John really did want to have children one day, but Sherlock really, really did not. Sherlock was definitely not a father figure. An uncle, yes. A babysitter, if he had to be. But a full-time caretaker?

Let's put it this way. When Sherlock was eight, he wanted a fish more than anything in the world. There was one in particular that he wanted. He begged his mother for months and months, and finally she got him one.

He called it Jekyll, after the stories, and he was terribly pleased. Jekyll was his new best friend. He took the fish into his room every night, and every morning he ate breakfast with it in the dining room.

For a while, his mother would feed it. She, honestly, didn't trust Sherlock. Rightfully so, too, because a week after she finally let him feed Jekyll, Jekyll was dead.

Now, Sherlock was, after all, only eight-years-old. Not much more responsibility could be expected from an eight-year-old. Sherlock sulked for a while until he accepted that it was his fault and he moved on.

Then, for his twelfth birthday, Sherlock asked for a turtle. Why, his mother asked, he didn't know. He just could not live without a turtle. So, his greatest-mother-in-the-universe bought him a turtle. He called it Hatter.

"Hatter, darling?" his mother had asked.

"Yes, mother, you know, like the Mad Hatter?"

"That seems a bit arbitrary, sweetie."

"It's really not, Mummy. You know in the children's film, how the Hatter is a rabbit? Oh, Mother, it's not going to be funny if I have to explain it."

Marie silently walked away from her odd child.

He was extremely happy with Hatter.

Until he lost said turtle.

The housekeeper found him four days later.

"Ma'am, I found Sherlock's turtle."

"Oh dear, is it dead?"

"Well, no, ma'am, but I really don't think he's suitable to-"

"No, you're absolutely right. Take it away."

"What shall I do with him, ma'am?"

"I don't care. You've got a son, right? Re-gift the damn thing."

The housekeeper smiled, "Oh, he'll love it."

"Yes, hopefully he'll be more responsible."

Marie claimed that that was going to be the last time she got him a pet, but it wasn't.

When Sherlock was fifteen, she got him a snake.

"What are you naming this one, darling?"

"Basil Hallward."

"Really, sweetie? You're naming your snake Basil Hallward?"

"Fine, fine. I'll call it Ichabod."

She stared blankly at him.

"Ichabod! Ichabod Crane! Honestly, how are you my mother?"

As Marie was exiting the room, she said, mostly to herself, "You're adopted."

"I heard that!"

Well, you can imagine how Sherlock's time with the snake went. Basically, he was waiting for it to die so he could experiment on it. It was mean, it was cruel, but really this is Sherlock.

So, now that he's an adult and at an appropriate fathering age, thirty-seven, John wanted to ask about it.

"So, that's a no on children, then?"

"Of course that's a no. You cannot possibly think-" John looked sad. "Oh, god, you did possibly think."

"It's just that I've always wanted to be that caretaker, you know? I've always wanted to hold my own child in my arms and feel like a father."

"Well, I'm sorry, John. That's something I can neither physically or emotionally or mentally or whatever give you. I'm not meant to be a father, I'm sorry." John still looked sad, "Look, John, I truly am sorry. I guess we should have had this conversation a really long time ago. Or, I thought you'd have assumed by now. If," Sherlock gulped, "If you want to leave, I understand."

"What? Just like that? After this tiny conversation?"

"This wasn't really a tiny conversation, John. Not to others. I'd say this is something quite big for others, actually."

"No, no. You're not getting rid of me that easily. We've been together for two years. And I love you. I guess I'll just have to-"

"I'm not giving you children, John. I'm not going to be a father."

"I know, Sherlock. And I can be ok with that. Because I'm selfish and I have you. And you're all I need."

"Are you…positive?"

"Of course. I love you more than anything in this world, you know that."

"I do. And I love you, too."

"I'll just," John stood from his chair, "I'll be fine." He went to their room.

Yes, John's always been a caretaker. He is a doctor, after all. A damn good one. It was just natural for him. He was the man of the house, even when he wasn't, and he took care of his sister, even though he is younger.

John had many pets when he was younger. For a while, he had a bird. Her name was Tulip. He had to give Tulip away once when his father was on a particularly mean streak.

Then, he had Carl, the cat. It was a really mean cat, though, so he himself opted to give it away.

Then, he had a set of gerbils, Harry and Mint. Yes, he named one after his sister. When asked why, he'd say she had a particular mood and was, really, a bitch. His sister didn't like that. One night, while John was sleeping, Harry let Harry and Mint loose in the house. When their father found them, he made John take those ones away, too.

Then, he had a frog. He named it Frank, and he actually had Frank for quite a long time. Frank eventually died, and John buried him in the front yard.

Then, when John was sixteen and about to be kicked out of his house, he found a dog. The dog was skinny and dirty and sad, just like John, so John bonded with the animal quickly and took it home. He named him Amigo, which John thought was clever and cute. Amigo grew healthy and strong, like he should have been, and by the time John got kicked out, the dog was healthy enough to be on its own for a while, because the friend that took John in wasn't really up for taking care of Amigo.

Well, John always had it in him to take care of something, even if it was always ruined or shot down by someone. He didn't mind, really. It was all ok for him, even when Sherlock said he couldn't have children. John, after all, did have his new niece, Jessica, that Harry just gave birth to. Plus, he had Sherlock's two nephews to share, which he loved. But still, he wanted something that was just his that nobody could take away.

Sherlock knew how passionate John was about taking care of things, and how badly he wanted children. Sherlock couldn't just simply change his mind, though. He'd been set since he was young to never have kids. But he loved John. He loved John more than anything, more than himself. Was he being selfish? Maybe. Was John being selfish? Of course not. A part of taking care of Sherlock was accepting this.

But Sherlock still felt awful. He really did want to make John happy. He didn't know how, on this topic, but he did his best.

For John's birthday, which was two months after this conversation, Sherlock got John a dog.

This wasn't just any dog. This was the dog he saw and immediately thought of John. It was quiet, thoughtful of all the other dog's in the pack, he seemed to be the leader, and he was small. Not too small, though. He was just right.

To be honest, Sherlock may have fallen in love with the dog the moment he saw him.

So he tried his best to wrap him up -a red ribbon bow on top of the dog's head- and placed him in the living room for John to find.

"Sherlock?"

"Mmmm?"

"You know we have a dog in here?"

"I do."

"Why?"

"Read his collar."

The tag on his collar said, "Your baby." It was kind of weird, but it warmed John's heart in just the right places. He smiled and hugged the dog, then got up and hugged Sherlock.

"You shouldn't have."

"I wanted to."

"Are you going to be ok with this?"

"Ok with what?"

"My attention is going to be divided now, you know that? Some to you, some to him."

Sherlock groaned. He did not realize that. "But you like him, right?"

"Yes, of course. Thank you so much. I love you."

"I love you too, John. Happy birthday."

"Thank you, Sherlock."

"What are you going to name him?"

"Does he have one already? Sometimes they do."

"No, not that I know of. I don't speak dog."

"All right. How about…" John thought long and hard. For minutes. For forty-eight minutes. "Gladstone."

"Gladstone? What the hell kind of name is that?"

"The one I want for our dog."

"Your dog."

"He lives under our roof."

"You know you can't trust me to feed him and stuff, right?"

"I never thought I could."

"All right. Just so we're clear."

"You're very amazing, Sherlock."

"You are, John."

And Sherlock didn't feed or walk the dog. He did walk him if John wanted Sherlock to keep them company, but other than that John had no such luck with getting Sherlock to do anything to take care of their baby.

And Sherlock didn't really like to share John.

"I'll be right back, sweetie. I've got to walk Gladstone." John got out of bed and slipped his jeans on.

"We just woke up! Can't we just lay here?"

"No, you can go back to sleep. I've got to walk Gladstone."

"Jooooooooohn…" Sherlock whined as John pulled a shirt on.

"Ten minutes."

"Baaaaaaaaaabe…"

"Five minutes."

"If you stay here, I'll let you do whatever you want to me. Or I can do whatever you want me to do to you."

John almost stopped. "Oh, no. You're not using sex to keep me from walking our dog."

"Your dog."

"Stop calling him that!"

"Fine. I don't like this, John. I don't."

"You bought him for us."

"For you."

"Stop it!"

"All right, all right."

John went to the bed to hover over Sherlock. "I'll be right back. I love you." John kissed Sherlock quickly.

John took twenty minutes. He walked the dog, walked him some more, then played around the living room with him for ten minutes. Finally, the dog's energy died down and John went back to bed.

"I'm back."

"Yes, I could hear."

John slipped under the covers. "Did you miss me?"

"No."

"Liar."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Liar."

So, it took a while for Sherlock to get used to John having Gladstone, but once in a while John would catch Sherlock loving Gladstone. He'd pat the dog's head, or he'd throw the dog's toy, or he'd actually fill the dog's water bowl.

Once John actually, honestly, walked in to see the two of them asleep on the couch, the dog slightly drooling on Sherlock's chest.

And really, the dog's goal was to please Sherlock. Of course he pleased John, but if Sherlock paid him any attention, the dog's whole life would be complete. He'd be the most obedient dog ever if Sherlock so much as said his name without snarling.

John thought it was quite adorable. To John, his whole little family was complete. Just him, his one true love, and their baby.