Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock (if I did, we wouldn't have to wait until nearly Christmas for series three:)
A/N: I am working on Fear chapter 6, however I can't get it to flow how I want at the moment (please don't hate me), I've written this little story as an apology. I hope you like it, please review and please be kind.
Enjoy :)
Do You Renounce Evil?
The curtains were closed against the afternoon sun giving the room a soft, almost ethereal glow as Sherlock stepped quietly through the door. John glanced up from his kneeling position on the floor and smiled, then returning his gaze to the view in front of him, he reached an arm over the edge of the cot and lightly rested his fingers against the head of the baby lying there asleep. Sherlock crept over determined to be quiet, unwilling to incur John's wrath by disturbing the sleeping child.
'He's perfect, Sher' whispered John as his fingers caressed the soft fuzz of blonde hair, the expression in his eyes softening as they took in every detail.
'Of course he is, he's your son.' Sherlock replied quietly, 'it's a fact that all parents believe their child to be the most perfect baby ever born, it's hard wired into your DNA. Parental love ensures the child is protected, thereby allowing the species to continue.'
John turned to Sherlock, his eyes narrowed slightly even as his smile remained, 'nothing you can say to me can upset me, Sherlock. My life is perfect.'
Sherlock smiled softly at his friend, 'in that case, all I will say is that Mary said to tell you that lunch is ready.'
John's smile widened into a grin as he pushed himself upright and began to move away from the cot towards the door turning on the baby monitor as he walked and setting it down on the bedside table, knowing that Mary would have taken the receiver into whichever room she was in. 'You couldn't have just said that when you first walked in to the bedroom Sher?'
'No.' replied Sherlock as he exited the room and began walking down the stairs, followed shortly afterwards by John who had cast a final glance at his son before shaking his head in exasperation when he looked at the genius he was following.
Once Sherlock had eaten his fill of lunch, which admittedly wasn't a lot (half a cheese and pickle sandwich and three salt and vinegar crisps), he sat back in his chair and watched the interplay between the couple in front of him. John and Mary had been married for eighteen months, and whilst Mary and Sherlock hadn't always seen eye to eye, they both recognised the love they each felt for John and, Sherlock conceded, Mary wasn't as dull or as stupid as some of John's previous girlfriends, (though as far as Sherlock was concerned, that still wasn't saying a lot). In the end though, it was John himself who forced them into what had, at first, been an uneasy truce. He had sat them both down and told them straight that he couldn't deal with the difficulties brought about by the two people he cared about most in the world not getting on. He then told them, that if they cared for him at all, they would work it out between them. That had been two years ago, and Sherlock now spent almost as much time at the Watson house as he did at 221B Baker Street.
As Sherlock continued to watch the couple, he became aware that they appeared to be conducting a silent conversation between themselves. They would look at each, then away, then one of them (it alternated each time) would then look at Sherlock before looking at each other, and so the cycle would begin again.
'Okay, what? What is the problem, or do you just want me to deduce it?' asked Sherlock as he raised his eyebrows whilst looking at the pair of them.
John glanced up at his friend, then his gaze flicked across to his wife as he cleared his throat a little. Mary placed her hand over her husband's and squeezed slightly as if to give him the strength to continue. John looked down at their joined hands and smiled. Looking up at Sherlock, he took a deep breath. 'Mary and I have been talking, and you can say no if you wish, but I really hope you say yes.'
'Yes to what, you haven't asked me anything yet.' replied Sherlock when it became clear that John wasn't going to say anything further.
'Oh, right, yes, sorry. Erm ... we wanted to ask? Would you be Jamie's Godfather, when we have him Christened next month? I mean, I know you're not particularly religious or anything, but it would mean a lot to us, you know, I mean you're pretty much family anyway, and well, you know ...' John's voice drifted off as he saw the expression on Sherlock's face.
'You think of me as family?' answered Sherlock, his eyes widening in surprise.
Mary leaned across the table, and placed her other hand over Sherlock's, and said softly 'of course we do, you're Jamie's Uncle Locky.'
As Sherlock looked down at his large hand covered by Mary's smaller feminine hand, he realised that there was something on his face. Raising his other hand to his cheeks (he was unwilling, for some reason, to remove his hand from beneath the comfort of Mary's hand), he noticed that his cheeks were wet. Putting his finger to his lips he tasted the salt. He looked up at the pair sat opposite him, concern for their friend evident in their facial expressions.
'Uncle Locky?' whispered Sherlock, then his voice grew stronger as he replied 'Yes, I will be Jamie's Godfather.'
John stood up, and pulling Sherlock out of his chair, he wrapped his arms around his best friend in a bone crushing hug as he said 'I told you, my life is perfect.'