The eight of them all manage to cram around the dining room table that night for dinner. Warren, John and Anthea are all knocking elbows with someone, due to left-handedness.
Afterwards, they all retire to the lounge with drinks. The Holmes men all pour themselves three fingers of scotch and gather at the three arm chairs on one side of the room. Sherlock, in a surprisingly respectful move, leaves the chairs to his elders, instead choosing to perch on the arm of Mycroft's chair. Natalie, Anthea, Nicholas and John relax into the couch with a glass of white wine each. About half way through his glass, John slumps against Nicholas' shoulder in a fit of exhaustion. When his eyes start to slide closed, Nicholas pries the wine glass from his hands and sets it on the coffee table.
John wakes up in Sherlock's bed the next morning, all alone. He's been changed into one of his old baggy shirts and some flannel pajama pants and he suspects Sherlock behind it. He stretches and sits up, running a hand through his messy hair. John can hear contented chatter and laughter and clinking from the kitchen. He drags himself out of bed and shuffles down the hall into the kitchen.
Sherlock, Nicholas, Anthea and Natalie are gathered around the island in the center of the rather messy kitchen. Anthea and Natalie are standing side by side and Natalie is explaining the process of whatever sort of pastry she's working on. Nicholas is mashing strawberries that Sherlock has hulled. Several mason jars stand next to them. A pot sits on the stove with sugar in the bottom and a jar of lemon juice sits next to it. All four are chatting and joking and laughing and explaining. John leans in the doorway and watches, smiling at the mismatched family.
Sherlock glances up and sees him as he pulls the bowl away from Nicholas. He gestures for John to join them.
"John, can hull these strawberries for Nicholas so I can get this all mixed up and into the jar and start some coffee? We don't think one jar of jam is going to cut it and I need some caffeine in me to keep going."
John nods and takes up Sherlock's spot next to Nicholas and grabs the paring knife and begins carving out the stems of the strawberries. Sherlock scoops the mashed strawberries into the pot and adds some of the lemon juice before returning the bowl to Nicholas to mash more berries. It's a methodical process and John loses track of himself until he runs out of strawberries to hull.
Mycroft wanders out into the kitchen, rumpled and sleepy, and Sherlock thrusts a cup of coffee at him and shoos him out into the sitting room. He repeats the process with Siger and then Warren in short order. After John scrubs his hands clean, Sherlock hands him a mug as well and leans down to kiss him. Its closed-mouth and sweet and warm. John can taste coffee and strawberries on his lips after.
"Good morning," Sherlock mutters against John's temple while John sips at his coffee. John chuckles and returns the greeting.
"Go join the others," Sherlock urges him, pressing him in the direction of the lounge with a hand in the small of his back. John lets him, and he finds himself sat next to Siger on the sofa, Mycroft in an arm chair and Warren standing by the window. They all exchange pleasantries and make idle small talk as they sip their coffee and wait on breakfast.
Eventually they join the others in the dining room for breakfast. There's the little pastries, which John is informed are called brioche, and strawberry jam and butter and even a bit of nutella. There's more coffee and tea and orange juice and milk. By the end of the meal, Johns surprisingly full.
Siger and Warren take care of the washing up, dismissing Natalie and Nicholas to relax in the sitting room and urging to kids to get dressed and go out for the day. The four decide on a showering order and Anthea runs off to gather her things, as she's been allowed the bathroom first.
John and Sherlock retreat back to their room, John immediately setting about to gather his things. Jeans, a t-shirts, and pants from the dresser, a towel from a cupboard. He flops down next to Sherlock and waits for the shower to open up.
Sherlock's been on his laptop for a half hour when Mycroft ducks in to tell John the showers open. He scoops up his things from the desk and heads down the hall to the spacious bathroom. His clothes get set on the counter next to the sink, his towel hung from the rack next to the shower. He cranks the hot water, quickly filling the room with dense steam, and strips off his pajamas. He's about half done with his shower when the door opens and shuts, and then Sherlock climbs in behind him.
"Well, hello, love," he chuckles in surprise. Sherlock winds his arms around John, pressing his erection against the cleft of his arse and leaning down to bite and suck at the crook of his neck. John gasps, then whimpers softly and now it's Sherlock's turn to chuckle. He rocks his hips forward against John arse, slowly, deliberately. John, much to Sherlock's surprise, whips around and presses the taller boy back against the wall, slotting their hips together and rocking. The first slide of their erections together has Sherlock gripping at John, wherever he can reach; his arms, his neck, his hips, his bum. He finally settles for the small of his back, his nails leaving little cresant moons in the slightly tanned skin there.
Sherlock's a whimpering mess, bucking his hips in search for more friction. John works a hand between them and wraps his fingers around both of their cocks. Sherlock bangs his head off the wall, with a strangled moan of John's name. John shushes him and places his free hand firmly over his mouth.
Neither of them last long. John comes first, with hushed groans, all over Sherlock's abdomen. He sinks to his knees and swallows down as much of Sherlock's cock as he can in one go. Sherlock chokes down a sob, grips John's hair tight and comes hard.
John takes a moment to catch his breath and then finishes up washing. Sherlock's brain is just coming back online when John kisses him before stepping out of the shower. He towels himself off and pulls on his clothes and flattens his damp hair and heads back down the hall to Sherlock's room to dig out a pair of socks. Then he flops down to lay in wait for his boyfriend.
Sherlock enters the room as well put together as always. His dark, tailored jeans hug his arse and thighs in all the right ways. His black button down is open at his throat, showing off his creamy white skin. The necklace John gave him, the dark cord with a small charm in the shape of a magnifying glass, falls right over his clavicle. His long dark hair is all pushed back and tucked behind his ears. A pair of dark, cotton socks cover his large feet. He smiles at John fondly and goes searching in the wardrobe for a moment before withdrawing. He sets Johns ratty Converse trainers by his feet before sitting down and pulling on his own leather shoes.
Sherlock gathers his wallet and phone, and stops. He turns to the wardrobe, grabs his dark, well fit blazer and throws it on. Then he tucks his wallet and phone inside one of the inner pockets. Johns tying his shoes when Sherlock sticks his head out the door to call down the hall.
"Mummy, am I going to need my key when we come home tonight?"
"If you plan on staying out past 10, yes. That's when I'm locking the street door."
Sherlock grabs a set of two keys, hung from a long ball chain and throws it over his head, the keys hanging just below the exposed vee of skin at his chest. He takes Johns wallet before he can put it in his jeans pocket.
"Ill hold onto this. We're taking the metro and you'll stand out much more to pickpocketers. Plus it's a lot harder for someone to pick an inside pocket. Keep your phone in your front pocket and keep an eye on it."
John nods, a little nervously, and follows Sherlock out into the sitting room. Natalie stands from her spot on the couch and grabs two plastic cards from the coffee table.
"Here," she says, handing them both to Sherlock. "Mycroft used photos from the ones you emailed us and went and bought them this morning for you. Have fun, be safe, and don't stay out too late." She hugged them both and waved them on their way.
Sherlock handed John one of the cards on their way down the stairs. It was white and purple and had his name and his picture on it.
"That's a navigo decouverte. For the purpose of simplifying things, it's basically an oyster card. You use it to get on the métro, the bus and the RER. Don't lose it." John pockets the card and follows Sherlock closely as they walk out onto the pavement. Sherlock catches Johns hand and tangles their fingers together.
"So what do you want to see today? We're gonna do all the touristy stuff you want because it's your first time here."
John just shrugs and looks down at the pavement as they walk.
"Ok. We'll go to Notre Dame and hang out in the Latin Quarter today. You'll like the Latin Quarter. It's not super touristy, but generally filled with university students from the Sorbonne. Lots of eclectic little shops and cafes."
John smiles widely at the pure delight on his boyfriends face. They continue walking, for about 2 blocks, before they cross to a concrete island in the middle of the roadway and down the stairs into the metro station.