A/N: Oh, I have so much homework I should do…but this fic is fun…I'm considering writing some set while Sherlock and Mycroft were children. Well, anyway, my failure to study for my morning test gets you another chapter.

The Doctor closed the door behind John, turning back to smile as Sherlock. "Bit warm in here, eh?" he asked.

Sherlock sighed, pulling off his jacket and rolling his sleeves up past his elbows and holding out his arms. "Don't be subtle please, it's not your strong point. Go on, check them for needle marks."

The Doctor nodded sadly, gently taking his arms and examining them. "I didn't think you had relapsed. Really, that's not why we're here. We've just missed you boys."

"I'm sure you've kept busy."

"Busy enough," he nodded, pulling a stethoscope from his pocket. "We won't tell Mum that you're still on nicotine patches. She'll be happy to hear you've quit smoking, though."

Sherlock made a face at the stethoscope. "Do you really think that's necessary? I feel fine."

"Everyone needs a checkup once in a while," he said, placing the scope on the left side of Sherlock's chest. "You can't exactly walk into a regular clinic can you?"

"You're not even that kind of a Doctor. Besides, I haven't been sick a day in my life."

"Mycroft has. Do you remember his bout with scarlet fever? No, I suppose you were a bit young. Anyway, if a human virus can affect him then you're both at risk." He moved the stethoscope to the other side of Sherlock's chest, listening much more intently.

"Any change?"

"None," the Doctor said, pulling the instrument back into his deep, deep pockets. "Two hearts, the right one smaller than the other, but steadily beating. Have you been eating? Getting any sleep?"

"A few hours every couple days. I think I've eaten. John hasn't yelled at me at least, so he must have seen me have something."

The Doctor shot him a look, handing back his jacket. "You need to take care of yourself."

"My mind is as organized as it ever was," Sherlock said, rewarming the kettle and pulling cups down from the cupboards. "Everything else is just transport. Bodies come and go."

"For Time Lords, sure," he answered, following close behind him. "Your 'transport' is human. You've only got the one body, and you're stuck with it for life."

"I suppose I just don't think of it in those terms."

"Well, learn. I understand that your instincts may tell you that your first body is disposable, but it's not in your case. You said John has been making you eat?"

Sherlock nodded. "He has this notion that I need to eat and sleep every night. You should hear him go on about the time. 'It's midnight Sherlock, get some sleep. It's 3 in the morning, Sherlock, we do microwave flammable objects at 3 in the morning. It's noon, stop sleeping on the floor.' He has this idea that the time of day should determine what you're allowed to do. Time was not meant to be scheduled so arbitrarily."

"This is your choice, you know," the Doctor said, pulling a jar of jam from the fridge. "You could come with us. No time, no responsibilities, no murders. Well, almost no murders, there is the occasional… Just take a break from Earth. My offer still stands."

"Your offer to be one of the dozens of little companions you've had on the TARDIS? I'll pass, thanks."

"Well, it looks like you've found a companion of your own," the Doctor smiled. "John seems nice. Perhaps he can take care of your checkups from now on?"

"No," Sherlock said quickly. "John doesn't know about… I don't want him to know what I am."

"What you are? If he's been living here he knows everything important. You're brilliant, you're unique, and you come from an interesting family."

"We are not unique, we are freaks," he snapped. "I'd rather John never know that I'm not entirely human."

"Why?"

Sherlock ignored the question, sitting quietly across from his father. The Doctor smiled, pouring himself some tea. He knew something about caring for his friends.

Breakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreak

John followed Rose downstairs, still trying to wrap his mind around what they were telling him. It was impossible for this young couple to be Sherlock's parents, but they all seemed very committed to the fact. The way Rose had seen right through Sherlock's façade – it made him want to believe that they had to be related.

Rose knew her way around Mrs. Hudson's kitchen. The landlady was not in today, John was fairly sure he'd heard her mention something about shopping with their neighbor Mrs. Turner. Still, Rose made herself right at home, ignoring the decoy sweets jar on the table and pulling down the tin where she kept her best cakes and biscuits.

"You've been here before then?" John asked.

"More than once," Rose said, hopping up onto the counter and munching on a biscuit. "She's a sweet lady. Do you want one?" she asked offering him the tin.

He took one tentatively, glancing back towards the stairs. "Shouldn't we be heading back up?"

"Ah, just give them a minute. We haven't seen Sherlock in a while. His schedule tends to be a bit erratic."

"How long has it been?"

"What month is it?"

John blinked. "Um, January."

She almost dropped her cookie. "January? We missed Christmas again?"

He stared at her. "How did you miss Christmas?"

She bit her lip. "I think I'll let Sherlock tell you that, if he wants to." She leaned forward staring at him intently. "Now then, we have a moment. Tell me, Dr. John Watson," she said, enunciating each part of his name as if it were some foreign language, "what kind of wizard are you?"

"Excuse me?"

"I love my son. He is wonderful, and brilliant, and the one of the most important people in the universe, but I'm not stupid. People who don't know him the way I do…they don't understand him. He puts people off. Mycroft told me about the first time he met you. He was looking out for his brother, just like we asked him to. He said Sherlock was letting someone new into his life, and he tested you. He offered you quite a bit of money to spy on him for you, and you refused. How long had you known him, then?"

"About a day," John said uncomfortably. He had no idea Mycroft had any sort of superior to report to, he'd always assumed the eldest Holmes brother was at the top of the ladder, but now he heard that Mycroft reported his actions to this little blonde woman. He wondered for a moment just how much power this young woman held. She had Mycroft, and therefore the British government, entirely at her disposal. She had Sherlock, the smartest man he'd ever met, acting like a petulant child. He wasn't sure who exactly this Doctor was, but he guessed he might have some influence himself. Whoever Rose Tyler really was, she had three powerful men wrapped around her fingers with seemingly little effort.

"You see it, don't you?" Rose asked with a smile. "That extra spark he has, the thing that makes him wonderful. I look at my boys and I see the universe in their eyes, and I think you see it too. That's half of what makes you special."

"Sherlock is amazing. Brilliant," John nodded. He ventured a bold question. "How long have you known him?"

She shook her head. "You still don't believe I'm his mother."

He thought a moment. "No. Sorry, but…it's impossible. Physically impossible."

"I'm older than I look," she assured him. "Do you want to know the other half, then? Do you know what really makes you stand out, Dr. John Watson?"

"Okay," he said, frustrated that she was not budging on her seemingly obvious lie.

"My Sherlock gets admirers. Of course he does, have you seen him? But Sherlock…he has never been one to need socialization. He used to sit in his room for days if I'd let him, just reading away and exercising that mind of his. He had it in his head that he wanted to be as smart as his father, but that's just not realistic. Not with my lousy genes anyway. The point is, never once in all of his life has Sherlock lied about who he is."

"I don't understand."

"He doesn't go up to people on the street and announce all of his family's habits and traits, sure, but he has never hid them. He doesn't care what other people think about him. Except for you. Because of you, he's been scheduling our meetings so that we always find him alone in his flat. You've been living with him for more than a year, and I've never met you. He's never even mentioned you. We might have thought he was living alone if Mycroft hadn't been keeping us up to date."

"He's never mentioned me?" John said, more surprised than hurt.

"Never. Not once. He doesn't want these two parts of his life to collide. He cares about what you think of him, John, and that's something you should be proud of."

"Sherlock… he's something else. He's a good friend, most of the time."

Rose snorted.

"What?"

"Friend. I'm sure that's what the Doctor thinks too. He thinks of everyone in terms of their worth as a being, it's one of the things I love about him, but it blinds him sometimes. He loves his companions. He'd go to the end of the world for any of them, in fact that was our first date, but he doesn't see what I see."

"What do you see?"

"Like I said, John, I know my son. He doesn't have friends. He just has you," she said, hopping down from the counter. "Come on. That should be long enough."

John stood still, trying to work through what she'd said, but he finally gave up and just followed her upstairs.