The Only Thing Worth Fighting For

Chapter 15

The weather was surprisingly mild for December; John wrapped Rosie up in layers of clothing until Sherlock carefully suggested that the baby was probably protected enough. John agreed and bundled her into the buggy and helped Sherlock carry the heavy thing down the stairs. Reaching Baker Street, Sherlock allowed John the opportunity to push (in the two weeks since his cast had been off, he had enjoyed every moment of care for his daughter) and followed beside his lover carefully, ensuring that they didn't touch incase of more paparazzi. John had insisted he didn't care, let the media think they were a family as it was the truth; Sherlock's stomach had flipped at the thought and his cheeks warmed up as he made pleasant conversation with John who giggled back.l

"We need to buy a tree," John insisted. "This is our first Christmas as a family."

Sherlock felt his stomach flutter again and frowned angrily at his stupid transport for his reactions. John noticed and let his hand rest over Sherlock's for a split second before pulling away and continuing to speak. "And stockings! Oh, and we'll need tinsel to hang out the carrot for Rudolph!"

"She's ten weeks old, John," Sherlock chuckled, "I bet she can barely tell the difference between us and a broom. She's not going to understand the tradition."

"I don't care," John whispered, his eyes glazing wistfully for a moment before shaking it away. "My mum used to love putting the carrots out, she got more excited than we did."

Sherlock gave in and simply began a list in his mind, knowing that John would never remember everything. They were discussing the choice of traditional turkey for Christmas dinner when they were interrupted by a soft gasp and a female voice saying John's name.

"Yes?" John asked, turning to face Miranda, one of Mary's friends.

"Oh, she's beautiful," the woman whispered, moving to stroke the baby's cheek only to be stopped by Sherlock who stepped between her and the buggy. His silver blue eyes sparkled angrily as he stared down at the woman. "Miranda, was it? I recognise you from the wedding, you slept with the waiter with halitosis and two other mistresses."

Miranda looked between Sherlock and John, hoping for help from the doctor who scowled in her direction. "You missed Mary's funeral."

"Oh, yes I know," Miranda added nervously, her tongue flicking out to lick at her bottom lip, "something came up."

"Ah," Sherlock joined in, venom in his tone. "More important than seeing off your friend? And checking her widowed husband and motherless child?"

John flinched at that description but kept his face stoic as Sherlock watched the woman crumble; looking to one side she refused to meet John's gaze. Sherlock was relentless however and continued, "You have absolutely no right to come over to John now and decide you want to paper over the fact that you couldn't even be bothered to attend. You cannot touch this baby. I suggest you move on before we inform the police about the cannabis plants in your attic."

Miranda blinked back tears and quickly began to walk away from the pram without looking back. John exhaled the breath he wasn't aware he had been holding and looked at Sherlock who was biting his lower lip. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" John asked, confused.

"You're not a damsel in distress, you don't need me protecting your honour but people like that annoy me so much, John. How dare she!"

"Shhh," John smiled, taking Sherlock's hand and kissing his knuckles, uncaring that they were in a public park. "Thank you."

Sherlock nodded a single time before turning to John's side once more and continuing their walk. They still conversed, but it was strained as Sherlock was barely aware of John's words. His mind was already whirring into the beginnings of a plan.