"I'm sorry." Sherlock said as he blindly typed and sent a text all while watching John plop into his favorite armchair. At this point it was increasingly warn about the arms and the cushions made a sad creaking noise but the doctor couldn't seem to part with it. He leaned back into the familiar seat slouching down with a sigh. They had just returned from the adoption agency. Rejected because of their lifestyle and Sherlock's and unfortunately John's numerously marked record (not all could be obliterated by a word from Lestrade or even the influence of Mycroft). Which admittedly they did live dangerously but time had mellowed them. Moriarty had been dead for years now. And though Sherlock took cases still, the absence of Moriarty nearly eliminated the instances they had bombs strapped on them, or guns pointed at them. Nearly. Their occupation was no more dangerous than any common enforcer of the law.
"It's not in the slightest way your fault." Sherlock bit his tongue. There was no point in disagreeing. They had the same conversation in the cab. Nearly the same with John half dazed in the lobby. "It just wasn't meant to be."
"Nothing is meant to be." Sherlock couldn't help himself. "It is simply a phrase used to put worth to disappointments or in the rarer instance to happy chances."
"Yeah, is that it? Good. I feel much better now knowing there is no point to my disappointment." John stretched his legs out in front of him, draping his arms over his face. A silence fell between the two before John spoke again. "I like to think we were meant to be." John didn't lift his arms to see Sherlock's reaction, a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "Ah well. We're the strangest, happiest, sodding chance I've ever heard of."
"Us? That's a whole different topic all together." Sherlock smirked letting his hand graze John's knee before crouching into his own chair. "We're complimentary parts in a universe unraveling. It's simple science that we would have eventually been drawn to one another. You know to slow the inevitable chaos."
John was openly smirking now. He let one arm flop away from his face to grab Sherlock's where he knew it would be resting on his own chair.
"Maybe bringing someone else into our happy chance wasn't a good idea anyway. I mean we have the stasis of the universe to think of." John tired to joke but his voice fell flat.
"Just in case I wasn't clear. What I mean to say is nothing is meant to happen." He paused until John dropped his arm to look at him. "So there is nothing stopping us from making it happen. There are other ways beside adoption." Sherlock smiled at John's dumbstruck face.
"I don't know why you are looking at me like that. I assure you I am still male and if two males were capable of producing offspring in our fashion we'd have a litter by now. Not that I'm against trying again if you think-"
"John!" John eyes sparkled mischievously. "Don't be daft! I'm serious. We could make one."
"Make one?" John nearly chocked. "Make one what? A baby? Like what, you're gonna try your hand with your test tubes? I hope to God there isn't a how-to guide for that on-line."
"Our sperm is in working order we just lack the necessary parts."
"Sherlock, a uterus does not come with a sex-"
"Let's ask Harry to be a surrogate." Sherlock was smiling pleased with himself feeling this had solved their little problem. In an even more ideal way. His face fell when he found John wasn't smiling with him. "It's perfect. Genetically we'll have a bit of me and a bit of you. It'll be a Watson and a Holmes." John was still blank, Sherlock's brows knitted in confusion. "If you are worried about Harry she has hinted on multiple occasions that she would in her own words 'offer up her uterus for a niece or nephew'." Sherlock wasn't use to not being able to read his companion. It annoyed him. "Well, say something."
"I don't think it's a good idea." John wouldn't make eye contact and he could feel Sherlock's hand tense.
"Why? Is it because of Harry?"
"It's not Harry."
"Then what is it?" There was a long expectant pause before John's responded. His voice almost a whisper.
"Maybe we just weren't suppose to reproduce."
Sherlock was very still, he slipped his hand out from under John's. John didn't know how to respond, he stared instead at the hole in the armchair avoiding Sherlock's piercing gaze. Then suddenly Sherlock shot up causing John's head to jerk up in surprise.
"Sherlock . . ." John grabbed his wrist to stop him, pulling himself up to stand with him. "Please don't go."
It took every bit of his self control not to wrench his arm from John's hold.
"Why not? You've made yourself perfectly clear. I don't see the need to continue to discuss it." Now he did rip his hand from John, who looked up at him confused.
"What?" John mouthed inarticulately, hands hanging limply where Sherlock had pulled away.
"No, you're right. Why breed more mentally unstable people?" Sherlock had his back to John now, hiding the hurt that John had learned to read in his face. "Mycroft, successful but completely untouchable. He struggles with intimacy like you wouldn't believe and myself? Self-proclaimed sociopath for my entire life before you. Careless, obsessive, unkind. It would be madness to-" He stopped surprised when he felt John's arms suddenly around his chest squeezing him painfully tight.
"Are you crazy?" Were John's first words, possibly inappropriate had he given them thought before voicing them. "It's the Watsons who are screwed up." Sherlock twisted in John's arms until the doctor's chin was on his chest instead of between his shoulder blades. "We're a long line of addictive personalities- alcoholics, gamblers, adrenaline junkies. There is a reason I have no family left. And we're obsessive compulsive. My mom was a hoarder. My Uncle Dave washed his hands exactly 43 times a day." Sherlock looked down at John astonished. "Sherlock, the only thing I'd be worried about with a Holmes spawn is that he's going to surpass my intelligence at age three and want nothing else to do with me." John ducked his head slightly at this confession, burying his head slightly in Sherlock's arm. "I can't expect all the Holmes' to like me. And God, to our kid I'd like to be a little more than intellectually amusing. I don't know if I have what it takes to raise a Holmes." Was the muffled continuation.
Suddenly John was being pushed backward until his back was pressed against the sofa back and by some magical twist from Sherlock his legs were now straddling the detective's hips. Sherlock knew he liked to sit like this. It brought them eye level.
"You're an idiot."
"So I've been told."
"And I only find you slightly amusing." They were both grinning now. John dipped his forehead to rest on Sherlock's. "You can't possibly think that's all I see in you." Sherlock's voice was serious now. He gets quiet when he talks like this. Makes John tingle to think he's the only one who's heard this side of the genius. "We're two sides of the same coin, you and I. I am still learning from you. There are no ends to you, John. Imagine how much better off I would have been if I had known you when I was three." John was studying him now. Sherlock made a point never to lie to the man, at least when it really mattered. "As for the Watson genes. They can't be all that bad. I like you well enough." Sherlock wasn't often this playful. And John indulged in these moments unabashedly. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck and kissed him fiercely.
"You're not usually the one defending human potential." John laughed into Sherlock's lips.
"I may be a bit biased." The detective huffed before deepening the kiss, tongue searching and demanding.
John broke to get a breath. "Well when you put it like that, how can I refuse?"
"Good. I'll tell Harry." Sherlock was suddenly up with his cellphone in his hand, John plopping to the sofa with a surprised grunt.
"Sherlock! You are not going to ask her over a text message!"
Sherlock looked up dully his hands still moving. "John, Harry already knows. She's been nagging me to ask you for a month now."
"She says she wants something to spoil." John looked at Sherlock astonished. He wasn't sure if he should be amused or angry. He chose a combination of both. "Mycroft says he does as well."
"Of course Mycroft is in on it."
"-knows everything. I know." John sighed exasperated. "What I don't know is why I'm the last to know anything."
"Well John, sometimes you're too sensible. You take a bit of convicting. It's maddening really." John smiled despite himself, he could feel his chest tightening with excitement as he looked up at Sherlock. His attention was drawn to his phone suddenly buzzing at his side, his sister's name flashing across the screen.
"John . . . " Sherlock's voices was soft, his head down, his thumbs still punching in texts. Whether it was to more members of the conspiracy or for a case John couldn't tell. "I think Mycroft and I . . ." John watched him curiously, Sherlock still hadn't looked at him. ". . . we would have been better off if our father was even remotely like you."
John felt warmth spread outward from his spine leaving his fingers tingling and his mind a clouded, wonderful mess. Sherlock looked up at John's intake of breath to find his companion blushing an absurd shade of red. He smirked, putting the phone away and couldn't help but kiss his rose red cheeks until they returned to their sensible color.