"John, I've decided we should have a baby."

John flicked back the corner of the newspaper to stare at his husband. "I realize you've become decidedly more progressive since we've been together, Sherlock, but speaking as a doctor, I don't think modern science has quite caught up to the possibilities imagined by your brain."

"Very funny. Domestic bliss has made you positively droll."

John folded the paper and tossed it on the coffee table. "I'm not the one bandying about babies out of the blue like I've just suggested we wallpaper the kitchen."

Sherlock shifted on the sofa, piercing him with a pointed gaze. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about it."

"Of course I've thought about it," John replied. "Didn't think it was something you would be interested in, that's all. You've never been fond of children. And we've only been married a year."

"Eleven months, two weeks, three days."

"Fine, less than a year. You see my point?"

"True, and no," Sherlock conceded. "As of late I find I can't seem to get the idea out of my head."

John's lips pursed and he moved to the sofa, gathering up armfuls of Sherlock and snuggling in. "Is this what has you distracted lately?" He threaded his fingers through Sherlock's silky mop of curls, running them lightly over his scalp.

The taller man let out a contented sigh and leaned into the caress. "Yes," he admitted. "I don't know why. I've been having a devil of a time trying to sort it all out. Figure out what it means. Perhaps my biological clock is ticking."

John chuckled and pressed a kiss into his hair. "If you're feeling the need to spread your seed, we could always go upstairs."

"I'm serious, John."

Another chuckle. "So am I."

"John," Sherlock said, exasperated, into the crook of his shoulder, "I'm trying to have a dialogue about this. Isn't that what you keep telling me couples do? Don't I keep seeing treacle like that in those magazines Molly leaves around the morgue?"

"You're right," John sighed, tucking him in closer. "I'm just taking the piss. Go on, tell me what you're feeling, and we'll discuss it."

"I'm more interested in how you feel."

John sighed and leaned back, crossing his ankles on the coffee table. "I think the decision to have a child is a major one. I also think you need to examine your reasoning behind why you think it's important."

Sherlock raised his head to look him in the eye. Those grey-green depths danced to shades of blue, a shifting of color that only happened when Sherlock became overcome with emotion. It was a phenomenon that occurred more often than not in the bedroom. It was an occurrence that never ceased to make John's heart clench in awe.

"I've been thinking about love, John," he said. "And family. All the trappings of normal life that seem to come so easily to others. I've learned that I am capable of love. And that I am worthy of love."

"Yes, you are," John murmured.

"Precisely. This fact has opened me to a host of other emotions, feelings." His voice was low, firm. He placed a long, graceful hand over John's heart. "There is so much love here, John. So much. Between you and I. And it is wonderful." John felt a lump rise in his throat as Sherlock's voice moved to reverence. "I want to share that. I want to take everything that is perfect and good between us and make something tangible out of it. Something that could only be born of the love we share. Something extraordinary."

John blinked rapidly, quelling the tears that were threatening to spring forth at Sherlock's unabashed declaration. "And you think a child—"

"Isn't that what a child is? What a child should be? The physical manifestation of a deep and abiding love between two people who are committed to each other and their bond. I realize people have children left and right these days, but a child, our child, would be created in an atmosphere that was designed for it. Can you think of a better reason? I've tried, and I can't. We have so much love, John. So much, our hearts can't contain it all. Why not pour that love into a child and see the beauty that results?"

The tear escaped the corner of his eye and he wiped it away with the back of his hand and a sniffle. "That was eloquently put, Sherlock. And it is the best reason to have a child. But—"

"We can provide for a child," Sherlock blurted. "I can see you turning that over in your head. We have the luxury of a trust I've barely touched. Mycroft only cut me off when I was dealing with the addiction, but we know all of that is long past. There's enough to support us and a child for the rest of our lives. A good use of the funds, I'd say. We can always continue to work, though. I know your work is important to you."

John's eyes cleared a little. "Okay, so financially, we're good. But, what about the cases? The danger? You want to subject a child—"

Sherlock sat up, serious. "I've considered this," he interrupted. "I can still consult, I can still work. I have the advantage of choosing which cases to take. The danger was born of boredom. My brain has discovered it works better when the heart is engaged. With you, I am constantly engaged. A child will only serve to add to that. Think of the things we have to teach." His eyes were bright and sparkling. "Think about it, John. We have so much to offer."

John reached out a hand to stroke his husband's cheek. "You've really thought about this, haven't you?"

"It has consumed me. What do you say, John? Will you have a baby with me?

John's heart swelled in his chest so hard, he feared it would burst. He hadn't thought it was possible to love this man any more than he already did, but in the space of this poignant moment, he realized Sherlock was right. There was far too much love for just the two of them. His face broke into a smile so wide, his cheeks ached with it.

"Yes, Sherlock. I would be honored to have a baby with you."

Sherlock pounced, wrapping himself around John in a long tangle of limbs. "Oh, John. This makes me so happy. You can't even imagine."

John pulled back, brushing a stray lock of hair from Sherlock's forehead. "So, are you really thinking a baby, or should we adopt an older child?"

The dark mop shook. "No, John," he said, eyes sharp and intense. "I want us to have a baby. Our baby."

John's brow furrowed. "Okay. Please tell me you realize that you and I cannot effectively create a child together."

Sherlock waved him off. "Of course. We'll use a surrogate."

"A surrogate?"

"That's what I said. Aren't you listening?" Sherlock's lips pursed in annoyance.

"Fine, the fact remains that you and I cannot both genetically contribute—"

"Really, John," Sherlock huffed.

"So you do realize that? Good. I was getting worried. But a surrogate? You want to ask a woman—"

"Not just a woman." Those eyes were sparkling again. "The perfect woman."

"Sherlock," John chided, "I looked for one of those for years. I don't think they exist."

"Nonsense," he scoffed.

"How do you propose we find this 'perfect woman'? And better still, once we've found her, how do we convince her to carry a child for us?"

Sherlock's smile was blindingly smug. "Simple. We already know her."

John's mind immediately began rifling through every single female they had ever encountered, the wash of feminine faces making his head swim. "I don't know—"

"Molly," he answered triumphantly.

"Molly Hooper?"

"Do you know another Molly?"

"No."

The smile got brighter, as if that were even possible. "Then there you have it. Molly Hooper."

John sat back, exhaling in an incredulous rush. "Jesus, Sherlock."

"She's perfect. She's the right age, she's strong and healthy, and not to mention she is the smartest woman we know. Think of the genes, John."

"First, you want to have a baby. Only it's not just having a baby, you want to genetically engineer one with Molly Hooper? Have I got that right?"

"I wouldn't put it so rudely clinical, but yes. Isn't that part of how we're designed to choose potential mates for offspring? Don't we instinctually look for someone with the proper genetic protocol to ensure progeny of the highest caliber?" Sherlock replied.

"You make it all sound so Third Reich. We want to make a baby, not the master race."

Again with the waving hand. "Don't be tedious, John. Think about her. Really think about her. She's attractive, in her own subdued little way, though I will admit that's not a priority, but she possesses the fundamental criteria required of a good mother. She would make an excellent mother."

John pinched the bridge of his nose. "You want her to be involved, then? With the life and rearing of this child?"

"Naturally. As wonderful as I think we would be as parents, a child should have a maternal influence, and Molly is endowed with those qualities. She's warm, loving, nurturing. She has a patient and endearing demeanor. I want our child to know its mother. And besides Mrs. Hudson, Molly Hooper is probably the only other woman in the world worth knowing. Molly fits the bill."

John thought a moment. Molly was all of those things, and she had become a large part of their lives over the years. She was known, familiar. Someone they both already cared for. The idea had definite merit. "And which one of us do you think should um…donate our genetic material to mingle with hers?"

Now Sherlock's face creased. "That is a more difficult question. The only one I haven't answered."

"Well, answer it."

He took a long moment, the machinations at work evident on his face as he thought. He blew out a long breath, nodded, and met John's gaze. "I think the world would be a much better place if there were more people like you in it." The rawness in Sherlock's face was heartbreaking.

"And not people like you?"

He sighed heavily. "For all I have accomplished, you have to admit, I am deeply flawed. Whether that is a product of nature or nurture, I do not know. I am unsure if that is a risk we should take."

"A risk we should take?" John exclaimed. "How-how can you say that, Sherlock?"

Whatever lingering excitement Sherlock was holding onto fled from his body. "You know me, John. You know how…difficult it has been for me to grow. You, on the other hand, are brave and loyal and good—"

"I'm not an Alsatian, you know."

"Oh, John, doesn't it make more sense for it to be you? My point being, you are a better man than I."

"Bollocks," John snorted. "You are a wonderful man. I married you, didn't I? That should count for something."

"Don't be shortsighted just because you love me. Think about—"

"There's nothing to think about," John shouted, throwing his hands up. "You are incredible! You have the most brilliant mind I have ever seen! And its capacity for knowledge is second only to the depths of your heart. You are a smart man, yes. But you are a good man. The best I've ever known. The only man I've ever loved. The kind of man who deserves a legacy."

Sherlock's lip quivered. "John."

John covered Sherlock's hands in his own. "While it pleases me to no end that you think what makes me me is special and should be reproduced, I have to say that in this instance, I disagree." He pulled Sherlock in and pressed a fierce kiss to his lips. "You can find a John Watson on every corner from here to Scotland. The world needs more men like Sherlock Holmes." He brushed his fingers over Sherlock's brow. "So, let's make that happen."

Sherlock's eyes welled with tears and he nodded. "Okay."

"Besides," John added, "we will be raising this child together. There will be more than enough opportunity for me to wield my staggering throw of influence." He sat back, smiling. "I think all that's left is to talk to Molly, don't you?"

Sherlock reached for his mobile and began to type.

"No, Sherlock," John frowned. "You are not going to ask Molly Hooper to have our baby by text."

"Why not? It's how I always communicate with her."

John snatched it and punched Molly's number into the phone, thrusting it back into Sherlock's hands. "Call the woman and arrange to do this face to face. Propriety, respect, and all that?"

Sherlock looked down at the phone with a glare.

"If you can't at least speak to her, this will never work. However will we coordinate Christmases?"

The glare was now directed at him.

"You can do this. I have faith in you."

"Really?"

"Call her."

Sherlock smacked a quick kiss on John's lips and hit send.