Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun.

Tell Me This Night Is Over.

Chapter Fourteen.

Sherlock set John on the bed as Mrs. Hudson came in just behind them, cooing at Benjamin. Sentinel was sitting, still and watchful, beside the bed, in a stay position. His training showing marvelously.

After having spent months in this bed, John hadn't thought it would feel so bloody fantastic to be back in it but it did. Being home, it made all the tight knots in his muscles relax. Being home with Sherlock that was what he needed to heal. He held Benjamin and let Sentinel sniff at him, proud that the dog kept his distance and was as gentle as could be.

"Good boy Sen, this is Benjamin, we are going to look after him and keep him safe aren't we?"

The dog's tail went a half a mile an hour as he gently nuzzled a tiny, tiny hand, whining in what sounded to Sherlock like canine agreement.

Sherlock pat the dog on the head and murmured, "Good boy." He knew the dog would protect the baby, the tongue lolling grin and guard position Sentinel was already taking up on his dog bed between the crib and his and John's bed was proof of that. "Do you want anything John?"

"No, I am completely happy and content as I am." John smiled. "Me and froggy here both." He looked at Benjamin who had fallen asleep on John's stomach, legs tucked up underneath him like a frog. "And yes, I am aware I called him a piglet before...I'll probably go through most of the animal kingdom before I'm done."

Mrs. Hudson clucked from her position by the crib where she was setting the baby bag and essentials, "And then you'll start the cycle again dear. The two of you should both settled down and sleep while little Ben is doing the same." She pat Sentinel on the head and gave Sherlock's arm a squeeze, "You'll be desperate for the sleep soon enough loves."

Sherlock chose to toe off his shoes and slide up into the bed beside John, "She is rather correct."

"I know, I know she's right. I suppose I'm still just addicted to holding him. He ran his fingertips over Benny-Jo's back and diaper clad bum lovingly. "You should put him in the crib though before coming here and get some rest of your own, no sneaking off once I'm asleep."

"Very well," He carefully took their son from John and carried him to the crib, settling him onto his back, a smile curving the corners of his mouth as Ben's legs remained drawn up. He drew a light blanket over the baby, making sure that it couldn't tangle or distress him in any way, then returned to the bed with John, arranging himself so he was wrapped around him in a way that wouldn't pull or pain the incision.

John hummed in contentment and curled into Sherlock's body, minding the incision. He just needed the closeness. Always, he always wanted to be close to Sherlock. "Love you." John's eyes were already drooping; he pushed his nose against Sherlock's neck and fell asleep that way, breathing in the scent of Sherlock.

Sherlock murmured an, "I love you," in return and settled, resting without sleeping as he tended toward. Choosing instead to watch over his family for the time being.

oOo

Greg flipped the chicken cutlets in the fontina sauce and watched with amusement as Mycroft dithered over wine, "Tell you to calm down would be pointless I suppose."

"Completely pointless so it would be a waste of breath to even try." Mycroft weighed two bottles in his hands, one white and one red. Usually you had white with chicken but this red one was light and airy and would complement the fontina sauce wonderfully. He just couldn't decide which one to have.

"Mmm," he checked the brussel sprouts then the lemon tarts in the oven, "Well, while you're thinking it over, use those multi-tasking skills to toss the salad will you please? The dressing is in the bowl beside it."

"What?...Oh yes of course." Mycroft walked over to toss the salad and then dress it. It smelled fresh and lovely just as everything Greg had his hand in making. Mycroft wasn't useless in a kitchen, he could cook if he was forced to but he'd never enjoyed it very much. He'd much rather eat food than prepare it, something Sherlock would never let him forget.

"Thanks," Greg peppered the sprouts lightly, "And if you want my, not very expert at all, opinion, I'd go with the red. It should make the dressing as well as the chicken really pop, to use a cliché expression."

"It's a better expression than the flavors buggering in your mouth at least." Mycroft wiped his hands on a pristine tea towel. "I think you are right about the wine though, I was leaning toward the red myself." He walked over and pressed a kiss to Greg's cheek before moving to open the wine to let it breathe.

He smiled and chuckled; "Now I have to wonder where you might have heard that from. I'm pretty certain I've never said it before." He checked the tarts again, hummed when they proved to be done, and pulled them out of the oven to cool for a few moments.

"Told you, the perils of a misspent youth. I've heard all kinds of things Gregory, most of them aren't worth repeating though." He walked over to sniff at the tarts. "These smell absolutely delicious."

"They'll taste even better," he snagged Mycroft's wrist and pulled him in close for a kiss, "Especially once they cool enough for me to add the clotted cream." He tilted his head when the doorbell rang, "Bit early is she? Unless that's not her."

"Don't know honestly, Mummy's style would be to walk straight in but maybe she's learned tact." Mycroft looked a bit doubtful at that. "More likely she'd be trying to appear normal for you. I'll go get the door...Wish me luck." He walked out of the kitchen through the hallway and opened the door.

"Darling," dark hair bound up in an elegant chignon despite the curls that she'd passed on to her second son, Violet Holmes stepped forward to air kiss Mycroft's cheeks and then looked him up and down, "Oh you do look wonderful don't you? Sherlock mentioned that your Gregory does you good and photographs do miss so much."

"Mummy," Mycroft returned the kisses, embracing his mother lightly. "You look lovely as well, I swear you're just getting younger, you're early though, I'm afraid we haven't got everything quite set up yet I'm afraid. Do come in though, I hope your journey was pleasant." He moved to take his mother's coat.

"Very pleasant," she allowed him to take the soft gray Nuria coat from her, "Though the cab drivers do seem to be getting more and more nervous these days. Two almost ran off the road as I passed them in Scarlett."

"Mmhm, I'm sure it has everything to do with skittish cabbies and nothing at all to do with the way you drive." Mycroft's voice was dry as could be. "Tell me Mummy, did you remember what side of the road to drive on this time?" He put her coat away in the closet, absently noticing the Westwood label. It was a gorgeous coat but Mycroft hoped she would choose a different designer when she met with Sherlock and John.

She tutted, "Come now darling it was only that one time, and it was an emergency. It's not my fault the lorry driver ignored my horn." She looped her arm through his, "Now where is your Gregory?"

"My Gregory is in the kitchen, why don't we go meet him?" Mycroft couldn't help but smile at his whirlwind mother and he offered her his arm. "I really like this one Mummy, love him even so please no surprises."

She said nothing, made no promises as he escorted her to the kitchen. She would form her own opinion of the man who had her eldest all a-flutter. And he was certainly a handsome man, she noted as soon as they stepped into the kitchen, as well as a cook, the scents and expert way the chicken cutlets were plated told the tale to that. Observant, at least as much as anyone with a normal mind was, as he shifted, a slight tense then relaxation to his shoulders as soon as they made the first step into the kitchen. Of course he would have to be observant being a Detective Inspector. She quirked a brow as he turned, wiping his hands on a tea towel, and offered a smile. "Oh I certainly see his appeal darling," she released Mycroft's arm and stepped forward, offering her hand, "Violet Holmes, a pleasure to meet you."

Greg took her hand brushing a kiss over the knuckles before giving her a charming grin, "Mrs. Holmes, the pleasure is all mine."

She laughed, "Well aren't you a charmer. Do pardon my early arrival; I've been simply impatient to make your acquaintance. Not to mention driving up left me positively famished."

"Nothing to pardon. I hope you'll like the menu."

"Oh I'm a fan of good food, something I passed on to Mycroft a little too well I used to think."

Greg shook his head, "Impossible. Mycroft's perfect as is." He noticed the gorgeous woman's eyes sharpen and her gaze sweeping him in a way reminiscent of Sherlock, only with more years behind it. He just gave her a smile and repeated the sentiment, "Absolutely perfect just as he is."

"I'm plenty of things Greg but I'm not perfect, we both know that." Mycroft couldn't stop the warmth from spreading through his whole body at Greg's words though. He slid his gaze to his mother and hoped she would approve of his lover but for once he found that it really didn't matter. Nothing would ever make Mycroft give up Greg unless it was what Greg wanted. If by some chance Mummy didn't like it, well then she could just turn around and leave the way she came, it would be no loss to anyone but her.

Running his hand along Greg's arm in a soft gesture, he walked over to pour them each a glass of wine to sip on as they waited for the food to get ready.

Greg's hand automatically turned to ghost fingers over the inside of Mycroft's wrist as he passed before he turned to the last steps needed to coat the sprouts in a light butter.

Violet accepted the wine glass from her son and took a sip, a smile playing around the edges of her mouth. She liked the way Mycroft looked at and already acted with Gregory and more, she liked the way Gregory immediately jumped to defend her son as well as return the affection he so rarely displayed. That Mycroft was comfortable, relaxed, with Gregory spoke more than a thousand words. "You've known my sons for quite some time haven't you Gregory?"

He smiled, understanding already. He was a father himself after all. "Known Sherlock for six years now, didn't officially meet Mycroft until six months into that." He chuckled and looked over at her, "He shanghaied me, though I think I made it a little frustrating since I never picked up any of the corner phones that rang when I went past them."

"Ah yes, meeting method twenty two. Why didn't you pick up?"

"No reason to. Didn't know who was calling and if they were calling me then it'd have been foolish to pick up since anyone who wants to get in touch with me can through Dispatch if they don't have my number." He plated the brussel sprouts, "Just seemed smarter not to pick up."

Her lips bloomed into a full out, approving smile, "Yes indeed. That particular method relies on the curiosity of the target to get the upper hand."

"Yes, I did miscalculate there." Mycroft ran a finger the length of his nose in thought. "I banked on the curiosity of someone who solves riddles for a living, my mistake. I did manage to get him to the warehouse at the harbor though and he didn't want money to watch over Sherlock or keep him around for sexual favors so it all worked out well, no need for the cleaners."

Greg rolled his eyes and wagged a spatula at Mycroft, "Solve riddles yeah but those riddles often involve murders from someone doing something stupid because they were curious enough to poke their nose in where it shouldn't be," he was smiling at Mycroft though. "I can even off an example no older than two years. Alex Woodbridge, amateur astronomer, calling on advice about the Vermeer painting, the poor sod."

"That was one of the schemes that Moriarty character set up that had my baby in a pool with snipers targeting him and his miracle wasn't it?" Violet sipped at her wine and watched Gregory decorate lemon tarts with clotted cream.

"That would be the one yeah. I still don't know how they got out of that one."

"A call from Irene Adler," Violet studied her wine, "Which does remind me that I need to arrange a meeting with Ms. Adler before she gets...ideas about trying to fiddle with Sherlock's family life," she saw Mycroft's confused expression, "Oh, you didn't know. Hmm Sherlock is getting better. The 'executioner' in Karachi apparently turned on his handlers, took down the entire cell, and aided in Ms. Adler's escape and falsified death."

"That little bugger." It came out as a hiss. Mycroft loathed Irene Adler, he'd been glad when he heard she was dead, there was only one person who disliked her even a smidgen of how he disliked her and that was John. He wondered how the good doctor would react if he found out that Sherlock had lied to him, or stayed silent, about helping her survive. Tricky, tricky. Mycroft would not be the one to tell John though, not now when he and Sherlock were alright again. "Please do arrange that meeting Mummy, if anyone is able to cast a shadow on their happiness it's her."

Greg turned and looked at the both of them, an amused quirk to his lips, "I've got twenty quid on John already knowing."

Violet tilted her head, "Oh? May I ask why you think he already knows?"

"Simple," Greg picked up the plates and took them to the small dining room, "John was already skeptical about Sherlock's sudden pursuit of him in a romantic fashion considering how Sherlock reacted to 'The Woman' then he went from moaning into a pint at the pub with me about it to holding hands at crime scenes so fast I should have gotten whiplash. Sherlock did, or said, something to make him toss the concerns out the window. Probably told him Adler was alive. Maybe gave him the phone to use as target practice," he shrugged and turned around to get the tarts, "Mycroft carry the salad in please?"

That right there was why Mycroft loved Greg so much, or at least one of the reasons why. Mycroft as well as Mummy and Sherlock had a tendency to get lost in their own brilliance, in schemes and plans so complicated that they often lost sight of the simplest solution. Greg though, Greg saw it and it made him amazing. He picked up the heavy crystal bowl containing the salad and carried it into the dining room, placing it on the gleaming table. Mycroft had no doubt that Greg was correct, John wouldn't have started a relationship with Sherlock if he wasn't sure of his affections and Sherlock would never risk John, that was something he just wouldn't do.

He exchanged a look with his mother, pride shining in his eyes in regard to his lover.

She merely lifted her glass in a silent toast, "Excellent reasoning Gregory. So excellent that I don't believe I will be taking your bet. It would be knowingly foolish."

He gave Mrs. Holmes a warm smile, "And the day a Holmes is knowingly foolish is the day the sky falls. Let's eat then."

"Yes indeed, and you can tell me about a scandalous little acting talent you displayed in a baby store."

Greg laughed and pulled a chair out for her, "I'd be happy to."

Mycroft slid into his own seat and smiled as he listened to his lover and his mother talk. He was a lucky man, he really, truly was.

oOo

Sherlock winced as Benjamin cried louder. It was obvious that their son was exhausted and wanted to sleep but very cranky because he couldn't seem to. Every time he started to drop off it seemed some loud, jarring noise from the street outside jerked him out of it. He pat the baby's back and looked at John, sitting in the rocking chair, seeing the stress Ben's crying brought him as well. There had to be something Sherlock could do, some way of drowning out the unwelcomed noises. His gaze fell on a lamp beside the crib with musical notes on the shade and something clicked in his head. He went over to John, "I've an idea, here," he carefully transferred their son into John's arms.

John took their son and cradled him close to his chest, setting the rocking chair into motion and making hushing noises into the soft cap of dark down on Benjamin's head. The tiny body was shivering with the strain of his cries and it made John's heart ache. He wanted so badly to be able to do something to calm Benjamin down, to allow him to fall asleep. He continued to rock in the chair as he watched what Sherlock was up to.

Sherlock had dashed into the living room and came back with his violin. He snugged it under his chin and began to play a soft melody, ready to stop if it upset Benjamin more but the music had always been able to drown out the world for him so perhaps it would help his son.

At first Benjamin tensed and his face screwed up but then almost like magic everything about him relaxed and he slumped against John's chest, his head resting against John's shoulder as he heaved a great shuddering sigh and closed his eyes.

The music Sherlock played was soft, lingering and almost haunting and so very beautiful. John rocked his now relaxed and silent son and watched his wonderful Sherlock play, then he closed his own eyes so he could see the music in his head; he always could when Sherlock was playing.

Sherlock let his fingers press and play out the melody, his eyes watching John and their son as he played the lullaby over and over again until he knew Ben was so soundly asleep nothing would wake him until he needed changing or feeding. It could have been five minutes or five hours, he really didn't know, what he did know was that, when he laid his bow down and carefully set the violin to the side, John's eyes were on him and the look in them made something catch in his chest. He went over to sit at John's feet, leaning his cheek against his knee.

John shifted so he still held Benjamin securely with one arm and could bring the other one down so he could sift his fingers through Sherlock's hair gently. "How are you Sherlock? I don't think I've really asked you that since you came home. How are you my love?" John's voice was barely above a whisper, it didn't have to be, he knew Sherlock could hear him and after the beautiful music Sherlock had played it felt wrong to break that spell with normal, harsh sounding words.

Sherlock's natural low register was easily kept to soothing levels, "I'm fine now. Happy." And he was. He was home, with John and now their son. It was comforting, safe. He knew that here he wouldn't have to worry about ambushes or shoving chairs under dodgy hotel bathroom doors just to be able to sleep for a few minutes in a cold porcelain tub so he would be able to function efficiently.

He found himself tracing John's ankle, just firmly enough to keep from tickling him, "How are you feeling? The incision?" It had been two weeks since the delivery and though he saw the incision when he helped John care for it, seeing was not capable of gauging how much pain it might be causing.

"I'm just fine, promise." John's fingers slipped lower to caress Sherlock's beautiful neck. "The incision is healing perfectly; it doesn't hurt anymore unless I bend too far down or stretch my arms over my head to reach for something." He ran his nails lightly over the nape of Sherlock's neck before returning to caresses.

If a human being could purr then that was precisely what Sherlock was doing. "Good, that's good." He curled his hand around John's ankle instead of continuing to caress it, a warm, solid touch. "I think my brother is close to going spare," his lips twitched and he looked up at John, "Mother and Lestrade apparently get on like a house on fire."

John chuckled. "Oh dear, that must wreak havoc with Mycroft's control issues. He must be very much out of his depth with those two teaming up." He went on with his light touches to Sherlock's neck.

"Oh he is. Lestrade apparently earned Mother's approval very quickly, something about simple understanding proving better than brilliance." His brows furrowed, "But neither Mycroft nor Mother will tell me anything more than that. It leaves very little to deduce." And that drove him crazy. He hated not knowing something.

"It has something to do with you then, or us. Otherwise at least Mycroft would be falling all over himself in pride over Greg." John shrugged as best as he could with a baby sleeping on him. To him it didn't really matter, he was just happy that Greg wouldn't have any trouble with mother in law.

"Yes but the question is what. There are several things that Mycroft and Mother wouldn't be able to deduce about us that Lestrade would just understand." His curiosity was well and truly engaged though not as strongly as it would have been otherwise. He had faith that Lestrade would warn him if it was something he needed to be concerned about.

"If you really want to know, I can text Greg and ask him. Simple and to the point." John's voice was full of humor, he knew all about Sherlock's curiosity. "Or we can invite him over and you can deduce what it is all on your own." He rubbed the pad of his thumb over Sherlock's cheekbone.

"I think, this time, I would rather you text him," he leaned into John's touch. He didn't want anyone besides Mrs. Hudson or maybe Sarah 'invading' the flat just yet. Not even Lestrade.

"Okay." John toned down on the amusement and surrendered his Sherlock petting to dig his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants. Buttons and belts were still a bit uncomfortable around his middle.

'Why are Mother Holmes and Mycroft singing your praises and them not telling Sherlock? Curiosity...Cat...Spill. - JW'

'My theory on why you went from crying in your pint to dating Sherlock. - GL'

John's brow went up as he read Greg's text. "Ah, it has to do with The Woman then." He showed Sherlock the text. "Your brother might be the government but he's also a terrible gossip."

Sherlock made an annoyed huff, "Mother told Mycroft. I had managed to keep it from him until this point." It had to have been his mother who'd discovered it. Once Mycroft was satisfied that he'd sussed out the right answer he left it alone. Mother however kept returning to everything and checking it over and over again.

"Now who does that remind me of?" John grinned. "Mycroft did say that it would take Sherlock Holmes to trick him that time...Apparently the woman who gave birth to you knows you better than that." He tapped out another text on his phone.

'Ta for that. Got nothing better to do though, than talking about our relationship? Sad days Greg, sad, sad days. - JW'

'Came up first evening. Vi expressed concern over IA possibly showing up and throwing a wrench in the works. Schemes and concerns were discussed; I mentioned Sherlock would have needed to prove he wanted you and only you before you'd date him. Be relieved I did or you'd have two Holmeses scheming about your relationship. - GL'

Again John showed Sherlock the text. "I am so very happy that I was not present for that conversation."

"Dear God yes. As it is Mother is still likely considering paying The Woman a visit for a nice little chat." Sherlock's tone was already bored. He honestly did not care if his mother dipped into the rule forties with Irene Adler. She was quite firmly in the 'would rather delete' file. The only reason he'd not deleted her existence was that he knew if she was brought up and he asked questions about who she was, it would be not good to John.

"Let her then, I bet on your mother in that battle." John couldn't care less either. Irene Adler had long since stopped being a worry in his mind. He had Sherlock and now they had Benjamin and John knew that even if Irene would come back intent on winning Sherlock, he and John had something that she couldn't possibly touch.

"It is always wisest to bet on Mother in most situations." A positively evil thought occurred to him and he smirked.

"Uh oh, what's that smile about then?" John placed the phone back in his pocket and reached down to trace Sherlock's lips with a fingertip. "Something wicked is on your mind when that smile comes out to play."

"I was just thinking we'll have to introduce Mother to Sarah." Unholy glee shimmered in his eyes as he thought of how much that would drive his brother round the twist, "They would get on marvelously."

"Christ they would be unstoppable, I haven't even met your Mum and I already know that." An answering grin spread over John's features. "I hope your mother is out of the business and not recruiting anymore, if she asked then Sarah might actually accept."

"Never completely out of the business but Mother was never into actively recruiting." A soft snuffle caught his attention and his eyes went to Benjamin, relaxing when the baby was apparently just snuggling deeper into dreams.

"I still can't get over that your mother is bloody Bond, or M perhaps, the one who rules it all." John's arm was going quite numb and he knew he would have to put Benjamin down in his crib soon. He still loved holding him though, loved the weight, smell and sound of him.

"More like Papava. Her designation was 004. Mother enjoys the field far too much to ever take the job of M." Sherlock was smiling softly at their son, watching the little face scrunch and twist in sleep.

"Not exactly helping with my anxiety about meeting her here." John watched both his men, knowing just how lucky he was to have them in his life. He was a little bit concerned about meeting Mother Holmes though he didn't want to be. After meeting and getting on with Greg, how could he be anything but a disappointment?

Sherlock smoothed his hand over John's thigh, "You shouldn't worry. Mother will adore you. How could she not?"

"Oh there are plenty of reasons why she shouldn't but I won't list them for you since you already know about all of them." He smoothed his hand over Sherlock's hair. "Give me a hand up? I need to put him down in the crib."

Sherlock shifted to his feet and helped John up, standing behind him when he laid Ben down. He slipped his arms around John and rumbled in his ear, "I love you and you love me. That will be enough for Mother." If it wasn't then Sherlock would have no problems cutting himself off from his mother.

"I do love you yes and that's certainly enough for me." John made sure Benjamin was safe and tucked in before turning around and wrapping his arms around Sherlock's shoulders, leaning in close so he could kiss him. "Gods how I love you."

Sherlock just returned the kiss, putting his heart into it rather than attempting to reply verbally. He simply was not good at vocalizing emotions. Facts and figures and deductions yes but not emotions.

John kissed back with everything he had, a purring growl escaping him as he moved his hands and cupped Sherlock's face as he continued kissing him.

Sherlock's own hands were sifting through the short cap of John's hair. There was just something in the way it was cut close that made it bristle against his fingers before smoothing out that Sherlock found a bit addictive. He broke the kiss, pressing one to John's brow before things could get heated.

Sighing John took a small step back, still close but not dangerously so. He couldn't wait for things to get heated but he knew he wasn't up for it yet...Well he was up for it but his body was not up for the strain quite yet. Still he wanted; when it came to Sherlock he always, always wanted.

Long fingers tangled with John's, "Sleep?"

"Yes, sleep." John agreed and pulled Sherlock along with him, stepping over a sleeping Sentinel and walking to the bed. He shed his sweatpants and climbed under the covers in his pants and t-shirt, waiting for Sherlock to get in as well so he could snuggle close to him.

Sherlock slid in beside John, wrapping himself around him as was his wont, his face nestling into the crook of John's neck.

John tangled his legs together with Sherlock's and gave a small grunt in contentment as he drifted off to sleep, one ear open to hear if Benjamin stirred.

To be continued…