A/N: Please tell me you all are enjoying this story. I like writing it, even though there isn't much to the plot. So please review, always appreciated! And I hope everyone had a fantastic holiday!

Sherlock wakes up the next morning to his phone vibrating roughly next to his head, as if more urgent than usual. He lets it go to voicemail, then cracks his eyes open to check his phone.

He bolts upright in bed when he sees "7 Missed Calls".

"Fuck, fuck," Sherlock groans, unlocking his phone.

"Hmmm?" John sighs behind him.

"Fuck," is all Sherlock says, finding that all seven missed calls are from Clement. "My dad called seven times."

"Shit," John mutters, sitting up in bed.

Sherlock holds his phone to his ear and scrambles to get his pants on. John watches, admittedly very mesmerized by the moving of Sherlock's pale hips.

"Dad, yea—" Sherlock stops talking, stops moving, and John sees the little bit of color drain from his body as he can hear Clement yelling through the phone. "Ok," is all Sherlock says, softly, then hangs up.

They get dressed quickly and talk about a lie to tell.

"Tell your dad a bunch of people spent the night. My mum wasn't here, but I can have Harry cover."

"And if my dad doesn't believe me?"

John shrugs. "Tell him the truth."

"I can't do that, my dad would never let us be alone ever again."

"You know," John says, handing Sherlock his shirt. "I don't understand the big deal with this. We're seventeen, not twelve. What's your dad got against us doing anything?"

"He just doesn't want us hurt. I don't really get it either, but I don't want what freedom we do have to end."

John nods. "It'll be ok, babe."

Sherlock tugs his coat on and looks at John. "Sorry to ruin our—"

"You didn't, love. It was perfect, this doesn't change that."

Sherlock nods.

John grabs him by the coat lapels and pulls him close. "I love you so much. Call me later, ok?"

Sherlock nods. "I love you, too."

John gives him a faint smile, then steps up on his toes and kisses Sherlock lightly.

Sherlock leaves immediately, not even five minutes after hanging up with Clement. He knows it'd be wise to rush home, but he's afraid, so he walks as slowly as he can.

Clement's at the door when he arrives. His arms are crossed and he looks very angry. Sherlock takes a deep breath and anticipates yelling.

"Where've you been?"

"John's," Sherlock honestly states. He plans to lie, though.

"Why didn't you answer my calls?"

"I was asleep."

"With John?"

Sherlock swallows. "Yes."

"Is there more to the story?"

"We weren't alone," Sherlock coolly says. "A few others were there."

"Oh? Who?"

"Brady and Jenna."

"So, two couples at John's house with no adult supervision, and you expect me to not be angry?"

"Harry was there," Sherlock says. "Yeah, and a few others. Olive and Duke stayed, too. They're not a couple."

"Was Declan there?"

Sherlock doesn't know whether or not Declan being there will help his case, so he pauses. Clement raises an eyebrow. "Y-yes."

"Declan!" Clement calls.

They hear Declan exit his bedroom and go to the stairs. "Yes, Uncle?"

Sherlock's standing with his back to Declan, so he can't give Declan any sort of warning. Clement watches both of them closely. "Did you spend the night at John's last night?"

Sherlock's stomach drops.

"Yeah," Declan says, smooth as ever.

"Then why were you here when I got home?"

"I can home around, oh, ten o'clock? Yeah, everyone was still asleep, so I slipped out unnoticed."

"Everyone?" Clement questions.

"Yeah, uh, Brady, Jenna, Duke, Olive, and…what's Jenna's friend's name? Oh, right! Alex."

Clement glances between them. Sherlock's expression doesn't change.

"Fine," Clement says. "But you're grounded for a few days for not letting me know that you'd be staying at John's."

"Ok. Sorry, Dad."

Clement hugs Sherlock, but Sherlock squirms away quickly (feeling really odd hugging his dad after not showering after having sex). He goes to the stairs and he and Declan start up.

"You too, Declan," Clement calls. The boys pause on the stairs. "Grounded for a few days for not letting me know you'd be staying at John's."

'Uh…ok," Declan mutters. "Sorry, Uncle."

Clement just nods and lets the boys go upstairs.

"Dude, what the hell?" Declan starts as they walk down the hall to their bedrooms. "Where've you been?"

"At John's! We were asleep, I didn't hear my phone. How'd you know to lie for me?"

"I'm not stupid," Declan says. "I just named people who John would've invited to spend the night."

"Well," Sherlock sighs. "Thank you."

Declan pauses at his bedroom door. "You owe me, dude. I'm grounded, too!"

Sherlock pats his shoulder. "Alright. Thank you, again."

Declan nods. "Go bathe now. You stink."

Sherlock just smiles, then leaves Declan alone.

Sherlock takes a quick shower, then gets out when he hears his phone ring.

"Hello?" Sherlock answers, scrambling to get a towel on.

"Was your dad shouting that entire time?" John asks instead of a greeting.

"No. I just got out of the shower."

"Oh? What are you doing now?"

Sherlock grunts. "Trying to get the towel around my waist."

A tone rings through Sherlock's ear indicating he's receiving a FaceTime call. He grins and answers, then sees John's smiling face on the screen.

"I love this phone," John tells him. "I couldn't even see the screen on my old one."

"I know. That's why I bought you this one."

"I know, I know," John says. "So, are you in trouble?"

Sherlock sets his phone down on the sink and props it up so he can still see John, and John can see him. John grins as Sherlock takes the towel from around his waist to dry his body.

"No," Sherlock says, "Well, kind of. I lied, just like you said to. But I'm still grounded for a few days for not letting my dad know I'd be spending the night with you."

"Well, that's good then."

"Declan's grounded, too, so I owe him big time."

John chuckles. "Thank him for me, then."

Sherlock smiles at him.

John licks his lips and watches Sherlock pull clean pants on. "I had a really great night last night," John says. "Like…really great."

"As did I," Sherlock says. "We'll have to do it again sometime."

John smiles. He's about to reply when Sherlock begins to get another call.

Sherlock frowns and tugs a shirt on. "John, I'll call you back. It's my brother."

"Ok babe. Talk soon."

Sherlock smiles one last time, then ends the FaceTime call to answer Mycroft.

"Isn't it a bit early for you to be up?" Sherlock asks.

"Yes," Mycroft says. "You can imagine how upset I am about being woken up after only two hours of sleep by Dad frantically asking where you are."

"Oh…"

"Yes, 'oh'. Why did you lie to him?"

"Lie? I didn't—"

"Dad was seventeen once, Sherlock. He knows you and John were alone."

Sherlock decides not to fess up quickly. "Why does he think that? I'm not—"

Mycroft sighs. "All he wants, Sherlock, is for you to talk to him. Talk to Dad the way you talk to me."

"So, you want me to tell him—"

"Ok, don't tell him word-for-word everything you've told me. But let him know that you and John are safe and just want a little bit more freedom. With a talk like that, he'll know you're mature enough to be in a relationship like this. Especially if you don't call sex 'something-something'."

Sherlock chuckles. "Alright."

"Talk to him as soon as you can, Sherlock. The sooner you get this over with, the more trust you'll earn. Especially today."

"Okay."

"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to bed. It is a very nice Saturday out and I don't want to waste it talking to you."

"Ha-ha. Why did you get so little sleep?"

"I worked very late, and as a celebration for finishing what needed to be done and earning nearly six million dollars in investments, a few of us went out for drinks."

"A few of you?"

"Yes."

Sherlock can tell by the sudden spike in Mycroft's tone that he's not telling the truth. "Do you know that I know when you lie?"

Mycroft sighs. "Think what you will."

"You went out with a man, didn't you?"

"No, Sherlock, I—"

"What about Lestrade?" Sherlock questions, suddenly feeling very defensive of Lestrade. "What about—"

"There's a lot you don't understand, Sherlock. He and I are both adults and we know what we want."

"And what you want is to see other people?"

"Well," Mycroft snaps, "we're not seeing each other, are we Sherlock?"

Sherlock huffs.

"I'm sorry," Mycroft says. "I'm tired. Talk to Dad and I'll talk to you later."

"Okay," Sherlock replies, feeling very upset with Mycroft.

"Goodbye."

"Bye."

Sherlock feels too annoyed to call John back. If Mycroft and Lestrade aren't going to be together, after knowing how much they like each other, that doesn't give him much faith in his relationship with John. And what happens if Mycroft comes home and he and Lestrade don't get together again? He can't let that throw off his entire balance of the world. Mycroft means Lestrade, and it has since they met last year. If there isn't any Mycroft and Lestrade, does that mean he won't get case any more? There's too much running through his mind, so he lays down to take a nap.

When he wakes up, Declan is gone, so that leaves Sherlock alone with Clement. His stomach turns as he sits at the island, where Clement is preparing vegetables to add to the soup he's making. Clement watches him with a knowing look.

"Look, Dad," Sherlock says once he's settled. "I, uh, I wasn't honest with you."

Clement takes a deep breath. "I know."

"Why didn't you just confront me, then?"

"Because you need to come to me when you have something to talk about, Sherlock. I can't start the conversation."

"Why not?"

"Because I'd be overstepping as a parent. If I went to you each time you had a problem, I'd never leave your side. Understand?"

Sherlock nods.

"Now," Clement sets down the knife he's using to cut carrots. "Talk to me, son."

"Ok, well," Sherlock takes a deep breath. "I'm, uh…" he pauses, unsure of how much to tell his father. "John and I are ready to…to be intimate."

Clement takes a deep breath, but his expression doesn't change. "Okay."

"And we, uhm, already...we already have been…"

Clement nods. "Last night?"

Sherlock doesn't meet his gaze. He looks down at his lap. "Yes…"

"Okay," Clement repeats. "Were you careful?"

Sherlock throws his arms up in the air. "Dad, what is the big deal? What does that even mean? Yeah, I didn't get him pregnant, is that it?"

Clement can't hold back a smile, then a laugh. It makes Sherlock laugh, too, because he replays how ridiculous that sounded in his head. They fall into a long fit of laughter, but finally they begin to relax.

"You know what I mean, son," Clement says, still chuckling. "But if one of you did end up pregnant, could you imagine how famous we'd get?"

"Oh god, Dad," Sherlock covers his face. "Stop."

"No, think about it! We'd be on the news, we'd be known worldwide! I have to admit how proud I'd be to have such a scientific anomaly for a son."

"Dad!"

"Could you imagine a baby that looks like you and John? My god, what an adorable little—"

"Dad, ok!" Sherlock cries, laughing still.

Clement smiles at Sherlock. "Thank you for telling me, Sherlock. I won't pry, god knows I don't want to. As for having more freedom, well, we'll build to it, ok? As long as you prove that I can trust you. Don't lie to me and definitely don't go behind my back."

Sherlock nods. "Ok, Dad."

"Anything else?" Clement asks, picking up the knife again.

"Yeah, actually. Could you un-ground Declan? He didn't know, he shouldn't have even covered for me."

"Oh, I did. He went to hang out with Duke."

"Oh. Thanks."

"But you're still grounded, at least for the weekend."

Sherlock nods. "Understandable."

"Actually," Clement peers into the pot of soup. "I've made too much for dinner. Invite John over."

Sherlock laughs and takes his phone out. "Dad, you're really bad at grounding me."

Clement shrugs. "Minor offenses call for minor punishment. I'll call when it's ready."

Sherlock hops off his stool and holds his phone to his ear.

"Plus," Clement calls as Sherlock's about to exit the kitchen. "I'd love a chance to watch you two squirm after knowing that I know about all of this."

Sherlock slowly turns back to him, his cheeks burning red and his eyes wide.

Clement just grins and goes back to his cooking.