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John drew in a deep breath as he gazed up at the door of his suburban home. Up until two days ago he never gave a second thought to walking through this door. He remembered purchasing this home with Mary and how nervous he had been to invest in his first property. He remembered the real estate agent mentioning the area had good schools and he had chuckled, thinking it would be a long time before he had to worry about schools.
Now he was bringing his baby girl home for the first time, and he couldn’t be more grateful to live in such a safe, friendly, educated, neighbourhood.
And he couldn’t be more nervous.
He was supposed to be caring his newborn through these doors with Mary by his side. It had been two days since she passed away during childbirth, and John still couldn’t accept that she was gone. Now it was Sherlock who was standing with him, ready to welcome Amelia home, and John just wasn’t ready to face the reality of being a single father.
Sherlock placed a hand on his shoulder, as though sensing how nervous he was, and offered him a comforting squeeze. Drawing in another deep breath, John held his baby close with one arm while he pushed the door open with the other. For a moment he and Sherlock just stared into the dark, empty, entryway.
But he knew couldn’t get overwhelmed with loss right now. Right now he was bringing his daughter home, and she had to feel welcome.
“Welcome home Amelia,” he whispered as he bounced her gently in his arms.
Sherlock offered him a small smile as he flipped on a light and they stepped into the home.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay at Baker Street?” Sherlock asked.
He couldn’t help but to let out a small laugh. He was so tired that his laugh felt hollow and not at all himself.
“Sherlock, you have frog eyes in your fridge.”
“Point taken.”
John sat his hospital bag on the floor and took a look around his home. Everything was exactly how he left it, but at the same time everything was so new. This was no longer his and Mary’s house. It was his and Amelia’s. His and his daughter’s.
“Oh god I’m not ready for this,” he moaned.
“Why don’t we put Amelia down?” Sherlock asked as he placed a hand on the small of his back.
“I will,” John offered.
He didn’t wait for Sherlock to protest before he waltzed away with his daughter. Her nursery was just down the hall from the master. Amelia’s room was decorated with butterfly-themed wall art and rugs. The closet was stocked with clothes from Mary’s baby shower, and the crib was all ready for Amelia to rest in.
But John found himself unwilling to let her go. He wanted to hold onto her forever because he was afraid the moment he let her go something would happen.
“This is your room,” he murmured to Amelia as he held her close. “This is where you’ll grow up. I know it’s not much, but we got a great deal on the place and it was good money for the space and…right, as I was saying. This is your room. I hope you like butterflies; your mum wasn’t too big on my Disney princess idea. Something about her daughter not being a walking advertisement. But I thought it would be adorable.”
He laughed to himself, but his newborn just squirmed in his arms.
“Anyway,” he muttered as he looked down at her. Her little hands reached out, and he grabbed onto one of them and broke into a smile. “It’s just you and me now. I’m so sorry we lost your mum, but she wanted you to have the best life possible. She wanted you to be safe and loved, and I promise you I will always keep you safe- and you will always be loved. I love you so much, Amelia Watson. I will always be there for you.”
Planting a soft kiss on her cheek, he placed her carefully into her crib for the very first time. Tears swelled up in his eyes as she yawned and looked up at him: it was the first time their eyes had directly met.
“I’m new at this father business,” John admitted as he reached down and squeezed one of her tiny hands, “but I promise I’ll do my best. Sleep now, love. You’re safe here.”
A hand rested on his shoulder again, and John was startled when he looked up to find Sherlock standing over him.
“I think she likes the crib,” Sherlock said, offering him a reassuring smile.
“Yeah,” John sighed, appreciating his friend’s attempts to make him feel better. “We have your parents to thank for that. I can’t believe my daughter’s going to be sleeping in your old crib.”
“Mycroft and I both slept in that crib!” Sherlock announced proudly, showing off a cheeky grin. “And we turned out okay, right?”
John smiled at him, but he didn’t have the energy to laugh.
“Remind me again to thank them,” John replied.
“John,” Sherlock said, placing his hands on his shoulders and forcing him to face him. “Look at me. You can do this. You faced an extraordinary loss, but you’re so strong. She already trusts you, I can tell. And you’re not alone. If you won’t move back to Baker Street then, well, I’d like to move in here.”
His own eyes went wide- he had never thought about Sherlock moving in, but it did make sense. There was only so much time he could take off work, and even when he was at home he could really use another set of hands.
“I only have two bedrooms,” John pointed out.
“Then I’ll take the sofa,” Sherlock shrugged. “I’ll stay as long as you need.”
For a moment they stared at each other, unsure of what to say. John knew it wasn’t easy for Sherlock either, as his friend genuinely liked Mary and believed in their marriage. He had been just excited as anyone about the birth of Amelia, and the look in his eyes when Mary passed were of pure devastation and disbelief.
“Thanks Sherlock,” John finally said softly.
Suddenly the nausea he had been battling that afternoon rushed through him, overwhelming him so much that he nearly fell to the floor.
“What’s wrong?” Sherlock demanded, catching him before he could fall over.
The stress was just too much. He couldn’t be a single father! He was supposed to be doing this with Mary by his side, not on his own. Here was this little child who expected him to raise her for the next eighteen years. Even though Sherlock was offering to help he himself was the only person she would look up to as a parent.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” he murmured before dashing out of the room.
He got as far as the living room before he just collapsed in the middle of the floor in defeat. Just a few days ago he had been lounging in the same room with Mary, discussing names. He had named Amelia without her, without even asking what she thought. What if Mary hated the name? What if there was another name she had secretly been leaning toward? Nausea overwhelmed him, but he couldn’t bring himself to get up and get to the loo so he just sat there trying to fight it.
“John!” Sherlock cried as he fell to the ground beside him and wrapped his arms around him.
John’s eyes began overflowing with tears as his entire body shook.
“God I feel so sick inside,” John confessed as he trembled in his friend’s arms. The world suddenly felt so small, like everything was closing in on him.
Sherlock simply held him tighter, massaging his back gently as he did.
“I’m right here beside you,” whispered Sherlock.
A final shudder shook him as he peeled himself away from his friend and wiped at his eyes. Looking around the room, John realised how lightheaded he was and tried to remember when the last time it was that he did eat.
“You need to eat,” Sherlock announced, as though he knew it’s what John needed to hear. “You’ve got to keep up your strength. I know it’s the last thing you want to do, but you need to eat and sleep. I’ll make you some soup and crackers. Would you like some tea?’
Shaking his head, John mumbled:
“Just water.”
At that moment Amelia let out a wail, and John groaned. He felt horrible about it, but there was just so much going on.
“I’ll get her,” Sherlock offered as he got to his feet.
Now John felt guilty; he couldn’t just put everything off on Sherlock.
“No!” He protested as he tried to get up. But he was just too weak. The exhaustion, the trauma, the sorrow, the stress was all finally getting to him. He hadn’t slept in days. He felt like he might break, but he had to prove he could be there for Amelia whenever she needed him.
“John!” Sherlock snapped, getting his attention immediately. “Come here.”
His friend led him to the sofa and helped him lay down.
“I need to go to her,” John croaked through his tears. “I need to be with my daughter.”
“You need sleep,” Sherlock insisted.
He looked down on his friend, and it seemed to hit him just how exhausted and frustrated John truly was. He saw how much he wanted to be able to do this, but still Sherlock disappeared without saying anything else. A few moments later he returned with Amelia in her arms and carefully placed her against John’s chest. A small smile slipped across John’s face at the chance to hold his daughter again, and he kissed her cheek.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “Daddy’s got you.”
Only in his arms was Amelia able to calm down, and it comforted him to see how much his daughter wanted him.
“She probably does need to eat too,” John admitted as he studied his crying baby. “If you wouldn’t mind-“
Sherlock shook his head, eager to help, and he got to work on making them all dinner. Amelia got her bottle formula while John forced himself to eat the soup; he managed half the bowl before nausea hit him again and he had to stop.
“I think you were right,” Sherlock commented as he smiled down at the baby in his arms. “She did need to eat.”
“Yeah, and next it will be a nappy change,” John teased, “but maybe she’ll finally want to sleep for a while after that.”
“Well you need to sleep now,” Sherlock said. “I’ve got Amelia.”
John blinked, suddenly remembering that, well, Sherlock had absolutely no childcare experience.
“Sherlock, have you ever babysat before?” John asked.
His friend’s cheeks turned a bright shade of pink as he confessed:
“I’ve been taking childcare course, and I reached out to old clients who had babies. They were more than happy to show me the ropes. And my mum’s been teaching me. And-“
“Okay, okay, I’m impressed,” John chuckled. He glanced down at his half-full soup bowl and sighed, wishing he felt like eating more. “I don’t know how I’m going to get through tomorrow. I just hate that the first time everyone’s going to meet Amelia is at her mother’s funeral.”
As though answering the sound of her own name, Amelia became fussy in Sherlock’s arms and squirmed as she began crying.
“There, there,” Sherlock whispered, kissing her on her forehead. “The formula is yummy, isn’t it? Once you’re fed you’ll feel a lot better.”
Funny enough, John was the one who felt better just watching how adorable Sherlock and his daughter were together. Amelia calmed down a bit and allowed Sherlock to finish feeding her.
“You’ll feel better if you eat, too,” his friend said as he glanced up at him.
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” John said, even as he forced another spoonful of soup into his mouth. He made a face, looking much like his daughter at the moment.
“My cooking’s not that bad.”
“I’m not sure heating up a can of potato soup counts as cooking.”
Sherlock glared at him but didn’t argue, as though remembering there were little ears in the room who didn’t need to hear her dad fighting right now.
“I do appreciate it, though,” John offered. “Thank you for coming over and helping. Really Sherlock, thank you.”
His friend flashed him a genuine smile before he turned back to the little girl in his arms.
“There you go,” Sherlock said as Amelia finished her bottle. “How about trying to get some sleep now?”
Amelia let out a yawn and he and Sherlock giggled. It was amusing how it really did seem like she could understand him, even though John knew that was a silly thought.
“I’ll put her down,” announced his friend as he walked away to put Amelia to bed again.
Sighing, John turned back to his soup and tried to force himself to eat. It was his daughter’s first night at home- he should be putting her to bed, not Sherlock. No one should be taken care of him; he wanted to put all of his attention on Amelia.
Sherlock returned a few moments later and let out a sigh as he sat back down at the table and ran his hands over his tired face.
“I think she’s fine for now,” Sherlock commented. He glanced down at the bowl of soup that was barely half-way eaten. “Do I need to feed you too?”
John rolled his eyes and admitted:
“I’m still a bit sick to my stomach. I suppose we should both get some rest while she’s still down.”
“You sleep,” Sherlock said with a wave of his hand as he collected the dishes. John blinked: he wasn’t sure he had ever witnessed Sherlock willingly do the washing up. “I’ll stay up in case she needs anything. I don’t want you worrying about getting up in the middle of the night.”
He didn’t want to admit it, but sleep was beginning to overcome him. He knew all he had to look forward to were nightmares, but he had been awake for far too long. As a doctor he knew he needed sleep soon before he went through deprivation, and it wouldn’t be safe to care for his daughter when he was that exhausted.
“Okay,” John finally agreed. “Okay, but if you need anything- anything- don’t hesitate to wake me up.”
“I’ll be fine,” Sherlock insisted. “Go get some sleep.”
But as he stood and walked toward the master bedroom an unexplainable feeling of fear took over him. A cold rush of air hit him as he opened the bedroom door, and a shudder swept through him as he stepped inside. It was only recently that he and Mary had been sleeping together again: after he destroyed the AGRA jump drive they agreed that they should at least get along for the baby’s sake. He moved back in to help Mary prepare the house for their baby girl, and eventually they began to share a bed again. He wouldn’t say what they felt was romance or even love, but things had been getting better. John resolved that whatever Mary had been through that made he want to completely change her identity, it must have been truly traumatic. He could never forgive her for shooting Sherlock, but even he could see how much she craved a normal life. He didn’t think she would go through the trouble of falling in love, of dating and getting married, if she didn’t truly want to change.
As crazy as it sounded, he had wanted to make things right with her. They wanted to be good parents. Now she was gone, taken cruelly from the world in front of her own family, and the house seemed so empty without her. The room was cold and unwelcoming, and he was actually afraid to be in there alone.
Yet…the room smelled like her. He breathed in deeply and was comforted by the remaining scents of her perfume and soap. He climbed on top of the bed and circled up on the duvet. He pulled Mary’s pillow toward him and buried his face into it, taking in the lingering scent of her shampoo. It just smelled so much like her that it was almost as though she were still there beside him. He remembered the first night they spent together, the first time they made love, and how right it felt.
Part of him, he knew, would always love her no matter what she did.
“I’m so sorry,” he moaned into the pillow. “It’s not fair.”
Letting out a sigh he rolled onto his back and held the pillow against his stomach. How could he be expected to do this? How was he supposed to mourn his wife and take care of a newborn at the same time? He had a bloody funeral coming up for god’s sake. He couldn’t do this.
John looked around the room for a photo of Mary and remembered how she had stored away all of their personal items. He knew she kept the wedding stuff in the bottom of the closest so he rolled out of bed and got down on his knees to sort through the stuff. It didn’t take him long to find the big white box marked ‘wedding’ in the corner, and the picture of the two of them posing in front of the chapel was right on top. As he took the photo out and climbed back on the bed John found himself trembling. He ran his thumb gently over Mary’s face and murmured:
“She’s so beautiful. You would have adored her. She’s so precious and full of life. I’m so sorry for the way things turned out, but I promise I’ll raise her right. I’ll keep her safe.”
He planted a gently kiss to the picture frame and sat it on the bedside table- it was the first time a picture of the two of them had seen the light of day in the house in months. Rolling on his side, John curled back up into the fetal position, tucked his hands under his pillow, and stared at their photo until he finally drifted off to sleep.
The next morning he woke up to the smell of eggs, and he scrunched his nose in confusion. His breakfasts usually consisted of porridge before he ran off to work at the crack of dawn; he hadn’t actually sat down to eat a hot breakfast in ages. He didn’t feel rested at all after a night of waking up every hour, but his stomach growled at the smell of food. He pulled on his dressing gown and made his way into the kitchen, where he found Sherlock sitting at the table with Amelia in his arms.
“Good morning,” Sherlock greeted with a kind smile. “Did you sleep any?”
He shrugged.
“A bit,” he replied before he held out his arms. “Gimme.”
With a grin Sherlock passed the baby over to him, and John’s whole body relaxed as he held onto his daughter and kiss her forehead.
“How’s my baby girl this morning?” He asked his newborn.
It was Sherlock who answered:
“She did wake up a few times. Maybe she was sensing her dad wasn’t getting much sleep either.”
John let out a yawn, and Amelia mocked him with her own yawn.
“See?” Sherlock teased. “Like father like daughter.”
Rolling his eyes, John asked:
“Has she been fed?”
“Not yet,” Sherlock said as he took out a new bottle.
“Mind if I do the honours?”
“Of course.”
Settling into his usual place at the table, John balanced Amelia in his arms as he took a fresh, warm, bottle from Sherlock and raised it to his daughter’s lips. He let out a laugh at how adorable she was as she accepted the formula.
“Thanks so much for looking after her,” John said. “You have no idea how much it means to me.”
“I’ll always be here for you, John,” Sherlock announced. “I’m just really…grateful…that you’re letting me be a part of her life.”
Their eyes met, and John realised Sherlock had been truly worried that he might not be allowed into Amelia’s life, even though things had gotten better between them.
“You’ve taught me a lot about forgiveness, you know,” he admitted. “I want you a part of her life, always. She’s lost her mum, her aunt’s an alcoholic, and her grandparents…well, the only grandparents we know of aren’t exactly fit to raise a baby. You’re all we have, Sherlock. Without you I don’t know how I would have gotten through the past few days. I need you, more than you know.”
His best friend’s eyes lit up with surprise.
“Mind if I get out my mobile and record that for future reference?” Sherlock teased.
“Oh sod off,” John grinned.
It was the most genuine smile that had crossed his face in days, and they both let out a nervous laugh. In his arms Amelia finished the formula. She began squirming, and John grabbed a flannel just in time as she spit up a bit.
“Poor thing,” John said as he cleaned her up.
“You know, it’s time for daddy to eat too,” Sherlock said, standing up and grabbing a couple of plates. He scooped the eggs out of the skillet and spread jam across the toast. “Preferably without spitting up.”
He winked, and John let out a dry laugh before he joked:
“I can’t make any promises.”
They soon fell into a routine: Sherlock would look after all the baby’s needs at night while John took care of her most of the day. The two friends alternated taking their own naps and feeding. Sherlock surprised him by actually cooking most days, and they even gave Amelia her first bath at home together. Amelia slept through it, but they had a blast getting her all cleaned up and picking out which cute baby clothes she would wear. Although the hole left by Mary’s passing would never be replaced, he enjoyed having Sherlock around.
The night Amelia turned three weeks old John woke in a cold sweat following a dream about the night Sherlock was shot. He reached over to Mary’s side of the bed and grasped the sheets, long to see her lying there again.
Then he heard it: a soft lullaby playing in the still night air. Mycroft had brought Sherlock’s things over from Baker Street a week earlier, his violin along them, but John hadn’t heard him play it yet. It was comforting hearing those soothing notes ringing through his home. He slipped inside the doorway of his daughter’s room and leaned against the doorframe as he watched Sherlock played. God how he loved the way those fingers danced up and down the violin, the way the bow flowed flawlessly through the air. Sherlock could make even the simplest of lullabies sound like a work of art, and down below in her crib Amelia slept soundly.
As he finished off the last note John clapped softly.
“That was beautiful,” he announced, startling his friend.
Sherlock only shrugged.
“It was just Brahm’s ‘Lullaby’.”
“Well then it was a gorgeous version of it,” John complimented. He stepped up beside his friend and joined him in gazing down to the sleeping baby. “She looks like she enjoyed it.”
“She got a bit fussy,” Sherlock explained. “I don’t really know any children’s song lyrics so I decided to stick with the basics and play music. The violin really seemed to comfort her.”
“For a good reason.”
They shared smiles, and John kissed his fingers and placed them gently on his daughter’s forehead.
“Sleep tight little one,” he whispered.
Closing the door quietly behind them, they both let out sighs of relief. They were lucky that so far Amelia seemed to be a very well-behaved baby, she tended to get fussy whenever they left her side. After a few moments of silence they decided the coast was clear, and John headed into the kitchen to make tea. It wasn’t until they sat down that John stared at his hands and quietly confessed:
“I’ve been having nightmares.” When Sherlock didn’t reply he went on: “At first they were about losing Mary at the hospital, but then they changed. Now I dream about you getting shot. In my dreams Amelia is crying in the background but Mary is just ignoring her as she shoots you. Sorry…I know that’s probably something you don’t like remembering.”
Sherlock folded his hands around the rim of his mug and swallowed nervously. He knew Sherlock suffered from PTSD after he returned from wherever he went, and after he was shot he seemed even more jumpy. Loud noises disturbed him, and anyone who approached him from behind got snapped at. John knew the shooting affected his friend a lot more than he admitted, but he always treaded carefully around the subject.
“Are you wondering how Mary would have been, as a mum?” Sherlock asked, ignoring John’s concerns altogether.
He decided if Sherlock didn’t want to talk about it he wasn’t going to push it, so instead he admitted:
“I suppose deep down, I worry if I could have trusted her with Amelia. Who knows, maybe it’s just my subconscious’ way of reminding myself that I didn’t really know her. I think I would have just liked to have more closure, that’s all. Yeah- that’s it. I don’t regret destroying the AGRA files; without doing that I don’t think we would have ever reconnected. I just regret that I’ll never know why she wanted to get away from her past so badly. And maybe, just maybe, I…I worry that we’ll see some of the real Mary in Amelia. I don’t even really know anything about the mother of my child! What if…what if she really was a psychopath? Christ, most days I could never tell rather or not she was acting. She shot you and...how am I going to explain all that to my daughter?”
His friend sat down his mug, walked around to his side of the table, and took the seat next to him.
“John,” Sherlock said quietly. John forced himself to meet his eyes. “We might not know Mary’s medical history or the things Amelia could have inherited. That, you have the right to be upset about. But you know that Mary had a good heart. You know that: it’s why you fell in love with her, it’s why you ever trusted her, and it’s why you wanted to marry her. And you John, you have the biggest heart of all. Amelia’s going to grow up listening to you, looking up to you, inheriting all your beliefs and morals. You will be the one to teach her what’s right and what’s wrong. You don’t have to tell her anything but one day, when she’s old enough, you can just tell her that her mum made some bad decisions and had a rough past, and when she met you she wanted to turn her life around.”
He knew curious teenage Amelia would want to know more than that, but he appreciated Sherlock trying to make him feel better. Deep down John agreed with him, and he knew that there was a reason why he fell in love with her in the first place and why he chose to stay with her. He also knew that now it was his responsibility to show her through the world- and he was going to make damn well sure that Amelia would go through nothing that would make her want to run away.
“Thanks, Sherlock.”
He offered Sherlock a hug, and his friend patted him gently on the back.
“You’re amazing, John,” Sherlock whispered, so softly John wondered if he realised he said it out loud.
As he pulled away John wiped at the tears beginning to form in his eye.
“Yeah,” he said with a small smile, “you’re amazing too.”