A/N:Hello and welcome to part two! This chapter got loooooong. But I couldn't really find a good place to stop. So have fun!

This story is finished and it's just about how much energy I have to put it from page to laptop to edited to you. I'll try to get it up as soon as I can, but I can't make any kind prediction of what that would like update wise.

Also if you want me to delve into all the little details I changed to the canon, let me know I could break down if by the end of the trilogy I'd happy to make an appendix to go over all that.

Happy reading!

Sherlock awoke first, not really needing the same amount of sleep that John seemed to require to stay upright. He rolled over and looked at John. It was such a strange thing. Of all the outcomes of watching the man he loved be flirted with so aggressively, the last thing he would have expected is waking up next to him the following morning. But here he was.

But then again, Sherlock reasoned, he wasn't particularly good at predicting what John would do with any kind of accuracy. John always had a way of surprising him. Sherlock huffed out a quiet bark of laughter. But, that was John's appeal after all.

He stood up and went into the bathroom to relieve himself and shower off the last remains of their lovemaking. While sex was wonderful, the aftereffects were messy at best. After his shower, he came back to the bedroom where John was still contentedly snoring away. Sherlock shook his head. He pulled on his blue robe and made his way to the kitchen. He started the kettle for tea and rummaged through the icebox and cupboard, looking for something to scrounge up for breakfast.

"Oh!" came a voice from the entryway to the sitting room.

Sherlock startled and whirled around. He found an equally startled Mrs Hudson carrying a tray filled with her scones and jams.

He rushed forward to take the tray from her and spun neatly to put it in the fridge.

"I wasn't expecting anyone to be up at this hour," Mrs Hudson explained, pulling a piece of paper out of her apron pocket. "So I was just going to leave the tray in the fridge and the note on the table."

Sherlock smiled. "I was never one for much sleep. What's up?"

"Huh?" she murmured, before making a little jump. "Oh! The note. Silly me."

"Any time now," Sherlock prodded gently.

"Molly called me first thing this morning and said that since her shift was canceled, she wanted to have a girls' day at the zoo with Rosie. I didn't figure John would mind, so I agreed."

"Of course I wouldn't mind," came a soft rumble from the other entrance to the kitchen.

Both Mrs Hudson and Sherlock turned to see a very sleep-rumpled John, leaning against the door frame, arms folded in front of his chest.

Sherlock smirked at the sight of John in his tan bathrobe, a warmth spreading through his chest.

"I didn't think so, dear," Mrs Hudson said. "There's breakfast in the fridge."

Sherlock frowned. "I would have told him."

Mrs Hudson stepped forward to pat his arm. "Of course you would have. But it's always better to have two people knowing than one."

Sherlock wasn't mollified.

John smiled softly. "You ladies have fun." He leaned forward to grab Sherlock's wrist and tugged. "I'm taking this grumpy detective back to bed. He clearly needs more sleep than he thinks he does."

Sherlock went willingly, and Mrs Hudson left to go get her charge ready for their day out.

Mrs Hudson had reached the top of the stairs before her brain caught up to what she had seen and heard. A sleepy John coming out of Sherlock's bedroom in his bathrobe, and then both of them going back to said bedroom.

She whipped around and brought her hands to her mouth in unbridled glee. She wanted to rush in there in tell them how happy she was that they had finally gotten their heads out of their arses.

Mrs Hudson reached for the door handle and made another realization: that she had no desire to walk in on them. Even if they weren't having sex, their state of dress would likely leave very little to the imagination. So with a sigh, she turned to go back to her flat. She would have wait to celebrate their newly minted relationship. She practically skipped...well, as best as her bad hip would allow, down the last steps.

Sherlock let John pull him into the bedroom.

"I woke up and you weren't there," John murmured. "I decided I didn't like it."

Sherlock smiled warmly, that feeling in his chest expanding to blush his cheeks. "Duly noted."

"Good," John said. "Now let me introduce you to one of the greater joys of waking up together."

"What's that?"

He grabbed Sherlock's belt and pulled him close. He began kissing him and slowly removing their robes.

"Oh..." Sherlock moaned as John led him to the bed and proceeded to let him bring them both to completion.

Once they finally came down from the high of their shared orgasms, Sherlock rolled on his back, panting, arms outstretched. John tucked himself under Sherlock's arm and propped himself up on his elbow.

"You are amazing," John said warmly.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose and looked disdainfully at the mix of cum cooling on his belly. "What I am is a mess. That shower was a waste."

John looked him up and down, and then a smile fought to take over his face.

Sherlock growled, "Stop that!"

John lost all control and started laughing.

Sherlock growled again and tackled John to try to get him to stop, but it was useless. Soon they were laughing, tangled up in each other's arms.

Once they were able to catch their breath, Sherlock huffed, "Absolutely ridiculous."

John cupped his cheek. "Don't I know it. But I wouldn't change a thing." His hand left Sherlock's cheek and began to slide down his chest. But when he reached the abdomen, his lip curled. "Well, all right, I'd change one thing."

Sherlock sniffed indignantly. "I did warn you."

"So you did," John agreed, moving to sit up. "Come on then, we'll test the limits of the bathtub."

Sherlock grinned. "I do love a good experiment."

John barked out a laugh and led the way to the ensuite.

Once they had bathed, breakfasted, and dressed, John decided to go down to the shops to take advantage of not having a wiggly toddler in tow.

Sherlock offered to stay home in case Molly and Mrs Hudson came home earlier than expected, so off John went, deciding to take the Underground instead of paying for a cab.

He had barely walked a half block when a sleek black car with tinted windows pulled up alongside him and two rather large men with guns got out.

John's eyebrows shot up, but offered no resistance when they opened the back door and tossed him inside. They slammed the door behind him and got back into the front seat.

Once John had righted himself he noticed he had a companion.

Anthea.

"So big brother wants a chat," John muttered. "I have a phone."

Anthea just rolled her eyes and began typing on her mobile.

Right, so not only was this not a friendly chat, it was that kind of dangerous.

So Mycroft had found out about him and Sherlock and was going to make his displeasure known.

John knew he should be scared, but this was hardly his first experience with the elder Holmes brother. And he'd be damned if it was going to be the last.

The car pulled into a very familiar location. In the light of day the abandoned warehouse wasn't as spooky as it had been that first night at Baker Street, but it did give off a coldness that only such places could.

They parked out front instead of pulling all the way into the warehouse proper like they had before. John shrugged, he supposed not having a limp anymore was the most likely cause.

As he marched up to where Mycroft was waiting, he thought briefly about calling Sherlock to let him know his brother was being a prat. But the indignity of being forcibly pulled off the street on his way to get groceries fueled his rage, and he decided he wanted to duke it out with the interfering git on his terms.

John probably would have broken down in laughter if Mycroft had been wearing the same suit, that pinstripe number with the red tie. But instead he was greeted with a very rumpled Mycroft wearing a light grey, three-piece suit with his paisley blue tie pulled down and the top button of his shirt undone.

He still had his umbrella and that stupid folding chair.

Mycroft kicked the chair and it slid across the floor where John deftly caught it. He raised an eyebrow.

"How was Cardiff?" he said snarkily before Mycroft could speak. "I hear Wales is quite lovely this time of year."

Mycroft kicked his umbrella and examined its tip. "Immaterial, as you'll never see it. I was thinking Siberia, the DR Congo, or even Syria."

John cocked his head to the side. "Those are some pretty scary places to holiday."

"I was thinking more along the lines of dropping you in with a canteen of water, a week's worth of rations, and a pistol with a single bullet," Mycroft replied, glaring at John side-eyed.

"Someone's been watching pirate movies," John said with a sneer. "Sounds more like marooning someone than, oh, I don't know...having an actual conversation."

"What must go on in your head..." Mycroft said, tsking. "You don't deserve that courtesy. You don't even deserve the single bullet. But the Geneva Conventions and all that."

"That's pretty serious," John growled.

Mycroft turned and roared, "So is beating my brother almost to death! I wanted to do something about you then but he wouldn't let me. But playing on his emotions and manipulating into an actual relationship is crossing a line that I refuse to let go unnoticed. Or unpunished."

John was taken aback, but what surprised him the most was when Mycroft swayed on his feet. He slid the chair back over to the politician who promptly used it to steady himself.

"Sit."

Mycroft glared at him, unmoving.

John drew himself up and barked, "Sit! Now."

Mycroft closed his eyes and dutifully sat down, leaning heavily on his umbrella for support.

"Good," John said, pulling out his phone and dialing a number.

"Hey, love," he greeted when Sherlock picked up.

"Hello," Sherlock said.

"Your brother picked me up on the way to the shops, so I'll be a little late getting home."

Mycroft rolled his eyes at that.

"Did he threaten you with Syria yet?" Sherlock asked with a chuckle.

"I'm not that predictable!" Mycroft protested.

"Yes, you are!"

"Yes, he is!"

Sherlock and John said at the same time.

Mycroft threw one of his hands in the air in exasperation.

"I'll be home soon," John said, ignoring him. And then rang off with Sherlock.

"Aren't you being a tad presumptuous?" Mycroft sneered.

"Aren't you?" John replied.

They glared at each other for a moment before John broke eye contact first. "Look, I'm not saying you don't have a point about Sherlock and me, but hear me out first."

Mycroft wanted to argue, but he could feel his energy reserves slipping away. "Fine."

John huffed out a sigh. "A quick question before I get into this, you've had me under surveillance since day one, are you still..." John trailed off not quite wanting to insult Mycroft.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking if I still read your therapist's notes?"

John nodded.

"No."

John was taken aback. "You keep up on everything else."

"I have been informed that I am far too clever to resort to snooping," he said, turning his nose up in the air.

"So who told you off? Sherlock or your mother?"

Mycroft's head snapped around front and glared. "Like that is any of your concern."

John nodded. "Both, then." He could feel the temperature drop. "Right, we're getting off topic a bit. You know that I haven't stopped seeing a therapist, just that I stopped seeing Ella Thompson."

"Yes, though Sherlock still sees her," Mycroft said.

Both of John's eyebrows shot up. "Did he tell you that?"

A small, secret smile spread over Mycroft's face. "Yes, actually he did."

"Good for him." John had assumed that Sherlock was still seeing someone, but it wasn't something they had really discussed. "I had left Ella because while she was a great therapist, I needed to focus on my anger management, and while she was helping me with a lot of my issues, that one not so much."

"I understand that recognizing you have a problem is the first step," Mycroft sneered.

"Oh ha," John deadpanned. "I made excuses for my behavior toward your brother so many times and when I began seeing Dr Aurora Astraeus, she called me out in our first session. Saying that violence is never the answer. I thought about quitting her on the spot, but I went back to her after what I did to Sherlock."

"I'm still not hearing anything that would convince me to not send you to Antarctica or the Yukon," Mycroft sneered.

John took a deep breath and let it out low and slow. "With anything, it's a process. But I'm getting better. I don't keep any alcohol other than a bottle of wine in the flat, and when I go out with my mates, I stick to beer and limit it to no more than two or three." John ran his fingers through his hair and looked down at his shoes.

"When I feel my temper rising, and let's be honest, it's not Sherlock that's been pushing my buttons lately, it's Rosie, I'll step away from the situation and take a deep breath. If my temper is at its boiling point, I'll have someone else watch her and I'll take a walk."

Mycroft frowned, impressed. "And has that been working?"

John opened his mouth and then closed it, before taking a deep breath to answer. "Not as much as I would like, if I'm honest. But I'm trying. I'm trying so hard. Not just for Sherlock or Rosie, but for all my relationships personal and professional. I'm honestly thinking about getting back into rugby or something, I don't know."

He looked up at Mycroft. "At least let us try. We are adults. We are capable of making our own choices after all."

"I'm not a fan of your choices," Mycroft bit out.

"Yeah, but we have to be free to make them nonetheless," John pleaded. "Plus, there's the factor that Aurora thinks a lot of my problem is pent up sexual frustration due to me be a closeted bisexual."

Mycroft blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"She thinks the reason I lash out against certain people in particular is because I'm attracted to them and due to the absolute toxic shit my dad raised me with, I react with violence," John said. "It's like that old nugget they teach you in primary school about if a boy teases a girl it means he likes her."

"So not gay then?" Mycroft asked with a smirked.

"No." John frowned. "And that's another thing. Apparently that is what a lot of closeted bisexuals will say. Because they are still attracted to the opposite gender, but don't realize that gay and straight aren't the only options."

"And do you intend on coming out, or was your plan to torture my brother with a secret relationship?" Mycroft leaned heavily on the umbrella before him.

John shrugged. "I've already come out to my family, and of course Sherlock figured it out before I did. As did you, no doubt."

Mycroft smiled smugly. "I have read your blog after all."

"So I see no reason not to come out to everyone else." John rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, I know I'm not perfect, but give me a chance to prove to you and Sherlock that I have changed."

Mycroft sighed. "Fine."

John felt something being pressed into the palm of his hand, and without looking he knew what it was.

Mycroft's head whipped back in shock as John was suddenly kneeling in front of him with a black Gladstone bag.

John pulled out the stethoscope and put it around his neck with practiced ease. He grabbed Mycroft's right arm and unbuttoned the cuff before the politician could react.

"How dare you!" Mycroft cried, pulling back his arm to his chest.

John looked up at him with cold calculation. "I've had to manage thrashing Royal Marines; making sure you comply to this examination would be like dosing a puppy in comparison. Don't embarrass yourself."

Mycroft gulped but took off his coat and allowed John to do the exam.

As John was listening to Mycroft's lungs, he asked, "When was the last time you took a holiday?"

"I do have weekends off," Mycroft huffed.

John scoffed. "And you do paperwork during that time. I mean away from the job entirely."

Mycroft opened his mouth.

"And undercover doesn't count, because you're still on the job," John interrupted.

Mycroft closed his mouth and then opened it again.

"Time off for family emergencies also doesn't count, because it's a different kind of stress," John said, cutting him off again. He pulled out a blood pressure cuff and began taking Mycroft's blood pressure.

"If you're going to impose all those silly guidelines, then never," Mycroft huffed.

"And how long have you been working for the government?" John asked, keeping time with his watch.

"Twenty years."

John looked up at him in shock. "That's not good, and neither is your blood pressure."

"I don't have time for this, I have important things to do," Mycroft snapped, putting back on his suit jacket.

"Right, as per doctor's orders you are not fit to work for the next four weeks, and I am ordering you take the time off," John said, putting away the equipment. He closed the bag and stood up. "I'm serious, Mycroft."

Mycroft leapt to his feet. "I'm fine!" He almost managed to look intimidating enough but at the last second, he swayed on his feet again and was forced to sit down down.

John raised an eyebrow.

"I can give you two weeks," Mycroft bargained.

"Four," John argued. "And you'll be out of London. I don't care if it's the Cotswolds, the Caribbean, or the south of France. But I don't want you sneaking back to work before you're better."

"Three weeks and that's my final offer," Mycroft growled.

John held up his phone to show that while they had been talking, he had been messaging Anthea.

"Your bosses have agreed to four weeks and wish you a happy holiday," John said calmly.

Mycroft deflated. "Very well."

John turned and Anthea was already at his elbow. He handed her the medical bag.

"Do you always carry medical supplies with you everywhere you go?"

She smirked. "Of course." And walked back to the car.

"Now, she's the one that terrifies me," John admitted.

Mycroft smiled. "She is very good at her job."

John turned to follow her, but he looked back. "Take care of yourself, Mycroft. You're family now, and I'd hate for anything to happen to you."

He started walking away but he heard Mycroft reply, "Thank you, John."

John smiled and made his way back to the light of the warm afternoon.