It doesn't really occur to him until that ghastly Christmas night at 221B Baker Street that there is something between them. A history. A shared past. More than their occasional collaboration at the lab, his manipulative games, her willingness to do everything he asks – something he never really saw until now. Maybe spending his whole life with the only one consulting detective in the world has worked its magic on his brain, but John can say that what they've all witnessed in awe and stupefaction that night was merely the tip of the iceberg. Maybe even just a snowflake, delicate, fragile, unnoticeable at first but carved with the greatest precaution, the finest details. He can't be wrong, can he? Sherlock never apologizes. Not to him, not to anyone he knows – if he does so, it's always obvious he doesn't mean it. It's just like the other day, when he tried to look vaguely guilty after smashing Mrs Hudson's favourite cup of tea by accident. The words did come out his lips, but empty, like they did not really fit in.
At Christmas though, it was different. One might say that the Christmas spirit had visited Sherlock but that is a fairy tale very unlikely to come true. No, no. Something unusual happened, beautiful and sudden, unexpected yet graceful and powerful, almost like a crack in the fabric of space and time. A genuine apology. It was all that was, but everyone was mesmerised by the two of them. Then he kissed her, and they all felt like spectators watching the very good plot twist of a movie. Obviously, the ringtone of The Woman's text broke the entire moment, and everything went back to normal. Sort of.
After this unforgettable and peculiar evening, John tried to pay more attention to the little things - to his choice of words when he's with her, to the way she looks at him when he's not looking, to heir behaviour, to this awkward dance they seem to create whenever they are next to each other. John learns that whenever Sherlock is not at the flat, he is at Molly's. That he drinks the coffee she makes for him at Bart's even though he dislikes it. That he sometimes behaves well without anything in return but just because he's feeling like it. Of course, Sherlock loves to show off in front of an audience, and is more likely to be rude and haughty in that case, so John tries to leave them alone when he can.
They've known each other for God knows how long. By the past, if he had considered Molly Hooper as a background character, only brought alive by her love for Sherlock, he now knows that there is more than meet the eye. Maybe somehow, the detective gets her kind, optimistic, sweet vibes – and that makes him more bearable for the rest of the day. There is a story of Sherlock and Molly that John can't quite define, it's blurry and discreet, but it is very real. He gets to know her better, and the more he does, the more he likes her - enough to introduce her to Mary and enough for her to become Rosie's godmother.
But then life happens, and the story of Sherlock and Molly fades again. After all, more important things have happened. Molly is part of their lives now, regular visitor at 221B but never for a case, always for a good tea and good times. She talks about anatomy and of the best way to commit murders with them for hours while drinking her tea, or comments her latest autopsy while watching trash telly with John – Sherlock's sitting at his desk, pretending he isn't interested. She has become a friend. When Mary dies, she takes full responsibility of Rosie while working, because John cannot do so. She handles his problem with Sherlock, while caring for Rosie, while working, because she feels like the only link strong enough to tie them together. Even Lestrade feels unwelcome. But Molly's resilience is the key to never giving up.
So John supposes it is not that much of a big surprise when the phone call comes up. It's just the simple realisation that what was hidden between them all that time, behind the thick layers of friendship, was love.
Difficult times lie ahead. His very best friend, a man he loves, is broken and traumatised. His daughter's godmother, a woman he admires, is lost and helpless. Only time can heal the wounds wide open, only words can soothe the pain and the fear. John let Sherlock and Molly grieve the loss of their innocence. He encourages Sherlock to speak to her as soon as they get back and as soon as he feels better but he will not interfere – he just wants to make sure that Sherlock doesn't emotionally kill Molly by being careless. God bless, he doesn't. Sherlock never said what exactly happened between Molly and him and John doesn't ask. The words they said, the kiss they shared, the tears they cried – it's none of his business, not really. Of course he wishes he knew, and maybe one day Sherlock – or, more likely, Molly – will open up and talk about it but for now, it doesn't matter. What matters is, things are better. Nothing will ever go back to normal, they all are well aware of that. But better is fine. Good. In better lie all kind of hopes and joy for the days to come. And when Molly shows up one day, going straight to Sherlock and kissing him on the lips, John knows that it is already better. He watches happily as Molly and Sherlock slowly begin a relationship. Oh, nothing changes much, but they do not need to pretend anymore.
In the meantime, 221B Baker Street is rebuilt, and soon it is a home again. Rosie is growing up, loved by everyone around her – her father obviously, Sherlock, Molly, Mrs Hudson, Greg. They all care for the little Watson and spend an incredible amount of time with her, whenever they can… although John has to ensure that Molly, Sherlock and Greg are never left all three in a room with Rosie, or they'll start telling her stories about crime and murders.
He doesn't need that, everyone telling crime stories to Rosie. It is enough for her to be living around a father who's an ex-army doctor, companion to the one and only consulting detective; said consulting detective, who's also been to prison, killed someone, faked his death and happens to have a psychopathic sister; a pathologist, who, even though made of sunshine and cotton candy, could commit the perfect crime and who therefore literally cuts open dead bodies for a living; the widow of a drug dealer who owns property in Central London and is certainly not their housekeeper; a detective inspector who investigates murders everyday, and even the British Government. Yes, even Mycroft does pop around sometimes, always faking interest for cases but really dying to know how his little brother is doing at being an emotional being. Mummy and Daddy Holmes aren't out of the picture either, and the next Christmas party, after the events at Sherrinford, held at the Holmes' family home, is simply the best ever. Especially after that ghastly Christmas night.
So John supposes it is not that much of a big surprise when a few months later, Molly announces her pregnancy. It's just the simple realisation that things are not normal, but always better, and even though he misses Mary, the wounds are closing, and that they are moving on.
Annnd that's it ! First story to be published in six years ! Pfiou !
Please let me know what you thought of it - also English is not my first language so if you see any spelling mistake or other mistakes, please point them out and I will correct them. Thank you for reading anyway ! x