…10 Years Later…

Greg bound up the steps to John and Sherlock's sitting room. It was quiet behind the door to 221B, so he entered with caution.

"Hey, Uncle Greg," Benedict greeted with a wave.

The young man was sitting sideways in Sherlock's old leather chair, legs draped over the arm. He was reading a rather thick book with Gladstone curled up on the floor just beneath him.

"Pops isn't home right now," his nephew informed him.

Lestrade glanced around the flat as if he anticipated his brother-in-law to jump out from behind the couch or someplace equally unexpected.

"Where is Sherlock?" the DI asked curiously.

"I dunno," Ben answered in an uninterested tone as he continued to flip through the pages of his book. "He said earlier that he was trying to avoid you. Something about how it was excruciatingly obvious that it was the color of the lady's knickers that gave her away as the murderer. All I know is that he and Dad shagged quite loudly this morning and then went out—thank God."

"Erm…right," Greg blushed at the frank admission from the teenager about the consulting detective and his blogger having a morning shag. He thought it was somehow indecent for the boy to know so much about his parents' sex life.

Uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken, the policeman tried to catch a glimpse at the title of the volume in his nephew's hands. "What are you reading?"

"Oh…" Benedict held the tome up so that Greg could see the front cover.

"Advanced Quantum Physics?!"

"Yeah, what?"

"Really?" Lestrade questioned, not understanding in the least. Ben couldn't help but notice the uncanny likeness his uncle's face had to Gladstone's, that look that said the dog didn't understand what was being told to him.

Benedict blinked rapidly several times, not fully comprehending what was so difficult to understand.

"Is that part of your school work?" Greg continued to press.

Doing an eerie impression of Sherlock, Ben rolled his eyes and stated, "No. I picked it up for a bit of light reading."

The answer only resulted in increasing the tilted angle at which Greg regarded him. The statement seemed to make less sense to him than the last. Benedict decided that now was a good time to change the subject—lest his uncle's brain imploded or the severe angle of his neck caused damage.

It was then that the main door downstairs was opened and then slammed shut, followed by whispers and giggles as the missing lovers ascended the steps to their flat. About thirteen steps up, there was a thud against the wall and then several seconds later there was the sound of a needy moan.

"Mmm—I think I'll take you right here against the wall in the stairwell until you beg for mercy twice…" Sherlock's deep baritone rumbled.

"We can hear you!" Greg shouted down to the couple.

"I know! I said it for your benefit!" that deep baritone answered back.

"Christ, Sherlock! Your son is up here too!"

"It's alright—he's used it by now."

"Umm—really not, Pops! That last time you did something like that, I had nightmares for a week!"

Seconds later, a smug looking Sherlock entered the sitting room followed by an embarrassed and blushing John.

Greg turned and gave the doctor a knowing grin and asked, "So—ten years! Congrats and happy anniversary by the way! Any plans?"

The consulting detective just shrugged and answered, "Just dinner and perhaps a quiet night in."

"While Benedict comes and stays the night with us," Mycroft added to his husband as he ascended the steps and strolled into the sitting room. He stepped up to Greg and planted a chaste kiss on his lips in greeting.

"I'm gonna to school you in chess this time, Uncle My," Ben declared with an evil grin as he hopped out of his chair and grabbed his backpack.

"What are they teaching you at that school?" the politician demanded with a horrified look on his face. "The cost of your tuition is too high for you to be learning bad American slang!"

"And yet I managed to learn a ton of it in addition to being at the top of my class," the teen countered with a smug look so much like Sherlock's that John had to choke down a fit of giggles.

"Alright!" Greg said as he grabbed the back of his nephew's neck playfully. "We're taking the kid and the dog. You two enjoy your evening!"

After another round of "Happy anniversary!" and goodbyes, the Baker Street couple was finally left in peace.

"So," John started casually, "I know you've made plans. What now?"

Sherlock smiled adoringly at his husband and responded, "First, Doctor, we are going to dinner! So your required dress for the evening entails a suit."

"Any preferences?" John asked with a smirk, already knowing the answer.

"Yes—the Armani pinstripe with that silver shirt should do quite nicely."

After a nice candlelight dinner at a very swanky new restaurant and two bottles of Chateau La Mondotte Saint-Emilion, the couple leisurely made their way home on foot hand in hand.

Once inside, Sherlock made no pretense about what he wanted to have happen next. He sauntered straight into their bedroom, undressing as he went. John eagerly followed, knowing that whatever his husband had in mind, he was for it—especially if it involved them being naked.

Behind the security of their closed door, they took their time finishing undressing each other and after that was accomplished, the younger man pushed his blogger down onto the bed and slowly worshiped the body he knew so well with his lips and tongue, building the anticipation. If there was one thing Sherlock Watson-Holmes had learned during all these years with a certain ex-army doctor, it was the advanced art of foreplay. And he did it well. He knew all the right buttons to push, when and what places would kick up the heat a notch, which ones would slow it down just enough, and others that would make his husband beg for mercy. He was the foremost expert on John H. Watson-Holmes.

But finally, said doctor had finally had enough teasing and rolled so that the genius was pinned beneath him. He delved into the hot cavern of his detective's mouth and licked and pillaged as he went. And while his spouse was every bit as enthusiastic as he could have hoped for, he knew there was something off about their encounter.

"What's on your mind," John asked as he carded his fingers through the slightly grayed hair at Sherlock's temples. "You've been in an odd mood for the past few weeks. Out with it already."

The detective smirked and leaned up to briefly capture his husband's lips. "I was going to bring it up later—you're so much more agreeable post-coitus."

"You are a manipulative bastard, you know that?" the doctor demanded without any real heat behind the words.

"Ah—but you love me for it," Sherlock countered.

John decided to silence him by once again sealing his mouth to the genius'. No further discussion was had at that point; the time for talking was temporarily behind them. And on this, their tenth wedding anniversary, the give and take of their lovemaking was all the more powerful.

The doctor gasped his husband's name as they climaxed simultaneously. Being careful not to hurt either of them, he pulled out and rolled them over onto their sides and cuddled closer. They lay like that, holding each other and panting for several long moments before either one spoke.

"I want a baby," Sherlock blurted out, his gaze locked onto John's.

The doctor's indigo eyes searched his partner's light blue ones intently. "What brought this on? I know you've given this quite a bit of thought…"

"Benedict will be off to university in just a few short years," Sherlock reasoned. John nodded for him to continue. "And I miss having him so small and cuddlely. Being with you—and him—has been the best years of my life."

"I'm nearly fifty, Sherlock," John responded softly, caressing one of those sharp cheekbones.

"Yes—and barring any unforeseen accidents, we both have quite a number of years to look forward to," the consulting detective told him. "And…with Greg now as Chief Superintendant, helping the Yard out just isn't the same. I don't mind Dimmock, really, but Lestrade was so much better to work with. And as you've said, neither of us is getting any younger. It's becoming harder and harder running around after criminals these days—especially since you got shot in the thigh a year ago…perhaps it's time for us to retire to a little country cottage like we've been talking about…what else would we spend our time doing besides beekeeping and reading?"

John smiled fondly at his husband as he replied, "So raising another child sounds like the perfect solution and use of our time?"

"Do you disagree?"


"I love Benedict—I truly do—but I'd like to have a child that is equally ours. Genetically linked to both of us. And we missed his early years—his birth, his first steps, first words," Sherlock confessed.

"You know that Ben thinks of you as a father—hell, I think he's probably closer to you than he is with me. He may not be biologically yours, but Sherlock, he is your son in every way that counts," the older man advised.

"I know he is."

"Besides, seeing as how we're both men, I'm not sure how you plan to accomplish a biological child from both of us—science has made some progress but it's not nearly that far along yet," John argued.

Sherlock nodded in agreement and said, "True, but no two people share DNA closer than that of twins…"

"I know, Sweetheart, but Harry is just as old as I am—and women have a shorter window for producing healthy offspring," the doctor countered.

"I don't deny that, John, but…Mycroft told me that she had her eggs frozen a while back when she and Clara were trying to have children," the genius ventured hesitantly.

John blinked in surprise. "You're right. I had forgotten all about that. Hang on—you mentioned this to Mycroft?"

"While we were out to lunch the other day," Sherlock told him. "We were talking about family and children and I mentioned that I might like to have another one…"

"What did he say?" the doctor was genuinely intrigued by his brother-in-law's answer.

With a grin, the detective answered, "That 'you were good for me, fatherhood suites me, and he and Greg would love to have another niece or nephew to spoil rotten'. And I hope you don't mind, but I already spoke with Harry about it too…she is more than willing to help us out."

John thought about it for several minutes before stating, "Well, we're alright financially at the moment and could afford to retire, but not if we're looking at raising another child and paying for doctors bills and what-not for a surrogate."

"I know—that's why I've finally accepted my inheritance," Sherlock declared and held his breath.

Once again there was that deep, searching look before John asked quietly, "You're completely serious then?"

"Absolutely. I don't say this to you lightly," the genius informed him.

"No—I know you don't. Knowing you, you've analyzed this from every possible angle imaginable to the point where your argument would be so rock solid I couldn't say no," John responded teasingly.

Sherlock had the good grace to look sheepish at that. "That's not all…"


"You know that place out in Devon that you loved?"


"Well, happy anniversary."

The doctor stared at him in shock. "Are you—are you saying that you just bought that house in Devon?"

"The one with the scenic view you couldn't get enough of? Yes—the deed is being drawn up as we speak. Mycroft will have it to us by the end of the week," Sherlock stated.

He felt his eyes prickle with unshed tears. This was more than John had ever dreamed of. They had spent many long hours dreaming about a life in the country, but the doctor knew that his detective would not be able to just leave The Work behind and he would never ask that of him either. But it seems that Sherlock once again managed to surprise him.

The genius pulled John closer to him and placed several chaste kisses upon his lips before saying, "You know that I've never been a fan of sentimental drivel, but John Watson-Holmes you are the perfect partner for me in every way and I just want you to know that. I want this new life with you…I love you."

"You are quite the romantic when you want to be," the doctor told his husband, not bothering to hide the tears leaking from his eyes. "You know the man I met fifteen years ago would have never considered any of this…"

Sherlock caressed his blogger's jaw tenderly as he replied, "Well, I'm not the same man I was fifteen years ago."

John laughed through his happy tears and asked, "So…retirement, a house in the country, and a baby?"

"If you're amenable…"

"Why I do believe I am, Mr. Watson-Holmes…"

And there you have it! Thanks again to all of you who have reviewed, followed, and favorited this story! I really appreciate your support and sticking with me for this long. And my undying gratitude and love to Captain Evil, who is my never-ending source of inspiration.

The lovely and talented Sendai (go read her work-it's fabulous!) has asked for a sequel to this... Tell me what you think, as I was contemplating another story arc beyond this that includes and older Ben... But tell me what you want. :)