When John realises they are spending more time at 221B Baker Street than their own home, he knows he should be bothered. He has a life besides Sherlock. He has a loving wife, a child on the way, a stable job at the surgery. Everything is there for a normal life, except for the white picket fence and a dog to complete the picture – Mary likes cats and he's allergic.

But instead they find themselves at John's old home at Baker Street more often than not, to the point where John sometimes wonders if it isn't more practical to move back. Impossible of course, due to the coming expansion to their little family. Mary and himself keep getting drawn back into the madness that is Sherlock Holmes, either to help with a case – John still finds himself on crime scenes on ungodly hours and involved in chases across London and Mary is always there to look after them when they come back, whether to make sure tea and something warm to eat is ready for them or to patch them up as best she can because Sherlock refuses to go to A&E.

Or just to include him in the upcoming changes regarding their baby.

It was an unspoken agreement between Mary and him, right from the moment when the pregnancy test had turned out positive, that they would ask Sherlock to be the godfather of their child. Even though they hadn't seen much of the consulting detective since the wedding. The only contact between them and Sherlock had been the banter on John's blog during their honeymoon.

Mary had been having the growing suspicion that it was deliberate.

'He's making up excuses, John,' she argued when they had returned from their honeymoon and Sherlock Holmes had refused to see them third time in a row due to a case. 'He thinks we don't need him anymore. You heard him at the wedding.'

'You know what he's like, Mary,' he had countered. John couldn't believe Sherlock would willingly distance himself from their lives, even though it would become a lot more domestic from now on. Mrs Hudson's words after his stag party came back to haunt him however. He had promised himself not to let his marriage change anything and here they were, only three months on.

'I texted Greg,' Mary held up her phone as proof. 'He hasn't seen Sherlock at all in the past month. There is no case. He is avoiding us.'

Mary had brokered no argument after that and had made her way, with John in tow and God there was a pattern forming here, towards Baker Street. Mrs Hudson had let them in, a little surprised and John had only needed a couple of second to confirm Mary had been right. The violin was shouting abuse from above and there was a faint burned smell hanging around. Sherlock had been sulking.

'So sorry, mrs. Hudson,' Mary had apologized, 'we should have come sooner.' And while mrs. Hudson ensured them it was alright, John could see the strain of restless nights on her face. Sherlock must have been at it for a while. Immediately, the violin stopped, followed by frantic footsteps coming from 221b apartment. He and Mary exchanged looks before making their way upstairs.

They had found Sherlock, dressed in his pyjamas and dressing gown, lying on the sofa, eyes closed and hands in his thinking position. He had barely acknowledged them when they entered as if deep in his mind palace.


Mary however – brilliant, wonderful, clever Mary – single-handedly managed to break the detective's mood with a single sentence.

'We would like you to be the baby's godfather.'

Sherlock stayed in his position on the sofa, unmoving and unresponsive, and for a moment John had felt the sickening notion that he was ignoring them. But then he sat up, slowly, and opened his eyes. He regarded them both. Mary, her arms crossed in front of her, determined stance and expression with a small knowing smile on her lips. John, hands clasped behind his back, eyeing back and forward between his wife and best friend, but with no hint of hesitation regarding Mary's statement. John could see the gears in his head turning and he wondered what was going through the man's mind.


Ah, this again, he thought to himself and he supressed the urge to roll his eyes. 'Do we have to over this again, Sherlock?'

Sherlock blinked, several times and John was reminded again of Sherlock's reaction to the knowledge that he was someone's best friend. John would have laughed if this wasn't so damn serious. He couldn't bare it if Sherlock extracted himself from their lives completely just because he was convinced he didn't belong anymore.

John raised his eyebrow and shot his don't-you-dare-argue-look. The taller man opened and closed his mouth once before giving a small nod.

'Good!' Mary exclaimed and that was that.

They picked up where they left off as far they could. John and Sherlock going on cases, Mary who helps them in any way she can, while they spend their downtime planning and musing on the years ahead.

So when John notices they had been spending more time at 221B Baker Street than their own home, he knows he should be bothered.

But Mary's is sitting in Sherlock's chair, eight months along, ready to burst according to her, and smiling broadly, while Sherlock is playing the violin in front of the window – Tchaikovsky, he remembers – and him sitting in his old chair, his legs tangled up with Mary's, his eyes fixed upon Sherlock's back while he plays, John finds that he isn't bothered at all.