Let The Shadows Win

Funny What Fate Had In Mind

Life continued in the house more peacefully than Sherlock would have imagined. Rosie wasn't exactly warming up to him yet, however she was beginning to acclimate alright to her new house. The three of them got into something of a routine, in which during the weekdays John would go off to work and Sherlock would watch Rosie and on the weekends everyone would do their best to help around the house and fix it up the best they could. The interior was becoming almost livable, and the exterior almost visually appealing. Nothing could be said for the structure itself, for who knows how water logged and cracked the foundation was, and the stability of the walls really was a gamble. However John took a whole weekend to replace those horrible planks with windows instead, beautiful windows that appeared old enough to fit in very well with the age of the house. It was beautiful to see some natural light filtering in the house, and that weekend may just have been Sherlock's favorite. There were other projects of course, some which included ripping up some moldy floorboards and replacing them, one that began the process of repairing the hole in the bathroom ceiling, and other smaller projects which Sherlock undertook. John was the repair man of the house while Sherlock was slowly becoming something of a maid, he would clean the house, cook the meals, and watch the child all while John was out making money and hitting things with hammers on weekends. Yet Sherlock was actually enjoying his life as a housewife, he felt very useful when he went around with a bottle of Windex and sprayed the windows and the mirrors, and the house always looked so much better after he had swept up with that little broom Mycroft had kept in the corner. Even the fridge was looking better, for Sherlock had discovered the power of bleach, and had been since then using it to get rid of the moldy build up that was surrounding their packaged food. In fact it took not a month to get the house livable and even Rosie seemed to appreciate such an effort! She was complaining less, which was always a plus, and she was beginning to appreciate the house more and more. Sherlock could tell that she was happy, or at least she was up until a point. For life was running smoothly, as it always had, before something of a bomb went off in the house. Something that shook the Watson family to the core, just because it was getting ready to become different...getting ready to change and adapt to the way life was flowing these days. It was beginning to become the Holmes family. Because that night John proposed. It was a moment Sherlock hadn't really expected to live through, at least not as himself. Maybe he would see some other happy family tie the knot once and for all; however he had always imagined that he would forever be a loner, a drifter that was not attached to anyone who wasn't related by blood. Marriage had always seemed impossible, not just because he had no one who he suspected would want him for long, but because there seemed to be so many better ways to keep someone attached. The closest Sherlock had ever gotten to asking someone to stay with him forever was when he had tried to kill John, and yet that had been much less ceremonious, and much less acceptable. That had ended up with Sherlock in chains, while this...well this might end him up with a golden band of his own. John got down on one knee right as they were tucking Rosie into bed, for Sherlock had finally been the one to read the story without protest. He finished to see John staring up at him with that ring box in his hand, and there was a moment of stillness, a moment of shock, in which no one in the room could properly handle what was going on. Sherlock didn't know who had screamed louder, himself or Rosie, yet their voices combined really did emphasize many emotions in one. For Sherlock it was shock, joy, and excitement. For Rosie it was instead fear, astonishment, and anger. Sherlock jumped to his feet screaming yes over and over again whereas Rosie jumped onto her bed and screamed her disapproval as loud as she could make her little voice go. Yet John ignored her, for once this was his moment, for once it was their moment to share. Rosie was irrelevant, for John was able to slip that engagement ring onto Sherlock's finger (it even had a diamond!) and they shared their first kiss not as mere boyfriends, but as fiancées instead. It was a magical moment for two out of the three, and for the third it was nearly life shattering, terrifying enough to make her break down in tears at the thought of what her life might be like next. However it didn't matter, not to John, not to Sherlock. For their forever was in place, their hearts were transferred and their rings would soon be matching. And there was no one now, or at least no one of any importance, that could ever tell them no. They were meant to be, that much was certain, it was now just a matter of tying the knot officially. That night there was wailing all throughout the house, for the occupants that were real and the occupants that were ghostly all seemed to be very upset. Rosie was sobbing in her bedroom, screaming now that she wanted to go live with her grandparents; whereas Mycroft was growling in disapproval all while he was attempting to console Victor, who was in as much despair as Rosie. It was curious how hard he was taking it, for maybe there had always been hope in his heart that Sherlock might chose him instead, however the proposal was the final step in making such a dream impossible. Sherlock belonged to John now, and John belonged to Sherlock, and those wedding bands would attach them with as much permanence as they agreed on. Complete loyalty, fused together with wedding vows and with promises that would be kept sacred. They loved each other tonight with such eternity in mind, knowing now that the ring that stuck on Sherlock's finger meant that they would be loving each other in this house for a long time, they would live here, they would age here, they would die here. Yet they would be together, for as long as such connation allowed. And John kissed Sherlock's lips, he kissed his neck, and he kissed his ring. That beautiful diamond that sparkled on his finger, the beautiful mark of property and ownership. Sherlock belonged to John at this moment, and such a ring was almost as permanent and as obvious as the scar on John's neck or the limp in Sherlock's leg. Forever meant forever and this ring signified such. They were to be married; they were to be husbands, that stubborn teenager who couldn't get his car started and that pasty sociopath. Funny what fate had in mind, and even more amusing the way she twisted their lives so as to end at this moment together. To end and to go on, together.