"I'm bringing someone over. -SH"

Holmes rarely announces, or even mentions, when someone is coming over.

So I guess that is Sherlock's way of telling me to tighty-up. But why would Sherlock care? He is the bloody reason this place is always a mess.

The person is probably someone special. Not that I care. Sherlock can bring anyone he wants over. He's a grown man.

A beautiful, grown man. A beautiful, grown man who's sexy eyes look into your heart and who's hair is just begging to be played with.

Okay, I cared. I cared a lot. But I wanted Sherlock happy, so I'd tighty-up as much as I could.

"And this is my- our flat," I heard Sherlock say as he walked up the steps with someone.

Their steps were different. They had more weight to them and they were spaced out. So they must be carrying something.

I smiled at myself, proud of what I had figured out.

"John, open the door," Sherlock demanded.

I sighed. "You don't have to show off for your friend," I said annoyed as I walked over to the door. "Why couldn't you just open it-" I froze when I saw Sherlock's 'friend.'

There stood a young boy, no older then 7, who was a smaller version of Sherlock.

They both were holding many suitcases.

"John this is Hamish," Sherlock said as he walked into the flat. He dropped the cases on the floor and turned to the boy.

"Nice to meet you," I helped Hamish with his suit cases and shook his hand when one was finally available.

"Nice to meet you too." Hamish smiled shyly. He looked around the flat taking everything in.

The boy looked over to Sherlock, "Is this the doctor from the stories Mum told me, Father?"

My eyes widened as he looked at Sherlock. "Father?!"

"Yes," Sherlock looked at me. Then down to his son, "And yes. He's the doctor."

"So he's your boyfriend?" Hamish asked innocently.

I could feel my heart skip a beat. "No I'm not his boyfriend! What kind of stories did your Mum tell you? And who is your Mum?" I was so very confused. "And how are you a father?"

"John and I are going to talk in the kitchen really quick, you can start setting up your things now."

"In the living room? Where will he sleep? The couch?" I asked.

"Yes, well unless he wanted the floor, which I don't suggest," Sherlock said not seeing a problem.

"Hamish you can have my room, I'll sleep in the living room," I offered.

"You can't sleep in the living room," Sherlock said. "That's ridiculous! You'll never fit on the couch, you're a grown man."

"But having your son sleep there is okay? Are you going to explain how you magically got a son?"

"Don't be foolish John, magic isn't real."

"That's the explanation I get? 'Magic isn't real.' I- How-," I couldn't find words, "Excuse us."

I grabbed Sherlock's hand and dragged him into his room. I closed the door behind us and looked at Sherlock. "You can start with who's his mother."

"Irene."

"When and why? I thought sex wasn't your 'thing.'"

"It was 7 years ago and she drugged me."

Confused I sighed. How was he so calm about this? "Not to sound rude, but why do you have him now? After all this time?"

"Irene died and they were going to send him away."

Oh gosh. How could that happen? No, too much too soon. I won't ask about that until later. She truly was the only person Sherlock ever 'liked'.

"If I remember correctly you said something about wanting a family and kids. So this could also serve you as a treat."

"Sherlock this is a person, a living breathing human being. Not a pair of shoes," I tried but I knew there were somethings that Sherlock would never grasp. "Look, I'm sorry to hear about Irene. But at least now you can spend time with your son." A smile slipped out of me.

"Our son." Sherlock corrected me. I looked at him confused, not sure if I heard correctly. "'We' are raising him, therefore he is 'our' son."

I could feel my face slowly get pink. "Alright then. I'll go help Hamish with his bags." I turned to the door to hide my face.

"You don't have to sleep on the couch. We could just share a bed," Sherlock suggested.