A/N: I own nothing of the BBC and the show BBC Sherlock.
Please R&R as this is my first published fanfic.
Not Beta - All mistakes are mine.
Grief:
Only months after Mary's death and the business with Eurus dealt with and now under the bridge, time had passed oddly peacefully - including John reconnecting and rebuilding his relationship with the one-and-only Consulting Detective and best friend.
John rarily slept, when he wasn't living part-time in Baker Street and sometimes didn't see Rosie until the bitter end of daylight hours, at night he would resort to strolling around the house with a glass of strong liquor - a habit not completely broken yet. He found himself outside of Rosie's room, it felt dreadfully empty, the light that once flourished in the room had depleted towards a dismul fog. John placed the glass on the table outside of the room before entering. Quiet footsteps approached the crib, an abnormally silent baby distrubed the Doctor. John leaned in towards the crib, Rosie was still, if she was breathing she wasn't doing a very good job of it, "Rosie!" John nearly shouted "Rosie!" John tried again, panicking. Pressing his ear against her chest he closed his eyes, praying for a heartbeat to be echoing in his ear, squeezing his eyes tight, attempting to ignore the tears blinding him. The widowed father cringed, "No, please... Rosie!"
Starting gentle CPR and after the recommended five attempts to breathe Rosie back. John's heart sunk deep into his stomach. Crying hard he backed up against the wall with a large 'THUD' his knees buckled beneath him causing him to slam into a cupboard. Rosie was dead; cot death. Crying in his darkened silence he could only think of one person to call, two rings passed before his best friend picked up "John? What's wrong?" "Sher- Sherlock, please can you-" All Sherlock heard was a cold shudder down the phone with an angered sob, "Stay on the line, I'll be there as fast as I can" Scampering to retrieve his Belstaff and scarf he rushed out of 221B and hailed a taxi to John's house. Letting himself in after the agonising journey hanging up as once jumping down the stairs, "John!" Slapping his mouth shut momentarily forgetting about Rosie. "John" He hissed wandering through the house, "John, where are you?" He tried again as he spotted a dark lump in Rosie's room.
Softly approaching the room, the light from a passing car shone through giving Sherlock all the evidence he needed, Sherlock's spine was overflown by a cold shiver, he bent down and scooted himself over to the ex-army doctor, now sitting with his legs bent only inches from his face, both hands resting on his knees, left hand twitching like mad while tears fell from the man's face, "I'm sorry John" Silence as a response. Sherlock sat next to his friend waiting for something to happen, Sherlock opened his mouth hesitantly asking, "Have you phoned an ambulance?" "There's no point, she's-" John jolted up and left the room, "John, wait" Following Sherlock's order, he waited in the middle of his living room, covering his face with his left hand while his right clung underneath. Unaware John was listening Sherlock started "John, please don't do anything irrational, I know that sounds unbelievably selfish but-" "Shut up! Sherlock just-" Losing his balance Sherlock darted for the falling Watson, catching him and keeping him supported.
The older man found himself gripping onto the lanky Detective as if his life depended on it, scrunching up his hands into near white knuckles while clinging to Sherlock's jacket while taking husked breathes. Sherlock wrapped one arm around John's back while the other shifted into the back of his companion's neck, taking small breathes as if to guide John to calm down. John's eyes folded close, his body turning limp in Sherlock's grasp, "John? John?" Sherlock pleaded while lowering his friend onto the ground, reaching out for a pillow for his friend's head, keeping a hand warped around a wrist for taking a pulse Sherlock pulled out his phone, "Hello? I need an ambulance, I need to report a death, a baby; cot-death, I'm with the father, his body gave up from the overwhelm of stress and grief. I'm Godfather and a family friend" Sherlock gave John's address while taking intermissions between to reawaken John. "Please hurry" Sherlock ordered before hanging up, no doubt Mycroft traced the call.
Keeping a colder hand on John's cheek, eyelids fluttered, "Sh- Sherlock?" "John, I'm here" Keeping his grip firm, "How did I get on the floor" "Your body caved in, probably the lack of sleep and grief caught up" "Rosie... she's gone" Silence was confirmation. "I... phoned an ambulance just before you woke up" Though nothing was touching him John felt a warm object drape across his stomach and something curl up near his side.
The room started to blend into a white flash, the Sherlock in front of him disappeared gunfire was heard in the distance men dragging his body along the sand leaving a trail, Afghanistan? BOOM. London. Baker Street? "Mr Holmes?" "Sherlock, please" "The game is on" "John" Was that real?
"John?" Sherlock shook John carefully in their shared bed, "John?" Sherlock tried again, sitting up over the man, clearly in distress. Blinking Sherlock leaned over the older man's ear and whispered "Vatican Cameos" Sparking or triggering something John shot up in the bed, "Where?" "Here" "What?" "You were in distress and I needed an effective way to wake you up" "Sherlo- Rosie!" "She's fine, she's asleep" "No" Throwing himself out of bed he raced upstairs to Rosie's room - in hindsight probably not the best choice for approaching a child's room - John composed himself as he reached the final steps to his daughter, squeeking the door open John knelt down by little Rosie, gently taking her pulse she gurgled and leaned in to her father's warm hands and babbled in her sleep. Feeling tremendously stupid John pushed his hair back, Sherlock entered the room quietly observing his best friend's actions "John, what happened?" "A nightmare, Rosie she- She-" Sherlock knelt down beside John, "Whatever happened, it wasn't real. Whatever happened to Rosie didn't occur. Come on, you know what she's like in the mornings, you'll need all the energy you can muster" Sniffing and wiping dry tears away John nodded and accepted Sherlock's hand to help him up returning to bed with a sleepless dream and a Detective tangled and spead over him.