John had been the one to make the arrangements and endure the phone call. His parents seemed to actually be trying because they didn't mention Harry or Sherlock. It was actually pleasant, but he could tell it was rather forced. So he and Sherlock sent Rosie to Sally Donovan's (which took a lot of convincing, but John said Rosie needed a friend her own age), packed a weekend's worth of clothing and toiletries, and hopped on a 9:30 am train to what John called Torturedon, but it was really called Elvedon.

However, halfway through the six hour journey, John could feel his nerves start to get bad. He hadn't seen his parents in over half a decade, and now he was going to visit them for a weekend. He was starting to have second thoughts about the whole thing. What if everyone in the village had seen it? What if people started yelling things at him for it? What if his old school bullies revelled in the fact that he had started dating a man? He started to clench and unclench his fists because he was that tense.

Sherlock noticed John tense up, he was showing signs of nervous anger, the fist clenching was always the sign for that. Sherlock reached over and took John's hands in his, prying the fists open and raising John's palms to place a gentle kiss on each of them. He looked John in the eye and held his gaze seriously, mouthing 'I love you'. John's breathing seemed to ease a bit. He gave a small, lopsided smile.

The rest of the trip went smoothly. The anxiety was there, but not as much as before. Sherlock never let go of his hand except to use the loo. When they arrived at the station, John smelled the familiar air, recognized the old station from the day he left for Uni, and could see a few familiar but aged faces. In order to hide his face, he put his jacket hood up (he'd decided to go with a heavier coat for this trip). It seemed to work as nobody stopped him to say hi.

They grabbed a cab and went to the only good inn in the village. It seemed to have been recently refurbished, and even had a new owner. When he asked the woman at the front desk, it turned out the original owners Ethel and Cedric Morton had passed away about six years ago, which left the hotel to their son and daughter. John felt a little bad as he actually liked them and they were progressive. They were the first ones to take his sister in when she came out and they'd given her a job as a maid.

The couple were given one of the rooms on the second floor and Sherlock saw it was a comfortable medium sized room with a king size bed, an ensuite bathroom, a small couch, and a desk. It looked rustic, but had modern paintings on the wall as well as a few modern conveniences such as the flat screen TV, which just looked out of place.

They were scheduled to meet John's parents for dinner. There were a few hours to spare and Sherlock thought having John cuddle and watch crap telly would help him to relax. Sherlock pulled him onto the bed and handed him the remote control with a pointed look.

John knew there wasn't really anything good on, but he decided to go with one of Gordon Ramsey's many shows where he actually showed you how to cook, not just yelling in people's faces. They stayed like that for a few hours until it was finally time to leave. John had to take a few deep breaths before they got into the cab. He gave the address to the cabbie, except afterward, the cabbie gave John a look of recognition.

"You're Johnny Watson aren't you?" He asked.

The cab was shabby and the cabbie was old. He was likely the only cabbie needed in such a small village and was therefore also a key player in the village's gossip network. This was going to be awkward and uncomfortable for John, so Sherlock started to speak as John barely managed a nod.

"Yes, and you are recently divorced from your wife because of an affair with… ah! The town florist. The only reason this hasn't made you a social outcast is because you are the only cabbie in town and therefore essential to town gossip. Now can we please dispense with further chit-chat?"

John chuckled at the deductions. He still didn't recognize the cabbie, but it made him feel a bit better that Sherlock wasn't thrown off his game by the situation.

They arrived at a cosy cottage-style three bedroom house, which looked very much like the others in the village. Only the red door made it unique from its neighbours. There was a decently kept garden in the front with seasonal flowers. It looked very ordinary to Sherlock, but he could see it had a different effect on John. They had not touched on the way over, not willing to give the gossip network any more than they already had. Sherlock longed to hug John, but that would have to wait for further into their experiment. Once John had shakily paid the cabbie and exited the cab on trembling legs, Sherlock waited until they were well out of view before holding John by the shoulders and whispering.

"Remember the experiment, John. They have no hold over you, do not give them the satisfaction. Come on - into battle."

John squared his shoulders like the soldier he was and walked beside Sherlock down the garden path to the front door. He rapped on the door and took a deep breath. He heard a set of heeled footsteps approach the door, and then it creaked open to reveal John's mother, Sophia Watson.

"Mum." John greeted.

She smiled brightly at her son, but then caught sight of Sherlock and her smile faltered by a fraction. Sherlock looked her over seeing that she had medium length wavy hair that was obviously dyed dirty blonde and brown eyes as opposed to John's blue ones (his father most likely had John's eyes unless it was a recessive gene). She had an hourglass shape but had clearly struggled to maintain a steady weight. She was dressed well, in a pair of three inch heels in a nude hue only a few seasons out of date. Her black dress pants skimmed the top of them - tailored to fit her, as she was about 5"4'. She also wore a white blouse, and had numerous bracelets and rings on. She looked more enthusiastic to see John than Sherlock had expected. It was likely she had initiated the contact, but he would need to meet the father to be certain - there was insufficient data.

"John." She greeted him in a posh Northern accent (unlike the rest of the village, she was a Northerner but definitely from below the midlands), then met Sherlock's eyes. "And this must be Sherlock Holmes."

"Yes, pleasure to meet you Mrs. Watson." Sherlock smiled politely as he'd been taught by his Mummy. If there was ever a need to turn on the Holmes charm, this was it.

She smiled at him then ushered the two men inside. The entrance hall hadn't really changed for John. The only difference he actually saw was new wallpaper that was buttercream with flower designs on it.

"Hamish!" Sophia called. "John is here with his friend!"

'Friend… wow.' John thought, nudging Sherlock to prevent the inevitable eye-roll. The entrance hall had the stairs to the upper floor on the left side, then to the right side was the entrance to the lounge which had a flat screen telly, a sofa, two chairs, a coffee table, a fireplace in the left corner, and a few houseplants. On the left side of the lounge was an archway that lead to another small hallway and you could see there was an archway that lead to the kitchen.

The two took their coats off and hung them by the door as they heard the stairs creak against hard thuds. Sherlock watched as Hamish Watson came downstairs in a mauve colored jumper, which was not a big surprise, he thought of John's collection of jumpers (it had to be genetic, he joked to himself), otherwise some part of John still held to this image of masculinity. Hamish's jeans were washed out and very worn, he hadn't even bothered to dress up for the occasion whilst his wife had, which indicated that she was the one encouraging this reunion but was not very well acquainted with technology and unable to send the message herself. The thumping on the stairs had been caused by Mr. Watson's work-boots - really? Sherlock thought, was it so necessary for the man to assert his masculinity? He was a shorter than average, heavy-set man who was balding (Sherlock observed a healthy head of hair on Sophia, so it was unlikely John would begin to go bald as that gene came from the mother's side.) The hair that was left was white, which was unsurprising given how grey John had already gone. He had the same tanned skin as John though with the deep wrinkles of a man who worked in the sun often. Their eyes were the same blue. Sherlock could vaguely see the resemblance to John's nose, but he was a bit too aged to tell.

"Hi dad." John said stiffly.

Hamish looked him up and down then looked at Sherlock, and back to John. He nodded to them.

"John." He said. "It's… good to see you again."

"It feels weird to be back."

"It's nice to meet you Mr. Watson." Sherlock said with the same politeness he had given John's mother. He was determined to be on his best behaviour… for now.

The elder Watson 'hmed' with a nod and gestured for everyone to go to the lounge. John felt extremely uncomfortable as he didn't know what to say or do. A part of him wanted to scream at his parents, to just cuss them out and tell them he's been doing better than they ever hoped for him, but he knew he'd get more satisfaction from the experiment. He gestured for himself and Sherlock to sit on the couch, and made sure to be closer than usual. It seemed to put off his dad a bit as he sat down, but his mum just looked neutral.

"So, Johnny." Sophia started. "How is life in London?"

"Great. I work at a clinic, help Sherlock solve murders, and blog about it."

"Not exactly a normal lifestyle, is it?Not to mention actually working for the NHS." Hamish said, eyes flashing at the organisation universally detested by Tories.

Though what Hamish had said played into all his worries about Rosie, Sherlock didn't let it affect him, he maintained a pleasant expression while he studied Hamish for signs of stress. He observed Sophia equally, this information was as close to the control group of an experiment as he was likely to get. He decided to begin trying his luck, with words before actions.

"Oh John would be terribly bored with anything else. It may not be normal, but it suits us." Sherlock gave his sweetest grin, usually reserved for grieving clients and people he had to chat up for information.

Sophia cleared her throat.

"Well, Johnny has always been one for adventure." She said with a smile. "Even at a young age. When he was five he heard about the town legend of treasure hidden near the old caves by elves. He and Harriet went to search for it but John fell into a cave and broke his leg. Even then, he still wanted to go do things like that."

"Was it his right leg?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah." Hamish answered. "Right in the middle of his calf. The doctor said he was lucky it was just the leg and nothing else. He wouldn't have been able to climb up with just Harriet alone." Hamish seemed to flinch a bit at the use of his daughter's name.

Well, Sherlock thought, that explained the psychosomatic limp… something to explore at a later date, he doubted there was even a scar given how fast children's bones healed. He also noted Hamish's flinch at Harry's name, which John also saw, his fist curling between them, jaw tightening in a way that would be imperceptible to anyone without Sherlock's observational skills.

"Yeah…" John said awkwardly.

John knew they were just trying to do polite conversation before some big discussion. It was the same tactic they used for him and Harry back in the day. The last time they did it was when they kicked Harry out, so there was no doubt it was about him and Sherlock this time. The only difference was John was in his 40's and didn't live at home.

"I've been following your blog, John." Sophia said. "You've really worked with the British government on cases?"

"Yeah. Sherlock's brother works for the government, so he sometimes has us do classified cases."

"My brother has always been inclined toward bureaucracy." Sherlock noted. "He lives for ordering his subordinates around."

"That's a way to put it." John muttered.

Hamish looked like he had enough of the pleasantries.

"This is ridiculous!" Hamish announced.

'Here we go' John thought.

"Hamish." Sophia snapped.

"No, Sophie, I won't let you invite our son here without addressing the real issue: John has become a queer." He said snidely.

"Hamish stop it right now!"

"You had a wife John. You have a child for God's sake, and yet you still decided to be in a relationship with a man and expose your child to that unclean lifestyle! Why couldn't you just find another woman to raise your daughter with? What possessed you to go down the same path as your whore of a sister!?"

"Enough." Sherlock said emphatically, he would not tolerate any more insults to John. He snatched up John's hand from the couch, John's fist uncurled and immediately interlaced with his own fingers. "If you want to talk about unclean lifestyles, we'll start there - where exactly do you think Harry learned to drink her problems away Mr. Watson? Your home had none of the unconditional love and acceptance that ours does, no child could ask for more support than Rosie gets. You couldn't have been bothered to attend John's wedding to a woman, whom I might add was actually a trained assassin, so not quite the loveable mother-to-be she showed the world. When that same wife died you didn't bother to attend the funeral. You claim to want contact with your granddaughter yet you have shown no interest in her life so far, not so much as a card when she was born. You have done nothing for John since he left for medical school and you have no right to cast aspersions on the character of a son you don't even know - outside, apparently, of his blog posts.

"You repel me, both of you, the homophobic father who feels he has to wear work-boots indoors to appear masculine in front of his son, and the mother who couldn't even reach out to her son because she was too stuck under his thumb to do the right thing. Be honest, you couldn't even try to contact John without your husband's permission. No, don't try to deny it, I know I'm correct. You'll find I usually am. Don't bother to contact us again."

John couldn't help the smile that came across his face. Sherlock had said everything he himself wanted to shout, and it just showed how in sync they were. Without a word, they both stood up and went to the door for their coats. Hamish stomped out through the kitchen probably to go get a drink.

"John, wait!" Sophia called as she ran after them.

"Let me ask you something before you start begging me to stay." John said. "Have either of you tried to talk to Harry before you messaged me?"

Sophia didn't meet his eyes and looked incredibly guilty. John couldn't even bear to look at her.

"Before you even think about patching things up with me, talk to Harry, because she's the one that needs help, not me."

And with that, the two left the cottage. John was honestly seething from their confrontation. He knew he shouldn't have come, he bloody knew it, and yet he still came back to this godforsaken village! He started pulling at his hair and was close to screaming out of anger.

"This was fucking worthless!" He declared. "I knew this wouldn't help anything."

"I'm sorry John, I'd hoped for some form of reconciliation, but their hatred was far more ingrained than I had hoped."

"No shit, Sherlock!"

Sherlock hadn't expected a miracle, but he'd at least expected some civility, he'd even been on his best behaviour. They hadn't even begun their experiment before all hell broke loose. Clearly John got his temper from his father (something Rosie seemed to have inherited too). John stormed away from him and Sherlock followed more slowly, giving John the space he often craved after a fight. He briefly calculated whether the hotel was close enough to reach on foot (4 blocks - so quite manageable) and whether John was even headed in the correct direction. It seemed he was.

John couldn't exactly walk around London on his normal route so he resolved to walking to the hotel, which was about four blocks away. It was infuriating that his dad hadn't changed. He knew his mum was torn up about Harry being kicked out, but she had the role of the housewife in the eyes of the town, therefore she forced herself to accept his father's decision. Halfway through the walk, he stopped and looked up at the sky. Had his life really come to this? Just storming out whenever he had a problem? He didn't know if that was the best way to do it anymore because that was what his father did: stormed off and had a beer.

Sherlock briefly considered keeping his distance when John stopped to contemplate the sky. He never really had understood human fascination with the stars, they existed so far away it was of no consequence to daily life at all. Besides the case involving the Van Beuren Supernova, he'd never bothered with astronomy. John looked deep in thought and Sherlock thought it might be safe to approach him. Wasn't this usually the time for a hug? He was slightly afraid that John might punch anything that touched him right now, so he made sure to speak first.

"John? Is there anything I can do?"

He shrugged.

"Unless you can change my parents, I don't think there is."

"I could ask Mycroft for replacements." He said with a smirk.

John chuckled, but his face fell once again. Before he could say another word, a gruff voice yelled,

"Hey, you's Johnny Wasson!"

The two men turned to see a man come up to them. He seemed to be a quite drunk.

Sherlock gave him one look, determined he worked as a woodcutter from the sawdust that clung to his boot-laces, saw his heavy beard and emphatically masculine air and deduced that he was probably insecure about his latent homosexuality and was one of those men who would attack 'queers' to prove he was 'straight'. He was also quite the chav, from his lack of grammar and tracksuit pants.

"And you are?" John asked.

"You don't 'member me? Alber' Brooks! We wen' to Sssecondary togever!"

The only thing John remembered of Albert Brooks was being bashed for his sister being gay, as well as jokes about getting her in on a threesome. He was one of the utter chav pricks of the school and preyed on weaker kids to make himself feel better. Everyone knew his mum was a drunk and his father left when he was four, but no one seemed to pick up he was obviously gay. The only reason he'd backed off back in the day was because John caught Albert kissing a boy in the backwoods of his property, and John basically blackmailed him to stop picking on everyone.

"I remember you." John said cooly. "You kept saying my sister was a queer slut."

"Oh, come on. You's not shtill mad 'bout that, are ya?" He lazily removed his hand from his tracksuit pants and waved it in the air in an unsteady arc.

"I'm saying I don't remember you in a good way."

After the night John had just had, this old school bully was the last thing they needed… or perhaps it was the best thing for John right now. The guy was just too drunk to realise what the look on John's face meant - and he was getting closer by the second. Sherlock knew his Army Doctor would take him down in seconds and it would be quite cathartic. Perhaps not the best habit to get into but, as a reformed drug addict, he really had no right to tell John off for it.

"Well, no one's shurprised you ended up a queer." Albert said with a smirk. "You juss moved to London wif this guy and do all this bullshit with him. Tha' wife waz juss a lie to cover up you was buggering him."

John snapped at that moment. He immediately tackled Albert and started punching him in the face, hard. He didn't care if there was a broken nose or fractured skull, he wanted to hurt him, he wanted him to bleed.

After the first punch, Sherlock grabbed his hand on the upswing, but John shook him off and kept punching the man on the ground. Sherlock was reconsidering catharsis versus bad coping mechanisms and he managed to pull John off of the man from behind. John nearly clipped him with his elbow but Sherlock turned him around (risking possible injury) to look him in the eyes.

"John, this isn't the way to deal with your anger - this is - it's me and cocaine, John, it's destructive. Please stop." John met his eyes and took a breath. "Come back to the hotel with me, your hand is going to need attention." At that, he turned, dragged the bloodied drunk onto the pavement, and left him there.

"Thas righ', Jawnny." Albert called with a slur. "Walk 'way. That's wha' you alwayz do!"

Sherlock saw John take a step towards the man before coming to his senses again. He reached to John and led him away with a hand on the small of his back before the idiot could incite him further. He watched John relax in increments the further they walked and by the time they reached the hotel, John's breathing was regular and his shoulders were relaxed. He still seemed dazed and allowed Sherlock to lead him to their room and inspect his fist, before he spoke again.

"I'm sorry you had to see that." John apologized.

"I was more worried about your unhealthy coping mechanisms. I think we will have to arrange another session with Terence. Rosamund cannot be allowed to learn that behaviour, John."

"You're right. It wouldn't be good for her."

Sherlock found John's small first aid kit and disinfected the damaged fist, applying ointment and wrapping it in gauze. John flinched a bit when the ointment was applied, but other than that everything was fine. They decided to watch some bad movies and order room service for dinner. They had settled on a rom-com called Bridget Jones' Diary and ate fish and chips for their dinner. The amount of times Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed during the movie calmed John considerably.

"I'll need to delete that immediately. That was awful." Sherlock scoffed.

John chuckled.

They got ready for bed, taking turns in the bathroom as per Sherlock's rules. Then they climbed into bed properly and cuddled together. They didn't say anything as there wasn't really much more to be said in words. Instead, there were kisses. Intense kisses, soft kisses, heated kisses, an array of kisses initiated by Sherlock. It was as if to say "I love you, and your parents are idiots", which was good enough for John. Who cared what his parents thought? He had an amazing daughter, a fantastic job, great friends, and a fantastic lover (they hadn't really discussed labels yet), what more could he need?

Those thoughts helped him go to sleep.

The next morning John and Sherlock decided they had no reason to stay in Elvedon for longer than they had to, so they checked out early and went for breakfast at the local cafe. It was a bit busy as it was a Saturday morning, but John didn't get approached. Apparently the waitress remembered him and knew exactly what he'd wanted from his years of coming there before. Sherlock, however, got a plate of toast and preserves, which he merely picked at, uninterested in food.

Unfortunately, their perfectly fine morning was ruined by something John didn't expect: his parents on the other side of the room. It looked like they were with a bunch of friends for a breakfast, maybe a monthly occurrence? He didn't want to know.

Sherlock was busy looking up the train schedule on his phone so John noticed them first. As Hamish approached the table, John's stomach fell somewhere in the vicinity of his shoes, the breakfast wasn't sitting very well anymore. Mr. Watson cleared his throat and with no further ado announced,

"We want to meet our granddaughter, because no matter what, she's a Watson."

John scowled.

"She's not your granddaughter, and the only Watson she is, is one that doesn't hate someone for who they choose to date."

"But John, she's our blood. Blood runs thicker than water."

"Sometimes it shouldn't. Blood has no bearing on parenthood. I believe it is said that the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb." Sherlock sneered.

"You aren't her father, Holmes. She's John's blood."

"Mr. Watson, if blood relation is so important to you then do heterosexual couples who adopt because they are unable to conceive not qualify as parents? Does that make step-parents ineligible to parental rights? What about in vitro fertilization for couples unable to conceive? Are they not parents if a child is born? Are you going to start in on couples that have children out of wedlock as well? If you really think about it, nobody can be more than 50% of a parent, genetically.

"Parenthood can most definitely exist without blood relation, and quite frankly, in our case, we have thrived without it. Your grandchild is exceptional, Mr. Watson, and I am proud to be able to co-parent her. I love her as much as any blood relative, I always have since I first laid eyes on her at her birth… an occasion, I might add, her paternal 'blood relatives' were unwilling to attend. If any of that makes you uncomfortable, the adoption papers are being processed as we speak and I'm afraid your permission is not required."

"Sherlock, that's quite enough. The only person who gets to decide whether you're a father to her is Rosie, and she's made her feelings abundantly clear." John side-eyed his father then looked back to Sherlock. "You don't need to be all defensive, we've already chosen you, love."

To make a point, John leaned over the table and kissed Sherlock on the cheek, right in front of his father and half the town. Some scowls were given, others just looked indifferent, most didn't care. His father though gave a disparaging look.

"Don't taunt him, dad, he will make you eat your words. It's a Holmes thing."

Hamish grunted in anger and stormed back to his table. Everyone at the table were giving both Hamish and the couple disapproving looks. 'Good' John thought. 'Let him feel the ridicule he deserves.'

No one gave them any grief during what was left of their breakfast, and John had called Sally to tell her that things didn't go well so they were coming back early. But he was happily and snarkily told that Sally's son Oliver and Rosie had become quite close over the past day. He knew she was telling him that to rub it in his face, but he just thought it was brilliant irony. He'd only tell Sherlock when they got home though.

The train ride was uneventful and the cabbie wasn't chatty, which was a blessing at that point. They fetched Rosie from Donovan's flat.

"Daddy! Papa!" Rosie squealed when Sally brought her outside in her carseat.

"Aren't you three adorable, so it's Papa Sherlock now?" Sally said with a smirk, it was a lot less hostile than she'd been to Sherlock in the past - she hadn't even called him 'Freak'.

"Yes, Papa, soon to be official. I'm adopting her."

Sally gaped for a second, but recovered quickly.

"Congratulations, I suppose."

"So it is true that pregnancy affects a woman's brain for two years after the birth, I'd always wondered about that." Sherlock said, but not with anywhere near as much venom as he normally would.

Sally had mellowed out and Sherlock could do the same. Sherlock took Rosie from her and actually smiled.

Sally looked smug when she said, "Rosie and Oliver have actually become quite close, it looks like they may become good friends."

Several expressions flickered across Sherlock's face before he settled on the 'polite' expression he'd used on Mr. and Mrs. Watson the first time.

"That's splendid, isn't it John?" He sensed that John had already known this little tidbit and gave him a suspicious look.

"I honestly think it's a good thing." John said sincerely. "She needs friends, Sherlock. We don't really have other friends with babies, so this is good for her."

John had seen plenty of pictures of Oliver, and had met the kid a few times himself. He was actually bright and was easy to make laugh. He also didn't really care about gender roles. According to Sally, he asked to play with dolls on a few occasions, and Rosie still liked girly things, just not as much as scientific things. He wasn't surprised that they got along.

Sherlock sighed internally. Rosie, his Honeybee would potentially be spending time with a child who had half of Anderson's DNA. Surely even Mycroft could find a better candidate for a 'friend' for her. Despite all his previous years of mutual dislike with Donovan, he hoped the child had at least gotten her IQ, which (in spite of her desire to repeatedly sleep with Anderson) was actually quite high. He wished he believed in a deity he could pray to for nurture to triumph over nature in this instance. At least Anderson was not involved in the child's upbringing… the poor thing had a chance to grow up reasonably well.

"I will evaluate that at a 'play-date' as I believe they are called, at our flat, which you can organise with John."

"Not at that bloody toxic waste dump! I found eyeballs in the microwave!"

"He doesn't do experiments upstairs anymore, Sally." John defended. "He had all of his experiments moved down to 221C away from the main living areas. He specifically did it for future children running around the flat."

"Well thank God for that." Sally sighed. "You may actually manage this parenting thing, 'Papa'."

John chuckled. He was glad she just did teasing nowadays because he didn't want Rosie to hear the things she used to say.

"Eyeballs! Eyeballs at home!" Rosie said excitedly.

"No sweetheart, you are not playing with eyeballs at home." John said to his daughter.

"But EYEBALLS!"

"Oh God, she's just like him!" She stage-whispered to John, who shrugged with an expression that said 'it can't be helped'.

"Well, this has been… entertaining, Donovan. Thank you for taking care of Rosie but we must get home." Sherlock said, looking insistently at the cab, which still had the meter running and handed the carseat to John.

"See you Sally."

Rosie also waved with a little 'bye-bye' as John carried the carseat to the cab. On the way home, Rosie talked about all the things she and Oliver did. They played dolls, she taught him words, crawl-raced him, and apparently Oliver just went along with it and even enjoyed it. Sherlock looked displeased throughout the entire thing, and John just listened intently. Rosie seemed to really like Oliver, and John planned on giving them more playdates.

As soon as he could, John scheduled a session with Terence. He was a little worried about his tendency towards showing his anger physically. They greeted each other with the usual pleasantries and went upstairs. Sherlock was still exiled to Mrs. Hudson's with Rosie for John's sessions and he gave John a quick kiss in the cheek as he passed them going down.

"Bye-bye Daddy." Rosie said.

"Goodbye Rosebud."

"Goodbye Rosie." Terence said before settling into Sherlock's chair with John in his own.

"So your visit to your parents didn't go well?"

"Not well at all."

"You've never spoken very well of them, due to the way they treated your sister. Was arriving at your childhood home with Sherlock very worrying to you?"

"I had no worries about Sherlock being there, I just knew something bad would happen before something good happened. Nothing good really happened at all."

"How did Sherlock react?"

"He actually made the big speech right before we left. He said he didn't have high hopes about my parents reconciling with me, but he still felt bad for me."

"This all came about because of a blog post you made proclaiming you to be a couple, correct?"

"Yeah. My dad had commented asking to meet Rosie."

"Do you think he did that on his own or was it your mother that urged the reunion?"

"Sherlock deduced just by how my parents were dressed that it was my mum who wanted to reach out, and I can't say I'm surprised. My mum was always the one trying to get my dad to do the right thing, but whether she did it or not was on my dad."

"Were you alright with Sherlock speaking on your behalf that way?"

John never thought of it like that. He just figured it was Sherlock reading what he was thinking and saying it, not speak for him.

"I didn't think of it that way. I just thought Sherlock read me (as usual) and said what I was thinking, but also what he felt."
"Did you see it as a loving gesture?" Terence asked making a note.

"Yeah. He just knows me well enough to know what I wanted to say."

"Does Sherlock do that often, specifically with other people?"

"Not say what he thinks they'll say, just what is actually going on with them. I don't think he says what they're thinking as a way to, y'know, help anyone else."

"So your connection to Sherlock seems quite unique. Has he ever seemed that intimately acquainted with anyone else?"

The first person who came to mind was… The Woman. Irene Adler had successfully wormed her way into Sherlock's mind and soul, and even outsmarted him in a way he only thought Moriarty could do. John didn't have fond memories connected with her, just jealousy and sadness. At the same time she was denying that she was in love with Sherlock, and it caused her downfall.

"Irene Adler… The Woman."

"I do know of her." Terence said, making a note.

"Was that the only time when you thought Sherlock might be interested in someone?"

"Only Irene Adler."

"So, how did it make you feel when it appeared that Sherlock had feelings for Irene Adler?"

John paused and considered his answer.

"I guess… at first that I didn't mind because I wasn't fully aware of my feelings for Sherlock yet. I mean, when we first met, I thought he was good looking and he shut me down when I asked him if he dated. Then I thought it just wasn't best to date him. When it turned out Irene wasn't dead, I felt like I wasn't ever going to be good enough. I mean, I can't go to Tesco without having a row with the machine, and she faked her own death with a body Sherlock would recognize… by its measurements."

John sighed.

"I felt like no matter what, there would always be someone else better than me in the world that Sherlock would feel... even a little emotion towards. Meanwhile, she basically accused me of being his boyfriend, but I denied it and said I wasn't gay, very dramatically in fact. Then there was a sliver of hope that Sherlock wouldn't care because Irene said she was gay, but he still tried to impress her when she hid at our flat. Seven seconds was how long it took to deduce the code, and he was doing it to impress her. Then she texted him on his birthday, and I told him that he should talk to her and go out with her because his chance at a relationship would be gone before he knew it… but I was talking about me."

Terence made a small note. "Well it's progress that you were willing to admit what your true desires were at that point."

John smiled softly, "I wasn't going to tell him right then because I was still grieving Mary, but I had hoped that he would see what I was talking about."

"It seems to have been a good thing that he did… eventually. Now, I think it's pertinent to go over some of the anger management exercises I've given you in the past, and perhaps add some others."

A week after their return from Elvedon, John figured he would do something nice for Sherlock considering the hell they went through with John's parents. Even though they were a couple, he and Sherlock had not yet been on a proper date. One could argue that their equivalent of dates were solving murders and catching serial killers, but John still wanted to go somewhere nice for one night. With a bit of discussion, he convinced Sherlock that they should go to Angelo's for their date as kind of a throwback to their first ever case together. John even put on the same jumper he wore the night they chased the cabbie.

He had arranged for Mrs. Hudson to babysit, and reserved the table by the window at Angelo's. Sherlock thought that this was some kind of sentimental nod to their first dinner together. He took extra care with his hair and wore a nice suit with a white shirt. John was taking him on a 'date'. They took a cab to the restaurant and Angelo greeted them with a wide smile, mentioning the blog entry and how they had finally gotten their act together.

"Yeah… it's been great." John said sheepishly as they sat down.

"Does nobody have anything better to do than read John's blog? There has to be more to your lives." Sherlock muttered.

"Well yer life ain't normal. Compared to the rest of us, ya got the life of secret agents." Angelo insisted.

"I have the life of a stay-at-home-parent most of the time, actually." Sherlock said.

"Well you have to bring Rosie in some time when you two lovebirds aren't on a date."

"Actually, Angelo, can you bring us a candle?" John asked to stop the conversation.

"Coming right up."

And the restaurant owner disappeared to the back, leaving the two lovers at the table with their menus. Sherlock disregarded it as he always ordered the tortellini with white sauce.

"Well, that was more than a little embarrassing." Sherlock grinned shyly at John.

"He at least has a way of making people remember the restaurant with the energy he has."

John looked at the menu… he had a bit of a plan for what they were going to do tonight. There were things John hadn't said that first night he had regretted not saying before, and he figured (even though it was childish) that he'd start over that conversation. He would say what he should have said that first night.

"I figured this was the best place to cement our relationship, fix what we screwed up the first time." John said honestly.

"It is apt. You're not going to start asking who Mycroft is again, are you?"

"No, I think we can skip that bit… I'll just go straight to my question about girlfriends." John winked, urging Sherlock to play along.

Sherlock smiled indulgently at him and repeated, "Girlfriend? No, not really my area."

John replied as he had that night, with an 'Mm' then said,

"Oh, right... D'you have a boyfriend then?"

Sherlock smiled slyly and said: "I'd like one."

"Oh really?"

"Yes."

"Am I in the running for that?"

"I do believe you're the frontrunner."

Sherlock nearly giggled at the utter silliness of this, that was somehow making his heart (well not his actual heart, of course, his hormones) flutter and feel warm. Instead he attempted a saucy grin.

"I'm guessing you don't date that many people to begin with, though with those cheekbones I'd find it hard to believe."

John was doing his best not to smile like an idiot. It felt rather cathartic to finally redo that night all those years ago, even if they hadn't gotten into a TARDIS and actually redone it.

"Actually, no, I don't date… usually. I'd be making a special exception."

"I guess I'm lucky then." John ended that with a wink.

"I do believe I'm the lucky one." Sherlock almost cringed at that, but he also actually meant it.

Sherlock reached out a hand to pull John's jaw close and gave him a slow, sexy kiss, which he ended with a grin and a wink when he pulled away.

Somehow, John knew that was something Sherlock would have done years ago, the wink especially. He figured his lover was channeling his former arsehole self, who was really cocky. But from that kiss, he felt like a pile of goo. They had just done that in public, and right before he could say more, Angelo came back with the candle and a bottle of wine.

"Figured it's a special occasion, so I got ya the best we have in stock."

Sherlock actually laughed at that, it was partly the ridiculousness of it all and those hormones again. Angelo patted him on the back and took their order, returning to the kitchen, because he always cooked Sherlock's meal himself.

"I think that was a good redo, don't you think?" John asked.

"Far better than the first time. I regretted that 'married to my work' thing for years."

John chuckled and Sherlock joined in, just like the crime scene they had giggled at that night. But there were certain things they hadn't discussed yet, like labels. They were a bit old to be boyfriends, so what were they?

"So what do we call this, anyway? Are we boyfriends? Lovers? Partners?"

"Lovers?" Sherlock looked stunned. "Definitely not, and boyfriends sounds juvenile. I prefer partners, we've always been that to each other, now it just means a little more."

"That's true. But it used to be you calling the shots, remember that?"

"Of course. It's an equal partnership now, though. It has been since you moved back home."

He realised he had thought of John as his 'partner in crime-solving' but more in a sort of assistant capacity. Their relationship had changed after Mary entered their lives and now it had changed again when John had moved in with Rosie. Sherlock deferred to him on parenting issues and until the adoption request, he hadn't felt like an equal father figure to Rosie. It was odd how things sometimes changed without one even realising it. He thought it was something worth reinforcing, for John's sake.

"We're equal partners John, and we should keep it that way."

John felt his heart swell at Sherlock's declaration. It wasn't too long ago that Sherlock was the one running off after telling him to do something. It was usually 'Sherlock had me look up this' or 'Sherlock wants to go here', but now they both had a say on what was going on. The fact that Sherlock recognized that was much more than the Sherlock he met over half a decade ago. It just showed that people can change, even a self proclaimed 'high functioning sociopath'.

They walked back home after dinner, hand in hand. Sherlock was more than a bit tipsy, which made John laugh because he'd barely had two glasses of wine. They both laughed as they recounted how badly the case on the drunken stag night had gone.

"Clueing for looks." Sherlock said in between giggles, "D'you really say that?"

"I did… but that was just before you face-planted on the carpet and threw up on the crime scene!" They were close to 221B by this time, and trying to stifle their giggles. They knew Rosie was asleep at Mrs. Hudson's flat and they didn't want to wake her. John opened the door softly and tried to keep a tipsy Sherlock quiet on the stairs until they could get to their bedroom… which was difficult because he would occasionally trip on the stairs.

"I thought you abused substances in the past." John hissed. "How are such a fucking lightweight?"

"Alcohol… s'not my drug of choice… y'know that… slows down brain… makes me dumb. Cocaine, heroin, better."

"Only you would think that." John said as they got into the flat.

The only thing he could think to do was get Sherlock a glass of water and get them both into bed. It was funny to see Sherlock drunk, but not something they needed for an extended period of time.

"Let's get you to bed, and I'll bring you a glass of water."

"Mmm… 'kay."

After getting Sherlock into pajamas and under the covers, John made his way to the kitchen where he got a glass and filled it up with tap water. He took out some paracetamol with a child-proof cap and put it in the drawer of Sherlock's night stand, just in case. He made Sherlock drink the water. Then he carried out his ablutions and came to bed. He gave Sherlock a sweet kiss on the lips before Sherlock wrapped him in his limbs like an octopus and passed out cold. John tried his hardest not to laugh at Sherlock passing out during a kiss, but he held it back.

When he was sure Sherlock wouldn't wake up again, John sent a quick text to Mrs. Hudson that they got home alright and to bring Rosie in the morning.

He fell asleep just fine.