The Family Business

Mary Watson has a secret.

"John Watson, would you put that gun away?" Mary chastised. "You know I don't like it, especially with a four-year old in the house."

"It's cool!" four-year old Dean remarked, glancing up from his die-cast cars.

Mary rolled her eyes. "See what you've done, John?"

John smiled absently. "He's a boy, Mary. I used to play cops and robber all the time when I was a kid."

Mary would have flicked John with the towel, were he not holding his pistol - safety or not. "Why does not that surprise me?"

John raised his eyebrows. There were about thirty possible responses to that sentence. John decided on the easiest. "Because my best friend is Sherlock Holmes?" he asked innocently; it was an explanation for everything.

"Oh. Right." Mary shook her head in mock annoyance; there was a smile on her lips. "How could I forget about him?" Her smile widened and she turned back to the kitchen.

"You need any help in there, love?"

Mary sighed. "John, I'm pregnant, not disabled."

"Hey, I'm just asking," John replied, turning his attention back to his gun. "I guess I'll make up for feeling useless in three months time when you're making me get up at three in the morning to change diapers."

If things had been different, Mary would have laughed. "Yeah," she said instead, although it lacked a certain enthusiasm.

John didn't notice.

"He's perfect, Mary."

"You said that about Dean."

John laughed quietly. "They're both perfect." He stroked his finger against their newborn son's cheek.

"Idiots."

John raised his head at the playful tone, fake glaring over at his curly-haired friend. "Would you piss off? Leave me and my wife to have a private moment?" he retorted, a careful amount of teasing in his tone as well.

Sherlock grinned. "Since you've been married, you've only had two private moments. One was the honeymoon when Dean was conceived, the second was whenever this child was conceived."

John had rarely seen Sherlock so giddy. It usually took a case. Still, he couldn't help the retort that jumped to his lips. "Hey, we have had sex more than two times!"

Mary swatted at John's arm. "John!"

Sherlock just laughed softly, watching the newborn child in Mary's arms intently. "You never did tell me. What's this one's name?"

John glanced at Mary. "Samuel Scott."

Sherlock's shoulder straightened. "You just used my middle name for your child."

John smiled softly. "Yes. We did."

Sherlock looked at him for a short moment before huffing through his nose. "Well, if it has to be anyone." He looked back at the baby. "Sammy Watson."

"Our little boy's going to be six months in a week. I can't believe it."

"Time flies."

"I'm gonna be five soon," Dean remarked.

John and Mary laughed at their son's petulant tone. He'd been spending too much time with Uncle Sherlock.

"Mary! Mary!"

John knew that Mary had secrets. Sherlock had long ago deduced that Mary was hiding something, albeit if it was something that Sherlock hadn't been able to dig up. But that was alright. Because they all had secrets. John figured it was probably something about wild strippers or an arrest charge.

Not this.

John choked on the smoke and the smell of fire and burning flesh. He pushed through it, pushed through the fact that Mary was burning on the ceiling - because how did that happen?! - and grabbed Sam from the crib. He didn't know what was happening, but there was no saving Mary. She would want him to save their sons first. And then John would throw himself back into the burning building to try and protect his wife.

"Dean! Take your brother outside, now! Go!" he ordered, slipping Sam into Dean's arms and then giving his son's shoulder a shove.

Dean listened.

At least he wasn't like Sherlock in that regard.

"It was a demon."

"What."

Sherlock looked towards the window. "A demon."

"What the hell are you talking about?" John demanded. "Demons?!"

"They exist," Sherlock said bluntly. "And Mary had made a deal with one. To protect you." His gaze never moved from the window. "I didn't know," he said. His voice was strained.

"Then how do you know now!?"

"... I heard through another demon. Just recently. I confronted her about it, she told me the truth. Nobody was supposed to get hurt. Something went wrong."

John glared at Sherlock for a few seconds longer before collapsing into his chair. "You're serious."

"I couldn't make this up if I tried."

John took the kids and ran. Ran with a purpose, with all the intent of tracking down the monster that had killed his beloved Mary.

Sherlock left Baker Street in favour of becoming a part-time occultist detective as well as a consulting one, and moved to a country house in the middle of Sussex.

John came by with the kids when Sherlock was in the middle of an experiment about bees.

"Take the kids."

Sherlock glanced up from the bees crawling on his hand. "What?"

"Take the kids. I'll be back." John turned and strode back to the car, leaving a three year old Sam and a seven year old Dean staring at Sherlock expectantly.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John's car as his best friend drove away. "John... You are in way too deep."

A bee on Sherlock's hand stung him.

"... This isn't how this was supposed to happened," Sherlock muttered, and looked back down at his godchildren again.

"No, John, we didn't shoot a gun," Sherlock grumbled, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't spend all my time submerged in case work. We played ball," he added.

"Ball?"

"Yeah, baseball. We tossed the ball back and forth. Dean's got an arm on him. I barely can keep up with them." Sherlock huffed out a breath. Middle age, Mycroft was right, it did happen to them all.

"Why? You're supposed to be teaching Dean about salt rounds."

"You know Sam's going to find out one day, right? And it's probably not going to be in a good way?"

"Sherlock-" John started warningly.

"You can't hide it from him forever. Secrets are what killed Mary in the first place."

"Don't say a word to him," John replied briskly.

There was a loud click and the dial tone echoed in Sherlock's ear moments later.

"This is hard."

"Come on, Sammy, just look through the sight and shoot."

Sherlock glanced away from the boys.

"Dean's good with the rifle," John said conversationally. "He'll teach Sam better than either of us could."

Sherlock glanced over at John. "... Seriously?"

John laughed shortly. "Okay, maybe you could teach him better for accuracy, but Dean's closest to Sam. He'll get through to him more than you."

Sherlock sniffed. "I don't know."

"Well, I do," John replied, and then raised his voice. "Boys!"

Dean glanced around first, and then Sam, lowering the gun slightly.

"Dean, you get Sam to hit that target. And then you show him the easiest way to stake a vamp."

Dean nodded. "Yes, sir."

John looked at Sam. "Alright, Sam?"

"Yes, sir," Sam muttered, looking back at the gun.

"You're pushing them too hard," Sherlock remarked.

"They need to be prepared, Sherlock."

Sherlock shrugged. "I'm not saying that don't." He reached for his coffee. "I'm just saying, keep it up and then might turn out like me."

The incessant knocking on his door was beyond annoying. "Go away!"

"Sherlock."

Sherlock raised his head, letting it fall to the side a fraction. He recognised that voice. He jerked the safety goggles off his eyes and pulled the door open, not relieved to find Sam standing there, by himself.

"Sam? What's wrong?"

Sam huffed, pushed past Sherlock into the house, hoisting a duffel bag over his shoulder.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, but closed the door. Sometimes, Sam could be remarkably very like him. "Talk to me, kid. Is John alright?"

Sam threw his bag onto the couch. "Yeah, he's fine, he's just... Dad."

Sherlock sighed internally. Clearly, Sam was angry at something John had done, which didn't surprise Sherlock much. Not that he was one to talk about raising children - he had never wanted any of his own, no thank you - but John was... different, ever since Mary had died. Sam had grown up under that different John. Still, John was Sherlock's best friend. He understood. If anything happened to him, Sherlock would probably go off the deep end himself.

"What did he do now?" he asked.

Sam stared at him before sighing, dropping onto the couch and curling into himself. "He said that if I wanted to leave to go to school, to never come back home."

"Ah."

"Of course you're just going to agree with him."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I don't always agree with him. I told him when I met him, he's an idiot." Although his thoughts were slightly different now, he didn't think it best to tell Sam that, now.

Sam snorted. "Bet he took that well."

Sherlock shrugged. "A little better than some of the other idiots I've met. Look, if you want to go to school, go. Get out of this life. It's a rough one to begin with. Not a place for kids."

"I'm not a kid," Sam retorted.

Sherlock laughed. "Ah, you always will be to me. I had to learn to change you and Dean's nappies, lest we forget."

"Oh... shut up," Sam muttered, wrinkling his nose.

Sherlock grinned. "Want some tea?"

"As long as there's no eyeballs in it."

"Well. You got tall."

Sherlock wasn't accustomed to having to look up at someone, but Sam had a good three inches on him. After the youngest Watson had stormed out on John and got himself to a prestigious college in America - Mycroft had a little bit of a say in that, Sherlock made sure - Sherlock had seen little of him. Occasional video chats online didn't give way to height and... Sam was now taller than Sherlock.

"How did he get so tall?" Sherlock demanded, whirling around to look at John. "He's a head taller than you!"

John shrugged. "Dean's taller than me, too. Gets it from Mary's side, I guess. Somehow."

Sam sighed, shoulders slumping. "Can we get on with it?"

Sherlock looked back at him. "Don't look so enthusiastic."

"Sorry."

"I'm bringing him in!" Dean strode into the room, dragging a blonde, struggling vessel with him. "Sit down!" he demanded, shoving the woman into the chair situated under the devil's trap Sherlock had painstakingly painted onto the ceiling ages ago.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Nice to see you too."

Dean glanced up, flashing a brief, adrenalin-spurred grin at Sherlock. "Good to see you're still kicking, Sherlock."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'll be kicking even when I'm dead."

"Nah," Dean replied. "We'll burn you body so you don't."

Sherlock shook his head with a smile. "Yeah, thanks for that. You boys got holy water?" he asked, looking from Dean to Sam and John.

"Yep. We're a little short on Latin, though," John replied.

Sherlock raised both eyebrows. "Ooh, I get to perform an exorcism?" he asked excitedly. "I haven't done one of those in ages."

John laughed. "You and me both. It's been too long. You know, you should really join us on a case sometime."

Sherlock smiled. "I'd enjoy that sometime. Right now, London needs me most. And Sussex. You wouldn't believe the things that happen in Sussex," he added seriously.

John grinned back at him.

Somewhat like the old days. Minus the supernatural lore and the demon currently glaring at them from the middle of a devil's trap.

Sherlock and John looked back at the demon.

"I'll get the exorcism," Sherlock said.

"Yeah." John turned to Dean. "You get the holy water from the trunk?"

"Yep. Grabbed the crucifix from the glove compartment if we need to make more."

"Good boy. Sam, those knots tied good?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well then, let's get to work," John said.

"Let's," Sherlock agreed, coming up behind them, his book of exorcisms in hand.

So, ever since I started watching S1 of Supernatural... yeah, John Winchester was married to a woman named Mary, and I'm like... :O John and Mary! I'm sure there's 1,001 stories like this, but I wanted to make John and Mary have kids and Sherlock stand in for Bobby, so I wrote my own version. xD

I do not own Sherlock or Supernatural. Thanks for reading!