Chapter Text
John rubbed his eyes as he collapsed into the back of the cab. It had been a long night. A stupidly long night.
When the seat belt was on, he stared into his lap, looking at his folded hands. It took him nearly a minute to realize the cabbie was staring at him, waiting for an address.
“Oh...” John muttered his home address, only to blurt out a different one minutes later, causing the cabbie to make a U-turn. A few other cars honked at him as he cut them off. John nearly forgot to pick up Eleanor.
“Rough night?” the driver asked, adjusting his rear-view mirror.
“Yeah.”
John stared out of the window as the streets of London passed by in a blur. Just mere hours ago he was stuck in the hospital's waiting room, rubbing his clammy hands together as he just waited. A few crumpled magazines sat on the sad grey table in the middle of the room, but John ignored them. Reading wouldn't help his nerves. Nothing could help his nerves.
It was only when John was finally able to see her that he let out that long breath he had been holding. She was stable. She was somewhat awake and her eyes latched onto John's as he entered the room.
“What are you doing here?”
John could barely recognize his sister. Most days he forgot he even had a sister. She became a memory in his mind rather than a person, and he had every reason to think of her as such. She didn't show up at the wedding or come see the baby. Never sent birthday cards or Christmas cards. It was as if she didn't exist. Her surprise was justified.
“Got a call,” he quietly replied. Apparently he was still listed as her next of kin. It was a bit of a surprise getting a call to hear his sister was in the hospital. The bigger surprise was John's sudden urge to visit her.
They barely spoke. The conversations they did had were short and felt strained. John's leg started to ache and Harry grew tired and struggled to stay awake.
“I should go then,” he said quietly. “Pick up Eleanor.”
“Who?”
John left without saying another word.
When the cab arrived at the flat, he instructed the driver to wait and keep the meter running. Sherlock would be pleased to get rid of the child. After a long day that's all he needed – Sherlock scowling at his daughter, pretending to forget her name, acting as if even looking at her would make him ill.
“Before you say anything, I know I was gone longer than expected,” John announced as he strolled into the flat, nearly expecting Sherlock to throw the baby directly at him. Sherlock would complain, possibly go on a rant that he wasn't a babysitter and why didn't John just call a babysitter over. Surely there was some teenage girl on the street who could do with extra spending money. Because Sherlock obviously had better things to do than look after a child. The cases were important – his work was important but Eleanor didn't mean a thing do him, did she?
The sight John saw before him was a surprise.
Eleanor was out of her carrier and sitting in Sherlock's lap, leaning against him for support. Sherlock was staring at his phone, but he wasn't sending out texts. Instead, he was reading. It took John a moment to figure out what exactly Sherlock was reading to the child, but it finally dawned on him: Sherlock was reading John's blog. Eleanor seemed interested in the story as she chewed on her fingers. There was something about the sight, something about Sherlock reading to Eleanor, engaging with her that seemed fitting. As if Sherlock had always spent his evenings reading to her. As if they were a perfect little family and for a moment, John felt like he was part of that family. It looked right and it felt right and suddenly the thought of taking Eleanor away from Sherlock and getting her home filled him with dread.
John took a tentative step inside of the flat and Sherlock stopped reading and stared at the intruder. A look of embarrassment flashed across his face and he put the phone down.
“Harry's going to be alright, I take it?” Sherlock asked as he rushed Eleanor back into her carrier, strapping her in. John didn't bother to ask how Sherlock knew that.
“Yeah. Yeah for now, anyway.”
Sherlock straightened out his shirt as he glanced down to Eleanor. She looked unhappy to be suddenly in her carrier, away from the attention she was getting. “I'm sure it's past her bedtime.”
“Yeah.” John picked up the carrier and swung the diaper bag around his shoulder. “I take it the two of you got on okay?”
“Yes. Fine.”
“Did she cause any trouble?”
“No.”
John glanced down at his child, feeling as though he had spoiled a perfect moment. Part of him wanted to assure Sherlock that it was fine if he wanted to hold Eleanor. But he knew if he suggested such a thing, Sherlock would only turn that suggestion down. Though he did make a note of leaving Eleanor alone with him again. Maybe he just needed one-on-one time to get to knew her, to appreciate her. John adjusted his grip on the carrier and made his way to the door, a small grin on his lips. “I'll see you around, then,” he said quietly.
Sherlock hummed. “And John? Never ask me to look after her again."