Disclaimer: I own no part of the BBC Sherlock world and make no money from this.

A/N: Right now I have four more chapter ideas in mind for this story, but again, if you have any thoughts on something you'd like to see let me know!

Kyle: 6
Sherlock: 24
John: 29

The first two years are the toughest. At least I hope they are.

It's definitely a noticeable difference going from babysitter (read: occasional) to partner (read: full time) involvement.

Now that Kyle gets to see me practically every day, he's not always a perfect angel. Don't get me wrong: I've observed enough children in my life - especially these past two years - to know that we're very lucky. He's polite in public, does what he should be doing, loves doing his school work, and rarely fights. Oh, but when he does fight he really commits to it and does so emotionally, just like his father.

One night last year I was attempting to help him in his endeavor of learning to count to 10, but we both became frustrated quickly. We had been working on him repeating me one small grouping at a time for ten minutes already.

"1, 2, 3," I said.

"1, 2, 3," he repeated.

"4, 5, 6."

"4, 5, 6."

"7, 8, 9, 10."

"7, 8, 9, 10."

"Good, now you lead and I'll repeat,"

"1, 2, 3," he started confidently.

"1, 2, 3," I repeated.

His brow furrowed and then he asked more than stated, "4, 5, 7?"

I shook my head, "4, 5, 6," I corrected, "let's start over and try again."

"1, 2, 3," he quickly said.

"1, 2, 3."

"4, 5, 7," he said confidently.

"No," I stressed, tamping down my frustration with difficulty, "4, 5, 6. Just repeat that."

"4, 5, 6," he said automatically, eyes starting to tear up.

"Good. Now start again."

"1, 2, 3," he knew this part was right, but he looked worried.

"1, 2, 3," I affirmed.

"4, 5, 7," his voice shook.

I closed my eyes. I couldn't understand how he kept messing it up, how he could keep skipping a number that I repeat to him, "No!" I fumed, opening my eyes, "4, 5, 6; it's not that hard!" I raved and then yelled, "You're not even trying!"

And that's when the tears fell, "I am," he pleaded softly to the table instead of my angry face.

I pushed myself away from the table roughly and removed myself to John's room, leaving him to step away from making dinner to see to Kyle.

About 15 minutes later John came in to the room and closed the door softly behind him. He found me with my face buried in my hands as I sat perched on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry," I whispered brokenly to him.

He sighed and sat down on the bed to my left, placing a hand on my back and rubbing light circles. I leaned the side of my body in to his for comfort, face still covered.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he assured me gently.

I sat up and looked at him incredulously, still distraught, "I yelled at him for no reason! They're just numbers; I shouldn't have made a big deal. I just don't understand how he wasn't getting it," I admit.

He smiled warmly at me and reached up to wipe away tear trails I wasn't completely aware existed, "I bet you were the type of kid who learned everything really quickly, weren't you?"

"Yes," I agreed softly.

"Kyle's probably not going to be like that. He'll be smart of course, especially with you helping him out, but he's going to have to work hard at it and we just need to foster that ethic."

I nodded and looked away to the floor before softly admitting, "This is harder than I thought it would be."

He laughed, "Yeah, imagine how I felt doing it on my own! You think I've never lost it with him before?"

I looked back at him in shock; he's probably the most patient and understanding person that I have ever met, "I've never seen it."

"Because I've sort of figured him out by now. For the moment, anyway," he amended, "Who knows what'll happen when his hormones kick in and his friends start having a larger influence," we both chuckled, "It's not easy - it's not supposed to be - but honestly I'm very impressed that it took you this long to become frustrated."

"But I yelled at him," I reiterated, stuck on a loop with the real point as though John simply wasn't understanding the problem.

"Because you want him to do better," he assured me, "Just don't ever verbally or physically abuse my child - because no matter how much I love you, I promise I will end you - and we'll be fine," he warned good-naturedly.

"I would never!" I told him, scandalized by the thought.

He smiled again before kissing my lips softly, "I know," he said when he pulled back, "He loves you and he knows you care. Do you want to know why he was crying?"

My face set in a determined fashion as I exhaled loudly, preparing for the well-earned criticism, "Yes."

"He told me that he knew he let you down. It wasn't that you yelled; it was that he felt he disappointed you."

"I disappointed myself, it wasn't really his fault," I insisted.

"We know that. He doesn't," he said gently.

I stood up from the bed with determination and returned to the kitchen table to sit down calmly. Kyle looked up at me with nervous eyes and I couldn't help but observe his dried tear trails.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," I began softly and his eyes turned curious, "I was angry with myself for not knowing how to help you. You were working so hard to understand it and I…I was failing you."

"I'm sorry I upset you. I worked even harder while you talked to daddy and I think I've got it now," he said with cautious pride.

My mouth fell open at the realization that he honestly didn't hate me for raising my voice and storming off, "You did?"

He nodded with a small, hopeful smile.

"That's wonderful," the feelings of pride and love returned full force, "Show me," I gently urged.

And he did so willing, excited to show me the progress that he had made. We made it all the way to ten this time.

As John walked past us to resume making dinner, his hand trailed along my back as he bent to place a tender, lingering kiss to my temple. Once at the stove he turned to look at me over his left shoulder and gave me a wink; I beamed at him in return, my love for him only growing.

Now at the age of six - thanks to his friends at school - Kyle has learned the famous phrases: "I know you are, but what am I?" and "If you love it so much, why don't you marry it?"

It astounds me what manages to weather the test of time, but then again annoyingly repetitive responses such as these are right up every child's alley, even mine for a time. Mycroft, who could never really be classified as a "normal child", never used them and I admittedly only used them to annoy him with the plebeian phrases.

One night we're settled down watching a movie together. John and I are snuggled next to each other on the couch while Kyle is lying on his stomach on the floor in front of us. I keep getting drawn out of the film, which is actually very entertaining, every few minutes when Kyle delivers a hard kick to the couch.

After the fourth time, John speaks up calmly, "Please stop kicking the couch, love."

He doesn't respond, but three minutes later he kicks again.

"Kyle, stop please," he tries a bit firmer.

Three minutes later it happens again.

"Stop or I will move you," John warns him sternly.

"I don't want to move," he pouts.

"Then don't kick the couch again."

"But I like kicking the couch."

"But I've asked you not to," he's growing steadily more frustrated.

"But I want to."

"You're being unreasonable," I interject, giving him the perfect opportunity for:

"I know you are, but what am I?" I can hear his smirk even if he hasn't turned for me to be able to see it. He knows I think this form of "entertainment" is beneath him.

"An annoying little monkey," I seethe in response.

"I know you are, but what am I?"

"A sorry excuse for a comedian."

"I know you are, but what am I?"

I breathe in deep before my next attack, "An adolescent human being who finds unwarranted pleasure in repeating the same phrase continuously in an attempt to make the other participating party feel badly about themselves."

It stuns him in to silence just long enough for a satisfied smirk to begin forming on my lips, but then:

"I know you are, but what am I?"

The beginnings of my smirk falls as my brain quickly wracks for another tactic. Suddenly another popular childhood phrase comes to the forefront of my mind. It's worth a try, "I'm rubber and you're glue; whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks to you."

He turns his head to finally look at me over his right shoulder. His mouth opens and then closes a few times before he smiles brightly, turning around, and remaining silent for the rest of the movie. John burrows his face in to my shoulder to smother his laugh.

The following week I venture in to the kitchen to try my hand at making my mother's lasagna for the first time ever. John has been having a rough time at work and the approaching of exams just means more stress, so I want to try to do something nice for him.

John isn't due back until around 7:30, so Kyle and I have plenty of time to get it done. We make an awful mess of the entire kitchen, but I plan to wait until tomorrow to clean it up.

Once the meal is in the oven, Kyle and I sit down to start looking at his homework. We've yet to yell at each other again, but we definitely still get heated at times. During those situations he's very good about telling me that I'm confusing him and making things worst, at which point I step back and simply check over it when he's done. Tonight we're working on simple math which never causes any ill feelings.

When we're almost done, John walks in the door and drops his things in their usual places before finding us in the kitchen. He looks absolutely exhausted but happy to be home.

"Something smells fantastic," he says as he comes over to give each of us a kiss.

"We made Sherlock's lasagna," Kyle smiles. He finally learned to pronounce my full name correctly last year and eagerly switched over since it "sounds cooler".

"My mother's recipe," I clarify, "It'll be ready in about 15 minutes if you want to take a quick shower."

"Mmmm," he nods and heads towards the room.

"Try not to fall asleep in there!" I shout after him.

"Yes, dear!" He shouts back and I smile. Kyle just shakes his head and resumes his homework.

By the time John reemerges in the kitchen, Kyle has finished his work, we've cleared the table, and dished up the first round of food.

"This was a wonderful surprise to come home to, thank you both," John says as he sits down.

"It's a rough time of year for you; you shouldn't have to always worry about fixing a meal when you get home, too," I tell him.

"We also picked out a movie for after dinner," Kyle adds.

"Have you finished your homework?" John asks with a look that dares him to lie.

"Yes, it was easy and there wasn't that much."

"Did Sherlock help you cheat this time?" He smiles cheekily at me.

I roll my eyes, "Oh hush up and eat, will you? You've yet to take a bite and it's best when warm."

He chuckles before taking a bite and letting out a - to my ears indecent - moan, "This is so delicious, why have you been hiding this from me?" He jokingly scolds me.

I blush at the noise as well as the praise, "I've never attempted it before so I wasn't sure how it would turn out. You really like it?" I ask nervously since I don't cook very often.

"Like it? I love it," he stresses and then eats another bite as if to prove it.

"If you love it so much, why don't you marry it?" Kyle chimes in with the charming statement.

John rolls his eyes, "Maybe I will," he challenges before taking another bite. We long ago stopped trying to be logical when it came to this one; it's easier to say 'Maybe I will' and move on instead of explaining why you can't actually marry inanimate objects.

It strikes me that Kyle never says this annoying line to me. Upon further introspection to understand why, I realize that I don't use the word 'love' as much as John does. He gets so much enjoyment out of nearly everything that it's a good descriptor for him to use, whereas I only ever use the word for my family, including these two.

After we finish and do some very basic clean-up, John yawns, "I'm not sure I'll be able to make it through a movie," he says apologetically.

"That's all right," Kyle says, "Sherlock and I made sure to pick a movie that only we will like and will put you to sleep."

John shakes his head with a small smile, "Why are we even debating this? You need to go to bed so you're rested for school tomorrow."

Kyle rolls his eyes, "Daddy, it's Friday."

John's eyes grow wide, "Really?" He looks at me, honestly confused and hopeful.

I walk over to him and wrap him in my arms, "Really," I confirm.

He sags against my body suddenly, "Oh, thank God."

I hum in disapproval at the extent of his exhaustion before assisting him to the couch.

He lays down and Kyle curls up with him as I put the movie in. Once I've got it started, I move to the end of the couch that John's feet are on. He lifts them just long enough for me to sit before he places them in my lap. My hands naturally move to gently massage his feet.

He groans appreciatively and slurs, "Tha's nice," before falling asleep within minutes.

I can feel Kyle looking at me so I turn to catch his eye.

"That was fast," he says at a normal volume, causing John to shift fretfully and worry his brow. I ease my pressure on his feet to sooth him and he sighs before relaxing again.

"We need to make sure he sleeps more," I whisper to Kyle and he nods emphatically before we both turn back to the movie.

I'm not actually interested in the movie - it was more for Kyle - so I permit myself to get lost in my mind. Lately I've been thinking about our relationship and my life. I never knew I could feel this way: enjoy life so much. Most of my childhood I was bullied for my brain and lack of social awareness, but I always knew love from my family; sometimes overbearing, but love all the same.

I dated a few people growing up, both girls and boys in fairness of experimentation before concluding scientifically that I was gay, but I never loved any of them. A couple of them loved me, that was fairly obvious, but the sentiment was never returned. Until John.

And children? I have a number of young cousins that like to hang off of me and insist that I play with them. They always seem to have a runny nose and sticky fingers - I haven't figured out yet how this is statistically possible - which means that I try to avoid the little cesspools. They also like to talk about inane things that I don't care to even pretend to care about. So in short: I generally don't enjoy spending time with children. Until Kyle.

They are outliers in the ongoing experiment of my humanity and sentimentality, and I'm not sure what that means, precisely. Are they here to teach me something? Am I supposed to let them go at some point? My stomach drops at the thought and I instinctively turn my head sharply to my left to make sure they're still there, and only when I see both of their sleeping faces do I allow myself to relax again.

'Mine' I think unbidden and then blink in surprise. That's it, isn't it? That's the answer: they are mine as much as I am theirs. They are the family that I have chosen.

My father used to say: "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth."

I've been with John for almost three years and I've only grown to love these two more with each day that passes. Sure, Kyle becomes irritatingly unfathomable to me at times as he grows and discovers who he is,but it's a fascinating and rewarding journey to observe. John has some annoying habits, as well, such as forcing me to eat and sleep regularly while insisting that I am more than just my brain, but I know he does them out of love.

And love me they both do. John told me early on in our relationship that he is one of the easiest people to read - he's absolutely right - and it's a trait he passed on to Kyle. Their eyes full of love and their affectionate smiles are all I need to reassure myself that I haven't misread the signs. Somehow these two have seen past my freakishness and love me for who I am.

So marriage? Is it time to make this official?

I come to the conclusion that I need to run a few experiments to gather more data to be certain at the same moment the movie ends. I rise from the couch gently, leaving the credits rolling to supply light for me to see by. I move to extract Kyle from John's loose embrace as unobtrusively as possible, but it wakes John anyway.

I smile apologetically as Kyle snuffles quietly and curls further in to me. Once I've tucked him in his bed and placed a kiss to his forehead, I return to the living area to see John sitting up and stretching on the couch.

"How was the movie?" He asks me with a smile.

I move to the player to retrieve the disc and place it back in its case, "It was fine. You and Kyle both fell asleep fairly quick," I smirk, turning back to him.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, "Hopefully I can stop stressing out and get more sleep soon."

I walk to the couch after turning off the TV. By the street light coming in through the window, I reach out my hands to help him stand. He pulls me in to a languid kiss as soon as he's on his feet and then leads me by the hand to the bedroom. I still haven't officially moved in, but roughly half of my belongings are here.

When we've changed in to our pajamas, we settle in bed with him as the big spoon. We alternate roles frequently, but when he feels he's been particularly negligent, he likes to hold me to remind me of his compassion for me. It's not strictly necessary, but I don't mention that because I do find it to be nice. It's safe.

"What can I do to help you?" I ask him quietly, referring to his current emotional state, knowing he'll understand.

He pulls me a little closer - which really should have been impossible, quite frankly - and smiles against the back of my neck.

"This," he whispers, "this is good. Everything tonight was wonderful; you're doing perfectly and don't need to change a thing."

I blush at the praise but can't help insisting, "If what I was already doing was perfect, you wouldn't be so worn down."

I feel his head shake in dissent, "The problem is work; teaching is incredibly stressful, especially towards the end of a term. Coming home is perfect: it's what I look forward to every day."

I squeeze his hand that's interlaced with mine, "I just wish…" I trail off, unsure how to voice the need I feel to help him, but he understands anyway. Of course he does.

"I know. However, nothing but a less emotionally involved job is going to fix this, and right now I still love it and this is all worth it."

"I don't understand how this feels worth it to you," I admit.

"I know, no one outside of the profession seems to, but it comes down to the fact that I'm not working with chemicals, or paper, or clinical trials. I'm glad other people do, because those are important, but I'd rather help shape lives and help people grow in to who they truly are."

"Sounds like raising kids," I crinkle my nose in distaste and he chuckles warmly against my neck.

"They're very different; raising your own child is difficult because you're helping form an entire structure. The difficulty with teaching is that you're taking someone else's structure and trying to tweak certain parts of it."

"I don't think I could do it," I shake my head.

"No, not many people can, really; at least not well. But I'll tell you one thing."

"What?"

"You bring a necessary balance to the building of my 6-year-old structure, and you do a great job. That, along with your happiness, are the most important things to me."

"The sappy honesty, John, we've talked about this," I scold him half-heartedly to cover my embarrassment.

He simply chuckles again and kisses my neck, "Goodnight, Sherlock."

"Goodnight, John," I whisper, lulled easily in to sleep as I usually am when in his arms.

On Saturday I decide to experiment on myself to test my own thoughts about marriage further. Every time I observe John or Kyle doing anything - no matter what it is - I refer to them as "my husband" and "my son" in my mind. It's awkward at first and makes my stomach flutter, but as the day wears on my comfort steadily grows. It becomes so comfortable a thought that I accidentally nearly tell John "our son" is making a mess of the table, but catch myself in the nick of time.

Conclusion: Favorable.

On Sunday I decide to experiment on John. Nothing that he would classify as "not good", simply gathering information about his previous marriage (which we quite frankly have actively avoided discussing in the past) and testing the waters for any future plans regarding one.

Kyle is napping after wearing himself out this morning by running around everywhere. The apartment is silent as John and I sit on the couch next to each other while reading our books, his right hand playing lightly - most likely subconsciously - with my left. I have resolved to run this experiment without Kyle in ear shot in case John doesn't want him to know the details, and beginning now would mean I have plenty of time to analyze the data gathered.

I clear my throat and close my book on my finger to mark my place, "John?"

"Mmm?" He hums in acknowledgement but continues to read.

"Why did you marry Kyle's mother?" I jump right in.

His head swiftly turns to me, his eyes wide, "Where's this coming from, then?" He asks once he's composed himself.

I set my book aside completely before turning my entire body to him, and he reflexively mimics me.

"We don't talk about it, but I don't understand what makes people settle on marriage, especially to someone that they know isn't right."

"Well, there's plenty of reasons people have to get married and it's typically different for everyone, or at least every pair," He says and I nod in understanding before he continues, "For me and Mary, the reason was Kyle. She became pregnant and I wanted to do right by her and him. We hadn't known each other very long, and I think I knew deep down that it probably wouldn't last - Lord knows I had plenty of doubts and second guesses - but I felt I owed it to them to try."

"And why did you divorce?"

"Ah," he sighs and looks at the floor briefly, "Turns out she wasn't what I thought she was."

My brow furrows, "Which was?"

"I thought she was a medical receptionist, and it turns out she was an assassin," he states calmly.

"What?" I ask harshly, completely caught off guard both by the news and my sense of protectiveness.

He laughs at the look on my face and I briefly entertain the idea that he's joking, "I know, sounds like a story, right?"

"You're not joking?" I clarify.

"No," he shakes his head, "I couldn't make that up."

"Where is she now? Is she a threat?"

"In the divorce she agreed to let me have full custody because a child would 'get in the way'," he uses air quotes and I reflexively growl low in my throat at the idea, "Then she disappeared. She would never hurt Kyle, and I'm reasonably certain she wouldn't hurt me, either."

"But she's just out there and you have no idea where?" I ask incredulously, the idea causing me some anxiety.

He grabs both of my hands in his, "Calm down and breathe for me," he says gently and I do as he directs, "I'm sure it's fine; she hasn't made any form of contact for nearly five years."

I move my hands to his face so I can pull him close for a reaffirming kiss. When we part I end all contact as I remember my original purpose for this questioning.

"So, not a great experience for you then, marriage?" I ask.

He looks at me suspiciously, like he's trying to read my mind, but he's never been as adept at it as I am, "No, that marriage wasn't," he answers carefully.

"Your wording implies that you've had more than one."

"No, my wording implies that, should a second one happen, it would hopefully be better all around."

"So you're not," I start but have to swallow thickly before continuing, "thrown off the idea of marriage?"

His eyes soften in sympathy and I can feel my face heat as he sees right through me, piecing together that this isn't just about collecting general data.

"Not at all," he says sincerely, "I just know what I'm looking for now."

We stare into each other's eyes for long seconds, and just as I'm about to ask him what it is, exactly, that he's looking for, Kyle enters the room asking for some milk.

John smiles at me and then gives me a kiss before moving to get the requested beverage.

Conclusion: Confusing but favorable…I think.

On Monday I decide to experiment on Kyle. Well, not so much "experiment" as "politely ask some questions".

I decide to take an extended lunch break - which my supervisor is more than happy to grant me since I usually don't take a break at all as I don't eat while at work - to pick out a ring. Should my final experiment prove successful as I think it will, I want to have it ready.

It takes me a solid hour to settle on a simple platinum band that isn't too thick or thin. Its dimensions are perfect, just like John.

On my way back to work, ring box in my pocket, I happen to glance in the window of a bohemian-type store and spot some bracelets that trigger an idea. When I walk into the deserted store, a man greets me warmly from behind a counter.

"Is there anything I can help you find?"

"Do you happen to have any leather bracelets? Something that might signify family by chance?"

"Well, we have a number of leather bracelets," he starts and leads me to the display, "but none that specifically represent family, I don't think."

It's a small selection but there are some truly beautiful pieces.

"Are any of them adjustable? He's only six right now but I'd like him to be able to continue wearing it if he wants."

"All of them adjust, and most get decently small."

I nod and then my eyes land on a lighter colored leather band that consists of three strands braided together. I pick it up and tighten it to see that it can get quite small.

I smile brightly at my luck and turn to the owner, "This one. I'll take it."

I pay for it and place it into my pocket next to the ring box. I can barely concentrate for the rest of the day as I think about what I'm going to say to Kyle.

After work I take a cab to John's apartment instead of the tube and practically run up the stairs to relieve Mrs. Hudson as is our routine. As Kyle and I sit at the table to start his homework, I grow nervous: we only have about an hour until John gets home.

I clear my throat, "Kyle, before we start your homework, I want to ask you something."

His brow furrows, "Am I in trouble?" he asks worriedly.

"No, nothing like that," I assure him and then take a deep breath, "You know that I love you and your daddy very much," I start.

"Of course," he nods, and my lip quirks up slightly despite my nervousness.

"I've been thinking lately that I might like to make it official, our arrangement."

He looks confused, "Is it not?"

"I…" I start but don't know exactly how to explain it, so I decide to try again, diving right in, "What I mean is: I would like to ask your daddy to marry me," I eye him skeptically, but his eyes light up, "Would you be agreeable to that?"

He beams, "You mean we'd be a real family?" He asks excitedly.

I bite back my logical/snarky retort that we were never really a "fake family" but instead say, "That would be the idea."

"Yes!" He shouts and leans over to hug me, "Does it start now? Have you moved all of your things?"

I laugh, "I haven't asked your daddy yet; he needs to say yes for any of that to happen," I clarify.

"Why haven't you asked him?"

"Because I wanted to make sure you were okay with the idea first. I didn't want you to feel like you're stuck with me if you hate me," I admit, my insecurities seeing the rare light of day.

"I love you, Sherlock, you know that," he says in a 'You're so silly' way.

I remove the bracelet from my pocket, "I have a ring for your daddy if he accepts, but I want you to have this no matter what he says," I tell him as I grab his left wrist and adjust the band to fit his wrist.

"It's so pretty, thank you!" He says before hugging me again.

"You're welcome," I say as he sits proper in his chair again, "Now, I'm going to need your help…"

I tell him the plan and then we start on his homework so John doesn't become suspicious.

Conclusion: Extremely favorable.

After a dinner of take-away and more than a few 'Honestly, child, calm down' looks to Kyle, we settle in the living area to watch TV while Kyle plays off to the side. Well, to be completely accurate, he attempts to play off to the side but keeps dropping the toys because he's shaking with anticipation.

"Kyle, are you all right?" John asks worriedly.

"Yes, Daddy," he can't even look at us without smiling.

"I may have given him chocolate when I got home," I lie to John.

"Did you give him a whole bloody mountain of it?"

"Foot rub?" I offer him too suddenly, too innocent.

"What?" He's caught off guard.

"Would you like a foot rub?" I expand overly sweetly.

He eyes me suspiciously, "What is with you?" he asks and then his eyes grow wide with fear, "Oh God, what did you break?"

I roll my eyes, "Nothing."

"Did you lose your job?" He continues, convinced something awful has occurred.

"No."

"Did you quit your job?"

"John," I sigh in exasperation.

"Oh God, you did. I know you're getting bored, but did you think this through?"

"I did not quit my job. I just offered because I want to take care of you. Because I love you very much."

And right on cue, Kyle excitedly chimes in: "If you love him so much, why don't you marry him?" It lacks his usual petulance, but it's effective nonetheless.

I look at his beaming face and can't help an answering small smile, "Maybe I will," I supply our classic response with a hint of challenge to my voice. I stand from the couch while grabbing the box from my pocket and lower to one knee in front of an extremely shocked John.

"What?" Is all he can think to ask.

"I think this is how it starts, the knee thing; I'm really just going off what I've seen in those frankly ridiculous romance movies you like to watch. I've thought about this logically and ran a series of experiments to support my theory, but I realized that a decision like this isn't completely logical, it also has to be felt. It needs both a head and a heart to work. As the head, I know I love you as I never have any other; I know that I cannot imagine a single day without you in it; I know that you are the most passionate and caring individual that I have ever met; I know that you are my heart."

The look of love and hope in his eyes gives me the courage to finish, "John Hamish Watson, I want to spend every moment - good, bad, or infuriating - of this life with you by my side. Will you marry me?"

For 30 full seconds he just stares at me, not speaking. His tear-filled eyes and openly ecstatic face give me hope at the same time his silence takes it away.

Finally he turns to his son, "What do you think, Kyle? Should we keep him?"

Kyle runs over, "I already said yes," he smiles while holding out his wrist proudly, "What's taking you so long?"

John reverently runs his right thumb over the braid, "Three strands," he whispers.

"Intertwined," I describe quietly.

He looks back at me heatedly, "Forever," he adds before swooping down to kiss me.

"John," I say once I can get him to agree to let my lips go, "You technically still haven't answered my question."

"Oh!" He looks shocked, "Yes, of course!"

I finally release a breath and smile fully, placing the ring on his finger.

Later that night as we lie facing each other after he made love to me, he speaks.

"That bracelet for Kyle was…very touching."

"It didn't feel right only proposing to you; we're going to be a family and he deserved to have a say in the matter," I reply frankly and he kisses me.

"So, yesterday when you asked me those questions, that was part of your experiment that you referred to?" He smirks.

"I had to determine if you were open to the idea of a second marriage," I explain.

He laughs and kisses me again, "You know, most people would take offense to your approach; you're lucky I love you so much."

"I know," I respond honestly, knowing he's right about not everyone understanding my methods. That's why I have no doubt that it's him I should spend the rest of my life with.

"Do you want to know a secret?" He asks.

"Yes."

"Before Kyle interrupted yesterday, I was going to tell you that it's you I want. It's been you from the beginning."

I can't seem to stop kissing him since he accepted my proposal: his mouth, his face, his chest, his finger with my ring. To think that this wonderful, astounding man is mine forever is almost too much for me to comprehend.

For the next two weeks that's the happiest I've ever been; and then something unexpected happens to rival it.

We're on our way to my parents' house for Christmas Eve when Kyle calls from the back seat.

"Papa?" He asks.

John and I exchange a confused look before he asks, "Yes, love?"

"No, Daddy," he honestly scolds, "Papa."

My mouth drops open of its own volition and I turn around slowly in my seat to face him, "Me?" I ask stupidly. The things this child does to my brain are truly abhorrent sometimes.

He smiles, "Duh. Can I have my juice, please?"

I turn to the bag at my feet and grab his cup before handing it to him.

"Thank you, Papa."

"You're welcome, sweetheart," I say dazedly before settling in my seat again.

It's that simple: from that moment on - with no explanation of why or why now - I am not Sherlock but someone's Papa. For someone who never thought they would ever have children or a fiancé, I feel absurdly content.

As John grabs my right hand in his left and squeezes, I can feel my ring on his finger and my heart swells with pride.

A/N: If you would like to see more of this, please leave me a comment letting me know. I honestly don't want to force the continuation of this on anyone, so if no one wants it I'll stop. It's okay.

If you have an idea of an event (or even just a conversation phrase) you'd like to see happen that fits in the chronological timeline, let me know and I'd love to try to fit it in for you.

As for the childish phrases that Kyle favors in this chapter, I'm not certain those are big over in England like they are here in America, so I'm sorry if they're not!

I honestly hope you enjoyed this first part!