Author's Note:

Back from vacation! Well, almost. I'm actually sitting at the airport and I have awhile until my flight takes off. So, thought I would update. Thanks for being so patient!

The smirk returned. "John, when have you ever known me to say something in my head when I think of it?" Sherlock tilted his head and opened his eyes to watch his husband. God, he was really turned on right now. He didn't care if they didn't have anything. He had taken without before, he could do it again. "Want you," he admitted softly. He reached a hand down, long fingers trailing through John's hair. "Please?" His partner always liked it when he begged, and if it got him what he wanted right now he would plead some more.

John tilted his head at Sherlock's admission, biting his bottom lip and leaning into his husband's touch. "Are you sure?" He hadn't started this with the intent of sex, but it was obvious that Sherlock wanted it. At this point it was difficult to turn him down. He placed another kiss on the inside of his husband's bicep and relented slightly to Sherlock's begging, reaching down to tug at one of his partner's legs in an attempt to get him to wrap it around John's hips. As he moved to slowly kiss his husband he pressed his hips down in a slow roll, moaning.

"Yes. Please?" Sherlock asked again, a little more anxiously this time. He complied with John immediately with a whimper. He squirmed into the body above him with earnest. His other hand came to wrap around his husband's waist, to pull the other man closer. He continued to trail his fingers through his partner's hair, as he stared up at John.

John hesitated and met Sherlock's gaze. He didn't want to hurt his husband but that was what the man below him wanted. "Wh-What do you want?" He stumbled over his words when he felt Sherlock move beneath him. He shifted himself, grabbing his husband's other leg and wrapping it around his waist with the other one. They had done it in the middle of the night but Sherlock had seemed to like it. He started a slow but strong rhythm with his hips, pressing and rolling against Sherlock's body. Maybe he could get away with this so he wouldn't have to hurt Sherlock.

Sherlock's hand glided from John's hair, down to his husband's cheek and then jaw line. "Want you. Please," he pleaded again. He sounded so needy and desperate, that his own voice surprised him. He knew it would hurt, but he just didn't care. He needed this, although he wasn't entirely certain why. All he knew was the driving desire was there.

Shit. John wanted him too but he knew it would hurt. "O-Okay," he whispered as he turned his head, placing a soft kiss on Sherlock's palm. He arched his back and reached between them, slowly starting to undo his husband's pants. "Fast or slow?" He asked as he glanced up at his partner. Right now the man beneath him seemed desperate and he had a feeling that he was about to get quite the workout.

At this rate, Sherlock didn't care about the pace. However, perhaps slower would be slightly kinder to his body afterward. Fast and hard might prove too much even for him. "Slow and easy would probably best." His body continued to squirm into John's excitedly, his fingers tracing back up to his husband's hair.

John lifted his head slightly to press into Sherlock's hand, letting out a small moan at the feeling. "You have got to tell me if you need to stop," he stated seriously, glancing up at his husband as his pants come undone. "Don't keep going if you can't. Please." He yanked at his partner's pants and underwear, turning to pull Sherlock's shoes off and toss them on the floor. "I'm nervous," he said without look up at his husband, working on his pants.

"I will be fine. We have done it before. If I could handle it then, I can handle it now," Sherlock reassured. He gave a cocky smirk. "I'm a Sex God, remember? So, there is nothing to worry about my dear doctor." His body shivered and he wasn't sure if it was because of his skin coming in contact with the cool air or anticipation.

"You could hardly walk after last time," John reminded him with a raised brow, working out of his own shoes, pants and underwear. The least he could do was prepare him slightly. He took a deep breath, sticking two fingers in his mouth and sucking on them for a long moment. As he slid the fingers out of his mouth he swallowed hard, lifting himself to his knees. It shouldn't be so scary, he shouldn't be so nervous, but now he just wanted to impress Sherlock. "You're the Sex God. I am just John Watson," he muttered as he pressed his two fingers into Sherlock slowly.

"Yeah, but I am pretty sure that was due to my feet being torn to hell." Sherlock studied John quietly for a moment. "Relax my dear doctor. Besides, since I'm a Sex God I should be able to receive it just as good as I can give it." The smirk returned. He was eager and excited and the waiting was damn near torturous. He didn't want to rush his husband though, the other man was nervous enough already.

John finished preparing Sherlock the best he could, licking the palm of his hand multiple times and stroking his erection to help try and make it a bit slicker. "Okay, Sherlock." He lifted one leg and rested it on his shoulder, pinning the other one between his arm and side. He took a deep breath, meeting his husband's gaze before slowly pushing in, throwing his head back with a loud moan.

Being prepped had been slightly uncomfortable but not painful. But fuck that initial entry always got him. After a few thrusts there would be enough pleasure to counter act the pain. Sherlock dug his fingers into the sheets below him, eyes squeezing tight as he took a sharp intake of air. He rushed out words of reassurance to John, "I'm f-fine."

That reaction was the opposite of fine. Shit. John knew this was a bad idea. "Sorry, I'm sorry." He tensed, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to pull back, to stop so only his tip was inside of his husband. "Sherlock, I'm sorry." A hand moved to grab one of Sherlock's, squeezing it. This had been a horrible idea.

"N-no. Don't stop. Please." Jesus. Was he glutton for punishment? Against his better judgment, Sherlock rocked up into John. Pain and pleasure blurred together and it was difficult to distinguish one from the other. His husband was most certainly right. Walking probably wouldn't be an option for awhile. Maybe he could just lay in bed the rest of the day.

"Oh, God," John shouted as Sherlock moved against him. Too much for him. Too much... pleasure. Now he couldn't stop. His hips pressed forward slowly, pulling back and moving again at the same pace. Perfect. This was bloody perfect. In his bliss he nearly forgot that Sherlock was probably in more pain than he was used to during their sexual escapades. "Sorry. Oh, Sherlock, you okay?"

Okay? Nope. Fuck. This had been a terrible idea. Sherlock couldn't tell John that though. Not now. "…'sgood…" He managed to slur out between ragged breaths. God, he was going to be paying for this for at least a few solid hours. Well, more like several hours. He tried to ignore the pain and concentrate on the pleasure but it was proving difficult. To keep his husband distracted he rocked back up into the man above him.

If anybody knew the look of pain it was an Army doctor. "No, you are not," John said through clenched teeth, slowly pulling out of his husband and struggling to breath. Sherlock had been so eager, so turned on. He might as well get his husband off. He lowered himself and took his husband's erection into his mouth, bobbing slowly and keeping a very slow rhythm. He couldn't hurt his husband, even if the man begged for it.

Ordinarily Sherlock would enjoy a blow job, but it was hard to enjoy one at the moment. "John. Stop." There was something he never thought he would say. He supposed this is what he got for being so damned cocky about the whole thing. He didn't remember it being so painful the first time around. His eyes remained closed, but his fingers loosened the grip on the sheets.

John pulled away almost instantly, licking his lips. "I'm sorry," he blurted out, breathing hard and shaking his head. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." He swallowed hard and ran a hand down his face. This was not the position he wanted to be in. "I just... I wanted to make you happy. And you asked." Christ, he sounded like a child.

"John it is fine. You told me to tell you stop if it hurt too much. I didn't. No fault but my own." Sherlock remained fairly still, certain that moving would just make things worse right now. He let out a slow breath, trying to concentrate on something else. He settled for reciting the periodic table in atomic order mentally.

Fine. It was far from fine. His husband was barely moving now because he had fucked him like some animal and not cared about him. At this rate he was fairly sure he was never going to shag Sherlock ever again. Sherlock would do all of the shagging from this point on. Period. He shifted slightly and cleared his throat, flopping on to the mattress and pulling Sherlock against him, cradling the man's head against his chest. "I love you."

Usually, Sherlock would have snuggled into John but he had already done enough stupid things for the day and he didn't want to add to the list. "Love you too." Moving an arm. That should be okay. He reached up behind him, blindly moving up his husband's face until he found the other man's hair and began to comb his fingers through it.

What the Hell should John do? Lay there and comfort Sherlock until he could move? Oh, sorry Nancy. I tried to bum him in his childhood room without any lube and it turns out he can't walk straight. That's why he is late to your little family talk. Right. She would love him after that. "I have got some drugs packed away in my bag from last night... I could get you something for the pain," he whispered, tensing slightly when he remembered that Sherlock was probably still fighting the last bits of withdraw. "Light stuff. Promise."

Sherlock's whole body tensed at the mention of drugs. "No," his voice came out gruffer than he had intended. He took a breath, trying to calm himself. No drugs. Never again. No matter what. He couldn't risk it. Another breath and he found his normal voice again. "I'm fine John, just need a few moments is all."

"Okay," John replied weakly, closing his eyes with a small sigh. Wonderful. Sherlock certainly hated him now. The moment in the room had been quiet, wonderful... romantic, even. And then he had ruined it by turning Sherlock on, by listening to the begging and ignoring the very obvious reason why they didn't shag unless they had everything they needed. He hated himself for being so bloody changeable. "If you want to punch me you can."

Sherlock blinked open his eyes in bewilderment and he tilted his head up to stare up at John in utter confusion. "Punch you? Why would I want to do that?" Did his husband think he was upset with him? He wasn't. There was no reason to be, that he could figure. His own misery was his fault, not John's. Did his partner blame himself?

"I hurt you," John stated obviously, narrowing his eyes. It was obvious. "I mean, when I get upset at people my first thought is to land a good one right to their nose. Don't you ever feel like that?" He raised a brow and studied his husband curiously. Honestly, he felt like he was learning new things about the man in his arms, even after they were married.

"I got hurt because of my own stupid arrogance John. If I should be upset at anyone, it should be myself, not you my dear doctor. So, by your own logic I should punch myself. I think though, I have punished myself enough for the day. Don't you?" Sherlock managed a slight smirk up at John. He slid his hand from his husband's hair, and let it trail along his partner's face soothingly.

"Please don't... punch yourself," John said with a laugh, turning to nip at Sherlock's palm. "There is only one person allowed to punch you and it is me. Possibly Amy, but she can't pack quite the punch yet." He grinned and let his other hand splay across his husband's stomach. "Still snuggling tonight, then? I can't wait to hear you talk in your sleep. Sometimes you even answer questions."

"I punched my dad once, but that didn't turn out very well for me," Sherlock reflected with narrowed his eyes. A slight frown etched his lips. "I don't talk in my sleep," he muttered in stubborn denial. After a moment of quiet sulking, he relented. "What do I talk about?" He tilted his head up to look up a John once more.

John had almost asked why in the world Sherlock would have the thought to punch Siger in the face but his question was too good to pass up. "Depends on the night. You once monologued for at least seven minutes about tea and how mad you were that it was too warm." He chuckled at the thought. "Also, you said, at one point, and I quote, that 'the duck in Central Park clearly did it. Look at the stupid little smirk he has.' I laughed for a bit about that one."

"Now you are just making things up," Sherlock muttered. Did he really talk in his sleep? It was strange for him to think about. Dreams were stupid, meaningless. He rarely dreamed, or maybe he did but he just didn't remember them.

"Even I can admit I'm not that creative, Sherlock." John placed a soft kiss on his husband's head and jumped slightly at the knock on the door.

"Sherlock, get dressed. You too, John. It is time for... it..." Mycroft said through the door. "John, Gregory is in the backyard if you two want to drink a beer. Sherlock, Mummy is in the sitting room."

John groaned, not wanting to leave and realizing suddenly that Sherlock might not be ready to leave. "Want some help getting dressed?" He offered softly.

Shit. How late was it? Could it be pushed back a couple hours? They hadn't tried for that long, maybe he would be okay. Sherlock sat up with a groan. The pain would be manageable. He had endured worst. If he could walk quarter of a mile carrying John with a concussion and cracked ribs, he could do this. "I am fine john. Thank you though." He didn't move to get off the bed. He realized his trepidation was because he didn't want to have this conversation, and not because of the pain.

John watched Sherlock for along moment before climbing over him, picking up his own underwear ad slipping them on before grabbing Sherlock's. "Here," he muttered, shifting to tug them over his husband's feet. Sherlock could be as stubborn as he wanted but John was still going to help him. He moved around the room and picked up his husband's tuxedo in separate pieces. "Here." he set everything on the bed and smiled, placing a quick kiss on Sherlock's lips before turning to find the rest of his own tuxedo.

Sherlock sat staring at the clothes sitting next to him thoughtfully. He wasn't sure he could this. Maybe he could ask John to go instead. His husband had already talked to his Mum. She would probably respond better to his partner than him. He sighed to himself and finally began putting the tuxedo on carefully.

John pulled his pants on and turned to look at his husband. "It is going to be fine, Sherlock," he whispered with a smile. "Just be there for her. Do you know how you are just there for me after my nightmares? Like that." He slipped his shirt over his shoulders and started to button it. "And tonight I will take good care of you, help you sleep."

Sherlock merely nodded and once he was fully dressed, he stood up gingerly. Last day to wear the tuxedo. With any luck, it wouldn't be required to wear one at Mycroft's wedding. "I think I am going to be walking sideways for a week." He gave a slight smirk to John and then opened the door.

John winced at Sherlock's words, pulling the rest of his tuxedo on and following him. "I kind of forgot how much pain you must have been in for a few moments," he admitted softly, reaching down to grab his husband's hand.

"Great. Wonderful." Mycroft glanced between the two of them and then down the hall. "First floor. Sitting room." He bit his bottom lip and moved to the end of the hall and down the stairs.

"I will walk you down there," John whispered as he squeezed his husband's hand. "You can do that."

Sherlock returned the squeeze of John's hand and then followed after Mycroft. He took the stairs slowly, relying on his husband and the railing more than he would have liked. When they reached the sitting room, he slumped into the nearest chair. He glanced up at John. "Enjoy the time with Gregory." He gave his partner's hand one final squeeze and then turned his attention to his mother.

John smiled a bit and giggled, leaning down to place a soft kiss on Sherlock's cheek. "Love you." He left the room and headed toward the backyard.

"Mum." Mycroft licked his lips and smiled softly at Nancy. "Sherlock and I were discussing the fact that... Dad..." He closed his eyes for a long moment.

"What Mycroft is trying to say, Dad's death is affecting you more than you are trying to let on," Sherlock continued on for his older brother.

"Of course your father's death is affecting me, but I am fine." Nancy smiled at her boys.

"No you aren't," Sherlock stated a little more flatly than intended. "Mum, we can tell. Talk to us."

"I'm fine," Nancy repeated but this time she didn't look at them. Her sons were smart. Observant. But emotionally detached like their father, it was why she had tried to keep it from them. She had always prided herself on being a strong woman. She didn't want her sons to see her like this, because she worried they wouldn't know what to do. Yet here they were. Perhaps they had grown up more than she realized. A small smile spread her lips, proud of her boys in this moment and she finally lifted her head to look at them.

Mycroft dropped his head for a moment and couldn't help but smile. Sherlock was really stepping up. He met his Mum's gaze and smiled for a long moment. "Please just tell is what we can do," he said softly. "We just want to help you, Mummy. We both moved on without realizing what you were going through. We feel horrible."

"I don't think there is anything you can do." Nancy gave a slight smile. "I think I just got a little overwhelmed with things. Siger died. And then Sherlock got kidnapped by the same men who killed your father. I was so worried I was going to lose a son too. Three days, Sherlock. You were gone three days..." She trailed off, looking down once more. "I guess it finally just all caught up with me..."

Oh. It was more than just Dad dying. Sherlock was at a loss for words for a moment. "I'm fine Mum. Right here." Be there for her, John's words repeated in his head. With a slight grimace he got up from the chair and moved to the couch and sat down next to his mother. He reached out a hand tentatively, took hers and gave it a squeeze.

Mycroft tensed. It was everything that happened so close to each other. Dad. Sherlock. Without even realizing it he stood and moved to the other side of his Mum, taking her other hand. Comfort. It was the least they could do now. "We are all here, Mum." He placed a kiss on her temple. "You have got four sons now and a darling of a granddaughter." He glanced at Sherlock and smiled a bit. "You have got a family still."

"Yes. Four wonderful boys. And beautiful granddaughter." Nancy nodded. She was quiet a moment. "I have been thinking of moving out," she admitted softly.

Nothing short of shock rocked Sherlock. Leave? That...was absurd. No words this time. He looked up to Mycroft, his eyes furrowed in consternation.

What? Mycroft met Sherlock's gaze and couldn't help the small shake of his head. No. This was...their home. The Holmes Manor. Where they were raised. He knew nothing else. "Mum, where would you go?" He asked softly, squeezing her hand. At this point he was desperate. "Gregory and I could... move in..." He closed his eyes for a long moment but decided to go on with it. "You wouldn't be so alone."

Nancy shrugged. "I don't know. The manor would stay in the family still. I just don't know if I can stay here anymore." She fell quiet at her oldest son's last statement. "I wouldn't want to be an imposition to you boys."

Sherlock maintained his silence. His mind was still trying to process his mother moving. That would be like if Mrs. Hudson left Baker Street. The sheer notion was inconceivable.

Mycroft shook his head frantically. "It will be fine. Lestrade has barely moved into my flat. I am sure he wouldn't mind." He studied his younger brother for a moment and took a deep breath. He had to convince his Mum to stay. "Would that help?"

Nancy hesitated and then nodded. "Okay, but only if you want to. I don't want you to feel like you have to move in dear."

Sherlock finally spoke, "Well, we will need a babysitter for little Sandi when we finally start taking cases again after the honeymoon. So, we'll be coming to see you multiple times a week. That is, if you wouldn't mind watching her?"

"Of course not! I would love to watch Amy. Anytime dear." Nancy smiled at her sons. "You are good boys. Your father would be proud, of both of you."

Mycroft smiled slightly and pulled Nancy into a quick hug. "It won't be a problem at all Mum. We would be happy to be here." He paused and took a deep breath. "We have even started looking into adoption." The words were out faster than he could reign them in. They hadn't really told anybody else. "A little boy." He added softy.

"Mycroft, that is wonderful!" Nancy exclaimed with a clap of her hands. A genuine smile lit her face and she hugged her eldest son again.

Sherlock wasn't surprised by the news at all. He figured it would be coming sooner or later. He had seen the envy in his older brother's eyes the day at the hospital when little Sandi had been born.

"Oi, stop crying." John's voice carried through into the sitting room along with Amy's loud cries. They drifted away as he continued to pace around the manor and rock his daughter in an attempt to calm her down.

"Gregory... We both wanted to have your blessing to name him Siger," Mycroft said into her shoulder, tensing as he said it. They had discussed it and both agreed, but only if Nancy was okay with it.

Nancy gave a wry smile. "You want to name the poor boy Siger? Yes, of course it would be okay." She put her hand on Mycroft's and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Sherlock didn't feel like he was really needed anymore and he excused himself. He hobbled up the stairs with some difficulty, but eventually made it to the room he stayed in with John last night. He sank onto the bed with a sigh.

John paced their wing of the third floor before hearing a door shut. Sherlock. Well, at least Amy had stopped crying. He entered their room quietly and smiled at his husband. "Hi," he whispered with a smile, moving toward the bed and sitting on it slowly. "How did it go?" He asked as he leaned over to place a soft kiss on Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock looked up at John when he entered the room. He gave a smile and a nod. "Fine. Mycroft and Lestrade are going to move into the manor. They are also going to adopt. A boy. Want to call him Siger."

"Oh? Well, good on them." John smiled a bit and shifted, resting against the headboard and cradling Amy against his chest. "Amy, you are going to have a little friend," he whispered, his hand resting protectively on her back as he kissed her head. "How are you doing?" He asked softly, turning his head to look at his husband.

"A little better," Sherlock admitted. "Just going to take it easy for the rest of the night." He laid out on the bed, his hands coming to rest behind his head. He wasn't tired, but he certainly wasn't up to do anything else. It would be a boring night but he really didn't have any other options at the moment.

"I am okay with that," John muttered, keeping his gaze locked on his husband. "Once I put her down I can give you a massage. Don't I owe you?" He smiled and reached out and ran his fingers lightly up and down Sherlock's inner bicep. He just wanted the other man to relax, be happy.

A massage? Sherlock had never had one before. Then again, he hadn't done or said a lot of things before meeting John. Strange how one person can change so much in just one other person's life. "Yeah, sure. That would be good." For as cocky and confident as he came across, he was constantly stressed about something lately. Perhaps a massage wouldn't be too bad after all.

John stood up slowly, holding Amy close to his chest. "Take your shirt off. Roll on your stomach," he whispered. He and Lestrade had moved a crib into the room. He set her down slowly, moving a small stuffed dog closer to her before turning to his husband. After a long moment he started pulling his tuxedo off, slipping on a pair of pajama pants. "Do you wanna tell me why you are so stressed?" He asked softly.

"Yes, Sir." Sherlock replied half seriously, but removed his shirt anyway. He rolled onto his stomach, resting his chin on his hands. "I am not stressed," he muttered. Of course he was, but he didn't want John to know. Even if the other man had figured it out. Is it that his husband just knew him so well now, or was he just becoming transparent altogether?

John rolled his eyes and climbed on to the bed, moving to straddle Sherlock. "You don't have to tell me why you are stressed." He bent and placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's ear. "But don't lie to me." He sat up and placed his hands under each of his husband's shoulder blades, working his fingers into the tension. "But I'm always here to talk."

Sherlock was about to reply when he felt John's fingers in his back. Christ. That felt wonderful. Not in a sexual way. No. This was a different feeling, but it was glorious. His body automatically relaxed into his husband's touch but there were still areas that had knotted together and needed to be rubbed out. "This is good. Thank you." He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation on his back.

John couldn't help but smile softly, moving his hands up to Sherlock's neck. Maybe later, then. After his husband was relaxed and they were just laying in bed, then maybe he could get Sherlock to talk. His hands moved slowly again, down to Sherlock's lower back.

Sherlock wasn't tired but this could very well put him to sleep. Every once in awhile he would grunt when John came across a particularly tense area, but it didn't take long for his husband's fingers to work their magic and ebb the pain. His eyes remained closed and his body was practically limp at this point.

"There," John whispered with a smile. He bent at the waist and placed a kiss at the base of Sherlock's neck. His husband was the most relaxed he had ever seen him. Wonderful. He slid away from Sherlock and collapsed on the bed next to him, keeping a hand on his lower back and lightly drawing shapes. "Good then?"

"Mmm." Sherlock replied, and for a little while longer he stayed in the same position. Eventually, he rolled back over onto his back and he snuggled into John. He placed his head on his husband's good shoulder. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this relaxed and content.