A/n: yo guys. This is my first Sherlock story, and also my first parent!lock story, but I thought it would be cute. it's loosely based off a dream I had last night. So anyways, I just want you to enjoy the story, as of yet o don't have a timeline in mind but it's set pre Richenbach. Also heads, I can't spell and I'm not British, so sorry if there are any spelling mistakes or American words where there should be British. I blame my country. This is the prologue and it's the only one that will be told from John's POV. The other chapters will be told in third person, cuz I write better like that. Anyways, kids, in the fall of 2010 there was this man...

From the blog of: Dr. John H. Watson

How we got our son part one- crime scene and hospital

It was a grey rainy day in London. Oh I'm sorry; it was a typical day in London, but the sort of typical day where the atypical usually happens, as it did for me and Sherlock Watson-Holmes, my er well, fiancée now. We were just coming home from a date when we heard a gunshot ring out. Sherlock stopped in his tracks and then took off, leaving me to follow him. We arrived at the scene a few minutes after the police, including Lestrade, had arrived. Lestrade looked up when he saw us. "Oh hello you two. How'd you get here so fast?" Sherlock shrugged off the question. "Not important. What happened?" Lestrade sighed and walked over. "Looks like a drive by shooting. He was hit pretty badly too." Lestrade points to the victim, a young male with dirty baggy clothes, terribly thin and dirty whose body was riddled with bullet holes. Then, something very odd happened. The boy groaned and tried to sit up. Lestrade swore and looked shocked. "No way. There is no way he can be alive after that." Since I was a doctor, I walked over to the boy and gently pushed him back down, so he was lying flat. He flinched away from my touch, and whimpered when the movement hurt him. "It's alright." I said softly. "You're safe now. Whoever did this to you is long gone." Lestrade walked over then, standing at my shoulder, looking at the victim. "Mind telling us just who did do this to you?" he asks. The boy moans once and passes out from the pain. I gently pick him up, and start walking. "Sherlock, come on, we're leaving. It's not a homicide investigation yet, the victim is still alive and might remain so if we get him to a hospital. Lestrade, you can come too." Sherlock and Lestrade followed me, as I hailed a cab and requested the nearest hospital. When we arrived, I had Lestrade register the boy as a John Doe for now, until he told us his name, and said it was police business so Sherlock, he and I were to be the only ones allowed in to see him. The nurse nodded and called for a doctor. When one arrived, the boy was sent in for surgery and the three of us were told to wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It took hours, but finally, the doctor said we were allowed to go and see the boy, who would be waking up shortly. We walked into his room, too see him lying on the bed, pale and unconscious, hooked up to several beeping machines and wearing an oxygen mask. I took the time to fully look the boy over. I knew Sherlock would have already made his deductions about the boy but I wanted to form my own. He was skinny that much was obvious. Dirty as well. He had shoulder length light brown hair, which was greasy, matted and tangled. His clothes had been shabby, and seemed either too big or too small. They were folded up next to the bed, since they were, strictly speaking, evidence should he die. When he started to wake up, I moved forward, ready to pin him down should he freak out. But it seemed he simply didn't have the strength to fight. His eyes flew open and I could see they were a deep brown, almost black. "it's alright." I said. "you're safe. Remember me? I found you after you were attacked and brought you to a hospital. You're fine." His eyes got wider and he shook his head removing the oxygen mask. "no...hospitals...they'll send me into foster care!" he was panicking. I shook my head. "No they won't. we've registered you as official police business. They can't do anything to you." That seemed to calm the boy down somewhat. "Can you tell me your name?" I ask. He shuts his eyes for a minute then, "Brandon. I'm Brandon." Smiling I reach out and take his hand. "nice to meet you Brandon. I'm John Watson-Holmes and the two men behind me are Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade of the London Police force and Sherlock Watson-Holmes, my fiancée." Brandon nods to each of them, then the pain meds take over and he drifts back into sleep.

From the blog of Doctor John H. Watson.

How we got out son, part 2- the flat.

It was two days after Brandon was put in the hospital, and Sherlock and I were home, in our flat. I was sitting down looking over bills and such and Sherlock...well God only knows what he was doing. "Look, Sherlock...about Brandon..." I say. He looks up. "You want to adopt him, don't you?" now this really shouldn't have startled me, I mean this is Sherlock, but I confess I was shocked he knew. "Yes." I said. He sighed and came over to where I was working. "John, I understand why you want to adopt him, but, we just can't." I look up at him. "And why can't we? The boy needs a home, Sherlock. He's terrified of being sent to foster care. We can look after him, and support him." Sherlock sighed again. "But John, we're homicide workers. We take murder cases for a living. Won't that just traumatize the boy?" I think about it. "It might, but we should at least let him know that our door is open, if he wants to come here."

After about two weeks, Brandon was released from the hospital, but he had to be under house care. Despite Sherlock's protests, I brought him to live with us at 221B, just until he recovered. He was very skittish at first, flinching at every loud noise, or unexpected movement. But he soon settled in, and eventually trusted us enough to tell us about himself. It was after dinner, and we had just gotten back to the Brandon was on the couch, almost asleep. Sherlock and I were sitting at the kitchen table, quietly arguing about our houseguest, when his voice drifted into the room. "Excuse me, sirs? Could you come here?" he always called us sir, though I'd told him over and over it was fine to call us John and Sherlock. I stood up and went into the living room, with Sherlock following me. Brandon had moved so he was sitting up, and was trying very hard to keep the pain off his face. "what is it, Brandon?" I asked gently. "Well, I know you and Mister Sherlock are fighting over whether or not to let me stay here, and well, I thought you should know about me a little more." At a nod from me, he took a deep breath and began to talk. "I was orphaned at age 6, and sent to live in foster homes. I was bounced from one to the other, sometimes two a week. The last one I was in, was when I was about 10. They had several other foster children as well, all older and bigger than me. The man used to encourage us to fight, and he would then beat the loser. He picked on me the most, because I have a bad temper and snap easily. I remember, the last day, I was fighting a kid and he shoved me back, into a vase. It fell and broke. The man grabbed me by the collar and led me to the basement. He beat me bloody, then stripped me and...well... raped me. After that I fled the house, living on the streets, working odd jobs for money for food, stealing if I needed too. Then...he found me. Jim Moritary. He said that he could help me out, and I believed him. He had me working for this gang of his, trying to bring down you, Mister Sherlock. But I wanted no part of that. So one night I left the gang, vowing to find Sherlock and warn him. That was the night I got shot. It was Moritary who shot me, I know it was, trying to keep me quiet. Now, I'm scared. I can't go back to foster care, and I don't want to stay on the streets." He finished and had to breathe deeply for a while. I shot Sherlock a glare, and he sighed. "Brandon," he said slowly. "Welcome to the family. I guess you're our son now." Brandon's eyes went wide then he stood up and hugged both of us. 'thank you!" he said. I held up my hand. "But," I said "there's one rule. You either call us dad, or by our names. No more sir." I said firmly. Brandon nodded. "Alright, I can do that." He said. And that dear readers, is how I met my son.

E/n. hope you enjoyed the story, and picked up on the How I met you Mother references. For the record I love that show. So anyways, look out for more chapters and be sure to read my other stories and review!