agony. If the bus was anything like his, John would understand Sherlock's misery. Most of the passengers were loud American tourists, judging by the Yankee baseball caps. They were being particularly rude, making obscene gestures at the pedestrians nearby.

Greg quickly took a picture of he and John with the rowdy bunch behind them that were now jumping from seat to seat.

“Quieres tomar una foto?” A young woman tucked away in the corner gestured towards the phone.

Greg looked momentarily confused.

“Hablas español ?” Her  companion, whom John assumed was the woman's mother, chuckled and pointed to them.

John perked up at the familiar phrase. He knew little to no Spanish but did his best.

“Oh, un poco. “ He struggled to make his request. “Uh, necesito video, uh, para” John gestured between him and Greg.

“Sí , you need to take video.” Her thick accent made it very difficult to understand but John caught the gist of it.

“Yeah for our friends.” He paused, “Mis amigos. Uh, in español, por favor. ”

“Sí , dame” The younger woman held her hand out for the phone. Greg pointed out how to record and moved into the frame.

“Cómo te llamas?”

“Oh, I know that!” Greg grinned, “Me llamo Greg”

“And John,” He pointed to the blonde.

“You want to send to your girlfriend? Tu novia?” The mother asked.

John tensed and looked skeptically at his teammate. “Uhh, mi novio.”

Suddenly both women giggled. John felt himself relax and let out a breath of relief.

“Ohh, sí. Su novio también?”

“No, no. Uhh, how do you say husband?” He turned to John who shrugged. The man settled on flashing the band around his ring finger.

“Ahh, su esposo.” She smiled. “Cuáles son sus nombres?”

“She's asking for their names I think,” Greg whispered to John. “His name is Mycroft.”

“And you?” She looked to John.

“Sherlock”

“Tienen nombres extraños” The young woman giggled.

“She says, uh, funny names.”

John gave a short laugh. “I know.”

“Ok, you say after me” The mother cleared her throat and looked at Greg. “Hola Mycroft,”

“Hola Mycroft”

She smiled and turned to John, “Y Hola Sherlock.”

“Hola Sherlock,” He repeated.

“Estas son nuestras amigas Marisol y Sonia. Pedimos que nos ayude a enviarle un video en español.”

They must have missed half the words and mispronounced the rest due to the way both women were giggling at them.

“Ay, qué lindo .” The mother held her chest as she laughed. “Ay, ay, ay, ay.”

Both men sported matching grins and looked knowingly at each other. Their significant others were profoundly fluent in several languages and here they were barely able to repeat what she was saying.

She settled down and cleared her throat again, a few giggles escaping. “Sí. Te amo mucho.”

Neither men needed to be fluent to understand what that meant and while Greg said it proudly, John blushed and fumbled over his words.

“T-te amo, S-Sherlock.” He looked down at his hands, feeling the heat burn at his cheeks.

“Mira, que está enamorado.” The young woman giggled before handing the phone back to Greg.

The bus finally jerked to a stop and both men looked around at the traffic of the Picadilly Circus. They left with a quick Gracias and hopped off the bus and into the chaos.

“What's next on the list,” Greg grabbed the paper. “Christmas caroling? Oh god, haven't we had enough singing?”

They busted out a quick jingle of Santa Baby, even though it was the beginning of autumn rather than the holiday season. After numerous looks that screamed 'Step around them honey, they're the crazy people' they gave up and moved on to their next task.

“Handcuffed to an officer,” John read over the list and frowned, “It can't be you though.”

Greg rubbed his chin and looked around. The traffic was heavy and so was the pedestrian flow. So naturally there had to be some officers nearby.

“We'll just have to look around I suppose.” Greg shrugged. “Actually I could probably just send a text to one of our men and see if anyone is around.”

While Greg dug around for his phone, John checked his for any of Sherlock's latest messages. The man was undoubtedly teasing the life out of him but John was not one to shy away from such games. If it was a battle Sherlock wanted, it was a battle he would get. The blonde would not go down without a fight.

I know everything went to shit last time but I can't wait to feel your skin against mine. No barriers.

-John

Oh, he would fight indeed.

“Oi, stop sexting your boyfriend and get it together.” Greg pinched his arm. “One of our guys is a few blocks away.”

John grimaced and rubbed at the spot. “I wasn't sexting him.”

“Uh huh, and I'm not married to the best man in the world.” Greg pursed his lips in a way that said, Try to contradict me, I dare you.

“Well-”

“This is where your mouth would stay shut."

John's mouth shut with an audible snap and he grinned sheepishly. In his opinion it wasn't the eldest of the Holmes brothers that was the best man in the world.

“I agree. Sherlock is a great man,” Greg smiled softly, “and if we're very very lucky, maybe someday he'll be a great one.”

“Yeah” John murmured.

He stared off into space for what seemed like an eternity before he felt that same annoying pain flare in his arm.

“Ouch!” John smacked his arm, “Stop doing that.”

“Stop thinking about your boyfriend.”

“Will you stop calling him that!”

“Well what is he then?” Greg argued.

The thought made John pause. Sherlock would hate to be referred to as anything other than his name although he was technically a boyfriend and a partner.

“He's Sherlock,” He paused and amended, “my Sherlock.”

“Okay your-Sherlock, if you want to get him into bed then we need to get a move on.” Greg smirked and spun on his heel.

John gasped and ran after him. “How did you know that?”

“I read your texts,” Greg shrugged, “It was dead easy.”

“You git.”

Eventually they did find the NSY officer. He was a rookie; an excitable yet intelligent bloke. Thankfully he had a spare set of handcuffs, claiming it was never unwise to be over prepared. John latched himself on to one side and Greg latched himself on the other, asking a stranger to take their picture. A few silly photographs later, one which was of both men running in opposite directions of the unsuspecting officer. It didn't end well, resulting in all three of them on their backs on the pavement.

After promises of free coffee and the night shift, the officer uncuffed them and sent them on their way. John couldn't help but snicker as the man rubbed at his wrists, wincing every time he pressed too hard.

“Sorry, it was Greg's idea!”

“Hey, why don't we just stop at that Italian place Sherlock loves so much,” Greg suggested. “You know, for the menu.”

“Lead the way Inspector.” John held his arm out and together they skipped merrily all the way to Angelos. Rather that would have been the plan had Greg tied his shoes properly and not trip over his own feet, slamming them into the street pole.

“I think it's broken.” Greg cradled his nose.

“It's not broken you tit.” John rolled his eyes but checked the man's nose for any signs of trauma. “You'll just have one hell of a bruise.”

“Oh great.” He sulked. “What am I going to tell Myc?”

“Make up some heroic story, I don't know.” The blonde rolled his eyes and pushed his way inside he and Sherlock's most frequented restaurant.

“John!” Angelo bounded into his personal space and pulled him in a bone crushing hug;Two kisses on both cheeks and he released him. “Where is Sherlock, huh?”

“Dunno,” John told him truthfully. “We're in the middle of a scavenger hunt so he's probably off terrorizing someone.”

Angelo nodded pensively. “Well what can I do for you my friend?”

“Can you lend us a menu,” John asked. “I'll have Sherlock bring it back to you.”

Greg snorted loudly. “Yeah right.”

“Of course my friend, whatever you need.” Angelo nodded firmly. “One moment, I bring it to you.”

The man all but ran to the back of the restaurant.

“Nice guy, bit overbearing.” John cocked his head to the side.

“You do know Sherlock is never going to bring it back right?” Greg raised his brow, amused at the prospect.

“Wishful thinking” John sighed and crossed of the task from the sheet. “Oh, we can just stop over to Sarah and buy the coffee. I've got to pick up my pay anyway.”

Angelo returned with the menu but didn't let John leave without promising to stop by with Sherlock soon. He promised his finest bottle of wine and sent him off with a vulgar wink.

“Hey, it's not like anyone is wrong anymore.” Greg laughed at the unamused look on John's face as they left the restaurant.

Much to their surprise, Sally and Sherlock were already inside The Bean. It looked like they were unsuccessfully trying to convince one of the patrons that they were in fact being nice by buying them a free cup of coffee.

John noticed Sarah watching them, her chest bouncing as she laughed at the feeble attempts. He realized he hadn't told her about his new status in regards to the genius. She was going to flip when she found out.

For as long as he'd known Sherlock, Sarah had been their number one cheerleader.

“I don't want it!”

“It's a free cup of coffee you imbecile, how could you not want it? With the bags under your eyes, it's clear that you need it desperately.” Frustrated, Sherlock thrust the cup at the woman.

“Sherlock!” Sally shouted at him.

“She's being ridiculous!” Sherlock threw his hands up exasperated.

“I don't fucking know you, you creep!”

John shook his head and walked up to the counter, ignoring Sally's pleading looks. “Sherlock, leave her alone. You're approaching the task all wrong.”

Sherlock's head whipped around at the sound of John's voice. He slipped on a blank face but not before John saw the sheer excitement flicker briefly in his eyes.

“Hello John.” Sarah grinned and they exchanged a kiss on the cheek.

“Sarah, I need coffee.” John rolled his eyes but smiled.

“Ahh yes,” She giggled. “Sherlock told me all about the scavenger hunt. He failed to mention it required terrorizing my customers.”

“Yeah well, you know him.”

“Oh don't I.” She winked and disappeared into the back room.

John leaned tiredly against the counter and looked around the shop. Sally was talking animatedly with an amused Lestrade, most likely complaining about the world's only pain in the arse.

Sherlock stalked over to him and stopped barely inches away from his face. The man's eyes were blazing with an unspoken hunger that made John feel like a teenager again.

“Hello there tall, spooky, and handsome.” John smirked.

“I believe the phrase is tall, dark, and handsome.” The genius quirked his brows. He brought his thumb up to John's mouth and traced the outline of his lips with the gentleness John did not know Sherlock was capable of.

“Well you glow in the dark so,” John sighed and leaned into his hands, pressing a kiss against the pad of Sherlock's fingertip.

He almost laughed at the sight of Sherlock's pupils dilating so large the iris was barely visible.

“John,” Sherlock licked his lips. “I don't want to lose but I hope you win.”

“I will win.” John rose on his tip toes and bunched the fabric of the shirt with his fists. “And you will lose.”

“You sound very sure of your competency.” Sherlock's voice dropped unbelievably low and John felt it reverberate in his chest.

“Sherlock, my Sherlock.” He brought his lips close enough to the genius's to feel the warmth but didn't quite touch. “When I win you will see just how competent I am.”

John closed the space and sealed his lips over Sherlock's. If anyone was staring, neither of them noticed. It wasn't until a loud gasp and the sound of a cup hitting the floor did they break apart. John watched as Sherlock's ears turned bright red before it spread along his neck and to his cheeks.

Sarah stared at the couple wide eyed and hand suspending in the air where the cup had once been. She looked between them, sucked in a large breath of air and shrieked loudly, darting in their direction.

“OH MY GOD! You two finally did it!” She screamed, startling most everyone in the shop, and bundled them into a tight group hug. John noted that she had a freakishly tight grip.

“Yeah,” He grunted. “mind letting us breathe?”

She let go and jumped around, giggling uncontrollably. “Oh my god. So who did it? How did you do it? I bet it was Sherlock, was it Sherlock? Oh my god, this is so exciting. This is the best news I've heard all year. You two are finally together. God it's about time! John was getting unbearable.”

“Gee thanks” He said flatly.

“I need to go call my sister!” She squealed and disappeared into the back room once again.

“Sarah I need that coffee!” John shouted after her, but realized it was pointless. “I'll just make it myself I guess.”

Sherlock followed him behind the counter and only shrugged when John gave him a disapproving look. He moved around with familiarity and found himself slipping into his regular work routine, wiping the counters as he went along.

“So how many have you finished” John asked absently.

“Likely the same as you.” Sherlock folded his arms against his chest, watching his partner intently.

“Greg and I are on our way to Tesco so-”

“We'll follow” Sherlock interrupted.

John shook his head and smiled. He popped a lid on the finished product and moved around his large frame, scanning the crowd for the potential recipient.

There was a young man hunched over a book in the middle of the shop. John saw that while there was no evidence of a cup on the table, there was a liquid ring next to the napkin dispenser that was a dead giveaway.

John sat across the young man and cleared his throat. It gained his attention and he looked at the blonde confused.

“Hi I don't mean to interrupt your reading” John looked at the book. “My friends and I are on a sort of scavenger hunt and I'm meant to buy someone coffee.”

The man looked pleasantly surprised, his eyes darting to the fresh cup in John's hand.

“Oh,” He licked his lips “Alright. Thank you.”

John passed it over and smiled. “What's your name?”

“Henry,” He inspected the drink before holding his hand out to the blonde. “Henry Knight”

“Nice to meet you Henry-Henry Knight. I'm John Watson.” He teased. “So what are you reading Henry?” John tried to read the words upside down but found he was not talented as such.

“I'm just reading a bit about dogs. Hounds, really.” He muttered, flashing the cover.

“Oh do you like dogs?” John thought of his own pet.

“God no, I'm terrified of em'” Henry shuddered and grinned sheepishly.

“That's a shame. Avogadro, that's my dog's name, strange right? I think he couldn't hurt an ant unless it looked like my pillows and sofa cushions.” John frowned at the memory of the wedding disaster. “And I think he has something against fancy clothes but who knows.”

Henry laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You're brave.”

“Hey if it makes you feel better, you see that tall, curly-haired bloke over there?” John jerked his thumb in the direction of Sherlock. The genius was watching the interaction from a distance with unwavering intensity.

Henry's eyes widened slightly at the sight and he nodded. John grinned at the familiar look on his face. The genius had the ability to turn heads wherever he went, gender be damned.

“Yeah, well one time he woke me up in the wee hours of the morning, sopping wet and naked as the day he was born. Come to find out he'd been having a shower,” John paused to laugh at the memory. He made sure he spoke loudly enough for Sherlock to hear. “A teeny, tiny spider was crawling on the ceiling above him.”

Sherlock stiffened, his eyes wide and a panic beginning to form in his face. “John! John what are you telling him!”

Henry laughed so hard he let his head fall on the book, the table shaking as he did. John grinned triumphantly and ignored the frantic cries of the genius behind him.

“A spider? They're so harmless!” Henry choked through his laughter.

“That's what we all told him, but he wasn't having it.” John shrugged. “I don't think he showered in his own bathroom for a month after that.”

John didn't complain when that happened because naturally it was his shower Sherlock had decided to use.

“That's funny,” Henry cleared his throat, composing himself again. “So you two are, um, together or-”

It was the first time someone had asked him whether he and the genius were together with the answer, finally, being yes. John felt his heart swell at the thought.

“Yeah we are,” John smiled softly. “Bit of a prick though.”

“I'd say so.” Greg walked up and set his hand on John's shoulder. Donovan and the genius himself were waiting behind him. “Irene texted, said she's waiting at Tesco for our sorry arses. Are you ready?” His gaze flickered between John and his new acquaintance.

John smiled sheepishly at Henry. “Sorry mate, that's my cue.”

“No by all means.” Henry held his hand out again. “Thanks for the coffee and the chat.”

“I actually work here so come on by and Sarah will whip you something. Our treat.” John offered.

“I'll definitely be by.”

John felt Sherlock's long fingers interlace with his. They followed Greg and Sally, shouting their parting to Sarah who'd been on the phone telling the whole world of their relationship.

“Come on you big baby.” John pressed a kiss to the corner of Sherlock's mouth.

The man hummed. “John, I'm not scared of spiders. It just caught me off guard.”

John laughed sharply at that. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

                                                                                        *                   *                      *

“What took you so long?” Irene tapped her foot impatiently against the floor.

They strolled leisurely to Tesco ignoring her incessant texts both threatening and encouraging them.

“We were taking pictures with the Queen” John informed her.

Which was partially true. During their walk, Sally had found a magazine with the royal's face blown up to almost life size proportions. The magazine was paid for and the picture cut out and taped to Greg's face. It wasn't enough to get the necessary documentation, he had to walk around with it on for four blocks. It wasn't until he traumatized a toddler did he take it off.

“It took you long enough” She shouted and pulled them inside.

Dimmock was waiting for them, an strained look on his face. Being paired up with Irene Adler would do that to a man.

“She's driving you crazy isn't she” John asked sympathetically.

“I've been threatened nearly every ten minutes.” He said flatly.

Dimmock was a humble man. He was patient with Sherlock even after his inappropriate deductions and could tolerate almost any situation thrown at him. The man was amazingly adaptable, especially cases where Sherlock Holmes was involved.

So for him to appear mildly stressed over the woman was saying much more than he could

“Let's go” She barked.

“Yes mother,” Greg mumbled.

Twenty minutes later the teams were lined up in the frozen foods isle, shopping carts in front of them and their phones recording. John busied himself with actually getting some shopping done.

“On your mark” Irene warned.

Greg, Sally, and Dimmock took their stances on the carts.

“Get set, GO!” She shouted. “And they're off! Greg takes the lead, an astounding start. Did you see that push off Grace?”

“That's not my name” Sherlock frowned.

“Uh oH! Sally's gaining some speed! She's matching Inspector Lestrade! Will he be able to persevere! NO he will not! Greg had crashed into the freezer doors and is now falling to his death! Death by milk! Sally is ahead for sure! But oh no! A little old man comes out of nowhere and she's headed right for him! She narrowly avoids the geriatric man but falls behind and who whizzes by? Why it's my very own partner! And Dimmock takes the cake! First place!”

Dimmock does a victory dance and bows to the cameras.

John strolled by, a bit of bread in his mouth, and looked at the crash site. “What happened?”

Irene rolled her eyes and dug out a few spoons from her purse. “Did you get the cinnamon?”

He eyed the purse. “Do you just randomly carry kitchen utensils with you everywhere you go?”

“Of course not. I came prepared for this though.”

Greg limped back with his other two competitors. They didn't even bother attempting to get the shopping carts and opted for moving to the tinned food and spaghetti sauce isle.

“Just a spoonful right” John asked uncertainly.

He'd watched countless Youtube videos of other people trying-and generally failing- the cinnamon challenge. Why Irene decided it would be necessary to incorporate it into their hunt was beyond him. Alas, there they were.

It was only fair that since Sally, Greg, and Dimmock completed the race, that their teammates would finish the next task.

Irene, John and Sherlock huddled in a circle, spoons filled with the spice and counted down.

“One”

“Two”

“Three”

It was hell from there. John immediately spit it out, the dry texture just too much for his now dehydrated tongue.

The three of them coughed and cloud of cinnamon surrounded their struggling bodies. John was practically choking on the ground, Greg pouring water over his face as he gagged and hacked up the spice.

Irene and Sherlock were still struggling, their eyes wide and watery as they tried to choke it down.

“I can't breathe” John whispered.

Finally Irene gave up and coughed up the rest of the cinnamon in her mouth. As soon as he saw her spit out the saliva coated bolus of hell, Sherlock dropped to his knees and coughed everything out.

They were gaining some strange looks from others. The plume of cinnamon had almost dissipated but not before there were pointing fingers and hushed whispering from the shoppers.

“Water” The three contestants choked out.

It was three large gallons of water before they were able to stand on shaky legs and breathe properly.

“I have to pee now,” Irene all but sobbed and walked off.

“I better go with her.” There was a malicious gleam in his eyes, and John just knew that it pleased him to no end to see the woman suffer as he had. “That's what she gets.”

“Well, how was that?” Greg patted Sherlock on the back.

Water flowed openly from the corners of his mouth, his chin, neck and shirt drenched and covered in the spice.

“Surprisingly okay.” He gasped.

“Liar.” John inhaled deeply and looked around at the mess they made. He felt bad. One of the workers was going to be pissed. “Sherlock how many other stores are you banned from around here?”

“Only two others.” He knitted his brows. “Why?”

“How about one more?” John suggested. “Here's the plan...”

She's ringing us up now.

-G.Lestrade

Okay, tell me when you're paying.

-John

Paying now, she's giving Sally the change.

-G.Lestrade

Now

-John

Apparently it wasn't only rude but illegal to strip naked and run through the store. Sherlock and John, hand in hand , in all their glory felt their bare feet slap the cold tile of the Tesco floor.

Cries of outrage and hysterical laughter filled the store and they ran down the isles nude, except for the book bag on the shorter man's back.

A few of the store's workers chased after them but to no avail. The men had already gained the upper hand. Thankfully Sherlock's legs were incredibly long and he pulled John along with practiced ease.

They were used to running.

Greg and Sally saw the blur of pale bodies and darted out of the store along with their teammates. Running naked in the street had proved to be less fun then they'd thought because people refused to move out of the way. It had taken them a solid five minutes to get to the nearest alley and shove their limbs back in their clothes.

“That was the most ridiculous thing,” John huffed, “I've ever done.”

“We still have to jump in the Thames.” Greg reminded him. “We should probably get to that.”

“Yeah, okay.”

The sun had long since been out of the sky by the time the teams reached the Thames. Only sticking toes in the water indicated the frigid temperature and how cold it would be when they emerged from the river.

Greg took one for the team and opted to jump in, reemerging with his lips forming a small 'O'. If they spent more time in there than necessary then hypothermia would definitely be in the cards. The September weather was settling in and soon they'd need to break out the mittens and scarves.

Sally refused to jump in and all but pushed Sherlock in. His scowl was going to be permanent sooner or later.

“John!” Molly's voice carried over the wind.

He turned to find his opposing team making their way over to their group. John didn't forget about the devious stunt she'd pulled and raised a knowing brow at her.

She flushed red and apologized, a small giggle slipping past her lips.

“Anderson!” Greg shouted from the river. “Jump in, it's freezing!”

Anderson gave Molly a pleading look. For the first time since they'd met, John watched as she stood tall, an authoritative stance and a scowl taking over.

“Phillip Anderson, you are bat-shit crazy if you think I'm getting in that water. Hop to it.” She pointed to the river where Greg was finally emerging.

Anderson sighed and began removing his shirt. Molly nodded in approval and turned back to the blonde.

“Hey Molls, thanks for leaving us high and dry back at the park.” Greg pulled a face at her and she giggled.

“WAIT!”

A loud splash grabbed their attention. They turned to see Sally Donovan laughing wildly, a familiar pile of clothes in her arms. Sherlock's long legs falling into the water was the last part of him visible before he sank under.

“Let's switch clothes while we're here.” Greg gestured to Anderson's shirt and trousers, before handing his over.

“Check that off our list John and we're off to the pubs with-” Greg checked his mobile. “Two hours to go.”

John waited for Sherlock's head to reemerge before walking over to part with a cold, wet kiss. Catcalls and whistles made the genius's face burn and John laughed.

The way Sherlock's soaked pants clung to his hips, outlining everything, was enough to make John want to fall to his knees and offer his thanks to any and every God.

“I like you like this,” He whispered, trailing his fingers across his chest. “Wet. Mine.”

Sherlock's eyes widened and he dove back into the water.

It was a dirty tactic but John just couldn't let him win. So he booked it with Greg trailing closely behind. The nearest pub was easily five minutes away.

“Okay, you're doing the drinking.” John informed his teammate.

“What! Why?” Greg sounded appalled.

“I just streaked through Tesco.” John stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“I just jumped in the river,” Greg shouted. “In September nonetheless!”

“Naked. Through Tesco.”

Greg sulked at the bar. They'd come to the conclusion over a rather heated battle of rock, paper, scissors which ended in John punching the air in triumph.

“How many do I have to drink?” The Inspector spat much to John's amusement.

“Umm, seven.” John scanned the list. “You could probably get a two-in-one here.”

“I work tomorrow,” Greg burst, hoping to gain some sympathy.

“Me too.” John agreed offhandedly.

“What can I get you gentlemen,” The bartender asked.

“We need a margarita, a beer, a white drink, a blue drink, and a green drink. Your choices,” John smiled. “Oh and one of those little umbrellas please.”

The bartender looked at him as if he had grown a second head and shuffled off uncertainly.

Greg made a pained noise and thumped his head against the counter.

“Don't blame me, blame Irene. She's the one who came up with this.” John sat back in the stool and sighed. His stomach growled loudly.

“Christ we've barely stopped for breath since this thing has started.” He patted his belly.

His teammate mumbled something unintelligibly.

“What was that?”

Greg wiped his hands over his face. “I need to go on holiday”

“You just came back from one!” John said incredulously.

“I need another one.”

The blonde laughed and pelted a wadded up napkin at him.

“Here you are. Five drinks and an umbrella. Cheers.” The bartender set the glasses down.

John smiled and tucked the umbrella behind Greg's ear. He groaned miserably and picked up his first drink of the night.

“On second thought, I'll take that pint.”

“Come on Greg, goddammit, we're gonna be late! Stand up!” John grunted as he tried to accommodate the drunk man's weight.

They stumbled their way back to Baker Street, only thirty minutes till Midnight, and they were at least forty minutes away at that rate.

“Goddammit Greg, if I lose to Sherlock I'm going to make your life a living hell.” He tried to wave down a cab to no avail.

“I'm not a lightweight” Greg slurred, his hot breath tickling John's ear.

“No but you will be dead if you don't stand up and walk faster.” John gritted his teeth.

“Heyheyou”

John rolled his eyes and ignored his teammate.

“You're under arrest,”Greg laughed and leaned heavily into his teammate. “Haha, just kidding Joooohn I'm not on duty. Get it? Doodie.”

“Oh please shut up.”

“Mycrooooft. Where'zz my huz'ban. Jooohn, where'z he?” He whined.

Mycroft.

Mycroft Holmes!

John whipped out his mobile, ignoring the teasing texts from his partner, and called the one person he knew would without a doubt be watching through surveillance.

Mycroft! Your husband is drunk. Need a car pronto!

-John

Estimated time of arrival is five minutes.

-MH

“Oh thank God. Mycroft is coming.” John sighed a breath of relief.

“Yayy!” Greg cheered quietly in the blonde's ear.

By the time Mycroft's car pulled up, his husband was sound asleep against the brick buildings. John was pacing impatiently calculating the time needed to make it back home without losing the game to Sherlock.

“John,” Mycroft nodded at him before reaching for his husband. “Gregory, get up. You need to get to the car and I'm certain Mr. Watson does not want to carry you.”

“Why would I have to do it,” John asked perplexed.

“It requires,” He grimaced. “Legwork.”

“You arse.”

                                                                                         *                   *                      *

John was surprised when they pulled up to Baker Street and no one was there. He didn't want to get over-excited prematurely but the chances of him winning the bet, and winning Sherlock, were looking pretty good.

The night had long since set in and the streets were as quiet as ever. A few cars drove by but Baker Street was relatively silent.

They sat on the front porch waiting for the rest of the competitors. Greg snored loudly into his spouse's shoulder, which should have aggravated the man but Mycroft had never looked more at peace. John smiled as he absentmindedly stroked Greg's jaw.

“I must confess I find myself content that he has you.” Mycroft murmured startling John from his thoughts.

“Greg,” John feigned ignorance.

Mycroft shot him a look, causing the blonde to hold his hands up in defense.

“My brother, Mr. Watson,” Mycroft clarified. “Although I think he's very much rubbing off on you.”

“I wish.” John balked at his own boldness. “Err, sorry.”

“Nonetheless, I have never seen him so,” Mycroft seemed at a loss for words.

“Happy?” John offered.

The government official shook his head. “Complete.

“I don't,” John looked at his hands and sighed. “I want him to be whole without me. I don't want him to be half of a person should something happen.”

Mycroft shot him a sharp look. “That implies something would happen.”

“No I don't mean,” John squeezed his eyes shut. “After all this time, do you really think I would ever leave him.”

“You're young.” Mycroft held his gaze.

“But I'm not stupid,” He laughed humorlessly. “Contrary to popular belief.”

“I love Sherlock, I do. But I don't want to have a symbiotic relationship with him. Should something happen to me, I would want him to live his life as he should.”

Mycroft studied him for a minute before looking away. “Interesting.”

“What is,” John inquired.

“I believe my brother has said the same thing.”

It wasn't a grin, but the man's lips twitched. And John took it for what it was.

Shouts were heard in the distance that sounded suspiciously like Irene and company. Long behold, the group of them were sprinting up the block trying to reach Baker Street before the clock struck midnight.

Sally, Irene, Anderson, Molly, and Dimmock all made their way to the front steps where the three men were waiting.

“Sally,” John winked at the woman. She'd obviously swapped barely there clothes with Irene. Aside from the wedding, he'd never seen her in anything dressy.

“Tell me you didn't really get here first!” Irene stared wide eyed at the team.

“I believe we did.” John gestured to the sleeping Inspector. “The drinking took a toll on Greg as you can see.”

“There's no way you could have won.” She shook her head vigorously. “No way.”

He tossed her their mobiles. “I think you'll find our documentation of all the completed tasks on here.”

Irene quickly scrolled through the gallery, her face growing more somber with each passing minute.

“What with all the setbacks we had,” He shoot a look at Molly again who blushed bright red. “I think we did fairly well.”

“I was just playing the game!” Molly groaned.

“I know,” John smirked. “And this is just losing.”

“Excuse me for interrupting this riveting conversation but where is Sherlock?” Mycroft looked around for his brother.

“I'm here.” The baritone voice came from the cab that pulled up. “I couldn't run in this.”

John took one look at Sherlock, a weak sob emerging from his throat, and fell back onto the steps.

"What the hell did they do to you Sherlock?" John cried with laughter.

The genius had gotten very unlucky and was shoved into Molly Hooper's recognizable cherry covered tank top and knee length shorts. And considering the man had practically little to no body fat the fact that he was spilling out of the clothing was painfully comical.

Visible tears surrounded the thigh portion of the shorts and he couldn't even get it to button properly. It wasn't until John looked down and noticed the destroyed flip flips on the man's feet that the tears spilled from his eyes.

The genius scowled. He said nothing other than 'Sally Donovan'.

John calmed down enough to have a proper look at his partner. The poor man was reasonable in being upset.

He tried. John really tried to keep a straight face but Sherlock dropped his wallet and bent to pick it up which resulted in another loud tear sending them into an obnoxious fit of laughter.

“You know, I've always assumed love was a dangerous disadvantage, John.” Sherlock sulked. “Thanks for the final proof.”

John settled down and cleared his throat. “Sherlock”

“What?” He snapped.

“There's a spider crawling on your foot.”

Chapter Text

John's front door swung close with a loud enough bang that he nearly dropped the very full bags in his arms. The odor of his dirty clothes wafted just under his nose, smelly enough for him to flinch away. In fact the entirety of the soiled laundry was so offensive that Avogadro wouldn't stand more than a few minutes in the bedroom. After three days of what Sherlock would call stealing and John called borrowing a few pairs of two sizes too small underpants, he decided enough was enough.

Gas mask and bio-hazardous gloves in place he braved his practically abandoned bedroom and filled two rather large, heavy-duty bags. Not enough time in the world seemed to be his motto as of late. Back to Uni, back to work, and preparing for the upcoming holiday season was more than enough to fill the hours of the day. Sherlock, however, occupied enough time in his life that any other responsibilities dulled in comparison;hence the overdue laundry date.

As always Sherlock proved to be more than useful in aiding John's academic studies. The genius was thoughtful and inventive in his studying techniques and John often found sticky notes in random places throughout his flat. For example, just that morning he'd found a note taped to his forehead that said,

Wake up John. Stupidity is an ever growing disease and I perish the thought of you becoming affected with such illness as it would become a devastating hindrance to our work.

-SH

Check the refrigerator and don't use your milk.

Our work. Not his work, theirs. The thought made John smile and served as a reminder not to murder the genius for spoiling his milk with whatever organs he'd acquired from Molly that week. He thought he'd seen a nipple float by and slammed the door closed so fast, the whole unit scooted forward just an inch.

The beginning of the new term had created another small yet significant change in his daily routine;the location of where he slept. However atrocious their household appliances had become or in Sherlock's case remained, John found himself spending more time in the genius's flat than his own. Of course he'd forced the man to tolerate Avogadro's presence under the condition that anything destroyed by the beast would have to be replaced within no more than twenty four hours. Any violation would leave John's flat open to be subjected to the mad scientist's experiments for every extra hour wasted.

Yet no matter what torture they inflicted on each other, whether whose turn it was to bathe the dog or clean the chemical spills in the kitchen, John regularly found himself waking in the genius's bed. Often he woke alone because according to the genius when inspiration strikes it must never go ignored. Few times he'd woken up tangled in his octopus of a partner's long limbs. Those were the best mornings;aside from the obnoxious snoring and drool stained pillow. Then there was the matter of who got the covers and who got more space on the bed but that battle was usually an unconscious one, fought in the wee hours of the morning.

And of course there was a biological issue for both men...every morning. Normally John would use the opportunity to have a quick morning wank and go about his day as usual but with the beautiful man plastered against his body, also sporting a rather impressive erection...feigning ignorance was becoming more and more difficult. He'd already been caught once with a hand in his pants.

John had woken only a few minutes before Sherlock and untangled himself, succumbing to his morning lust. He raked his eyes all over his seemingly dead-to-the-world partner and figured the subtle twitches underneath his lids indicated Sherlock was lost in REM sleep. John was incredibly torn between ignoring his primal urges and indulging quickly and quietly, as to not disturb Sherlock.

But it was so hard to ignore his lean body stretched across the bed and John's torso, pun intended. Sherlock's choice of sleepwear was normally no sleepwear which John had often witnessed before and after their more frequent bed sharing days. However, he'd stuffed himself into a pair of worn sweat pants likely to hide exactly what John was conflicted about.

One look at thick curls peeking from the waistband of Sherlock's sweats was enough for John to thrust his hand in his pants and work himself quickly. His euphoria didn't last long because just as he was going to climax Sherlock had awoke and immediately followed the direction of John's hand. The awkwardness of being caught and a wave of shame was enough for his penis to return to its very flaccid state. Neither discussed the incident and continued their day as if nothing had happened. However later that night when John was ready to tuck in the genius surprised him by following the blonde to bed. It wasn't until later, much later in the night did John wake up from the bed shaking. John found to source of the jerky movements to be that of a midnight wank from Sherlock himself who was staring with those piercing blue eyes. John was in awe of the man.

Neither had made moves to further exploration but both seemed to accept that there was an undeniable tension that would break sooner or later. They'd almost cracked a few times. Nonetheless, the couple was progressing albeit slowly but progressing nonetheless. No matter how many times Greg or Irene made crude comments or appalling gestures when either he or Sherlock weren't looking, they were content in their slower pace...most of the time.

Lately it had been...a bit of a struggle. The more time John had spent by Sherlock's side was more time he took in the shower to reflect.

“John,” Molly's voice, thankfully, steered his thoughts into safer territory. “Do you need help?”

“Uhh,” He shifted the heavy bags simultaneously trying to juggle the box of detergent and dryer sheets. “I think I'll be okay. It's just a few flights of stairs.”

Molly furrowed her brows, giving him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“I've been accumulating laundry for ages and the smell is starting to make the wood rot. Just gonna go downstairs and clean up.” John set the bags down by his feet, rolling his eyes when some pants tumbled out.

“But-”

“Ahhhhhhhh!”

John heard her screams before she barreled into the hallway and tossed herself at his legs. Audrey's excited babble at him was enough to brighten his entire week. She tugged at his jumper until he gave in and picked her up, tossing her high above his head and back into his arms.

“Sorry Molls, the missus demands attention first and foremost.” He tapped the girl's nose with his finger earning a giggle. “You were saying?”

“The washing machine is broken remember? Sherlock tried to ruin his brother's suits and overstuffed it.” A giggle slipped out before she covered her mouth as if it were most scandalous.

“Oh shit! I forgot!” He winced and apologized to the toddler. “Sorry. Bad language.”

“O-sit” Audrey repeated much to both their horror.

“I am so sorry.” John quickly handed her back to his appalled neighbor. “It slipped.”

“O-sit”

John mashed his lips together and let his arms hang limp. Molly had a pained look on her face and John vowed to make it up to her with a bottle of wine or something.

“This is only the beginning, I know it.” She sighed and rubbed her free hand over her face.

“O-sit.”

“I'll make it up to you I promise.”

“O-sit.”

John nodded and quickly gathered his things. “I'll just be going.”

“Actually....” Molly looked in her flat distantly and John could see the gears in her head turning. “I have some laundry I need to do and would greatly appreciate it if you could throw it in the wash. You could consider as payment for teaching her to swear at such a young age. Though I'm not certain it wouldn't have occurred anyway.”

“Uhh, sure I guess.” He figured what was one more bag. “Could you bring it to me though, my hands are sort of tied.”

“O-sit”

John would have slapped a hand to his head had they been free from his laundry.

“One second.” She disappeared with the girl and returned with her own butterfly printed bag of dirty clothes. “It's mostly Audrey's stuff but a few of my blouses are mixed in too. Thanks so much.”

Another swear from the toddler could be hear distantly in the flat and John passed Molly another apologetic smile.

“Sorry again.”

“For what?” Irene bounded down the stairs looking as striking as ever. “Did Sherlock do something stupid again?”

“I resent that.” The three mimicked, laughing like school children at filling in the genius's go-to rebuttal.

“No I accidentally influenced Audrey to swear prematurely. Payment is doing laundry.” He held up the bag.

A light flashed in her eyes and the woman bolted up the stairs, leaving both adults confused. Her heavy footsteps upstairs indicated that she was running from room to room for some reason. Irene shouted triumphantly and ran back down the stairs. How she did so while wearing heels John would never know.

“Since you're going out you can do some of mine too. Idiot boyfriend of yours broke the washer again.” She slung a bag around his neck that looked to be filled with her-

“I am not washing your lingerie! Are those crotch-less panties? Oh, ew! They're used! No!” But no matter how much he protested, his arms were full and was unable to remove the bag.

“Thanks so much John. Don't worry though, they're all mine.” Irene planted a wet kiss on his cheek, leaving the bright red lipstick stain that would undoubtedly infuriate Sherlock.

“I am leaving before you get any other ideas!” He stomped unhappily away from the third floor where both women were giggling uncontrollably at his childish antics.

At seeing the closed door of 221B John considered stopping to see if Sherlock was in. Likely not though as he'd been out of bed and out the door before John had even woke up. Shrugging he continued his descent down the stairs only to be stopped by a cheerful Mrs. Hudson...who was holding a bag of bed linens.

“The girls phoned and said you were doing laundry for everyone. Such a good boy.” She handed him the plaid bag and patted his cheek.

He could do nothing other than gape like a fish and carry the bags outside. It was confirmed. His neighbors were arseholes. Except for Mrs. Hudson. And Molly and Audrey. The rest of them were all running contenders. Thankfully the old woman opened the front door for him and sent him on his way to the nearest underground. Hopefully the tube wouldn't be packed but even as the thought occurred in his mind he knew it was feeble.

As John could barely see over his armful of bags he was unaware of the oncoming figure rushing towards him at a hundred miles per hour. At impact John released his frustrations and let out a long string of the rudest words he knew.

“Motherfuckingcockwhatthefuckareyoufuckingdoingyousoddingprickgosuckatitandgetthefuckoffthesidewalk.”

“I think my ears have metaphorically fallen off from that tangent of utter filth.”

“Oh, Sherlock it's you.” John breathed harshly and ran a hand through his hair. All the bags had been flung from his hold and were littering the sidewalk. “I'm sorry, just a bit frustrated.”

“A bit.” The tall man peered at the mess they'd created. “I see you are doing laundry. Thank the heavens.”

John frowned. “Hey what's that supposed to mean? I only borrowed your pants because Greg's arse is too big and I refuse to go commando.”

“It means that the stench of your soiled laundry was beginning to permeate through the floors. I thought I might have to move if it spoiled any further.” Sherlock smirked. “And you could have used my brother's pants.”

“Sherlock, in what world would I even consider wearing your brother, Mycroft Holmes' pants? Please enlighten me.” John began to snatch up the bags and arrange them so he could see where he was going.

“Touche.”

“Now if you'll excuse me I have to deal with everyone's dirty laundry. Literally.” He clipped and stepped around his partner. “Thanks for breaking the machine again by the way.”

“John?”

Something in the way Sherlock had said his name caused the blonde to turn around with mild concern. Searching the man's eyes was moot as Sherlock had mastered blank stares. Neither of the Holmes brothers gave away any information they didn't want to. It was annoying at times.

“Yes?” John quirked his brow and shifted his stance to accommodate the weight.

“If you could just give me a moment to grab my things, I wouldn't be opposed to accompanying you.”

John's heart melted and he felt some of his irritation ebb away at the younger man's innocent offer. Sherlock, the man who wouldn't even get up to get the remote preferring to text the blonde and tell him to buy one on the way home from work, was offering to help him do laundry. Well, not really help as much as stand by in case John fainted from the fumes of his rancid clothing. It was starting to permeate through the bag...

“I would very much like your company Sherlock, yes.”

“Of course you would, I'm a delight.”

* * *

“Remind me once more why you've decided to drag me on this insipid public transportation line,” Sherlock spoke loudly in John's ear causing the blonde's shoulder to jerk and knock him in the jaw. “And not pay for a cab.”

“Underground is cheaper.” John tightened his hold on the bags while trying to keep one hand on the bar.

The incessant rocking was throwing him around like a rag doll.

“And filthier, more cramped, exceptionally warmer.” Sherlock complained. “It's a cesspool of germs.”

As they came to a stop and the doors opened allowing a massive crowd of people to force their way into the smallest of spaces, Sherlock pressed himself closer to his significant other. John's pulse jumped at the contact. He of course noticed the immediate tension and deduced it's origin. Sherlock grabbed the bar above John's head and pushed his hips harder against the blonde. John swallowed thickly finding that he was suddenly parched.

“Still cheaper and faster. Traffic was horrible as usual.” He croaked.

“I recall.” Sherlock's voice dropped in pitch and he dragged his lips lightly against John's ear. “I suppose there's one advantage.”

John felt the familiar bulge pressing into his back and found himself pulling the laundry bags in front of his jeans. A blush worked its way up his neck and he wondered if passengers around them would notice.

“What would that be?”

Sherlock skimmed his nose against the blonde's neck, letting out small puffs of warm breath on his skin. The blonde broke out in goose pimples and had to concentrate on standing upright. What is this man thinking?

“We're in close proximity.”

John stifled a yelp at Sherlock's large hand sliding to his hip and pulling him against his lean body. He could hardly focus on breathing let alone holding the laundry bags, let alone listening for the automated voice to call their stop. Sherlock's fingers worked their way beneath the blonde's shirt and was steadily skimming the sensitive skin above his jeans. It wasn't until his hand disappeared and John was being pulled did he realize they were at their station. Pushing through the crowd with the bags, perhaps purposely stepping on some of their feet, they were able to depart from tube. John tugged at Sherlock's hand and ceased any further steps until the detective looked at him.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” Sherlock cocked his head to the side and slipped his mask of innocence on. Which for John, was a dead giveaway.

“That! On the tube.” He gestured to the emptying platform.

“I'm sure I have no idea what you're referring to.” The genius blinked. “Don't you have laundry to do?”

“Yes but-”

“Then let us continue.” Sherlock surprisingly grabbed a bag from John's arms and led him to the streets.

They were forced to weave in and out of pedestrian flow like dodging bullets from a gun. John considered that perhaps rush hour wasn't the best time to complete his chores. His thought proved to be truthful as the laundromat was packed with people who had similar ideas.

“This...may not have been the smartest idea.” John admitted, smiling sheepishly at his partner.

“I suppose you should get to it.”

“Hey! You said you'd help me,” John cried. “I'm not washing your dirty pants for free! I'm not your butler.”

Sherlock snorted softly. “I said I'd accompany you. And I fail to see why not as you're doing laundry for the ladies we associate with.”

“Well, I may have accidentally taught Audrey a new word.”

“What is the relevance?”

John rolled his eyes and searched for an available machine. Thankfully there were a few in the back unoccupied so he began unloading. He hoped they didn't expect him to sort colors from whites.

“It was a bad word.”

“And somehow this resulted in you doing their laundry.”

Sherlock jumped atop the last machine John was going to use. He spread and settled his legs around the circular door, giving John complete access to the machine...and also conveniently his crotch. After a heated staring contest John shook his head and continued shoving clothes in the machine decidedly ignoring the smirk the genius was sporting. At the right angle their position looked thoroughly inappropriate;which was exactly what the man was trying to achieve.

“Yeah pretty much,” He paused. “ Sherlock, what's in these pockets?”

John dug around in the trousers he grabbed; his fingers had just skimmed the object before it was snatched from his hands. He looked to Sherlock who'd suddenly gone extremely red and was furiously shoving his hands in the pockets to pull out whatever John had found. A brief glimpse of the familiar packaging had John's heart skipping a beat.

“Sherlock, are those condoms?”

“No.”

“Let me see.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Sherlock those were condoms, let me see.” John lunged for the man and wrestled his hands trying to loosen the grip. “I know a condom when I see one, let-me-see!”

It was easy for John to forget just how strong the genius was. Still, he knew the man and more specifically where he was ticklish. Shoving his fingers under the taller man's arms proved to be a success as Sherlock's distraction lessened his hold just enough for John to snatch the foil packets.

“Aha! Condoms!” John flipped them over in his hand. Four. Four condoms. “I was right!”

“Congratulations. You're not visually impaired.”

John snorted and stole glance at the seemingly flustered man. Sherlock refused to make eye contact and John couldn't understand why. He was just practically groping him on the tube! After a moment of tolerating John's staring, Sherlock rolled his eyes and held his hand out.

“Infidelity is not the case if that's what you're wondering.”

“I'm not.” John said truthfully.

“I know.”

“So why'd you say it?”

Sherlock studied him briefly before looking away and tucking the contraceptives in his trousers. John waited patiently for him to explain or not explain. Although there was not much to discuss; the observation was simple.

“Lestrade and the rest of the idiots at Scotland Yard thought it'd be humorous to purchase protection as a celebratory gift for our new...relationship.” He explained. “I must confess I'd forgotten about them.”

John nodded and proceeded to check on the status of the wash. He was torn between feeling excited and annoyed. Sherlock had taken them and kept them; as if he'd been planning to perhaps use them. His irritation came from his friends' incessant need to progress Sherlock and his sexual relationship.

The excitement won over.

“I think we should use the Big Ben one first.” He suggested. “Only if you want to of course.”

Sherlock's gaze snapped over to his and John smiled cheekily, shrugging nonchalantly. Holding out his hand he waited for the genius to pass over the packet. A giggle slipped at the sight of the phallic shaped clock tower on the front followed by the phrase, 'Want to see Big Ben'. It was a souvenir tourists normally purchased for both it's humor and imaginative take on London. It didn't come as a surprise that it would be Greg and the rest of the Yard to be the suppliers.

“What?”

“Well, I figure you have them so why not.”

“I see.”

“And I did win that stupid scavenger hunt.”

“I remember vividly.” Sherlock pulled a face. He was either remembering the horrible outfit he'd been forced in or the spider that caused him to bleach his foot.

John snorted. “So do I. Vivdly.”

The blonde heaved himself into a plastic chair and tossed the condom back to Sherlock. Perhaps with a bit of pride the genius tucked it away unbeknownst to John with a silent promise to fulfill his suggestion.

* * *

“No.”

“Of course.”

“Are you serious?”

“Look at her shoes.”

“Well what about her?” John pointed to the hunched over woman sorting change.

“American tourist.”

“Go on.”

“She is struggling with the coins because of the different currency and is torn between asking someone here for help or simply vacating the premise.”

John immediately got up to aid the woman before she could confuse herself any further. He figured she must have been immeasurably grateful because she threw her arms around him and squeezed him in a tight hug. It wasn't until she let him go and he was on his way back to his partner did he notice the panicked look on Sherlock's face. As soon as he made it around the corner of machines it became abundantly clear why.

“Sherlock! What did you do!” John's eyes widened and he scrambled stop the machine that was spewing bubbles all over the floor.

“You told me to put soap!” Sherlock whispered furiously.

“How much did you fill-” John shook the empty box. “You put the whole thing in!”

“You left to get a donut!”

He couldn't deny it if he tried. To his defense Gregg's was next door and he could practically smell the yum-yums.

“You're a chemist Sherlock. I don't understand how you can properly measure your toxic chemicals all over our kitchen tables but you can't measure out how much soap to use for laundry! Go get me some towels before any more people notice!”

John rushed to contain the mess before they got kicked out by the attendant. He opted to take off his jumper and mop the floor with it. Sherlock appeared just in time as John was seriously considering using his t-shirt as well.

“Sherlock, where'd you get these towels,” John asked when he finally got the bubble situation under control.

“I found them.”

Sherlock's swoon worthy dimples flickered in his cheek and John knew that the man was trying not to grin. Which also meant that-

“You mean you took them from other people's baskets.” He sighed.

One day Greg was going to show up to a crime scene and have to arrest he and Sherlock. John just knew it. He walked into Sherlock's personal space and rested his forehead against the man's chest.

“You're going to get us locked up.” He mumbled. “Or killed, I don't know which one yet.”

“Of course not John.” Sherlock replied outraged at the prospect. “They'd never catch me.”

“Yes but they'd catch me and then who'd you have to wash your dirty underpants.”

“I could probably persuade Mrs. Hudson.”

“My hero.”

“Sherlock and John right?”

Both men turned to greet the voice that addressed them and were surprised to see Janine the tattoo artist.

“Wow, yeah hello Janine.” John moved away from Sherlock's chest, ignoring the frown that made its home on the man's face.

“I thought that was you two.” She smiled, setting her laundry basket on John's chair. “I saw Sherlock running around and I suspected you wouldn't be far behind.”

“What are you doing here? I mean obviously laundry, shut up Sherlock,” He silenced the detective with a sharp look.

“Had about the same idea as you. Lot's of overdue laundry to do.” She glanced at the pile of bags they'd carried with them. “How have you been? How are the tattoos?”

John had become so used to seeing the ink while showering that most of the time he forgot it was there. Sherlock's on the other hand, the blonde vowed never to get used to. The double helix moved every time the genius flexed and just the mere thought of it got John's heart racing.

“Oh yeah, they're good.” He absently rubbed at his chest. “Forget it's there actually.”

“Healing alright?” Janine directed her question towards Sherlock.

The genius hummed in acknowledgment and retreated to his mobile. The blonde rolled his eyes and apologized on Sherlock's behalf.

With a dismissive wave she flashed him a small smile. “No worries. It was good to see you though.”

“You too,” He grinned. “A nice surprise.”

“Anytime you two want a touch up just stop by.” She offered, grabbing the laundry basket from the chair. “Don't be strangers.”

John smiled and nodded. “I'll keep that in mind.”

“Oh one more thing,”

John furrowed his brows when a pink blush tinted the woman's cheeks.

“If you happen to see Irene, can you let her know that this weekend works better than next?"

His mind pulled to a screeching halt as he stared at the woman slack mouthed. The words Irene and next weekend came out of her mouth in one sentence. He had heard that correctly, hadn't he. What were they doing together? He hadn't even known they'd kept in contact. Ms. Adler was always on her mobile- she'd practically cut his hands off when Sherlock had hid it out of spite-so there was no noticeably different behaviors. It took him a considerably long to realize Janine was still waiting for confirmation.

“Oh, sorry! Yeah, yeah,” He cleared his throat. “Yes, I'll-We'll let her know.”

She relaxed and smiled. “Thanks John. Good seeing you Sherlock.”

He dismissed her wave with a grunt and John wandered over to him, plopping in the plastic chair.

“Did you know Irene was seeing anyone?” He looked at his partner who was still actively ignoring him. “I didn't know she was seeing anyone. Not just anyone, Janine. Janine, Janine. The tattoo artist Janine. Do you think they're sleeping together? No probably not or else she'd have been less flushy and more cocky.”

“Fascinating.”

“What is?”

They stared at each other for a while before some lint floated into John's eye. They watered and he rubbed at them furiously.

“You are.” Sherlock tentatively put his arm around the blonde and pulled him as close as the chair would allow.

“She didn't even have to decency to tell us, that wench. How long do you reckon it's been going on?”

“I can definitely tell you that Ms. Adler did not leave that night without a phone number.”

“Wow that's,” He counted the months that had passed since Greg and Mycroft's stag night. “A very long time.”

John thought back and tried to find signs that their neighbor had been steadily seeing another woman right under their nose. Without alerting anyone. Well anyone other than Sherlock. The woman acted as normal and flirtatious as ever so nothing ever alarmed John enough to question her romantic availability.

“Do you think it's serious?” John tilted his head on the man's shoulder, looking at him under the thick fringe of lashes.

Sherlock shrugged.

“I've seen couples thrive on less,” He pulled a face. “My brother and Lestrade for example.”

John snorted. “Why do you act so opposed to your brother's marriage. We all know how much the you revel in their relationship.”

“My brother's marriage to Detective Lestrade is beneficial to the work.” The genius waved his hand passively.

“So what you're trying to say is you love your brother and his choice in partner regardless of what you gain from their marriage.” John corrected.

The detetctive's appalled sputtering said more than he ever could.

“I tolerate my brother and Lestrade-”

“You love them.” John interjected with a cheesy smile.

“-But I couldn't very well let them know that could I? Will you stop doing that.”

“No.” John poked his finger in the dimple in Sherlock's cheek. It was like his own personal game of hide and seek.

Sherlock craned his neck away in effort to remove John's stubby finger but the blonde was persistent.

“So you think Irene will tell us or should we confront her,” John questioned when he got bored of his game.

“It would be sweet retribution for her interference within our relationship.” A wicked glimmer appeared in Sherlock's bright blue eyes.

“You're still on that?” The blonde rolled his eyes and fingered the buttons on the genius's shirt.

“Her interference was unnecessary John.”

“She did it because she loves us-”

“Dull”

“-and because I love you.”

Whatever retort the man had was lost on his tongue as his mouth snapped shut and he directed his stare at the blonde. Determined not to make a fuss but very aware of his heartbeat pounding in his ear John let his eyes drift shut as he lay on Sherlock. He snorted at the quiet mumble that slipped between the man's lips.

“What was that?”

“IsaidIloveyoutoo.” The genius rushed out.

“Sorry, I think I have a bit of wax in my ears. Could you repeat one more time?”

Sherlock gritted his teeth much to John's childish amusement.

“Iloveyoutoo.”

“Nope, sorry. Lots of wax I suppose. Should probably stop at Tesco on the way home and pick up some Q-tips. Say it one more time.”

“I LOVE YOU TOO! I SAID I LOVE YOU TOO.”

The man's explosion left John in a fit of giggles.

“I'm glad you find it so funny.”

Sherlock scowl softened at John's kiss on the cheek.

“Just messing with you. Besides,” John shrugged. “I already knew that. It's just nice to hear you say it.”

The blonde let his eyes drift shut again. They still had 18 minutes on the machine and then to dry everything. Sherlock's steady breathing lulled him into a light doze and if he woke up with a text that said 'I love you John Watson', he didn't say anything about it.

* * *

John dropped the last bag of laundry on Sherlock's sofa before throwing himself into an armchair. The genius rushed by, peeling off his clothes as he went. Even the blur of naked genius was enough to make him flush red.

“Shower?”

The bathroom door slammed shut in response and John stifled a giggle.

“I'm sure the bird just couldn't hold it anymore.” He called out, receiving a very rude response from inside the bathroom.

Sherlock's face at the bird droppings on his arm had left John on his knees, wiping tears from his eyes. He couldn't laugh like that again if he tried. Taking the time to redistribute everyone's laundry to their flats, he noticed that aside from the pipes groaning within the walls, all was quiet. Baker Street and quiet were never synonymous.

He sent a text to Molly asking where they'd run off too and one to Irene that was something along the lines 'Get your bloody panties, you tit'.

On the roof.
-TheWhipHand

“What the bloody hell are you doing on the roof,” John mumbled to his phone before tucking it away.

He trudged his way to his flat and opened the window where the fire escape was, beckoning Avogadro to follow. Molly was blaring some of her music from the CD John had bought her for her birthday. The three ladies of Baker Street were stretched across plastic lounge chairs chatting as Audrey color the cement floor with some chalk.

“What are you doing up here?” John passed them a confused grin.

Audrey's head whipped up and she squealed when she saw Avogadro running towards her. The canine's long tongue rolled out of his mouth and hung sideways as he let her hug him with her toddler strength.

“You're back so soon love,” Mrs. Hudson looked at her watch with surprise. “The girls and I quite fancied a bit of sunbathing.”

“In September.” He deadpanned.

“There's still sun!” Molly argued with a smile on her face.

“You have blankets on.”

“Well, it's cold.”

John sat on the concrete between Mrs. Hudson and Molly, giving Irene a knowing smile. She grimaced at him and looked behind her as if there had been some dripping, mutilated creature hovering there.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She snapped.

“Nothing,” John chuckled, scuffing his shoes as he looked away. “Sherlock and I ran into Janine at the laundromat.”

Her audible gulp forced him to look at her. Her face was paler than ever and she was unsurprisingly looking guilty but surprisingly looking at Molly.

“Oh?” She waved her hand nonchalantly. “What did she say?”

“That this weekend works better than next.”

An explosion of 'I knew it !', Audrey's shrieks and Avogadro's barks was enough for John to flinch and cover his ears. Mrs. Hudson's tickled laughter sent a surge of happiness through him as she covered her mouth, obviously amused by her tenants.

“JOHN!” Sherlock's loud voice joined the musical chaos of conversation.

John was smiling of course because where else could he find such loud and rambunctious people . If nothing else what could break up the monotony of life other than his family?

Chapter Text

“Wait, wait wait!” John reached over to move the scalpel from her grasp. “I'll do it Audrey. You color the pumpkin and I'll carve it.”

“Pretty!” She crawled on the floor, reaching for the markers that were rolling under the sofa.

Molly walked by and winced. The floorboards weren't exactly warm in the October weather and Audrey didn't have a onesie on. She tossed him one of Audrey's baby blankets and he set it in front of his crossed legged spot on the floor.

Autumn had settled in, much to John's delight. Although the temperatures were considerably cooler he still enjoyed walking to his destinations. There was something nostalgic about the orange and yellowing leaves falling from trees, adding a splash of color instead of the consistent green. It was the time of year where pumpkins outnumbered people and scarecrows were set on stoops in front of shops. Angelo had even let Audrey decorate mini pumpkins with all sorts of glitter and stickers, using them as centerpieces for the tables.

Baker Street was thoroughly decorated thanks to Mrs. Hudson's insistence that they needed to “Spend some quality time together,” and “Couldn't let anyone one else on the street think they had better tenants”. So she made all of them sort through her storage for the holiday decorations and demanded they dress up their building. Watching Mycroft struggle to put a leafy garland over the front door was the highlight of John's month. Every time he got one side to stay the other would fall. It took him embarrassingly long to realize his brother was discretely pulling it off the wall, bunching it up and throwing it in Sherlock's face when he did.

Earlier in the month John had been finishing homework in his partner's flat and noticed a particularly festive bowl of candy corn on the coffee table. Sherlock chose the moment John stuck his hand in the bowl to make an appearance and fixed him with the angriest look John had ever seen and promptly retracted his hand. It was then John figured out that Sherlock was a sucker for candy corn and decided to make a game of it. He left little bags around both their flats as a surprise for the genius to stumble upon. John was pretty sure the man kept a bag in his coat pocket when they were out.