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Rosamund Mary Watson was smart.
Smart enough to wonder if her dad, and his friend, would ever be anything more than friends.
She was ten when she first asked the question.
"Daddy, are you and Sherlock gonna get married?"
Being only ten, she hadn't paid much mind to her dad's reaction. But John Watson had choked on his tea and stuttered as he answered the question. "Uh...well, sweetie, I don't know."
"Well you should." She had replied cheerfully. "Grandma Hudson says you are practically lovers. What does "lovers" mean, daddy?"
John Watson choked on his tea a second time.
When she had been around six, her dads(honestly Sherlock was almost like a second parent to her) had given her her own room. They'd begun to share one. At six this didn't really bother her, but now, at thirteen going on fourteen, she had questions.
"Hey Sherlock." Rosie dumped her backpack on the table.
"Good afternoon." He replied, not looking up from his microscope. "How was school?"
Rosie grinned. "You already know. Also Grandma Hudson said to remind you that she's coming over tonight cause you and Dad are going out for dinner."
Sherlock looked up at that, opening his mouth like he was going to respond , but then the door opened.
"Hey, everyone." John Watson entered the flat, shrugging off his jacket.
"Dad!" Rosie cheered. "You're home early!" She hugged her dad tightly, and felt something in his pocket press against her arm. A box shaped something. Looking up, she saw her dad wink down at her.
She'd seen the ring a few weeks prior. Her dad had talked to her about it, explained that it was okay if she wasn't entirely comfortable with it at first, Sherlock would understand and they could work it out together.
Of course none of this nonsense was going to stand when she and Grandma Hudson had been trying to get the two together, for quite a while. So when her dad had showed her the ring and explained his plan, Rosie had been overjoyed.
Finally, tonight, it was going to happen. Her dad would propose.
"Hello John." Sherlock called out. "Apparently we are going out to dinner tonight. Rosie has kindly informed me of this."
Her dad winked at her again. Rosie smirked and headed off to her room to do her homework. Or, that's what the two men in the other room thought. (She had finished all her homework for the week yesterday.)
"Yep, dinner at the Landmark, at six. I'm going to take a shower." Rosie heard her dad's footsteps walk away, and the shower starting up a few minutes later.
It was also accompanied by a shriek. "Sherlock, how many times, you cannot dispose of dangerous chemicals in a shower!"
And the reply, "Don't worry they're water soluble!"
At six pm sharp, Rosie walked into the sitting room to see her dad and Sherlock in suits, looking well-groomed and definitely not making lovey eyes when the other turned their back.
"Woo ooo!" Grandma Hudson entered the flat. "Oh, don't you look so nice! You boys go out and have fun; Rosie and I will enjoy a night in."
The two men said their goodbyes, Rosie and Grandma Hudson hugged them both. As soon as the door closed, both women hurried to the window. They watched the pair hail a cab, climb in, and drive off.
Rosie whipped out her phone and sent a quick text to Uncle Greg.
Johnlock is a go. Also you owe me twenty pounds.
Because they'd made a bet. Of course they had. Which one could get the pair to go out on a romantic evening first? Rosie had shown her dad the advertisement from the Landmark. Reservations available. Take that Uncle Greg.
At Scotland Yard, Greg Lestrade showed the text to Anderson, Donovan, and pretty much everyone. Everyone shipped it.
Mycroft just watched his brother like always, narrowing his eyes.
Back at 221b, Rosie and Grandma Hudson passed the time with movies and what her dad referred to as "crap telly".
It was midnight when they returned. Grandma Hudson has stayed up, electing to clean up the kitchen a little. Rosie had gone to bed. (School tomorrow. Ugh.)
The door opened slowly, as if they were trying to be quiet. Grandma Hudson's voice could be heard, along with her dad's and Sherlock's. Silence, for a brief moment, and then a shriek and laughter. Rosie flew out of bed and dashed into the sitting room.
Grandma Hudson was clapping enthusiastically, almost crying, pausing occasionally to press her hands to her mouth. Her dad had an arm around Sherlock's waist, and the taller man was blushing.
On his finger the ring glittered. Rosie hugged her dad tightly, and then Sherlock. "Oh my god."
When everyone had calmed down enough, Rosie sent another text to Uncle Greg.
I win.
Of course Mycroft found out the fastest. He stopped by the flat the next day to offer congratulations. Rosie called him "Uncle Mycroft" and he blinked, looking almost happy for a moment.
Scotland Yard was next. Uncle Greg, Mr. Anderson, Ms. Donovan, and a couple others all but broke down the door. They brought champagne.
And because her dad put "my wonderful fiancé" on his blog, the rest of London found out too.
The wedding came a month later. Rosie wore a white dress, acting as flower girl. Grandma Hudson came too, and wore a nice hat with flowers on it. It wasn't quite as huge as some of her hats, which Rosie was grateful for.
Uncle Greg was Dad's best man. Her dad wore a white tuxedo, Sherlock a black one. Her grandparents (on Sherlock's side) came to the wedding, and even Aunt Harry. She clapped the grooms on the back and grinned broadly.
There were flowers. Poisonous, yes, but beautiful all the same. Sherlock and Grandpa walked down the aisle, to the sound of a violin being played over video chat by her aunt that no one really talked about.
The ceremony wasn't too fancy. But when her dads kissed, finally, finally, everyone cheered.
Sherlock had composed the music, and they danced a waltz that was quick, lively, and exciting, but with melancholy mixed in too. Rosie knew that the piece was titled, "Our Adventures."
During the reception Uncle Greg and Uncle Mycroft gave a speech together. It included stories about their more comical cases, funny memories, and a few tales of Sherlock's younger years. Both men were blushing by the end.
Rosie danced with her parents and family. Cake was eaten, (and thrown, Mycroft looked scandalized) champagne was drunk. All around, it was the perfect night.
The wedding photographer was good. When he took the group photo, (which everyone would cherish for years, no matter how they denied it) the order of chaos went a little something like this:
John, Sherlock, and Rosamund Mary Watson-Holmes in the center. Uncle Greg and Uncle Mycroft on either side. Grandma Hudson, Aunt Harry, and Ms. Donovan next. Then Grandma and Grandpa Holmes, along with Mr. Anderson.
Flower petals floated down as the grooms kissed once more. And Rosie couldn't have been happier.
Alright that was my first Sherlock fic, so I hope you all liked that! Leave a review if you'd like to see more in this fandom.