Baker Street Boys

41

//NO WARNING APPLY//

Who knew Sherlock would ever find himself being a father. But he loves it with every fibre of his being. John and Rosie think it's time to show him what it means to them.

It was the beginning of February, again, fascinating how fast time seemed to run when there's a toddler living in your home, a curious, ever learning ball of energy.

A tiny human that has filled the emptiness in his heart, that occupies his mind like no case or experiment, no human being ever could, John might come very close, but Rosie managed to take that first place and she hasn't let go since.

But Sherlock wouldn't want to have it any other way. The love he feels for Rosie is indescribable, but all consuming nonetheless, he relishes every second with her, commits everything to his mind palace, which had to undergo major expansions the first week John and her had permanently moved back to Baker Street.

Now she's almost three years old, likes to throw the occasional tantrum and a subsequent sulk, which she clearly has from him, knows and uses the words 'bloody' and 'shit' that only every leave John's mouth (on accident) when she's with them and makes a very adorable face when she's annoyed with something, which she has from both of them.

Speaking of tantrum, he could hear her signature whining (number three) coming through the open living room window where John was currently opening and trying to maneuver himself, Rosie, push chair and daycare bag through the front door. Whining number three would most likely turn into a tantrum in 93 percent, unless Sherlock found the one thing that would distract her this time. Good thing he's gotten rather good at it.

He got up from his armchair and searched the living room for possible candidates of distraction, a process that's always like a puzzle, eliminating the things she played with the last couple of days, taking into consideration the time of day, the season, what Rosie had for breakfast and lunch, it's a massive calculation that manages to exhilarate him every time and when he's correct about it (again), sees her relax and be captivated by the thing Sherlock has chosen for her, it's one of the greatest rewards he can think about.

You'd think it had to be something special, something colourful, complicated in it's structure, or make interesting noises, etcetera, but that's not what this is about. One time the object of Rosie's restored happiness was John's RAMC mug (which miraculously stayed intact), or a few weeks back (and he was immensely proud of her that day) his magnifying glass which she spent hours opening and closing, giggling at the noise it made when snapped shut the way Sherlock does all the time.

Just as John stumbled through the door with a squirming and upset toddler in his right arm, he snatched Billy from the mantle and sat himself on the floor between their armchairs, hiding the skull behind his back.

"Papa!" Rosie yelled as she spotted Sherlock.

Not betting an eye about what Sherlock could possibly be up to, John started explaining as he wrestled Rosie out of her boots and jacket. "She apparently had an argument with Gwen today, who wanted her toy, which Rosie tried to explain was not her's to take as long as she wanted to play with it, but Gwen didn't understand — or refused to. The argument wasn't over when I was picking her up and now she's upset that she couldn't win and on top of that had to let go of the toy."

"That's my girl," Sherlock said, not able to stop the grin spreading from ear to ear. "Sit with her in your lap in front of me, I have a plan."

John had stopped wondering what those 'plans' of Sherlock entailed long ago, now just doing as he was asked, giving Sherlock a welcome kiss and letter him hug Rosie before mirroring Sherlock and pulling Rosie over to sit on his crossed legs.