The Only Thing Worth Fighting For

Chapter 2

John struggled through the door to Baker Street. The cabbie had helped him with the bag but John had refused to allow him to touch Rosie in her carrier, the thought of losing her or the taxi driver being planted as a kidnapper had immediately set in once John had settled into the taxi, causing his blood to pound in his ears as he listened to the cabbie making idle chat. Climbing from the cab, the driver had left the bag on the inside of the door and took two steps back, seemingly worried at the look on John's face.

"That's er...£8.50 please," the cabbie had stammered, watching as John's face slackened and relaxed. Realising that his wallet was in his pocket and he couldn't reach, he had the option of putting Abigail down or calling for Sherlock. Thankfully, at that moment Mrs Hudson opened her flat door and squealed loudly, startling both John and the cabbie. John smiled and allowed Mrs Hudson the opportunity to coo over the baby as John used his good arm to fish out his wallet and pay the driver with a £10, telling him to keep the change and nodding a thank you. The cabbie returned the nod and walked back to his car before driving away.

"You're here?" Sherlock asked, his head hanging over the bannister as he looked down at John and the newly named Rosie.

"I am... If you'll have me," John stammered, looking down at the floor. "The other house is...well..."

He didn't want to say gone, burned to the ground, nothing but a pile of ash, as it would give credence to the thoughts which pinballed around his skull. Everything he had planned since Christmas with Mary was gone, finished, leaving only scorched earth in which to attempt to build on. He finished his thought with a sad shrug.

"This is your home," Sherlock insisted. "Its just... you're early."

"Oh, are you experimenting?" John asked tensely looking at Mrs Hudson who gestured for John to go up whilst she carried the baby. John relaxed slightly but insisted on Martha going first in order for him to keep an eye on his daughter and keep her in sight.

The view of the flat was something John hadn't expected; every surface gleamed with a sheen of varnish that John had never seen. The sofa and chairs had been steam cleaned along with the curtains, the fireplace had been scraped out and refreshed with coals and wood whilst the kitchen table was completely free of scientific apparatus. John stared open mouthed as not a speck of dust floated past him.

His eyes were drawn to the sofa which made him cackle out loud, causing tears to stream down his face as he looked over at the scene. Nappies had been wrapped around various objects (including the skull, the laptops and a watermelon) whilst a stopwatch and clipboard lingered nearby.

"I was... testing," Sherlock flushed. "Just wanted to make sure I could."

John dropped the bag and walked to his best friend, throwing his good arm around his flatmate and holding him tight to his chest until neither man could force air into their lungs. Mrs Hudson watched on with soft eyes as she witnessed the emotional return of John Watson to Baker Street.

"Look in the fridge, John," Mrs Hudson prompted, causing both men to pull away awkwardly from their hug. The doctor turned and walked to the kitchen, opening the fridge doors and seeing only food inside.

"No body parts?" John asked surprised.

"Not suitable for little people." Sherlock flushed slightly pink, opening each cupboard in turn he showed John the various tins of baby milk and instruments to soothe the baby when needed. John could only shake his head in amazement.

"And to think..." he trailed off, causing Sherlock to frown, "you used to insist you were a sociopath."

Sherlock tutted and turned his back to John before his friend could notice his flushed reaction. "Cup of tea?"