Chapter Thirteen

After our little scene, I was starting to grow closer to Sherlock.  I learned about his crush, and I was very flattered and surprised.  I can't I nessesarily say I loved him back, fully, but I did like him a bit more.

I could snuggle with him without question.  I could sit with him without worrying about space.  I could walk into his room without wondering if he felt uncomfortable, because I knew he wasn't.

"Hello, John," Sherlock said to me the morning after his confession.  It didn't seem like anything had happened.

"Hello," I said back, smoothly.  I felt a sudden joy.  I wanted to be with him.  Maybe I did love him.

Sherlock smiled faintly, and sat in his chair.  "Scottie up?" He asked.

I remembered my child, and I went back upstairs to fetch him.  Scottie was yawning, and he looked up at me.  He then made a spitting noise that I didn't understand.  "Dada sh," Scottie whispered.

I scratched my head.  Why does he keep saying 'sh'?

I took him down the long staircase that felt like hours.  "Jaja uh!"

As soon as I faced Sherlock, again, I asked, "Why does Scottie keep saying 'sh' and 'jaja'?"

"Oh!" Sherlock exclaimed.  "That.  He's saying our names.  I taught him 'John' and 'Sherl' but he doesn't quite get it."

I looked down at my son.  "Ja!" He said, pointing at me.  "How do you keep doing these things?" I turned my attention to Sherlock.  "He calls me 'Ja'?"

Sherlock nodded.  "Watch him.  Sometimes he says 'Sher'.  Once, I heard a 'John'."

What I took from this was that I should just let Sherlock teach him things.  I wondered, though: Was Scottie going to call us by our first names from now on?

There was knock at the door downstairs, and I heard Mrs. Hudson answer it.  I also heard a low voice speaking, and Sherlock sighed. 

"Brother mine," Sherlock grumbled.

"Morning, Sherlock." Sherrinford Holmes walked through the door.  "Is that your friend, Dr. Watson?"

"Boyfriend," Sherlock replied.

My eyes grew wide and I coughed, stupidly.  "Uh, uh... Yeah."  Nice save, I thought, sarcastically.  I was amazed at how casual Sherlock had called me his boyfriend.  It was like he practiced in the mirror...

Sherlock nodded as Sherrinford shook his head.  "No."

"He is."

"No."

Sherlock leaned his head on his palm.  "He. Is."

Sherrinford pushed his slicked hair back.  "Well, I guess I always did know you were gay, the way you loved flowers-"

"Why are you here?" Sherlock interrupted.  He folded his hands in front of him.

Sherrinford looked to me.  I hesitated, but said, "Yeah, I am.  His boyfriend." I made sure not to choke.

Sherlock clapped to get his brother's attention.  I never saw him do that before.  "Sherrinford, what are you doing in my flat?"  Sherlock droned, dripping with ice cold purpose.  He said it so calm, it was scary.

Sherrinford shook his head.  "You know? I'm not really sure."

"Then get out."

"I miss you, brother!" Sherrinford pleaded.  "I'm sorry I came back too late, and missed Mycroft."

This reminded me of what Sherlock had said.  "I'm sorry I came back to late."  I forgive you, Sherlock.

Sherlock shook his head.  "Go away, and close the door behind you.  I am not a fan of drafts."

Sherrinford narrowed his eyebrows, grunted, and left.  It was almost amusing.

I turned my body to face Sherlock as Sherrinford left.  "Boyfriend?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, obviously thinking I had already known that.

"Really?" I asked again.

Sherlock slowly nodded.  "Yeah, like you," he put up one finger, "and me," he put up another finger on his other hand, and brought the two fingers together.  "together."

I closed my eyes and chuckled.  "Boyfriend." I said, again.

I didn't see Sherlock through my shut eyelids, but I heard him repeat the word quietly. 

"Boyfriend."

About a week later, Sherlock called me 'boyfriend', again.  I was a little uncomfortable about it, since I knew he really did love me, and I still wasn't sure.  Was he right? Was I bisexual? How did he know?

As time progressed, however, I became closer to Sherlock.  We both took care of Scottie, like two parents.  If Scottie fell, Sherlock would pick him right up.  He was very protective of my son.

Scottie was getting bigger, and as the days and weeks flew by, he was almost eight months old.  He began talking more, and learning new words.  He called me 'John', and Sherlock 'Sher'.  He also knew how to say the word 'box' because Sherlock always told him to go into his box, which meant crib.

"Scottie needs a bed," I kept saying.  Sherlock shook it off, but I knew he'd be more happy in a full bed instead of a crib.

One day, Sherlock finally gave in.  "He could take your bed and your room, upstairs, and you could move in with me."

I wondered if he meant actually in the bed with him.  Of course he does.  He has a crush on me.

I put Scottie's crib on the curb, and let his curl up in the blankets of my old bed.  I made sure the baby monitor was on.  I then went down the cold stairs, and into Sherlock's bedroom.  Sherlock was waiting for me.  He was already in the bed, and he motioned me to get in with him.

I sighed.  This could go well, or it go go very bad.  I slowly opened the sheets, feeling suddenly self-conscious.  I slipped into the cool covers, waiting for what horrors could follow.  It's fine.  It's Sherlock, my best friend for years.  I shut my eyes.  And who I found has a massive crush on me.

I twitched with fright as I found that Sherlock had no pants on.  Well duh! Did he have pants on at Buckingham Palace? No!  I cringed.  I told myself to relax, and I slept.

Sherlock isn't that bad as a bed-buddy.  As long as he didn't try anything, I was fine.  I wondered how long it would last.

I was Sherlock's boyfriend.