Let The Shadows Win

When The Temperature Drops

The process of getting ready for princess really was a complex one, for Rosie always wanted to look the part and therefore they both had to sit in front of Sherlock's old worn out vanity, trying to push each other out of the way so as to get a better view as they applied that cheap eyeshadow that was sold with various Barbie dolls these days. Rosie went with an obscene shade of pink, all the white Sherlock went with a neural silver so as to better call out the beautiful shades of his eyes. Then came the lip gloss, which Rosie wore in a great huge glob, while Sherlock being the minimalist he was merely dabbed a couple of drops onto his lips. The stuff was foul smelling, supposedly cherry yet probably a good four years old, and so now it smelled and tasted like old, clumpy sugar that might have been mixed with various chemicals and sparkles at one point in its existence. This was the closest the two of them had ever gotten to properly coexisting, for they at least were able to share what little makeup Rosie was able to collect for herself, yet not a word was spoken, and still there was a tenseness that could not very well be ignored. Sherlock knew that if this was a real situation, and they were faced with an evil dragon, Rosie would very well be pushing him towards it with meat strapped around his neck as bait before running in the opposite direction. Then again, the joke was really on her, for he was big enough to lift her and just toss her at the thing like a game of fetch.
"Are you two princesses almost ready?" John whined, pounding a little bit on the door all while Rosie was still very preoccupied strapping on a pair of old, nasty butterfly wings to her back.
"Almost." Sherlock sighed, sitting back onto the bed and looking up once more towards the ceiling where the beautiful portrait still stayed in all of its peeling glory. He smiled at it proudly, for such a thing was his own creation, and the man who was embodied in the paint was still his own to cherish. If only he could see himself now, from where he once slept as a teenager. When he trembled to hear Mycroft's footsteps down the hallway, and when he would lock his door so as to hide from the darkness that was beginning to overwhelm the empty house. If only he could see now how happy he could be, with his new family, and with his soon to be husband. How far he had come, with now but two minimal distractions from his ongoing life...the police, and Rosie. When taken into account that the police really had no leads, nor did Rosie have any real power over him, well it would be very safe to say that this was the simplest living Sherlock had ever had. All he really had to do was sit back and relax, and enjoy the fact that his family was cooperating to his every whim these days.
"Alright, alright I'm ready!" Rosie called excitedly, instinctively running to hide behind the bed while Sherlock still lay without much interest. He wasn't too terribly scared of john, no matter how many times the man tried to growl and pound on the door while Rosie screamed in delight. For a while of course there was nothing John could do except pretend the door was actually impossible to get through, and all the while Rosie was running around the room in her princess voice yelling and carrying on, almost as if she thought there was any real danger to this situation. Sherlock attempted to follow suit, however he didn't really feel like getting up and so he merely let out a little groan so as to show that he was still following along, and had not only agreed to play so that he could contour. Finally John had enough of pounding on the door, and Sherlock began to hear the telltale clicking of a key into the lock.
"Rosie, the dragon has found our secret key!" Sherlock exclaimed, to which Rosie gave a great scream, running up to the large bureau which had once been his own, and scrambled inside so as to hide herself. Sherlock sighed heavily, knowing that it might be in his best interest to hide as well, and so he merely rolled under the bed, crossing his legs in relaxation and staring up at the underside of the mattress. It was only from this angle that he could properly see the blood stains still imbedded into the hardwood, for the light from the window illuminated the wood here in a way which still gave it that red tint. It was his own blood, of course, from his final attempt on John's life. Sherlock sighed heavily, smiling for a moment and thanking whatever God might be listening that he hadn't gotten the chance to take John's life away. For he had once been in the mindset that the dead remained forever, yet even now Sherlock had not seen either of his victims in a long while. And had John died, Sherlock would never be hiding under this bed with cherry lip gloss smothered about his mouth. Finally the door opened, and even though Rosie was supposed to be hiding her great scream really made her hiding place very obvious. Yet of course, being the polite man he was, John the dragon instead went after Sherlock first. It was actually a very violent procedure, in which John grabbed hold of Sherlock's legs and yanked him from underneath the bed; all the while Sherlock was legitimately yelling and trying to kick to fend him off. But it really was no use, for John was quite over dominating, and finally it was all Sherlock could do but clutch onto the banister and force his way to his feet, his leg shaking hesitantly as he looked over to where he had left his walking stick on the bed. John merely giggled upon seeing Sherlock's makeup; however they had to stay in character as of now.
"Oh no, the great dragon has caught me! I have been killed." Sherlock said sadly.
"I didn't kill you!" John defended with a little frown.
"I have been eaten whole, and while I am still alive, I am cursed to be digested and die." Sherlock corrected in some confusion. Rosie's scream sort of subsided, for it was obvious she wasn't quite sure how that would work.
"The dragon has not killed the princess yet, but has instead taken her...him? Captive! And will hold him for ransom when the king comes to bargain. For dragons want gold, not princess snacks." John corrected with a little nod, his eyes wide so as to mention that Sherlock should really be playing along.
"Yes...I am bound by invisible chains, and I will sit on the bed and wait in vain while the dragon hunts down my fellow princess. Oh if only the king values our lives enough to..."
"The king will pay any price." John interrupted quickly.
"Ah, my poor economically challenged king." Sherlock grumbled, sitting up against the headboard and pulling his knees up to his chest so as to pretend to be in chains.
"Now where is that other princess hiding?" John asked in a questionable tone, even though they could all hear a small voice from inside the bureau giggling. It really didn't take long until John gave up pretending to search, and he pulled open the door to which Rosie gave a great scream and a giggle, for he scooped her up into his arms immediately and began to tickle her as his dragon's revenge. Sherlock was a bit upset that he didn't get such treatment, but then again he was probably a little bit too big to be carried around. When finally Rosie was kicking out and claiming that she couldn't breathe, John tossed her onto the bed in a gentle way, and let her flop around for a while as she tried to readjust her butterfly wings.
"The dragon has won." John announced finally, to which Rosie giggled and Sherlock smiled.
"How could the princesses have won?" Sherlock wondered curiously, for it didn't seem as though this was a very fair fight.
"The princesses could have...I don't know? Escaped maybe?" John suggested.
"We could've slayed the dragon!" Rosie insisted, jumping on the bed in a great bound to which John shooed her down, being the careful father he was. Sherlock just chuckled, looking over to where the bloodstain was just visible from underneath the bed.
"Can't say I've never attempted that." Sherlock offered with a little giggle, to which John merely stared at him, as if accusing him in some way of scaring his daughter.
"But in the end, they both won." John teased, coming to sit on the bed next to Sherlock and wrap one of his arms around his shoulder, in a protective yet affectionate way.
"That can't be. Dragons and princesses can't both win." Rosie taunted, sitting cross legged on the end of the bed and staring at her father with that know it all look she so often tried to wear.
"I'm afraid you're wrong about that, Rosie. Just like the bear and the deer, even the most destructive of pairs can find a happy ending." Sherlock corrected, to which Rosie's face screwed up in immense dislike. Sherlock merely sighed in annoyance, for leave it to him to ruin the moment.
"Daddy, why can't you stay home every day?" Rosie whined, crawling up so that she could sit on her father's lap. Sherlock frowned as John withdrew his arm from around his shoulders so as to pretend to braid Rosie's hair; however he really couldn't manage the first step at all. In fact, the only hair care John knew was undoubtedly just a glorified process of messing it up even more.
"I agree." Sherlock said with a little grin, leaning into John's shoulder as if to try to remind him that he was still here, and still required constant attention. "Why can't you stay home every day?"