You, dearest John are coming home today. It is a marvel that I have survived until this moment. A turn of the key in the lock. I close my eyes. I know it's you by the way the door closes. Mrs. Hudson is calling, calling for me to come down. I don't trust myself to walk navigate the stairs. I am shaking.

"I'm busy," I shout.

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson chides.

I make my way to the sitting room, plop down in my chair and wait, grinding my feet into the unwilling nap of the rug. My breathing is coming in ragged gulps. I struggle to control it. Then you are there and in your arms is a child. I am prepared to hate it for keeping you away from me so long, then she turns her golden haired head towards me. The world stops. She is beautiful. She is Mary. She is you. Her blue eyes cut through my defenses, straight to my heart. You smile. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

I nod, then you come forward and hold me in your arms, careful not to squish the child between us. Her small fingers curl around the buttons on my coat. I want to weep, but I don't. My arms and legs begin to tremble betraying me. I am not invincible. When you release me I feel woozy. Dear god, I'm going to faint.

You hand the baby over to Mrs. Hudson, introducing her as Alice. She makes small squeaking sounds but is otherwise good when Mrs. Hudson carries her away. After they have left the room you face me. The strain of the past few months have been too much for me and I collapse in your arms. You lower me to the couch, holding me while I tremble in your arms. I am furious with myself. I'm not a virgin bride on her wedding night. I wrench free of your grasp and stand up. The room swirls around me but I ignore the sensation. "John, I'm glad you're home and baby Alice is quite lovely. You must be tired. I'm going up." I don't make eye contact. I just turn and run up the stairs.

"Sherlock, come back here."

I take the stairs two at a time, stumbling to get away from you. I move towards my secret room, then remember at the last moment that it is now a nursery. You mustn't see. You don't want to live with me and I won't have you laughing at me. Your words come back to me, 'what sane person brings a baby to live at Baker Street?'

"Sherlock, I know where you're going." I fling open the door, moving to shut it. You are too fast for me. "I know what happens in this room. I'm not home more than 5 minutes and you are using…" Your voice trails off when you observe the beauty of Alice's room. I cower behind the bassinet. I hate you for seeing me like this. I must hurt you as you have hurt me.

"Sherlock, this is beautiful. Is this for Alice?"

"No, it's my drug den. I love shooting up in a room filled with baby things." Feeling like an idiot I crawl past you, but you are too quick for me. You grab me by the collar, straddling me. "Let me go, you fool."

"No." Then you pin me to the ground. I turn away but you force me to look at you. "Oh god, Sherlock, I've missed you." I rest my head on your shoulder, while we both weep. "Sherlock…"

"John, you left me alone. You let me grieve." I hang my head I deserve it.

"Sherlock, you know I had to get away, then I found out about baby Alice and it took a while to get things sorted out."

I pull my knees up to my chest. How can I shrink away when you won't let me? "John, it's good to see you, but things are different now. You have a baby and I no longer fit into your lifestyle. It's too late for us. I'll be okay, just leave."

You throw your hands up into the air. "Sherlock, we need to talk. I love you and I have no intention of leaving you. The room you decorated for Alice is beautiful."

I look over at you and sniff. "I decorated and painted the walls myself."

You soothe your hand over my curls. "Sherlock, you are so gifted. I love you so much. We'll talk about the living arrangements. I'm sure we can work something out."

I shake my head. "You don't understand. I'm not worthy of your attention."

You pound your fist on the wooden floors, causing the solar system mobile above Alice's bed to shake. "Why do you always have to be so difficult?"

"John, I cheated on you with Anderson."

"What?"

"I cheated on you with Anderson."

You don't say a word, then you get up, holding out your hand. I take it, letting you pull me to my feet. I face you. "You'll be going then?" I ask.

I expect your eyes to be full of hate and anger. They aren't. "Sherlock, you just don't get it do you?"

And for the first time in my life I look at you and say, "No, I don't understand."

You reach up and touch my forehead. "You feel like you've got a fever. No doubt you've been working yourself up about all this. Let's get you to bed and we'll talk about this in the morning."

"You're not leaving?"

Your eyes grow large, then you smirk. "You've got a lot of explaining to do, Sherlock. We'll deal with this together."

You lead me to bed. I allow you to undress me. Your fingers undo each button on my shirt, then my trousers, then your hands linger at the waistband of my pants. I take a deep breath, but we both know you won't go further. I lay in your arms, shivering until you pull the blankets over us. I am safe in my John cocoon. I smile when I feel your erection pushing against my thigh. Ummm, tomorrow we can make up. I will let you take me anyway you want Dearest John. Visions of carnal pursuits dance in my head. The indecency of them relaxes me and I close my eyes, hoping they will keep the darkness at bay.

The next morning, my body aches and my head pounds. You breeze into the room, the regurgitation from Alice's breakfast are spattered in dots all over your shirt. I smile. You are adorable, an adorable father. I move to get up but you push me back into bed.

"Oh, no you don't. You have flu, now rest, Doctor's orders."

"So, you're staying here at Baker Street?"

You sigh, "For now yes. When you've recovered, and start sleuthing again I'll have to revisit the issue."

I look down, wondering if I can remain sick forever. You approach me, taking my chin between your fingers. "God, you look a mess but are still so beautiful."

I scoot to the side, making room for you. You kiss my forehead, then hold me in your arms until I drift off to sleep. My last thoughts are, not even my mother could soothe me so. You make me right John Watson. Whatever will I do if you leave me? I would rather die now with you by my side than recover without you…John…John, my adorable fly in the ointment.