Work Text:
John had never considered himself a traditional person, but being a father suddenly turned that upside down. Suddenly he had a reason to arrange perfect Christmases, Easters and Halloweens for his daughter. Rosie was currently at that certain age when everything seemed so magical, and John wanted her to have those perfect childhood memories he himself had missed. If that meant learning all about the festive traditions, so be it.
And that was the reason he was now sitting in 221B's kitchen with his daughter, covered in pumpkin seeds and trying to cut out a perfect pumpkin lantern.
"Daddy! The pumpkin looks weird!" Rosie giggled as John tried to carve the plant's left eye to a similar size as the right one, failing miserably.
"John you were a surgeon, how come you can't carve two holes the same size," Sherlock commented, peeking over his shoulder.
"Watch your tongue or I'll carve you some holes," John muttered and lowered his knife on the table. The unfortunate pumpkin had mismatched eyes and a weird lopsided grin, but Rosie's happy squeals and wide smile made up for his frustration.
"Sherls gimme candles!" she ordered, pointing at the kitchen cupboard.
"Not yet, Watson. We need to wait until it's dark," Sherlock answered ruffling her hair.
"Why?!" She pouted, and gave a glare that matched Sherlock's trademark frown so well that John had to look away to hide his smile. Rosie had a temper (no surprise there) and she wouldn't appreciate his amusement when her wishes were so cruelly denied. Seeing how well she and Sherlock got along with each other just made John feel all kinds of sappy feelings a British male would never admit feeling. Sherlock sat next to Rosie to explain, and John's struggle against a wide smile was lost.
When Rosie had reached the age of never ending questions, John had feared and even expected that Sherlock would lose his patience in minutes. However, against all odds Sherlock was actually quite good at it. Certainly better than John! Sometimes Sherlock even seemed to enjoy explaining the three-year-old why water was wet, or in this case, why candles weren't as pretty in the daylight.
"Let's do the apples first," John decided, when Rosie didn't seem to give up on the candles.
"Can you do apple lanterns?" Rosie asked, looking skeptically at the big knife and the mutilated pumpkin.
"Not lanterns," John said and stood up to fill a big pot with water. When he had been a kid, Mrs Leinston from next door had brought him and Harry a water bucket and a bag of apples, and told them about apple bobbing. It had been fun, at least until Harry had thrown the apple at him giving him a nasty black eye.
John dropped an apple in the pot and lifted that on the table carefully.
"Now, if you can catch that apple with your teeth, that's a lucky sign," he explained to Rosie and motioned her to come closer. "Can you do that?"
That did the trick. Questioning her ability to do something made her always try twice as hard, and this time wasn't an exception: she gave a giddy grin and dove face-first into the water, splashing it merrily around her.
"It wasn't for luck," Sherlock protested, dodging the splashes Rosie was making.
"I know," John admitted and lowered his voice. "Don't really want to explain fertility to a three-year-old, though. But how do you know what it's about?!"
"I've been a kid too," Sherlock pouted. "We did -"
He was interrupted by a loud squeal, when Rosie managed to catch the apple. She was flailing her hands to get their attention, and held the apple between her teeth, almost falling off the chair.
"Well done Watson!" Sherlock praised with a soft amused smile. "Now then, some people believe that if you peel that apple in a single unbroken strip and throw that over your shoulder, you can see the initial of the person you will marry."
"Ewww I don't wanna marry!" Rosie cringed, dropping the apple on the table with disgust.
"Well you don't have to!" John laughed. "And you are too young to peel the apple anyway!"
"You peel it!" She ordered then and thrust the apple towards Sherlock.
"Why?"
"Daddy has been in wedding already!"
John cringed and watched as a quick glimpse of uneasiness flashed on Sherlock's face before he took the apple with a polite nod.
"Daddy's been married," he corrected, the uneasiness already gone or at least hidden.
Rosie didn't mean anything by it of course, she was already looking for the peeling knife, humming by herself. Still, John knew that Sherlock didn't have fond memories of weddings, and he also knew whose fault that was.
They had been together for almost a year now, but John couldn't help but notice how insecure Sherlock was, still partly expecting John to just get bored and leave. John could not really blame him. Not because of any plans to leave, but because he had hurt Sherlock in so many ways before they finally got together.
"I thought you had deleted all superstitions," he said, trying to lighten up the suddenly dropped mood.
"Not those that help me annoy Mycroft," Sherlock answered with a soft grin.
"What? Mycroft can't peel an apple?"
"No. I deduced which initial he wanted to see, and told him how statistically improbable it was that one string of apple peel would form that letter."
"He didn't like those statistics?"
"I had noticed his secret, and exposed his wish to believe in an old-wife's superstitions," Sherlock corrected. "He was furious, still can't stand to see me peeling apples."
John laughed, and reached out to ruffle Sherlock's curls. Sherlock rarely spoke about his childhood, but when he did, it usually had something to do with Mycroft. The brothers' relationship wasn't an easy one, but it had healed a lot from what it was when John first met them, and John was happy for it. He knew Sherlock was too, even if he would never say that out loud. John had also got to know Mycroft better after the disaster at Sherringford, and the iceman had turned out to be a human after all, much to his own dismay.
"Don't run with a knife," Sherlock interrupted John's thoughts, when Rosie rushed back and brought the peeling knife. "And remember how to hand pointy things to others."
Rosie nodded obediently and offered the knife's handle to Sherlock, pointing the blade towards the floor.
"Well done!" John praised her. He had been quite wary of teaching Rosie how to handle knives, but Sherlock had insisted that showing her a safe way is better than her accidentally getting one without any skills and then hurting herself. John wondered how much of that was from a personal experience, but he took the advice and did not regret it.
Sherlock started to peel the apple, while Rosie stared at his hands like she could absorb the skill through her eyes. John smiled at her, and stopped to admire Sherlock's quick fingers too. Sherlock peeled the apple swiftly and managed to keep the peel strip in one piece in spite of Rosie's teeth marks on it.
"Throw it!" Rosie cheered, when Sherlock was ready and held the strip between his fingers. John smiled at her enthusiasm, but was also distracted by his own thoughts. Of course he didn't believe in the superstition, but lately he had caught himself thinking about Sherlock and marriage in the same sentence, and wondering if Sherlock would be interested in that at all. How would he react, if...
"It's a J" Rosie interrupted his thoughts with a solemn tone. She was staring at the floor, where the peel strip was now lying.
"Really?" John managed, trying to catch Sherlock's eyes. Instead of returning to his gaze, Sherlock stared intently at the peel on the floor.
"No, it's an L," he said. "J would be the other way around."
"But it has a curve!"
The whole situation seemed to make Sherlock uneasy, and John wondered if it was because of marriage in general, or if it was just about John. After all, Sherlock had seen him get married, and even worse, he had seen how that marriage had crumbled down bit by bit in only a few months, turning John into a monster. Seeing that, could Sherlock ever even think about marrying him?
Still, a few weeks ago John had visited a jeweller to see rings (on a seminar trip to Manchester, not in London where Mycroft could find out). He hadn't bought anything, but the idea refused to die in his mind.
"Daddy! Whose name starts with L?," a loud question forced John to concentrate again, but he didn't have time to answer, when a knock on the door interrupted them and Lestrade stepped in.
"Evening," he greeted and watched them curiously. "And good evening to you too, little one! Lestrade starts with L. Why are you asking? Playing something?"
"Sherlock wants to go married with you!" Rosie declared, causing Lestrade's eyebrows to climb up.
"No I don't!"
"But Sherls!," Rosie pouted. "If you have wedding with Lestrade I could come crime scenes with you! Daddy always says no!"
"Hey sweetie, it doesn't work like that," John tried to explain. Lestrade was looking baffled, and Sherlock took a bite from the apple just to have something to do with his hands.
"It does! Emma's mommy had wedding with a new man and now she can go to a Disneyland with him!"
John had to bite his lip to not laugh out loud. Trust Rosie to compare Disneyland to a crime scene. She really was Sherlock's girl, through and through.
"I would be very upset if Sherlock married you," he chuckled to Lestrade. "You have a case then?"
"Yes! I mean, not really. Did I interrupt something?"
"No." Sherlock stated and stood up. "What is it?"
"We need your statements for the Middlestone case today. It's the end of the month!"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John can write it and send it to you."
"That's not the deal, and you know it," Lestrade answered.
The deal was that in order for Sherlock to continue solving MET's cases after his fall, he'd have to be an official consultant, and that came with responsibilities and rules. For the most part Sherlock had accepted those without extensive complaints and had even voluntarily joined MET worker's drug test program, but he disliked the bureaucracy after the case was solved.
"Sherlock, it doesn't take long," John sighed. He had completely forgotten the deadline. "Rosie, would you like to go for a ride in a police car?"
Rosie's delighted squeal sealed it, and Sherlock took his coat with a grudging sigh. Three against one, after all. Rosie had visited MET only a couple of times, and never crime scenes, so a ride in a police car was still something new and interesting for her.
The decision started a hassle that only a three-year-old refusing any help with getting dressed can make, but after a short chaos they were finally ready to go. Sherlock had already hopped down the stairs and was waiting for them outside. John watched as he went and took his daughter's hand with a sigh.
"But the pumpkin lantern!" Rosie remembered when they were about to walk out of the door. "We need to -"
"When we come back it's dark enough to light it!" John soothed.
Rosie made him vow that they would lit the lantern when they came back before she agreed to leave. When they finally got out, she tried to reach for Sherlock's hand too. However, Sherlock ignored her and took his place in the car's front seat.
John wasn't surprised by it anymore, but Sherlock's actions confused and hurt him. He seemed to like Rosie's company when they were at home and he took responsibility of her voluntarily, but when they were outside and there were other people around, Sherlock turned distant.
"Sherls is working we must be quiet," Rosie whispered loudly like only children can, and didn't seem to mind at all. John, however, could not help but worry.
Sometimes he could chalk it up to Sherlock's way to concentrate fully on the Work, but that couldn't be the real reason. After all, they weren't working now.
Combining family, work and consulting detecting wasn't easy, and John wasn't able to join Sherlock as often as he would have liked, but Sherlock had never blamed him for that. Neither had he ever showed any resentment towards the restrictions Rosie placed on their time together.
What if he was hiding it? What if one day it became too much?
When they stopped in front of the NSY, Sherlock bolted from the car and disappeared through the glass doors. Rosie wanted to greet the guards and ask them if they were dressed for Halloween (luckily Sherlock's company had made John pretty much immune to embarrassment), so when they finally got inside, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.
Instead John bumped into Donovan at the lifts.
"Hey sweetie!" She greeted Rosie who hid behind John and peeked from there. For some reason she had always been shy of Donovan, which was weird because she was never shy of anyone. Not even Mycroft.
"Himself went up already," Donovan informed as she kept the lift door open for them.
"Apparently," John shrugged and pressed the button. Rosie was quiet and held his hand tightly.
"Not really a family man, is he," Donovan continued when John didn't say anything.
"Not really your business, is it?" he answered and looked up fast enough to catch her pitying expression. A flash of annoyance went through him, but he managed to ignore it. No use in getting angry at her.
"You don't have to worry about us," he continued firmly, trying to end the discussion. His own worries nagged him, and he didn't need anyone adding to it.
"I'm more worried about him. Are you sure he really wants to..." she looked pointedly at Rosie, who was standing behind him and staring outside, palms pressed on the glass wall.
Luckily the chime of the elevator saved John from answering.
"Bye bye Rosie! John." Donovan called out and left when the doors slid open.
"Why does she not like you," Rosie asked, when Donovan had disappeared around the corner.
"That's complicated, love," he answered, hating to give her vague answers like that. The truth was that he wasn't really sure what to think about Donovan. Her attitude towards Sherlock had taken a significant change to the better and John was genuinely happy for it, but as her regard for Sherlock had risen, her regard for John had sunk.
It was almost ironical. When they had first met, Donovan had told him to stay away from "that freak," and now she was hinting that Sherlock would be happier without him. That stung, because John was well aware of how true that had once been.
But what if it still was?
***
When John and Rosie reached Lestrade's office, Sherlock was explaining his thought process to Lestrade and Westerlund. Apparently Westerlund, who was in charge of the forensics of this case, had missed something important. Sherlock was explaining where she could find the missing evidence they needed to make sure the charges would hold in court.
John greeted them, sat down on the plastic chairs in the corner and lifted Rosie on his lap. She was looking around with wide eyes, and John was sure there were tons of questions swirling around and waiting to be released when she'd get comfortable enough. John couldn't do much to prevent the inevitable, so instead he concentrated on Sherlock.
In spite of all his complaints upon leaving, Sherlock seemed to enjoy himself. He was showing off, and John enjoyed watching him do that. He had heard the deductions already, so instead of listening, he watched. Sherlock had taken off his coat and jacket, and was leaning on Lestrade's desk with one hand, gesturing wildly with the other.
There had been a time when Sherlock was continuously on the defensive. On the outside he had always been the epitome of self confidence, but some things, like his utter surprise at compliments, had given away something else. John hadn't really noticed or acknowledged that then, but now the change was obvious. The defensive anger was missing, and while Sherlock was still blunt and thoughtless, there was a different air around him. John smiled.
Sherlock looked happy.
When Rosie squirmed off his lap, John realized he was staring at Sherlock like a lovesick fool. He looked hastily after his daughter, who had walked in front of Lestrade's book-shelf. "What's that?" She asked, pointing at a small trophy cup on the shelf next to some ordinary-looking books and folders. Sherlock of course knew the answer before John had time to even look at it:
"It's a trophy from a drinking contest," he stated, not even looking at their direction.
John took the trophy and read the label. "The Yard's finest drunk 2007, Greg 'The blue vomit' Lestrade," it said. John snorted. A drinking contest indeed.
"Really," he chuckled, earning an eyeroll from Lestrade.
"What did you drink?" Rosie asked, still staring at the cup in John's hands. "I like apple juice!".
"John..." Sherlock sighed, and with that one frustrated and chilly syllable all John's worries returned with full force. Sherlock never acted like that at home. If Rosie annoyed him, he didn't ask John to deal with her, he told her off directly with full explanation! Now his tone was completely clear, and John understood it without words: "deal with your kid". What if those were Sherlock's real feelings, and he was just playing house for John's sake? How long that could last?
John swallowed and put the trophy back on the shelf and took Rosie's hand. He was about to lead her out of the room, when Westerlund followed him to the door.
"Watson, your turn," she said cheerfully and knelt in front of Rosie. "Hey kiddo, would your daddy let you come with me and take some fingerprints?"
John agreed, and Rosie followed her out with a high-pitched squeal of delight.
"The blue vomit?" John teased just to quell his fears, when the door had closed behind the two.
"Three continents," Lestrade retorted, and John almost chocked. How the fuck did he know?
"You seriously haven't noticed that cup before?" Sherlock asked, and finally looked at John. "She noticed it the first time she was here."
"I should give my statement before she notices something more incriminating," John muttered, and turned towards Lestrade, who was looking at them curiously. Sherlock of course noticed that something was off, and gave John a searching look which John tried to answer with a reassuring smile. The uncertain expression on Sherlock's face told him that he hadn't succeeded.
"Ready for your questions," John nodded at Lestrade. "Fire away!"
The quicker they were finished here, the quicker they could go back home and talk.
***
They didn't have time for talking until much later.
Rosie made a fuss about the pumpkin lantern the moment they came back to 221B, and refused to calm down until Sherlock had finally lit the candle. Their normal evening routine with supper and brushing teeth took twice as long, because she didn't want to lose sight of the orange monstrosity. In the end she fell asleep on the sofa, staring at the lantern on the table. John had to carry her upstairs.
When John came back downstairs, Sherlock was already in bed. John changed his clothes and slipped under the covers as well, and as if on cue, Sherlock crawled under John's duvet and pressed close. He was already bed-warm and sleepy, and John wrapped his left arm around him, tucking their duvets so that they were fully covered.
John smiled against Sherlock's back. They had separate duvets because John didn't like being too warm when sleeping. He had tried to suggest separate duvets to his previous long-term sleeping partners, but that had just resulted in arguments about the importance of intimacy in relationships. However, Sherlock had agreed instantly and on top of everything, explained how he had already deduced that being too warm while asleep was one of John's PTSD triggers.
If John hadn't been the emotionally reserved British man he was, he'd have said they were almost made for each other. He was, so he didn't. Instead, he just hugged Sherlock closer.
There had been a time when putting 'Sherlock' and 'easy' in the same sentence would have sounded delusional, but now John found himself constantly thinking how well suited they were for each other, and how easy everything was.
Well, not everything.
"I met Donovan today," he finally said, not knowing how else he could start the conversation. He wasn't good at these sort of things, and in a way he was afraid of what Sherlock would say.
"Hm," Sherlock muttered against his pillow.
When John took his time thinking how to continue, Sherlock tensed up and turned around in John's arms.
"It was meaningful. Why was it meaningful." he muttered and gave John a searching look. Sherlock's way of not really asking the questions (because of course he should be able to deduce the answers), but asking them anyway was endearing.
"She implied that you are not a child-person," John said with a smile. Humour made things always easier.
"She doesn't believe I could be good with them." Sherlock corrected and dropped his head back on the pillow. John didn't like the air of defeat in his posture. Why?
"No," he ventured. "I think she doesn't believe you could be happy with them."
"Do we care about what she believes?" Sherlock muttered and frowned.
"Are you...?" John swallowed. "Happy, I mean. With us?"
"Do I make a habit of doing things I don't want to?" Sherlock countered. John bit his lower lip, not really liking where this was going. Sherlock had said that multiple times during their time together, but...
"That's the thing, isn't it?" John said quietly. "You do."
Sherlock had lost his life to save John, planned a wedding, acted the part of a couple counselor, almost lost his life again in the hands of John's wife, and then again after trying to save her. It wasn't so far fetched to think he would tolerate a child just to have John close, wasn't it? Everything for John.
"Those were my own choices," Sherlock stated, watching John under his brow. "And worth it."
"You..." John rubbed his face with his palm. "You should value yourself more.."
Sherlock snorted.
"That's not something I hear every day," he chuckled, making John smile too.
"Well you should," he stated and relaxed a bit. Sherlock noticed that and rolled his eyes.
"I am happy. Truly. I want to be with you, and Rosie is non-negotiable part of that deal. There's really no alternative isn't there?" he said softly.
John nodded absently, but wasn't able to let go that easily. After all, there was an alternative: Sherlock could finally decide that John was too much trouble, and nobody could blame him.
"Yeah, no," John sighed. "It's just that.. you did not sign up for kids when..."
"John, shut up," Sherlock interrupted. "It was me who demanded you to move back here. Both of you."
Well, that was a good point.
John sighed and watched how Sherlock flopped back on his back and stared at the ceiling. Instead of easing his own worries John had obviously managed to make Sherlock worry as well. Idiot.
"Is it so hard to believe I actually like her company?," Sherlock asked quietly.
"Well, not really, no, but.." John didn't know how to choose his words so that they would not add to Sherlock's uncertainty nor sound like an accusation.
"But what?" Sherlock snapped, when John wasn't able to form a complete sentence. His temper got always shorter when he was uncertain. John swallowed and decided to stop beating around the bush.
"It's just... when we are not home, you act so distant towards her.. That's probably why Donovan thinks you barely tolerate her and believes I'm forcing the family life on you.."
Sherlock had listened quietly, and now he was obviously avoiding John's eyes.
"I know, work comes first," John added before Sherlock had a chance to say anything. The last thing John wanted to do was to criticize him for that.
"It's not about work." Sherlock finally sighed. "People expect me to be bad with kids. "
"It's easier to just act up to their expectations rather than surprise them?" John asked. He was befuddled. What's that got to do with anything? The Sherlock he knew loved to shatter people's expectations!
"That's not all, is it?," he questioned. "You don't care what they think."
"No." Sherlock said and stared intently at the ceiling. "But you do."
John lifted his head. "Huh?"
Sherlock sighed.
"It's perfectly simple," he stated. "Everyone has opinions about raising children, and they won't keep those to themselves. At first you would ignore it of course, but if they kept being surprised and skeptical about my involvement in her life, the doubt would set in. I'm bound to make mistakes, and that's when you'd start second-guessing. Did you make a right decision? Is Sherlock a bad influence after all? Is this relationship worth it? Well, If I can stop that from happening by acting like they expect me to act, I'll do it."
Sherlock had spoken so quickly that it took John some time to really understand what he had really said. When he did, he was shocked.
"So... You believe people would spout stupid comments if they saw you taking care of Rosie, and you are afraid that I'd listen to them, so you ignore her to avoid that situation?" John asked, feeling relieved and even more confused at the same time.
"Basically yes," Sherlock nodded solemnly. "I just didn't anticipate Donovan's -"
"Idiot."
"No, it's..."
"No. I mean... The first thing I learned after Rosie's birth was to not listen random people's advice on how to raise my child. Ever."
"You might think that now, if it's something simple and harmless, but -"
"Sherlock!" John interrupted. "When Mary died, that old woman next door had nerve to tell me I should find a new wife as soon as possible, because Rosie needs a mother in her life."
"What?! That's..."
"Simple and harmless, huh?" John chuckled. "Trust me, rather than listening to her advice, I planned a murder."
Sherlock was digesting his words for a moment before asking: "How would you have done it?"
John burst in relieved giggles. "You would have caught me," he said. "It's just like you to get hung up on that."
"I have no idea what to say about the rest," Sherlock muttered.
"What I tried to say... Well, I know how good you are with her, so there's absolutely no value in contrary opinions. Just like I'm not going to find a new wife just so Rosie could have a new mother. She needs a happy father more than a mother figure," John stated and planted a kiss on Sherlock's shoulder. "And you know what? If I'd think any less of you because of someone's ill words, I would never have moved in with you in the first place."
John drew Sherlock closer, his nose against Sherlock's neck, and took a deep breath. He had been more worried than he had even admitted to himself, and now he felt equally relieved and stupid.
"You were thinking about this at Lestrade's office, weren't you?" Sherlock asked after a short silence.
"Yeah, I had just met Donovan then and..."
"She made you worry," Sherlock noted.
"Well, yeah. I mean, if you were just pretending to like Rosie, it was very likely that you would grow tired and leave sooner or later," John defended himself.
Sherlock brushed his arm soothingly.
"Not going to." he whispered and planted a quick kiss on John's lips before continuing with a hint of humour: "I was right though. You let her words affect your thoughts, and started to watch me more closely. I was only wrong about the reason."
"Always the last word," John said gently and ruffled Sherlock's hair. "In the end we both were worried about the other getting bored and leaving."
Sherlock let out an agreeing sound and hugged closer to him.
"Has she noticed?" he finally asked, his voice muffled against John's skin. "I was worried about that."
"Not yet, but she will."
"I'll stop doing that," Sherlock muttered. John nodded and smiled, and they continued holding each other in silence.
When they finally crawled under their separate duvets and Sherlock fell asleep holding John's hand, he stayed awake for some time. He watched the pumpkin lantern on the windowsill until the flickering light died down and darkness fell into the room. This vicious circle of uncertainty needed to be broken, and for that John needed to stop being afraid, trust Sherlock and show him how serious he really was.
He decided to go and buy that ring.