•Teenlock•Parentlock• If All Else Fails

6• The Good Old Days

-One Month Later-

"I don't want to get up!" John exclaimed, lying on his back lazily.

"Well if you won't get up then I'm getting in." Sherlock yawned back. He chuckled, lowly. "We are so bad." He said in John's ear, making John feel butterflies in his swelled stomach.

"We are bad at getting out of bed." John muttered, feeling Sherlock climb on the bed and snuggle next to him. Sherlock mumbled in agreement.

An hour later, John awoke to find his fingers still intertwined with Sherlocks. He looked at sherlocks pale face, his defined features, his beautiful long eyelashes. How could a man be so amazing? Inside all those curls was a brain that could find out secrets from someone who didn't realise they even had secrets. Incredible. John was about to wake him when he noticed the dark circles under Sherlocks eyes. They were so unfitting on his soft face. John realised he hadn't slept for ages. He was on this new case, meaning he was working non stop. Obviously, he stopped for John and the Babies, but that was about it. John breathed in through his nose. The whole room smelt like Sherlock. It smelt good. John clang to Sherlock and breathed him in a little more. Why was he so bloody perfect? Why couldn't he bloody see it?

John peered under the covers, he didn't know why. Sherlock stirred, moving his arms above his head. John gasped at the amount of weight Sherlock had lost on this case. A serial murderer, John had been told... That was about it. But Sherlock was very skinny. He was still generally muscular, but he had lost a scary amount of weight. John slowly got out of bed, and creeped to the kitchen, mixing up pancake batter.

It was October, Sherlocks birthday was a few weeks away, and John was anxious. What would you get a man like that. God, Sherlock would be twenty. That didn't seem old enough to be a father. John sighed loudly to himself. This was ridiculous, he was nineteen and he already had a family. It would be okay though. Everything would be perfect, he assured himself, putting the pancakes on a plate with some strawberries and syrup. He placed them on the table, biting his lip. Who was he kidding? Nineteen. It wasn't fair on the kids. Sherlock would be working all the time, he'd be so stressed. No. It's perfect. Everything is...

John's thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. He made his way to the door. He checked his appearance in the mirror. He was wearing some old black t-shirt and white and blue striped Pyjama trousers. His blonde hair stuck up at odd angles and the bump was ridiculously noticeable. Sherlock had scribbled- 'John, you look perfect.'- on the bottom right hand corner in sharpie. He knew how John worried about his appearance.

John opened the door to find Molly, crying with Mascara stains down her face. John hugged her, though his head was going- 'it's too early for this shit.'

"What happened?" John spoke first, leading Molly to the sofa and siting opposite her, his five month bump taking up a lot of room.

"Greg..." Molly sniffed, "He broke up with me. He said he still loved me but he wasn't in love with me." She broke into a fresh lode of tears.

"Molly... I'm so sorry. You must have loved him." John soothed.

"What makes you say that?" She snuffled.

"You're so upset."

"No shit, Sherlock." Molly sighed, sarcastically. (See what I did there aye)

"You miss him being your boyfriend?" John asked, rubbing her back.

"No. I don't think I was ever in love with him." Molly admitted.

"What?" John questioned, confused.

"I wanted a boyfriend. He asked me out. He's my best friend John, I thought I could... Make feelings for him." Molly sighed.

"Then why are you...?"