Just something cute and funny, result of several ideas coming together.

This was something written before the premiere of the last season three episode.

"Oh," Mrs. Hudson speaks as she enters Sherlock's room. "the bad ones always manage to hurt you, John."

John is sitting on his chair with a bag of ice against his eye, swollen and red. He is not wearing his jeans that lay on the arm of the chair, its fabric ripped on the knees. John's knees, on the other hand, are wrapped in two bandages that let out some blood, indicating that his knees are skinned. Sherlock sits across him on the other armchair, his fingertips put together in front of his lips.

"Don't!" John says.

Mrs. Hudson asks intrigued. "What?"

Sherlock starts to smile, remembering the episode, wanting to laugh so badly. "You should have seen it-"

John begs. "Sherlock, please."

It didn't matter; Sherlock burst into a fit of laughter, beginning to explain Mrs. Hudson how come John got a swollen eye and skinned knees.

Sherlock laughed and laughed when he turned up on the flat and asked for his help. It's always funny and ego-boosting to know he's smarter than everyone else, but being good at something so basic that John can't do? It's just simply hilarious!

"I don't even know why I called for your help!" John grumbled.

"How can't you ride a bike? That's elementary."

"I don't know. I guess the chance never turned up for anyone to teach me." He explained.

"Even I know how to ride a bike!"

John glared him sideways. "Is that supposed to make me feel really happy for you or awfully sad about myself?"

"Bit of both."

"My child is going to be born in a few months-"

Sherlock as always corrected him. "It's going to take five months more."

"I don't care. The baby is gonna be here anytime soon and I want to teach him or her how to ride a bicycle and I guess it helps knowing how to ride one. So, help me out or not?"

"Riding a bike is all about balance." Sherlock told him, placing one hand on the back of the saddle and another on the handlebar grip. "Put your feet on the pedals and start pedaling. But you have to pedal fast or else you'll fall."

"How do I do that?"

"Moving your legs up and down, how do you expect it to happen, John?" Sherlock mocked.

"After that he kept going 'don't let go, don't let go'." Sherlock says, imitating John's pleadings at the time.

"And then he did let go and I crashed on the ground. In the middle of the park. With many people watching." Mrs. Hudson laughs, picturing the scene in her head. "Don't laugh. It was embarrassing."

"Wasn't it embarrassing enough being a grown-up man who's being taught how to ride a bike in the public park?"

John takes a deep sigh as the other two are having a ball laughing on his account. "Is everybody done laughing at my misery?"

Mrs. Hudson takes the bag John has in his hand, telling him. "I'll get you more ice."

As the landlady walks out the room, Sherlock reaches out for the phone. "Who are you calling?" John asks, but Sherlock doesn't answer him.

"Mary, can you pass by the flat and take John? He's hurt." John glares him; what a nice thing to say to a pregnant woman. "Oh, no, nothing serious, though I think his pride is very much wounded."

Mrs. Hudson comes back and hands the bag of ice to John. His sulkiness is melting away as his face hardens and swells. "Oh, before I forget," She tells to Sherlock. "somebody called today. Wanted to talk with you."

"Who was it? Did the person leave a message?" Sherlock says rather unstable. Getting phone calls addressed to him isn't usually the best of the signs.

"Yes, she did leave a message. She didn't say much, though. Her name is Beatrice…" The woman gives it a thought and then confirms. "Yes, Beatrice. She said she'd come by later today with her brother. Who are they, Sherlock? Did I do any wrong in answering the call?"

Sherlock shakes his head. "It's alright, they're not a threat. Well, most of the time they're not a threat."

The woman frowns and leaves; Sherlock is always that enigmatic. Though, if the woman chose not to understand, John's curiosity arouse. "Who's Beatrice and who's her brother?"

"Beatrice and Bentley Holmes," John chokes upon hearing that. "my nine-year-old twin niece and nephew."

"Mycroft-He has… children?" Sherlock nods his head tranquil. "Is there anything else about your family that you feel like telling me?"

"I do not have any children on my own, if that's what your implying. I have a niece and a nephew and a sister-in-law, Sarah."

"So… Four smarty-pants Holmes in the world then?" John chuckles. "One or two weren't enough?"

"They're not so special. Sarah is… ordinary."

"Much like your parents then."

Sherlock nods his head. "My everyday cross."

The two laugh. John grabs his jeans and examines its holes. "I should get something to dress."

"You're going home. You can easily slip into the car. I don't think it will be more of an embarrassment."

"I'm actually not going home. Mary and I are going to the doctor's appointment and I can't walk in the doctor's office like this." He says, sticking his finger out of one of the holes on his jeans.

"I let you borrow one of my trousers then."

"I'm your short friend, remember? How can I fit in your trousers?"

"Do you want to borrow one of Mrs. Hudson's dresses instead?"

John licks his lips and speaks. "I take the trousers, thanks."

Mary enters the room only to listen to John laughing and Sherlock smiling. She leans in and puts a kiss on her husband. Her hands rest on her hip as she asks him. "What happened to you?"

"Let's just say gravity is especially fond of me."

"Did he fall?" Mary questions with a grin, turning to Sherlock. "Did you by any chance record it?"

"No, sadly I didn't. But luckily one of the teenagers in the park did it."

"It will be on YouTube soon." She says, pulling John by the hand. "Come on now or we'll get late. See you, Sherlock."

"See you." Sherlock answers to Mary. John only raises his head and smiles and Sherlock reacts in the same way.

He then sinks on his armchair, thinking of something to do.

Sherlock opens his eyes when the bell rings. It's not a client; the finger pressure was held for too long. Mrs. Hudson opens the door and he can listen to the hullabaloo of his nephews coming in, and the landlady's admiration for seeing two children before her eyes, even more when the girl introduces herself as Beatrice. He knows it is Bentley who is climbing nosily up the stairs, stomping his feet on his way up.

"Bentley!" Sherlock yells from upstairs. That just makes him stomp harder his feet on the stairs.

"Stop doing that." Beatrice tells him.

Mrs. Hudson strides behind them, curious to know who those children are. The boy's face is round, he has glasz colored eyes, auburn straight hair (though he even has that same curl on top of his head like Mycroft) and he's slightly taller than his sister. The girl doesn't resemble him much, or at all. Her face is rather squared shaped, her eyes, bluish green color, her hair, curly, is strawberry blond colored, tied in a ponytail.

"Sherlock, who are these adorable children?"

"Adorable…" Sherlock scoffs. "They belong to Mycroft."

The woman is shocked by the discovery. "They are your nephew and niece then. Should I-"

"You can go on, Mrs. Hudson. They are not staying for too long."

The woman respects his decision and goes to the floor below.

Beatrice walks to Sherlock. "Uncle Sherlock, can you lend me your violin?"

"What for?"

She rolls her eyes. "To play with it, obviously. Bentley and I have a concert tomorrow. He's playing the piano, I'm playing violin."

"Do not touch my stuff, Bentley!" Sherlock tells his nephew who's fascinated by his Uncle's experiments in the kitchen.

"I'm just watching. By the way," Bentley walks to him. "Dad asked me to tell you that the diet is going well."

Sherlock smirks; he can clearly tell Bentley is mocking him. He starts looking around for the violin case in which he carefully confines his violin. He hands it to Beatrice, telling her. "Be careful with it."

"Are you coming to our performance?" The boy asks him.

"No, I have other things to do." The twins look dejected. "Don't try that on me."

"Then come and watch us," Beatrice holds his hand. "please, Uncle Sherlock. Just this one time."

Sherlock sighs. "Alright, I'll go." He looks out the window and he sees a car parking across the street. "Go on, your father is waiting already."

He looks out the window and waits until the black car leaves to sit back on his armchair. There's nothing to do and know he doesn't even has his violin. That's when Sherlock's phone buzzes in his pocket. He reads the text and smiles broadly.

It's a boy!

Who else gets excited other than parents-to-be? An uncle-to-be, of course.

Mary and I want you to be his godfather. And we'd like you to pick his middle name.

He is about to put down over the table his phone when it vibrated again. It is still John.

But please pick something nice and decent.

He gets up, opens his laptop and starts searching middle names for the Watson's boy. He was not to look for a good name; he was searching for all the terrible ones he could find so he'd see how far Mary and John would let him go. He already had the perfect middle name, whatever his first was to be. John seemed to be the kind of person would put on his son his best friend's name…

I think this is an one-shot... Review then, please? xD