#MayPromptFest2024

[thalialunacy]

[for @calaisreno 's May Shenanigans. i am apparently writing like an actual serial story here? don't ask me, i have no idea]

(1) (2) 3: familiar (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

You may have to come rescue us from the zoo.

Sherlock sees him texting and makes an angry noise, re-crossing his arms like it's going to underscore his point. 'Absolutely not, I am not accepting Mycroft's assistance.'

'Well,' John says, stuffing his free hand in his pocket and rocking back on his heels. 'That's handy, because I texted Greg.'

Who must be bored at the Yard, because he answers straight away. Hang on, are you at the zoo or

Only until the bobbies get here, John replies with a tilt of his lips.

He should probably be more put off by current events, but no one's bleeding and Rosie is still enthralled by every thing she sees, so he's doing all right.

Omw

Cheers

---

Rosie is two thousand percent done by the time they make it home, just absolutely toasted in every sense, including a bit of a sunburn. Good English stock, she clearly came from, John thinks as he smoothes some aloe on her little pink scrunched up face. Considering it's bloody March and the sun was barely even out.

'I know, bub, I know, just one-- There we are, that wasn't so bad, was it?' They're sat on the couch, Rosie on his lap and tucked into his arm. She shows her appreciation by pressing her sticky, snotty face into his shirt and rubbing her nose sleepily back and forth.

As her breathing evens out, John tries to resist the pull to succumb to sleep as well, but his body feels so heavy and the couch so familiar. And he doesn't have anywhere else to be, for once.

He'd been hoping, of course, that during Rosie's nap he could actually corner Sherlock and have an only mildly subtextual conversation about some things. A few things. Well, one thing.

John feels his neck get hot, thinking of Sherlock's face on their stairs last week. Trust Sherlock Holmes to be the only person to regress John to godawful teenage-style embarrassment. And then allow them to conveniently use that embarrassment to avoid any mention of the subject. John is sick of himself, and stretched under his skin with this new kind of wanting, and he had planned to take care of it tonight, on their rare genuine day off, with Rosie content and asleep.

But Sherlock is still at the station, surely arguing with Lestrade about something or other. John had fucked off as soon as he could: Greg has a soft spot for Rosie -- everyone who meets her does, obviously, and John's not biased at all, thanks -- but Lestrade is also a father, so he'd booted them out right quickly.

John makes a mental note, just before falling asleep, to buy him a pint soon.

---

When he wakes up, it's because a small plush tiger has been placed on his shoulder. 'What the--' he starts, but he gets shushed-- of course he does-- by Sherlock.

'No, don't move, you'll wake her.'

John grunts in protest, but obeys; it so happens that he doesn't really want to move, anyway. 'I presume this is a gift for her, not me.'

'Yes.' Sherlock has his hands clasped behind his back, a habit John hasn't seen in a while. 'Is it-- Sufficient? I know I should apologise for what happened today.'

John assesses his face, then sighs, grabbing the plush toy and re-settling it against Rosie's warmth. 'You can't always redeem yourself with a nice gesture.'

'Nonsense, I can't redeem myself with any gesture whatsoever. I'm giving this to her because I--' He stops. 'Have great affection for her.'

He ducks his chin, and John feels a surge of warmth in his chest. He rides it like courage. 'For her, eh?'

Sherlock's eyes snap to his. 'I don't--' His mouth closes without finishing. John waits, heart thumping. 'She is my god-daughter, afterall.'

John exhales, then gathers up his child and stands. 'She needs some attention--' (their code for nappy changing) '--Then we'll come down for some supper. Will you be joining us?'

Sherlock's eyes rove around his face, searching. 'I don't think--'

But before he can say what it is he doesn't think, there's a crash from downstairs.

TBC

[ <3 ]