They arrived at Sherlock's mother's house exactly at 8 AM. John was in awe by the house. It was huge, maybe the biggest house John had ever seen in person. There were pillars in the front, covering large windows that looked into the dining room and library. On the top, there were balconies overlooking everything below.

Inside was perhaps even more marvelous. The entrance room split into different sections, one went to the library, where a piano was located, and across from that was the dining room. Through the dining room was the massive kitchen. In the entrance room were the large stairs that led to the bedrooms. Under the stairs was an entrance to what John could see was the living room, which was huge. John was sure the house went beyond the living room, but nothing could be seen from the entrance room.

And everything was so clean and nicely decorated. The walls were a pleasant shade of brown, the stairs were a deep brown, and the floor was a brown wood flooring. Hanging everywhere were Christmas decorations, and at the curve of the stairs there was a medium-sized Christmas tree.

John was in love with this house.

Mycroft met the two men at the door. "Ahh, Sherlock, John. You've arrived. How was the ride? Smooth, I hope. That's a brand new car I've added to my collection, making its debut today just for you."

"Hello, Mycroft. When did you arrive?"

"Last night. Helena wanted to come early to help mother set everything up."

John looked confused, but he didn't ask any questions. Sherlock led John up to his old bedroom, which had Sherlock's childish touch, and a hint of remodeling. There was one, large bed in the center, next to the door to the restroom. There was a desk, a television, large windows, and an airplane floating from the ceiling. John laughed when he saw it.

"Cute, Sherlock."

"Oh, that. Yes, I had a minor obsessions with airplanes when I was a boy."

John smiled. It was cute. "So, who's Helena?"

"Mycroft's wife."

"You didn't tell me Mycroft is married."

"You never asked."

"Does he have any children?"

"Yes, two sons: Thomas and Michael."

"How old are they?"

"10 and 6."

"Adorable. So you're Uncle Sherlock?" John chuckled.

"Yes, yes. It's adorable." Sherlock flopped onto the bed and patted for John to lay next to him, so John did.

"So, you said everyone in your family has their own families?"

"Yes," Sherlock thought, "Actually, it appears I'm the only one not married or with children."

"Looks like you're the odd one out, then."

"Well, I'm also the adopted one, so."

"Sherlock, that's not what I meant."

"I know, it was a joke, John. You can laugh."

"It's not funny."

"Why? It will be funny when you see how widely different I look from everyone in this family. Then you'll be sorry you didn't laugh when you had the chance."

"I'm sure you're fine."

"You'll see."

"So, you're the only one without children?"

"Yes, well, you see John, it'd be a little difficult for me to reproduce-"

"I know, Sherlock."

"I'm also the only man with a boyfriend, so I really am the odd one out."

"You're my odd one."

"That's exactly what I mean."

"Funny, Sherlock."

Sherlock sat up and got off the bed. He reached his hand out to John. "We'd better get downstairs. My mother is dying to meet you."

"What does she look like, Sherlock? Your mother. Does she look like Mycroft?"

"No, no!" Sherlock was almost disgusted, "My mother is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. She looks nothing like Mycroft."

John took Sherlock's hand and allowed himself to be led down the stairs.

Mycroft was downstairs with his younger son, Michael, playing a happy tune on the piano. Sherlock and John stood in the doorway and watched, and once the song ended, Michael jumped off the bench and ran as fast as he could as Sherlock.

"Uncle Sherlock!" The child hit Sherlock's stomach and in an instant was in Sherlock's arms.

Sherlock's face buried in the boy's thick, blonde curls. "Hello, Mikie, how are you?"

"Don't call him that, Sherlock. It's annoying."

"Shut up, Myc."

Mycroft sighed.

"I'm good, Uncle Sherlock." The boy came off Sherlock's shoulder. He looked at John, "Is this your boyfriend?"

John's heart pounded a little. He wasn't sure what Sherlock called him to his family. But the child was open, and wasn't skeptical or…disgusted at all. He was accepting.

Sherlock put the boy down and said, "Yes. Mikie, this is John. John this is Mikie."

"Michael, John. Please, call him Michael." Mycroft said, standing from the piano.

A set of footsteps were heard coming down the stairs and Thomas came into the library.

"Hello, Uncle Sherlock." Thomas said, sounding, sort of, smug.

"Hello, Thomas, how have you been?" Sherlock sounded more adult talking to the older boy, but still caring and loving, in a way.

"Fine, I guess. School is," Thomas glanced at Mycroft, "Wonderful." he said, sarcastically.

Sherlock chuckled, "Thomas, this is John."

"Hello, John," Thomas took John's hand and shook it, "Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, Thomas."

Then, Helena came into the house from the garden. John wondered what she could possibly be doing in the garden in the middle of winter, but seeing as how they were the Holmes family, John figured she could have been making her own flowers from a secret mixture the government made. He chuckled at himself, then watched Helena embrace Sherlock.

"Sherlock! How are you, darling? Well? You look more healthy, darling baby brother." She kissed his cheek, then wiped her lipstick off his face.

"Yes, well. Helena, this is John."

Helena turned at John quickly and hugged him tight. "Any boyfriend of Sherlock's is a friend of ours!"

Helena was absolutely not what John had in mind for Mycroft's wife, not that he actually ever pictured Mycroft having a wife. She was bright and bubbly, whereas John and Mycroft always seemed like the Grimm Reaper's sons. She was a lovely woman. She had long, brown hair that was thrown up in a bun that John was sure all mothers had. Her eyes were bright green and her smile was beautiful.

They sat around in the library for a while until Sherlock heard his mother's bedroom door open, then close. John and Sherlock were seated in chairs across the room from one another, playing with each boy, but John watched Sherlock the whole time. His ears seemed to perk up like a puppy's. His eyes got a little bit brighter and his smile widened as he watched the entrance to the library for his mother to walk through it. John could tell his heart was beating a little faster, he looked very eager. He combed his hair over and made sure he looked tidy, then his mother stepped through the entrance.

She was more perfect than John imagined. She was beautiful, and John could see features Mycroft got from her. She was tall, but not tall like Mycroft. She had auburn hair that was perfectly curled. Her eyes were hazel, very bright and full of love when she saw Sherlock. She had perfect teeth and perfect clothes and everything about her was perfect. She looked very young, she was obviously their mother, but one could mistake her for their older sister, or something. For a moment, John felt jealous that his family had imperfections.

Sherlock stood and hugged Marie tight. "Oh, my love, you wouldn't miss me so much if you actually attempted to visit every once in a while."

"You know I'm busy, mother. Or I would." He pulled away from her and smiled.

She hit him in the shoulder. "And you didn't call me Tuesday."

"I was busy, Mother. I called you Thursday."

John was confused. Never, ever has he heard Sherlock talk on the phone with his mother. He probably called her when John wasn't there, out of embarrassment. Poor Sherlock, John thought, he shouldn't be ashamed to have a relationship with his mother.

Marie turned around quickly and looked at John. "Oh, Sherlock. He's more attractive than you made him out to be. And he's kind of short, darling."

"Oh, Mother, he's self-conscious about his height."

"He shouldn't be."

"Well, he is."

John felt terribly awkward standing there silently, letting Sherlock and his mother talk about him like he wasn't there. He shifted uncomfortably where he was standing.

"And he's blonde, darling. You never fancied blondes."

Was this a flaw?, John asked himself.

Sherlock shrugged, "Yes, well."

"I'm John, ma'am. It's nice to meet you." John stuck his hand out to Sherlock's mother.

She pushed his hand away and hugged him. John never pictured them a hugging family, but so far they were, "Hello, John. I've heard so much about you."