It was quiet in the flat. John couldn't remember the last time that had happened. What with the recent influx in Sherlock's case load, Bart's calling him in on a near-nightly basis, and Will's decision that screaming was the most effective means of communication, Baker Street had been a revolving door of bedlam and high blood pressure for weeks. It almost didn't seem real: sitting propped against the battered headboard with a book in hand and Sherlock's back nestled against his legs. Even the monitor to the upstairs room was soft static and occasional snores. John glanced at it a moment and smiled.

'We can probably get rid of that, you know. He's figured out the stairs already.'

'I like having it,' Sherlock replied. 'It's our early alarm system.'

'You mean so we'll know if something's wrong?'

'No, so we'll know we need to put on our trousers.'

John laughed, his left hand wandering into Sherlock's curls as his right closed his book. 'I think you just like listening to him sleep.'

He breathed a pleased sigh. 'You are welcome to craft whatever theories you deem appropriate.'

John set his book on the nightstand. 'That's a "yes".' He slid further into bed, wrapping his arms around Sherlock and pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. 'Your secret is safe with me.'

'Of course it is.' Sherlock squirmed against him, settling his legs so that there wasn't an inch of space between them. John smiled and nuzzled against his hairline.

He couldn't say what possessed him to ask the question. Perhaps it was the soft, high sigh from the monitor on Sherlock's nightstand. Perhaps it was the familiar weight in his arms or the long, slender fingers that knitted with his own. He only knew that a feeling of utter contentment washed over him and the words were out of his mouth before he had a moment to reconsider them.

'Sherlock?'

'Hm?'

'Do you want to have a baby with me?'

Every muscle in Sherlock's body went taut as the question settled over him. The grip on John's hand tightened and Sherlock's breath stalled. He swallowed. 'I thought we were just talking about him.'

John licked his lips, pressing his nose to the base of Sherlock's skull. 'I meant another one.'

It took a moment for Sherlock to turn and look at him: brow furrowed, frowning, torn between confusion and curiosity. 'Do you want another one?'

John shrugged. 'Maybe.' His mouth had gone dry. 'Maybe not. Never mind.'

'John.' Sherlock rolled onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows. 'You're a terrible liar. You always have been.'

He felt his cheeks colouring. He realised that Sherlock was wearing his shirt. He barrelled on. 'It seems a bit cruel, leaving Will an only child.'

'I certainly would have benefited from it.'

'Well, I wouldn't have. And you'd be lost without Sherr, we both know it.' It didn't fit him very well, the shirt. It was too big in the chest and shoulders and too short in the torso and an inch of perfect alabaster skin was peeking out between the edge of the cotton and the waistband of Sherlock's pants and-

'John?' Their eyes met. Sherlock was smirking. That was never a good sign. 'We can. If you want. I don't know how we'll go about it, but I don't mind.'

'You don't mind or you actually want to?'

'I don't mind.' He shrugged. 'I hadn't considered it before. It's hard to have an opinion on something that's never crossed your mind.'

'I want to.'

'Then we can.'

'I want you to have it.'

Sherlock snorted. 'You'll have a hard time getting one out of me, John.'

'No, I mean I want you to be the father.'

'We'll both be the fathers.'

'Yes, but I want you to be the biological father.' Sherlock ogled him. It got to be unnerving. 'We've talked about the staring, you know. It's still a bit creepy.'

'Oh. Sorry.' He shook his head hard, his eyes going back to John's. '…May I ask why?'

John found himself rolling onto his back as well. His hand found Sherlock's resting on the crisp sheet. 'It's stupid.'

'No, it's not.'

'It might be.'

'I think everything's stupid.'

'Can't argue with that.' He sighed and picked through his mind for the proper words. 'I- I want the chance to love your son the way you love mine.'

'Ours.'

'Mine in this context.' He shot Sherlock a look, scowling further at the impish leer. 'Cheeky. I'm trying to be serious.'

'You're not very good at it.'

'Well, stop stealing my clothes and maybe I will be.'

'Hm. Doubtful. Also no correlation between the two.' John glared. 'Please continue.'

John rolled his eyes, unable to stop his own smile. 'Anyway, I want to have that, though, that relationship with something that's a part of you. I want to see a little you grow and learn and get into trouble. I want Will to have someone who understands how mental it is to grow up in this house.' He sighed. 'I want to actually be there for my baby. Since I couldn't be there for Will.'

Sherlock's head rested on his chest, his arms around him again, a damp kiss pressed to his throat. 'I wish you would forgive yourself for that.'

He closed his eyes, squeezing Sherlock's shoulder. 'I won't.'

'I know.' He was quiet a long time. John sat up a little to watch him. 'I think I'd like that.'

'You do?'

He looked up and smiled, and John felt goose bumps crowd his arms. 'I do.'

John pulled him close by the back of the neck, his lips finding Sherlock's like it was second nature. A low purr slipped into his mouth and was swallowed. Those excellent fingers splayed across his side, slowly dragging up the hem of his shirt to tickle the skin underneath. He could feel Sherlock's skin heating up, his breath hitch, his body shifting enough to climb over John's leg and ease him into the bed, their lips a lazy tangle of tongue and teeth and soft noises.

A blood-curdling shriek sounded over the monitor. John's head fell back with a groan. 'That was nearly pleasant.'

Sherlock's chuckle was husky and delicious, his lips ghosting over John's throat. 'And you're sure you want another one?'

'I must be a masochist. As we have discussed before. Speaking of-' He pushed Sherlock off of him, pinning him at the hip and nipping his ear. 'Don't you dare move,' he growled, and left Sherlock breathless as he made his way up the stairs to Will's bedroom.