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"You didn't have to come."
"I know. I wanted to."
Sherlock slid next to John on the weather-worn, wooden bench in Regent's Park.
"I'm shit at this."
"At what?"
"Being a parent. A good friend. A bloody doctor. Everything, really," John sighed. "Rosie deserves better. I just...I'm trying so fucking hard, and it's still not good enough!"
He stood suddenly, pacing back and forth in front of Sherlock, wringing his hands anxiously as he continued.
"She's just being a toddler. She needs patience, and love, and...all I seem to have is sadness. A quick temper. It's all I can do most nights to stop myself from downing a bottle of whiskey when she goes to sleep! I'm pathetic. What am I going to do Sherlock? How the fuck am I supposed to do this alone?"
Sherlock blinked up at him, opened his mouth to reply only for his words to get drowned out by a clap of thunder so loud it felt like his internal organs were shivering. Raindrops began to pelt down soon after, so Sherlock held his coat above them and took a moment to revel in the closeness. It was now or never.
"I love you, John Watson. And if you'll have me, I'll spend the rest of my life ensuring you never feel alone again."