Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a mundanely grey Tuesday evening, and Sherlock and John hadn’t had more than a few hours sleep a night for days. Rosie had finally dozed off, and 221B Baker Street was enjoying a rare moment of calm.

John had collapsed onto his chair, eyes glazed as he stared up at the ceiling, and Sherlock was sprawled across his own armchair horizontally, arm flung over the back. For a moment, the calm spread through the room, a peaceful quiet that was made somehow warmer with the gentle ticking of the clock and the distant sound of traffic from beyond the window. 

The quiet was interrupted by a tapping of feet up the stairs, accompanied by a chinking and clattering, then Mrs Hudson poked her head round the door.

“Hello boys! I’ve got you both a cuppa- just this once, I’m not your housekeeper- but you do both look terrible. It is getting rather late though, isn’t it? You should probably start sorting out your dinner.”

She put the tray onto the side table. John groaned and made to stand up, but Mrs Hudson tutted and patted him on the shoulder. 

“It’s alright dear, I’ll handle this one- you look exhausted!”

John gave in, sighing, then straightened up again, rolling his neck. 

“I still need to sort out dinner. And he’s not going to do it,” he sighed, waving his hand absentmindedly at Sherlock, who was now gently snoring.

“Well, why don’t you go out for your dinner for a change? Just the two of you- I’m sure someone else can manage little Rosie,” Mrs Hudson pointed out, cooing as she leaned over the crib bedside her.

“That- that’s quite a good idea actually.”

“Well, of course dear- I’m full of them.”

She straightened up and handed John a cup of tea, keeping the other for herself. 

“I’m afraid Sherlock’s too wiped out for the tea,” she continued, reducing her voice to a stage whisper, “but you’ll have to wake him up before you go out.”

A comfortable silence nestled around them again. 

“Thanks,” John said, sipping his tea, “for everything.”

“Oh, it’s nothing really,” Mrs Hudson chuckled, “and it’ll be lovely for the two of you to have a nice quiet date- what with the baby, your hands are probably too full for any romance most of the time, aren’t they?”

“Mrs Hudson, I’m not- we’re not- I have told you- he’s not my boyfriend.”

She smiled knowingly, raising her eyebrow.

“Well, you know what I say- live and let live. Anyway, I’d best be going. Have a lovely night!”

She headed towards the door, balancing the tray on one hand as she opened the door.

“Wait- Mrs Hudson?” 

She paused, looking back over her shoulder.

“I hate to ask another favour, but would you mind watching over Rosie while we’re out? I know you’ve done so much for us, but Molly is the only other one who knows Rosie as well as you, and she’s busy on Tuesday evenings- a book club, I think- so would you mind?”

“Of course dear- and don’t worry, I do know which one’s her favourite rattle, and how to change her nappy, and how to feed her, so I don’t need the whole speech again.”

“Okay. Great. Thank you. Well, we’ll probably leave in about an hour then.”

Mrs Hudson nodded at him, smiling, then left, tea tray clattering again as she headed back downstairs. 

John turned to look fondly back at Sherlock. With his eyes closed and all tension gone from his face, he looked more peaceful than he ever did while awake, although since having John back in the flat, he did seem a little less tightened up within himself anyway. The snoring had stopped and he breathed softly, mouth slightly agape. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, almost imperceptibly. The clock kept up its rhythmic ticking, but all sense of time seemed to soften and deflate. John’s gaze had absentmindedly fallen to Sherlock’s lips when he suddenly drew in a deeper breath, and his eyes fluttered open, catching John’s immediately. 

John’s gaze darted away. 

“Sherlock. You’re awake.”

“How long was I-” Sherlock cleared his throat, “how long was I out?”

“Only about an hour. But take what you’re given, right?” John chuckled, overly conscious of how his eyes were darting anywhere but Sherlock’s face. 

“Shouldn’t we be having something to eat?” Sherlock asked, voice still raspy from sleep. 

“Mrs Hudson suggested we went out for a change- I’m not sure where we’d go, but it would be good for both of us to have a break.”

“But... Rosie?”

“Taken care of. Mrs Hudson will look after her.”

“And did you tell her about the...”

“Yes- the toys, the nappy, the milk- she knows the drill.”

“Great. It’ll be just like old times. Two people who like each other going out and having fun.” He winked.

John chuckled awkwardly, and pulled himself onto his feet. 

“So- where do you want to go? I told Mrs Hudson we’d leave around-” he looked at his watch- “half an hour from now.”

“How about Angelo’s place? Good food there, and it might be on the house- Angelo owes me for-”

“-getting him off for those murders- I remember.”

They both smiled, eyes meeting in mutual reminiscence.

“Alright. That’s sorted,” John said, “I’m going to head up quickly- I don’t think I’ve changed in three days.”

Chapter Text

The restaurant wasn’t too busy, as it was midweek, so John and Sherlock managed to get seats at the window overlooking the street. A soft murmur of voices and the clink of cutlery created a soothing atmosphere. The two surveyed the shop: mostly filled with couples enjoying a quiet night out. Angelo approached their table grinning, carrying a tea light in each hand and menus tucked under his arm.

“If it isn’t my favourite customers! You’ve been going strong for quite some years now, despite that two year hiatus. Maybe tonight’s the night to pop the question?” He winked suggestively. 

John put his head in his hand, sighing. 

“Angelo. We are not a couple.”

Angelo nodded teasingly, and placed the candles and menus in the centre of the table.

 “You have a nice time, boys.”

John looked up at Sherlock, and rolled his eyes a little.

“I can’t believe people are still saying that,” he said, half laughing, keeping one eye on Sherlock to see his reaction

“Mmm.” Sherlock scanned his menu, poker-faced as always. 

They ordered and started to eat in comfortable silence. Occasional headlights flashed over them from the window, but the restaurant was dark and warm.

“Every time we eat here it brings me back to the day we met,” John said.

He chuckled softly.

“What? What is it?”

“I’m just remembering the conversation we had- God, that was bloody awkward.”

Sherlock smiled slightly. 

—

“Girlfriend? No. Not really my area.”

John nods, chewing his food, then realisation hits him. 

“Oh, right. Do you have a boyfriend?”

He pauses. 

“Which is fine, by the way.”

Sherlock interrupts him, “I know it’s fine.”

John smiles uncomfortably.

—

“I mean, that whole ‘it’s fine, it’s fine’ thing- I think I overdid it a bit. And honestly, I should’ve just stuck with ‘are you seeing anyone?’- hell of a lot easier.”

—

“So you’ve got a boyfriend then.”

“No”

“Okay,” John chuckles awkwardly, licking his lips, “you’re unattached. Just like me.”

He sighs and clears his throat.

“Fine. Good.”

Sherlock looks at him curiously out the corner of his eye, head tilting slowly as he works out how to reply. 

—

“I have regrets from that first conversation too,” Sherlock adds, unusually quietly.

John looked up, head tilted. 

“Like what?”

—

“John, I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I’m flattered by your interest, I’m...”

“No”

“...really not looking for any...”

“No, I’m not asking... no...”

—

“Well, for a start, I shouldn’t have shut your advances down so quickly.”

He paused.

“You know, self-esteem and all that. Rejection isn’t great for mental wellbeing.”

John chuckled.

“Really, it was fine- I wasn’t trying to make a move on you. Anyway, your ‘rejection’ was probably the nicest I’ve had- although that’s not saying much- but that’s still an achievement, especially for you.

“And what was the other thing you regret?”

—

“I’m just saying.... it’s all fine,” John stumbles.

Sherlock nods, a little confused. 

“Good. Thank you.”

—

“After chasing that taxi, then running back away from the police- you were the first person to be a genuine friend to me for a long time, and-”

“What about Molly? Lestrade?”

“They’d been... in my life.... for a while, but I didn’t really see them as friends- I never even really thought of having friends, or being capable of having friends- until you arrived. Maybe they thought they were my friends then, but we never really talked about much other than business.

“Anyway, my regret after the chase was for turning you away at all.”

John stared, moth agape, and moved imperceptibly further forward.

“Although that was about 8 years ago,” Sherlock added nervously, “so I obviously don’t still...”

“Yes, of course. I get it.”

John sat back in his chair. 

“Shall we ask for the bill?”

Chapter Text

The pair made their way back along the road. The occasional car passed by, headlights shining a brief spotlight onto their unusual silhouettes from behind, tire streaks of water from the puddles reflecting the street lamps as each car disappeared down the road in front of them.

John sighed.

“I can’t quite face going back home already. I mean, I love Rosie, of course, so much, but it is exhausting being there for her 24/7. And I know she won’t be missing us with Mrs Hudson around, and she’s probably asleep anyway.”

“We could grab some chips?” Sherlock suggested.

“We’ve just eaten!”

“Well, we could go to the chip-eating bench and just... sit?”

“Anything like that would have bored the hell out of you about a year ago,” John observed. “Parenthood has changed you. And yes- chip bench sounds like a great idea.”

“Parenthood?” Sherlock asked, shocked. 

John chuckled. “Well, what else would you be? I mean, we all live together. You’re practically her second father.”

He reddened slightly as he realised how that sounded, and became very grateful for the overcast sky that darkened the dusk.

“I’m practically a father?” Sherlock repeated.

“Of course you are. She loves you to bits,” John said fondly. 

They reached their bench and both relaxed back onto it. In front of them, the city lights across the river glowed yellow and white around the geometric patterns of the skyline, and the Thames gently lapped below.

“But what about Mary?”

“What do you mean?”

“Wouldn’t I be taking up her space? She is Rosie’s mother, after all.”

“Sherlock. Mary- Mary’s gone. And we need to be able to move on without her. Not forget her, of course, just allow ourselves to continue with our lives. She wouldn’t want you feel as if you have to hold back with Rosie, or for me to feel as if I can’t, say, fall in love with someone else,” John pointed out.

Sherlock gazed at John, eyes soft and deep with sincerity and gratitude, and John had to turn his face quickly back to the river in front of them to stop himself from falling into them.

Sherlock shuffled slightly, readjusting his coat under him, chin pointing back towards the river, and when he placed his hand back down beside him, his smallest finger brushed against John’s.

John stifled his soft gasp, but inside him, tendrils of fire spiked from the rough touch of skin on skin. Somehow, this single touch was so much more intimate than the hugs they had shared in the past, and subconsciously John’s finger began to curl around Sherlock’s, protectively, possessively.

Sherlock’s violinist fingers, delicate and long, slid and spiralled and twined back around and between John’s, hesitantly at first, then with decisive sweeps of his fingers against the back of his hand, until their hands were clasped, intwined and interlocked as two halves that have finally become whole.

John glanced at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye, drinking in everything he could without turning his head too obviously: Sherlock’s eyes were wide and swirling with unidentifiable emotion; his lips were slightly parted, just enough for a flutter of breath to expel as a small cloud from his mouth; and his chin was tilted up fractionally as he stared without seeing at the skyline. 

Sherlock’s mind was teaming with emotion- almost a sensory overload from such a slight touch, and he drank in the sensation of John’s warm calluses hand in his, yet he realised with a school that he wanted more.

He turned his head suddenly, eyes locking onto John’s, completing an electrical current of emotion that flowed between them, burning and exhilarating, yet still calm in the eye of the storm.

Neither knew who incited the first movement, but gradually their faces leaned towards one another, until their lips were a hair-width apart, and each could feel the other’s breath on their own lips: fluttery and hesitant, and warm with want.

Sherlock’s tongue rolled out slowly to lick his lips. John stared in undisguised desire and inhaled sharply, then with a slight noise in the back of his throat, closed the gap between them.