So, anyone previously confused by this chapter, it was missing most of the body because hates me. It's fixed now. I'm going to go cry in a corner.
xxx
John wasn't entirely sure what he had expected Sherlock's parents to be like. Well, yes he did. He figured they'd be like sons. Probably more like Mycroft. He figured they would be very proper and traditional.
He was right about them being traditional.
Not in the way he was expecting. They were a very traditional, happy older couple in the sense they were like any couple you could find on the street. They sat on the couch in Baker Street as John handed them their tea. John was only just beginning to show. Sherlock sat in Sherlock's chair (he did that a lot nowadays) and nervously played with his cup.
"I am so happy to meet you, I have to say we were surprised to hear that Sherlock-"
"-had bonded," the couple finished in unison.
"We would never have even known that Sherlock had a flatmate, let alone an actual mate if not for-"
"-for Mikey."
John couldn't help but smile as Mycroft rolled his eyes. The elder brother was sitting in John's chair, his umbrella leaning against the arm of the chair.
"I have to say, you are quite the handsome man, scentless or not!" Mrs. Holmes said. "Not as handsome as my Sherlock, of course, but than again, I'm biased."
"I understand. I imagine I'll be the same with mine," John said.
"Do you know what you are going to name him?" Mrs. Holmes asked eagerly.
"Ah, we don't know the gender yet, but I imagine it will be something rather boring, at least compared to Mycroft and Sherlock."
"Well, I'd be more than happy to lend you a hand! How about we pick one boy name and one girl?"
"Well, there is something else..."
xxx
Sherlock stood outside his parents house, his hands clenched at his sides. Never in his entire life would he have been so nervous about knocking on his parents. Normally, he would never have even bothered. He would have just let himself in (they always kept a spare in the same spot). But this was different. Behind this door was the most... he wasn't even sure what words to use! What would John say? He'd laugh most likely. The Great Sherlock Holmes, stumbling for words. Taking a breath, he reached up and knocked lightly.
The door swung open almost immediately. Sherlock stared into the empty space before him. Who opened the door? He blinked, than looked down. He was met with wide, gray under a mop of curly blonde hair. The boy couldn't have been older than four years...
Sherlock's mind supplied the rest.
"H-hi," Sherlock said, not even caring that he stuttered.
"Hi," the boy reliped.
"I-uh-"
"Are you my father?" the boy asked so softly Sherlock barely hared him.
"Yes," Sherlock whispered. "Yes, I believe I am."
"HOPE! I TOLD YOU NOT TO JUST OPEN THE DOOR! IT COULD BE THE ALIENS COMING FOR-"
The boy fell forward as another body ran straight into his back. Sherlock reached forward to catch both of them, steadying them. He was met with yet another set of eyes, this time belonging to a girl, her curls tied up into twin ponytails.
What?
"Hope! Joy! What are you two up to now?" Sherlock heard his mother call as she approached. Her eyes landed on her son, and she broke out into a wide smile.
"Sherlock! You're home!" the woman ran as fast as she could to the door.
"I guess he's not an alien, then," the girl said, sounding disappointed.
"There are no such things as aliens, Joy," his mother said.
"Prove it."
Sherlock looked between the two children and his mother, not quite computing what he was seeing. The boy was still transfixed on him, not having released his pant leg after Sherlock had caught him.
"Hope. Joy," his mother looked up at him proudly. "This is your father."
The girl looked back at him, her face seemingly passive beyond a mild curiosity betrayed by the tilt of her head. The boy looked up at him expectantly and Sherlock was at a loss as to what to do. What would John do? Sherlock knelt down the children's level, their eyes never leaving his.
"Hope and Joy? Sounds like names John would chose."
Great going, Holmes.
But it seemed to be enough. Sherlock barely had time to brace himself before Hope through himself at him, wrapping his small arms around Sherlock's neck. Joy, on the other hand, just smirked softly and rolled her eyes.
"I assume Daddy's lack of originality is genetic, judging by his own name," Joy said, sounding exasperated. "Grandmother had an entire list of very unique and quite lovely names but no. He had to pick two of the most uninspired names in the world. At least he had meaning in mind when he chose our names. I am sure that there are plenty of more interesting name with the same meaning."
Joy continued to ramble on and Sherlock couldn't help but smile softly, recognizing the same avoidance technique he had perfected as a child.
"Sherlock."
Sherlock glared up at his brother as he walked up behind their mother. Sherlock glared up at him, attempting to stand. Hope refused to let go, instead tightening his hold on his neck. Sherlock chose to pick the boy up, balancing him against his side. Joy was still rambling when he took two threatening steps towards his brother, to which Mycroft merely raised an amused eyebrow.
"You were supposed to watch him," Sherlock hissed.
"I did what I could. Unfortunately, John learned how to avoid the cameras when he wished to do so. Learned from watching you, I might add," Mycroft said calmly. "I have brought over what footage we have from the day he went missing. You may go over it as much as you wish, though I don't think you'll learn much more from them than I have."
"Do you believe in aliens?" Joy suddenly blurted out. Startled, Sherlock looked down at her with wide eyes.
"I SAID, do you believe in aliens?"
"I believe that until definitive proof is presented to the contrary, one should not dismiss the possibility," Sherlock answered.
Joy smiled brightly.
"Come on, Hope! We gotta finish the survival kit on the off chance that any aliens that arrive are here to kill us all. I highly doubt it though, but there is no way to be certain- HOPE!"
Hope shook his head and buried his face in Sherlock's neck.
"Joy, let your brother be," his mother scolded.
"But grandma-"
"Unfortunately, your brother is not as emotionally detached as you are. Let him be," Mrs. Holmes said.
"Ugh. Sentiment," Joy groaned. Sherlock smiled. Joy noticed and blinked. She blushed and bit her lip before turning on her heels and running upstairs.
"Try not to be upset. She reminds me so much of you at that age."
Sherlock didn't respond. It was like watching a younger, female version of himself.
"I have the video already set up, when you're ready..." Mycroft motioned towards the television in the living room.
Xxx
Honestly, Sherlock wasn't sure what to do about the young boy. He had refused to release Sherlock from his neck hold as he reviewed the footage and had fallen asleep on his lap. Joy at some point had come downstairs and settled herself on the other side of the couch; her laptop seemed like a monstrosity in her lap. Sherlock had stopped to look at the girl as she typed away (she had noticed judging by the blush she sported as she ignored him) and found she looked more like John than the boy did, who really looked more like a blonde version of himself. The thought had reminded him of his missing mate and Sherlock returned to the footage. He had gone over it time and again and still found nothing. John had slipped into a blind spot, one of Sherlock's favorites, and never reappeared. Sherlock closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. He would know if John was dead. He was alive. Someone had taken his John.
Someone was going to pay.