Author Notes: Welcome to another multiple chapter story of mine. I plan on updating every Friday. Seeing as this story is already finished and only needs some editing I shouldn't have any problems to stick to this schedule.^^

And now: Enjoy the first chapter. :)

Choice of Words

"Don't ever call me on a Sunday morning again if it isn't at least a nine!" Sherlock glared at Lestrade and then threw a disgusted look in the direction of the crime scene. "Better yet, don't ever call me again on a Sunday morning. If you are too stupid to distinguish between a murder and an accident you wouldn't recognize an interesting case if it bite you."

Sherlock ignored the DI's sputtered denial as he marched past the body of the young woman on the pavement. Lestrade had called him at six in the morning to get him to the scene because the police hadn't been able to figure out why a woman had died after falling out a window on the first storey. Of course if they had looked - really looked - in her apartment they would have noticed the office chair underneath a lamp in front of the open window. And if they had gone into the kitchen they would have found the medication for her weak heart. Even Anderson could have figured out then that the victim had been electrocuted while trying to change a light bulb and that her falling out a window had happened by pure chance.

Sherlock sighed quietly as he checked the time on his phone. It was past nine in the morning now. Not especially late for a Sunday but Sherlock still doubted that John would be amenable to continue what they had started before Lestrade's call had interrupted them. It was actually strange that John didn't mind staying in bed till late afternoon if they had nothing on but refused to go back to bed once they had left it for the day. Oh, Sherlock didn't mean that his lover wasn't willing to have sex during the day. John wasn't picky about that but his lover also wasn't willing to lounge around in bed for hours after he had already been up and about. A hateful habit that Sherlock had yet to figure out how to break. Maybe it would be easier to convince his lover to get back into bed again in a few years when they had both got older and...

"You know that John is only 37, brother mine," the annoying voice of his brother reminded him. "I estimate that you will have to wait 15 to 20 years until he feels his age in such a way that he is willing to share your bed for hours during the day. Are you sure that you will be allowed to witness this?"

A low growl fell from Sherlock's lips and scared a young police officer away. Even in his Mind Palace Mycroft was annoying. There was no reason at all why John and he shouldn't be together anymore in twenty years if they were both still alive at the time. They had been a couple for two years already - the longest any of Sherlock's relationships had ever lasted - and he didn't see why they would ever break up. Certainly after John had found it in him to forgive Sherlock his faked suicide nothing could separate them anymore. Granted they had only been best friends when Sherlock had jumped but it had still been a miracle that John had accepted him back in his life. And more so that John had kissed him only one week after Sherlock's resurrection. Certainly a relationship that had started like this wouldn't end like Lestrade's marriage.

Mycroft kept quiet in his Mind Palace and Sherlock took this to mean that he had beaten his brother for once. He couldn't help the small grin of satisfaction that turned his lips upwards at this victory before he focused back on more important tasks than winning against his brother. Namely finding John to get back home and continue their interrupted Sunday. Maybe Mrs. Hudson could be persuaded to share some of her roast with them or they could go out for brunch. Both options were acceptable as Sherlock's stomach informed him with a growl. Now to find John...

Sherlock scanned the crime scene slowly. There were still some police officers and paramedics about but most of the police forces had been sent back home after it had become obvious that no crime had happened. There were more onlookers than professionals here now. Most of them tried to look worried or sad but Sherlock deduced in seconds that they were only there for a story to tell their friends later on. Disgusting.

Sherlock sneered at a man that was trying to look around the police vehicles to get a better look at what was going on when he finally spotted John. He stood with his back to Sherlock as he indulged in small talk with a woman that held a toddler in her arms. Ah yes, this was the neighbour who had found the body and called the police. John had told Sherlock that he would make sure that she was alright after Sherlock had started to rant at Lestrade for wasting their time.

Sherlock leaned back against the wall of the building and marvelled at how John smiled politely at the small child in the woman's arms. After all this time with John Sherlock still didn't understand how his lover could act so ordinary without giving away that he was bored to tears. Certainly, a mother of two that worked for an assurance company couldn't have anything interesting to say. Time to rescue John! Sherlock was just about to stroll over to his lover and safe him the effort of faking anymore polite smiles when the conversation they were having finally registered in his mind.

"Your Amy is a real angel."

The woman laughed at John's remark and stroked the hair of the little girl. "You should see her when her Daddy and I are trying to bath her. I always feel like battling a small army. Nevertheless, it's worth it in the end. Do you have children?"

Sherlock watched as John shook his head at the question. "Sadly, no."

Sadly?!

Sherlock blinked in confusion as his mind tried to wrap itself around this word. Certainly John wasn't implying...

"There is no reason why you can't still have children if you really want some."

"I have always wanted to have children but I haven't met the right woman..."

Sherlock didn't stay to listen to the rest of the conversation as he hurried towards the main street. He ignored Lestrade's attempt to talk with him and didn't even raise an eyebrow at whatever Donovan called after him. His mind was too focused on replaying the conversation he had just overheard to pay attention to anything mundane.

John wanted to have children!

Sherlock almost stumbled over his own feet as the realisation echoed through his Mind Palace. He ignored the angry expletive of a cyclist who had to swerve around him as he continued on his way. It would probably have been saver to hail a taxi but Sherlock needed to stay in motion to sort through his thoughts and feelings. The idea of sitting in a taxi for an hour long ride back to Baker Street appeared unbearable.

"Or maybe you just can't stay the idea of seeing John so soon after he has destroyed your little dream."

Sherlock stuffed his clenched hands into the pockets of his coat as he hunched his shoulders against the cold wind that sent colourful leaves dancing around his feet. If he hadn't overheard John's stupid admission then he wouldn't have to walk around a cold autumn morning to clear his head. Instead he would sit in a taxi while holding his lover's hand as they planned what to have for brunch and...

"And you would be caught by surprise when John broke up with you to be with a woman and to have children of his own."

Sherlock gulped in a huge amount of cold air as the truth of his brother's words shook his Mind Palace like an earthquake. Mycroft - at least the one in his mind - was right. Sherlock had always laughed at the mere idea that John and he would ever break up, that it wouldn't work out between them. Obviously though he had been a fool all along. The question had never been if they would break up but when.

Sherlock's lips trembled as he bought a packed of cigarettes from a kiosk and lit the first one with practiced movements. At least now he could pretend that his eyes were watering from a combination of smoke and cold air. Not that anyone would pay attention to a man walking around with a burning cigarette in his hand on an ordinary Sunday morning. Not enough at least to notice the fine tremor in his fingers, his irregular breathing or the tears that gleamed unshed in his eyes.

"You are melodramatic, brother mine."

"Shut up!"

A woman with a dog looked at him strangely before she hurried away. Sherlock glared after her as he threw the cigarette butt onto the ground and fished out another one. Surely, this woman would applaud John's decision to find himself a woman to have children with.

"It's completely normal to want children, Sherlock, Mycroft sighed in his Mind Palace. "As a scientist you should know that reproduction is a driving force for most species. You shouldn't be surprised that John wants to pass on his genes."

And yet, he was. Sherlock kicked a pebble as he allowed his legs to carry him through a small park without checking which one it was. John had never mentioned that he wanted to be a father one day. If he had Sherlock would have made sure that his lover's wish was fulfilled. Surrogacy was a thing after all and while Sherlock wasn't keen on becoming a parent he wouldn't mind caring for a small human that shared John's genes. He stopped abruptly as his mind pointed out to him that this idea was still an option. He only needed to convince John that he would gladly raise a child with him. And while the idea of children wasn't very appealing to Sherlock as long as it was John's child it would be fine. Yes, this was...

"I have always wanted to have children but I haven't met the right woman..." John's words echoed through his Mind Palace and crushed the tiny seed of hope that had started to grow in Sherlock's heart.

"Obviously this explains why your dear Doctor has never mentioned to you that he wants to have children, brother mine. He doesn't want to raise them with you. He wants an ordinary family with a pretty wife and a house in the suburbs. The days of your relationship are numbered."

Sherlock didn't even have the energy to argue with Mycroft in his Mind Palace as he slumped back against a tree. Defeated. John was 37 years old now. He wouldn't want to be too old when he became a father. No, he was the kind of man who would want to run around outside with his children and play catch. John had also never seriously dated a woman that had been more than six years his junior. Considering that most woman wanted to have children before they turned 35 - at least from what data Sherlock had gathered - that only left John about three years to find a suitable woman.

"Less than that, Sherlock. Most women don't start a family with someone they have only just met."

Again Mycroft was right. Why couldn't he even be wrong when he was only talking in Sherlock's own Mind Palace?! So, one to two years then until John would leave him for a woman. Sherlock took a shaking breath and coughed as the cold air burned in his lungs. A tear escaped down his cheeks as his bronchia contracted painfully before he managed to even his breathing out again.

"What now?" Sherlock directed the question into the empty park but not even Mycroft had a clever answer to it.

He could confront John with his wish for children but then his lover would only deny that he didn't plan to spend the rest of his life with Sherlock. Maybe John would even believe his own denials. Sherlock just couldn't imagine that John would have misled him on purpose. He might not even have realised how much he wanted to be a father before today. If that was the case then a direct confrontation could even speed up the end of their relationship by reminding John of what he really wanted to have in life. Therefore a confrontation was out of the question.

"Just scare off every woman that John appears interested in." Sherlock shook his head at the suggestion. He couldn't do that to John. He had jumped to save the life of his lover before they had even got together. There was no way that he would destroy John's chance of finding true happiness after Sherlock had risked his life for it.

"Then there is only one thing left for you to do."

This time Sherlock nodded to the words as he started to plan all the things he wanted to do with John before their time ran out while the sun continued its way across the sky.

OOO

"Where the fuck have you been?"

John was up and out of his chair as soon as Sherlock stepped through the door to their flat. When his lover had left him behind at the crime scene - again - he hadn't thought much of it. Yes, it was annoying to ask Greg for a ride because every cabbie overlooked him but John had had worse. At least this time he hadn't been left standing in the middle of nowhere with not even a squirrel around to ask for directions. Therefore he had neither been overly mad nor worried when he had arrived at Baker Street and Sherlock hadn't been there yet. John had figured that his lover had needed some time to calm down after such a disappointing case and he preferred Sherlock to walk off some steam instead of shooting the walls. So, for the first hour of his lover missing John hadn't thought much of it. He had made some tea and toast and started a crossword puzzle. He had sent the first text message after one and an half hour. A second one half an hour later.

Mrs. Hudson had distracted him with her delicious roast and some gossip for almost an hour before John had decided to call Sherlock. The call had gone straight to voicemail. To say that John had started to worry then had been an understatement. It wasn't that Sherlock hadn't vanished for some time before but ever since they had gotten together, his lover at least took the time to let him know that he was still alive. In his panic John had even called Mycroft who had only reassured him that Sherlock was fine and still in London before hanging up on him. Bastard! So, John had waited. He had brewed endless cups of tea - and only drunk half of them - and he had waited... for nearly eight hours!

John crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared at Sherlock as he shrugged out of his coat and threw it over the couch. A whiff of tobacco caught John's attention and he frowned. "You have smoked."

It wouldn't be such a newsworthy statement if Sherlock hadn't managed to completely abstain from cigarettes for nearly two years. He still used patches but not nearly as often or as many as when they had first met. John's frown deepened as he watched Sherlock's fingers tremble as he retrieved his mobile from the pocket of his trousers. He only hoped that one relapse hadn't led to another one.

"Sherlock," John started carefully as most of his anger was replaced by worry when clear eyes snapped up to meet his. They looked tired. In fact Sherlock himself looked completely drained and John just needed to know what had happened. Because something certainly was the matter with his lover but John couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was. This morning Sherlock had been perfectly happy and relaxed but now he looked almost ready to collapse. It couldn't have been the case from today. Sherlock had been annoyed about the waste of time but...

"I lost track of time." Sherlock's voice came out a rough whisper and John winced in sympathy with his lover's lungs as he cleared his throat. "The cigarettes are still in my coat. You can take them. I don't intend to take up smoking again."

"Good for you as I don't fancy kissing an ashtray."

Sherlock's lips curled up in the weak imitation of a smile at John's words that never reached his eyes.

John unfolded his arms and took a step towards his lover. Up close it became obvious that Sherlock must have spent the last few hours outside. John plucked a leaf from messy curls and almost flinched at how cold his lover's skin felt as he touched Sherlock's cheek. "God, you are freezing."

"I rearranged my Mind Palace and I didn't realise how cold it was."

John raised an eyebrow at that admission. It didn't sound like a lie - he had learned to spot when Sherlock was lying by now - but it also didn't sound like the complete truth. It felt like something was missing. Probably the reason why Sherlock had felt it necessary to work on his Mind Palace while outside.

"I am sorry."

John could only stare dumbfounded at Sherlock as his lover ducked down to press a kiss to the corner of his lips before he vanished in the direction of the bathroom. Sherlock didn't apologize. Not if he hadn't fucked up spectacularly and even then... John was certain that he still hadn't received an apology for the time that Sherlock had tried to drug him at Baskerville.

New worry marred John's face as he made his way over to the kitchen to make more tea. Either Sherlock had sold him as a sex slave for a case or something was terribly wrong. John crossed his fingers for the former as he clicked the kettle on. Hopefully Sherlock would be more willing to talk over a cup of tea after a nice hot shower.

OOO

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Sherlock glared at his reflection in the mirror as he brushed his teeth angrily. Even after a hot shower and the usage of large amounts of shampoo and conditioner he still looked terrible. Even the most unobservant man would be able to tell from the lines on his face and the greyish tint to his skin that something was bothering him and John was far from unobservant.

Sherlock sighed and spit into the sink. Certainly two mugs of tea and something edible were already waiting for Sherlock in the kitchen. With them came the expectation for a conversation. John would want to know what had Sherlock so out of sorts that he had spent almost a whole day in the freezing air. Usually it was heart warming to have John worry and care about him like this. No one else had ever taken such an interest in Sherlock's thoughts and feelings when they hadn't been relevant to a case and Sherlock cherished John's interest in him. Today though he would have liked for John to remain ignorant to his inner turmoil. Sherlock certainly wasn't going to tell his lover that he was in such a terrible state because he had realised that John would leave him in a year or two. It wouldn't do to soil the remaining months of their time together with meaningless promises. Because John would promise Sherlock that he wouldn't leave him and then he would either feel terrible guilty if he broke his promise or he would stick to it and... resent Sherlock for the rest of his life.

A lump lodged in his throat at the mere notion of that outcome and it took Sherlock three minutes of slow breathing to get himself back under control. No, he wouldn't tell John the truth but that also didn't mean that he would lie to him. Sherlock nodded to himself and finally left the bathroom to collect his pyjamas and dressing gown before he wandered into the kitchen. A steaming mug and a plate with toast and slices of cold roast beef were waiting for him as he had expected. His stomach growled in response to the promise of food and Sherlock gave into its demands for once as he collected the plate and mug and wandered into the living-room.

Blue eyes looked up at him from where their owner was seated on the couch. The TV was turned on but the volume was kept low enough to only work as a background noise. So, John intended to allow Sherlock to eat in peace before he was going to ask any questions. At least that was what a low volume on the TV usually indicated in such a situation.

"Don't just stand there like a statue. Sit down." John patted the space next to him and Sherlock obeyed without protest.

He had barely managed to sit down when John knelt down in front of him and forced a hideous pair of green woollen socks onto his feet. Sherlock couldn't remember that he owned a pair like that. Actually he was sure that he didn't. He only ever bought himself socks that fit his numerous suits none of which were of such a colour. And even if he had a green suit the socks wouldn't be...

"Yes, I know all your socks are thin as rice paper and just as functional that's why I took it upon myself to buy some warm ones in your size."

All protests died in Sherlock's throat as John smiled gently at him and then threw a woollen blanket over their legs and slung another one around their shoulders. Effectively enfolding them in a warm cocoon.

"I can't risk that you get sick when I know exactly that I would be the one taking care of you." A gentle hand ruffled his curls and let Sherlock knew that John wasn't being serious. His lover would gladly take care of him if he got sick - he had done so countless times in fact already. Sherlock gulped down a large mouthful of tea before John could notice the pained expression in his eyes. It wouldn't do to worry his lover even more than he already had. Instead Sherlock forced himself to finish his meal and tea completely to meet his body's and John's demands.

"You were hungry," John remarked when Sherlock placed the empty plate and mug on the coffee table.

Sherlock shrugged as he wriggled around on the couch until his head was lying on John's thigh and he was free to hide his face against his lover's belly. It wouldn't only give him an advantage in the conversation that was yet to come but it was also one of Sherlock's favourite positions. He was reminded of why this was the case when John rearranged the blankets to cover Sherlock once more and then started to run his fingers soothingly through his curls.

Sherlock almost purred in pure bliss as skilled fingers massaged his scalp and he all but melted against his lover. Minutes ticked by and as Sherlock relaxed more and more due to John's tender caresses words started to fall from his lips without any need of prompts. "After the case... I felt agitated - annoyed. I needed to calm down and I went for a walk."

John hummed noncommittally but otherwise didn't try to say anything and Sherlock continued. "I started to think and... it just got more. There was so much on my mind and it kept multiplying." Not a lie although Sherlock had no intention of sharing with John what he had been worrying about. "I felt like a laptop with too many opened tabs."

"You were overwhelmed," John murmured and Sherlock was relieved to hear the note of understanding in his voice. It meant that he wouldn't question Sherlock further if he didn't ruin it now.

"Yes," Sherlock nodded against John's belly, "I couldn't think clearly anymore. I bought cigarettes and I smoked and I... I am sorry that I worried you." Sherlock's voice cracked on the last word and John slung his arms around him as best as possible in this position and held him close. "It's alright. You are back and it's all fine. You would tell me if something else was bothering you, right?"

Sherlock's resolve almost broke at the simple question. Everything in him screamed to hold John close and beg him not to leave him for a perfect little family but he somehow managed to suppress this impulse. Instead he pressed his face into John's belly and nodded.

"Yes," Sherlock promised even as he vowed to himself to start with the things on his list as soon as possible.