For many years, Sherlock had thought emotions to be the most fatal error in human nature, a distraction that kept them from reaching their full potential. He had tried to lock away any feelings he might have had for people in his life, his body had just been transport for a remarkable brain. Never would he have allowed himself to get attached to anyone.
And then John Watson limped into St Bart's Hospital, a lost and lonely man who had somehow managed to sneak behind all barricades Sherlock had built around himself. Together, they had saved each other from themselves and, inevitably, Sherlock Holmes had fallen hopelessly in love with him.
Never had he been unsatisfied with their friendship, he was perfectly happy just seeing John's face very morning, smiling in amusement as he removed whatever severed body parts where lying on the breakfast table. Even as John got married, he satisfied himself with the thought that at least Mary loved him as he did, that he was happy and safe and loved.
Sherlock would have never dreamed that one day he would get to feel his love's warm embrace and taste his lips. He had never known how good kissing could be. His stomach prickling with excitement, his heart beating fast, chest almost aching with endless happiness. It wasn't his first kiss but it was the first that really mattered. His world was suddenly full of colour, so much warmer and brighter with so much more to live for than crime and brain-work.
"Sherlock..." John whispered, his hands tangled in black curls, their foreheads pressed together.
"Jawn..." Sherlock answered with a grin.
"I love you." "Yeah, I deduced that." "Idiot." He laughed and kissed him again.
John had carefully arranged his cables and tubes so Sherlock could sit on his bed. Curled against his chest, he forgot the pain in his head and shoulder. Breathing was much easier. Everything was easier. He ran his fingertips over the thin cotton fabric of Sherlock's hospital gown. For so long he had wondered what it would feel like, running his hands over the muscular chest that was always so teasingly outlined under the tight shirts Sherlock usually wore. Why had he even worried so much? Lying in Sherlock Holmes' arms was the most natural thing to do. Tracing his long, thin fingers, kissing his extraordinary cheekbones, finally getting to run his fingers through the thick, curly hair.
"John?" Sherlock's voice was trembling slightly and John could feel his heart beat fast under his palm. "Yes Sherlock?" He took a deep breath, lacing his fingers with John's. "Does this mean we're… dating?" John chuckled warmly. "Sherlock, we have basically been married for four years." he turned around to look in Sherlock's eyes, warm and vulnerable and of the most extraordinary colours. He blushed. "Yes" John whispered "Sherlock Holmes, I would like to call you my boyfriend." Sherlock smiled shyly. "Hmm partner in crime" he murmured, burying his face in John's neck.
"They couldn't have waited another months, could they?" Greg asked, after hearing what his partner had witnessed in John Watson's hospital room. "Now I owe Mrs. Hudson dinner. I can practically hear her say "I told you so!" "he laughed. They were back in Mycroft's kitchen, trying to busy Rosamund with a pack of crayons and a stack of paper. Mrs Hudson had collected a few items for Sherlock and John and was bringing them to the hospital, while the Holmes' parents were probably already welcoming John in their family. And quite possibly - Greg thought- wondering about the odds of having three children who were all terrifyingly psychopathic geniuses and flaming homosexual. He wondered if the universe had just decided it was better if the Holmes bloodline did not reproduce and thus made all of them gay.
"What are you thinking about, sweetheart?" Mycroft asked, leaning over the kitchen table.
"uh" Greg blinked in confusion "nothing special. Just thinking about where to take Mrs H for the dinner." he smiled warmly. "You could come with us!"
Mycroft arched his brow. "I do not think she would be too happy about that. The landlady isn't very fond of me, remember?"
"Even more reason why you should go. She got the wrong impression. I'm sure she would be a lot warmer towards you if she, too, could see how you dedicate yourself to drawing flowers with a crayon." He walked around the table, hugging Mycroft, who had now dropped his pink crayon in embarrassment, from behind and resting his chin on his head. "You know, we've never really gone on a date together." He played with his partner's tie. "Not outside you office or your house."
"Date" Mycroft said "sounds so normal. … And official." Greg leaned down and kissed his cheek. "we don't have to call it that. I'd just really like to spend some time with you. Have nice conversations, flirt and get lost in your eyes like a silly teenager." He grinned playfully. "you could at least think about it."
An hour later, Rosie had produced about 50 artworks, each a strange chaos of lines and shapes, some of them had been torn apart or chewed on as a little extra. She put an extra lot of dedication in her last one, though, and patiently filled an entire paper with every colour of crayon she could find. After ten minutes it was covered in a rainbow of shapes and the child herself looked like she had fallen in a paint pot. Giggling happily, she held it up to Mycroft, who smiled awkwardly. "Yes.. very nice… it's uhm probably.. flowers?" The child nodded thoughtfully and reached out, closing her stubby little fingers around Mycroft's thumb, waving the paper in his face with the other hand. He took it with a sigh and freed his hand from the sticky touch. Rosamund squealed, looking very pleased with herself. Despite himself, Mycroft grinned warmly and stuck the drawing to his fridge. "there. Happy now, you little monster?" he said affectionately and began cleaning up the mess of paper and pens. The little girl watched him thoughtfully. "You have two very patients dads, I wouldn't be able to put up with this every day. You are very sticky and noisy." He frowned as he realized how ridiculously high-pitched his voice automatically became whenever he talked to the child. Stupid human nature.
The door opened and he heard his mother's voice ring through the hallway. "Ah Greg sweetheart, good to see you dear!" and Greg's deep voice answering in confusion "We only saw each other yesterday Wanda."
Mrs Holmes rushed towards her granddaughter with the precision of a hunter catching it's pray, scooping her up and holding her in arms as if determined to never let anyone else touch her again. Women's instinctive protectiveness towards small humans had always irritated Mycroft but in the past days he had been exceptionally grateful for it. "Have you heard, Rosie, you are now quite officially my granddaughter now! About time too!" She rocked the child gently in her arms.
"Oh you finally decorated the sad fridge!" Mr Holmes smiled. "You know, I still have the drawings you made for your mother and I, kept them all safe in the attic." Mycroft frowned. "They weren't drawings, they were plans and calculations." His father laughed happily at the memory. "Oh yes, you had a lot of very creative ideas for world domination when you were 8 years old."
"Some things never change." Greg said fondly.
"We should have a family dinner!" Mrs Holmes declared "As soon as Sherlock and John are well enough to leave the hospital we-" "Should traumatize them until they wish to be back in that cold, smelly room?" Mycroft commented. "Oh shush you, at least try to be human for a day, will you!" she nudged her son's shoulder, eyes twinkling playfully. "While we are at it, why don't we spend this evening together? We could play some nice board games!" She might as well have proposed to go swimming with starving sharks, the way her husband shook his head in terror and Mycroft jumped up, announcing "Oh mother dear, you know how I would love to play like a five year old but unfortunately I have a very important dinner with Gregory. I believe it's what people call a 'date'." Wanda arched her brows in surprise. "Oh I am very happy for you. But you know, you are a drama queen, Mycroft Holmes!" "They get that from you, love." Her husband said fondly.