John Watson rested his palms on the side of the crib, his fingers laced between the bars of wood as he stared down admiringly at the sleeping baby. The child's face was smooth and pink and unblemished by the cold outside, his tiny wet tongue traced patterns on his thin lips in his sleep, and he gargled and spluttered soothing little baby noises to himself. John melted.

For some reason, as is so often the way with babies, the boy then woke up. He fluttered his eyelids sleepily; a tired yawn stretched his mouth and threw the rays of the dying light around his soft, toothless gums. The child blinked at John, then he began to whine and grizzle hopelessly, John panicked, reaching down into the cot to pick up the squirming bundle. He held him close to his body and jiggled up and down on the spot like he had always seen people do before. Of course when it was other people it generally worked and the baby stopped crying. John cooed incoherent and nonsensical words at the child who eventually began to calm himself. When he had relaxed against him, John took the opportunity to study his wakeful face. His eyes were a light green yellow, the colour of dried grass. His hair was fair and wispy; John predicted it would be a dark blonde as he grew older, a shade darker than his own. The boy reached a tentative hand out to John, who was taken aback for a moment, but carefully lifted his hand so the boy could grasp at it. He gasped with the sudden overpowering wave of love which crashed into him with such force when the baby curled his tiny hand around his index finger. He gazed at the little fingers wrapped tightly over his own, each tipped with a pink nail. Without warning, John felt tears spring to his eyes, he blinked them away but they welled up again to obscure the corner of his vision.

The door to the nursery was pushed gently open, the hinges squealed in protest, John whipped his head round. In the doorway stood Sherlock, John almost couldn't believe it when he saw that brilliant man and knew that he was his, and moreover that he would soon be adopting a child with him. Their own little family, the thought of it made his heart swell with warmth every time. Sherlock looked nervous, his hands were folded behind his back, and then John noticed a second little shadow obscured by Sherlock's which hovered behind him, no taller than his waist. He bit back a cry of surprise and joy as Irene emerged from behind Sherlock, her hand twisted in his. John's logical mind was nagging at him that they had only planned on adopting one child, but the other part, the part which was utterly devoted and in love with Sherlock implored him to give his husband a chance. Sherlock coughed, "John, this is Irene" He said, Irene stepped forward boldly and smiled at him,

"Hi" She said.

"Hi" John replied.

"I see you've met Rory." She said, coming to stand by him, looking up at the baby cradled in John's arms with a contented quirk of her lips John recognised. John nodded, smiling at the baby. He barely noticed that Sherlock had drifted across the room and was now stood motionless behind him. Sherlock dipped his head and rested his chin on John's shoulder lovingly. "Rory is one of the quietest ones here, he hardly ever cries and he's really funny sometimes." She said enthusiastically, she sounded as though she was trying to sell him. Sherlock and John looked at her with amusement. She looked at the ground, "I just want him to have a loving family." She said quietly. They nodded in unison. "Irene has a real talent for drawing, John." He said, producing the girl's sketchbook from behind his back. He handed it to Irene, "Why don't you show John your artwork?" He said encouragingly. John shifted his hold on baby Rory and passed him awkwardly into Sherlock's waiting arms. Sherlock's face broke into a wide euphoric smile as soon as the child was settled in his arms.

An hour later John and Sherlock left the orphanage. They were both as happy as they could ever imagine being, grinning excitedly, and wandering arm in arm towards the road. The prospect of adopting two children was so thrilling that they couldn't even try to disguise their emotions. Irene had reacted so excitedly when they had put forward their intentions of possible adoption. She was selfless in ensuring that the baby be properly cared for and should be considered before her, but even more ecstatic when they announced that they were considering adopting both her and Rory. There was of course much to talk about, not to mention a vast amount of paperwork and assessments before they could become close to bringing the children to live with them, but they still held fast in their dreams of a family.

Sherlock laced their fingers together, holding John as close to him as he could manage. As the glittering lights of the main road became clearer and the rush of life and traffic could at last be heard above the rustle of the dying leaves in the trees, Sherlock bent his head close to John's ear and whispered enticingly. "You know, if we were able to conceive this child naturally, we would be, um..." he paused, searching for the most provocative way to phrase his next words. "...more sexually active than we are now" He murmured, nuzzling John's ear. John felt the warmth spreading to his fingertips with promise; he turned, causing Sherlock to wrap his arms around him in an enveloping hug.

"I can fix that" John replied, pulling his husband into a passionate kiss by the lapels of his coat. Sherlock folded John into him, and dragged his body to his so it was hard to tell them apart any longer.

"I love you, John" he breathed against his lips

"I love you too, Sherlock"