Rosie didn't come down for dinner, and so when John was properly dressed and fed he decided that it would be wise to go up and at least take her a cookie or something to cheer her up. Undoubtedly the child could not realize that the love between John and Sherlock was powerful, and she could not understand why it seemed to surpass all logic. She hated Sherlock enough to see his mistakes as condemning, as if with one little mishap he was going to be kicked out of the house for good. Obviously Rosie was jealous of the attention John gave Sherlock, and angry at the way they both disregarded her mother. Yet could she not see that Sherlock and John had been meant to be together, they were created as soulmates, they were created to be together for eternity! And eternity still had some road bumps along the way, it was just their job now to recover quickly and keep on going. Yet Rosie did not yet understand love and the power it had with which to allow people to forgive. And that would be something she learned with time, and with maturity. Yet that was a long way away, for she was too young yet to start kindergarten, and still she had the temper of John as a teenager! When John approached Rosie's room the door was shut and locked, yet thankfully John had anticipated this when they were moving in, and had placed the spare key on the doorframe above. He knocked gently, first, so as to announce his presence, yet Rosie made no indication that he was there.
"Rosie honey, it's Daddy. Do you want to open the door?" John asked quietly. There was some scuffling behind the door, as if she had approached it quickly, yet still the knob did not turn.
"You're not with him, are you?" Rosie wondered fearfully, her voice muffled through the door yet the fear still very obvious. She was legitimately afraid of Sherlock, and now John had to admit she had a good reason to be.
"No, Sherlock's downstairs." John assured quietly. He really hated how the two of them could not interact, yet he knew that with time would come mending. John wished that he might have a proper family, in which everyone loved each other, yet he knew that with Rosie's trouble and with Sherlock's instability, well it could very well be a while. Finally there was a click, and after a moment's hesitation the door knob turned just enough so as to signal that it was open. After that John heard scampering feet, as if Rosie was running back to her bed because she was too scared to greet John at the door. John pushed it open softly, walking inside to find Rosie now sitting on her bed, curled up in one of Mary's old bathrobes and looking quite comfortable yet quite afraid. To ease her mind, John closed the door behind him, and with the promise that they would not be interrupted Rosie seemed to settle in a little bit better to whatever conversation might follow.
"Hi Rosie." John muttered almost shamefully, for he knew that Rosie had witnessed his kissing Sherlock when he had promised to yell at him. Well of course he had yelled, it just didn't last long of course.
"Hi Daddy." Rosie managed. John sighed heavily, sitting on the edge of Rosie's bed while the girl crawled up to him, wrapping her little arms around his neck and frowning in the way that made it seem like she wanted something, almost like a pouting dog. "Daddy are you going to leave him?"
"No, no Rosie of course I'm not! You need to get it out of your head that Mr. Sherlock is leaving, because I love him, and I will never stop loving him." John growled, suddenly becoming angry with his daughter's presumptuous questions.
"You said that about Mommy." Rosie reminded him, to which John shook his head.
"I never did." He said flatly, to which he was positive. John knew that all the while he was dating and marrying Mary, he never once had it in his mind that she was his soulmate. Maybe when he was younger and when he had a massive and embarrassing crush on her did he think that she was the one perfect for him, yet with age and experience came the realization that it really was Sherlock all along. And when he married Mary, he still had thoughts and longings for Sherlock tucked away in his head and his heart, merely because he thought they were void from that point forward. He thought that Sherlock had been taken from him, and he told himself that it would simply be best to move on.
"He scared me today." Rosie said obviously.
"Well I heard you were giving him a rough time too! What's this about you pushing him down the stairs?" John asked sternly. Rosie slunk back in shame, shrugging her shoulders as if she really didn't have a valid reason for such actions.
"I thought that maybe if he couldn't walk he couldn't chase us when we left. I thought that you would leave with me and he wouldn't be able to follow." Rosie admitted finally.
"You could've hurt him very badly, Rosie. You're lucky he walked out alive!" John exclaimed.
"No I'm not! I wanted him to die, Daddy! That way you couldn't bring him back here!" Rosie insisted, crossing her arms across her chest and scowling. A flash of shock went down John's spine, for never would he have assumed his daughter capable of intentional murder. Well yes, that sort of attitude almost made her worthy of some time locked in the freezer.
"That's a terrible thing to say. You're being very selfish." John snapped.
"You're being selfish; you're keeping him around here when I hate him!" Rosie exclaimed.
"But you won't give him a try; you've kept your mind shut! Can't you see that he's a good man?" John insisted, trying to get his daughter to be reasonable yet knowing all the while that it really was a lost cause.
"He's not a good man! He's mean, and he's crazy." Rosie debated. John sighed heavily, understanding finally that he was wasted with mature talks. Rosie would never understand the sanctity of their relationship, and never would she understand the driving force that love provided. No, instead she would be as stubborn and unreasonable as ever.
"I already talked to Mr. Sherlock, and he promised me that he'll never put you in the freezer again. But I want you to promise me that you won't hurt him, or take advantage of his hurt leg in any way. It's not nice to make fun of someone's disability." John pointed out. Rosie sighed heavily; not looking convinced that this was a fair deal to make. It was obvious that she's spent all this time up in her room plotting another attempt on Sherlock's life. It was almost ironic, John had just been considering who might be the next murder mystery of their town...how odd would it be if that murderer was Rosie?
"Fine! I won't hurt him...so long as he doesn't hurt me." Rosie promised finally. John nodded, feeling as though that was a fair deal. He trusted Sherlock's word, yet at the moment he wasn't entirely sure what part of Sherlock he was conversing with. He certainly was different tonight, and whether that be because of sleep deprivation or something more serious, well John might never know.
"That's alright, Rosie. That's fair enough." John agreed finally. He knew that all other attempts at conversation might be wasted, and John of course knew enough not to try to imprint some more helpful, loving messages in Rosie's head. He knew that he could only beg her to appreciate Sherlock for so long, it was ultimately her decision whether to love him or not. Yet John wished they would at least try to cooperate, for at this point it seemed as though even Sherlock was being irrationally immature and close minded! It was almost as if he shared the same attitude as Rosie, living in a sense that the two of them could never coexist together, and that whatever wounds they create would never heal. And just as with Rosie, John almost knew that it was a lost cause with Sherlock. The two were very different in body, yet in soul they were virtually the same. They craved everlasting and unyielding affection, they wanted to be the one and only thing in John's life, and most importantly they stood with their stubborn heads high, as if they both believed that they were entitled to the whole of John's heart. It would be very complicated to bring the two together, yet it would have to be done if John ever had hopes of beginning a proper family in this house.
Sherlock POV: When Sherlock woke up, he felt the need to at least apologize in the only way he knew how. He remembered when he was little and he used to throw temper tantrums, and if ever Mycroft were to overreact (as obviously Sherlock had done yesterday) he would always prepare Sherlock his favorite breakfast as an apology. And so in a way to apologize for his drastic punishment, Sherlock decided that he would take a leaf out of his brother's book once more. And so before the sun even dared poke its rays above the horizon Sherlock got to his feet and put on as much clothes as he thought necessary to begin the work, which included nothing but his old pajama pants and one of his many extravagant dressing gowns, which had been inherited from his grandfather as were most all of his things. And so he trekked downstairs through the familiar darkness, his head already pounding as the change in elevation reminded him once more that he had been wounded. Oh his anger for that horrible child burned through him in a fierceness that closely resembled actual flames, that ungrateful little brat! The audacity that must somehow be fit in that tiny little body of hers, not only to disrespect her new father but to push him down the staircase! Well it was infuriating; it was the exact behavior that should be met with a punishment far worse than stuffing her in the freezer! She deserved a time out in such a terrifying fashion; she deserved a punishment that she would remember every time she got the slightest chill. Sherlock knew how life changing it was to be thrown into that freezer, shivering and never knowing when it was that you would be released. And he was confident that such an event would change the way Rosie behaved around here, for it didn't matter if John disproved, if the punishment worked than Sherlock would keep on handing it out, for such a child as Rosie deserved a sentencing in that case. Yesterday had been something of a whirlwind, for even now as Sherlock passed the beautiful mural on the way to the kitchen he only had a vague memory of having painted it there. For a moment he stood in the darkness and observed the picture, for the darkness was quiet today, and the shadows remained unmoving. And there was a sort of understanding now, with the world beyond the light. For whatever reason Sherlock felt as though he could coexist with that terrain much better than he had been able to before, for he knew, for whatever reason, that all the monsters that had once inhabited it were gone. The darkness felt empty for the first time in many years, Sherlock felt as though he could walk through it without many other eyes looking at him, and observing his every move. He felt as though he was calm, collective, and suddenly the master of his own house. What had been so heavily feared had long since passed, and where Victor had gone Mycroft must also have followed. Who knew where he was in Sherlock's head, and frankly, who cared? He had disappeared into Sherlock's head, soaked back into his brain that may just be beginning to heal itself all the more quickly. Maybe the therapy had worked, or maybe it was merely the concept of finally having a purpose in life. Maybe Sherlock was realizing that he had to take control of himself before he took control of his new family, and in a way that was helping him heal the wounds that had opened up in his reality ever since they let them in. And now he was at the helm of a family that was his not only to love, but to protect as well. Yes, Sherlock liked the idea of being feared in the way Mycroft had been all those years, he could very well take to ruling this house with an iron fist. Surely Rosie would not show any more signs of defiance should Sherlock begin beating her with one of Mycroft's trusty umbrellas, or perhaps even with his own walking stick. Yet he was also tempted by the appreciation and the love he was getting from John and even (in those rare occasions) from Rosie. He felt as though he was a man with a family, with a purpose that went far beyond merely wandering about with a wicked smile and a sharp blade. Sherlock wanted to stay here, and he wanted to ensure that everyone else stayed with him, where they belonged. He wanted to have them here, and cherish them in a way that would ensure they would never leave his side. Sherlock understood what he was asking of John and Rosie, for staying with him here in the house for the rest of their lives probably didn't sound too tempting, yet it was in their best interest! Could they not understand that the outside world was just waiting to poison them, it was poised like a coiled snake, ready to strike at their necks and drain them not only of their individuality, but of their love and dedication to the family they were building in here? In this oasis of a house, in this museum-like manor, where they could bask in the past and relish in the future they could build here together. Without the help of the outside world, without the temptations that it might bring them. For John's demonstration of self-control had been spoiled when he married Mary, for Sherlock did quite remember John promising himself to Sherlock for all of his life. Such a promise, well it went out the window just as soon as Sherlock's love was not available, and not as tempting as one that was so easily presented in front of him. What might happen if John wandered about some more, and finally found another woman or man that might tempt him?Wonder if in some way he decided that he didn't have time to babysit not only his own child but his mentally disturbed husband, who at almost all times needed to be watched so that he didn't run another kitchen knife through an important and valued member of the family? And even Rosie...well what good would she be if she continued to be influenced by that world out there? All of this disobedience was undoubtedly learned from the daycare, in which all of those poorly raised, barbaric children ran around and did what they wanted, dispute clear instructions to do otherwise. Rosie would run amok around the town, listening to profanity and watching drunken men yell on the streets, she would see children bullied and she would pick up countless diseases...well the outside world was simply too unsafe for a child, or for an adult! They were all better off here, where they could be a proper and permanent family. Where no temptations or no ill behavior could ever befall them, where they would be properly under Sherlock's watch at all hours of the day, and where they could learn to love each other as they really had no other choice. John arrived to the kitchen early that morning, presumably because of the tempting smells that were wafting out of the kitchen. Sherlock had donned one of Mycroft's favorite aprons and had gotten to cooking omelets to the best of his ability. Sherlock knew something of cooking, or at least as much as he had picked up from watching his brother when he felt he was allowed to pull his chin up onto the counter and observe. For Mycroft had turned himself into a housewife, quite as Sherlock had become over these last few weeks, so as to better take care of his baby brother and raise him as was necessary. And such tasks included cooking omelets, and cooking pork roasts, and cleaning the house, and murdering potential suitors when they got a little bit too close. Most all of those were useful tidbits for running a successful household, however Sherlock could not quite imagine him going so far as to kill all of Rosie's love interests as soon as they waltzed into the picture. It was not in his bones to kill someone who did not deserve it, as most of his murders had been either of good intent or of someone else's bidding. Victor never deserved to die, yet Mycroft...well Mycroft had it coming all along.
"That smells absolutely amazing." John announced eagerly, stumbling with a great big yawn into the kitchen and collecting a cup of coffee before meandering over to where Sherlock was standing by the stove.
"Doesn't it though? Mycroft always used to make me omelets when he was apologizing, and I thought that this morning might be a good idea to put such a practice into play." Sherlock said with a grin.
"Apologizing for Rosie?" John presumed, sounding genuinely pleased that Sherlock would put such effort into mending the situation.
"Well yes. You made it clear that I had stepped out of line, and this is my way of making things right." Sherlock admitted with a grin. John smiled right back, his eyes twinkling in admiration as he stared up at the angel he had managed to drag down from Heaven just to be his husband. Sherlock really didn't think the act of putting some effort into breakfast was very heavenly of course, and yet John regarded his actions as such, and so Sherlock could obviously do nothing to complain.
"Making things right." John agreed. "So long as it doesn't happen again, Sherlock, it's quite alright."
"Well then, consider this breakfast an added bonus, how about that?" Sherlock offered with a giggle, flipping over the omelet to find it was properly browned on one side, and still yet to be cooked on the other. John watched him curiously, sipping at his hot coffee with a timid sort of look on his face, as if he knew better than not to sip too heavily and end up burning his tongue. He looked very thoughtful this morning, which really was not an expression Sherlock would have expected. It was well before seven o'clock now, and usually up until seven thirty that John was a walking zombie, meandering about and whining that he had to go to work and have responsibilities and whatnot. Yet he almost moved as if he was fully conscious, which really was uncommon for him at this time.