I'm listening to more scary stories so sorry but this does get better and cuter..I think I should say trigger warning but you all know I write weird things like this ;-; ---
“John!” Sherlock called out as he walked upstairs. He hummed, sliding his coat down his shoulders as he opened up the door to the flat. The place was quiet. He looked around. “John!” He said again, frowning.
Sherlock looked at the living room, stepping over his baby daughter's toys and games as he looked for his husband.
He tried to just tell himself that John took Rosamund out, but he felt very uncomfortable.
He looked over to the door to their room and smiled. Maybe John had been watching a movie with Rosamund and fell asleep. Sherlock walked to the room and looked around, not seeing his husband. “John--” Sherlock was shut quiet when something hard hit against his head. He stumbled and fell to the floor, he scrambled away and sat up.
He stared up at a man who had hit him. That wasn't John.
“Where's my baby?” Sherlock asked, standing up and leaning against the bed, his head pounding. “Where's my husband?” He started deducting the man, eager to know who he was.
“I assure you…” The man said, moving closer. “They're in good hands.”
“No they're not!” Sherlock said, frowning. The man moved closer, holding up a bat.
“Get him!”
Sherlock whipped his head around, watching as someone grabbed his feet from under the bed and three men ran out from the closet.
“No! Where's my baby?! Where's my husband--” he was hit in the head and passed out.
When Sherlock came to, he was somewhere really small and dark. He looked around, figuring out that he was in a closet.
He tried yelling, but he only coughed. He got up from the ground, bumping into something that hung from the ceiling. It was cold and sort of big. Sherlock didn't want to take any chances, so he sat down, not standing back up. He could see the light from under the closet. He knew he wasn't home though.
He closed his eyes and leant back a little. He opened his eyes back up so they would adjust to the dark.
Eventually, he was slowly able to see. He looked around again, then up. He gasped when he saw what was up there. It was John, and he was hung from the ceiling.
Sherlock stood back up and looked at John, reaching up and untying what was around his ankles, which made his body crumble to Sherlock's body. Sherlock sat back down, holding John close and crying. “Where's Rosamund?” Sherlock cried out, looking around. “Where's Rosie…?” Rosie wasn't there at all. He put his ear against the door of the closet to listen.
It was really quiet, but he could hear crying in the distance. Sherlock looked down at John, his eyes closed, he looked drained.
But he was breathing.
Sherlock ran a hand down John's face, kissing him softly. “You're going to be okay, John.”
After what seemed like forever, John's eyes fluttered open. He sat up and looked at Sherlock's pale face. “Sherlock…”
“Shh, shh, we're trapped in this closet. Rosamund is out there…” he closed his eyes and listened to the cries of his daughter. John set his hand on Sherlock's chest and snuggled up to him.
Sherlock hugged him. “I'll get the door open,” he reached up, searching for a handle. There was none, but he felt the cheap wood. Sherlock pulled his legs back, then kicked them into the wood. Some people started to yell. Sherlock kicked another hole into the wood.
John looked up lazily. He was hurt a lot, because he'd been there for hours, so he couldn't do anything.
Sherlock stood up and crawled through the wood, face to face with these two big men.
Ready for a fight and running on adrenaline and fatherly worry, he started fighting. He went after these men, punching them and kicking them.
“Where's my daughter?!” He yelled, kicking one man in his nuts. The man squealed and fell on the floor. Sherlock looked up and stared at the other man. “Give me Rosamund, or I will kill all of you.”
Before the man could respond, Sherlock hit his pressure point and made him faint. Sherlock ran to John and picked him up, then started running to the sound of cries.
They ran into the room where they heard crying. Rosie was laying on a table, she was sobbing and squirming. Sherlock walked to her and John picked her up, checking her small body for any wounds or cuts. Once they were sure she was okay, Sherlock started to walk.
John started humming quietly to calm the baby, but she was hungry, and thirsty.
Sherlock ran out of the place, dodging the people that he passed.
Once they were outside, Sherlock looked around. John had his eyes closed, leaning into Sherlock's chest. Rosie was laying on John's chest, snuggling into him, wrapped up in his arms.
John looked sort of adorable, but he also looked very hurt.
“Help me!” Sherlock yelled, running around until he found someone who would stop and listen to him.
The little woman he had found took out her phone and called the police and an ambulance. She told Sherlock to sit against a building and so he did.
He closed his eyes and leant back, wheezing and whining and holding his husband close. The woman sat near them, she tried to be comforting.
When the ambulance and police came, an officer took the baby and another helped John and Sherlock stand up. They all got in the ambulance.
Sherlock told the paramedics to focus on their baby, who didn't look that well. They did as Sherlock said, and when they got to the hospital, John and Rosie were put in the same room.
Despite some head injury, Sherlock was fine. John was, too, and Rosamund didn't seem to be hurt.
So, they all got in a bed. John held Rosamund close, and Sherlock wrapped arms around him, tangling their legs together.
They cuddled with each other, being completely quiet, only needing to know they were there with each other.