Chapter Text
John felt a mix of anticipation and slight anxiety as he navigated the corridors of the government building where Sherlock worked. The whole place was so formal and proper at all times that he was glad he wore a suit to work, it meant he almost blended in rather than sticking out like a sore thumb in a beige jumper.
It was his first week back after paternity leave, Amelia now six months old and while the familiarity of his routine was comforting, everything seemed to have changed—not just at home but here, with Sherlock.
He reached Sherlock’s office on the top floor and knocked lightly on the door. It swung open, and Sherlock appeared, his expression brightening slightly at the sight of John.
“John, perfect timing,” Sherlock greeted, stepping aside to let him in. “I had food delivered from the deli across the street.”
John stepped into the younger man’s office, the table was neatly laid out with sandwiches, crisps, and even a small salad. “Looks like you’ve gone all out, Sherlock.”
Sherlock gave a noncommittal shrug, pouring hot water into two mugs. “I thought we might appreciate something decent after your stint of hospital food and quick snacks. How is it being back at work?”
“Quiet,” John laughed, “I never thought I would see the day that hospitals were quieter than my home but here we are.” He took the mug of tea Sherlock handed him. “It is good to be back, but exhausting. Amelia's a happy baby, but she doesn’t quite understand the concept of night versus day yet. Much like you.”
Sherlock chuckled softly, “Hey, I work a big boy job now!” he held his hands out and spun around. “This is my office and it’s bigger than most of Baker Street.”
“Yeah. It is. I’m surprised you still live there. You must be on a lot more working here.”
Sherlock shrugged. “It’s home. And Mrs. Hudson would go mad at me if I left.”
“Yeah, she would.”
They settled at the table, and for a few minutes, there was only the sound of utensils and the occasional sip of tea. It felt almost like old times, just in a much bigger, less cluttered space.
“So, how are you finding the monotony up here these days?” John asked, picking up a sandwich.
“It’s been...challenging,” Sherlock admitted, taking a sip of his tea. “The work is intellectually stimulating, and I am making a difference in a different way. But I miss the running, the clarity of solving physical cases.”
John nodded, understanding more than Sherlock might realise. “I can imagine. But you’re doing important work here, Sherlock. It’s a different kind of impact.”
“Yeah, I know,” Sherlock said. “It has been so quiet around here recently, I find myself praying for chaos.”
John chuckled softly, “You’ve always prayed for chaos.”
***
Weeks had passed since Amelia had started showing signs of distress that perplexed John and Mary. Every night seemed to bring longer periods of crying and restlessness, leaving them exhausted and deeply concerned. They tried everything from adjusting her feeding schedule to changing her sleeping environment, but nothing seemed to provide lasting comfort.
"It might just be a phase," Mary suggested one sleepless night, her voice heavy with fatigue as she gently rocked Amelia in her arms. John, rubbing his eyes tiredly, nodded, though doubt lingered in his mind. They watched as Amelia finally drifted into a fitful sleep, her small face still twitching with discomfort.
As the nights dragged on, the pattern continued. Amelia's best days—and nights—coincided with Sherlock's visits. She would be unusually calm, her eyes following Sherlock with an intensity that spoke of deep affection and fascination. But in the aftermath of his departures, her agitation would return with increased fervor.
One evening, after Sherlock had spent a few hours at their home, leaving Amelia laughing and cooing happily, the contrast in her behavior became starkly evident. Within hours of his departure, her peaceful demeanor dissolved into inconsolable crying.
Watching his daughter wail, John felt a surge of helplessness. “It can’t just be coincidence, Mary. She’s different after Sherlock leaves. It’s like she misses him,” he observed, the realisation dawning on him slowly.
Mary, considering John’s words, began to piece together the various instances, noting how each aligned with Sherlock’s visits. “Could she really have formed such a strong attachment to him?” she wondered aloud, her expression a mix of astonishment and concern.
They decided to monitor Amelia’s responses more closely, noting her behaviour patterns before and after Sherlock’s visits. The evidence was compelling and increasingly hard to dismiss.
After another particularly challenging night, John and Mary sat down at the kitchen table, weary but resolute. “It’s clear she’s attached to him, John. Sherlock has become a part of her world, a significant one,” Mary concluded, her voice tinged with a mixture of admiration and worry.
“Then we need to do something about it,” John agreed. “She’s going to make herself ill. I’ll talk to Sherlock. Maybe there’s a way he can help us, perhaps spend more time here or…”
“Or we could consider a more drastic solution,” Mary interjected.
***
The next day, John rang Sherlock, inviting him for a chat over lunch. Sherlock, of course, agreed, and when he arrived Mary was waiting at the door, a screaming baby in her arms.
Sherlock reached for her as Mary held her out and the baby settled almost instantly, snuggling into Sherlock's chin and closing her eyes. Sherlock frowned at Mary as she was glancing over her shoulder at her husband.
“I... I’m sorry, Mary, maybe she was just tired?” Sherlock offered, concerned that he had just offended his friend by being able to settle the baby immediately.
She shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous, come on in. Lunch is almost ready.”
Sherlock stepped the rest of the way into the house and moved towards Amelia's room to put her down.
“No, don’t,” John blocked his path. “She hasn’t slept for more than two hours at a time in weeks. Just... Just hold her, please.”
The ex-detective glanced between Amelia’s parents. “Which is why I’m here,” he deduced. “I... I’m not a doctor, John. I can’t tell you what’s wrong with her.”
Mary placed lunch on the table and John indicated the comfy chair on the other side from where he had sat down. “Sherlock, Amelia is incredibly attached to you.”
The younger man inclined his head slightly, indicating the baby fast asleep on his chest. “I noticed.”
“Well... we’ve noticed she’s calmest when you’re around. We’ve been thinking… perhaps it might help if we were closer to you.”
Sherlock listened intently, his sharp eyes softening as he processed the information. “You want to move in with me?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.
“Yes,” John confirmed, trying not to make it sound like he was begging. “If you’re amenable?”
Sherlock considered it for a fraction of a second, the corners of his mouth twitching in a rare smile. “Of course you can move in.”
Mary, relieved and grateful, smiled and put her hand on John’s shoulder. “Thank you, Sherlock. It means the world to us.”
***
The following day, John and Mary were preparing to move into Baker Street when there was a knock on the door.
“Can I help you?” John said as he opened the door.
There was a man standing on the door step with a big truck in the driveway behind him.
“Doctor Watson?”
“Yes?”
“We’re your removal company, Doctor Watson.”
“My what—”
“Mr. Holmes sent us. Said to pack the bare essentials and head to Baker Street when you are ready and we will follow along later.”
“He couldn’t have told me this himself?”
“Mr. Holmes got called into work on short notice.”
“Of course he did,” John turned to see Mary waiting by the kitchen door. “Grab Amelia’s bag, we might as well get going now before this lot start making a mess.”
***
Over the next few days, they settled into Baker Street and the positive effect on Amelia was immediate. Her colicky episodes nearly disappeared completely, and her delightful giggles filled the room much more often than before.
Living together, Sherlock, John, and Mary navigated the new arrangement far easily than Sherlock had expected. They had all settled into a routine where they could spend quality time with Amelia but also get alone time as well.
***
The next time Sherlock was in the office, deeply immersed in a complex analysis of international data patterns, his phone buzzed with a message from Mycroft: “Need to see you. My office. Now.” Knowing his brother’s penchant for the dramatic, Sherlock got to his feet and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, rolling his eyes the whole time.
He didn’t even bother knocking, just opened the door that separated the two offices. “You could have just yelled, brother dear,” Sherlock said by way of saying hello.
Mycroft was standing by the window, looking out over the London skyline. Without preamble, Mycroft turned and got straight to the point.
“Sherlock, I’ve been considering your situation,” Mycroft began, his tone more contemplative than usual. “With your new family responsibilities and the trust fund fully accessible to you, you don’t need to work here. You could dedicate your time entirely to Amelia and your domestic pursuits if you chose.”
Sherlock, taken aback by the suggestion, frowned slightly. “While I appreciate the financial reminder, Mycroft, I have no intention of abandoning my work here.”
Mycroft had expected some resistance but still pressed the issue, “It’s not about abandoning anything, Sherlock. It’s about choice. You have the freedom to choose now, more than ever. You’re not bound by financial necessity. She may not be yours, but you do have a baby at home.”
Sherlock paused, considering Mycroft’s words. After a moment of reflection, he responded firmly, “What’s best for Amelia is to have role models who are engaged in meaningful work. I can be present for her and still maintain my career. Mary and John do the same. My work here challenges me, Mycroft, it keeps me sharp. My role here provides me with a balance I had not realised I needed until recently.”
Mycroft studied Sherlock, noting the resolve in his brother’s eyes. “Ok. I won’t press the issue further if you’re certain. Just know that the option is there, should you ever change your mind.”
“Thank you, Mycroft,” Sherlock replied, his voice softening slightly. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I have a pile of work that requires my attention.”
Mycroft nodded, signalling the end of the conversation. “Very well, Sherlock. Just remember, whatever you choose, choose for you.”
***
Several weeks later, Mycroft decided to drop into Baker Street. His pretext was to discuss some minor governmental concerns, but his true motive was to observe how Sherlock really was managing this new, unexpected chapter in his life. Especially having made it quite clear he intended on remaining at work.
As Mycroft climbed the familiar steps to Sherlock's flat, he prepared himself for the chaos he anticipated finding. Instead, he was greeted by an unexpectedly harmonious scene. The living room was now a blend of Sherlock's analytical world and was filled with the warmth of family life. Toys were neatly stored in one corner, and Amelia’s baby seat was beside Sherlock’s favorite armchair, adorned with a soft blanket.
Sherlock, who was in the middle of a debate with Amelia about the merits of keeping hold of her bricks rather than launching them, looked up as Mycroft entered. “Mycroft, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Sherlock asked, his tone mildly surprised but not unwelcoming.
“I was in the area,” Mycroft lied smoothly, stepping further into the room. His eyes quickly took in how much Sherlock’s flat had changed.
Amelia, recognising Mycroft from previous brief encounters, greeted him with a cheerful babble and an outstretched hand holding the only brick she hadn’t thrown.
Sherlock watched, a hint of pride flickering across his features as he picked Amelia up, introducing her to Mycroft again. “Amelia is becoming quite the socialite,” Sherlock commented, his voice softer than Mycroft was accustomed to hearing.
Mycroft, usually reserved and in control, couldn’t help but smile at the interaction. “It seems you’ve adapted quite well to domestic life, Sherlock. I must admit, I never envisioned this for you.”
Sherlock shifted Amelia onto his hip, his expression thoughtful. “Nor did I. But it’s good.”
John, fetching a cup of tea for Mary, joined in, “He’s been amazing, Mycroft. Sherlock and Amelia have a special bond. It’s helped us more than we could have imagined.”
Mary, coming from the kitchen with Amelia’s bottle, nodded in agreement. “It’s true. Sherlock’s been incredible, not just with Amelia but with all of us. Moving here was the best decision we could have made.”
Mycroft observed the interactions, the easy banter, and the genuine affection that filled the room. It was a stark contrast to the solitary existence Sherlock had led since returning from Eastern Europe. “It appears you have built quite the life here,” Mycroft admitted, allowing a rare show of brotherly affection in front of others.
Sherlock took the bottle Mary was holding and shifted to better hold the baby. “Indeed,” Sherlock replied, a small smile playing on his lips as he gave Amelia her bottle. “It seems I have.”