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Sherlock was in his usual position- dressing gown donned, despite also having on a button up and trousers, sitting in his leather chair, shoulders tensed, a calculating expression across his features, chin pointed down just slightly as he lips just barely graced the tips of his steepled fingers.
In front of him, a child- blonde pigtails tied perfectly symmetrical, wide blue eyes staring back at him. She sat on her hands, feet dangling straight forward off the end of John’s chair. The chair was much too big for her small frame, but somehow still managed to suit her.
A few beats passed.
Sherlock opened his mouth, took a breath. “There’s no use lying to me.” He started. “I know you did it.”
Rosie tilted her head. She refused to speak.
“There are biscuit crumbs on your coveralls.” He told her. “There’s a smudge of chocolate in the corner of your mouth, and your shoe is untied from jumping to reach the cupboard.”
Rose smirked and jumped down from the chair, pigtails bouncing wildly as she did. “I’m bored, Daddy, let’s play a game.” She suggested brightly, as if he hadn’t just accused her of anything.
Sherlock watched her toddle over to her toy chest. “I’m not your father, you know.” He called after her, not for the first time.
“How so?” She shot back, same as she always did. As usual he didn’t have a reply that wouldn’t upset John for telling his four year old daughter (“if she wants you to be her father then you damn well will be, Sherlock, or I swear to God I will-”) so he stayed silent.
She pulled out Mastermind and held it up for him to see- the box covering most of her body except for her face and just below her knees. She gave him that expression that she knows he never says no to- just the right mix of adorable, pleading, and challenging.
Sherlock opened his mouth, paused, and then nodded, jumping up from his seat. “Yeah, all right.” He agreed, earning a delighted grin from Rosie as she plopped down on the floor and began setting up the game. He sat down in front of her, cross legged, dressing gown fanning out dramatically around him.
Later, on the fourth round of both of them solving it entirely too quickly, Rosie looked up suddenly. “You have a client.” She informed him.
He squinted at her. There hadn’t been a knock on the door.
“I heard a car pull up outside. It had to be a cab because the door opened and closed, and then it drove away. Mrs. Hudson is already home. Daddy is still at work. The bell over Speedy’s didn’t chime.”
“Could be the neighbor.” Sherlock challenged, distantly wondering if he should get his hearing checked, or if he had just been that distracted by the board game.
Rosie shrugged. “Not as likely though.”
“I’ll bet you the last biscuit there’s no client.” He said, sitting forward, steepling his fingers.
“I already ate the last biscuit.” Rosie replied, and then her eyes widened as she realised what she had done.
Sherlock smirked triumphantly, he opened his mouth to reprimand her, but before he could, a knock sounded from downstairs. Rosie returned her own triumphant smirk, mirroring his position with her own smaller hands.
The client appeared in the open doorway, clearing his throat, “um, hello I-” he started nervously.
Neither one of them looked away from the other as they both pointed to the wooden chair facing the fireplace without speaking. “Oh- um, okay.” The client muttered, shuffling awkwardly to the seat indicated by the consulting detective and the four year old sat cross legged on the floor.
By unspoken agreement they both stood up together after a few moments, Sherlock taking long strides over to his chair, and Rosie attempting to copy his graceful movements, but failing as she had to literally climb into her father’s chair. She didn’t seem to notice this fact though as she turned herself over and steepled her hands again seriously.
Sherlock failed to conceal his amusement in a slight smirk behind his fingers, but did quirk an eyebrow at her- a movement she did, of course, copy.
The client cleared his throat again at the impending silence. “Shouldn’t- um- shouldn’t Dr. Watson be here?” He asked.
“He’s at work.” Rosie answered, still not looking to him. “I’m his substitute.”
“She’s much better at it, really.” Sherlock added, earning a grin from Rosie.
After the client had left with the knowledge that he is, in fact, adopted, Sherlock picked up his book on medieval torture while Rosie picked up her own book- the one Aunt Molly had given her called She Persisted.
They sat like that for a while, before suddenly Sherlock looked down to find Rosie crawling into his lap, coming in between his face and his book. “What are you doing?” He asked, watching her sit so that she was facing him.
“Deducting.” She replied easily, even though it was clearly a lie. She just felt like getting in his personal bubble- a hobby of hers since she had been a baby.
“You mean ‘deducing.’ ” He corrected her as she reached up to pull at one of the curls in front of his forehead. “Deducting means to subtract or take away from a total.”
Rosie tilted her head at that. “Isn’t it sort of the same thing then?”
He opened his mouth to tell her no, but closed it as he processed the thought. He glanced at her sideways, and she smiled brightly in return.
John came home to find the two of them back on the floor, crossed legged, hands steepled, facing the far wall where the parts of their most recent case was pinned. Sherlock reached down to take a sip of his tea, Rosie did the same a moment later with her juice box- a perfect imitation of him.
He let out a long suffering sigh, and retreated into the kitchen to make his own tea. When he returned he leaned against the doorjamb to watch this mirroring act continue before finally speaking. “You know, I’m not really sure how I feel about my daughter choosing a sociopath as her role model.” He commented.
Sherlock was about to make some dry comment about it being par for the course in John’s life, but Rosie spoke up before he could. “Daddy’s not a sociopath.” She said, and Sherlock turned to squint down at her.
John smirked at the expression on his best friend’s face. “How do you figure that, Rose?” He asked.
Rosie spun so that she was facing her (biological) father. “Your tea.” She answered easily.
John cocked his head to the side. “My tea?” He repeated interestedly.
Rosie nodded. “Sociopaths, by definition, don’t have feelings- are incapable of them. They don’t care about other people.” She said, sounding like she was quoting a book John definitely didn’t give her permission to read. “But Daddy loves us.” She said matter of factly.
John raised his eyebrows at that while next to her Sherlock balked (well, balked in the way that Sherlock did- which was just a small involuntary twitch). “Oh?” John was trying really very hard not to laugh. He knew this of course, Sherlock had said it in more or less words plenty of times before, but he was curious what led his (their) daughter to the conclusion. “Did he say that?”
“No.” Sherlock denied vehemently while Rosie said it mildly.
She shrugged. “You always buy more of your tea when you see it’s getting low- always before there’s only one bag left, but never before there’s less than five.”
John glanced down to his mug and wondered how long she’d been studying him to figure that out. “Yeah?”
“After you had your last cup yesterday I hid the rest.” She told him. “But there you are with your tea. You wouldn’t have known to get more. Which means Daddy saw and went to the shop.”
John glanced to Sherlock and saw that she was definitely right, but challenged her anyway. “How do you know Mrs. Hudson didn’t do the shopping?”
“I waited until right after she did the shopping yesterday and there was a perfect amount left to hide it.” Rose explained her experiment easily. “It’s more likely Daddy noticed and went out than that Mrs. Hudson checked again right after she’d just restocked.”
Sherlock huffed smally. “All that does is prove that someone did the shopping, and if it were me, all it proves is that I bought tea. It says nothing of either me or John.”
Rosie shook her head. “Nu-uh. You and Daddy drink different tea. Why would you buy tea you don’t drink?”
“Yeah Sherlock,” John tilted his head at the detective, enjoying himself immensely. Rosie was of the few people in the world capable of unhinging Sherlock like this. “Why would you buy tea that you don’t drink?”
Sherlock glared at him. “Fine. I noticed we were out of your tea, and I happened to have gone out early this morning, and I happened to have gone to the store. Proves nothing of any emotional regard for you, and it doesn’t even address Rosie.”
John looked back to his daughter. “He’s got you there Rose. What about you?” He asked her, already knowing she’d have an answer.
Rosie smirked. “I ate the last biscuit.” She said proudly. “Last time someone did that Daddy hung him out the window.”
“Yes, because my tendency to hang people out the window is a great testament to how I’m not a sociopath.” Sherlock butted in sarcastically. He had his arms folded in front of him now, looking a bit like a pouting child.
“Did he know you ate the last biscuit?” John asked, ignoring him.
Sherlock scoffed indignantly. “Of course I knew. She had crumbs all over her.”
Rosie nodded proudly. “Yep. He caught me out and everything. But then I just asked if he’d play a game with me and he forgot all about it. Even offered me the last biscuit again later.”
“I bet you the last biscuit.” He corrected her.
“Even though you knew I was right.” She added, giving him a knowing smile. He rolled his eyes, but otherwise didn’t correct her again. “So not only did you not care that I’d stolen the last biscuit- so little that you deleted the fact, you wanted me to have it. ” She sat forward, putting her chin on her hand. “So what makes me so special? Is it cause you love me?” She sang the last words.
Sherlock squinted down to the small girl grinning up at him rather adorably. She was her mother’s child through-and-through. He glanced up to John who was giving him much the same look.
He groaned and stood up. “You two are insufferable.” He proclaimed, before striding down the corridor and into his room.
John and Rosie shared knowing smirks, both of them holding up their hands to count down the seconds.
3…
2…
1…
Sherlock’s door creaked open. “And I love you both.” He muttered bitterly through the crack.
Rosie grinned proudly while John just chuckled indulgently, rolling his eyes.