Hey guys!
This is my very first Sherlock fanfic. I've been working on this story for a long time and really hope you guys like it! Also, don't forget to let me know if you want to read more Sherlock and Rosie stories, and share your ideas with me, tell me what you'd like to read. I'm mostly good at fouff but willing to take requests for other types of stories too. :)
Enjoy!
Sherlock Holmes never considered himself a man of emotions. It's not like anyone else did, anyway. He was a man of strict logic, rational thinking and consistency. He enjoyed the safety of routine, whether it was a daily or a weekly one. He liked the feeling of knowing the order of things and especially being able to control them, as he did with his own life - and John's, admittedly. Though the last few years his hold on Watson seemed to ease up it, due to his friend's marriage, moving out and most importantly, bringing a child into this world.
Sherlock Holmes never considered himself child-friendly either. It's not like anyone else did, anyway... obviously. Sherlock has always found children, from babies to pre-teens, quite confusing - as he did with adults, too. Teenagers were a different matter, however. They reminded him of himself when he was young and trying to find out who he really was - besides being a child genius and brother of two other, rather gifted children. (Not as gifted as him, of course... Not in the same way, anyway.) Teenagers also reminded him of the only time he wasn't in control of his own temper - besides his crack-phase, of course. In Sherlock's opinion, younger children, such as babies were controlled too much by their emotions, and they were too dependent. Not to mention expensive, nosy, loud and quite annoying. Being the person he is, he didn't miss out on any opportunity to share his views on children with John Watson, especially once he announced Mary and him were going to try and have a baby. Watson never missed out on an opportunity to let Sherlock know how dumb he thought his opinions were or how he wasn't actually interested them. Holmes defended himself by claiming "no one ever asked if you two are trying to have a baby or not", thus expressing his thoughts on this fact were not only allowed but also a right of his. Nevertheless, Mary and John did have a baby at some point. If Sherlock were a man of emotions, he would say it happened quite recently due to the child's fast growth. But since he was a man of facts, he knew it was almost 5 years ago. And he was not one to confuse 5 years with "recently". He wasn't a nitwit.
Or was he?
"Nitwit." He grunted loudly, running his hands over his face, before swiftly pushing himself to his feet. Because he was, in fact, at this moment, a nitwit. He was alone in his small apartment on Baker Street, in the middle of solving a crime. He wasn't too interested in the case, yet he took it, which was nothing like him. Sherlock Holmes only took cases he cared about - he didn't bother finding the missing exes of broken-hearted, lovesick souls. He was pretty sure their exes weren't missing either. They were far away with someone else. Being the man he is, he immediately shared his views with his miserable clients before sending them on their way within 2 minutes. He never understood why they left his apartment more upset than they came. He knew truth hurt, but not this much. Especially since these people got themselves in the situation they were in. They should've known better.
So yes. Sherlock Holmes, according to himself, at this moment, was indeed a nitwit. He should've been concentrating on the final stage of crime-solving which was sitting in silence with his eyes closed while thinking about the things he detected while doing research. Yet he was thinking about John Watson and his niggling family-stuff. Nitwit. You're a nitwit, Holmes.
Sherlock also had a way of knowing things before they happened. He often had this feeling with John, and he was never once incorrect. It's not like John was a complicated man though, so no surprise in that. It was easy to tell whether he was going to give him bad or good news or just start a general (niggling) conversation with him. He could read John's facial expressions like a book. It's also why Watson was such a bad liar, too.
Sherlock knew lots of things ahead while he was living with him, but this time was different. This time John was away, yet he had the same feeling - and even stronger, if possible. He felt like John could burst through the apartment door any minute - it wouldn't be the first time, after all. He did manage to surprise him those few times, he had to admit. Which was quite impressive.
"Sherlock!" there was an impatient knock on the door, and then a bang. "Sherlock!"
Despite his habit of never letting other people know when he was feeling unusually dandy, Sherlock smiled smugly as he recognized John's voice. Simply because he knew it. He never failed to amaze himself.
He turned around as the door swung open, slowly and guardedly. However, the smirk adorning the detective's face soon turned into a frown as he realized John didn't come alone. Beside him stood his daughter Rosie, holding onto his hand tightly - more like his thumb, to be exact. Her fingers were tiny enough to just be able to wrap them around one of his father's.
"It's an emergency, Sherlock" Watson announced, his eyebrows furrowed together in worry as he led his little girl into the room and sat her on the couch, kneeling down to her height. "Stay here, sweetie. Uncle Sherlock's gonna look after you for a while."
Getting over his shock, Sherlock opened his mouth and raised his pointer finger, wanting to send a declining answer on its way but Watson was already by his side, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Look, Sherlock. A patient needs me in the hospital right now, I'm needed for a long operation." He explained quickly. "Mary's working late and I really need someone to watch Rosie."
Again, Sherlock raised his pointer finger, this time pointing at the door, but again, John was the faster one to speak.
"No, Mrs. Hudson can't watch her. She's been out of town for 3 days, she's visiting a friend. How come I know about this and you don't? You live here!" Although his voice contained more dismay than reproach, Sherlock closed his mouth, surprised. Strange, indeed. He must've been so caught up in work he didn't hear Mrs. Hudson saying goodbye - she never left without a goodbye. Although, now that he thought of it, he did remember a tiny question crossing his mind in the past few days about his morning tea. Since it didn't... happen.
"I'll be back somewhere between 8 and 9. Just keep her alive, alright?" John asked, using his friend's momentary silence to his advantage and already leaving, not forgetting to give Rosie a kiss on the forehead in the process though. For the 3rd time today, Sherlock raised his pointer finger to object, just to be interrupted again. "Just keep her alive!" Watson repeated before exiting the apartment and closing the door behind him. Moments later Sherlock could hear him running down the stairs. Indeed, he was in a rush.
Sherlock stared at the door for a few more seconds asif he could turn back time or just bring John back. He knew both of those were impossible but wasn't ready to turn around just yet. Once he calmed hiself down enough, he made a turn and faced the small girl sitting on his couch.
"Hello, Rosamund." He greeted the child, hoping to get at least a nod back but she didn't react. She was just staring at him wordlessly, sitting completely still.
At this moment, Sherlock had to hold himself back not to say something rude. Small children tended to stare at things or people randomly, he knew that. The only problem though, he hated being stared at. It made him extremely uncomfortable, especially when little kids did it, who, in his opinion, had no reason to do it. He knew the scientific reason as of why they did and how it helped them analize their surroundings and learn more about the world, but he also wished those kids would go somewhere else to learn. He narrowed his eyes at the girl, refusing to lose at this spontanious staring contest. However, the child proved to be very skilled at this game and Sherlock could feel a chill going down his spine as Rosie's face went from blank to frighteningly emotionless. He just couldn't take it.
"I have work to do so I'm afraid you're going to have to entertain yourself." Sherlock said finally, looking away. At that moment, an image crossed his mind of the little girl doing as told and wandering around the house, taking things off of shelves and all around making a mess. He had to think of something else. "I suggest watching TV." He walked over to the couch and picked up the remote control, turning on the TV and switching through the channels until he found a cartoon. Afterwards, he placed the remote back on the couch and tried to think of more things to say. "The bathroom is the second door on the right and and you can find something to eat and drink in the kitchen under the sink."
Sherlock took another glance at his unwelcomed guest and nearly groaned in frustration as she was still staring at him, looking the most life-like doll he has ever seen. He didn't want to be around her.
"I'll be in my office if you need me." He said for the sake of politeness, rushing towards his room faster than ever before. As he opened the door though, he stopped in his tracks for a slight moment. He turned his head back and looked at Rosie, returning her icy cold stare. "... Don't need me." His voice was hushed, but stern, letting her know he meant business. The child blinked, possibly for the first time she was here but didn't respond. With that, Sherlock entered his office and closed the door behind him, letting out a tired sigh as he leaned against the wall. Wonderful, he thought. I have to leave a room in my own house in order to get some privacy.
Suddenly, a small giggle could be heard from the living room. Sherlock raised an eyebrow but was kind of relieved: John's child seemed to be entertained by the programme she was watching, which meant she wasn't going to bother him. Sherlock sat down in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. As said before, this case wasn't a difficult one. Yet, as his thoughts were interrupted over and over again by the child's giggles, the frown on his face got deeper and deeper until his eyes finally snapped open. He couldn't take it. He couldn't work like this.
Instead, he took a piece of paper and started writing his thoughts down, ignoring the anger in the back of his mind. Never before did he bother to write anything down, considering his marvelous brainwork but desperate times called for desperate measures. He got to nearly half a page when he heard the TV getting switched off. He froze and stopped writing, pricking up his ears. He could hear the pitter-patter of small feet as they wandered around the living room. They weren't getting near his office though so he quickly relaxed and got back to writing.
For nearly twenty minutes, he was unbothered. His brain started working faster and faster and he could feel he was close to a breakthrough when suddenly, his office door opened. He looked up, surprised.
Rosie was standing at the door, and for the first time since she was in the apartment, she didn't seem to be interested in Sherlock. She looked around for a few seconds before wandering around the room, her hands behind her back. Sherlock watched her cautiously but quickly decided it was best to ignore her. He continued writing, getting caught up in work to the point where he nearly forgot the girl was even there. That was until she finally stopped walking around and went up to his desk, placing her chin on his desk. Sherlock looked at her, but only for a second. He was reluctant to take part in another stare-off. He had no time for such nonsense.
"Are you really my uncle?" The little girl suddenly asked, catching him off guard. He took another glance at her. She was looking at him curiously, eyes wide. Sherlock couldn't help but studied her face for a second, as he did with everyone he met. She has John's eyes, he thought. Unlike John's, though, she looks like she can see people's soul with them. He thought for a second before responding.
"No." He finally replied, getting back to his duties. He hoped this would be enough of an answer. It wasn't.
"Then why did Daddy say you're my uncle?"
Sherlock sighed tiredly, continuing to write. Their conversation barely started and he was already bored. Again, though, he wasn't the kind of person to lie about things in order to keep someone happy.
"Out of tradition, I guess. People with close friends tend to tell their children those people are their uncles and aunts, it's a way of making family out of friends. Either that or your father's ignorant. Which wouldn't be surprising, though in this field, it's unlikely."
Rosie had a thoughtful look on her face, trying to process everything she just heard. Sherlock hoped this would be her last question for the day. Repeatedly though, things just didn't seem to be working in his favor today.
"So you're Daddy's friend?"
Sherlock wrote down another sentence before pursing his lips together. Yes, John was his friend, surprisingly enough. Yet he still had a hard time saying this out loud.
"I suppose so, yes." He finally replied, not looking up. "I prefer the term co-worker though."
Rosie tilted her head to the right, watching Sherlock's expression.
"I don't think you like Daddy very much."
At this bluntly honest confession, Sherlock couldn't help but stopped writing and looked at Rosie again. She was looking at him accusingly, but nontheless calm. He slowly leaned back in his chair, challenging her, and crossing his arms over his chest.
"And what gives you that idea, may I ask?" He raised an eyebrow with genuine curiousity. Rosie didn't seem to be the least bit intimidated and continued.
"I always smile at my friends. You didn't smile at Daddy."
Sherlock looked the child in the eye, biting his lip. He could see where Rosie's statement was coming from but saw no reason why he should be continuing this conversation with her and convince her that in his own way, he did like John. In his own, special way. He looked down for a second before picking up his pen again and leaning forward, staring at his notes.
"I'm not a smiler." He said simply, continuing to write. He turned away from from Rosie, hoping she would get the message, the message of "leave me alone", but she didn't. Or even if she had, she didn't care much. Instead, she went around the desk to Sherlock's other side, placing her chin on his desk yet again. Sherlock sighed tiredly, letting his pen down and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was trying hard not to explode.
"Why?" The little girl asked. "Are you sad?"
Sherlock looked at Rosie again, nearly - but just nearly - smiling at her innocence. The little girl also seemed genuinely worried, which nearly - but just nearly - warmed his heart. He bit down on his lip to stop himself from smiling and shook his head.
"No. Like I said, I'm just not a smiler. I don't smile unless I have a special reason to."
The child tilted her again, this time to the left.
"Daddy says it's important to smile. It makes people happy around us."
Wow, John. Aren't you a ray of sunshine. Very wise indeed. Sherlock snorted but decided not to voice his opinion this one time. Instead, he just shrugged and got back to writing. Rosie watched him for a few seconds before walking up to him and tiptoeing to be able to look at his notes. Sherlock took a quick glance at her, still writing.
"What are you doing?" The little girl asked.
The man rolled his eyes.
"Working."
Rosie tried to tiptoe higher, holding onto the desk.
"On what?"
Sherlock watched her attempts to try and take a look at his notes, sighing tiredly.
"Even if you'll be able to see it, you still can't read, you know."
The child turned towards Sherlock, this time angrily, and placed her hands on her hips.
"You're not very nice, you know." She told her with a serious look on her face.
"Quite the observement." Sherlock scoffed, still writing. "I'm not trying to be."
"Why are you so moody all the time?" Rosie asked, her eyebrows furrowed together. The man sighed.
"I'm not moody. I told you." Sherlock replied. The word "moody" sounded strange from his mouth; it was a word he hasn't used since he was a child.
"Yes you are!" The child stated firmly, her hands still on her hips. "Do you know what Daddy does when I'm moody?"
Sherlock was tired, really. He looked at Rosie, wanting to send another declining answer on its way to stop the girl from telling a long and boring story. However, she was faster, and what she did next was something Sherlock wasn't prepared for.
"This!" Rosie exclaimed, aiming at the man's abdomen and beggining to tickle him mercilessly. Sherlock's initial shock suddenly turned into outbursts of laughter as he squirmed around on his chair, eventually falling onto the ground. Rosie continued her vicious assault, going down to the ground with him, laughing right along with her victim, enjoying not being the ticklee for this one time.
Sherlock couldn't remember the last time he was tickled. It must've been when he was a small child, and he was very ticklish indeed, which his siblings often used against him. He couldn't help but giggled uncontrollably as Rosie's tiny fingers spidered up and down his stomach and once he was on the ground, on his ribs. He rolled back and forth, too weak to defend himself.
"S-stop!" He managed between chuckles. Rosie finally stopped and stood up, looking down at him triumphantly with a wide grin.
"I knew it!" She giggled. "I knew you'd smile!"
Sherlock stared at the little girl, panting, still in shock. He thought a bit asof what do before his inner child took over and he sat up a bit.
"Of course you realize..." His voice trailed off as he finally got his breathing under control. "This means war."
Rosie's eyebrows furrowed together. As Sherlock suddenly jumped up and reached for her, she let out a squeal of delight and started running as fast as she could, giggling all the way.
Sherlock found himself laughing too as he chased after her, eventually catching up to her near the couch in the living room. He swiftly grabbed her small, light-as-a-feather body under her arms and gently pushed her onto the couch, towering over her.
"No!" The little girl begged, shrieking with laughter as Sherlock leaned over her and pushed his fingers gently into her sides, wiggling them around to increase Rosie's agony.
Said child's laughter picked up more and more, causing Sherlock to join in as he continued to tickle her, careful to give her a short pause every now and then so she wouldn't feel sick. He continued until the little girl's face began to turn red. That was when he finally stopped and collapsed next to her on the couch, exhausted, but still smiling.
He was kind of taken aback as Rosie scooted closer to her, still shivering with laughter and leaned her small head on his shoulder. Sherlock soon stopped smiling and just sat there, trying to catch his breath. It was a long time since he'd chased anyone, aside from chasing criminals when he was working. The joyous laughter coming out of his mouth seemed strange just after a few seconds it happened. What was he doing before John's daughter attacked him? Oh, that's right, working. And he should probably get back on that.
Getting up from his seat, he gently slipped out from under Rosie and readjusted his jacket. The little girl followed suit.
"Where are you going?" She asked, clearly disappointed to see him leave. Sherlock turned around on his way to his office, this time allowing himself a small smile.
"I have to finish work, I'm afraid." He responded.
"I can help you!" The little girl said, enthusiastically. "I'm very smart!"
Sherlock smiled again, placing his hand on the doorknob.
"I'm sure you are, Rosamund, but this is very serious work. You can't help me, I'm afraid."
"I can be very serious! Look!" The little girl put her hands behind her back and made a serious face. Sherlock Holmes nearly melted at her cuteness, which was nothing like him. He supressed his smile, not wanting to hurt her feelings but shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Rosamund. This case isn't something a child your age-"
"It's Rosie!" The little girl exclaimed, her voice breaking a bit. Sherlock closed his mouth, surprised. He could see the little girl's lower lip beginning to tremble. "Daddy said you're really smart so you can finish work anytime, right? I don't wanna be alone! I miss Mommy and Daddy!" With that, Rosie began crying softly, burying her face in her hands.
Sherlock watched her tiny shoulders shake, each and every sob getting louder. He froze. Never before was he in a situation where he had to comfort a child, especially of this age and he didn't know what to do. After all, as said before, he wasn't a man of emotions. After a few minutes of standing there, he sighed and went up to the girl, kneeling down to her height. His mother often did the same when he was upset as a child, opening her arms invitingly for a hug. He always felt better after a cuddle session, - at least when he was young - and, having nothing else in mind, he offered Rosie the same.
Sure enough, Rosie immediately wrapped her small arms around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder. Sherlock could feel her tears hitting his shoulder, seeping through his thin jacket. He placed one arm around her waist while running his other hand through her hair, whispering comforting words into her ear.
After a few minutes, Rosie's crying seemed to subside and she slowly let go of his jacket, pulling away the slightest bit. As Sherlock's eyes studied her face, his arms still around her, she ran her fingers over the wet patch her tears had left on his shoulder. Shortly after, she let her arm down and looked him in the eye.
"I don't wanna be alone." She whispered again, her voice still trembling a bit. Sherlock sighed deeply before looking at her.
"Your father was right. I am very smart." Rosie chuckled a bit through the remainder of her tears and Sherlock smiled a bit too. "I can finish work later, I suppose." Rosie smiled at him happily, and he reached out to gently wipe one last tear off her cheek. "Now, Rosie." He said gently. "I can't get your parents, they're both very busy now. Is there anything else that would make you feel better?"
Rosie thought for a bit before her face lit up.
"Cookies!" She suddenly exclaimed, grinning happily. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"Really? Cookies make you feel better?"
The little girl shrugged, looking away for a bit.
"Most of the time, yeah."
Sherlock couldn't help but let out a tiny chuckle, making Rosie giggle as well. Finally, he sighed.
"I can try and make some chocolate chip cookies." He suggested. As he saw the little girl's grin, he quickly raised his pointer finger. "But-" he added. "This is my first time baking so I can't promise you it'll be good."
Rosie raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her head to the left with a thoughtful expression.
"Are you smart or not?"
Sherlock threw his head back, laughing loudly before standing up and looking down at her.
"Very much so." He teased, giving her tummy a little tickle, grinning as she giggled. "I can start now if you like. You can either help me or do something else, like watch TV or draw. I have plenty of paper and pencils."
"I wanna help you!" Rosie beamed, lifting her arms up into the air. Automatically, Sherlock leaned down and picked her up, sitting her on his hip. He walked over to the kitchen and put her on the counter.
"Alright." He rubbed his hands together, looking around. "Let's get started."
"That's a weird shape." Rosie observed, looking at the cookie dough neatly arranged in the pan. Instead of little balls, the soon-to-be cookies were completely shapeless, just chunks of dough with chocolate chips.
"It'll work itself out." Sherlock assured, though he wasn't actually sure. As far as he knew, it could also be a disaster. He's never done anything like this before.
"Well, now it's time to put this in the oven." He said, apparently, to himself. Rosie was distracted by drawing something on a piece of paper Sherlock gave her once she got bored "helping" him. More like when she got done making a mess and blowing flour at him. The detective didn't appreciate the mess all over the kitchen, but was nontheless laughing along with Rosie when it happened. The child's laughter was contagious, and Sherlock couldn't help but smiled everytime he heard it.
Once the man put the cookies in the oven, he arched his back and tiredly yawned. Just then, the little girl turned to him with a wide grin, holding her drawing up high.
"Look what I drew!"
Sherlock gently took the piece of paper and looked at it. In the corner, as usual, was the sun, a few houses in the distance, and in the middle were four people. He instantly recognized John and Mary because of their height and smiled. Oh John, he thought. You're a hobbit, even your daughter knows. Beside Mary was a little girl, obviously Rosie. What surprised him was the man standing next to her. Sherlock quickly recognized his long coat, along with his curly hair and blue eyes. He had to admit, John's daughter was quite observant. The man on the picture also looked ridiculously happy and at first, Sherlock looked at him repugnancy before he finally understood. This was him, as seen by Rosie. This is what she actually thought of him.
He slowly lowered his hand, looking deep into Rosie's eyes. Her bright blue eyes were shining with happiness as she looked at him, expectingly. Sherlock couldn't help but smiled and reached out to smooth her hair down. It felt strangely familiar, familiar as breathing... Even natural. He kept his hand on her head for a second before gently stroking her cheek.
"It's beautiful, Rosie." He smiled genuinely and gently tapped her nose, making the little girl giggle. He handed her the picture back but Rosie refused.
"It's yours." She said shyly, smiling smally at him with a hint of blush on her face. "I drew it for you."
Sherlock opened his mouth, shocked, but quickly closed it again. He looked at the drawing, studying it once again. It wasn't that pretty at all, if he wanted to be honest. But there was something pure about it that he really liked and he wouldn't have said no anyway. He'll just keep it on the shelf or something, it's fine.
"Thank you, Rosie." He smiled, reaching out yet again and ruffled her hair. "I know just the place to put it."
The little girl looked so happy that Sherlock immediately felt guilty, but quickly got it out of his head. He wasn't a man of emotions, after all. Not at all.
"Alright." He clapped softly, turning around and looking around in the living room. "The cookies will be ready in about 40 more minutes. Meanwhile, we could-"
"Piggyback ride!" Rosie squealed, and Sherlock soon felt a tiny body jumping on his back. He yelped in surprise but nonetheless caught her.
"Piggyback ride?" He asked, looking at the small girl as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "To where?"
Rosie shook her head firmly, pointing forward.
"Horses don't talk. Onward, trusty steed!"
Sherlock turned his head again, confused.
"I thought I was a pig."
Rosie looked at him, equally confused before shrugging.
"Pigs don't talk either." She stated, pointing forward again. "Onward, trusty pig!"
Seeing no better option, Sherlock sighed and began running, rolling his eyes. His frustration was gone in a minute once he heard Rosie giggling, and soon he was not only laughing along with her, but also making pig noises as he ran around, just to get more and more laughter out of her. He couldn't believe himself, but also couldn't stop playing. It's been too long.
"One more round! Just one more!"
Sherlock was standing near the couch, exhausted, with Rosie still on his back. He lost his jacket somewhere along the way, he didn't even remember when. They've been running around - well, he's been running around - for the last 30 minutes with barely any pause, and he just had to stop for breath.
"Piggy's tired, Rosie." He wheezed, lowering her gently onto the couch before arching his back, stretching his arms a bit. "Besides," He turned to Rosie, raising an eyebrow at her. "We have some cookies to check on, remember?"
Rosie nodded excitedly and followed Sherlock into the kitchen. The little girl crouched down as Sherlock leaned down and opened the fridge, putting on gloves before pulling the stove out.
"Wow!" Rosie whispered in awe. The dough was flat now, just as it needed to be and and smelled amazing. She reached out touch a cookie but Sherlock quickly grabbed her small hand, pulling it gently away from the hot pan.
"No, no." He reprimanded, calmly but sternly. "No touching the pan without gloves." Rosie nodded and pulled her hand back, watching as Sherlock gently ran one of his gloved hand over a cookie. He poked it lightly a few more times before grimacing. "Nah, they're not so good yet. Another ten minutes at least, I'm afraid."
Rosie groaned.
"I wanna eat them now, though! I'm hungry!"
"Ten more minutes." Sherlock repeated, taking off his gloves and tossing them onto the counter. "We're gonna have fun until then, trust me. Go and get me some more paper and pencils from my office, please. I've got something to show you." He winked mysteriously.
Rosie nodded excitedly and ran away. Sherlock was good at drawing, as he was good at many other things, too. He figured he could teach the little girl some new things since she already seemed to be interested in art, and was a pretty good observer for her age.
Sherlock turned around and looked out of the window. He frowned as he looked at sky. Dark, big clouds gathered together, and soon he could hear the first rumble. He knew this was going to be a big storm, since it often rained in Britain but rarely rumbled. The rumbles got louder and louder, until rain started pouring as well. Yup. Huge storm.
He walked back to the kitchen and took another quick look at the cookies again, though he knew they still needed some time. After closing the oven, he leaned against the counter and waited, crossing his arms over his chest. He waited and waited, but Rosie didn't show up. Sherlock's boredom soon turned into worry and he pushed himself away from the counter.
"Rosie?" He asked, his voice ringing through the apartment. No answer. No sound came from his office, either. "Rosie?" He repeated, this time a bit louder and started walking in the direction of his office. "Rosie, do you need any help?" He stopped on his way when he heard a small whimper coming from his room. Than another, and another.
He started running, bursting through the door and looking around in his office. Soon enough, another whimper could be heard and he was finally able to detect where the noise was coming from. He dropped to his knees and looked under his desk, his heart turning into mush. Bingo.
Rosie was hiding under the desk, curling up in a tiny ball and hugging her knees to her chest, crying softly. She was scared to death.
"Aw, Rosie, it's okay!" Sherlock quickly took her in his arms and gently lifted her out from under the desk, holding her protectively to his chest. "It's just a little storm, Rosie! You don't need to be afraid!"
As Rosie continued crying into his shoulder, he walked back to the living room with her in his arms, rubbing her back gently and rocking her as he whispered comforting words into her ear. With every single crash, the tiny girl grabbed onto his shirt tighter and tighter and he held her closer to him, careful not to squeeze her small body too tight.
"It's just a little storm Rosie, it can't hurt you." He repeated gently, rubbing the back of her head. "It'll be over soon."
The girl however, didn't seem to be calming down. Her sobs got more and more intense until the point that she was hiccupping. That's when Sherlock got the idea of trying a different approach. He brought her closer to the window and gently unhooked one of her arms from his neck.
"Hey, Rosie." He whispered, attempting to turn her towards the window but she refused. "Rosie, look!" He pointed out the window. The little girl finally lifted her head and looked out the window, still sniffling. "One..." Sherlock counted. "Two. Three." Lightning flashed and the whole street glistened in light for a second. Rosie was so surprised she forgot to cry, looking at Sherlock with awe.
"Did you do that?"
Sherlock held back a chuckle and shook his head, looking out the window again.
"It's called lightning, Rosie. It can't hurt you. Though it is a bit loud."
Indeed, a huge bang came and Rosie jumped, but didn't start crying this time. She was waiting for another lighting. Which came soon enough.
"It's pretty!" She giggled, watching the street light up again. Sherlock smiled, wrapping her up tighter.
"I know, see? I told you! You have nothing to be afraid of."
Thunder crashed and lighting came, over and over again. Rosie was silent, watching in awe and Sherlock couldn't help but melted everytime he looked at her. She was so freaking innocent.
Seconds and minutes passed, and the two of them were still watching the storm in comfortable silence. That was until Rosie softly spoke up.
"I love you, Uncle."
Sherlock froze for a second, unable to move. Soon enough though, he could feel warmness spreading over his heart as he smiled, touched, and placed his chin on top of her head.
"I love you too, sweetheart." He pressed a light kiss to the top of her head, readjusting her on his hip and continuing to rock her with a smile on his face. Just a few second later, he looked down and saw Rosie sleeping peacefully on his shoulder. He smiled even wider.
"Rosie!" John burst through the apartment door and Sherlock quickly turned around, pressing his pointer finger to his lips, immediately shushing him. John looked at his sleeping little girl in his friend's arms and sighed in relief, placing a hand over his racing heart.
"Thank God, she hates storms!" He rushed over to Sherlock and opened his arms. It took a few seconds until Sherlock gently unlocked Rosie's small arms from around his neck and placed her into his father's arms. She didn't seemed to be bothered by this change at all. It wasn't surprising though: she and Sherlock had a tiring afternoon. She was exhausted.
"Was everything okay? Was she good?" John whispered, rocking the girl in his arms. Sherlock watched her sleep, nodding.
"No problem at all. She was fine."
John looked at him suspiciously. He knew Sherlock didn't like kids too much. Still, as he looked into his friend's eyes, he saw something else than before. Sherlock was looking at his daughter caringly, and almost lovingly. What if Sherlock Holmes actually has a heart? John thought. Terrifying idea.
He wanted to ask something else regarding the afternoon when a strange smell hit his nose. He sniffed into the air a few times, scrunching up his nose.
"What's that smell?" He asked.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow and looked around, sniffing into the air himself. Realization dawned on his face.
"Burnt chocolate chip cookies." He admitted, slightly embarrassed. John's eyebrows furrowed together.
"You bake?" He asked in disbelief. "Since when?"
"I started no too long ago, actually." Sherlock looked at his watch, which was a sign for John, meaning it was time to leave. "Apparently, I'm not the best at it just yet."
John chuckled lightly and nodded, heading for the door.
"Well, thank you for watching Rosie tonight, Sherlock." He said as he opened the apartment door, looking back at him. "You really saved my butt."
Sherlock nodded, smiling smally.
"My pleasure."
John Watson had never been so confused in his life. He searched Sherlock's face for signs of lying, but ended up even more confused, not finding any. Finally, Sherlock broke the uncomfortable silence by clearing his throat and looking at his watch again. John nodded and stepped out the door.
"Goodnight, Sherlock."
"Goodnight."
Sherlock closed the door behind John, standing in front of the door for a few more seconds.
"Goodnight, little Rosie." He finally whispered, letting out a smile.
The next minute, the smell of the burning cookies hit his nose again. His eyes widened.
Sherlock Holmes learnt a lot that day. For example, he learnt that being around some kids is not as bad as it actually seems, and that some of them are smarter than people would think. He also learnt that a 4-year-old can be very heavy after 30 minutes of running around with it on his back. He learnt how important it is to always pay attention when baking. But the most important thing he learnt was by far the most interesting one. He learnt that in some cases, he was a man of emotions. Either that or he went crazy, because Rosie's drawing somehow ended up on his bedroom wall that night. And Sherlock enjoyed looking at it. More than looking at any prize he owned.
Thank you for reading, you guys! Let me know what you think! :)
