Ms Holmes smiled demurely, turning a little to hold her sons hands in hers. "Sherlock, John is telling the truth, you're so perfect for this, for everything. I know you didn't think you could have a normal life, but this is so right for you. You are a wonderful husband to John, I can see that you are very much in love with him, and your children couldn't have a better father." His mother said, staring into his eyes. "Besides John of course" She said with a smile, squeezing Sherlock's fingers in comfort. "You can do this, I know you can. You just need to have faith in yourself and your instincts. Because you do have paternal instincts Sherlock, and you're acting on them right now." He frowned in confusion.
"Look, how your body is angled towards your husband and your hand is slightly extended towards your children, you eyes keep flicking to them unconsciously when you are listening to me, and if I'm not mistaken, which I am sure is the case, then you have the beginnings of a smile on your lips when I speak about them." Sherlock grinned now, wiping the tear from his cheek with his thumb. Sherlock turned and met John's gaze, almost drowning in the love he saw in his husband's eyes.
His mother caught his attention again with a soft nudge at his arm. "See what I mean?" He nodded, taking her hand in his. "Sherlock, you've always said you were born to do your job, to be a Consulting Detective, but you're wrong. You were born to do this. You were born to be a father." Sherlock's lip quivered, he folded his mother into a tight embrace, the tears flowing freely down his cheeks now.
John looked down at his daughter who watched in fascination, different emotions playing across her face, seeming unsettled on her feelings. Rory stood at her side, albeit still a little wobbly on his legs he stood his full height, which was not very much, seeming to have rather impossibly taken after John in his small genes. He knew it couldn't happen, but John could see that their children were growing to become very much like himself and Sherlock in their looks and their personalities. He was both comforted and disturbed by this. On the one hand, he knew Irene would be brilliant and smart just like her father Sherlock, but John only hoped that she would not inherit the sociopathic streak and general intolerance to normal humans which he could already see developing. And while Rory growing up with his nerve and courage could hardly be a bad thing, John couldn't bear to see his own son becoming the broken shell of a man he had been before finding and falling in love with Sherlock.
Then of course there were the obvious physical similarities between the two of them and their children. Irene, breathtakingly beautiful with her long dark hair and skin as pale as fallen snow, her face so perfect and serene, so fragile looking, John feared it would break if he touched her. And Rory, the very picture of the strong valiant soldier John had once been; thick sandy blonde hair and lightly tanned skin, small button nose and kind gentle eyes. It was a comfort to him that even though he had been unable to conceive a child biologically with the man he loved, their children were still as close to them and as perfect as though John or Sherlock had given birth to them themselves.
"John, may I spend some time alone with my grandchildren?" Ms Holmes asked, pulling John out of his reverie.
He nodded, "Of course," She smiled, walking towards him and touching his arm, and gesture which relayed the unspoken direction to care for her son while she was gone.
The door closed behind them, and John found himself alone with his husband for the first time in a long time.
Sherlock looked at him, his brow creased in thought, the overwhelming thoughts too much for him to bear. John met Sherlock's eyes and was staggered by the weight of raw fragile emotion betrayed in his gaze. His eyes were still wet, tears staining his cheeks.
John sighed with relief. He ran towards his husband, jumping into his arms and
mashing their mouths together in desperation. Sherlock grabbed at John's hair, his long fingers weaving into the familiar sandy locks and tugging at the nape of his neck as they kissed passionately. "I. Love. You." John gasped, punctuating each word with a rough kiss on his husband's lips. They wrapped their arms around each other, holding onto the other person as though they were their lifeline, the only thing that mattered in the world.
John tasted the salty tears on his husband's cheeks, and licked them away with a flick of his tongue. Sherlock closed his eyes, leaning into him. "We'll have no tears here Mr Holmes" John said, taking Sherlock's bottom lip between his teeth. The detective grunted in response.
They pulled apart for breath "This way" Sherlock said gruffly. With a gentle smile at his husband, he took John's hand and led him away between the labyrinth of bookshelves.
John grinned, allowing Sherlock to tug him around the corner and into the more private section of the Holmes library. The moonlight cascaded down the spines of the books and pooled on the floor, their very own quiet twilight place to be alone at last.
Sherlock took John's hand and pulled him towards his chest. Their lips met lightly, softly. A tender reminder of the bond they shared. John pushed Sherlock back carefully against the bookshelves, pressing his body flush against him and stretching on tiptoes to kiss him. Sherlock wound his arms around the doctor's waist, sliding slowly down the shelves to the floor. John followed, laying over his husband's body and settling into his arms with one leg draped over Sherlock's knees and his arms around him possessively, his fingers teasing the corner of Sherlock's shirt from his trousers.
The detective smiled as John tugged the fabric from the waistband and slid his warm hand under his shirt, stroking over Sherlock's chest deliberately. He hugged John closer, finding his lips again with the expressed intention of snogging him senseless.
John had fully opened Sherlock's shirt now, and proceeded to trace light patterns on his pale skin with his forefinger. The detective made a strange hiccupping sound when John brushed over his right nipple, and John chuckled low in his throat, bending down to rest his head against Sherlock's chest comfortably.
Sherlock ran his fingers through John's hair again, realizing that they rarely had time together to simply be anymore. They had to always mind the children, make sure they weren't getting into too much trouble or causing havoc. The only time he and John got to themselves were the few hours of blissful sleep or frenzied sex a night, but to be honest, the effort involved in that particular activity was not worth the sleep deprived zombie-like state the next morning. Their love life lived for moments like this, where they had a quiet spot to be together if only for a while before the world drove them apart again.
Sherlock moved his hands down John's back and nonchalantly cupped his arse, looking in the opposite direction out of the window, and at how the moonlight played on the angles of his husband's face. John grinned "Later." He whispered.
Sherlock let out a little whine of protest "Why?" He purred, sliding his back down to the floor to lie next to his husband, twining their hands together.
"We're in your parent's library, and you want to...you know." Sherlock grinned devilishly. He shrugged and trailed his fingers along John's arm teasingly.
The doctor rolled his eyes and turned quickly, flipping Sherlock onto his back and lying on top of him. They kissed again, John exploring Sherlock's chest with his lips. He gazed at his husband adoringly, placing his hands above his head. "OK."