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His mind was a rush of cries and screams, both from his newborn child and his wife. He blinked, and he could still see them- his daughter screaming as the nurses took her away, Mary lying there so pale and stiff. As soon as he was close enough to see her face, as soon as the nurses looked up at him, he knew.
John found himself standing alone in the corridor overlooking a glass wall that protected the newborns from the outside world. There was an empty little table there where his daughter should lay; instead the nurses took her to look her over and run tests.
Shaking his head, he fought back the tears that threaten to come. He hadn’t cried yet. He’d just seen his daughter being born and his wife…and his wife…
And he still hadn’t cried.
Was that not good of him?
“John?” It was at hearing Sherlock’s soft, kind, voice that his body finally began to break down. After the adrenaline rush of labour his blood seemed to freeze like ice. Now he was slowly breaking apart, cracking into pieces. He saw his friend’s tall, slender, reflection in the glass, and he turned toward him.
“Sherlock,” John whispered, his voice trembling.
Finally the tears came. He threw himself at his best friend and buried his head in his chest. He didn’t care what anyone passing by thought- he needed Sherlock, wanted him, now more than ever. Sherlock’s long arms wrapped around him, and John shuddered. The consultant was still skin and bones, even though it had been almost a year since his return, but the warmth of his body was a welcome from the cold hell he had been trapped in for the last hour.
“She’s gone,” John croaked, though he knew Sherlock had already been told. “She’s gone.”
He let out a choked sob as Sherlock’s hand cupped his head. Eyes closed, he shook as tears seeped through his eyelids and his entire body shook. Sherlock was the only thing keeping him from collapsing to the ground.
“I’m so sorry,” Sherlock whispered. His voice was uncharacteristically stiff. “I’m so sorry, John. You don’t deserve this.”
But it wasn’t about what he deserved. It was about what was right and wrong. It wasn’t right for Mary to die only moments after her child was born. No matter what she had done in the past it just wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair. He found himself muttering those words under his breath as Sherlock held him, not daring to interrupt. It felt like they stood there for hours until he cried himself to exhaustion. The maternity ward was silent when he peeled himself away from Sherlock. His own face was a sea of dried tears, while his friend looked pale and ill.
“I can’t do this,” he confessed. Just as soon as they stopped, the tears began again. “I can’t do this, Sherlock. I don’t know how…I don’t know how to be a parent. I thought I could figure it out with her, but I can’t do this alone.”
“You won’t be alone,” Sherlock announced. A cold hand fell on his cheek, and John shuddered. “John…John, look at me.”
He shook his head before finally giving in and meeting Sherlock’s eyes. Something stirred in those dark orbs, and he realised Sherlock had never seen him cry before.
“You won’t be alone,” Sherlock said again, “and you do know about parenting. You’re a doctor, remember?”
“I couldn’t even save my own bloody wife,” John shot through gritted teeth. “How can I wake up every morning and look at her, knowing how her mother died and how I couldn’t save her?”
“She won’t think that way,” Sherlock whispered. He planted his hands on John’s shoulders and turned him back toward the room of newborns. “In a few moments they’re going to bring out a tiny little girl who will call you dad. You’ll have to go home and be there when she wakes up crying at night and be there when she’s sick, or hungry, or scared. You’ll teach her how to read, write, ride a bicycle-“
“I’m shit at bike riding,” John admitted. The tiniest of smiles peered from his lips at the confession, and Sherlock let out a snort.
“She’ll play sports then,” Sherlock suggested. “She needs someone to guide her through life. There’s no right or wrong…not as long as you’re there for her.”
“I’ll be there for her,” John whispered to himself. “I’m all she has.”
Sherlock nodded.
“And me,” he reminded him. They both shared small smiles- just the thought of Sherlock changing a nappy was enough to make him feel just a little bit better. “I talked to my mum and dad. They offered to let us stay with them.”
Frowning, John replied:
“Us?”
“Well,” Sherlock shrugged, “I assumed you wouldn’t want to stay with them by yourself. My point is: parents need guidance too. And look, they didn’t do so badly with me.”
Sherlock showed off one of his goofy grins and stood up tall and proud, making John laugh a little again.
“Dr Watson?” They both looked up to find one of the nurses who tried to save Mary holding a tiny, fidgety, baby girl in her arms.
His baby girl.
A smile broke through his tears as he accepted his child and held her in his arms for the first time. He let out a small sob as he was overwhelmed by emotion. Sherlock was right: he was a dad now. This little girl was his to guide through the world. He was a single father to the most beautiful girl in the world, a girl who already sported Mary’s nose and a few strands of her blonde hair.
“God help me,” John sighed. He caught one of his baby’s tiny feet in his hands, and a small smile broke through his tears. “She needs a name. I’m…I’m too exhausted. I can’t think straight. There’s too much going on, I’m not in the right mind. Sherlock, you have to name her.”
His friend’s eyes went wide, and even as he said it John wondered what he was doing. After all, Sherlock was the one who suggested naming John’s daughter after himself.
“John,” Sherlock warned, “I really don’t think you mean that. This is your daughter, your firstborn child.”
“Sherlock,” John sighed, offering Sherlock a small, reassuring, smile. “I mean it. I trust you with this. Now come on, you must have a favourite girl’s name.”
He watched as his friend gave the question some serious thought. John gazed down at his beautiful little girl and realised that his heart had finally stopped racing.
“Amelia,” Sherlock suddenly announced.
Eyes lighting up with surprise, John looked from Sherlock to his daughter and back. Amelia. How was it that the name already seemed to suit her?
“Amelia?” He asked. “Really? That’s your favourite girl’s name?”
Sherlock shrugged.
“It was the name of one of the nurses who tried to save Mary,” he explained.
His heart skipped a beat, and at that moment he could have forgiven Sherlock for everything that happened over the last couple of years. The thought was obviously so sincere, so heartfelt and pure, and possibly one of the most human things he had heard Sherlock say. He heard footsteps disappearing down the corridor, and somewhere in the back of his mind he registered that Sherlock must have seen the name on the name badge of the woman who just introduced him to his daughter. The idea was brilliant!
“Amelia,” John said, smiling down at his daughter. Tears rushed from his eyes, but he didn’t care. “I love it.”
“Daddyyyyy! Daddy! Daddy! DADDY!”
John’s eyes flashed opened. For a moment he could only breathe, trying to calm himself.
But he didn’t have much time to get himself together before the mattress shifted and something landed on top of him. Blinking, John rubbed his eyes and looked up to find his six year old daughter sitting on him.
“Daddy!” Amelia cried again. Her face was stained with tears. Her hair was a mess, and her Pooh Bear stuffed animal was in her hands. “Daddy!”
Instead of explaining she simply threw her hands around him, and John sat up, wrapping his arms around her tiny body. Her long blonde hair fell over him as she buried her head in his chest. A sudden boom of thunder shook their townhome, and he understood why his daughter was so upset.
“Oh Amelia,” he sighed. He let her climb under the sheets with him.
“They said on the news it would only storm for a little while!” Amelia whined. “I think we should get in the closet, like in tornadoes!”
He couldn’t help but to let out a tired laugh.
“We’re not going to get a tornado here, darling,” he promised. “It’s just a storm. It’s okay.”
“It’s loud,” Amelia moaned. She closed her eyes as he pulled the duvet over her head. It was only when he slipped under the sheet with her that he noticed she had a flashlight with her. That was his daughter- always prepared! She turned the flashlight on and pointed it at him. “Can I sleep with you?”
A smile slipped across his face as he kissed her nose.
“We’ve talked about this,” he pointed out, “and you promised us you were big enough to stay in your own bed.”
“Yeah, but storms weren’t apart of the agreement,” she argued. He smiled again; she was becoming more like Sherlock by the day. As though reading his mind, she asked: “When is Sherlock coming home?”
“When he’s done with his case,” John said, “and he’ll want his spot in the bed.”
A small grin crossed Amelia’s face, but she still didn’t budge. Another thunderbolt shook the house, and Amelia closed her eyes tightly. John reached out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulders, but she didn’t say anything as she clung to her Pooh Bear.
“Amelia,” he whispered. “It’s okay to be afraid of storms. “
“No it’s not,” she muttered. She hid her face in her hands, and he pulled her arms away. “You and Sherlock aren’t afraid of anything.”
She has no idea, John thought to himself. He closed his eyes for a moment and drew in a deep breath.
“Okay,” he announced, suddenly throwing the covers off them. “There is only one cure for a night like this.”
Normally he would be completely opposed to giving his daughter tea at one in the morning, but he was clearly never going to get back to sleep and neither was she if he couldn’t comfort her. And both of them sleep deprived, plus Sherlock coming off his case high, would make for a miserable Saturday. Thus he found himself carrying his daughter into the kitchen at an ungodly hour. He sat her down at the kitchen table while he put the kettle on. Each time the lightening flashed through the kitchen window Amelia flinched, and by the time her tea was ready her face was white as a ghost.
“Why do storms have to be so scary?” Amelia whined.
“It’s nature,” John said as he took out their two favourite tea mugs. “It’s beautiful, Amelia. If you really look at it, a storm is quite beautiful.”
Once their tea was ready he held out his hand. Swallowing nervously, she took it and let him lead her to the living room. Amelia considered the living room ‘ground zero’ during storms. Their picture window had light gold curtains that were so transparent shadows of lightning strikes illuminated the living room. It was in the living room that the rain seemed to be the loudest; he knew his daughter felt most vulnerable in this very spot during storms. If she was going to conquer her fear of storms, it had to be right here. She reluctantly let him lead her to the sofa, where they both collapsed in exhaustion.
“It’s all nature,” John explained quietly. “It’s okay to be afraid, at first, but it’s all…science and atmosphere and…all kinds of stuff Sherlock could explain to you. But it’s beautiful.”
Amelia sipped her tea and went quiet. He slipped an arm around her shoulder, trying to let her know that he was there for her. Thunder shook the house once again, and his daughter trembled in his arms. He held her tighter, wishing there was some way he could get through to her.
Maybe, he suddenly thought, maybe the best way was to just come clean and tell her the truth about her life. He and Sherlock had discussed it before and decided they would wait until she was older. She was so young, so innocent, and he didn’t want her to understand how scary the world really could be. At the same time, he wanted to Amelia to know how strong she was. He wanted her to know how strong Mary was.
“Amelia I want to tell you a story,” he began quietly, “a story about your mother. I want to prove to you that you are stronger than you think; it’s in your blood.”
His daughter looked at him, confused, as though she had never even considered there was any such story. The look pained him; how was he ever going to make her understand who her mother was?
“Mummy?” Amelia whispered.
Nodding, John closed his eyes, thinking of how Mary never had the chance to hear Amelia say that word. She never got to see her daughter smile or laugh or walk. He held Amelia closer as he began his story:
“It all started when Sherlock and I first met.”
“You were flat…flat…” Amelia attempted.
“Flatmates,” he offered.
A smile spread across Amelia’s face, and he was happy to see that all of her tears had faded away.
“With Mrs Hudson!” She cried.
John beamed at the thought of their former landlady. He rarely saw her anymore, except occasionally on holidays, but Amelia adored her- and vice versa.
“Yes,” John said, “with Mrs Hudson. I just got back from war-“
“In the desert!”
This time John rolled his eyes.
“Okay, so you know this part of the story,” he teased, planting a kiss to Amelia’s cheek. A flash of lightening illuminated the room, and his daughter squirmed in his arms. “Sherlock and I were best mates, sharing a flat and solving crimes together. But after a couple of years, Sherlock thought that he and I might be in some…trouble. So he...spent some time away, making sure he and I were safe. I was a bit sad for a while after he left, but then I met your mum.”
“How?” Amelia asked, her voice small against the roaring thunder.
“She was an assistant in the doctor’s office I was working at,” he replied with a smile. He could still remember the day he interviewed Mary- she seemed to spend the entire time staring deeply into his eyes. John took Amelia’s tiny hands in his as he continued: “Your mum and I fell in love very quickly. By the time Sherlock came back I was already ready to propose to her.”
Amelia giggled.
“What did you say to her?” She asked.
He opened his mouth but stopped at the memory of Sherlock appearing beside their table. At the time he thought he was hallucinating, but when he saw the disturbed look on Mary’s face he knew it was much more than that. He could still see Sherlock, trudging about town with a bloody nose, and the image still made him laugh.
“I just told her that I loved her very much,” John said, deciding to skip over a good bulk of the details, “and that I wanted her to be mine forever.”
Forever.
It was funny how short forever could really be.
Amelia’s eyebrows furrowed, and she suddenly looked at him like she wasn’t quite sure who he was. He swallowed nervously, wondering if she was somehow realising how deep this issue went.
“Do you still love her?” Amelia asked quietly.
Thunder erupted louder than ever before, but this time it was John who was startled so much that his eyes fell close and his heart skipped a beat.
As the rain fell harder against the windows, he let out a long breath and opened his eyes.
“Part of me always will,” he admitted. “Your mum she…she didn’t have the easiest life. There’s a lot about her I still don’t know, but I was madly in love with her.”
Amelia still squirmed. She looked perplexed, and her mind was clearly no longer on the storm. She stared at him like she was realising he was more than just dad. He could remember the exact moment he realised his parents were people, with pasts and problems of their own. It was when his grandmother died and he caught his father crying alone in corner of the funeral home. John was twelve years old.
He drew in a deep breath, hoping he was right in thinking Amelia was old enough to have this conversation.
“When your mother was pregnant,” he went on, carefully, “we found out she had a heart problem. We knew it would be difficult for her to survive labour, but we had hope. Before she went into labour she told me that no matter what happened her daughter was going to grow up to be a strong, healthy, brilliant, happy girl, and that is exactly what you have become. Your mum was amazing- even though she went through a lot in her life and didn’t make the best decisions. We didn’t…we didn’t have the easiest relationship, but she wanted so, so badly to have a family. Having a daughter changed everything, and even though she didn’t get to meet you, I know you made such a big difference in her life. You made her realise how strong she was.”
“I wish I knew her,” Amelia whispered. She leaned her head against his. “I’m sorry she was sick.”
John pulled back, disturbed to hear her say such a thing.
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he promised.
The pair of tiny blue eyes staring back at him began to water as she mumbled:
“She died after I was born.”
He was officially starting to regret having this conversation. How was she old enough to feel guilty about this?
“Listen to me,” he announced softly, holding her arms. “You did not cause your mother’s heart condition. Pregnancy didn’t cause it. Your mum was adopted. Did I ever tell you that?”
Amelia shook her head.
“She didn’t know a lot about her family history- or her own medical history. She could have begun developing heart problems before I even met her- she could have developed them when she was born. It had nothing to do with you.”
Deep down he knew that if Mary had found out about her condition before having a child she might have had a better chance of controlling it, but he tried not to think that way. After Mary’s death depression had consumed him once again because he did nothing but think about how he should have known about it beforehand. He had felt guilty about getting her pregnant instead of planning everything and making sure she was healthy. He felt guilty when he thought of how he stood there as the life left her eyes, overwhelmed with fear and frozen with anxiety instead of helping the nurses save her.
But at the end of the day, he knew (as Sherlock had reminded him many times) there was just nothing that could have been done.
“I’m still sorry she died,” Amelia whispered before burying her head against his neck.
“Yeah,” John sighed. “I wish you could have known her.”
Some days he still felt like he never knew Mary very well, but he wanted to make sure Amelia never knew the things her mum did.
“Do you have a picture of her?” Amelia suddenly asked.
John looked at her in surprise. He had shown her at least one picture of Mary before, but she was probably too young to remember it.
“Yeah,” he said, “yeah, come on.”
He carried her back into the bedroom and sat her on the bed while he fished through the closet. There was a small white chest that belonged to Mary that was still stuffed in the back of the closet. He pulled it out and opened, and Amelia joined him on the floor.
“This is her stuff?” Amelia asked, like she wasn’t sure if they should be going through it.
“Yeah,” he replied, “she and I lived in this house before Sherlock moved in. These are some of the things I kept of hers.”
He pulled out a photo the two had taken of them while on a date on the London Eye.
“Wow,” Amelia whispered as she held the photo in her hands. A grin broke across her face. “You look really young!”
He laughed as a small blush formed on his cheeks.
“Yes, thanks for that,” he teased. “That was our very first date.”
“It looks very romantic,” Amelia said.
She dug into the box and pulled out a photo album. John’s heart leapt when he realised it was the one from his and Mary’s wedding.
“That’s…that’s our wedding album,” he said quietly.
She turned to the first page, which showcased a rather breathtaking picture of Mary posing on the grand staircase at the cottage where their guests stayed.
“She’s very pretty,” Amelia said. She held the album up in her lap, like she did with picture books she tried to read. She turned to the next page and giggled. “It’s you! You look really nervous.”
It was an awkward picture of him. He remembered it very clearly- it was before he had any drinks and Sherlock suddenly pulled him aside and snapped a picture of him by a window, which brought a little too much light into the photo. He remembered debating with Sherlock about putting the picture in the album, but his friend had insisted on it.
Amelia turned the page again and there was Sherlock with his violin propped up against his neck. A small smile peered from John’s lips. Sherlock hadn’t noticed anyone had taken the picture, and it was one of the best pictures ever taken of him.
“You and Mummy!” Amelia announced as she turned the page again.
And there it was. Their wedding picture. The picture. The one they had spent hours practising different poses for.
He hadn’t looked at the picture in years, and looking at it nearly seven years later felt surreal. It felt like he was looking at pictures of another person’s life. Mary looked so bright, so full of life, and he looked like he was in heaven. Getting married, soon to be starting a family, practising medicine again- and he had his best friend back. Life was absolutely perfect at the moment the picture was taken.
And…it was perfect now. He really couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Was it okay that everything ended up the complete opposite of what he thought? Was he honouring Mary’s memory by falling in love with his best friend and raising their daughter with him?
Another page turned, and there were he and Sherlock, arms thrown around each other. They were beaming- and drunk.
“Were you in love with him then?” Amelia asked quietly.
John stayed quiet for a moment as he stared at the photo. Of course he hadn’t known, but there was definitely a special connection between the two of them he couldn’t explain at the time.
“I loved him as a friend,” John explained. “He was my closest mate, and I cared about him a lot. After your mum died, he was always there for me. He opened up a bit more emotionally, and after a while I realised he liked me more than just as a friend.”
“He looks like he’s in love with you,” Amelia teased.
They turned the page to a picture of him and Sherlock lounging at an empty table during the reception. Sherlock’s eyes were twinkling, and he was gazing at John more deeply than any friend had ever looked at him before.
“What would Mummy say about you and Sherlock falling in love?” Amelia asked.
John let out a chuckle because he could just imagine Mary’s face as she looked down and realised he was sharing a bed with Sherlock. Honestly, she would probably just…laugh. And laugh. And laugh.
There he was himself, laughing to the point that his daughter gave him that look she gave him whenever he was embarrassing her.
“Considering that I was quite insistent that I didn’t have feelings for Sherlock, she would have been shocked,” he admitted, “but I’d like to think that when the people we love have to leave us that they want us to be happy. The most important thing to her would be that you’re happy, safe, and taken care of.”
“She would want you to be happy too,” Amelia announced before stealing a kiss to his cheek. “She would want you to fall in love again.”
Hearing that from his daughter meant more than hearing it from anyone else. After he and Sherlock came out he heard it from everyone from Mrs Hudson to Mycroft, but deep down he found himself worrying what Amelia thought of their relationship. He knew she loved Sherlock, but he wasn’t her mum.
“You really think so?” He asked.
Amelia nodded and threw her arms around him. He held her tightly and closed his eyes as exhaustion suddenly overwhelmed him.
“You look so much like her,” John sighed. “She would be so proud of you.”
“She would be proud of you!” Amelia replied.
A tear slipped from his eye as he let out a small laugh. God he hoped she would be proud of him. No matter what she did to him and Sherlock, no matter what she did in the past, she would have wanted nothing more than for her daughter to be happy and loved. He could only hope she would be pleased with the way he was bringing Amelia up. He still kept Mary in mind when it came to all the big decisions about Amelia’s life, and he always would. He wanted to think Mary would be truly, truly happy with how his and their daughter’s life ended up.
And he wanted to think she would be proud of Sherlock too. He was so proud of his best friend, his lover, for how he stepped up to help with Amelia. He knew Mary adored Sherlock- even after shooting him- and he liked to think she would be tickled with how well he was handling parenthood.
Another loud clap of thunder shook the house, but this time neither of them trembled. He felt perfectly safe in his daughter’s arms, and at the sight of her peaceful face he knew she felt safe too. He glanced at the clock and was shocked to see it was two AM; it was by far the latest Amelia had ever been up.
“Do you think you can go back to sleep now?” John asked.
Amelia shook her head.
“I want to stay up with you!” She exclaimed.
He placed her on the bed and began gathering the photos.
“We can look at these another time,” he promised, “any time.”
He suddenly found a photo buried in between pictures of their dates. It was a single photo from their wedding, one they had once had framed in the living room. It was a black and white shot of Mary in her wedding gown. She had her back partially turned as she looked around at the camera. A small flower was in her hair. There was no smile on her face, just a look of pure contentment. A look of awe, like she was trying to sum up all her feelings about the day. She looked completely at peace.
The photo must have caught Amelia’s eye too because she pried it out of his hands and gazed at it for a long moment. He watched as his young daughter stared at the picture of her mother. A pang of sadness hit him as he thought of how Amelia would never get to know her. She would never even hear her voice, except for maybe on wedding video footage. She would never get a kiss goodnight from her or be tucked into bed by her. He swallowed hard as his eyes swelled up with tears; it was all becoming a bit too much.
“Can I keep this one?” Amelia asked softly.
John sat down next to her on the bed and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“You want to keep it?” He asked. She nodded, and he didn’t dare argue with her. “Of course you can, sweetie.”
She pulled him into another hug, and he squeezed her gently before he scooped her up in his arms and placed her under the covers.
“I can sleep with you tonight?” She said, her eyes wide with delight.
“Just for tonight,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “I think we both need each other tonight.”
He climbed into bed with her and wrapped his arms around her. Her golden hair fell across his face and shoulders as she buried her head in the pillow and closed her eyes.
She was asleep within moments, but he was still awake, gazing in awe at her when Sherlock came in over an hour later. He sat up, startled, and finally unhooked his arms from around his daughter. His limbs felt a bit numb and his mind was heavy, but he was grateful to finally have his lover back.
“Hey,” Sherlock greet as he leaned in to kiss him. “Sorry I’m so late.”
He kept it at that as he began peeling off his shirt. It didn’t take him long to notice Amelia was in their bed, and Sherlock grinned.
“Did the storm wake her up?” He asked.
“Yes,” John sighed, “and I know we agreed she needed to learn to sleep by herself when she’s scared but-“
“It’s fine,” Sherlock said.
He sat down next to John in only his boxers and socks and their hands fell together. Sherlock kissed him, long and sweet, and they embraced each other before falling apart.
“How did the stakeout go?” John asked.
“It went fine…” Sherlock said. His face scrunched up, like it did when he was debating telling John the truth. “Greg got shot at.”
“Oh my god!” John exclaimed. His heart began racing as his hands brushed through his hair. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine,” Sherlock promised. “It’s just funny, isn’t it? Seven years ago Greg could have gotten shot at and we would have treated it like just a normal day. We would have said that Greg was a strong guy and he could take care of himself. But now…everything just has more meaning, doesn’t it? People mean more.”
“It’s called love, love,” John teased. He stole a kiss to Sherlock’s nose.
“Yeah, well either way Mycroft was furious when Greg phoned him.”
He climbed over John and Amelia to his side of the bed and leaned down to give the little girl a kiss to her cheek.
“I can imagine,” John said. He bit his lip. “Were you shot at too?”
Sherlock shook his head.
“No, no I…fell asleep.” At the confession John erupted with laughter. “It’s not funny! I should have been there for him! I was just so bloody tired after watching this one for forty-eight hours straight. I haven’t slept in days! So Greg said he thought he had it covered and went after the guy on his own. Bloody stupid if you ask me.”
“Well I remember a time when you staying up at all hours was the norm,” John pointed out.
“I’m not that young anymore.”
His partner’s hand ran up and down his arm, and their laughter faded into sad smiles. A sudden memory of Sherlock holding him at Mary’s funeral hit him, and before he could help it his eyes were swelling with tears.
“John?” Sherlock asked quietly.
“It’s nothing,” John lied, wiping at his eyes, “I’ve just been so bloody emotional.”
Sherlock glanced over to Amelia, who was still sound asleep, and grabbed his hand. John didn’t protest as he was led back in the living room. The tears were going to come, and there was nothing he could do about it. When sat him down on the sofa John buried his hands against his eyes. He was breathing in deep breaths to keep himself from sobbing. John soon found himself being pulled into a hug, and as soon as his head was buried into Sherlock’s chest he broke down. His entire body erupted into shakes, and a steady stream of muffled sobs filled the room.
“John,” Sherlock said quietly, placing a hand at the back of his neck. The strong, long, musician’s fingers John had become so acquainted with began gently messaging him. “It’s okay.”
“No,” John said, gasping for breath. “No, it’s not.”
He shook his head as he peeled himself away from his lover. Their hands fell together as he tried to catch his breath, and after a moment he was finally able to explain:
“It’s wrong that this still affects me.”
“No!” Sherlock cried quietly. “No, John, it’s not. She was your wife, the mother of your child-“
“The woman who shot you,” John mumbled.
“John,” Sherlock warned, placing his hands on the doctor’s shoulders. “I know how hard today will be for you, but it’s perfectly okay.”
Biting his lip, John hesitated before admitting:
“I told Amelia about Mary- just the basics. I told her about how we met and fell in love. I told her about when you left-“
Sherlock’s face paled, and John quickly corrected himself.
“I told her you had to move out for a while to make sure I was safe, that’s all. I told her about Mary’s heart disease and how amazing you were to me through all of that. I told her about how she died.”
His lover’s fingers squeezed his shoulders, and as he reminded himself that Sherlock was once again there, he felt a bit calmer. He knew he needed to talk through this- it’s what his therapist had been telling him for years. Maybe now was finally the time. With a sigh John lifted his tired eyes up to his lover, hoping with all his heart that he would understand what he had to say.
“She asked me if I still loved her,” he confessed softly. A hand fell on his face, but John’s eyes fell to the ground, to ashamed to look at Sherlock as he confessed: “I told her part of me always would.”
“John,” Sherlock called softly, using his hand to gently lift his chin up. “I would never ask you to stop loving Mary, and I think it’s great that you’re talking to Amelia about her. Yeah, we thought we’d wait until she was older, but she should know the truth. Well…she should know most of the truth.”
John’s hands shook as he wiped at his tears.
“I want to visit the grave today, but she’s so excited about the party,” John said.
Sherlock held him as he calmed himself down by breathing slowly.
“I’ll get Mycroft to watch her,” he said. “Oh, speaking of which-“
With a small grin, Sherlock pulled out his mobile and pulled up a picture. He handed it over to him, and John let out a laugh when he saw it was a picture of a cake. It was a vanilla cake with purple icing around the edges, pink flowers, and yellow butterflies.
“Mycroft did this?” John asked. “Wow, he’s getting good at this baking thing.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty incredible. Plus, it’s is free.”
He stole a kiss to John’s cheek before taking his mobile back.
“John,” Sherlock said quietly, facing him again. Their hands clasped together, their foreheads fell together, and Sherlock stayed quiet a moment before announcing quietly: “I love you so much. I think it’s great that we got to be best friends before becoming…romantically involved. I would never want you to regret your marriage, and I would never want you to forget it. Mary will always be a huge part of your life, and whenever you need to talk about her, or visit her, or talk to Amelia about her, I’ll be right by your side.”
Sherlock kissed him on the lips, through salty tears, and John couldn’t help but to smile a little.
“Amelia asked me what Mary would have thought about me and you being together. Can you even imagine?” They shared a laugh and both relaxed back into the sofa. “I was wondering what she would have thought about us raising Amelia together.”
“Oh god!” Sherlock snorted. “She wouldn’t believe you in a million years if you told her I was braiding her daughter’s hair and teaching her how to ride a bike.”
With a grin Sherlock turned him, revealing just how exhausted he looked. He’d never seen bags under Sherlock’s eyes until Amelia came along, and lately they had been a permanent feature to the consultant’s face. They both needed sleep; they needed a break.
“What do you think about taking a holiday?” John asked. Sherlock’s eyebrows shot up in interest. Holidays weren’t exactly Sherlock’s thing, but while his partner would normally never take a break from anything he could tell the idea of getting away and relaxing was appealing to him.
“A holiday?” Sherlock repeated.
“Yeah,” John replied, taking his hand. “You know, you and me in France or Spain or…bloody America, for all I care. Lately everything has just been completely mad, and I need to get away from it for a while. I’m sure Mycroft and Greg wouldn’t mind watching Amelia.”
“She should come with us.”
John’s jaw fell open as he found himself momentarily paralised with shock.
“You…want to go on a family holiday?” John asked slowly. “Sherlock…you do know going on holiday as a family doesn’t really count as a holiday. Being parents abroad will be, if possible, even more stressful than being parents at home.”
“Yeah, I know,” Sherlock grinned, “but we’ve never been on a proper trip with her before. We always talked about going when she was old enough, and I think she is. I think she’d love it.”
“Really?”
As he sank into the sofa he thought about it, trying to picture Sherlock sitting on a beach wearing sunglasses. He burst out laughing at the thought, feeling better than he had in days. Yes, he still mourned Mary, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be excited about the future he had with Sherlock.
“Yes, really!” Sherlock insisted. “She’s been begging us to take her to Disneyland. Why not?”
Now he wouldn’t be able to stop laughing for ages. He wanted to immediately text Greg, just so he could joke about it with someone. Sherlock must have been really sleep deprived if that suggestion just came out of his mouth.
“You want to take Amelia to Disneyland?” John said. He had to bite his lip to keep from giggling. “Do you have any idea what Disneyland is?”
Sherlock frowned, frustrated. He clearly had no idea what he had just suggested they do.
“You know what,” John said, slapping a hand on Sherlock’s knee, “I’m not even going to tell you. You’re just going to have to find out when we get there.”
He got to his feet, finally feeling like he might be able to get some sleep, and reached down to help Sherlock stand up. His boyfriend let out a grunt as he stood and collapsed into John’s arms. They held each other, eyes closed, and a sudden memory hit him. They were in Baker Street, with Mary, planning seating arrangements. A small grin slipped across his face; he had always thought Sherlock missed his calling as a wedding planner. The song Sherlock wrote for he and his bride flooded back to him, and for the first time since that night John yearned to hear him play it again.
“I love you,” John whispered, “thank you for watching her this week.”
“Of course,” Sherlock breathed. His lips brushed against John’s neck, warm and comforting. “Whatever you need today, I’m here. If you need to talk or just…whatever…just wink at me or something.”
John snorted into his shoulder. He knew by ‘whatever’ Sherlock meant ‘break down’, like he embarrassingly did after Amelia’s party last year.
“I’m not going to wink at you if I’m about to breakdown crying,” John protested.
Sherlock gave him a squeeze, and John let out a few deep breaths to clear his mind. He was beginning to think Amelia was right about what Mary would think about the two of them.
“She would be proud,” John suddenly announced. “I think Mary would be really, really proud of both of us. Impressed…and proud.”
“Yes,” Sherlock agreed, taking his hands. “I’d like to think she would be.”
He allowed Sherlock to quietly lead him back to the bedroom, where he slipped into bed next to his sleeping daughter. He was amazed at how easily she slept; it was like she never fully took in the constant stress surrounding their family. To her, there were no threats, no stress, no reason to ever be sad. She was constantly happy, constantly grateful, and god did he wish he had that kind of strength.
The clock struck 4 AM. Amelia was officially seven years old.
Leaning forward, John planted another soft kiss to his daughter’s cheek, brushed the hair out of her face, and whispered:
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”