Author's Note:

Some humor during a pretty serious moment. Brief moment of Johnlock as well. Thank you to everyone who is taking the time to review! Also, I made a companion fic for 'Dear John.' So, if you want a little extra character depth then feel free to read it!

Mycroft clutched at Lestrade as Sherlock left the room, taking several deep breaths. The Detective Inspector continued to hold his lover, only pulling away when Mycroft's mobile started going off. The man answered it like his life depended on it. "Siger?" He asked the other line desperately. There was a long pause and his head dropped. "He is the only one, then?" Another pause before Mycroft ended the call and tossed his mobile on Sherlock's bed. He brushed roughly past Lestrade and into the living room. "I hope you are happy," he whispered.

As soon as he heard Mycroft answer the phone, Sherlock sat up on the couch. He didn't have to ask what his older brother meant by that. The truth was, he was relieved John was okay over his own father. He wasn't close to their dad like his older brother though. He didn't reply because he knew it would incite a fight. Although, he supposed silence could spark the same result.

"ICU in Kabul. Shoulder is infected and he is in shock." Mycroft collapsed into John's chair and closed his eyes for a long moment. "Rushing him into surgery," he added as an after thought before uncharacteristically slamming his hand into the armrest. "This isn't fair!" Mycroft shouted. "It's always you! You always get everything you want! Dad deserved so much more than dying for him!"

So John wasn't out of the woods yet. Sherlock sighed at Mycroft's outburst. He got up from the couch preemptively and moved to his bedroom, figuring little Sandi would awaken due to the shouting.

Amy twisted slightly in her blankets and let out a small cry from all of the shouting. She glanced up at Sherlock and tried to take a deep breath before letting out a loud wail.

Mycroft stood abruptly, leaving the flat as Lestrade sat on the couch with a sigh. Wonderful. "Want some help?"

Sherlock picked up little Sandi. "It's okay. Uncle Mycroft is just upset Grandpa didn't make it." He glanced over to Lestrade."I will be fine. If I need anything, I can get Mrs. Hudson. Go check on my brother." He looked back down to Amy, rocking her lightly in his arms.

The tension in the room was too high and even Sherlock's voice couldn't calm Amy down. She sucked in a deep breath and let out a louder wail.

Lestrade left as Amy's crying got louder, deciding that comforting Mycroft would be quieter.

The flat was chaos for several minutes before Sherlock's phone lit up, one simple text flashing on the screen.

I love you. -JW

Of course Amy would choose now to have a crying fit. Frustrated and stressed, Sherlock suddenly got the overwhelming desire to want to shake the wailing infant in his arms into submission. His phone coming to life caught his attention immediately. He went to it, balancing little Sandi in one hand and picked it up. He was unfamiliar with the number but he clicked open the text anyway. He couldn't help but smile. "Hey, baby girl. Your Daddy just sent us a message. He loves us, you know that?" He sat down in his chair, still rocking Amy lightly. Using one thumb he sent a message back.

Love you too. –SH

A reply. Instantly. John smiled weakly and let his head fall back on the bed, sighing into the oxygen mask covering his mouth. Safe. At home.

The nurse couldn't help but smile slightly at the Captain's response. "Hold on to it for a while and text him." She left the room as John weakly started hitting the buttons to reply.

Kabul for a few weeks. Army is ending my tour. Come visit me. –JW

Sherlock continued to try and calm little Sandi. He read the message and smiled. He had planned on visiting anyway. Mycroft could make it happen the fastest but he wasn't sure how his older brother would react to such a request.

I will be there as soon as I can. I miss you. -SH

Amy slowly started to calm down, her small hand shoved in her mouth as she gummed at it. Sherlock seemed calm, happy, and Amy felt it. The area around her was enjoyable.

I miss you too. Sorry. I'm so sorry. -JW

The calm in his room was different but welcomed. Without the threat of physical and mental pain John was completely relaxed. Despite that John knew he couldn't fall asleep. He was responsible for the death of Sherlock's Dad, of three men in his company, and the nightmares would be horrendous.

"There you go. No need to be upset. Your daddy is safe now," Sherlock told little Sandi as he looked down to her once more. He read the latest text and frowned slightly. John was blaming himself for all the death and carnage. For a moment he was unsure what to reply and so he chose something generic.

No need to apologize. It isn't your fault. -SH

John grimaced and took a deep breath of the fresh oxygen. It was all his fault. He had worked with Sherlock's Dad and set up the whole plan. Everything that had happened was his fault.

Yes it is. Everything. Your Dad is dead. Your Mum probably hates me. I'm not out of the woods yet. Three men are dead that I'm responsible for. I'm a screw up. -JW

Amy pressed her face into Sherlock's chest, choosing to attach her mouth to Sherlock's shirt instead of her hand.

Sherlock sighed at the next text. Little Sandi sucking on his shirt managed to make him smile faintly. "Your Dad is a silly and stubborn man." After a moment of thoughtful silence he sent another text.

If you insist on playing this ridiculous blame game, then it should fall on me. If I hadn't become obsessed and caught up in Moriarty's games none of this would have happened. I doubt my mother will hate you. She knows Dad died doing what he loved, blowing shit up. –SH

He purposefully left out the part that Mycroft may not receive John well for awhile. His older brother was taking their father's death hard.

It would have been easy to reply to Sherlock and be frustrated but he took a deep breath and opted for self control instead. It took him several minutes to reply.

When can I see you? –JW

It was more desperate than he would ever admit but right now he didn't want to be in a hospital surrounded by strangers in a country where his luck wasn't exactly the best. He wanted his fiancé by his side.

The vibrations of Sherlock's chest made Amy relax even further. Her sock clad feet dug into Sherlock's forearm instinctively as sleep started to overtake her.

When little Sandi fell asleep, Sherlock got up from the chair carefully and walked back to his room. He placed Amy in the crib and slumped onto his own bed. It would be easier to text with both hands but he stayed in the room with the infant just in case.

I don't know. I will probably be expected to help with father's funeral arrangements and attend a service. I'll need to find someone to take care of Amy as well. –SH

The sound of the machines around him made John close his eyes for a long moment. It was instantly a bad idea and his eyes opened quickly as his heart monitor alerted him to the fact that he was scared and nervous. Sherlock. Text.

Mycroft and Lestrade. They would do fine. –JW

He swallowed hard and groaned as his chest objected to the movement. It was selfish but he just wanted Sherlock there to hold his hand and comfort him but the guilt of those thoughts made him wish he had not survived the kidnapping.

I'm sorry about your Dad. –JW

Assuming Mycroft wasn't feeling overly bitter about dad's death. Sherlock figured his Mum and Lestrade would be okay with watching little Sandi but he was unsure how his older brother would feel about it.

Yeah, that should be okay. It is fine about Dad. He and I weren't that close. –SH

It wasn't that he didn't care about the Old Man dying, he did, but he was more worried about John right now. In fact, his fiancé should probably be resting and not texting.

You should get some sleep. Text me again when you wake up. –SH

John didn't even bother to reply, giving into the comfort of the drugs and quickly falling asleep.

Mycroft returned to the flat and had taken to laying on the couch, curled tightly in Lestrade's side as the Detective Inspector wrapped an arm around his lover protectively. It was the least he could. His companion was clearly struggling but had managed to quickly fall asleep, Lestrade studying him intently. He had noticed the silence from Sherlock's room and managed to smile weakly when he realized the consulting detective, the man he had helped fight a horrid drug addiction, was turning into quite the father.

The door to his room was open, but Sherlock wasn't really paying attention to anything happening outside of it. He sat in quiet contemplation on the bed for awhile. His head finally lifted and he noticed Mycroft and Lestrade on the couch. He walked out to the living room. "Has he told Mum yet?" He asked quietly, so as not to wake his older brother or little Sandi.

Lestrade studied Sherlock with a small frown and gently shook his head. "Was going to when he woke up," he replied softly, looking at the consulting detective with a small frown. "John?" He asked softly, clearly worried about the Army doctor's well-being. The man had a family now, a fiancé and a daughter to care for.

"John's fine," Sherlock replied instantly. Not really true. The army doctor was obviously tormented by what had happen. It would take a lot of time for wounds like that to heal. "But they are keeping him at the hospital for a few weeks. I was planning on seeing him. Thought maybe you and Mycroft could watch little Sandi. If you don't want to, I'm sure Mum will. I will probably go the day after dad's funeral. You know, once it gets arranged."

Lestrade nearly jumped at the opportunity to take care of the little girl. "Of course," he whispered, nodding with a bit of a smile. "We would love to take care of her. It is fine, you need to go see John." He tensed as Mycroft shifted slightly, burying his face into Lestrade's neck before relaxing again. The talk of the Holmes' father made his eyes dart to the man in his arms. "I'm sure it will be in a few days. Mycroft wants to get it over with. He is...not taking it very well."

Sherlock nodded as he dropped down into his chair. He reached over and picked up the foot ointment. His feet seemed to be doing marginally better. He applied the cream, speaking softly once more. "Yeah, Mycroft and Dad were pretty close. He blames me, I guess. For dad's death. I asked for the Old Man's help."

It hurt to hear Sherlock talk of his own father in such a detached way. Then again, he really didn't know what to expect from the other man in the instance of a death like this. "Don't take all the blame, Mycroft is adamant about sharing it." He smirked humorlessly. "He blames John just as much for agreeing to help. Being the brave little soldier he is, he went and got himself captured. That made your Dad go in to rescue him. You called for help, pushing your Dad into it. When, in all honestly, this is all his doing from the start," Lestrade admitted his thoughts softly. "You didn't do anything wrong, Sherlock, so don't think that you did."

Sherlock gave a shrug. "Yeah, I guess." He wasn't sure if he should be upset, pissed or what. He had never dealt with death in the family before. Clearly, his older brother was taking it harder than he was. Not surprising. "I should be the one to tell Mummy. Mycroft has enough to deal with, than having to face our mother as well."

"Don't take this in a bad way," Lestrade smiled softly and locked his gaze on the man in his chair, "But you would probably do a bit of a better job. I don't think Mycroft would make it through the phone call." He tightened his arms around Mycroft as he spoke and placed a soft kiss on the man's temple. "Just... remember that your Mum has been married to that man for a long time and loves him. Be gentle. This isn't just a normal case," he paused. "You've got to act like you would if you had found out John hadn't made it."

"Phone call? I'm not telling her through a phone call." Sherlock's voice raised slightly, the thought appalling to him. Even the idea of John not making it, made him sick. Was there something wrong with him? He had just lost his father but just the thought of losing his fiancé made him feel infinitely worse. "Mum will be fine, she is a strong lady. She knew it was possibility when she married a military man."

"She might have accepted that fact when they first married but he hadn't seen combat in years, Sherlock. It was still a bit unexpected," Lestrade whispered, trying to keep the situation as calm as possible. "If you want to go when Mycroft wakes up we could all go. Maybe it would be best for both of you to be there. She might need to be comforted. Strong woman or not, she just lost her husband. It is quite the blow." He studied Sherlock for a moment before closing his eyes and turned to press another kiss to his companion's head.

Sherlock gave a shrug at the Detective Inspector's words. "Fine. We will all go then." It was definitely time for another cigarette. Without John here, it was the only way he knew how to deal with stressful situations, except for doing harder drugs. He got up from the chair. "I need some air. Text me when Mycroft wakes up." Without waiting for Lestrade to answer, he left the flat. As soon as he was outside, he lit up a cigarette. As the door closed, Hamish wiggled out and jumped onto his shoulder. "Where have you been hiding all this time? Don't like all the people in the flat do you? Well, I don't blame you. It's why I left too." He continued to speak to the cat as he picked a random direction and started walking.

"Is he gone?" Mycroft asked, his words muffled against Lestrade's neck. The other man merely nodded before Mycroft had moved, situating himself eagerly between Lestrade's legs before meeting his lips.

Lestrade couldn't help but think that both the Holmes boys relieved stress in quite the same way, smirking as he returned the kiss.

It took five minutes for Mycroft to finally pull away from the frantic, clothed thrusts and attempt to form complete sentences, but once he could get oxygen to his brain he was thinking straight again. "Mum. We ne-need to tell her."

Lestrade took a deep breath and frowned as his lover shook his head. "No, Mycroft. Sherlock is going to." He sent the text informing the other man that his brother was awake, moaning as he dropped the phone. Mycroft had started a slower rhythm and the friction of their clothes was wonderful.

By the time the text came, Sherlock was working on his second cigarette since walking around London. He sent a text back, although he wouldn't be surprised if the message wasn't received until later.

I'll be home in a half hour, try not to wake the baby. –SH

That should be enough for the two men on the couch. It would give him time as well. What was he supposed to say to his mother? He had never delivered news like this to someone before. He had never seen Mum cry before. Would she be like other widows and just crumble into a heap of sobs? It was hard and strange to imagine her as such. After many thoughts of that nature, he returned home. A total of seven cigarettes were smoked while he was gone. He didn't feel a damn bit better. He walked up the stairs nosily, just in case and then entered the flat.

It hadn't taken either of them long, opting to keep clothes on in favor of stripping. That would only create more of a mess. Mycroft was poised above Lestrade, hands clutching either side of the armrest his companion was resting his head on, as he struggled to take a deep breath, when the door opened. Lestrade wiggled marginally beneath the other man, letting out a soft moan at the sensitivity. "Christ," the Detective whispered softly, hiding his face from Sherlock as he took in a shaky breath.

"Go to your room, Sherlock," Mycroft replied lazily, hiding his lover with a smirk. "We should be ready in a few minutes."

"No. This is my flat. I can go anywhere I want. I gave you two a half hour for God's sake. If you want to finish, by all means go ahead. Don't let me distract you. Consider this payback for all the times you have spied on John and I, Mycroft." Sherlock smirked a bit and sat down in his chair. Hamish jumped down into his lap, purring loudly and staring at the two men on the couch unblinkingly.

Mycroft growled and glanced at his brother from a moment, eyes narrowed. "Sherlock, dammit." He wanted to yell but he was struggling to form complete sentences as it was. With Lestrade wiggling beneath him nervously he could hardly focus. "Greg, stop moving," he snapped tightly. There was a moment of stillness before Lestrade sat up and hesitantly met Mycroft's lips, pulling the man down with him and slowly lifting his lips. At some point, the Detective figured, Sherlock would get uncomfortable and leave. They would have a few more moments. He would distract Mycroft from everything that had happened and the conversation that was quickly approaching. He moved one hand away from the side of his lover's face to flip Sherlock off.

Sherlock smirked again as Lestrade flipped him off. "So, I don't get it. People watch this stuff on the Internet all the time, right? To get themselves off? Do they really need the images to do it? Can't they do it on their own themselves? The things that go in the funny little brains of ordinary people is extraordinary sometimes." He shrugged a bit. "God, I hope John and I don't look this stupid when we are together."

Sherlock's last comment made Mycroft tear away from Lestrade's kiss and throw himself off the couch, stomping loudly into the bathroom. Lestrade remained on the couch, flat on his back, and panting as he tried to calm himself down. "You look worse, actually," he muttered. "Bit louder, from what I hear. One is more inexperienced so it's a bit sloppy." He smirked and rolled his head to study Sherlock, blushing as a muffled moan echoed from the bathroom. Wonderful. Mycroft got to hide in the bathroom and here he was with Sherlock, laying on the couch with an obvious bulge in his pants. "I hate you, Sherlock."

All Sherlock could do was smirk at the Detective Inspector. "Well, sounds to me like you are just jealous. I know for a fact Mycroft is." He began petting Hamish on the head nonchalantly. "You might want to take care of that before we go over to my mother's. Or not. It doesn't really matter to me." The smirk on his lips remained plastered in place.

Lestrade opened his mouth to argue back but Mycroft left from the bathroom, looking like the British government and sitting elegantly in John's chair. The Detective Inspector rose slowly and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door softly.

"There's a bag in your room, right by the crib." Mycroft lifted his eyes to study his younger brother. His voice was calm, level, and the only sign of his previous activities seemed to be the flush on his cheeks. "It has got bottles, formula, a change of clothes, a towel, diapers." He nodded back toward Sherlock's room. "It is for Amy. Anywhere you go you'll take it. Like now, to Mum's."

Sherlock let his gaze drift over to his older brother. "Yes. I'm aware. I know this might come as a shock, but I'm not completely ignorant here. Sure, I'm still figuring out this whole being a parent thing but thanks for the parenting tip anyway." He stood up and went to the bedroom. He got the bag first and then carefully picked up little Sandi.

Lestrade left the bathroom slowly, glancing at Sherlock as Amy let out a small cry. He wanted to jump in and offer to help feed the little girl but he knew how Sherlock was. The man was already over-protective of the little girl. "Here." He moved forward effortlessly, taking the back from Sherlock so he had both of his arms free to help Amy. "There is already a bottle in the fridge, just needs to be warmed up." He smiled at Sherlock as he left the bedroom, brushing by Mycroft slowly and glancing at him.

"Yes, of course," Mycroft muttered, reaching out to run a hand down Lestrade's back, not needing to even hear the question from the man before answering. "Later." He was somber again, quiet and trying to keep himself composed.

Amy opened her eyes slowly, letting out a few soft cries as her hands curled into little fists.

Sherlock brushed past the other two men without a word. He was irritated. He didn't like being told what to do or how to do it. Especially in regards to raising little Sandi. His daughter. The only other person who was allowed input wasn't here right now. He sighed at his thoughts, as he warmed up the milk. Once it was ready, he sat down at the kitchen table and offered the bottle to Amy. "You hungry? Because it sounds to me like you are baby girl."

Amy didn't hesitate and latched on to the bottle, sucking eagerly as she trained her eyes on Sherlock.

"It's endearing," Lestrade whispered. "He is not changing his voice but he speaks to her differently. She is changing him." He smiled at Mycroft who couldn't help but return it.

"Uncle Lestrade and Uncle Mycroft think I can't hear them when they are whispering." Sherlock smirked a bit but kept his eyes on little Sandi. "I'm going away in few days. So, you'll have to put up with them. I know, it's terrible. Hopefully, Grandma will save you from them from time to time."

Amy continued to gulp her formula loudly, a hand lifting shakily and resting on Sherlock's hand that was holding the bottle. Her chest and stomach moved rapidly with each swallow of the warm liquid.

"Are you ready to go?" Lestrade asked softly, adjusting the baby bag on his shoulder. Mycroft only nodded, squeezing his companion's hand. "Ready when you are, Sherlock and baby Watson!"

"Once I'm done feeding her. Quit being so impatient. If you are so eager to go, I can always just meet you there when I am done here." Sherlock didn't shift to look at the other two men when he spoke.

Lestrade chuckled softly and leaned slightly to get a view of Sherlock in the kitchen. "I was just letting you know. Calm down." He smiled warmly despite the current situation. "We are still waiting."

Amy let go of the bottle with a 'pop' and took a deep breath, already trying to burp. Her eyes closed and she let out a small, squeaky hiccup.

Sherlock put the bottle on the table, grabbed a clean towel hanging from a door by the sink and placed it over his shoulder. He pat little Sandi on the back, holding her up to his shoulder. "Okay. Now we can leave." He smirked at that the other two men as he walked past them and down to the waiting black car. He strapped Amy in without trouble this time and then got in next to her.