Work Text:
Fandom: Sherlock
Prompt: “Stop telling me you’re okay.”
In hindsight, the revelation that Rosie had Sherlock’s level of observations shouldn’t have been such a revelation. Honestly, they were raising the girl together, there was no question she’d soak things up like a sponge from both of them.
“Come on, Rosie, don’t you want to go to the park?” John finished pulling on his coat to see Rosie just standing there, in the middle of the living room, her little arms folded across her chest. “It’s nice out today.”
“I know, I can see.” Rosie doesn’t move, tapping her foot against the loose floorboard. “But you don’t want to go.”
“What? Of course I want to go, it’s Thursday. We always go to the park on Thursday.”
“But that doesn’t mean you want to go.”
Sherlock glances up from his microscope, raising an eyebrow. She’s right, his look says, you don’t want to go.
I know, the lift of John’s right shoulder says, but she’ll be upset if we don’t.
She’ll be more upset if you don’t tell her, the quirk of Sherlock’s mouth says, and it’s not like it’ll be the end of the world if you say you’d like to not go out today.
The raise of John’s eyebrow says, oh, so you’d like to go instead?
Now let’s not be hasty, says the slight widening of Sherlock’s eyes.
“Stop it.”
Their gazes snap to Rosie, her little hands clenched into fists at her sides, her eyes narrowing into flint chips. “Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Talking about me without talking right in front of me.”
Sherlock hides a smile and John scratches the back of his head. “Sorry, Rosie. It’s a habit.”
“I know, you and Papa do it to make fun of people you don’t like.”
John winces. “That’s not the only reason we do it.”
“It’s the most common.”
“She’s right, John,” Sherlock says, “but we weren’t making fun of you, Rosie, I promise.”
“But you were still doing it,” Rosie insists stubbornly, stamping her foot, “and that’s rude.”
“Yes,” John says, “it was. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.”
Rosie nods sharply, looking a little less cross with the both of them. John smiles and reaches for her hand. “Come on, let me take you to the park as part of my apology.”
“No.”
John’s smile falters. “Why not?”
“Because you don’t want to.”
John shakes his head, reaching out again. “I’m okay, Rosie, we can—“
“Stop telling me you’re okay!”
The shout from his daughter shocks John, his eyes widening, Sherlock looking up properly from his microscope. John opens his mouth to chide her for shouting but a quick glance shows Rosie’s on the verge of tears.
“You keep telling me you’re okay and you’re not and you know you’re not and I can tell and you won’t tell me what’s wrong—“ Rosie wraps her arms around herself, clutching her waist like she does when the thunder is too loud outside— “and that’s not-good.”
“Rosie,” John says, getting down on one knee and reaching for his daughter, “Rosie, calm down, please—“
“No!” Rosie clutches herself tighter. “It’s not-good and I don’t know what to do to help!”
The way Rosie’s voice cracks on ‘help’ sends a bolt of pain through John’s chest. He recognizes that crack. It’s not his. It’s not Mary’s. It’s Sherlock’s.
Sherlock hears it too, judging by the way he suddenly appears at Rosie’s side, kneeling down and sweeping her into a warm hug, tucking her head into his shoulder and rocking her back and forth. John watches as Rosie’s hands slowly lose their iron grip on the side seams of her dress and wrap carefully around Sherlock.
“Rosie,” Sherlock asks softly once they’ve all calmed down a little bit, “can you tell why John not telling you that he’s not okay made you so upset, please?”
Rosie nods, taking a deep breath when Sherlock pulls away a little.
“You and Daddy are always telling me that not talking about things is not-good. A-and you say that not telling people you care about what you feel is extra not-good.”
They nod. Rosie fiddles with the hem of her dress.
“You…you also say that people l-left because they didn’t feel comfortable talking about things,” she continues, her voice trembling, “that M-mummy left because she didn’t tell you things.”
John’s heart sinks. They did say that, didn’t they?
Mary kept secrets. Secrets that hurt more than they helped. So many things could have been avoided if they trusted each other enough to talk.
“We’ve given our daughter abandonment issues,” John murmurs, “haven’t we?”
“I think that’s a bit of an oversimplification,” Sherlock mutters, pulling Rosie back in for another cuddle, “and not one that we should address right now.”
“Rosie,” John says, “you know we love you, don’t you?”
Rosie’s head nods against Sherlock’s shoulder.
“We won’t leave you, sweetie, we won’t.” John gives her a reassuring smile when she looks up anxiously. “And you’re right, we should be talking about things.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me you didn’t want to go to the park?”
John shrugs. “Because you wanted to go to the park. sweetie.”
“But I don’t want to go if you don’t, I want to go so we can have fun!” Rosie hooks her chin over Sherlock’s shoulder. “We could’ve gone somewhere else! Or stayed in and read!”
“I know, Rosie,” John says, his heart swelling, “or, well, now I do. I thought the park would make you happy.”
Rosie frowns, pulling back to look at Sherlock. “Papa, don’t you say that you shouldn’t make yourself unhappy just so other people can be happy?”
“Yes, Rosie,” Sherlock says, “I do say that. I’m sure John thought this would be small enough to—“
“But don’t you say that small things lead to big things if you don’t stop them?”
John lets his head hang for a moment to hide his laughter. They’ve created a wonderfully persuasive and sharp little thing, haven’t they?
“Well, John,” Sherlock says and he looks up to see both of them looking at him, “I think we’ve been bested.”
“Me too.”
“As Rosie says,” Sherlock continues, shifting so he doesn’t have to crane his neck to look at John, “perhaps you should tell us why you didn’t want to go to the park and why you didn’t tell Rosie.”
John sits. “I didn’t tell you, Rosie, not because I don’t trust you or respect you, but because it truly doesn’t bother me that much. It’s not a big unhappiness. I may not be completely happy, but I’m okay.”
Rosie nods slowly. “We should have different words for that kind of okay and the not-good kind of okay.”
“That’s a splendid idea,” Sherlock agrees. “What should we have?”
“Can we say ‘not-good okay?’”
“We can.”
“We can,” John agrees, “but I am okay-okay.”
Rosie glares at him. “And will you tell us when you’re not-good okay?”
“Yes, Rosie, I will.”
Rosie extends one of her hands to him and makes a grabby motion. Sherlock uncurls one of his long octopus arms and pulls John into the hug on the ground. John laughs in surprise.
“Alright, you two, take it easy!”
“Daddy,” Rosie says, her chin still on one of Sherlock’s shoulders, “you didn’t tell us why you don’t want to go to the park.”
“It’s supposed to rain later,” John says and a look of realization dawns on Rosie’s face. Sherlock looks between the two of them.
“And?”
“His shoulder hurts when it rains, Papa,” Rosie says, “so he doesn’t want to walk far because it hurts.”
Sherlock mouths ‘oh’ as Rosie cuddles into John. “I see.”
“Can we stay in and read then?”
“Of course. What would you like to read?”
“I’ll get it!” Rosie hops up and rushes to the bedroom. John and Sherlock watch her go.
“She’s going to be very hard to persuade out of things,” John remarks.
“She’s going to be very good at getting us to talk,” Sherlock counters, “then we might not need to persuade her out of things.”
John glances at him. “We’re doing alright, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” Sherlock agrees, “proper alright.”
John stands up to pull off his jacket. Sherlock frowns, coming up behind him to lay a hand on his bad shoulder.
“Sherlock,” John laughs, turning around to kiss his detective, “I am okay, I promise.”
“And you’ll tell me when you’re not?”
John smiles. “As long as you will too.”
“Promise.”
“Promise.”
“I promise to!” Rosie hugs them again. “Now come on! I want to find out what happens next!”
“The butler did it.”
“Sherlock!”
“I know he did, but I want to see how they figure it out!”
“Wait, how did you figure it out?”
“It’s obvious.”
“Christ, there are two of you.”