I would like to thank everyone who added my storie to favourites, alert or reviewed. please keep doing this. You guys make my day. I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'm not entirely happy with it, but I have a good idea what to do with the next chapters, so they will be better (I hope).
One more thing: I don't know how Sherlock's mother is called, so I named her Petronella after nickname of a friend of mine. I hope you guys won't mind it. now on with the story and let me know what you think of it. If you would want something to happen in this story, please tell me and if I like the idea, I may put it in.

John was looking for the cab that Sherlock had called in for sure, when he felt two arms sliding around his hips.
"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?"
He felt Sherlock's silent laugh more than he heard it, since Sherlock lips were pressed against his ears, in a way that, judging by the surprised, disgusted and even some endearing looks their bystanders were giving them, made them look like a loving couple.
"Shh, John" Sherlock whispered against his ear "Mummy has send her private driver to pick us up. We wouldn't give him a reason to doubt story, now would we."
John looked startled "Private driver? Where?"
"John, it's the biggest car here, how can you miss it?"
John's eye felt on the huge limousine that was standing across the road.
"Sherlock, you are kidding me, right?"
"Now John, why would I do that? No I'm not kidding, and be happy it's the silver one and not the blue or the pink one."
"Three limousines Sherlock? Your mother has three limousines?"
"Well actually she has seven, but the others are just plain black or white."
"Oh right, black or white limousines, dull, not worth mentioning. Jesus Sherlock, why I am here?"
"I told you, I like it when there is at least one person there to appreciate me the way everybody should."
"That's not what I meant. Why did you want a flat mate."
"Well it was an experiment."
"Of course it was."
"But then I realized that it was nice to have you around."
"Of cou... wait, what? You like having me around? Since when?"
"Since you shot the cabbie for me. I never thought you would kill to save someone you have only just met."
By now, John had turned around to make it easier to communicate with Sherlock. Only Sherlock had kept his arms around his waist, so there wasn't much space between them.
"If you say it like that, people will think I would kill anyone when given a reason."
"Well why else did you kill him?"
"You haven't deduced it? There is a part of me that you can't figure out?"
"John, the longer I know you, the less sense you make. You never do what I expect you to do."
"Thank you, I guess."
"So why did you shoot the cabbie?"
"Sherlock, it didn't take me that long to know that, no matter what your quirks are, you are a good person and the cabdriver was a bad person. It wasn't hard to decide which one would be a grater loss to the world."
"Thank you."
"Will you release me now, so we can go towards your ordinary, silver limousine."
Sherlock chuckled
"Let's do that. If you find the limousine impressive, I can't wait until you see the house. I'll give you a hint: it's a little bit bigger than our home."

John laughed because Sherlock rare attempt to a joke. John smiled because Sherlock hadn't even noticed how he called Baker street 'home' and his childhood house just 'the house'.

====3====

"Is that your house?"
In front of him was a long lane. Through the branches he could see a white house off at least fifty metres. The sides were covert in ivy. Leading to the front door, there were two side stairs and a little roof supported by six pillars.
"Yes John, don't sound so impressed. It was only to brag with their money that my forefathers bought this house. It's obnoxiously extravagant."
"How old is it?" John couldn't help to be impressed. It was extravagant, but it was too beautiful, for John not to be impressed.
"The house itself is from the eighteenth century, but my family bought it only around the nineteenth century."
"It's amazing."
"It's exaggerated." Sherlock sighed. "It was mend to be, so my family will not take it as an insult."

They were walking through the lane, towards the house
"Your family is rich. You're rich."
"You only noticed it now? And I thought that maybe your brain wasn't as slow as everybody else."
"Is that an complement dressed like an insult, Sherlock?"
"Maybe"
"Thank you, I guess. You do know what this means, right?"
"What does it mean, John?"
"You're paying the cab next time."

By that time they had reached the door.
"Ready?" Sherlock asked, giving John one last chance to quit.
"Yes, I am. Sort of."
"Let's do this then." And he rang the doorbell, while putting his arm around John.

"Sir Sherlock, your mother is expecting you in the living area."
"Of course she is." Sherlock mumbled "Fine, lead us the way James."

"You have a butler. A butler whose name is James. Really?"
"Yes John, really. His name is James as was his father's, his father's father's and even his father's father's father's. It's a tradition in their family. You're not mocking with their family traditions, are you John?"
"Well, at least we know who did it when a murder happens."
"Of course we'll know, Mycroft and I are here."
"Sherlock, it's just a joke. It's kind of cliché for the butler to have committed the murder. When we're home again, we're going to play cluedo."
"You'll lose every time."

They had reached a wooden door.
"The living area, sir"
"Thank you James, you can go now."
"Yes sir."
"You know Sherlock, I just realised you treat me the same as you treat your butler."
"Now, that's not true John, I would never make you call me sir"
They laughed for a while, trying not to think about the fact that they would have to go in the room some time.

The door slowly opened and it squeaked, making John almost expecting for a terrifying murder coming out. In fact he wasn't that wrong, as it was Mycroft.
"Mummy says that you are allowed to come inside. There's no need to linger here."
"He's right, Sherlock, we'll have to go inside sooner or later, then it better be sooner, don't you think."
"You're probably right. Let's go inside and spread our love, my dear."
John didn't know if it was the feeling of being back in his childhood house, or just the nerves, that made Sherlock try to make jokes, but he kind of liked it. That was until Sherlock decided that the message would make a clearer statement by kissing John on the cheek.
And the reason he didn't like it was because it wasn't normal for Sherlock to be that sweet, or to act like a love struck fool. It was because it was abnormal for him to receive a kiss, even if it was just a peck on the cheek, from his flat mate. There were many reason why he didn't like it, but the shivers that he felt till in his little toe, weren't one of them.

===3===

"Dear John Watson, I'm so pleased to meet you. I've heard so many things about you."
Sherlock's mother was nothing like Sherlock, more like Mycroft. Except for her black curls, those were definitely the same as Sherlock's. But Petronella Holmes was a smart (of course!) but nice and sympathetic woman. John liked her the moment he saw her.
"Who told you things about me?"
"Does it matter?"
"Of course it matters, if it was Mycroft, you will have heard almost only bad things, but if Sherlock told you, you will have certainly heard only bad things."
Petronella laughed, Mycroft smiled and Sherlock pouted. John had reached his intention. The ice was broken and the rest of the evening went by smoothly.

At least until dinner.
They were busy finishing their fourth dish (John was just wondering how many would follow, because he was full, but didn't want to be impolite by passing a dish) when Petronella asked John the question.
"So John, when did you and Sherlock realised you were in love?"
"Well, Sherlock being Sherlock, he realised I was in love with him about five minutes before I did. When he realised his feelings for me, I don't know."
"The moment I saw you, dear. And when I'm being completely honest, the moment I heard you walk in. You sounded so self-assured that I was curious to who you were. And the sight of you has never disappointed me so far."
John was surprised how much Sherlock's acting abilities had progressed, before he could always tell when Sherlock was being sincere and when he was acting, but now, Sherlock sounded totally serious. As if!
"And you John, how did you realise?" Petronella asked again, apparently happy with her son's answer.
"Well, I thought he was attractive and brilliant since I've met him of course, there's no denying that, but I realised I loved when I realised that I still thought he was more attractive and brilliant than he was annoying. Even when he putted blood in my favourite mug again. That I still wanted to stay even when he was being a complete twat, jerk, asshole, prick and a lot of other abusive words, which I will not use, since it would hurt his feelings and he would make me sleep on the cough for a week. I realised it was love, when I realised I loved him because of instead despite of. And the moment I finished realised this, he kissed me."
Petronella smiled lovely at his answer and John was happy with it as well. At least it was completely true except for the last sentence.
Wait a minute...
Damn! It was completely true!