Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

November

They were sitting in a small restaurant enjoying their lunch together when the call came. Father and daughter tried to meet at least once a week for a chat and something to eat to catch up with each other’s life, as they were a very close family. But due to Anna’s irregular working hours it could happen that they couldn’t find an opportunity to meet. Today was the first time within three weeks that they had seen each other face to face and Anna was just about to tell her father about the latest developments at work when his mobile rang. He frowned due to the unknown number on the display.

“John Watson,” he answered with a smile on his face which instantly disappeared, as he heard the other person on the line. “Yes, that’s me. What happened?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper now.

Within seconds, Anna saw her father's features develop a ghostly pallor and his expression change drastically from friendliness to worry and fear. “Dad? Dad? What is it? What’s wrong?”

No reaction. John seemed to be in a kind of shock, as he didn’t answer her, nor did he say anything to the person on the line.

Anna moved to her father’s side, gently pulling the phone from his hand. “I’ll take it, ok?” she was relieved to see him nodding slightly. “Hello? Annabelle Watson speaking.”

(…)

“Yes, he is my father. Who is this and what happened?” she asked, already dreading the answer. Her suspicion was confirmed moments later. “How is he?” she asked knowing that she wouldn’t be able to get any information over the phone but unable to stop herself. Her heart was racing and she knew that her hand was trembling as much her father’s, which she had grabbed intuitively while taking over the call.

“I see, I understand. We are on our way.” Anna gently squeezed her father’s hand and crouched down beside him to be on his eye level. “Dad?” they looked into each other’s eyes sharing their fear and worry. “We must go. Pa needs us.”

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They didn’t talk much on the way to hospital. John didn’t say anything at all while Anna mumbled reassuring phrases every now and then.

“It will be alright.” It must be, please.

“He is strong. He will make it.” He is barely 70, it’s much too early.

“Everything will be ok.” Please, I am not prepared yet.

She knew that it was more to calm her own nerves than her father’s. John was a doctor after all, he knew all possibilities – the good as well as the bad ones. Calm down, she told herself, there is no use panicking now. Dad needs you, they both do.

A nurse led them into a small waiting room saying a doctor would come as soon as possible. The room was drearily furnished with just a few uncomfortable plastic chairs and a small worn out sofa. There was no decoration that could lighten the mood a bit, no pictures or plants and the few magazines that were laying around were long out of date.

John and Anna sat down holding hands again, seeking strength from each other’s presence. They kept quiet, each buried in their own thoughts. Once in a while John would stroke his thumb over his daughter’s hand sensing her growing agitation. When a doctor finally entered the room their roles had reversed. While Anna was close to a nervous breakdown, John had regained his composure. He rose from his chair and took the other man’s outstretched hand with a firm grip.

“Family of Sherlock Holmes? I am Doctor Williams.”

“Yes. I’m his husband, Dr. John Watson. This is our daughter Annabelle.”

“How is he?” Anna asked while taking the offered hand as well.

“Overall he has been lucky,” Doctor Williams said with a reassuring smile. “He suffered a moderate stroke but help arrived fairly quickly so that treatment could start almost immediately. The left side of his body was affected with interference to his speech and movement. We need to wait a few days though to see how much the medication helped to reduce the impact of the stroke. Then we can decide which kind of therapy and rehabilitation is necessary. I don’t want to make too many predictions right now, but I am cautiously optimistic about his recovery.”

Anna felt her eyes getting teary with relief as she was pulled into a gentle hug by her father.

“Can we see him now?”

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Despite their age (John had turned 74 this year), Anna’s parents had never seemed like old men to her. But seeing Sherlock in a hospital bed, she suddenly realized how fragile her Papa had grown. She became aware of every wrinkle of his face and it had never really been apparent to her before how grey his hair had become over the last years.

Sherlock was in a small room at the ICU, hooked up on several machines which thankfully didn’t made annoying noises. A drip was attached on his arm and oxygen prongs were put into his nostrils to help him breathe more easily. Anna paused at the door, needing a moment to process the reality of the situation while John sat down beside Sherlock’s bed taking his sleeping husband’s hand and caressing his head carefully. Anna finally went to the other side of Sherlock’s bed, pressing a kiss on her Papa’s forehead and sitting down as well.

“I should have stayed at home,” John said after a moment. “I think he didn’t felt well this morning. He was very quiet at breakfast. Maybe he already had a headache. I should have known, I should have stayed.”

“Dad, stop blaming yourself.” Anna said. “Pa had been in a public place when it happened. You heard the doctor, he got help immediately.” She shuddered at the pure thought of what would have happened if Sherlock had collapsed at home alone where her father might have found him hours later. “How did you make him go to the supermarket anyway?” she asked to distract herself from this train of thoughts.

John grinned feebly. “I have my methods.”

“I really don’t want to know.” Anna said, shaking her head and flashing a mocking grin to her father.

John smiled but became earnest once more. “We should have gone together. He wouldn’t have been alone and I could have reacted even more quickly. Maybe I could have…”

“Dad, please.” Anna interrupted.

“He has alays een a dama qeen,” came a raspy voice from the bed.

Anna and John were up from their chairs in an instant bending over the bed. Sherlock looked tired and exhausted but he also had that vivid sparkle in eyes. He looked from one to the other, grinning, though his smile was a bit misshapen due to the reduced muscle function.

“You are one to talk!” Anna said, laughing while simultaneously a few tears were streaming down her face. She bent over to kiss her Papa several times on his forehead.

John on the other side of the bed also had tears in his eyes while he stroked through Sherlock’s hair and over his hand. “Welcome back, love.” he said, voice raw.

“sop it,” Sherlock mumbled. “bos of you. ‘m ot dead yet.”

Anna and John looked at each other, laughing. “No you’re not. It’s fine, you will be fine.”

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Sherlock had been moved from the ICU to a normal room the next day. Dr. Williams was very satisfied with the healing process as the medication seemed to work properly. Sherlock’s speech had improved considerably within a few days and though his motor skills were still constrained, small progress was noticeable as well. John had stayed by his side almost the whole time, spending just the nights at home at Baker Street. Anna had wanted to take a few days off as well but Sherlock didn’t want to hear any of it. The Yard was incapable enough already, he couldn’t possibly be responsible for taking away their best inspector! Anna had rolled her eyes at Sherlock’s overdramatisings but was also relieved that he still seemed to be his old self. So she visited in the evening together with her husband telling her fathers of the cases she was occupied with. To Sherlock’s dismay it was a lot of desk work lately.

About a week after the stroke the initial treatment at hospital was almost done. John had already looked up possible rehabilitation facilities and was currently discussing the further proceeding with Dr. Williams. Logotherapy, physiotherapy, ergotherapy, … - soon the words begun to swirl in Sherlock’s head. He truly did try to follow the conversation but his concentration faded rather quickly these days. It was so hard to keep his attention up while talking with more than one person. The words would blend into another so he wasn’t able to concentrate any more. His brilliant brain seemed more affected by the stroke than Sherlock had initially thought. It was frustrating and it also terrified him immensely.

“Sherlock?” John had sensed the distress of his partner, his slightly elevated breathing and the panic in his eyes. “Hey,” John took Sherlock’s face in his hand, locking his gaze with his. “I know, it’s much to handle at the moment, but it will be alright. We’ll take it step by step. OK?”

Sherlock nodded. Of course it would be ok. John was with him. He would make it better. He would make it right. But what if not? What if his brain stayed slow? Would he be able to have a decent conversation ever again? What if his fine motor skills never returned? He would never be able to play the violin anymore. Soon tears were streaming down Sherlock’s face and he let out a faint sob. John pulled his husband in a gentle hug, stroking through his grey curls while the other man cried silently letting out all the stress that had built up in the last days.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Dr. Williams said softly and Sherlock could feel John nod while he held his partner close making soothing noises reassuring Sherlock, that it will be ok eventually.

After Sherlock had calmed down finally John carefully positioned him back on the bed, rearranging the pillow, so he would be comfortable. He placed a kiss on his forehead “Try to get some rest, love. I’ll be here.”

Sherlock was not sure how much time had passed when he woke up from his light slumber but there was still bright daylight coming from the window so he couldn’t have slept very long. He turned his head a little to see John sitting in the chair beneath the bed his forehead frowned in concentration while typing on his laptop. It was an old-fashioned model with actual keys to press on it. There were almost no brands like that anymore and Anna had tried several times to persuade her father to get a new one but John wasn’t having any of it. Sherlock smiled and listened to the light clapping of the keyboard. It reminded him of old days where John sat in the living room of Baker Street typing up their latest case on his blog. The sound was very soothing and in this moment Sherlock was thankful for John’s stubbornness.

Sherlock thought about the events of the last days, about his breakdown earlier and he almost felt a bit embarrassed that he had lost it. There was nothing to change the current situation. John was right, of course, they had to face it and take every step one after the other. They would manage whatever outcome would occur. Still, a decision had to be made. And Sherlock suddenly knew that he would be the only one who could do it. John wouldn’t have had the heart. His brave John, who somehow had always been the strong one in this relationship, navigating their lives with ease through every storm they had to face. Just like he would do this time. But he also loved Sherlock so much that he wouldn’t have the heart to do what as to be done. So Sherlock has to be the strong one now.

“John?” Sherlock said.

John looked up from his laptop taking Sherlock’s outstretched hand in his, sensing that his partner had something important to say.

“I think, it’s time.” Sherlock said with determination in his voice.

John gave him a sad smile and nodded. “Yes, Sherlock, it’s time.”

Chapter Text

December 4th

John leaned his head against the cold window gazing outside into the beginning dusk as the train rattled through the English countryside, slowly approaching the suburbs of London. His thoughts travelled to a conversation he had had with Sherlock several years ago. As it turned out, he had been right back then.

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“The cottage is gorgeous.” John said.

“Mmmmhhh,” Sherlock mumbled, his nose already in a book he had taken form the house, something about beekeeping.

Sherlock had occasionally spoken of the summers of his childhood when the whole family would spent the holiday at their grandparents’ house in Sussex. But as this house was never mentioned in the present tense, John had assumed that it was long since sold. That was until Mycroft, who had recently retired from his ‘minor position in the British Government’, came around for a visit some weeks ago. Maybe it was because of their growing age but the brothers did get along much better these days, so that Mycroft’s visits not only happened more frequently but were also welcome. Especially since Annabelle had moved out of Baker Street, the flat was sometimes very quiet. On that particular evening Mycroft had announced that he planned to spent his retirement in his townhouse in London and he wouldn’t claim his heritage on the estate. So he had asked Sherlock and John to either take the full ownership or sell the property.

John had wished to see the house and Sherlock had surprisingly agreed to spend a few days there. The cottage was a cozy two-storey building in a small village near Hastings. Downstairs was the large living room with an open kitchen and a further room, which served as a library. There was also a small bathroom. On the first floor there were two bedrooms and another larger bathroom. Everything in the house, from the furniture, to the curtains on to the wooden floorboards was old but very well maintained. John had feared that Sherlock would be bored out of his mind within 24 hours but to his surprise, his husband actually seemed to enjoy their little holiday. They had walked around a lot through the village and explored the area. Sherlock had told John stories from his childhood, he even showed him the exact space in the woods were he and Mycroft had tried to build a treehouse once. The cottage was surrounded by a relatively large garden, where Sherlock's grandfather had kept bees back then. His grandparents had used to create their own honey and make jam with the various fruits from the trees and bushes that grew in the entire garden. John took a big bag of apples with them back to London.

“So, what are we going to do with the house?” John asked after putting away their luggage and getting comfortable on his seat opposite his husband. They were on a train back to London, having a compartment for themselves.

“Keeping it.” Sherlock said, barely looking up from is novel. “For retirement.”

John almost choked on his take-away tea he had brought at the station. Sherlock looked up into the dumbfounded face of his husband and rolled his eyes. “Not now! John, seriously we are not old yet.”

John raised one eyebrow. He was in his mid-sixties and their daughter had long left home. Last summer they had celebrated her promotion to the rank of sergeant.

“Well, at least we are not that old yet.” Sherlock added. He looked out of the window observing the landscape passing by. The visit had triggered a thought process Sherlock had always avoided. “But someday we might want to retire and then it could be our home.”

They had never before talked about retirement and John was actually quite surprised to hear these thoughts uttered by his husband. They still had their work as private detectives though the cases they were working on nowadays didn’t involve chasing criminals through dark alleys anymore. They were both healthy and fit for their age. John had no desire to leave London yet and he had also never imagined that Sherlock would want that. But after this visit the idea of living in the countryside one day was appealing. John smiled at the images he had in mind of Sherlock reviving the old beehives in the garden. They would go for long walks through the woods, maybe they even would get a dog and John would finally have the time to write the book of their shared adventures their friends had always wanted him to. Yes, the thought of retirement in Sussex wasn’t bad at all.

“Alright,” John said. “But when…”

“When it’s time.” Sherlock replied before John could finished his question. The looked at each other and John could see sincere confidence in his partners eyes. “We will know when it’s time.”

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It had become dark outside and John looked at his own reflection in the window. Like long ago he was now sitting on a train back to London, this time without bags of apples but with sorrow and a heavy heart. After his release from hospital Sherlock had spent a few days at home until today John had accompanied his husband to the rehabilitation facility where he would be treated the next three weeks.

Sherlock was very adamant that John shouldn’t stay with him during this time. He would be busy with therapy the whole day anyway and John would be bored with nothing to do. John knew, it was only part of the truth. Sherlock hated being dependent on others. The days in hospital and at home where he had barely been able to go to the toilet alone were exhausting. He hated John seeing him in this state in which the stroke had left him, weakened physical and emotionally. Besides John needed to take care of their move. The house in Sussex must get prepared and a whole household had to be packed. Even with the help of Anna and her husband it was a lot to do in a short amount of time.

When they had left Baker Street this morning, Sherlock knew he wouldn’t return. They had discussed the time of their move and John had suggested they should wait a bit, seeing how Sherlock’s health would improve. But Sherlock had argued they shouldn’t stall the inevitable unnecessarily. Despite him usually being the reasonable one, John had much more difficulty with the decision than Sherlock. On the other hand, it was a logical thing to do considering their age and what had happened and Sherlock had always been a logical man.

“Here we are.” John mumbled as he finally entered the flat. He kept standing in the doorway letting his gaze roam over the place that had been their home for so many years and which they would be giving up now.

Suddenly John became aware that he stood at the exact same spot as 30 years ago – on the day after Moriarty’s apparent return, the day after Sherlock’s almost departure to exile, the day of their first kiss…

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It was all chaos after the broadcasting of the Moriarty video. John had never seen Mycroft Holmes in such a state of shock, anger and disbelief before. On the other hand there was also an immense relief when he got the official permission to call back the airplane.

Sherlock’s exile had lasted exactly 8 minutes and 46 seconds when the plane landed again. John was about to go to him when Sherlock got of the machine but was kept at bay by Mycroft and one of the security guards. The two brothers instantly felt into a heated discussion and Sherlock was led to Mycroft’s car and drove away while John and Mary were escorted home in another one.

John went to Baker Street the next day and was relieved to find Sherlock there. The detective had turned one of the flat’s walls into a giant memo-board again with pictures of the video footage, notes and a big map of England with various marks and crosses on it. When John entered the flat Sherlock was standing in front of the window, gazing outside, the familiar blue dressing gown draped loosely around his frame. He seemed to be deep in his thoughts as he hadn’t noticed John’s arrival yet.

“Sherlock?” John said and his throat becoming very dry all of a sudden. He stopped in the doorway, not able to step inside any further.

“John!” Sherlock had turned around looking at his former flat mate, obvious pleased he had come.

John was still frozen on the spot, looking at the other man. All the emotions he had tried to suppress at the tarmac boiled inside him and he knew he wouldn’t be able to control them any longer. It had been so close. He had been so close to losing his friend again. John’s stomach tied into knots and there was a lump in his throat that he was barely able to swallow down.

John’s inner turmoil must have been clearly visible on his face as Sherlock’s expression changed into a worried frown. “John? What…” uff

John hurried over to his friend and had pulled him into a strong, almost desperate hug.

“John…”

“Shut up,” John said in a raspy voice. “Just shut up.”

The embrace lasted for a long moment and after his initial surprise Sherlock began to relax in John’s arms, feeling relieved to have his friend nearby. John finally pulled away but held Sherlock firmly by his upper arms locking his gaze and beginning to speak in his dangerously calm commanding voice. “Now listen to me, listen very carefully. Don’t do something like that ever again!”

Sherlock was about to say something but John would have none of it. “No! You will be quiet, I am talking. I lost you once, Sherlock. Do you understand? I lost you. I was… It was the worst thing that ever happened to me. I never…”

John paused in his rant and took a deep breath to regain some composure. Sherlock who had become pale kept quiet and showed no resistance against John’s grip.

“Promise me, Sherlock! Promise me, you won’t do anything that stupid again, nothing that will force them to send you away on a suicide mission – oh don’t look like that – I am not stupid, I know what would have happened!

“John…” Sherlock tried once again, but found himself out of words at the sight of the strong reaction of his friend, especially as he realized that he had underestimated the emotional impact of his doings on John once again.

“Promise me Sherlock! I know, you think your actions were necessary to fulfill the vow you gave to Mary and me. But not like that Sherlock! Not like that. Promise me!” John almost desperately begged.

Sherlock swallowed and finally nodded.

“I promise, John.” he said, feeling his own carefully stored and restrained emotions breaking free.

“I promise.” he whispered and pulled John into a hug once more, burring his nose in the other man’s neck swallowing down the tears, which threatened to overwhelm him.

And then all of a sudden John kissed him. It wasn’t soft and gentle as one would expect a first kiss between two people to be. It was hard, with anger and desperation. John’s tongue demanded access to Sherlock’s mouth which he granted willingly. John grabbed Sherlock’s hair so tight that it hurt, but he didn’t mind. After some time, Sherlock had no idea how long the kiss had lasted - could be seconds, minutes, hours - they broke apart. They looked at each other for a moment, breathing heavily, minds for once blank of any coherent thought.

After a moment, John straightened himself and gave Sherlock a curt nod. Then he turned away and left the flat.

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John came back the next day and they began the investigation regarding the Moriarty video. Neither of the two men uttered a word about the events of the previous day as if an unspoken agreement had been made.

The next three weeks passed in a rush of following hints through various parts of England, as the video had been broadcast from over a dozen different locations. Scotland Yard and MI5 were involved as well, but they all stumbled from one dead end to the other. After frustrating days with too little sleep and the unspoken threat over their head that Sherlock would be send away again soon, they finally came to the breakthrough clue which included once again the prevention of a bombing endangering hundreds of people. The true culprit, as Moriarty himself was of course truly dead, was a Jason O’Connor (birth name Moriarty) an unknown half-brother of the dead criminal mastermind, not as linked-up to the rest of the criminal world as his brother but equally mad, dangerous and with a profound knowledge of computer technology and cyber-crime.

“How could MI5 have missed that, Mycroft?” John had furiously exclaimed while stitching up the knife wound on Sherlock’s upper arm he had gained after the two men had battled to get hold of the bombing device.

After the successful and very public wrap of the case - England’s newspapers once again proclaimed Sherlock a national hero - a secret hearing took place and Sherlock finally got pardoned for the Magnussen-incident. Lady Smallwood made it unmistakably clear, however, that there would be no chance of indulgence if Sherlock ever took justice into his own hands again.

So, they resumed their old life. Despite being much occupied with his pregnant wife and their preparations for the baby John visited Baker Street once or twice a week. The prospect of losing Sherlock a second time was still too vivid and he didn’t want their contact to fade away again. Mary thankfully didn’t mind, she even encouraged him to go. Sometimes they would work on Sherlock’s current case, sometimes they would just spent the evening together in comfortable silence, Sherlock doing one of his experiments and John reading the paper or typing on his blog until it was time for him to go home. The kiss was never mentioned.

Two weeks later, Annabelle Sherly Watson was born. Sherlock had congratulated but was otherwise quite curt when John had called him. All the more pleased he was that Sherlock came to visit them at the hospital the next day. John sat on a chair holding his daughter who was tightly wrapped into a yellow hand-knitted blanket (Mrs. Hudson, clearly) as Sherlock entered the room. Mary was nowhere to be seen but the shower of the ensuite bathroom was running. With a wide smile on his face John shoved the baby into Sherlock’s arms ignoring the other man’s protest. “It’s not rocket science, just support her head a bit. Here you go.”

Sherlock looked at the pink bundle in his arms and couldn’t help but smile. The little girl had so much resemblance with her father and he hoped that she would develop into such a fine and strong person like his best friend. “She is small.”

John grinned. Sherlock might have tried to look indifferent but John saw the tenderness in his friend’s eyes. The bathroom door opened and Mary came into the room dressed in a bathrobe and a towel around her head. For a moment she looked surprised and almost frightened to see Sherlock with her daughter in his arms but quickly put on a bright smile. “Hello Sherlock, so nice you’re visiting.”

“Congratulations to you as well, Mary,” Sherlock said handing the baby over to her. “I have to go.”

“Already?” John asked surprised. “You’ve been barely here 10 minutes.”

“Sorry, have some things to attend to. I’ll get in touch soon.” Sherlock replied and without further explanation left the room.

John didn’t heard anything from his friend the next days until the day before Mary and their daughter should be released from hospital. Mary had been very tense and quiet since the birth. John hoped that it was just the nerves of being responsible for a little baby now but intended to keep an eye on her in case of postnatal depression. He had texted Sherlock inviting him for dinner the next day but received no answer. After finishing all the welcoming-preparations John went to bed early determined to catch as much sleep as possible before his little girl would turn his nights upside down.

Just past midnight John was suddenly startled awake by footsteps in the corridor and the squeaking of the bedroom door being opened. John jumped out of bed just as the light was switched on.

“Good, you’re up.” Sherlock said standing in the doorway with an earnest expression on his face.

“Jesus Sherlock! You have startled me to death! What were you thinking, I could have shot you!” John shouted, his heart still racing.

“Hardly, your gun is locked away in your desk downstairs.” Sherlock said while he opened the drawer, pulled out some clothes and threw them on the bed. “Hurry, we need to go. It’s important.”

“What? Are you kidding me? It’s in the middle of the night! Mary and Anna come home tomorrow, I have no time for your case now!” John said unnerved though he absentmindedly began putting on his socks.

“It’s no case,” Sherlock said. “It’s a personal matter, we need to attend to tonight.” He shoved some trousers and a t-shirt into John’s hands then heading back to the door. “And it’s really urgent.”

“Sherlock, stop! The last time you showed up unannounced and all mysterious, telling me we need to go somewhere because of a personal matter, I found out that my pregnant wife is an assassin. So for God’s sake, give me some explanation!”

Sherlock stopped and slowly turned around facing John, his expression was unreadable and he kept quiet. John’s heart sank. “Sherlock, I trust you and I’ll come along. But whatever you are up to, please promise me, that it won’t shatter my whole life again.”

Sherlock hesitated. He looked to the door then back to John. Finally he took a few steps so he would directly facing his friend who looked at him with a mixture of desperation, curiosity, fear but also trust. Sherlock opened his mouth but then decided that words wouldn’t be enough this time, so he pulled his friend in a gentle hug.

“I am afraid, this promise I cannot fulfill, John. I am sorry.”

Chapter Text

December 10th

“That sounds great Arthur, Thank you.”

(…)

“Oh no, that’s enough, far more actually. You know, Sherlock was furious when Anna told him you would cancel a few of your lectures. Said how your students’ brains will probably rot now without the missing stimulation.” John laughed together with his son-in-law on the other end of the line.

(…)

“Yes, I know. Well, thank you for your help, Arthur. Take care. I’ll hand you back to your wife.” John handed the mobile to his daughter.

John led out a deep breath of relief. The renovation of the house in Sussex was all set now. He had engaged a local craftsman to do some repairs and the renovation of the small room on the ground floor that should be their bedroom for now so that Sherlock would not need to take the stairs every day. Anna’s husband Arthur had taken a few days off his job at university – he had been appointed as professor last year – to help with the preparation of their new home.

“Yes, of course. I’ll be careful. Bye Sweetie.” he heard Anna whisper into the phone and smiled due to the loving voice of his daughter.

He couldn’t have wished for a better son-in-law. Arthur was a thoroughly good man, always cheerful, very helpful and supportive and he had a great sense of humour. Anna had had a few relationships before she met Arthur but those never lasted very long, sometimes because Sherlock scared away the guys he didn’t find suitable for his daughter (which were most… well, strictly speaking all of them), sometimes they split of for other reasons. Anna had never been the type who mourned their losses very long. But when she first told John about Arthur he instantly knew that it was something different with him, that he would maybe really be ‘the right’ one. John smiled at the memory of how nervous Anna had been the day she planned to introduce Arthur to her parents.

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“Pa, please, don’t be too rude, ok. He is really nice and I don’t want you to put him off in an instant.” Anna begged while nervously pushing back a strand of hair behind her ear.

Sherlock grunted and gave his daughter a did-I-ever-do-that-look. Anna and John answered with her long practiced yes-you-do-look which Sherlock just shrugged off.

“What does your… What was his name? Arthur?” Sherlock asked ignoring Anna’s request for the moment. Anne rolled her eyes but nodded. “So, what does he do for a living?”

Anna took a deep breath and exchanged looks with John. “He is a teacher.”

“A teacher?” Sherlock scoffed. “There’s hardly anything more boring than that!”

“For the sixth formers,” Anna added in a defending tone. ”And he works at university as well for some science projects.” After a pause she added. “His main subject is chemistry.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He took the newspaper and sat down in his armchair.

“Pa, please. He is really important to me.” Anna said, almost desperate now.

“You always say that.” Sherlock grunted.

“No, I don’t.”

“No, she doesn’t.” John said shooting an unmistakable glare to his husband. If you don’t behave you will have a big problem.

“Fine,” Sherlock said with an exasperated sign. “I will put on my best behavior.”

“That’s all I can hope for.” Anna said relieved.

After a moment, when Sherlock had resumed reading the newspaper he mumbled a bit too casually. “So, chemistry you said?”

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“Dad?” Anna frowning at the absent look on her father’s face who then snapped back into reality.

“Sorry, lost in thought.” John said blushing. He must have been staring into the air for a few minutes. Oh dear, now you’re becoming one of those, he thought.

Anna put her hand on John’s arm. “Don’t worry so much, Dad. It will be fine.”

“Yeah.” John sighed, his momentarily content mood instantly replaced by the sorrows of the present. “I’m glad, that I’m going to visit Sherlock tomorrow. He was very snappy at the phone today.”

“Of course he was snappy. There are stupid people who are ordering him around, making him do strenuous things. And you know, how impatient Pa is. He probably thought he would be running around the hospital solving cases of stolen medicines and smuggled beer or something like that within the first week.”

John giggled and then engulfed his daughter in a tight hug. “I know, but I need a bit assurance from time to time. Thank you.”

“Papa will be fine. Besides, I told him that if he don’t behave, I will make Arthur paint the bedroom pink.”

John laughed. “Arthur would never do that.”

“I would have make him.” Anna replied with a sheepish grin on her face.

“Oh don’t be too sure about that. You know how much Arthur and Sherlock secretly adore each other.”

“So, when will the movers come?” Anna asked a while later when John accompanied her to the front door.

“On the 18th. The moving boxes will be delivered on Tuesday. I’ll then start to sort out the stuff we don’t need.”

“Good. I took Friday off, so we’ll have enough time to pack up the rest.” Anna said and held up his hand to silence the protest John was about to utter. “No back talk. I have far too much overtime to take off anyway. And Arthur can join us at the weekend as well.”

John smiled warmly at his daughter and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He was once again glad they were such a close family. “Ok, Bell, off you go. We’ll see us on Friday.”

When Anna walked down the street towards the tube station John kept standing at the door and looked at his daughter as he had done so often in the past when she was still a child on the way to school. Sometimes she would turn around smiling at her dad and waving goodbye.

“Jesus, I am really becoming an old geezer wailing after the past.” John mumbled to himself shaking his head. He closed the door and slowly made his way up to the flat again. He still wondered where the years had gone so fast. Sometimes it seems only yesterday that he brought his little girl home to Baker Street.

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“Shhhh, dear, it’s alright,” the woman said as the little newborn girl began fussing, clearly unhappy that she had been woken from her nap and lifted out of her cozy bed.

“It’s alright,” the woman said once again. “We’ll be gone quickly.”

Suddenly the light in the room was switched on. The short blonde women turned around with a gasp pressing the baby against her chest.

“I am afraid, I cannot allow you to leave with her, Mary.” Sherlock said. He and John were standing in the doorway blocking the way out.

Mary stopped dead in her tracks gaping at them, momentarily paralyzed and shocked by the unexpected intrusion. John stared at his wife, poorly trying to conceal the maelstrom of emotions inside him. He had never been good at disguising his feelings.

Sherlock had kept quiet at first when they left the house but as soon as John noticed they were going to the hospital he demanded answers once again. So Sherlock explained. He had always respected Mary’s wish for a new beginning and therefore never tried to find out anything about her former life. But when he left the airplane those weeks ago after the Moriarty-video and saw the pure horror on her face he instantly knew that something was wrong. So aside from the other investigation Sherlock began research into Mary’s true identity and the reasons for her apparent shock. What he found out not only scared him, as he feared for John’s safety and the life of his unborn daughter, it was also much worse than he had initially expected. Mary had been an important part of Moriarty’s network! But since she had left her criminal career behind five years ago, Sherlock hadn’t been able to detect her. After Moriarty’s apparent return a lot of other criminals who were just part of the second row and out of the focus of Sherlock’s hunt back then crawled out of their holes. And despite news that the criminal mastermind was truly dead traveling quickly some stayed on the surface reviving contacts, demanding the redemption of old depths. Sherlock and John might have been able to take O’Connor out of the game but others were still out there having found out who Mary was and her skills were very valuable. Sherlock had deduced on that day he had visited them at the hospital that Mary planned to disappear, probably to take another false identity.

Now John looked at the woman he married with a mixture of anger, disgust but mostly a deep sadness. As the moment stretched on he felt more and more numb as if his conscious mind tried to shut down, tried to block out the fact that he was betrayed once again by the woman he thought he loved. Mary’s face was unreadable as she cradled the little girl who quietly began to whimper. When she turned her gaze towards Sherlock her indifferent mask slipped for a split second and a pure emotion crossed her features: hate. John flinched inwardly and his stomach churned at the thought of the last time Sherlock had confronted her.

“What was your plan, Mary?” Sherlock asked with a calm and almost friendly voice though John knew how much anger and disappointment his friend felt as well. “Going into hiding? With a newborn? How should that work out?”

Mary didn’t answer. She just kept staring at them though she didn’t looked as indifferent anymore. She balanced slightly from one foot to the other showing impatience and insecurity. Sherlock kept his gaze fixated on her. A kind of conversation seemed to be happening between them that John couldn’t follow. Finally Mary cast down her eyes looking on the floor in defeat.

“You want to keep her safe, don’t you?” Sherlock said. His gentleness had disappeared from his voice.

Mary nodded. “Yes.” her answer was barely audible. “More than anything in the world.”

“Then leave her with John.”

Mary silently began to cry. She caressed the head of the baby putting various kisses on her forehead, nose and cheeks. The girl had stopped wailing and was now cooing contently. But that only increased Mary’s distress and she let out a few quiet sobs. John couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Despite what she was, what she had done and what she had planned to do, taking his daughter away from him, she was still Annabelle’s mother and she loved her child. That much was clear.

“Leave the infant with Doctor Watson. And you can leave the country undetected and with a new passport.” said Mycroft Holmes who had suddenly appeared behind them. John looked up startled, he hadn’t heard the other man coming but Sherlock didn’t seemed to be surprised at his brother’s attendance. Both Holmes brothers looked at Mary with an earnest and determined expression. John felt out of place like someone who was watching this scene from afar. It was like a bad plot of one of those ridiculous soap operas he had used to watch with Mrs. Hudson back in those time he lived in Baker Street. But this was real life. His real life.

“Mary.” Sherlock said in a demanding tone.

Mary regained her composure. She tucked the bonnet on the baby’s head in place then went over to John handing him Annabelle. He took hold of the baby with a firm grip that made her squeak a little and unconsciously took a step back.

“Take care of her.” Mary whispered. She looked one last time at her daughter then followed Mycroft out of the room.

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John was on autopilot. There had been frantic activities suddenly. Mary was led away by one of Mycroft’s agents. Then a doctor and a nurse hurried in with shocked faces demanding to take a look at the baby. They had obviously been on hold in case the situation got out of control. John didn’t want to think what that could have meant.

As he himself wasn’t able to make a sensible decision at the moment, he agreed to leave Annabelle in the care of the midwives for the rest of the night and to pick her up the next day. Mycroft provided a car for their ride home. Home. John stood in the hallway of his house, Sherlock close behind him. He had barely registered that his friend had accompanied him. They hadn’t spoken a word during the drive, John still felt too numb to say anything.

“John?” Sherlock asked in a calm and gentle voice. John had stopped in the doorway to the living room, standing stock-still. He didn’t speak and didn’t move.

John let his gaze wander over the room, the cozy sofa where he and Mary had watched movies together, sometimes cuddled against each other, he thought about the bedroom upstairs where they… where Annabelle had been…, he thought about the small room beneath the bedroom, the nursery were Mary had painted one wall in a bright pink. They had laughed together so much when John had clumsily put the furniture together. A lie. She was a lie, everything in here was a lie, his whole life seems to be a lie at the moment. John felt nausea rising at the pure thought of taking his daughter here where everything would remind him of the lie his marriage had become.

“John?” Sherlock said again, carefully putting one hand on his friends shoulder.

“I can’t stay here, Sherlock,” John whispered.

“You don’t have to.”

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Just for a couple of days, John had told himself. He would stay at Baker Street for a couple of days to gain his composure and his confidence back. Then he would take Annabelle home. The problem was, the house he had lived in with Mary didn’t feel like home anymore and at moments where he was really honest with himself he had to admit that it never really did. John didn’t asked where all his stuff suddenly come from. The little cot that he had build up in Anna’s nursery had magically appeared in his room at Baker Street the next day together with most of her baby-clothes. The cupboard was suddenly filled with John’s jumpers, shirts, trousers, his toiletries neatly placed in the bathroom.

The weeks stretched on and despite some feeble attempts he never really could muster the strength to move back into his house and Sherlock never asked him to. John was surprised how well his friend adjusted to living with a newborn. As the detective wasn’t an extended sleeper anyway he didn’t care for the frequent interruptions during the night when Anna needed feeding or a fresh nappy. Sherlock was supportive in his own way. He would play the violin, gentle soothing melodies that helped to calm Anna or lull her to sleep. Despite his first reaction at the hospital Sherlock quickly became accustomed to holding a baby so he sometimes would cradle the little girl in his arms, talking about his latest experiment or the cases he worked on. At Mrs. Hudson’s scowling he had made it clear that he would absolutely not engulf John’s daughter in nonsense baby talk. John didn’t mind, Anna was too young to understand the words anyway and she was always very calm when hearing Sherlock’s voice.

One afternoon, almost four month after his temporary return to Baker Street, John dozed on the sofa. It had been a rough night with Annabelle waking him several times and he was desperate for a bit of rest. He wasn’t deep asleep though and when he heard his daughter wailing again, he was about to rise. But before he even opened his eyes he heard Sherlock hurrying over to the cot they had put in the living room for Annabelle.

“Ssshh, little one.” Sherlock whispered, and the loving gentleness in his voice made John’s heart skip a beat. “We shouldn’t wake John, he needs his rest. And we two can manage together, can’t we?”

John heard rummaging and the noise of a bag, presumably the nearby nappy bag, being opened.

“So, how hard can that be?” Sherlock said though there was a hint of insecurity in his voice that he tried to cover with his usual arrogant tone.

After a moment John slowly opened his eyes peering around. Of everything he had experienced in his life so far, during his days in the army or the crazy adventures and gruesome crime scenes, watching Sherlock Holmes changing a baby’s nappy was probably the strangest but also most adorable. He smiled and a warm feeling spread in his chest.

The evening of the same day, John came down the stairs from his room where he had put his daughter to bed, when he heard a heated discussion in the living room. He recognized Mycroft’s voice and Sherlock’s typical snappy tone he had when dealing with his brother.

“Lower your voices please,” John said annoyed as he entered the living room. “I just put her down.”

He received no answer. Both men kept quiet for a moment looking at John with an expression, he couldn’t construe. “What’s wrong?”

Finally Mycroft spoke. “Mary is dead.”

He received the documents a few days later. John Watson was officially a widower now, his poor wife had died in a car accident. Only she hadn’t. She had been shot. Mycroft had asked if he wanted to know any details but John didn’t. The elder Holmes had assured him that the people who were responsible for Mary’s death would have to face justice and that was all he needed to know. He did asked to see the body though. He needed to, the reassurance that she was truly gone. And when he stood at the morgue looking at her calm and peaceful face, he broke down and cried - for the women he once loved, for the mother and her child who would never get to know each other and for the lost life he had thought he had wanted. It was the moment when Sherlock pulled him into his arms, comforting him with just being there, being the one he could rely on anytime, that John finally knew that he would never return to his house.

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Anna grew and developed splendidly. She was eight months old now and had started crawling several weeks ago. Being very excited about the new found mobility she perfected it rather quickly giving the adults around her a heart attack on a regular basis while approaching the staircase, tugging on cables or nearly bruising her fingers on drawers or cabinet doors. Making a flat like 221B Baker Street child safe was a challenge of its own.

Their domestic life in Baker Street carried on. Anna was a cheerful and uncomplicated child and on the one hand John felt content and happy as he probably never did before. But with each passing day his worries grew. He still shared a room with his daughter, the cot already replaced by a bigger baby bed. It was fine for now but it was no permanent solution. His room was just not big enough for his and Anna’s increasing stuff like clothes and toys. Besides the girl would need her own room sooner or later. So they eventually would have to move out. John had already start to look around at opportunities near Baker Street but the truth was, he couldn’t afford it. The sale of his and Mary’s house had just gained enough money to repay the mortgage they had taken out to buy it. His salary at the hospital was not bad, but it was only a part-time job and he wouldn’t be able to work fulltime for a while at least not until Anna would go to school. No, there was no way he would be able to afford a flat in central London. John had pondered over this miserable dilemma for weeks now.

It was a calm evening, John prepared dinner and Sherlock had volunteered to put Anna to bed which he did more and more frequently by now including change of clothes, nappy and reading her a bedtime story (surprisingly he had no objections to classics like Winnie the Pooh). Observing Sherlock and Anna interacting with each other made John’s heart hurt. They had such a strong bond already and they would both hurt miserably when ripped apart.

The two men didn’t talk much as they were eating their meal. That wasn’t unusual per se but this time the silence felt heavy. Sherlock shot a few glances into John’s direction but the other man was too lost in his thoughts to notice. When they cleared the table together after they had finished their hands brushed against each other several times. It was one of the casual touches they shared more and more often these days and which made John’s stomach flutter every time he felt the brief contact of Sherlock’s skin on his own. He once again realized how much the thought of leaving Sherlock on his own and only be able to seeing him once or twice a week pained him and he let out an unhappy sigh.

“Stop it, stop it, now!” Sherlock exclaimed suddenly slamming down his plate back on the table. “Something is wrong. You have been fretting over something on your mind for weeks now. It’s annoying and it’s distracting. Just spill it out.”

John looked up but was hardly able to meet Sherlock’s gaze. He shouldn’t have been surprised about Sherlock’s reaction, of course his friend had sensed John’s growing agitation.

“I… we… have to move out.” John finally stuttered.

Sherlock’s face fell. “What have I done?” he asked. “It was the experiment the other day, wasn’t it? I told you, there was nothing toxic involved, but yes it was a bit messy. I am sorry.”

“Sherlock.”

“I didn’t do the shopping.” Sherlock began pacing through the room now his speech as well as his breathing speeding up. “I can do the shopping from now on. Every time! I will do it every time!”

“Sherlock.”

“And the washing up,” Sherlock rumbled on pointing towards the kitchen. “I know you always complain that I never do the washing up. I will do the washing up from now own. And care for the laundry, at least my own laundry.”

“Sherlock stop!” John said grabbing Sherlock by his arm to stop his mad running. Seeing how Sherlock blamed himself for John’s decision was almost unbearable to watch. “It has nothing to do with you. You are fine, more than fine. You were a great support over the last month and the best friend I could ever imagine having.” Speaking this words almost drove tears in John’s eyes.

“Then why…”

“We don’t have enough space.” John replied weakly. He had let go of Sherlock’s arm, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Anna is growing, she’ll need a bigger bed eventually and sooner or later her own room. We cannot live this cramped forever.”

“Oh.” Sherlock said, obviously very relieved that John didn’t really want to leave him and his face lit up again. “Yes, I see. Well, no problem. You can have my room. You can use it as your bedroom. And your old room will be Anna’s nursery.”

John let out a humourless laugh. Of course Sherlock would come up with something silly like that. “And where do you want to sleep?”

“I don’t need much sleep anyway, I’ll take the couch.”

John took a deep breath, mildly annoyed by Sherlock’s stubbornness to understand the situation. “Sherlock that’s ridiculous, you cannot sleep on the couch, it’s old and worn and you don’t even fit on it. You’ll ruin your back within weeks.”

“Then I’ll buy a better one! JUST. DON’T. LEAVE.”

Sherlock had screamed the last words and John was shocked at the sudden outburst. He knew that Sherlock wouldn’t be happy about the idea of him and Anna leaving but he hadn’t anticipated how distraught his friend would be. His face showed pure desperation as if somebody had pulled the rug out from under his feet.

“I would come around as often as possible,“ John whispered. “You will still be a part of Anna’s life.”

“And what about yours?” Sherlock mumbled, his words barely audible.

John gulped. Yes, what about him? He had been fixated on Annabelle’s wellbeing, driving his own wishes and desires in the back of his mind. But everything was bubbling up now, the deep looks they had shared more and more often these days and every conscious and casual touch seemed to burn on his skin. The memories of shared laughter, happy moments and closeness of the last month making his eyes tear up. He felt cold sweat on his skin and his left hand was shaking violently until another warm one grabbed it. John looked up slowly letting his gaze wander around the room and suddenly there was a clarity in his mind as if he had woken up from a deep trance. His heart raced at the sight of Sherlock’s face which mirrored all the emotions John felt himself. They stood only centimeters apart from each other now, at exactly the same spot they were standing months ago on that strange day they never had talked about.

John moved slowly towards Sherlock and their lips met. Their second kiss was much more gentle than the first one although not less emotional. Sherlock’s mouth felt warm and soft as John nibbled on his bottom lip then tasted tentatively with his tongue and Sherlock opened his mouth with a low moan. After a long moment they parted. Sherlock leant his forehead against John’s wrapping his arms around the other man’s back, holding him close.

“Don’t leave.” Sherlock whispered.

“I won’t.” John said and pulled him down into another kiss.

Chapter Text

December 15th to December 17th

Father and daughter stood side by side in the living room of 221B Baker Street. Beneath them was a huge stack of moving boxes, a few already unfolded and packed.

“Where should we begin?” Anna asked a bit intimidated wondering whether she had underestimated the task that lay before them.

John let out a little groan as well. The living room would be the biggest challenge so much was clear. Decades of family life and detective work were stored here and though he had already started to sort out some stuff there was still the majority of their belongings left to pack.

“I’ll start in the bedroom. You take the kitchen?”

Anna nodded then put her hand gently on her father’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”

John sighed. The next days wouldn’t be easy. They would be days with emotions and a lot of memories to face, he spent almost half his lifetime in these rooms. He had built friendships, a relationship, a marriage, a family here. Baker Street was his home. Never in his entire life had he ever felt as secure, grounded and right as in this flat. Giving it up now certainly took its toll on him. Anna squeezed John’s shoulder a little giving him the reassurance that he wasn’t alone.

“Come on. Let’s get started.” he said smiling mildly putting his hand on hers. “I want to spend Christmas in our new home and not surrounded by packing cases.”

Anna turned towards the kitchen whereas John went into the bedroom. There were already some suitcases on the floor full with their clothes and some bags with older stuff that he wanted to take to charity. John began to take off the pictures from the wall carefully wrapping them up into paper before putting them into a box. There were photos of their daughter at various ages, pictures of friends and family and of course their wedding photograph.

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“She’s asleep?” John asked looking up from his novel. Sherlock had just came down from Anna’s bedroom as it was his turn today to put her to bed.

“Yes, didn’t even make it to page 3,” Sherlock said smiling. Anna loved Sherlock reading to her, his deep warm voice always lulled her to sleep in an instant.

Sherlock was about to flop on his armchair when he notice the envelope lying on the seat. “What’s that?”

“It’s for you.” John replied looking at his partner expectantly.

“It isn’t my birthday.”

“No, really?” John rolled his eyes. “Sherlock, I know, it’s not your birthday.”

“Did I forgot some sort of anniversary? Some of these ridiculous romantic first-somethings that you should remember in a relationship?”

“No, none of that, and I honestly don’t expect you to do so.” John giggled. “Come on, just open it, it’s nothing spectacular and not even a real present anyway.”

Sherlock took the envelope and sat down in his armchair while opening it. Inside were several official looking papers, he carefully studied. He flipped through the sheets once then a second time. His facial expression changing from curious to surprise to complete bewilderment.

“Adoption papers?” Sherlock said in disbelief. “You want…, I mean, I should be…, Anna would be…” Sherlock stumbled momentarily overwhelmed by these unexpected gift in his hands.

He and John had been together for almost two years now and Sherlock had relished every moment of it. He loved Anna to pieces, as if she was his own child and he could never imagine a life without them ever again. But somehow in the back of his mind he had always feared that it wouldn’t work out, that John might have enough of him eventually and that he would just leave his life together with his daughter. But now Sherlock had the proof in his hand, that John did want a lifetime with him, with him and their daughter.

“I should have settled that ages ago. I mean, you are as much Anna’s parent as I am, anyway. It’s just the official part. You know, just in case…”

“Marry me!” Sherlock blurted out suddenly.

“What?” John said, not sure whether he had heard him correctly.

Sherlock put the papers aside and took John’s face in his hand. Very soft and gently he kissed him, stroking tenderly over his cheeks. Then he locked his gaze with John’s and spoke with the deepest sincerity John had ever heard from him.

“John Hamish Watson. Will you marry me?”

John smiled. “Yes.”

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Anna was preparing a pot of tea for a short break. She had just finished packing up the stuff in the kitchen which had fitted into a few boxes, as the house in Sussex already had most things they would need. John had still been occupied in the bedroom when his mobile rang. Anna could hear her father talking to someone in a cheerful tone so thank god no bad news again.

“Who was it?” Anna asked as John came into the room a few minutes later.

“Greg,” he replied taking the offered cup with a grateful smile. “He said, he found a good connection from Sydney and that he could be back in London on Sunday morning.”

Anna sighed with a warm smile. “How many times has he offered to come back earlier now?”

“I lost count, four or five times. At least to me but he has also talked to Sherlock a couple of times.”

“Does he really believe we would let him carry around heavy boxes at his age? He is 82.” Anna said with mild reproach in her voice. “How much help does he think he can be?”

“He feels guilty for not being with us. And I think he’s still shocked about what happened, with Sherlock being the youngest of us. Besides I would probably react the same if the situation were reversed.” John shrugged and rinsed his empty cup under the tap. “Oh, and don’t underestimate Greg Lestrade. How many 80-year-olds are doing backpacker trips through Australia?”

“Must be the positive influence of a much younger wife,” Anna grinned. “You talked him out of coming back, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, of course. They’ll fly back on Christmas Eve just like originally planned so they can be with us on Boxing Day.”

“Great, I am really looking forward seeing our globetrotters again.”

When John had resumed his packing he smiled and thought about the many adventures he, Sherlock and Greg had shared together.

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”What a case!“ Greg Lestrade said, taking the offered bottle and flopping down on the sofa of 221B Baker Street.

“Solved double-homicide, successful ended kidnapping and the finding of several stolen antiquities worth a fortune, not bad.” John grinned. “Not bad indeed.”

“Barely an eight,” Sherlock stated trying to sound indifferent but he was as well vibrating with energy from his post-case-high and even took a bottle of beer himself.

“Ah, ignore him,” John said mockingly. “The case was perfect. Though I don’t have a good idea for a title yet. Cheers!” The three men clinked their bottles together.

“The perfect case for a perfect ending.” Greg said after taking a few sips. He was still smiling but also had a kind of sadness in his voice.

John expected a mocking remark from his partner but Sherlock kept quiet just looking at the inspector with a thoughtful expression. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between the men, all three very aware of the elephant in the room but neither wanting to rise the topic.

“So.” Greg finally spoke, clearing his throat and turning towards Sherlock. “Don’t give Sally a too hard time. She is good at her job, you know that.” Sherlock let out a quiet huff which Greg choose to ignore. “And she respects you. Sometimes she cannot show it, but she does.”

Sherlock gave a slight nod but kept quiet otherwise. John knew him well enough to see the traces of suppressed emotions on his husband’s features.

“Oh and don’t think you can have it all your way with Dimmock. He is not as naïve as you think he might be.” Greg continued, his voice a bit hoarse by now. He took another deep sip from the bottle then turned towards John. “You’ll keep an eye on him, won’t you?”

“Sure, Greg. Don’t worry.”

A heavy silence fell again upon the three friends until John pushed his bottle down on the table with a bang. “Gentlemen, we are stopping this nonsense right now. This…” - he gestured around the room - “This funeral mood. Jesus Greg, you are not dying, you’re just retiring!”

John stood up and took two more bottles out of the fridge knowing that Sherlock wouldn’t want another one. He was handing one over to Greg relieved to find him smiling again. “So, tell us, what are your plans?”

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“Can you lift that up for me, it’s quite heavy,” Anna said pointing to one of the already packed boxes.

“Since when are you so fragile?” John laughed while putting the box on a pile with other full ones.

“Hey, I am a girl after all,” Anna replied then lifting the lid to look inside. “What’s inside there anyway?”

“Mostly chinaware. We are hardly using it but it’s from Mrs. Hudson. I don’t want to throw it away.” John said with a bit of melancholy in his voice.

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“Good night, Nan!” Anna pressed a big kiss on Mrs. Hudson’s cheek then the eleven year old waved her dads goodnight one more time before disappearing up to her room.

“Awww, she is such a sweetie.” Mrs. Hudson said in a loving voice.

“She is now. Puberty is slowly approaching.” John mumbled remembering the stroppy 14 year old girl he had to treat today instantly hoping it would be easier with Annabelle.

“Nonsense. She will be good.” Mrs. Hudson replied with a dismissing gesture. With a bit of an effort she stood up from the sofa, her hip was acting up again lately, and walked to the door “I think I’ll retire as well.”

“You need a hand getting downstairs?” John asked already at her site.

“Oh no, don’t worry. I’m fine.” she replied putting her hand on John’s arm smiling happily about the care and worry in his voice. At the door she turned around and gave John and Sherlock a loving smile. “Good night, boys.”

“Good night, Mrs. Hudson.”

The next day John had a morning shift at the hospital. Sherlock was rummaging in the flat preparing another (non-toxic!) experiment and Anna was still asleep as she had school holidays. When John approached the front door he saw the newspaper still stuck in the letter slot which was odd. Usually Mrs. Hudson took it in to read at breakfast every morning before passing it to her tenants. John took the paper and carefully knocked at their landlady’s door. “Mrs. Hudson?”

There was no response. John tried again listening carefully for any noises from the flat but it kept quiet. After a moment John opened the door, he and Sherlock long had a spare key to Mrs. Hudson’s flat. The old lady had felt a bit under the weather lately. Maybe she needed help to get up especially with her bad hip.

“Mrs. Hudson?” John asked while entering the flat. “Martha?”

He walked through the kitchen to get into the living room and stopped in his tracks as he saw the body. Mrs. Hudson was sitting on the edge of her sofa, slumped against the armrest with eyes closed. On the first sight one could assume she was sleeping but regarding her greyish complexion John knew she wasn’t. He hurried over, took her hand and though he knew it was pointless he still looked for a pulse. There was none and her skin felt already cool. She must have died several hours ago already, probably shortly after she returned to her flat the previous evening.

“Oh Martha.” John said while stroking her white hair, tears welling up his eyes. He had known this day would come eventually, but he had hoped they would have had a couple of years left.

“John?” came a shaky voice from behind him. John turned around to find Sherlock standing in the doorway, pale with wide eyes giving John a pleading look.

But John shook his head while walking over to his husband and taking him in a tight embrace. “She’s gone.”

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It was late afternoon when they had finished kitchen, bathroom and bedroom.

“Let’s stop for today,” Anna said with a wide yawn. “Arthur will be with us tomorrow. Then we can conquer the rest.”

“Yeah, it’s probably for the best.” John replied feeling tired and exhausted as well.

Anna would have preferred if her father had stayed with them instead of being on his own alone at Baker Street but John was adamant about that. He didn’t sleep well that night. His mood lightened up a bit when he heard the cheerful voice of his son-in-law the next morning. Arthur had returned with good news from Sussex the previous evening. The works at the house were finished, everything was prepared and ready for John and Sherlock to move in. After nearly an hour of talking, Anna finally shooed everyone up to start working.

“Careful with that one!” John said as he saw his daughter picking up the skull from the mantelpiece.

"I know!” Anna replied, putting the skull on her eye level grinning sheepishly. “Hello, Sir William. We haven’t talked for a while.”

John giggled when he saw Arthur’s dumbfounded expression. Anna had used to talk to the skull a lot when she was a child. She imagined he had once been a brave knight and member of King Arthur’s Round Table. There were evenings she talked for hours about all the adventures she imagined Sir William had experienced while hunting dragons and witches. Anna loved adventure stories about knights, magic and dragons. No wonder she fell for a man with a name from a fairytale.

Arthur had started to put the contents of one of the many shelves into boxes when a small carton of photographs slipped out of his hand scattering all the pictures over the floor.

“Oh dammit.” Arthur groaned unnerved about his clumsiness.

Anna hurried over to her husband helping him to gather the photos back up.

“These are old,” he said. “I never saw them.”

“Yeah, me neither for a long time now. They are from the time before I was born.” Anna was flipping through the photographs she had just picked up. “Look, Mrs. Hudson and here is one of Greg.”

“Wow, he hardly aged, didn’t he?” Arthur said admiringly while looking at the pictures Anna showed him. “I hope I’ll look as good when I am at this age.”

“Well yeah, you should try your best.” Anna grinned giving him a little pinch in the stomach.

“Who’s that?” Arthur asked pointing to a photograph of a short woman with ash blond hair. Her facial features looked familiar but he was sure he had never seen her before.

The smile on Anna’s face disappeared and the conflicted emotions on his wife’s features gave him a good idea who the woman on the picture was.

“That’s Mary.” Anna said.

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“STOP LYING TO ME!” the very furious 16 year old Annabelle screamed.

John was a bit perplexed about the strong reaction of his daughter. They had brushed the topic of Annabelle’s mother once again and John had, as always, replied vaguely to one of Anna’s questions. In the past that had usually been fine. Anna had always been content with growing up with two dads. Until her death she had Mrs. Hudson as a motherly figure and there was also Molly as a close female friend. But with increasing age Anna’s wish to know more about her mother did grew as well. He had told her that she died shortly after Anna’s birth and that they were already separated by that time. Besides that John tried to avoid the topic as best as he could though he and Sherlock had agreed a long time ago that they would tell their daughter the truth someday.

“Nobody ever tells me anything! You don’t answer me, Pa doesn’t answer me. Greg, Molly, I even asked uncle Mycroft. Everyone keep saying I should speak with you. I’ve had enough! I am not a child anymore!” Anna was still shouting, tears of rage now streaming down her face.

“Anna,…” John tried to interrupt his daughter’s rant, helplessly throwing a glance to his husband who seemed to be taken aback as well.

“You keep saying, you will tell me when I am older. I am old enough now,” Anna exclaimed but finally starting to calm down a little. “I have a right to know. Tell me, what’s the matter about my mother?”

“She is right John.” Sherlock said, confidence in his voice though John knew that he was dreading this conversation as well.

John had wanted to protest but he kept quiet. He hadn’t been aware how much Anna was affected by the uncertainty of the situation and it hurt him seeing his little girl suffer. He always knew he would have to tell Anna about her mother eventually. He had delayed this conversion for far too long now and there was no way to avoiding it now. “OK,” he said taking a deep breath. “Sit down.”

Sherlock gently guided their daughter to the sofa where they all three sat down together, Anna between her parents, John holding her hand whereas Sherlock had put his on her shoulder both men trying to providing a shelter for Anna to rely on. John locked his gaze with his daughter’s and began talking.

By the time John had finished, Annabelle had become pale and very quiet. “Thank you for telling me.” she whispered, tears welling up again “I needed to know.”

“Yes, I know.” John said pressing a kiss on his daughter’s forehead then squeezing her cold hands rubbing them gently. “Anna, whatever she was and whatever she had done, I know for sure that she loved you.”

John had always been afraid about the consequences his revelation might have for his daughter but to his immense relief, Anna wasn’t as affected by the knowledge of her mother as he had feared. Within a couple of days Anna not only seemed to be at ease with finally knowing about her heritage, she was also almost back to her old self - except for one thing. She stopped calling Mary her mother from that day on.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Anna was rummaging through various books and magazines when a slim booklet caught her eye. “Oh look, that’s mine.” she exclaimed holding it up so that John and Arthur could see it. It was the programme of a theater play she had once attended, the signature of a then famous actor was scribbled on it.

“Yes, you’re right, you must have forgotten to take it with you when you moved out.” John replied.

“Took us almost two hours in the cold to get that autograph,” Anna mumbled grinning at the memory of that evening.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

”What are you doing here, Mycroft?“

“Hello to you too, brother dear.” Mycroft Holmes said with a sigh. “Hello, John.”

“Mycroft”, John said taking the outstretched hand of the other men. “Nice to see you.”

“No it’s not.” Sherlock snapped. “You know, I hate to repeat myself. Why are you here?”

John sight and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sherlock…”

“I am here to pick up my niece,” Mycroft replied.

“What for?”

“Sherlock.” John grumbled. “You know why Mycroft is here.”

“Yes. But I don’t have to like it.”

“We are going to the Barbican theatre to visit a Shakespearian play.” Mycroft stoically answered his brother’s question. “It was Annabelle’s birthday present. And as I recall correctly, she was very happy about it.”

Before Sherlock could make another stroppy remark, Anna came into the room, dressed in a knee lenght black dress and a dark red bolero jacket that was draped over her shoulder. She had tied her long hair into a simple but elegant plait and wore decent make up.

“Look at that beautiful lady,” John said beaming with pride.

Sherlock and Mycroft kept quiet for a moment admiring the beautiful young woman Anna had become. She turned around a little enjoying the attention from her parents and uncle. The peaceful moment didn’t last long though. Soon Sherlock and Mycroft were engulfed in one of their usual quarrels once more, Sherlock making snarky remarks about Mycroft’s diet whereas the older brother rebuked Sherlock for the mess on the kitchen table.

“I wish, they would stop doing this,” Anna whispered to her father.

“Me too.” John said, clearing his throat very audibly and giving the two men an angry glare.

“Yes, I think, it’s time for us to leave. Miss Annabelle,” Mycroft said offering his arm which Anna took with a smile, both ignoring Sherlock rolling his eyes. “We should have enough time to get something to drink at the lobby before the play.”

“Great, can I have a beer?”

 "NO.” all three adults simultaneously said.

 “Fine,” Anna grumbled as they were leaving the flat. “I am just almost eighteen.”

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 “You want to keep these?” Arthur asked a bit puzzled when he saw John taking a pile of CDs out of the shelves.

 “Yep.” he said and smiled as he put the CD with the handwritten label ‘dancing practices’ in one of the boxes, ignoring the mumbling of his daughter.

 “Nobody uses CDs anymore, nowadays. Are there even devices for that left?”

 John grinned. He knew that the old stereo in the cottage still worked. Absentmindedly he began humming the melody of the waltz he and Sherlock had once danced here in the living room over and over again.

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Come on John!“ Sherlock said looking at his husband with an eager expression.

With a frown John looked up. He had just sat down in his armchair with a hot and well prepared cup of tea beside him and a good book on his lap. He felt cozy and relaxed and whatever Sherlock was up to, he had absolutely no intention to follow.

“Sherlock. Whatever you want, it can wait until tomorrow.” he said, pointedly looking back down on his book trying to find the passage he had stopped reading. Sherlock snatched it away seconds later.

“Sherl…”

“No time, we need to practice. Now.”

John sighed, rubbing is temples. “Practice? What?”

“Dancing, of course!” Sherlock exclaimed. “Don’t be daft.”

John just looked at him with a puzzled expression.

“Dancing, for the wedding.” Sherlock said. “John, our daughter is going to get married in a fortnight. Sure you want to have a dance with her.”

“Of course, but why do we have…”

“And I would really like to have a dance with my husband as well.” Sherlock said in is childish pouting tone. “At Molly’s wedding I didn’t get one.”

“Yeah, because I had sprained my ankle two days prior because a certain someone had to chase this mugger gang through a teardown with all sorts of scattered debris.”

“Hardly my fault.” Sherlock pouted. He strode over to the stereo and John could hear a CD being put in. Soon violin music, most likely Sherlock’s own recording, flooded the room.

Sherlock came back and reached out his hand towards John. “Dance with me, John.”

John gulped. The deep and raspy tone of Sherlock’s voice compared with the seductive smile on his face and the sparkles of excitement in his eyes send shivers down John’s spine and made his heart race. He took the hand of his partner and was instantly pulled up into his arms.

“I am leading.” Sherlock said with a mocking smile.

“Of course you are.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After three days of packing they were almost done. The rooms downstairs were ready aside from the few things John would need for the next day. While Arthur arranged the various boxes into a sensible order that would make the unpacking later more easy, John and Anna went upstairs to clear the upper bedroom, Anna’s old room which Sherlock had transformed into his laboratory after she had moved out.

“I can’t believe you left it like that.” Anna said pointing towards the wall on the right side which was painted in a bright orange with big wide splashes of green, blue and yellow paint on it. Anna had redecorated her room together with some school friends when she was fourteen (and without the knowledge or approval of her parents).

“I never had the heart to overpaint such a tasteful piece of art.” John said mockingly. “Besides Sherlock hardly ever worked here anyway. He still preferred the kitchen table. Said it was too quiet up here without me fussing around.”

“So this was mostly his storage room? Anna asked eyeing the fridge in the corner suspiciously.

“Don’t worry, it’s unplugged, I already checked for anything that could rot.” John laughed at the sudden squeamishness of his daughter.

“Thank god for that. I’m not sure my stomach can handle a decayed head at the moment.”

“Well,” John said unfolding one of the boxes he had taken with them “I suppose we’ll be finished here quickly.”

Indeed it didn’t take long to pack up the rest of Sherlock’s science equipment that he had stored here. Soon the only space left to clear was the wall cabinet, which Sherlock hadn’t used much as he preferred open shelves to have everything at hand quickly. Inside were the empty box of the microscope he had brought last year and a big carton with empty test tubes, flasks and microscope slides. On the top shelf sat a box, a little bigger than a hatbox. It was very dusty and obviously hadn’t been touched for a while. The lid was stuck with tape all around it and in a neat and slightly squiggled handwriting someone had written ‘Sherlock’s stuff’ on it.

“What’s that?” Anna asked.

“I don’t know, never saw it.” John replied wondering where it might have come from.

Anna shook it a bit, the box seemed to contain several things. “Let’s look inside.”

“No.” John said and snatched it away from his daughter’s hands. “It’s Sherlock’s. We’ll pack it in and asked him about it.” He put the carton into one of the boxes and closed the lid.

“Finished.”

Chapter Text

December 18th

With routine and efficiency the workers of the moving company had loaded boxes, bags and pieces of furniture into the van. It took less than four hours and when the doors of the lorry were slammed shut it was almost like a physical pain for John. He felt drained and exhausted as he stood at the window of the living room watching the vehicle driving down the street. Arthur accompanied the movers to coordinate the unloading whereas John and Anna would follow in Anna’s car a short while later.

His daughter stepped at his side putting her arms around him for comfort. After a while she carefully guided him around to the direction of the door. “Let’s go.”

John stopped. “I… I still need a moment.”

“Dad, you have to let go.”

“I know, I know, it’s just…” he sighed swallowing down the tears that threaten to overwhelm him. “So many good things happened here. Well, a few sad ones as well, but it was mostly good. Yes, we… we had a good life here.”

“And you will have a good life in your new home as well.” Anna said patiently. “Because it will still be the two of you, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. What can possibly go wrong with that?”

Despite his sadness, John grinned and they both began to chuckle as they slowly went to the door with the last bag of stuff that would move with him to Sussex.

At the door John looked back a finally time, letting his gaze wander over the now mostly empty flat. It was barely recognizable as their former home anymore. Anna was right, their home could be anywhere as long as they were together. With a sharp nod John bit his farewell to 221B Baker Street and together with his daughter left the flat.

“Time to move on.”

December, 22th

John sighed in relief as he finally drove into the car park of the clinic. The drive was hell, too much traffic for his liking especially as he was a bit out of practice. They rarely needed a car in London but now that they would be living in the countryside, John seriously considered buying one. He had borrowed Annabelle’s car to pick up Sherlock from the rehabilitation facility. His daughter was clearly unhappy to let her father drive all alone and they had a heated debate about it, the famous Watson-stubbornness clashing against each other. But finally Anna had yielded to her father’s wish to spend the drive home alone with his husband.

Sherlock was already waiting in the lobby of the hospital, his suitcases beside him, looking at John with happiness but also a bit of annoyance. Impatient git, John thought but with lot of endearment, he was so glad to get him back today.

Sherlock stood up and limped over to his husband supporting himself on a cane, the impacts of the stroke on his mobility hadn’t vanished completely yet.

“It’s not psychosomatic I’m afraid.” Sherlock said after he had shared a long kiss and embrace with his husband.

“Doesn’t matter,” John replied. “We’ll get rid of it anyway.”

The drive to their new home in Sussex passed mostly in silence. Sherlock was grateful that John didn’t try to force a conversation on him. He had briefly told him that Anna would be waiting for them at the cottage, Arthur had to attend to a conference at university he couldn’t miss. Otherwise he kept quiet. That was one of the many things Sherlock loved so much about John. He intuitively knew what his partner felt and needed and at the moment Sherlock didn’t feel like talking. He knew he was unreasonable. His doctors had declared his rehabilitation a success as his motor skills had improved a great deal. He needed the cane but besides that he was able to move around and take care for himself without help. Still, he couldn’t help but feel disappointed and defeated. At least his mind was back in his old tracks. With a grim smile he remembered the fire of deductions he had forced on the chief nurse of the ward he was in, starting with her affair with one of the (married) therapists over to her kleptomaniac tendencies towards the jewellery of her patients to her increasing abuse of stimulants. She got fired on the same day. She had it coming. Her behaviour and general bedside manner towards her patients was more than questionable.

Sherlock observed the road signs passing by, exits in the direction of London they didn’t take. He had never doubted the decision to leave but he also knew that he would miss London, Baker Street and their old life. The future ahead of them was undefined and that scared him more than he liked to admit to himself. John reached over taking Sherlock’s right hand in his and interlacing their fingers, once again sensing his husband’s mood. He shot him a short glance smiling before turning his attention back to the street. Thank god, Anna’s car is an automatic, Sherlock thought, stroking John’s hand with his thumb.

“Mycroft came along yesterday.” Sherlock said after a while.

“Oh really? I hope he didn’t overdo it. His arthritis must be very bad in this weather.”

Sherlock huffed. “He has enough minions around to be carried in a palanquin all the way from London.”

John chuckled imagining Mycroft Holmes in a palanquin. Despite age and retirement the man still held an aura of power and authority.

“I invited him for Christmas, I hope that’s all right.”

“Of course.” John replied. “Will he come?”

“Yes.”

“In a palanquin?”

Both men bursted into laughter simultaneously. It was probably the first time they had really laughed with each other since Sherlock’s stroke. John had to stop the car at the kerb as it took them several minutes to stop laughing. Once one of them had calmed down a bit the other one would start anew and a new round of guffawing began.

The rest of the drive passed by uneventfully and in comfortable silence though every now and then one of them would still chuckle a bit. When they arrived at the cottage it was already dark. The lights in the ground floor were lit and Anna hurried out of the door as soon as she heard the car driving up the driveway. She helped Sherlock out of the car who struggled with coordinating the cane and his not fully cooperating limbs cursing at the effort and clearly annoyed that he needed to rely on Anna’s help.

“You’re moving so much better already.” Anna said pulling her Papa into a happy and reassuring embrace.

Sherlock huffed in annoyance.

“Pa, these things take time.”

“People keep saying that.”

“Yes and sometimes people are right.” Anna said giving him a stern look. Then she linked her arm with his smiling. ”Come on let’s get you inside.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You’ve done a tremendous job.” Sherlock said looking around the living room. Stuff that had been here for decades like his grandmothers collection of old potteries blended in perfectly with their own belongings. The skull rested once again on the mantelpiece, beneath it a cozy fire had been lit. Sherlock saw his favorite books and science magazines being placed in one of the shelves right beneath his grandfather’s books about beekeeping. They had settled on the sofa near the fireplace enjoying each other’s company and their fresh cups of tea.

“There are still a dozen boxes upstairs which need to be unpacked.” John said smirking. “Oh, by the way. We found these.”

John put the carton they had found in the wall cabinet on the coffee table giving his husband a questioning glance. Sherlock looked surprise at first but then seemed to recognize it

“Where did you get it?” John asked.

“It’s from my parent’s house. This is Mummy’s handwriting.” Sherlock said pointing towards his scribbled name. “Mycroft gave it to me, after our parents passed. After their household had been cleared and the house had been sold.”

“What’s inside?” Anna asked fidgeting on her seat, barely able to restrain her curiosity John and Sherlock grinned at each other, some things will never change.

Sherlock bent forward taking the box onto his lap. “I don’t know. I had stored it away in the cupboard back then. It was… you know… when our parents died... so soon after one another… ,” Sherlock struggled with his words. John and Anna knew it hadn’t anything to do with the stroke. The loss of his parents was still a painful memory.

“I know.” John said, pressing a kiss on his partner’s temples.

Carefully Sherlock loosened the tape around the lid of the box and opened it. “Oh.” He put the box on the table and the three began to examine its contents.

The first items they pulled out were two small notebooks, the covers quite battered with kinks, rifts and spots of dirt on them. In a childlike writing there were notes, numbers and little drawings of all kinds of animals and plants scribbled on each page. But there were also observations about people noted like ‘the neighbour’s lodger has an affair with Mrs. Colloney down the street’. John grinned imagining how clever Sherlock had been already as a small boy. An additional evidence for that were the pair of binoculars and the small magnifier Sherlock had just took out of the box, with sparkling eyes. His interest in science had bloomed very early in his life.

The next thing John discovered made Sherlock blush and John almost burst into a fit of laughter again. It was a little pirate hat with a bright red fluffy feather and a painted skull on it. The feather was a bit torn and the seams of the hat had been patched in some places several times. With a pointed harrumph Sherlock tried to interrupt the giggling of John and their daughter although he couldn’t help but grin himself. His smile became a little feeble though when he spotted the dog’s collar. It was made of dark leather and there was a name engraved into the material ‘Redbeard’.

”Oh look at that!“ Anna exclaimed as she took out the last item, a plush dog specifically a Fox Terrier with bright fur and dark brown markings on it. It must have been a high quality toy as its appearance was very accurate and close to nature. On its left ear was a small metal button with a yellow brand sign.

”I think, my grandmother gave it to me when I was about three years old.“ Sherlock said, gulping down the lump in his throat that had occurred while he was looking at the mementoes of his childhood. The little dog was a bit battered and it was quite obvious that it had been loved a great deal by the child who had owned it. But the fabric was still soft, the glass eyes clear and otherwise intact.

“It’s gorgeous.” Anna said smiling at the image of her Papa as a small boy running around with the pirate hat on his head, binoculars around his neck and both his real dog and the plush one as his faithful companions.

“When I was getting older and lost interest in stuffed animals, my mother once told me, I should pass it to my own child one day.” Sherlock said looking at Anna apologizing. “I’m afraid I forgot.”

Absentmindedly he stroke over some of the worn parts of the plush dog letting the memories of his childhood flood his mind.

“Well, you can pass it to your grandchild then.” Anna mumbled.

Sherlock grinned but then suddenly the meaning of Anna’s words sank in. He looked at John who had an equally puzzled expression on his face. Both men simultaneously turned their heads towards their daughter “What??”

“Oh dear.” Anna said, realizing what she had just spilled out.

“Anna, did you mean… are you…”

“Jesus, Arthur will be mad at me”, Anna said with a contrite expression. “We meant to tell you together.”

John and Sherlock were still in shock at the surprising news.

“When?”

“Are you ok?”

“How?”

“How? Pa seriously, it don’t need to explain that, don’t I?” Anna said mockingly then took a deep breath. “I’m fine, everything is going smoothly, textbook pregnancy my doc said. The baby is due in June. We have been trying for a while now. But, well, I think, he just needed the right time and occasion to come to our family.”

“He??”

“I don’t know, yet.” Anna had to admit. “It’s too early to tell. It’s just a feeling. Motherly instinct maybe.”

John and Sherlock looked at each other, tears of joy in their eyes and it was the second time that day that they were laughing with all their hearts.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The news that he would become a grandfather soon had fueled Sherlock with a boost of energy. He was already making plans, which adventures he would experience with his grandson and what experiments they could do, especially here in the country. His old binoculars were still in good shape, they could go to the woods, observing animals, looking for plants and mushrooms. Maybe he would even resume the idea of the treehouse.

Sherlock decided that he would start straight away tomorrow with the exercises the therapist at the rehabilitation had recommended him. He must get rid of the cane as soon as possible. He hadn’t stopped grinning since Anna had left them, taking the little plush dog with her, as a guardian and talisman for the rest of the pregnancy.

John entered the living room with a pot of freshly brewed tea. Equally excited and grinning from one ear to the other he sat down beneath his husband.

“I still can’t believe it! We’re going to be granddads! Jesus!” John took Sherlock’s face in both hands and kissed him affectionately. Despite the grey hair and the wrinkles in his face, John glowed with happiness and appeared at least ten years younger. All the worry and sadness about Sherlock’s stroke and their moving from London were gone.

Sherlock bent forward, laying his forehead against John’s, stroking through his hair.

“Merry Christmas, John,” he said. I love you.

“Merry Christmas, Sherlock.” I love you too.

- The End -