Chapter Text
“You, Miss Watson, are too much work. It compels me to admit that infants, such as yourself, are no better than me when it comes to depending on John for incessant needs and wants without him expecting anything in return.”
Sherlock’s voice sounds soft even to his own ears, resonating around the walls of 221B Baker Street, soft, just like the morning light glowing through the curtains, soft, just like the warmth in his heart. Sherlock picks up the baby in front of him and holds her carefully against his chest. He smiles at the tiny human in his arms. A smile which quickly turns into a glare when he sees John smirking behind him.
“Have you been dyeing your hair darker?”
John frowns, unconsciously raising a hand to touch his hair.
“What, you don’t like it?”
“You’re losing your natural silver streaks, John.”
John simply huffs crossing his arms: “Gray hair makes me feel old.”
Sherlock can’t help but roll his eyes: “You are old.”
“Thanks. Really appreciate that, Sherlock.” John’s voice, dripping with sarcasm is at odds with the self-conscious look in his eyes.
Sherlock just frowns, confused: “What’s wrong with getting old? Silver hair is part of ageing. I’ve got grey hair. It doesn’t bother me.”
John swiftly looks away: “I just don’t like it on me. Give me a break.”
Sherlock huffs and bounces the child in his arms, disliking John’s new look and preferring the previous one. He doesn’t know how John can’t realize how perfect he already is. In his arms, the baby moves again and Sherlock looks down and smiles.
“At least you have inherited your mother’s eyes and hair. That should compensate for the stubbornness you will most definitely inherit from your father.”
“Let’s not talk about her, Sherlock. Anyway, today’s a big day.”
Sherlock mood immediately drops and he grimaces: “Nothing is “big” about today.”
John puts a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder to bend down and picks up a bag at his feet: “It’s my daughter’s first time in a daycare. I want you to be there.”
“What is the point?”
“Babies meet other babies. It’s kind of a requirement.”
Sherlock gathers the baby closer in his arms.
“No, it’s not. More to the point, she doesn’t need anyone else except you and I.”
He can spot John’s soft smile on the other side of the room as the other man walks around gathering what they need.
“Well, I don’t disagree, but she needs to meet babies, too, you know.”
“Oh, other babies will only decay her mind. She needs to be surrounded by intelligent humans. Like us. Not… mindless and smaller people who drool and cry every hour.”
John sends him a blank look: “Wow. I can’t believe I asked you to help me raise my daughter.”
Sherlock pushes away the feeling of pride to a corner of his heart and shrugs: “I’ve got nothing else better to do. And besides, what kind of detective would I be if I can’t solve cases while changing nappies every once in a while?”
John simply grins and watches as the detective holds up the baby. She touches Sherlock’s face with her small hands and Sherlock’s smile could light up the universe.
…
As soon as Sherlock and John arrive at the daycare center Mycroft enrolled her into, Sherlock can’t help the disgusted noise escaping his lips.
“Oh, what a pleasant surprise. Children drooling all over the floors. How exciting.”
John puts a light but calming hand on Sherlock’s forearm: “I told you. Behave. It’s not every day we take breaks from solving cases to spend time with my daughter.”
The daycare Lady seems to be a sweet woman. Her bright smile is reassuring when she meets them but Sherlock is too preoccupied with the child in his arms to deduce anything about her: “Hi! You must be the Watsons, it’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
Sherlock’s heart unexpectedly rises up to his throat.
“The Watsons? No, I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is my friend, Dr. John Watson.”
“Uh… yeah. We’re here to chaperone my daughter on her first day. Are we late?”
The woman just smiles knowingly: “You’re just in time, please come with me. Sorry about that. Your daughter is going to enjoy it here. Can she walk already?”
John’s smile can only be described as fond when he answers: “Yeah. Sherlock just prefers to carry her.”
“What? No. No, it’s just safer for her this way. Her limbs are strong and far more developed than most infants, yes, but you can never be too careful.”
“Whatever you say, Sherlock. Just let me do the talking this time.”
The daycare lady shows them around until they reach a room with children around the baby’s age: “Okay, so here we are. You can just let your little girl down over there by the other kids. Everyone here is friendly!”
Sherlock takes a step back and is stopped by John’s frame behind him, pushing him forward:
“No. That boy over there just hid a ribbon belonging to that girl and is currently framing that other boy. I am telling you, John. Other children are as sadistic as the criminals we have encountered in past cases.''
John’s eyes are bright with amusement but he still sends the daycare lady a contrite smile.
“Uh, he’s kidding. Of course, he is. Just ignore him, that usually does the trick. Sherlock, your brother went out of his way in offering to get my daughter into a good daycare. The last thing I want is getting kicked out.”
“John, I can definitely handle any type of learning strategy you’d like me to try. Your daughter is smarter than any child here. We don’t need to be here.”
John takes his friend’s arm again to guide him out of earshot after sending the lady an apologetic look.
“Sherlock, I know you’re worried about her getting attached to people other than us. There’s nothing wrong with that. She’ll still like you, she’ll still come home with us. She just needs to play with children her own age.”
Sherlock casts his eyes away: “It’s not about that.”
“Then what is it? Why are you being like this?”
“I don’t want anyone else to influence her other than us two. Other people tend to do that and it affects children until adulthood. Your daughter deserves to be around people who are not strangers to us.”
John stares at Sherlock for a moment, and he laughs. Something bright and full of wonder. Sherlock glares at him but his face heats up.
“Oh, Sherlock. You’d be a great father.”
Sherlock softens and looks down, his heart beating fast in his chest. He lets the baby down on the mat. She giggles, crawling up to the other children and starts playing. Sherlock’s heart warms. How can someone so small be the source of so much love? He crosses his arms to his chest, already missing the warmth of the child in his arms.
“I could be reading the introduction of biochemistry to your daughter right now.”
John snorts: “You really do ignore me when I say that those textbooks aren’t bedtime stories, huh?”
He turns around to look at John, pretending to be offended: “Those textbooks are educational, John. Unlike the one with a boy climbing a beanstalk that reached the sky, which is scientifically impossible. Something your daughter would know if you let me read to her.”
“Hey, Sherlock? Remember when you used to want to be a pirate?”
Sherlock draws his shoulders up to his ears, hiding behind the collar of his coat as he feels his face heat again: “Shut up, John.”
Sherlock sees the parents smile at their own children. It makes him look at John’s daughter as well, and he watches her giggle with another baby girl while holding a stuffed horse toy.
“You’ve got to admit, Sherlock, that’s cute.” John bumps his shoulder, eyes filled with mirth.
“I would never use the word “cute” for anyone other than your daughter.”
John stays silent for a beat and Sherlock tries hard not to look at him, wondering if he said something wrong again. He hears a crisp intake of breath as John seems to collect himself: “Yeah, but they’re cute. Look at her playing with the little horse! Take a photo right now, Sherlock.”
“John, I swear to God. It’s as if you enjoy seeing me suffer.”
He can feel his friend closer to his ear as he whispers: “Do it, or I’ll call over those parents to sit next to us.”
John is clearly enjoying the way Sherlock is grimacing as he snaps pictures of John’s daughter with his phone. If Sherlock takes every picture making sure to voice his complaints, he knows he will never delete them.
“There. Are you happy?”
By his side, John is laughing quietly, and Sherlock tries his best to suppress his own smile.
“I’m glad I could be of some amusement to you.”
“Come on, just admit it. You like seeing her happy.”
Sherlock frowns slightly: “It’s not like I want to see her cry, John. Noise is already an abundance in Baker Street.”
John’s voice is barely more than a whisper as he looks at his friend: “You love her. I know you do.”
Well, I love you, Sherlock thinks, but he knows it would be a bit not good to voice it out loud. Especially when everything has been going so well lately.
“I can’t possibly hate anything that is half you.”
John’s breath seems to catch again and Sherlock casts a quick glance his way to find John straightening his shoulders, a faint blush to his cheeks: “Oh… right. W-Well, that… that’s nice of you.”
Sherlock and John sit in silence, just watching the baby giggle and play with the others, the noises around them filling the sudden void between them, noises around them, clinging to the words hanging between them, remaining unsaid, as always.
John clears his throat and it sounds deafening even in the loud room. He looks down at his hands, avoiding his friend's inquisitive look:
“Hm. Isn’t this nice? Just two friends. Watching a baby together during their day off.”
Sherlock almost grimaces, he turns his head forward looking aimlessly off in the distance:
“Yes, absolutely. Two friends.”
“Well, I can definitely say I never imagined raising her with you, of all people.”
Sherlock’s head whips around so fast he could’ve broken his neck:
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, almost offended, “You think I cannot raise a child?”
John pales, a nervous hand raking through his hair: “No, that’s not it. I just meant that… you’re you and I’m me. I always thought I’d… you know.”
Sherlock is just confused now. He straightens and imperceptibly moves away from John’s side, hurt.
“No, I don’t.”
“Come on, Sherlock. It’s been months. I think you know.”
Sherlock frowns at his friend sudden desperation:
“Know what?”
His friend’s shoulders visibly sag: “Never mind.”
“No, say what you were going to say.”
Still avoiding his friend’s eyes, John hesitantly opens his mouth to say something but before any sound can escape it they are distracted by a loud and familiar cry coming from the small crowd. Sherlock almost flies away from his spot to kneel next to John’s daughter, panic seizing up his insides. He carefully but frantically checks if she is hurt.
“She’s fine, Sherlock, but I can’t find the horse toy she was playing with.”
Sherlock lets out a relieved breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
“A toy? She is crying over a toy? Do babies cry over toys a lot?”
“Says the person who threw a tantrum over hidden cigarettes.” John mumbles, and then louder: “Go get the toy.”
“It’s not here, John.”
John’s voice rises: “Well, bloody look for it, then!”
They both gain some curious look and Sherlock continues with a loud whisper: “A missing horse toy. How fascinating. You should write up your account of this excellent case, John.”
John ignores him and turns to his daughter: “It’s okay, darling. Uncle Sherlock’s got a plan.”
“This is tedious. Looking for a toy. How did she even lose it? It isn’t like the horse can run away. Although, I would understand the urge.”
“Did you find it?”
“No.”
John raises a challenging eyebrow that Sherlock finds incredibly unnerving: “You’re Sherlock Holmes and you can’t find a baby’s toy?”
“Why don’t you go look for it, then?”
“Ooh, if I find it, I’m forever going to hold this against you.”
“Well? Did you find it?”
“No…” John looks around, eyes stopping on every child trying to spot the missing toy: “But it’s probably with some other kid now.”
Sherlock huffs and glares at his friend. He knew all of this was a bad idea. And he is always right. “It is your fault that we are here. Now, your daughter can’t even stop crying.”
“Stop complaining, you’re making it worse.”
The daycare lady appears next to them and addresses Sherlock with a worried look: “Is there a problem here, Mr Watson?”
“Yes, it is entirely possible that one of the offspring here has stolen a toy from my friend’s daughter.”
John swiftly finds his way between them pointing a finger to his friend:
“He’s not Mr Watson.”
Sherlock ignores the sudden but fierce ache in his chest.
“Also, Sherlock, it’s just “children” and maybe one of them just borrowed it. I’m sure she can find another.”
“If it is a horse she wants, then it is a horse she should get.”
Sherlock reaches over to hold the baby's hand, and he hushes her quietly, trying to calm the heartbreaking cries. He can see John smiling fondly behind him.
“They’re babies, go easy on them.”
Sherlock shakes his head in displeasure: “They are still thieves if they decide to take the horse from her. It is unacceptable.”
John simply laughs. A genuine sound that seems to surprise both of them. Sherlock frowns at him, he can’t understand anything he does can make John so genuinely happy. He’s been more and more genuinely happy around him these days.
“This is not a laughing matter, John! Your daughter is crying!”
John’s eyes are shining so bright when he looks down at them Sherlock’s breath catches in wonder: “No, I know, I know, you just… you’re so protective. It’s… it’s nice.”
“Now is simply not the time to be nice because I can spot the white horse in that child’s hands. Excuse me.”
Sherlock stands, a determined look on his face John recognizes to be one usually reserved to the worst criminals.
“Sherlock, no, no, no, no. Wait!”
Sherlock bends down to be eye to eye with the culprit.
“Hello. You are holding the toy that was initially with that child over there. Can you hand it over?”
“Sherlock, you can’t just take the toy from him.” He glances around, taking in the increasingly mad amount of parents around them: “Jesus. I’m sorry about my friend, he’s just very… protective.”
Sherlock ignores him and grips the toy still in the child’s hand.
“I can and I will. Now, give it.”
John can immediately spot the glossy eyes of the child and the rapidly increasing breathing as a storm coming and tries to take Sherlock away from the kid:
“Look, you’re going to make him cry! Let’s just find her another toy, come on. There’s a little sheep over there, we can try that.” He looks down at the child: “I’m really sorry for my friend here, he’s just, you know… trying to be a good parent.”
Sherlock looks away: “I’m not a parent. I’m a… concerned uncle.”
John gives his daughter back to Sherlock. He holds her carefully and she immediately curls up to him and stops crying. The soft hums she lets out as she leans on Sherlock lights a bright light in his chest. He feels like everything is burning inside him. When has everything become so warm? How did he manage to live when everything was so cold?
“I think my daughter loves her concerned uncle very much.”
“Oh, shut up, John.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Enjoying what?”
John’s voice is so incredibly gentle when he answers: “Being a dad.”
Something unfurls and blooms in Sherlock's chest, growing around his lungs and flowering in his throat and in his heart. He softens again and holds John’s daughter closer to inhale her familiar scent.
“I don’t know what you mean.” He hides a smile behind the child’s hair.
John laughs and watches Sherlock put the baby down again to let her crawl to some other toys.
“This isn’t so bad, hm? Just the two of us, watching her play.” John says as Sherlock stands up again beside him.
“I admit, this isn’t entirely a traumatic experience.”
Sherlock and John watch the giggling child together, both of them are smiling proudly.
John takes a deep breath and seems to ponder for a moment too long, Sherlock immediately tenses up in expectation:
“Remember when you said that your name was a girl’s name?”
The world seems to suddenly come to a stand still. All noises around them muted but for the sound of Sherlock’s own breath.
Sherlock clears his throat, trying to appear nonchalant as the walls of his mind scrumble, close to collapsing: “Yes. What about it?”
“Was that really what you wanted to say?”
“John, that was months ago” Sherlock sighs.
“That didn’t really answer my question. What did you want to say?”
Sherlock takes interest in the floor beneath their feet, in the colourful paintings on the wall, in the blue sky out of the window: “It doesn’t really matter now, surely.”
John sees immediately through the feigned disinterest: “Maybe it does. You don’t know. We never really talked about it. It’s been almost a year.”
“You’d prefer to discuss this inside a daycare centre?”
John’s eyebrows rase to his hairline in victory: “So, there’s something to discuss, then?”
“Yes, maybe there is. You should stop dyeing your hair darker.”
John touches his hair again: “The silver hair thing is just weird. I feel older.”
“It’s not a bad thing. Everyone gets old. We’ve been dying the moment we were born.”
John gets closer to him, very slowly, almost imperceptibly, definitely deliberately. Their arms brush against each other.
“You’re really not letting this go, are you?”
“Not until you stop dyeing your hair.”
Looking far off the distance, Sherlock can still feel the look of his friend on his face, on his neck, seemingly avoiding his eyes, before stopping on his curly hair. He is not close enough and it still feels suffocating.
“It would suit you, you know? The full silver hair, not just the small ones.”
“What, do you think we should switch hair colours now? Don’t be absurd, John.”
“No, I think we should grow old together.”
Sherlock is startled by the words, and he slowly turns to John who has a calm smile on his face as he watches his daughter. As if what he just said isn’t momentous, as if what he just said is evident, as if it didn’t shake Sherlock’s whole world from its axis. Just them, the two of them against the rest of the world. Until the end. Sherlock stares at him with soft eyes, and with an even softer glow in his chest back yet again.
...
On the way home, Sherlock stays quiet and just carries the tired little girl in his arms. They reach Baker Street, and Sherlock puts the child to sleep. He rocks the crib as he observes her sleep, her small hands, her eyes, her little nose. His smile turns sad as he lets his fingers brush against her tiny head.
“I wonder what your name will be.”
He smiles before leaning down to kiss the top of her head lingering for a while.
“Thank you for this wonderful day, Miss Watson. Maybe one day, you and I will do this again, my dear Watson.”
Sherlock takes in the room he prepared for her and stares longingly at the baby one last time before quietly closing the door and walking down the stairs. In the living room, he watches John standing by the fireplace, seemingly lost in his thoughts. Feeling the gaze of his friend on his back, John looks up to stare at Sherlock through the mirror.
“John, I’ve been thinking. Don’t you think we’ve seen enough?”
John’s expression is serene but curious as he turns around to face him: “Enough of what?”
“Crime, danger. Solving cases. Do you think it’s possible in the future that we would have seen enough?”
John frowns: “You saying we should stop?”
Sherlock has never been the self-conscious kind but he feels the need to cross his arms to protect himself from being too vulnerable:
“Well, not right away, of course. I have been thinking about what you said earlier. When we’re ready, maybe we can… go elsewhere.”
John takes a step closer: “Ready for what?”
“To be in content with each other.”
John’s smile could light up the entire room: “Alright, madman. Where should we go?”
“I heard that Sussex is a good place for cottages. Maybe I can garden, or become a beekeeper. Who knows?”
John laughs at the idea, and Sherlock smiles fondly.
“It’s just a thought, John. Maybe an ordinary life won’t be so bad. All it takes is a good companion.”
“Sounds like a plan, Sherlock. I’ll think about it.”
“We still need to raise your daughter here. You have decades to think about it. I will wait. In any case, I’ve always wondered how to take care of bees.”
“I was joking, Sherlock. Of course, I’d come with you. The two of us against the rest of the world, remember?”
Only there are three of us now isn’t there, Sherlock can’t help but think.
“So, back to what we were talking about earlier. Is “Sherlock” really a girl’s name?”
Sherlock averts his eyes but he feels strangely at peace with the sentence now: “I think we both know what I truly meant.”
John steps even closer: “Maybe I do. Maybe it can be something that’s only between the two of us.”
Sherlock stares into the familiar deep blue eyes and sees everything he feels reflected in them: “I wouldn’t want it in any other way.”
Sherlock and John smile softly at one another. And it was enough for them both. No one else mattered. Only the two of them and the family they have made.