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Some traits you inherit genetically from your parents, others you pick up from their example. Rosie had the misfortune of picking up her father’s tendency to suffer from nightmares. Sherlock wasn’t surprised by this, of course., she’d been sharing a bedroom with her father ever since they moved back into the apartment in Baker Street. Even if John didn’t wake up screaming anymore, she was bound to sense him silently coping in his side of the room in the middle of the night, pushing back down the memories, the fears and the guilt that plagued his subconscious. Babies are sensitive in ways they grow out of later on in life, so even though they couldn’t quite imagine what sort of thing she would have a nightmare about at two years of age, both Sherlock and John had a pretty good sense as to why she was having them.
“I know, darling, it’s no fun, is it..?” John murmurs sympathetically into his crying daughter’s hair, as he rocks her slowly, pacing around the sitting room. It is late afternoon, and her daily nap has come to an abrupt and unpleasant end with a heart wrenching wail they could have heard just as well without the baby monitor.
Sherlock has his laptop open on his knees, but he isn’t paying it any attention. His eyes follow the Watsons around the room, his mind racing to think of something he could possibly do to help, and coming up with nothing. He keep quiet and still, thinking that perhaps the best he can do is not bother John in his attempt to soothe the poor girl.
She looks so inconsolable. Babies have no knowledge of the world and its troubles, what could possibly inspire this kind of terrible emotion in them? Sherlock remembers being so confused when a small bump to the head, leaving barely a red mark, had once set her screaming, tears streaming down her face for an entire half hour. You’d have thought she’d been shot. Eventually, the pain had subsided enough to allow her to be distracted by a picture book, but Rosie isn’t in pain this time, at least not any physical kind.
“Right, this isn’t working.” John says finally, after minutes of shh-ing and cooing, and even some attempts at visual distraction. He turns to face his silent flatmate with an air of desperation.
“Sherlock, I’m about to do something. I never do this with other people around, even Mary hasn’t witnessed it, but you’re here and.. Well, my ear’s about to fall off and I’m out of options.”
Sherlock is nothing if not curious at this point, so he is definitely not about to offer to leave the room, not if John has already resigned himself to being exposed anyway.
“You have to promise me that you won’t laugh.”
“John, Rosie is clearly suffering. How could I possibly laugh at a..”
“Yes, she is, and for some reason this is the only thing that works one hundred percent of the time. But, Sherlock, if you make this any harder on me..”
“I promise, I promise. Just pretend I’m not even here, Do whatever you have to do.” Sherlock raises both hands in surrender, suppressing a smile that’s already tugging at the corners of his lips. What delightfully embarrassing thing is he about to witness?
John eyes him with distrust for one more moment, then turns to look in the randomly chosen direction of the kitchen. Sherlock pretends to look back down at his computer screen, but every now and then still looks up, waiting for whatever miracle remedy is about to occur.
At first there’s nothing but Rosie’s continuous crying, and John swaying to and fro, building up his courage presumably.
Then Sherlock hears it. His voice is soft and barely audible through the loud cries, his eyes closed and his forehead touching that of his daughter’s, his mouth forming the words of an old American love song.
“Wise men say… Only fools rush in.
But I.. can’t.. Help.. falling in love, with you.
Shall I stay…”
Sherlock doesn’t even notice the grin spread across his face until John looks up and catches him staring. Rosie’s cries were already fading into whimpers, but are picking up again now her father has cut himself off, pointing an accusing finger at his flatmate.
“There, see? I knew it! I’m taking her upstairs.” John says indignantly, and turns to leave.
“Wh- I didn’t say a word! John, please, you know it’ll be harder to calm her down up there. Please stay, I swear I wasn’t laughing.”
“You were smiling!”
“Well, I didn’t know what to expect, did I? Just- just get back in here, and ignore me. It’s lovely, truly. That’s all I was reacting to.” Sherlock gets up and sets his laptop on the table, waving him back, in all seriousness.
“No, I can’t now, can I? The moment’s ruined.” John winces when Rosie turns her head and gives him an earful of her displeasure.
“Clearly it isn’t, she’s still crying, isn’t she? Go on. Do you want me to sing with you?”
John does a double take at him, caught by surprise by the offer, and shakes his head, “No, that’s alright. I’ll just turn my back on you so I don’t see you.”
“By all means, do.” Sherlock nods, relieved at having managed to convince John to stay.
John starts up again quickly, before he can think about losing his nerve.
“Shall I stay… Would it be a sin
If I.. can’t.. Help.. falling in love, with you.”
John wasn’t exaggerating when he said this song works. The effect is almost immediate, when he resumes the the gentle melody, it is as if she is quieting down just to be able to hear him better.
“Like a river flows… surely to the sea…
Darling, so it goes. Some things.. Are meant to be…”
John, his back still turned, doesn’t see Sherlock reach for his violin, but Rosie does and watches wide eyed with anticipation. When John moves on to the next verse, Sherlock interjects carefully at first, small elaborations to the basic melody, dancing playfully around his words.
“Take my hand. Take my whole life too.
Cuz I.. can’t.. Help.. falling in love with you.
Like a river flows… surely to the sea…
Darling, so it goes. Some things.. Are meant to be…”
John has turned back to face him, holding Rosie up so that she can watch the violin too. As the song progresses, John’s singing becomes louder and more confident, Rosie joins in with gleeful, wordless shouting and claps her hands. Sherlock is no longer the only one with a giant grin. The final verse is practically bellowed by all three of them, the violin chiming in gay support of this sour afternoon turned joyous.
“Take my hand! Take my whole life too!
Cuz I.. can’t.. help.. Falling in love with you!
Cuz I.. can’t.. help.. Falling in loooooooovvvveeeee wiiiiiitttthhhhh yyoooouuuuu!!!”
When the song finally ends and their laughing slowly subsides, they can hear Mrs. Hudson’s enthusiastic clapping all the way from downstairs.
“Oh dear, we were a bit loud, weren’t we?” John says, though he can’t stop smiling.
“I’m sure she appreciates it.” Sherlock replies with a dismissive nod, looking from happy father to now giggling daughter.