When Ian was six, Amy called. Of course John answered, he's always answered when she called; he answered before Ian was born; he answered when Ian was two and she remembered his birthday; he answered when Ian was four and she just wanted to say hello. He's always answered. But John, dear John was territorial. He didn't think it was a good idea for Ian to meet Amy. Amy was by no means his mother, and if she was to meet Ian, she'd be introduced as their old friend. Each party involved agreed that was the best plan, if ever it needed to be put into action. But she had been one of Sherlock's closest friends, of course she needed to meet his son.

So John answered and Sherlock talked. Sherlock talked to her for two hours before Ian even came into conversation.

"How is he, Sherlock?"

"He's…" Sherlock smiled from ear to ear, because honestly people asking how his son is never got old, "He's perfect, he really is."

"He's healthy and everything? He's…good?"

"Yes, he is. He's kind of small, but then I'm kind of skinny, and his hair is straighter than mine, but yours is straight, right?"

"So he's…" Amy wasn't sure how to ask, even though Sherlock practically just spelled it out for her, "He's yours?"

Sherlock's smile faded. John's-His, he hated labeling their son that way. But he wasn't going to be rude to Amy like he was rude to Anderson and Dimmock. "Yeah, he's mine."

"I had that feeling."

"I never did, but, you know."

"He always, sort of, fluttered when you were around. But then again, so did I."

"I know."

Sherlock is absolutely no idiot. He knew Amy had a crush on him, of course he had. He saw, he heard, he felt the way he knew John felt at first. The difference, of course, was that he reciprocated to John, not Amy of course. It was JohnJohnJohn and it always will be.

"So, listen, Sherlock…"

"Yes?"

Amy was silent, then she slowly took a deep breath and exhaled, "I'm, well, I'm going to be visiting London in two weeks; seeing my mum for a couple of days."

Sherlock's chest fluttered and his mouth ticked in a quick smile, "And?"

"And, oh you idiot. You know what I'm getting at."

"Of course I know. You want to meet him? Is that going to be…alright?"

"If it's alright with you. And John, of course."

"I'll run it by him and see what he thinks, ok?"

"Yes, of course. And if not, Sherlock, I'd love to see you. Catch up and all."

"Yes, yes of course. I'll call you tomorrow, ok?"

"Perfect."

"Goodbye, Amy." Sherlock hung up with a smile on his face.

Later that night, John wasn't too thrilled about the idea. He made an unsure face as Sherlock repeated the conversation to John. When Sherlock stopped talking, John looked at him.

"Well?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't know, Sherlock."

"I knew you'd say that."

"Can you blame me?"

"What's the worse that can happen?"

"Really, Sherlock?"

"She knows he's ours, John. To be honest I feel she wants to meet him as her friends' son, not as the child she gave birth to and gave to us."

"Now, don't say it like that."

"Don't act like something bad is going to happen, alright? I trust it, I trust her, you should, too. I'm going to see her, and I want her to meet Ian."

"So, now you make the executive decisions?"

"Well, I-"

"Well what, Sherlock?"

Sherlock remained silent. He didn't like arguing. He sat in his chair and fluffed the newspaper back up in his face.

"You're right," John mumbled while turning into the hallway to their bedroom, "You're his father, you make the decisions." He went into their room.

Sherlock heard him and the words registered immediately. It hurt him, saying Ian was his son, and he knew John meant it that way. It wasn't often John felt detached from the two of them, usually when they spoke their own language or Sherlock messed around with him instead of punishing him. But it definitely hurt Sherlock more, in unexplainable ways.

Sherlock felt his face turn red hot and distantly felt himself standing from his chair and followed John.

"Sherlock?" John asked, looking over his shoulder at his husband who was red with fierce eyes.

Sherlock turned John around, and without even realizing it, he punched John in the face; not nearly as hard as he could, but he gave his husband a good one. John fell to the ground and Sherlock straddled him, pinning his arms to each side of his head and shouted, "Don't you ever, ever say that again, John! If I ever so much as hear you explain that biologically he has my DNA, I swear to you that I will put you through a wall quicker than you can know what's happening."

Sherlock's face and eyes were dark and John was scared. John just nodded and felt blood trickle from his cheekbone to the floor underneath him. Sherlock loosened on John's arms, and the moment John saw a little bit of color come back to Sherlock's eyes, he fought his left arm out of Sherlock's grasp and wrapped that arm around Sherlock's neck. John pulled the tall man to himself and pressed his head into his own neck.

"Ssshh," John tried to calm Sherlock, who was now silently sobbing into John's neck, "It's ok, I'm sorry, Sherlock, I'm so sorry. I didn't-" John swallowed and pulled his other arm around John's neck, "I didn't mean to say it, you know that." He kissed Sherlock's temple and nuzzled his face into his husband's black curls.