Mummy Lestrade

November 14th

One Year Later

Lestrade, too comfortable to leave, sold his house and bought the basement flat on Baker Street. Sherlock claimed the room at the top of the stairs while Mycroft took the spare room in 221c. For the first couple weeks after their final showdown, nightmares ensured. Many nights were spent huddled in the same bed as Lestrade or in front of the fireplace with John and hot chocolate.

Moriarty never bothered them again, never kidnapped anyone again, and never hurt anyone again. Moran escaped, but was found months later face down in a gutter. He'd drank himself to death of all things. Life was good, for once. Sherlock had a home and a family and everything was perfect. Mostly.

"Sherlock!" He dropped the bowl at once, startled by his own name. Mycroft and Lestrade weren't supposed to be home yet!

"What happened?" The younger Holmes glanced down to where John lay unconscious on the floor, mostly covered in flour.

"We were making Mycroft a birthday cake," Baking was hard! "He's okay. I checked. He just hit his head on the cabinet." Lestrade helped up the other man, checking for himself. Thankfully, John blinked his eyes open, thoroughly confused, but awake. He gripped at Greg's shoulder to keep himself up. Spotting Mycroft, he smiled with a loopy expression.

"Happy birthday." He murmured.

"Happy birthday!" Sherlock mimicked, holding up the 'cake'. Technically it was a cake. It just didn't look like a cake. He'd tried to warn John this was a bad idea. An army doctor and an eight year old trying to make a cake. Mycroft eyed the lump.

"Thank you. I don't have to eat that, do I?"

"I wouldn't suggest it."

June 7th

Another Year Later

Sherlock wouldn't admit to it, but it was a little disconcerting to see John getting married. She was sweet and lovely and put up with his strange little family (dare he say, she even liked them), but it just seemed weird. Not once had he thought that there would be another parent in his life. He'd always assumed it would just be the four of them, Mummy, and Father, and Mycroft. Not to say he didn't like her and he wouldn't do anything to ruin their happiness, of course. Mycroft seemed indifferent, but Lestrade shared Sherlock's feelings.

The ceremony was lovely and the 'I dos' were said, and John left with his new wife to enjoy his honeymoon. Sherlock couldn't get out of his suit fast enough. An entire week without John would be strange, but they could manage.

"Are you okay with this, Mummy?" Mycroft questioned as he boiled water for a bit of tea before bed. Lestrade shrugged a little.

"Why wouldn't I be? I'm happy for him." He smiled sincerely. Sherlock joined him on the couch, struggling to get out of his tie. His father helped him.

"It just seemed like you had more feelings for him." The younger Holmes insisted. Lestrade chuckled tiredly.

"It's not like that, boys. We take care of you together, but that's it." It was only natural they thought of them as a couple. Lestrade had his fair share of girlfriends, sure, but they never got very serious. To be honest, he'd been married enough in this life time. He shared a strange relationship with the little army doctor, but it wasn't romantic.

"So you two didn't shag that one night." The older boy smirked at him.

"First of all, you're not allowed to know that word yet. Second of all, neither of you are allowed to have any amount of alcohol ever. It makes you make bad decisions. Understood?" At least he would never have to have 'that' talk with them. They both just grinned at him.

February 23rd

Two Years Later

Exactly nine months after John's wedding, a little Watson popped out of Mary. John Junior, they called him, and Sherlock instantly took a liking to him. Fortunately, he was very good with the child, even if he insisted on teaching the child to the best of his ability which was far beyond the Watson. Mary died five months later from natural causes, but John was doing a particularly good job of not being too affected by it. This brought up a lot of questions, of course. John dutifully admitted that they'd wed because she was pregnant and the loss was painful, but not loss love.

His little family helped him through it, as they always did, and they made it to the other side with one more family member. The little Watson was brave, like his father, but at the same time, a very quiet child.

"Look! Look! I taught him another word!" Sherlock held up the child to his two parents and John Junior bubbled at the mouth a little. He made little noises and slobbered on his hands but wasn't any closer to speaking than before.


"That wasn't a word." Greg was pleased with his ability to work with the baby. They couldn't make Sherlock better, though the entire family would argue there wasn't really anything wrong with him, but they did everything they could to keep him from getting worse. It wasn't something they had to work hard to do. All he needed was plenty of love and affection and that was never a lack of that.

"Alright, fine, a sound. It's a start."

"I wish you'd stop treating him like a dog. He'd not going to learn anything, you know that." John sighed softly, but even he found it a little amusing.

"It's an experiment."

"Oh Christ."

October 2nd

Three Years Later

"Are you sure you want to go to school now?" Lestrade questioned worriedly as he watched the boy's dress. Though Sherlock wouldn't normally be old enough to attend upper school, he'd tested well enough (or rather poor enough) to attend the same grade as Mycroft. They'd both under tested. It had nothing to do with learning, of course. Mycroft had never planned on keeping Sherlock out of school forever. He had to learn to get along with people and to be honest, they both needed a little more social interaction. Mycroft was getting a little antsy with talking to the same people every day. Even helping Mrs. Hudson in her shop wasn't helping. This was best for both of them.

"It's for the best." Mycroft nodded firmly as he straightened out his tie. Sherlock agreed.

"It'll be fine, Mummy." The younger male insisted. "I've always wondered what public school was like."

"The minute you want to come home, just give me a call." Both Holmes shot him a pointed look. They'd stay the whole day now, regardless. Lestrade wouldn't admit that, that had been his plan.

"Come on, then. Junior's all ready." John poked his head in a little, his little son clinging to his leg as he was so fond of doing. Sherlock tucked the edges of his favorite scarf around his neck and into the collar of his Belstaff 'Millford style' coat. His fathers had gotten it for his birthday last year and he hadn't touched any of his other coats since. As they hurried out the door, Lestrade yelped at them.

"Hey! Be good! That means not tormenting or 'noticing' anything about your fellow students." Sherlock waved him off half heartedly.

"Watch your brother."

"Always." Mycroft scoffed. John stopped in the door way to pick his son's backpack up.

"Alright. The clinic is expecting me to stay late." He explained to Lestrade. "Dinner?"

"Mrs. Hudson said she was making something special for their 'special' day."

"Great. Try not to get bored without us."

"Alone in the house for eight hours? How will I ever manage?" Without thinking, Greg leaned over to pluck a kiss off his none romantic partner's cheek. Apparently, he'd startled himself with the action and reeled back instantly.

"Oh god. I didn't-" He began but John only chuckled calmly.

"Smooth, Mum." Sherlock teased.

"Go to school, you brat!"

School was slightly more difficult than Sherlock had originally thought it would be. On the other hand, it was way better than Mycroft had thought it would be.

Mycroft, being well dressed, handsome, intelligent, and mild mannered, instantly won his way into the heart of most of the school. He took charge and people naturally followed. He could converse with his peers without showing off his massive intellect, was confident in his decisions and ability and it rubbed off on people. By lunch, he'd already had his own group of friends and the teachers all adored him.

Sherlock, being well dressed, handsome, intelligent, and a sociopath, managed to make enemies with most of the school. At first, he had made friends. He'd smiled and pretended to be just like them, then realized what he was doing was stupid, that these people were stupid, and it was awful. When he started being himself, people started backing away. It wasn't surprising that he wasn't interested. They were boring and dull. By lunch, he'd discovered that he was not a social person and the teachers didn't like him.

Mycroft attempted to join him for lunch, but it meant his posy followed and Sherlock swiftly motioned him away. It didn't work, of course, and his brother joined him anyways, making idle conversation as his new friends wearily watched the younger Holmes.

"He's not going to bite you, you know."

"I make no promises."

"He's joking."

"Do you want to find out?"

Mycroft shot him an angry look and Sherlock made a small 'hrmp' noise. His brother should know that these people didn't interest him in the least. It was likely they didn't interest Mycroft, either, but he could pretend until they gave him a real reason to dislike them. Sherlock already had his reasons and by pointing them out, he'd made more enemies.

It wasn't until physical education did they meet a real bully, though. Sherlock was still so tiny, tall but thin and unfortunately, made him the target for physical violence. Which, he already knew, he didn't like. He was working on a theory that no one liked being hit in the face. It supposed to be a team building sport to get to know each other, but the little Holmes disapproved the minute the older, larger boy struck him in the face. Instantly, Sherlock flipped a shit, for lack of better words.

Fortunately, he could take a hit, which surprised the other boy when he turned back with pointedly vindictive look. Then out came words that he really should not have said. The bully crumpled before Mycroft knew what was going on. However, Sherlock wiped blood off his busted lip and the older male couldn't punish him for it. From then on, his peers were less enemies and more afraid. Sherlock didn't have to fight back and luckily for him, no one else heard what he said. They rarely did.

Sherlock brushed the incident off and assured the teacher he was fine, leaving the other students to coward from him and Mycroft to partner up with him.

"You should have let me know."

"I handled it."

"Try to handle it without mentally scaring him next time."

The small brush in didn't travel home, thankfully, and Sherlock wasn't scolded for it. In the end, though, they both decided to continue schooling. Social skills were needed if Mycroft wanted to make it to his life goal and watching people helped sharpen Sherlock's deduction skills.

January 6

Four Years Later

The Holmes took up fencing in school, practicing with one another often in the little flat of their home. Along with violin and the basics of hand to hand, Sherlock was a well rounded student. He had no idea what he was going to do, but considering he could do anything, he wasn't worried about it. Mycroft, on the other hand, already had a foot in the door in his destined career. John Junior was, well, not a Holmes. He was a perfectly normal kid with perfectly normal problems. No kidnapping, or mad men, or anything that his 'brothers' had in their childhood.

Today was perfect. Lestrade and John had gone out to buy him a birthday present and Mycroft had taken Junior to 'not buy him a birthday present' and Mrs. Hudson was baking in her little shop. Sherlock was all alone. He waited an appropriate amount of time after they had gone before jumping out of bed. He was getting very good at pretending to be asleep. He gave a small peek around to make sure no one was around before taking his little bag and locked himself in the bathroom. A small crack in the window should do it.

Public school had given him the advantage of getting to know of nasty little habits. And forming them. He knew Lestrade use to smoke. He could remember the man wearing nicotine patches when he was little, but he seemed broken of the habit now. Sherlock, on the other hand, was quiet pleased with it. He opened up the hidden compartment he'd sewed into his backpack and retrieved one of the little white cancer sticks. Hurriedly, he shrugged out of his pajamas and hovered about the room in his pants. The smell hung in his clothes and John was very good at being suspicious of him.

He lit up quickly, but casually enjoyed the length of tobacco. It was surprisingly easy to get them, along with anything else he wanted. Sherlock, of course, kept to things that he could hide easily from his military father and DI father. It was particularly hard due to the fact that completely irrelevant things would warrant a check and that Mycroft held it over his head.

Then he heard a noise from downstairs. Please be Mycroft, Please be Mycroft. The hushed voices proved that it wasn't. Sherlock rushed to finish the single stick, puffing the smoke directly out of the window.

"Is that smoke?"

"Shit, shit, shit, shit,"


"Hold on!" He called back desperately.

"Sherlock!" The handle jiggled violently and the smell of smoke was very apparent. "Open this door!"

"How about some privacy, dad!" There was silence, which was not a good thing. Sure enough, the lock clicked open and the door swung open. Sherlock flicked the rest of his cigarette out the window, though this situation did not look good for him.

"Are you smoking?" Lestrade bellowed loudly.

"Don't you dare lie to us, Sherlock." John backed up instantly. Grey eyes darted between his parents. It wasn't that he couldn't lie, or even that he couldn't think of a great lie, it was just that they usually knew when he was lying. Which was impossible! He could even fool a real test, but they always knew somehow.

"Define 'smoking'."

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes!"

If there was one thing his parents were good at, it was calmly talking things out. It was obvious John was disappointed in him, and Lestrade had steadily got louder the more they spoke, but in the end, he got off relatively easily. Partially because Mycroft helped them find all of his hiding spots (mutiny!), but he was sure most of it was due to the fact it was his birthday.

So instead of some obscure punishment, he got cake and promised his parents he would at least wait until his lungs had fully developed before polluting them. Under normal circumstances, he would have insisted that he was basically done growing by now, but instead took his card and fled. He'd discuss later at what age, exactly, he could smoke. He had the fleeting suspicion it was 'never'. Just like with the question about getting the tracker removed from his insides. It made things incredibly hard to sneak around with.

Birthdays were always nice in the Holmes-Lestrade-Watson house. He gladly accepted the little gifts, enjoyed the cake and enjoyed the time with his family.

Three Years Later

It was the year Mycroft left home for good. With his popularity in school, it hadn't been unlike him to have girlfriends on and off. None of them ever lasted very long and for good reason. He had the uncanny ability to make everyone feel inadequate when placed beside him which didn't bode well for average people. However, he'd finally gotten a position in the government and while earning his degrees and working in quiet, he moved into a flat of his own. It wasn't unusual not to hear from him for weeks. At first, John had fretted about it, but Mycroft always remembered to stop by and assure them all he was fine.

Sherlock pretended he didn't care. For years now, a steady discontent had formed between them. Whether it was Mycroft trying to force friends and dates on him or protecting him from needless dangers, Sherlock hated it. He did everything he could to squirm away from his brother and make his own. Things became especially stressed between the brothers after Lestrade had a mild heart attack during a little celebration party. Sherlock blamed Mycroft and Mycroft ignored him.

It was also the year that Lestrade seriously started considering him for help in the force. More often than not, Sherlock trailed after him to work and solved crimes twice as fast as they could on their own. He planned on opening his own detective business, just to make a little money on the side until he decided exactly what he wanted to do.

With school finished, Sherlock turned to studying more precise things. Often times things that no one else had thought about, or had a use for. Experimenting, of course. He just didn't see why people didn't think of these things? Obviously the man couldn't have been thirty minutes away from where the murder took place if his bruises hadn't formed until after they took him in for questioning.

"Sherlock!" Sherlock didn't look away from his little table, but he heard the firm steps hurrying up the hall. "How many times do I have to tell you not to experiment on your brother?" Grey eyes glanced over his shoulder to the orange faced child and his enraged father.

"It's not permanent, dad." He assured him. John pinched the bridge of his nose.

"It doesn't matter if it's permanent, Sherlock."

"Then I don't see what the problem is."

"Is this even safe?"

"Of course. I wouldn't knowingly hurt him."

"Yeah. That's what I'm afraid of. Fix him and fix him now." The older man demanded.

"It'll go away on its own. You can relax." Sherlock insisted, motioning the little Watson towards him. He didn't even question it, which worried John more than anything else. He examined the eleven year old's head and the ends of his hair before pointing out a patch behind his ear.

"See. It's already going away." He assured him. John didn't speak for a moment, holding curled fingers over his mouth. He shook his head.

"No more testing on Junior."


"No! You're going to make him sick one day."

Sherlock scoffed.

Thirteen Years Later

A nice family dinner for once in years. Mycroft wasn't around as often now that he was, by all accounts, the British government. John retired from his work after his son finished school and Lestrade followed soon after. The two of them took to relaxing in the comfort of their vacation flat Mycroft had been so kind as to purchase for them. Though they still insisted that their relationship was platonic, all the years together left them closer and closer. Sherlock moved into 221b Baker Street completely and eventually moved from detecting for the police to consulting with the police, with help from the little Watson, of course. Though he was attending school to be a doctor, it was nearly impossible not be dragged into Sherlock's troubles, especially considering they were sharing the flat.

"So, I saw you in the paper again." John smiled pleasantly over after dinner coffee.

"I would have solved it sooner if Dimmock would have just done as I told him." Sherlock complained rather loudly.

"He'd probably do as you asked if you were nicer to him." Greg scoffed.

"It's not that easy, Mum."

"You should know Sherlock can't hold a proper conversation with decent company." Mycroft eyed his brother from across the table.

"Perhaps you should leave the room, then." The younger brother shot back.

"Does every dinner we have, have to end like this?" The retired army doctor sighed. It held a certain amount of affection, though.

"I'm so sorry, dad." The older brother pleasantly apologized.

"Oh, there he goes again."

"What could I have possibly done this time?"

"You always have to be better than me, don't you Mycroft?"

"I was not trying to be better than you, Sherlock."

"I'm going to go make some more coffee. This is going to go on for a while." John Junior sighed patiently, pushing himself away from the table.

"Are those bruises on your wrist?" His father pointed out suddenly. He quickly pulled down the sleeve of his turtleneck.

"Oh, Sherlock,"

"For the love of- Stop letting Sherlock experiment on you."

"It seemed important."

"And you were always trying to make friends for me in school."

"How does that have to do with anything?"

"It's not like I couldn't make my own friends if I wanted them, but I didn't and you knew that. You were just rubbing them in my face."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Do I even want to know why he needed to know if you could get out of handcuffs."

"Dad! Gross! Just because you're shagging Mr. Lestrade doesn't mean I'm shagging Sherlock!"

"Is anything a secret in this family?"

"And you always held the fact you knew where all my hiding spots were over my head. I just wanted a smoke once in a while."

"You were going to kill yourself with those damn things, Sherlock."

"I think I had the right to make that decision myself."

"It's not exactly a secret when you spend all your time together and you have bloody hickies all over your neck."

"And you just assume I haven't found a girlfriend."

"Don't make me think about that. That's even worse than you and Mr. Lestrade. Now I'm going to be thinking of that all night. Thanks dad."

Lestrade sat back and watched his little family bicker. It was inevitable, really, but it was nice to have them all in the same room none the less. They were all grown up now and that was all he needed to be happy. There had been times when he thought they'd never live to see this day. Mycroft was successful and Sherlock wasn't in prison, what more could he ask for? If anything, things had turned out much better than he had ever hoped for.

"And don't think I don't know when you're keeping tabs on me."

"Oh, please, Sherlock. We all know you put it in Junior."

"You did what?"

"I didn't know anything about that."

"I'd debated putting it in a dog, just to see how long you'd follow it."

"Stop cutting open your brother!"

A dysfunction family was better than none. Perhaps there was something wrong about finding this whole conversation normal, but Lestrade did. Sure, he missed the days where they'd quietly cuddle on the couch and simply enjoy the fire, but he supposed all parents missed that.

"Sherlock," The room quieted after a few moments, though none of them were done with their argument.

"Yes, Mummy?"

"Why don't you play your violin? It's been a while since I heard you play." Greg murmured. Sherlock offered the smallest of smiles and nodded.


"Get it yourself."

"Snippy, aren't we?"

"I just found out you put a tracker in me."

"I don't see how you didn't realize it sooner." Sherlock sniffed back to the younger man. He retrieved his case from the little living room. He always brought it with him when visiting family. He knew his fathers liked to hear him play, even if his talent was more recently found. He straightened out his back a little and began to play. The calming effect on all of them was immediate.

John gently grasped Lestrade's hand under the table, sighing contently. Greg smiled at him. Mycroft hmmed happily, hands rested ever so comfortably on the end of his favorite umbrella.

Everything was okay.

The End.

Author Notes: Whooo! I think this is the first thing I've finished in a long time. D: I was throwing up the idea of LestradexWatson through the whole thing (because this world needs more LestradexJohn), but I didn't want to focus too much on them which turned out to be an awful idea. Now I wish I would have done so. Meh. I also hadn't planned out the end very well. By making John his father, it left Sherlock strangely Watson-less and that just couldn't be. I couldn't find anything about John having a son, though, so my awesome creative name system magically created John Junior. Also, according to the books, Mary (John's 2nd wife) just kind of disappeared and he never said anything about her. So, yeah. This turned out longer than I had originally intended, but obviously not long enough to get everything I wanted into it. I'm always worried I'm going to go off and get distracted with minor details, like the murder case Moriarty had him solve. There were so many details for that, it wasn't even funny.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed. c: I loved writing this. Also, if anyone would like to beta for me, that would be fantastic. I have no idea how FF's beta works. . .