Chapter 3: The Truth About Forever

"There is never a time or place for true love.

It happens accidentally, in a heartbeat,

in a single flashing, throbbing moment."

-Sarah Dessen, The Truth About Forever

John's hope for finally being able to take their relationship to the next level died when the family returned to Baker Street. Lestrade was waiting for them; Sherlock was needed on a case of a man who had been found lying on the banks of the Thames.

"Can't you lot do anything?" Sherlock growled as he looked at the DI standing in his living room. Bloody fucking hell! All he had wanted to do was get home and get John under him! Was it too much to ask for a little time to spend with the man he loved, a little time to take that one step into the physical. Sherlock had waited several years now for this moment and by God if Lestrade wasn't going to destroy it.

"Sherlock," John chided as he sat down in his armchair with Hamish.

"Hey there, Hamish. How is my favorite junior consulting detective doing, hum? Daddy driving you batty yet? God knows he drives your Uncle Mycroft nuts from what I hear and he doesn't do much better for Uncle Greg." Lestrade murmured to the child which earned him a growl from John.

"Can't the two of you please not fight in front of the baby, just this once? You're upsetting him." John could feel the child's little body start to tense as he sensed the tension between the adults in the room. If he thought it would do any good he'd make Lestrade leave but he knew the mood had been ruined and Sherlock would eventually start wandering about the case after the DI was gone until he finally excused himself to go have a look. It would save them all several hours of frustration if Sherlock just went and did what Lestrade asked. It wouldn't take him more than an hour at the crime scene to deduce every possible detail he could gather.

"Fine!" Sherlock nearly screamed as he flicked his hand at the DI dismissively. The very last thing he wanted was to upset his son by arguing with the Detective Inspector. "I'll follow along but you know I don't ride in patrol cars." With a muttered thanks Lestrade left and Sherlock turned to John.

"I'm sorry, I really wanted to…" He stopped when John simply shook his head and smiled at him.

"Go," he said quietly as he cradled Hamish close and looked across the room at his friend. "We'll be here when you get back."

Sherlock watched him for a moment, just stood there and looked at him while he stared back and Hamish cooed and babbled happily from John's lap. The scene was so…pretty. The three of them, a family. Sherlock moved across the room, his long legs eating up the distance and without a word swooped down and taking John's face between his hands kissed him. The first brush of his friends lips against his was soft and teasing, a test to see how it felt. Sherlock pulled back and looked down into John's eyes turned dark with unsatisfied hunger. Electricity arched between them and quickened both heartbeat and pulse. Sherlock felt like his whole body was a live wire waiting to spark and he loved it. No high he'd ever gotten in his life had been as all-consuming as one brush of John's lips. He dipped his head again and laid his mouth over the doctors.

John was helpless under the assault of Sherlock's mouth on his. For a man who had no real experience with matters of physical attraction and intimacy he kissed like he did all other things, with an all-consuming passion and fire that swept you away and left you floating. He rode that high with his mate waiting for the end. Sherlock used his whole mouth in the kiss. Tongue reached out and tangled with his before retreating back, teeth nipped his lower lip and held on long enough to sting before his lips came back to kiss the bruised flesh. By the time Sherlock was done John was weak with lust and desire. It was cliché and completely stupid but he was. No one had elicited the kind of response in him. Ever.

Sherlock pulled back slowly not waiting to break the contact. He rested his forehead against John's and his breath ghosted over his friends face.

"An hour, maybe two at the most." Sherlock muttered and John wasn't sure if he was talking to himself or him.

"Go," John said pulling back and kissing the middle of Sherlock's forehead, absorbing the warmth of his skin on his chilled, wet lips.

Without another word Sherlock was up and out the door. John looked down at Hamish who was staring at him with those blue eyes that had done him in the very first time he'd looked at the child. He was afraid that as Hamish got older he'd realize their effect on him and use them to try to get his way. John shook his head. Nah, Sherlock would be more than firm enough for both of them.

"Look at you," he said and chuckled. "Let see what we can find to get into while your daddy is gone."

The hour Sherlock had thought it would take turned into almost eight and one horribly long foot chase through downtown. By the time that he got back to the flat it was dark and John and Hamish were asleep in his bed. John was laying on his back with his arm stretched out to the side gripping the extra pillow while Hamish snuggled against his bare chest and side. The child looked content and a small smile tipped his lips up at the corners.

Sherlock took a moment to appreciate the sight of John lying in his sheets before taking in the scene as a whole. The man he loved and their son lying together in his bed in their home. The mere thought of it made his heart skip and his stomach tighten. He had been so scared for so long that he would never find this and yet within the space of a month and a half here it was. He had a family, an honest to God family. He had never been close to his parents and Mycroft drove him crazy with his constant goings on. Here though was true family and true friendship.

He moved quietly around the room and stripped off his clothes, changing into his sleeping trousers. He thought about putting on a shirt but decided against it. He wanted to feel John's skin against his, even if it was only while they slept. Sherlock considered waking his friend up and putting Hamish in his crib. He and John could be quite if they had to. But he decided against it and instead crawled into the bed and curled up against John.

As soon as his arm slipped around the doctor John jerked up and awake, shifting Hamish farther behind him as if to protect him. Sherlock smiled at the instinctive gesture.

"Sherlock," John said as he moved to lie back down. He smiled up at him and reached out his hand to stroke his arm. "When did you get in?"

"Just now," he whispered moving to stretch out against John's side. He reached around him and stroked Hamish's hair. "I'm sorry it took so long. I ended up having to chase the murder halfway across London on foot. Lestrade should really consider hiring more athletic officers." John chuckled as he turned his head into Sherlock's bare chest and nuzzled his skin.

"Hamish missed you. We were playing with the floor mat that Mycroft bought him and every so often he'd look up and say 'Da' and look at the door. I kept telling him you'd be home soon."

"I wish I could have come home sooner. If Lestrade would…"

"Sherlock, don't be mean." John chided playfully and nipped at his friend's chest. Sherlock sucked in a breath, gave a deep throated moan, and everything stopped. John went completely still and kept his eyes on the piece of flesh he had just bitten, watching as it reddened prettily from his little punishment. Sherlock's breathing picked up and became shallow. John chanced a glance down and saw the hard line of his erection outlined against the silk of his sleeping trousers.

"John," the detective whispered against his ear pulling his head up and looking straight into eyes gone dark with lust. John's own body tightened and he licked his suddenly dry lips.

He shifted closer to Sherlock careful to not disturb Hamish in the process. He rolled until he rested his body on top of the other mans with their lower bodies aligned. The hardness tripped behind their sleeping trousers brushed against each other and John fought to keep from thrusting. Not with Hamish here, in bed with them. Not with Hamish in the room period.

"We could put Hamish in his crib." Sherlock suggested as he ran his hands over John's bare back and rose up to press a kiss to his bare shoulder and chest.

"No," John said with a shake of his head. "I don't like the thought of him hearing us. It doesn't feel right to have him in the room with us." He lowered his head and kissed Sherlock's mouth, holding himself back. For tonight kisses and some light touching would do. Tomorrow they would take Hamish to Mrs. Hudson and have their time.

Sherlock rubbed his shoulders as he kissed him, holding him close, trying to coax him into moving his hips by bucking his own. A soft whimper broke their heated embrace and John plopped down on the bed beside Sherlock. Hamish's eyes were still closed but his little body was curled up and his fists were squeezed tightly together.

"He must be having a bad dream." Sherlock said as he reached over to scoop the child into his arms.

"My poor baby," he cooed to the child as he cradled him close in one arm while stroking his smooth pale cheek with the fingers of the other.