John leaned against the counter in the break room of the hospital, completely exhausted. He had only been on the night shift for two hours and yet it felt like he had already worked a double. This is going to be one bloody long night, he thought to himself as he sipped at the instant coffee he had made, wincing at the taste and wishing he had some from the pot of filter he had brewed this morning in the flat.
Just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out frowning as Sherlock's name flashed, along with a picture of him and Lily from the beach trip they had went on last weekend (Lily had forced her tiny flowery sunhat over Sherlock's unruly curls and John just had to capture the moment - Lily laughing at her papa and Sherlock's utterly un-amused face that gave in to laughter just seconds after John had taken the picture). Sherlock never called - he always preferred to text, so when John saw that Sherlock was calling him, he was immediately worried.
"What is it? Is something wrong?" he asked immediately as he answered the call. It was the first time Sherlock was looking after Lily for the night on his own. John didn't want to work the night shift, but he owed his friend a favour and it was only for one weekend. But he still had his reservations about leaving Sherlock alone with Lily. Not because he didn't trust him - he trusted Sherlock with his and Lily's life - but more because he didn't know how well he could handle the three year old.
"Why do you assume something is wrong as soon as you answer the phone? Don't you have any faith in me, John?" Sherlock sighed down the line. John could almost hear the detective rolling his eyes and he couldn't help but smile to himself.
"Well there must be something wrong because a) you're calling me, not texting, and b) it's almost midnight and I can hear that Lily is still awake and you were supposed to put her to sleep hours ago, Sherlock!" John moaned as he heard Lily's bubbly laughter in the background of their conversation.
Sherlock glanced over at his daughter who was still wide awake and according to her, 'didn't have an ounce of tiredness in her body,' and he sighed, wishing he had texted John instead. He was going to be in a lot of trouble tomorrow morning. "Okay, so maybe I'm having some trouble getting this little terror into bed," he said as he reached over to tickle her side and smiled as she shrieked with laughter, before realising that probably wasn't going to help calm her down and get her to sleep. "Help me?"
John shook his head, scrubbing a hand tiredly over his face. "Why didn't you call me earlier? Or ask Mrs. Hudson for help earlier? Why did you wait until midnight before finally asking for help?" he questioned him, unable to stop himself from feeling slightly annoyed with Sherlock. He felt as though he wasn't taking the responsibility of looking after Lily seriously and it was just adding to the stress of the evening.
Sherlock frowned as he heard the annoyance in John's voice and he kissed Lily on the head before moving to get up and step outside of the room. If this conversation was going to turn into an argument, he didn't want Lily to have to witness it. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise I had to run for help as soon as I couldn't do something right. Is she not my daughter as well? Why do I have to ask someone else for help just because I can't get her to sleep?" he asked John almost incredulously. "I thought you trusted me to look after her," he murmured quietly, sounding slightly hurt.
Sherlock's quiet, hurt voice on the other end of the line immediately drowned out his annoyance and replaced it with guilt. "Of course I trust you, Sherlock. I trust you without a doubt. And I'm sorry for snapping at you, but I've only been doing this for two hours and I'm already dead on my feet," he sighed tiredly, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "You're right, of course you are. Ok...have you tried warm milk?" he asked, starting at the beginning of a long list of things that usually put Lily to sleep.
"Yes I've tried giving her a warm bath, playing the violin, warm milk and I've read her countless stories. Nothing is working," he sighed, peeking back into the room to see that she was still wide awake, playing with her stuffed animals. "What else can I do?"
"Hang on, reading usually works," John said with a frown, "Are you sure you're doing it right?"
"How is there a 'right' way to read a story?" he asked in confusion as he walked back into the room, sitting down on the edge of the bed and picking up the nearest book - something about a princess and a prince which obviously ended in them falling in love.
"Papa doesn't do the voices right," Lily giggled, putting the toys aside and taking the book from Sherlock. "I want Daddy to read to me!"
John heard his daughter complaining and laughed as he understood what was going on. "You didn't do the voices," he chuckled, shaking his head. Sherlock was even more confused than before.
"Voices? What voices?" he asked, looking at his daughter with a bemused frown crinkling his brow. "What do you mean?"
"When you read the stories, you have to do the character voices," he explained, grinning at the thought of Sherlock reading the story in character and shaking his head. Maybe he would ask him to leave the call connected so that he would be able to him listen as he read the story.
Sherlock's eyes widened in realisation and he sighed exasperatedly. "Honestly John? Voices? How tedious..." he drawled before pouting a bit, looking at his daughter wistfully. "You've spoilt her with your perfect parenting and I can never live up to that..."
"Don't be ridiculous, Sherlock," he said immediately, "So you can't do the same voices when you read her a story, big deal! You composed a lullaby for her on the violin that she hums all the time, and you've taught her how to speak more French than I ever learnt during my entire time at secondary school, with perfect grammar, at the age of three! You're an amazing father and don't doubt it for a second. So listen carefully," he told him sternly, "The princess has a high, girly squeal, and the prince has a low, deep...sexy voice," he mumbled, not admitting that he had based the prince's voice on Sherlock himself.
Sherlock couldn't help but blush at his compliments, smiling happily to himself. "A girly squeal? How stereotypical," he said, rolling his eyes, before he narrowed his eyes in realisation. "The prince has a low, deep...sexy voice?" he repeated with a grin, understanding why John had gone quiet all of a sudden. "Hmm...I wonder who that could be based on?" he said casually as he picked up the children's book and flicked through it.
"Shut up," John snapped playfully, feeling his cheeks heat up at being caught out. "Just get her to bed, Prince Charming."
"Does that make you the princess?" he chuckled, shuffling back on the bed and resting against the headboard, wrestling a giggling Lily into his lap.
"It makes me the love of your life," he said with a fond smile that he was sure Sherlock could hear through the phone. And he suspected he was right when he heard Sherlock whisper "I love you too," before ending the call, leaving John standing in the break room, grinning like an idiot. An idiot who was very much in love.
"Right Lily, let's try this again," Sherlock said softly as he opened up the story book in from of them both, clearing his voice before starting to read. "Once upon a time there was a princess trapped in a . "Once upon a time there was a princess trapped in a tower by her wicked stepmother and- I'm sorry Lily, but this story is utterly boring," Sherlock sighed, tossing the book over his shoulder and onto the floor, causing Lily to pout, gazing at her favourite story book longingly.
"But Papa I love that story," she whined, crossing her arms tightly and frowning up at her father crossly. Sherlock was tempted to just pick up the book and give it another go, but held his ground.
"I know...But I have a much better story," he said with a grin as he shuffled forward, lying down and pulling her close so she was resting her head on his chest, her mop of raven-black curls tickling his chin. "Once upon a time, there was a brave knight named Sir John, who was injured in a terrible battle and forced to stay at home, whilst all his other fellow knights went off on fantastic adventures - saving princesses and slaying monsters...And one day, he was limping through the little village, when he saw a strange young man named Sherlock. He didn't look strange, but he was lonely because he was different. For you see, he was a wizard, with great powers and everyone thought he was an evil wizard that wanted to try and hurt them when really..." he sighed, thinking back to that day in the lab, remembering the first time John walked through the door, not questioning Sherlock's strange methods, just accepting him for who he was. "Really, he just wanted a friend."
"Did he make friends with him?" Lily asked eagerly when Sherlock paused, staring up excitedly at him with eyes alight with curiosity. "He didn't let the wizard stay lonely, did he?"
"No, of course he didn't. Sir John was different - he was kind and clever and he could tell instantly that the wizard was truly a nice man and only wanted a friend. So he went up to him and said hello, offering to help the wizard with his potion he was making. And at first, Sherlock was suspicious of this nice man who wanted to help him because nobody ever offered to help. But soon, he came to trust Sir John, and Sherlock even magically healed Sir John's leg so he was no longer injured. And very soon they were the best of friends…"
It was just after five in the morning when John arrived home, covered in sweat, blood and other substances he didn't even want to think about. Exhausted, but glad to hear that the flat was silent – meaning Sherlock had successfully gotten Lily to go to sleep – he made his way to the bathroom, having a quick shower so he didn't feel like a walking bio-hazardous experiment. When he finished, feeling completely relaxed and incredibly sleepy, he went in search of his husband so that he could curl up on around him and sleep peacefully. Well, at least for another hour or so, until Sherlock decided he was bored of sleep and went in search of a case or a cadaver. He pushed open the door to their bedroom gently but frowned in confusion when he was met with the sight of an empty, unused bed. He turned around, making his way into living room checking to see that he hadn't missed him when he walked in, but found the sofa was empty too.
John sighed, scrubbing a hand through his damp hair, wondering where else he could be before he realised what had happened, and he grinned to himself as he snuck up the stairs to Lily's room, silently pushing open the door. He bit his lip to stop himself going 'Aww' out loud at the sight of Sherlock fast asleep, cradling Lily to his chest, both arms wrapped around her protectively, his face buried into her mop of curls. John tiptoed over to the other side of the bed, grateful for the fact that they had bought a double bed for Lily - the perfect size for both of them to cuddle up with their daughter. John slipped beneath the covers, pulling them tightly around himself and shuffling closer, wrapping an arm around both Sherlock and Lily.
Sherlock woke up slightly when he felt the mattress dip, blinking rapidly to clear his vision, smiling hazily at John, who gave him a sleepy smile in return. "Did you just get back?" Sherlock whispered, making sure not to wake their sleeping daughter. John nodded in reply before yawning widely, his relaxed body complaining about the fact that he was horizontal, warm, comfortable and yet still not asleep. Sherlock reached across to cup John's cheek softly with one hand, stroking his thumb over his cheekbone gently.
"Looks like you survived the night shift, then."
John looked between Sherlock and Lily, who was sleeping peacefully on his chest, a faint smile on her lips.
"Looks like we both did."