On Monday, Clement announces that he's going to have Asher employ Paris. It turns out that Paris is some kind of weird genius with numbers, which Sherlock didn't see coming, and he can work his way up to Brook's job in a short matter of months.

"Is this something you want?" Sherlock asks as he and Paris watch Sherlock's kind of football game on television.

"Sure," Paris says. "I like numbers. It pays more than I could have imagined when deciding to come here. The hours are good. Your dad said I'd be off work every afternoon by five. Every weekend off, too. What do you think?"

"It won't be weird? You working for my dad?"

"Do you think it will be?"

Sherlock shrugs.

"I like numbers. I like your dad. If your uncle is anything like him, I'll like him too. I like being able to pay for dinner. I'm going to take it."

"Alright," Sherlock says. "Well done, then."

Paris smiles. "Thanks. And I'm going to need a little bit of extra money to be able to take Taylor out."

"Taylor? You two are dating now?"

"I want to. I like her. Is that okay?"

Sherlock shrugs. "It's not up to me."

"Is she not your friend?"

"She is, I guess, but—"

"So, is it alright if I ask her out?"

"Sure," Sherlock says. "If you want to."

"Alright," Paris replies. "Good. Thank you."

"Yeah…you're welcome, I guess."

Paris smiles, but just as quickly frowns. "So…this ex of hers."

"I don't know much about him," Sherlock cuts in. "Just that he was addicted to cocaine."

"That's terrible."

"Taylor's pretty normal, though."

Paris laughs. "Yeah, she seems it. I'm still a bit bummed about not being able to go out with Olive."

"Yeah. Guess someone could've mentioned Lane earlier."

"Is he nice?"

Sherlock shrugs. "I guess. He's nice to her, that's all that matters."

"You don't like him?"

Sherlock shrugs again.

"Do you…like her?"

Sherlock groans and rubs his face. "Why does everyone think that?"

"Because…if we didn't know about John, it'd be obvious that you and her—"

"Her and I nothing. That's it."

"Alright," Paris quietly says. "I'm sorry."

Sherlock shakes his head. "I'm sorry. It just drives me crazy."

"No worries. My best friend back in Louisiana was always mistaken as my boyfriend. We weren't dating, obviously, but we were so close that it seemed like it."

"What would people say?"

"Oh, things like…if I had plans with him, so I couldn't do something else, they'd say, 'Oh, you got a date?' and I'd say, 'Nah, just hanging out with Barry.' And they'd say, 'So you got a date!'. Drove me crazy but…I didn't mind that much after a while."

"I see," Sherlock says. "Was it hard to leave him to come here?"

"No," Paris explains. "He left me first. Joined the Army right after graduation. Now he's stationed in Texas and I haven't talked to him since Thanksgiving."

"Wow," Sherlock says. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It's noble, that's what everyone says. He's already a hero just for enlisting."

"Is that what you think?"

Paris nods. "He's…he's my hero for being that courageous. I jumped an ocean because I couldn't handle living in my own head anymore."

"Everyone is different."

"I know," Paris sighs.

Sherlock frowns. "John's been thinking about joining the army since primary school."

"Yeah?"

"He always wanted to. His dad was a soldier, and he admired that side of his father. I just…I couldn't bare it if he went."

"You'd be proud."

"I'd be worried."

Paris shrugs. "I worry, too. All the time. All day and all night. I'm in constant fear that I haven't heard from him because he's dead. But his mama tells me he's fine, that he's just busy. I just have to believe and have faith in God to keep him safe."

Sherlock frowns deeper. "What if I don't believe in God?"

"Then you believe in John."

Sherlock processes Paris's words. He does believe in John. He's always believed in John. He's had faith in John's brain, his heart, his friendship, his love. John is the one constant who has never let him down.

Paris pats his thigh. "Come on. I found a great Chinese food place down the street from my apartment. My treat."

Sherlock follows Paris up. "I'm buying. You're unemployed."

"Not for long," Paris says, grinning widely as he opens the front door.

Sherlock snaps his fingers and Mystery runs out of the kitchen. Sherlock latches him to a leash, then he follows Paris out of the house.

On Tuesday, Sherlock is very excited that it's the start of Dawn's night shifts again, and John can start spending the night with him again. They're very happy all school day, eager for the night ahead, until Olive corners Sherlock and makes him talk to her.

"Why have you been avoiding me since Saturday?"

"I've seen you every day since Saturday."

"You've hardly talked to me."

"I've talked to you every day since Saturday."

"No, no, no. On Sunday morning when we all woke up, you said, 'Hey.' Then you offered me coffee, then you said nothing more."

"So?"

"So, what the fuck is your problem?"

"Nothing."

"Okay, let me rephrase that. Why are you so pissed off that I had sex with Lane?"

"I'm not—"

"You have sex with John."

Sherlock looks around at the people in the hall to make sure nobody is eavesdropping.

"You have sex with John and tell me about it every time it happens."

Sherlock furrows his eyebrows. "Well—"

Olive gasps in realization. "Oh, that's it, isn't it?"

He glares at her. "What?"

"You're just mad that I didn't tell you. You're doubting our entire friendship because the girls knew something you didn't."

"That's not—"

"That's totally it. I can't believe I didn't see it before."

"I don't like when you do that."

"Yeah, well, nobody likes when you do it to them."

Sherlock doesn't say anything.

Olive sighs. "Alright, alright. Sorry I didn't tell you. Sorry that I don't want to share every single little detail of my life with you."

Sherlock frowns at his shoes.

"Sometimes girl talk needs to stay girl talk. I don't want to have girl talk with you, I want you to treat me the way you always do."

"I don't treat you like a girl?"

"No. You don't always want to talk about boys and clothes and shoes. You want to talk about science and your cases and your family and my family and…that matters to me."

Sherlock looks at her. "Really?"

"Yes, of course. You don't treat me like all I care about is my boyfriend."

"Alright," Sherlock says. "I understand."

"Sorry I didn't tell you, but I didn't think it mattered."

"It doesn't."

"So you're not mad at me for having sex with him?"

"No," Sherlock says. "I guess someone should, it's not like I want to."

Olive laughs. "You'd be lucky to have me."

Sherlock pushes off his locker and turns to walk down the hall. "You and I have a different definition of the word 'lucky'."

Olive pinches his arm.

"Ow!"

"Be nice."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Speaking of having you," he says, "Paris is going to ask Taylor out."

"How is that related to having me?!"

"Because…I don't know. I just made the connection because he likes you but he's going to ask Taylor out because you have a boyfriend."

"He likes me?"

"Yeah. Well, he did. I guess he doesn't anymore."

"Oh…"

Sherlock looks at her. "Why? Do you like him?"

Olive shakes her head. "Of course not. I have Lane."

Sherlock eyes her suspiciously. "Alright."

"Anyway," Olive says, clearly changing the subject. "Plans tonight?"

"John is spending the night."

"That's great," she says. "Please don't tell me tomorrow what happens tonight."

Sherlock laughs. "Alright, I won't, I'm sorry."

"It's not that I don't appreciate your trust in me but…I just do. not. care."

Sherlock laughs. "Alright, alright."

Olive smiles up at him. "Come on. Let's go find those boys of ours."

John and Sherlock take a walk with the dog before dinner. They stroll hand-in-hand down the sidewalk, Sherlock thinking about his Army talk with Paris and John not thinking of anything in particular.

"So-" they both start at the same time.

"You first," Sherlock says.

"No, you."

Sherlock bites his lip. "Alright. Uhm, Paris was telling me that his best friend is in the Army."

"Oh?"

"Yep."

John looks at him. "Is that...is that it?"

"I guess so."

"Oh. Well, good for Paris's friend."

"You think so?"

"Of course."

"You don't have to join the Army to be a hero. To matter. You're my hero already."

"Sherlock, love," John squeezes his hand. "We haven't even discussed that in a few weeks. I haven't even thought of it since then."

"I know."

"So we don't really need to talk about it now."

"Alright."

John kisses his cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too," Sherlock says. "What did you want to tell me?"

"My sister wants to have yet another party."

"Oh?"

"Friday, of course. What do you think?"

Sherlock shrugs. "I imagine you want me to go?"

"Yes, of course."

"Fine. But you owe me."

"Owe you?"

Without noticing, they've made it to a row of shops and are in front of a pet store. Sherlock nods at the shop, so John turns around to look.

"I'm not buying you a snake!" John cries.

"But John!"

John just shakes his head and walks down the street.

They return home on time for dinner. They wash up and help Clement by setting the table.

The boys are confused when there are eight plates and only five people in the house.

"Dad," Sherlock says, "You gave us too many plates."

"How many are there?" Clement asks.

"Eight."

"No, that's right."

Sherlock and John exchange a confused look, then they hear the front door open.

"Honey, I'm home!" a loud voice calls through the house. Sherlock and John instantly recognize the voice as Asher's.

"Must be my aunt and Gabby, too," Sherlock says, placing the other three plates down.

"Sherlock, go help Uncle with the luggage," Clement tells him.

Sherlock silently agrees, then goes towards the front door.

To his surprise, Asher is followed by Brook right behind him.

"Oh my gosh," Sherlock mutters, going to them.

Declan's loud footsteps are heard running down the stairs.

"Father?" he calls before he gets to the middle of the stairs and spots Brook. He gasps. "Brook!"

Declan practically jumps down the stairs, not even waiting for Ellery who is still making her way down. He jumps into Brook's arms and Brook weakly hugs back. He kisses Declan's head over and over when Declan buries his face in his brother's shirt. Sherlock thinks he sees Declan's body shake with cries.

Sherlock, John, and Clement greet Asher while Declan and Brook still hug.

"Wait," Sherlock says, "That's only two..."

Asher gets his attention, "My nephew, be a dear and get my last bag from the cab before the cabbie takes off with it."

"Oh, sure," Sherlock mutters, then exits the house.

He goes out to the cab where the cabbie is getting the last bags out of the back. He rushes over because the bag looks heavy.

"Here, let me help you," he says.

The cabbie stands up straight. "Thank you, brother."

Sherlock stops in shock. It's not the cabbie at all, it's Mycroft.

"Myc!" he cries, launching himself at his brother. He wraps his arms tight around Mycroft, and Mycroft does the same.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asks.

"Uncle brought Brook home for rehab, I said I'd come along for the trip getting him here."

Sherlock squeezes him tighter. "How long?" he asks. "How long will you be here?"

"Until Sunday," Mycroft says, pulling away. "Come on, let's go in."

Sherlock helps Mycroft with the suitcases, then ushers him inside.

"Dad!" Sherlock calls. "Why didn't you tell me Mycroft was coming?!"

"And ruin the surprise?" Clement asks, hugging his older son tight.

John's standing behind everyone grinning.

Sherlock goes to him and smacks his chest. "You knew?!"

John smiles widely. "Yes, of course. I had to promise not to tell you."

Sherlock smiles and shakes his head. "Unfair."

John kisses him lightly.

"Well," Clement announces. "Dinner's ready. Let's eat!"

Everyone sits at the table, Sherlock and Mycroft at either side of Clement, but they ignore everyone else for the rest of the meal to talk to only each other.

Sherlock goes down to Mycroft's bedroom while John is in the shower.

"So, you have to take Brook's job?" Sherlock asks.

"Temporarily. Dad says your new friend is set to take it after me."

"How long will that take?"

Mycroft shrugs. "Could be a few months, could be a few years. I don't know."

"If Paris is going to work from here, why can't you?"

"Because it's going to take that amount of time to transfer the job here. I can't just up and leave. It'll take time."

"It's not fair."

"It's life, Sherlock."

"You hate it."

"I only have to hate it a while longer."

"Why do something you hate?"

"Everyone has to do things they hate."

"I don't."

Mycroft looks at him like, 'oh please'. "You hate everything."

"Not everything."

Mycroft just sighs.

Sherlock looks at Mycroft's bags piled next to his bed. "Why haven't you unpacked?"

"I'm leaving," Mycroft says.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Mycroft explains, "The sofa bed is broken, apparently. I'm going to Greg's."

Sherlock frowns.

"I'll be here in the morning when you wake up. Lestrade goes to work at seven, I'll leave when he does. I'll be here when you get home from school. I'll be here for dinner. I'm only going there to sleep."

Sherlock nods, but still frowns. "Alright."

Mycroft ruffles his hair. "We'll do something fun while I'm here."

"Okay. Like what?"

"Whatever you want."

Sherlock's eyebrows perk up.

"Not another museum!" Mycroft cries. "For god's sake, not another museum."

Sherlock frowns again.

Mycroft rolls his eyes. "Fine. Whichever one you want."

Sherlock smiles.

"You're annoying, you know that?"

"I do know that."

Mycroft ruffles his hair again.

The doorbell rings a second later.

"That'd be Greg."

"Tell him I said hello," Sherlock says, standing from Mycroft's bed.

"You don't want to say hello yourself?"

Sherlock steps out of Mycroft's room and turns towards his own bedroom. "John is waiting for me."

Mycroft makes a disgusted face. "Ew. Gross."

"I didn't mean like that!"

Mycroft laughs. "Still."

"Yeah, right. You're going to stay with your boyfriend, too."

"We're older."

"I'll say. Have you seen Lestrade's grey hairs?"

"Yes, I have. Aren't they sexy?"

Sherlock mimics a throwing up sound. "Talk about gross."

Mycroft shoves him. "Shut up."

Sherlock laughs. "See you tomorrow."

"Bright and early."

"Bright and early," Sherlock agrees.

Sherlock goes to his room and John's already waiting in his bed.

"I was wondering where you'd gone off to."

"Talking with Mycroft."

"You don't want to have another sleepover with your brother?"

Sherlock glares at him. "How do you-"

"Olive told me."

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

He sits at the edge of his bed and reaches to take off his shoes. John sits up behind Sherlock, his legs on either side of Sherlock's hips.

John rubs his hands up and down Sherlock's back as Sherlock takes off his socks.

"How are you?" John asks.

"How am I? Fine. How are you?"

"Fine," John says, kissing the back of his neck.

Sherlock turns to face John. "I'm sorry, John, I'm afraid I don't feel very-"

"Relax, relax," John says. "It's alright. I'm tired too."

Sherlock nods. "Okay. Thank you."

"No need to thank me."

"I do," Sherlock says, turning back around to unbuckle his belt. "Some guys don't take no for an answer. You do."

"I'm not like those guys."

"I know," Sherlock says, turning around once more. He kisses John lightly. "Thank you."

John smiles. "I love you."

Sherlock kisses him again. "I love you, too."

Sherlock excuses himself to do everything he needs to do in the restroom, and when he returns a few minutes later, John is asleep. Sherlock smiles as he shuts his light off, then climbs into bed next to John.

He feels very happy at that moment, and he's almost angry that sleep is going to come and take away the feeling. But instead of feeling it first-hand, he has a very nice dream about marrying John while John is wearing Army dress blues. In his dreams, he thinks maybe John joining the military wouldn't be so bad after all.

A/N: Lots of military talk because I suspect their would be. Hope you're all still enjoying this! Please review!