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John struggled his way up the stairs towards his flat, a crying one year old in one arm, a satchel bag across his shoulders, three plastic bags hanging painfully from just two fingers, and a collapsed buggy under his other arm.
“Sherlock! A little help please!” he yelled halfway up.
“Busy!” Sherlock yelled right back followed by their six year old’s parrot “Yes Daddy! Busy!”
Bo, short for Boudicca, was what John called “Sherlock’s shadow”. She loved watching and copying her Papa. They spent hours every day together, and for it her language skills and intelligence was through the roof. Her manners were… lacking. Despite John’s best attempts. But anyway, he didn’t like to nag her too much – he did find it adorable that the pair were like two peas in a pod.
But all the same, the word ‘busy’ was not what he wanted to hear right now.
“Busy? I’ll show you busy…” he whispered under his breath as he made it to the top, dumped the buggy, bag, and satchel in the doorway and then readjusted Arthur to stop his crying “It’s alright, darling, we’re all home now.”
John, reigning in his fuming as much as humanly possibly in hopes that his son would calm down, went to find his husband and daughter and hoped the term ‘busy’ meant tackling a house fire or an army of rats or something equally, justifiably, busy.
He rounded the corner to the kitchen and what he found made his inner rage dampen instantly. Sherlock and Bo were sat opposite one another at the table, Sherlock had his head glued to his microscope, one hand adjusting the lens, while the other was splayed out across the table and in the careful hold of his daughter as she painted his nails.
Sherlock tore his eyes from his current scientific project and gave Arthur a curious frown “Oh no, did Daddy forget nap time is at two o’clock sharp?” he sympathised with his little boy, checking his watch that read 2:30, and pouted at the little one who was still crying pitifully into John’s shoulder.
“I got stuck at the self check-out again. And then we missed the bus.” John sighed “Can you take him for a bit while I unload the shopping and sort myself out?”
Sherlock reached out his free hand and accepted Arthur onto his lap.
“Arty gets so grumpy without sleep.” Bo sighed.
“So did you at his age.” Sherlock said, gently bouncing the boy in his lap and stroking a hand through his short blonde tufts in hopes to sooth him.
When John was finally done with the shopping and had refreshed himself somewhat he returned to the kitchen to find his family much calmer than a few minutes ago. Arthur was asleep in Sherlock’s arms, his head lolled a little but cushioned carefully in Sherlock’s elbow.
“Thank God – I was worried he wouldn’t nap.” John breathed a sigh of relief then peered down at his husband’s hand “Oh wow, lovely job Bo! I like the colour.” He bent down and pressed a kiss to his daughter’s dark waves. She smiled up at him proudly as her Daddy praised her skill. She had been practicing nail painting for a while now, had a little stash of different colours in her room, and though she started off just painting her own nails she had quickly moved on to requesting to paint others, and Sherlock was always first inline to indulge her as usual.
“Her skill and precision is much improved, don’t you think?” Sherlock smiled up at John and wiggled his fingers to show off the turquoise varnish.
“Definitely – nice and neat, love.” John ruffled her hair fondly “Have you been having a nice afternoon?”
“Mhmm!” she nodded “Me and Papa watched Moana!”
“Again?” John grinned at Sherlock “How was that?” he raised an eyebrow.
“Just as magical the 43rd time as the 1st, of course.” Sherlock lied.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to it, let me know when you finish and I can see the full set.” John picked Arthur up gently to take him to sleep in his cot.
Mrs Hudson had been a massive blessing to Sherlock and John since having children; she loved being the honorary “Nana Hudders” and was always happy to look after the kids at short notice while their fathers ran off on a case. So that evening when a call came in from Lestrade about a mysterious house fire, Sherlock wasted little time in asking for her help.
“But Daddy you were going to read me my bedtime story!” Bo pouted as John finished brushing through her hair after bath time.
“I know, I’m sorry – I was looking forward to that too. But how about tomorrow I read you two stories?”
Bo spun around from where she sat on his knees and grinned “Actually two!? Long stories – not little ones!”
“Two extra long stories – I promise.” John pulled her into a tight squishy cuddle, he loved the bedtime routine. Bedtime was John’s time with Bo, the little girl spent most of her day glued to Sherlock but bedtime was all John’s. And it was always a cosy time filled with stories and fun bath time play with far too many toys to actually fit in the tub.
“Come along, John!” Sherlock said as he passed by, swinging his coat on in his wake.
“Alright, I’m coming.” John kissed Bo on the forehead and passed her to Mrs Hudson with a grateful smile.
“So, what story tonight…?” Mrs Hudson asked as she led the little lady towards the staircase that led to her room. Arthur was already asleep thankfully.
Arriving at the crime scene, Sherlock found Lestrade first and got the lowdown on the case; a triple murder – the house having been torched after.
“We’ll have lost a lot of evidence…” Greg sighed.
“Mmm. Well, I’ll look anyway.” Sherlock and John went towards what was now a shell of a living room, three bodies lay on the floor, completely barbequed.
“Eugh.” John blocked his nose from the smell.
“We’ve seen worse. And smelled worse.” Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at John before pulling out his magnifying glass and crouching beside the first body.
A few of the forensic team were pottering about attaining evidence, and two uniformed officers stood in the corner of the room. They were new, clearly, fresh faced and a little keen.
“This must be that guy Dan was talking about… the consultant…” John heard one of them, a tall woman, whisper to her colleague.
“Sherlock Holmes.” The man beside her confirmed, watching Sherlock with a frown as he moved around the bodies. A snort came through the man’s nose and a funny look on his face.
Sherlock stood and with a flourish pocketed his magnifying glass and pulled out his phone, tapping away “See if Molly is working…” he said absently to John while he crouched to have a look too, a grimace firmly in place at the painful injuries these victims had endured.
“Nice nails.” The man finally spoke up in a teasing tone, a critical eye attached to Sherlock's turquoise nails.
John’s eyes snapped up at him and saw the judgemental gaze was firmly on his husband.
Sherlock didn’t respond, and was still tapping away on his phone.
“Oi, don’t you know it’s rude to ignore someone talking to you.” The man stepped forward “Especially seeing as you're our guest.”
This caught Sherlock’s attention and he looked up at the fresh faced officer, clearly unimpressed with what he saw.
“Your guest?” Sherlock raised his eyebrows.
“Yeah. You’re not police. This is kind of our job. I hear they only let you in ‘cause the D.I is your mate.”
“Sorry, who are you?” John stood now, crossing his arms.
“Tom-Harper. D.S Harper.”
“Newly appointed Sergeant.” Sherlock commented to John quietly, making John roll his eyes. This was clearly an over-zealous and recently promoted officer who was a little too big for his boots.
“Fascinating. Well, Harper, D.S Harper,” Sherlock was being sarcastic now – bitingly so “I do apologise for ignoring you in your territory. But let me clear something up for you. I am a guest here, yes, but a welcome one. I am called when the police are out of their depth. My friendship with the Inspector has little to do with why he requests me and more to do with a quick resolution on troubling and tragic cases. Additionally,” this new sergeant was looking more chagrined by the second “you may want to keep in mind that part of your requirements as a police officer is to not make nasty, bullyish comments regarding a person’s preferences, such as gender expression, fashion, what have you. Quite the opposite, in fact.“
“I only said-“
“-you only said ‘Nice nails’. I am aware. However, the tone in which you chose was not appreciated and your intention was clear. It is certainly something I could bring up to your senior officer. Now, that wouldn’t be very good for your reputation as a budding new Sergeant, would it?” Sherlock was towering over the man now.
“N-no.”
“Indeed. So. Let this be a valuable lesson. Stay out of my way, and keep that over-inflated head of yours attached to your shoulders.” Sherlock stared the man down for another moment before waltzing out in search of Lestrade to update him on his findings.
John smirked after his husband then levelled the Sergeant with his own stare before leaving.
It was particularly joyous to see the look on Harper’s face outside when Lestrade said “Nice nails, Sherlock!” with sincerity and interest.
“Why thank you, Gavin. Boudicca painted them this afternoon. She said the shade matched my eyes because of all the blues and greens.”
“You’ve got a little artist on your hands.” Greg smiled fondly.
“Indeed we do.” John smiled, wrapping an arm around Sherlock’s waist before pulling him towards the cab they’d called to go to Bart’s in.