John P.O.V.

Since Mycroft came over yesterday, Sherlock hasn't stopped looking at me like I'm a second away from exploding. It is utterly annoying, and even though I keep asking him not to do that, his eyes insist on meeting mine.

"Sherlock, are you going to keep doing that?" I ask him, when I notice he's staring at me while we eat breakfast in the kitchen.

Sherlock takes a mouthful of toast and chews loudly with an amused smile. "Doing what?" he says and grins with those perfectly annoying lips of his.

"That!" I sigh and roll my eyes, "Stop looking at me like that!"

"I'm not looking at you, John, I'm looking at your mug. It's far more interesting," he tries to hold a giggle as he knows he's just driving me insane. I will eventually go mad because of this man.

"My mu- are you kidding me? Why? What have I done wrong in life to deserve this?!" I mutter to myself sarcastically. Unfortunately, sensing sarcasm isn't one of Sherlock's natural gifts, so the smile disappeared and he frowns instead.

"Very well then," he says, as he gets up from his seat and vanishes into the living room. He's a bloody drama queen. I yell after him, but of course, he doesn't answer or return to the kitchen.

I get up and start washing the dishes. Sherlock's plate is still full of omelette and toast. I think about just keeping it on the counter, but I know Sherlock well enough to know that he won't touch it again anytime soon.

I enter the living room to encounter one of the most special things I've ever seen: Sherlock is hugging Rachel tightly, humming her the only lullaby he knows. I've never seen him so peaceful, so pleased and not in a rush to find some triple murder. I can't help but smile broadly as I refuse to think about everything that happened in the last few weeks. What happens now, right now, this very moment; that's the only thing that should be important.

"Feeling better, then?" Sherlock asks suddenly and his perfectly genuine smile returns to his face. I nod and his smile gets even wider. "Good, does it mean that we can finally talk about my dear brother's announcement?" I roll my eyes and sit next to him. Sharing a seat on the couch has become some kind of a habit to the both of us; funny how it rarely happened before.

"The Moran thing, you mean? Hardly an announcement. We knew we weren't going to be safe anytime soon. What is there to talk about?"

Sherlock sighs in response, lifts Rachel in his hands and turns her toward me.

"Well, I don't know. What do you think, Rachel? Father can be a complete idiot sometimes." Sherlock gets up and takes her into the kitchen, making her a bottle of formula. I have nothing to say, really.

Sherlock must know that I will do anything to keep him and Rachel safe. He isn't that detached, is he? Well, you can never know when it comes to Sherlock Holmes. I follow him into the kitchen and watch him quietly as he feeds Rachel."What?" he asks, after a few seconds of silence. He doesn't sound angry or rude, he even sounds happy, and that's all I could have wished for.

"Nothing, it's just that... you know I'll do anything to protect her, right? And you, of course. No matter who this Moran bloke is, I won't let him get anywhere near you two. You're everything I got left, the only important things I got left." Sherlock walks toward me and his eyes are full of affection that I can't believe I didn't see until just a few days ago.

He hugs me with one arm, as the other still holds on to Rachel.

"We know," he whispers and takes Rachel, who is practically asleep in his arm, upstairs to my bedroom.

I am glad that I have him in my life, that I have him to make me feel secure. He cares so much about little Rachel that I wouldn't be surprised if people believe he is Rachel's father, not me.

It is charming, really, the way he loves and cares for her. As if she is his own.

It certainly feels right now like she is ours.

Over the past three months Sherlock and I developed some kind of a normal routine; as much as a thing like 'normal' can be with Sherlock.

I would wake up, go to the clinic, come back home, make dinner for the both of us, and then Sherlock would go to the Yard or to Bart's to work on some cases. We never left Rachel alone, but there weren't many times we were with her together.

We still have to work; I need the money and Sherlock needs to keep himself away from the curse of boredom.

We haven't heard about the Moran thing again, but we know that he's still out there, planning his way to us.

But now it's Sunday morning, well, almost morning, and Rachel is crying out for food or for a clean diaper. I wake up from the couch and suddenly the crying stops and then increases.

Without a second thought I'm taking my pistol from behind the mantelpiece (where Sherlock hides it after he shoots the wall) and go upstairs quietly.

I almost shot the tall figure that is holding my daughter, but as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see that the tall figure is just Sherlock's unbelievably annoying brother.
"Mycroft, what the hell? I almost shot you! Why are you here?" I say to him as I put the gun down on the nightstand and take Rachel from Mycroft's arms. She is completely frightened by him, and I can definitelyunderstand why.
"Oh, Doctor Watson, just the man I wanted to see. Come downstairs, we need to have a little talk." And without another word he leaves the room, and heads downstairs. I really wish Sherlock was here to make him leave.
"You can call, you know, or at least knock. No need to break in like that and scare her." Rachel is still crying loudly as we follow the annoying figure down the stairs. "Don't cry sweetie," I try to calm her, "I don't like this, either." I hold her close and kiss her forehead. Mycroft sits on Sherlock's armchair and eyes me, just like his brother, as if he's more than welcome to. He isn't.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" I ask him when Rachel finally shows signs of calming down. I can't believe that the man I love is actually related to this arrogant and idiotic person, who breaks into my flat in 3 in the morning. He's really lucky that Sherlock isn't here, he would kick him out without a second thought.
I sit across him, wait for some kind of an excuse for his presence. Just after what seems like an eternity, he finally speaks up: "Well, as I'm sure you remember, Sebastian Moran is still after you and Sherlock." I roll my eyes, I should have known that this would be the subject of this useless conversation. Mycroft ignores me and continues, "We know where he is, but we don't know how or when he's planning to attack. You and Sherlock should pay close attention to anything suspicious. Which brings me to what I wanted to talk to you about; Sherlock will probably go after Moran after he finds out where he is, to get him out of the way before he gets a chance to harm you and Rachel. Don't let him do that. Please, John, I've lost my brother too many times, I just got him back, I don't want to lose him again. Promise me you'll take care of my brother." I blink a few times, just to make sure this is real, and not a very weird dream. Did Mycroft just ask me to take care of Sherlock? With my mouth and eyes wide open with shock, Mycroft starts blushing and that's absolutely the most bizarre thing I ever saw a Holmes do. It is even quite sweet, and extremely hilarious; I really have to say something before I'll burst into uncontrollable laughter.

"Mycroft, I won't let Sherlock do anything that stupid, ever. I'll always look after him, you know how much I care about him. I'll defend and protect him until the day I die, and that's a promise." Mycroft seems doubtful but he says nothing, just stares at the floor. "I promise, Mycroft, I promise I will take care of him, forever." Mycroft finally takes his eyes off the floor and looks at me. I give him my most reassuring smile and tighten my hold on Rachel, who is probably sensing the tension in the room.
"Well, Dr. Watson, thank you. I'm sure you will keep your promise. Where is my dear brother tonight? Still on the headless case?" he says and gets up off the armchair, straightens his tie, and starts walking to the door. I'm pleased to be rid of him so soon, and yet I feel a bit uncomfortable as I know how much he cares about this strange little family of ours. It has always been clear to me that he loves Sherlock more than he loves anyone else; Sherlock, of course, disagrees and says that Mycroft's actual mission in life is to make his miserable. What a load of crap. How did I ever get involved with such childish geniuses?
"I guess he is. We haven't talked much in the last few weeks, actually, not about cases at least. He mostly talks to his skull about cases, if he needs my help he just says so." I follow Mycroft to the door, where he pats my shoulder awkwardly and says thanks. He isn't saying about what, but it's pretty clear that the conversation we had makes him feel embarrassed. So I just reassure him that he has nothing to worry about and that as long as Sherlock is by my side, he will be safe.

When Mycroft finally leaves the flat, the clock says 3:27 in the morning, and I feel tired as if I haven't slept in a week. Needless to say, that the sleep on the couch wasn't at all effective, and even made things worse. Damn couch.
I go upstairs, put Rachel back into her crib and get into bed. The minute I close my eyes I hear the door to the flat open and listen carefully. This time I don't even doubt it's Sherlock, every time he enters the flat, something in the air changes. I can sense he's home. It's crazy, but it's been like this since the first weeks we lived together. Suddenly I hear him coming up the stairs, a thing he never does when he comes home in the middle of the night. I change my position, sit on the bed and lean back against the headboard. Sherlock opens the door quietly and leaves the lights off, so Rachel won't wake up. He comes and sits next to me on the edge of the bed and I feel my heart already pounding faster against my will.

"Why are you still awake?" Sherlock asks in a whisper, "Did you have nightmares again?"
"No, your brother woke me up about an hour ago, but that's ok, I slept on the couch so it doesn't even count." I can't see Sherlock's expression, but I can feel his body tense with anger to know that Mycroft came here in the middle of the night, uninvited.
"What did he want?"
"To make me promise to always protect you and not let you do anything stupid, and to make sure that you don't leave my side. That I'll always take care of you." I smile at the last sentence and I feel with my all heart that I mean every single word. I love Sherlock more than I could possibly say with words, and I will always, always, protect and take care of him. I know this person will be by my side until the end of my days, and I can't be more pleased about that. I am the luckiest person in the word, getting the chance to spend my life with Sherlock Holmes. How amazing is that?

"So," Sherlock starts and clears his throat, "Did you really promise him all that? That is a lot to promise, and you can't actually make sure that I won't do anything stupid; you think everything I do is stupid."
I suddenly notice how near he is to me; his breath is on my face, the heat of his mouth dangerously near mine. He smiles at me with a combination of lust and affection in his eyes. I kiss his cheek, and I've never seen a person smile so wide over a kiss on the cheek. I swallow and I can feel my blood racing, crashing in my ears, hammering in my chest. Because this kiss on the cheek isn't even close to being enough.
It is now or never.
I stroke his cheek gently with one hand and place the other one behind his neck; there's barely a half inch between us, and I can see Sherlock's eyes wandering back and forth from my lips to my eyes. After a few long moments, I close the annoying distance between us and feel his hot firm lips touching gently mine.

Oh, God.