This is a work of fanfiction- no copyright infringement intended, no profit was made.
Sherlock retrieved his phone from the desk and texted his brother.
Hello, brother dear - are you too busy starting a skirmish somewhere to speak to me? - SH
No, Sherlock, I am doing paperwork. What do you want? - MH
Well, then... John and I have decided to accept your kind offer about a child. - SH
Really? Excellent, Sherlock. I will visit you with more details of the program. -MH
Fine, then we will see you sometime tomorrow morning - not too early, say, eleven? Thank-you. - SH
"Well, there's nothing for it, we'll have to suffer a few visits from Uncle Myc - oh, god, can you imagine? He'll probably want to be called something grander, I am sure," John responded, with a slight chuckle. "I just want to know one more thing, Sherlock."
"What's that?" asked his lanky husband, assuming a supine position on the sofa, his head conveniently in John's lap.
"Just how long have you known about this, clever clogs? I know you well enough to be certain you hashed it out in your own giant brain a few million times before you ever broached the subject with me." John said, his hand threading its way through wayward curls.
Sherlock stretched like a cat and answered, "Erm, for about 8 days and 5 hours, I think. I wanted to find out everything I could about the process and its relative safety first. I – err - took the train and then drove out to Baskerville and had a chat with Dr. Stapleton. Was that - not good?"
"Not at all, my lovely, it was just you, being your own Sherlock-y self, and I wouldn't have expected anything less of you. So, that's where you were when you said you were in Cardiff!" replied John.
"Well, I couldn't very well just tell you - it wouldn't have made much of an anniversary gift that way, would it?"
"Anniver - oh, damn. I've forgotten an important date, haven't I? I don't recall..." stammered John, wracking his brain for a significant occurrence and coming up with nothing.
"John, today is the day, three years ago, that you and I proposed to each other at the same time! You know I can't help but remember these things, even though they may be trivial to other people. I never even expected to have a friend, much less a best friend, and a husband - it was more than I dared think about." Sherlock answered all at once, slightly out of breath at the finish. "I grew up thinking that no one but Mummy and Dad would ever love me, and I thought I could live with that, until you - I do love you, John."
"And I love you, you great soppy thing! Happy Anniversary of our proposal, then. You are suspiciously sentimental for someone who used to deride the whole 'sentiment' thing," John teased his love. "I think you will do very well with a child, love, very well indeed. You may need some practical knowledge, most new parents do - but I can definitely see you being a brilliant father!"
Sherlock beamed at these words of enthusiasm from John - he had worried about whether he would be good at parenting a newborn, especially. But since John knew about them, he could teach Sherlock what he needed to learn, and then he would, of course, be able to handle it - why, ordinary people did it all the time! And Molly and Greg trusted him with little Emily; he loved going over to theirs and playing with her and seeing what she had learnt. She was the smartest baby he had ever known - not that he'd paid attention before, really... but of course, Molly was brilliant in her own right and Greg was - not bad - for a Scotland Yarder. (And at least, now he was visiting them more often, Sherlock could - usually - remember Lestrade's Christian name.)
"Come on, John, time for bed - Mycroft will be here disgustingly early, I know he will. I told him eleven, but I know he will appear before then, just for spite. Still, I suppose we'll have to suffer through his tedious explanations and whatnot, or he won't approve us for the study. He really would do anything to avoid being forced to reproduce, even make us happy while he's about it."
"All right, love - did you want anything before we go to bed - tea, water, juice? I'm just going to get some juice and take it in with me. No? Well, be there in a tick." John said, busying himself in the kitchen for a minute, getting his glass of juice and carrying it into the bedroom they shared. Sherlock was coming out of the loo, having cleaned his teeth and brushed his hair, something he did every night, saying it just got too messy if he didn't. John thought he rather liked it when Sherlock's curls were all over the place, they made him look even younger and more beautiful (if that were possible) like that. Ah, well...
John sat on the bed and drank his juice, and made his own trip to the loo. He then climbed into what was now his side of the bed, and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist, and smiled as the detective snuggled closer. He grinned as he noted that the man who used to go days without sleep, now settled down and was off to sleep in a few minutes, most days. Of course, they might both need to cultivate that going without sleep habit again, soon. As he drifted off, there was a smile on his face, and he dreamed about what their child might look like - he was seeing a boy with dark curls. Or maybe, a little girl in frilly dresses and a riot of curls. Either way, he hoped they would have Sherlock's beautiful curly locks, and his tall, slim frame - he was gorgeous and any child of his could be a runway model, if they wished. Then he giggled softly at the thought of Sherlock sashaying down a runway in very naughty lingerie and stilettos, something he had done recently for a case. (And as with everything, he was bloody good at it, the prat!) That made him smile even more.
Sherlock also was thinking about their future son or daughter. He would love either, but he had to admit he was completely smitten with Molly's daughter, Emily. She was adorable and so smart, he was sure she would start talking any time now. He knew Molly and Greg had a friendly wager on whether Emily would say "Mama" or "Dada" first - and he had been secretly coaching Emily - a bit - repeating "Mama" to her frequently. He knew that Molly would be so excited - of course, she would be excited either way, but he wanted "his" pathologist to win the wager. She had been such a good friend to him when he desperately needed her, and she and Greg were very happy together.
He thought about the nursery, too. They could keep the baby in their room for a few months, but would need a proper room after that. Perhaps John's old room upstairs? A brief flash of a room with a painted mural consisting of animals, or perhaps stars, moons, and planets; went through his mind. Sally Donovan had quite a flair for art, and she had been surprisingly supportive since he and John had gone public with their relationship and marriage - maybe she would do the artwork? And Greg was rather handy, maybe he could help them with the cot and any other furniture they needed to put together. Sherlock knew that he was absolute pants at that sort of stuff, even with directions; and John just got frustrated and then angry and spent more time cursing than building - but he was extremely good at swearing!
A hundred other random thoughts went past as he started falling asleep, as he thought about what their child might look like. He hoped it – they? - would have John's eyes and hair - heaven knows he wouldn't want a child to take after himself, with lanky limbs and sharp angles all over the place. Of course, it might be a boy, but one with John's looks, and blond hair. He could see that small, sturdy boy very well, and smiled to himself. A number of different faces went past in his mind, the last being a little girl with blonde curly hair (he did admit he liked his curls) and John's cornflower- blue eyes sitting on the rug in the sitting room, playing with - the skull! That thought put a smile on his face that lasted until he was well asleep.
A/N - This work was not beta-ed, so all mistakes are mine. Thanks for reading, ~joan