Sherlock's thoughts at his daughters wedding as he and molly help her get ready and as he walks her down the aisle?
—
Johanna Harriet Holmes never really cried. Well, rarely cried. When she was an infant, there was crying. She had the croup once, that was very hard on Sherlock and Molly… but, Jo was never really a crier.
That night, all his dreams had been of his first child. Finding out about her had been memorable not only because it was life changing news, but because it was the only time he remembered ever loosing consciousness. At least, the only time that didn't include drugs.
It had been nice, though, having his friend have a baby about the same time. She and Sheryl Watson became friends very fast, started school together, and even ended up going to their first crime scene together, much to the disappointment of their mothers.
"I just don't want her desensitized to murder and violence. Besides, its incredibly unsafe, not to mention irresponsible…." Molly had begun the lecture the moment he walked in the door.
"Murda, murda!" His daughter had exclaimed, cheerfully, as he passed her to Molly.
"Damn it, Sherlock!"
—
His eyes fluttered open at the sound of the pounding on his bedroom door; it was the big day.
Much like himself on his wedding day, he knew she would not reveal how excited or nervous she was. He had been stone faced, too. Although, when he and Molly got married, everyone knew it was an act because they'd seen him take control over the wedding planning so heavily, there was no way they could be convinced of him being indifferent.
Sherlock slid out of bed, giving his wife a gentle push and kiss on the shoulder.
"Jo's up." He whispered. As a parent, he'd said very similar things on a frequent basis when his children were younger. Molly stretched and yawned and glanced at the clock.
"She must be excited." She chuckled and Sherlock hummed in response as he gathered himself to shower before the women needed in the bathroom.
—
When she was about 7 or 8, Sherlock remembered picking her up from school. It was just the two of them in the cab and she was being exceptionally quiet.
"Something on your mind?" He'd asked, cautiously.
"A boy at school… he called me a freak…said I was a weirdo like you." Slowly, he released a heavy exhale before continuing.
"And what did you say?"
"I told him he was stupid. Solving murders helps people." Her raven black curls bounced a bit as they hit a bump in the road, she had been looking out the window the whole time… thinking, he assumed. "Then, he said that it would be more help to stop the murders in the first place."
"What did you say to that?" He found himself leaning forward, a bit impressed with his daughter.
"I said you can't do that. Sometimes, bad things just happen, all you can do is make it better and thats what we do for the families of the dead people." Finally, she turned to him, wiping the beautiful curls he gave her around.
"Well, what a clever girl you are." Leaning over to her, he planted a kiss on her forehead.
—
The squeak of the shower brought him out of his mind palace for long enough to remember what he was doing. He needed to stay focused and get put together quickly, they'd offered their home up to their side of the wedding party.
Smiling to himself as he began shaving, he thought of how easy it had been to raise his daughter. Well… not exactly easy, but far from as hard as it could have been.
—
"This kid name George kissed me today." She uncharacteristically blurted out. He wasn't naive, this was a long time coming. It was about that time, too. She had just turned thirteen. For a moment, he studied her face. She was a bit scared. Maybe a little too much like him.
"Well, do you want to talk about it?" He carefully asked, realizing how much of her life they'd spent in cabs. For a long time, she stared forward, considering, but then, crinkled her nose and shook her head.
"It really wasn't anything worth mentioning… I just…"
"What?"
"Never mind…."
As a curtesy to his wife and out of respect for his children as they got older, he refrained from ever consciously deducing them. So, he allowed her to leave it. Even though he knew full well she had something on her mind.
—
He cursed under his breath when he started hearing people greet each other jovially in the sitting room. It felt way too early for so much excitement so soon after waking up. Not to mention, he was shaving and it'd startled him a bit; he'd nearly nicked himself and he rarely did that.
Finishing as quickly as he possibly could, he wrapped himself up in his dressing gown and immediately locked himself in his and Molly's bedroom.
He desperately wanted to remember this day, all of it. Gracefully, he ran his fingers along the suit jacket his daughter had picked out for him before putting it on. For about a minute, he had grumbled about the coloring… he'd never worn a power blue suit, but, he took one look at his daughter and relented to her will. It was after all, a long time coming.
Pulling on his trousers, he looked over at a ten year old picture of her and fondly remember the year it got hard.
The year the girl that never cried… had cried so much… and he ached a bit, thankful it had all worked out.
—
The Watson's and the Holmes' had a regular family dinner that would end in the adults playing a card game, the youngest children playing in the living room and the eldest two socializing in Sheryl's bedroom. Like most of these Thursday nights, he or Molly would walk up and retrieve their fifteen year old daughter so they could all leave together.
That night, it was his turn.
Not thinking much of it, they were the first time he'd really dealt with teenage girls, he tripped the lock barely rapping at the door as he walked in.
Without panicking, though that took a lot of him, he walked in, slammed the door and turned to face it.
"She— she stole some alcohol and then she kissed me… this was her idea." Sheryl had argued. Swallowing hard, he used his foot to kick one of their shirts into the center of the room, behind him.
"Why would you say such hurtful things, you got the vodka from Dan!"
"Girls" He said sternly, "please, just… put your trousers and shirts back on. We're leaving." He didn't allow himself to think too much about what he had walked in on, He was a father after all. This was incredibly uncomfortable for all involved. When he knew they were dressed, he finally turned around.
"Please,… uncle Sherlock… don't tell my dad." Sheryls blue eyes were welling up with tears, which Johanna had scoffed at.
"What the hell is wrong with you." Her face twisted a bit, reading her body language, he reached out and grabbed her arm.
"Theres no reason for this…" he wasn't sure what to call it. "argument to get physical." Bad choice of words.
"Argument? This isn't an argument, dad." That was the first time he saw her really cry. She'd ran downstairs and sat in the car he'd finally broken down and bought.
Later that night, he'd gone up to talk to her.
"I just wanted to make sure you were ok." He explained, sitting down in her desk chair as she lay across her bed in one of his old shirts and a pair of pajama bottoms.
"Does this mean I'm gay, dad?" Jo's eyes fluttered up to his.
"I can't answer that." Shaking his head, he gave her a shrug.
"Why not?"
"Because… because it's not like that." She looked a bit deflated, so, since she was obviously embarrassed and hurting, he offered up a personal confession. "I'm not heterosexual."
"Really?"
"No, I'm not."
"So… are you bisexual?"
"I don't put myself in a box like that, Jo."
"What do you mean?"
"Some people, they need to define things about them. It helps them find other people who also define themselves like that and it's comforting to them. It's perfectly fine for people like that, but… for me… it feels limiting… constricting… to define myself. I'm with your mother and I'm very happy. But, if your mother was a man, I wouldn't have been less open to pursuing her and I wouldn't be any less happy."
"So, the box…. theres other people in it, but…"
"But, within the box, theres good and bad. Like I said, some people find it psychologically soothing to have a word to use to define themselves, but I just don't think they have to be important." Seeing she understood, he smiled, gave her a kiss goodnight and told her not to bother worrying about it any more that night.
—
PART TWO
He still didn't define himself… put himself in that box. It just felt disingenuous to him. It made no difference to him at him. Maybe because he had spent so much time believing that love and sex and a relationship had to be so distracting to his work….
His work… it had actually gotten more enjoyable and better with Johanna.
—
That same year, he and John got the go ahead from their wives to take the girls to a crime scene. They'd been begging for permission to go and their mothers had finally given it to them. After all, they had been sneaking the girls, the two most curious of the 5 kid Holmes-Watson clan, in whenever they got the chance.
Since they were in the city, they took a cab rather then his car and he wondered the whole time if John had noticed the tension between their daughters.
To his relief, it wasn't too gory… when the girls would tell their mothers about this later, there wouldn't be any thing in it that would make them question their decision to let them continue to help their fathers.
"Well, girls," Sherlock tried to disguise his fatherly pride. "tell me what you see." Eagerly, the teenagers each chose a side of the corpse, snapped on gloves and began ticking.
"This is a bit sick, you know." Greg Lestrade mused in the background. "A father-daughter field trip to a murder scene…."
"Well, it is take your daughter to work day." John smiled.
"Dad, where has it been raining? His coats damp, but it's had time to dry and it hasn't rained here." The eager Holmes girl inquired.
"I'll check." Gleefully, he pulled out his phone.
"He's married, but he's not wearing his ring. See the pale line of skin from the band…."
"Recently divorced?"
"Maybe the killer stole it." Sheryl offered and looked up at Sherlock, hopeful.
"Why would they steal the ring and leave his Rolex?" Jo scoffed.
"Maybe it was personal somehow…." Red in the face, Sheryl was intent on defending herself.
"Murder usually is. Do you think they just liked the wedding band? Really…."
"No, like they didn't want us to know he was married…." Gradually, their voices were rising.
"Why would that matter?"
"I don't know I'm not the killer!"
"Girls," Sherlock interjected in a warning tone. "focus or leave."
"Fine." Sheryl huffed.
"Oh, Jo. Looks like Cardiff." He informed his daughter.
"Right… ok. So, he's local… but just got back from business."
"Where did you get that?" Sheryl asked, confused.
"Business card." She smiled in response and twirled it around in her hand. "Oh, and his ID." With her other hand, she popped open the wallet.
"You're not clever, you're just boastful." Watsons daughters nose wrinkled as she squinted at her.
"Is there a difference?" John laughed and nudged his friend, who rolled his eyes. He really thought his friend enjoyed far much when their children mirrored them. With a sigh, he joined them on the floor.
"Alright, ladies. So, the ring… he took it off himself. Definitely recently divorced." He went on explaining how he could tell, something to do with the fraying of the trouser seams and the type of shoes he was wearing with his suit. The girls seemed to soak it up like a sponge. "Why don't you collect a sample of the dirt on his shoe," he pointed to Johanna, "and Sheryl, you can get me samples from underneath his finger nails."
He stood back, giving the girls room. They were eager to help and excitedly found their tools.
"You know," John leaned over and whispered. "that was a bit odd."
"What was?" He asked, staring down at his phone.
"All these years, they've never fought… at all."
"Well," he cleared his throat, not wanting to break a promise. "Things do change."
"Yeah, you're right, I suppose. I mean, you know, they're teenagers… boys and all that…"
"Yeah, yeah. Sort of, I suppose."
—
"Dad?" Her voice was soft on the other side of the door.
"I'm ready, Jo. You can come in." He answered, opening it to her and accepting her offer of a hug.
"How are you this morning?" Johanna asked him, pulling away and looking him up and down. "I see you saw reason."
"You see I love you." He corrected, scowling a bit as his reflection in the mirror.
"That, too." She wrapped her arm in his and brought herself up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
"Do you remember the one school dance you went to?" Sherlock asked her, brushing her hair behind her ears. It was still wild, she'd barely had a chance to brush it. Jo was still in an oversized tshirt and a pair of cheap boxers.
"God, I wish I could forget!" She laughed and he couldn't stop staring. His daughter looked exactly like her mother, with his hair and eyes. She was stunning and he was shocked that she had found anyone good enough for her.
—
When her headmistress called him and John while they were on a case, he panicked. Hearing your daughter had gotten in a fight with an older, male, jock was scary, he would never remember anything that happened between the call and running into the hospital room where their daughters where sitting. Jo on the bed, Sheryl on the chair.
"Thank god, you're alright." Reflexively, he pulled her into his arms.
"Ow." She cried.
"What's wrong? Where are you hurt?!" Sherlock pulled back quickly, looking her over. "Lift up your shirt, do you have internal bleeding?"
"Dad, I'm fine… its just the broken nose and fat lip."
"Ah, Sheryl." John was fussing over his own daughter. "Is that black eye all you have?" Sheryl only nodded, not looking up at anyone. Her blond hair showed signs of the time she'd put into it earlier that night, but now had a twig and some dirt in it. Lovingly, John removed the foliage.
It was quiet for awhile and the men just sat, comforting their daughters, silently. But, shouting in the hall ended the peace.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, you can't go in there!" A nurse insisted, but swearing and asserting she could, a plumb, angry woman forced her way into the room.
"You!" She pointed to Sherlock aggressively, who took a defensive stance, next to John, keeping their daughters behind them. "You public menace, I should have known that it was your daughter. No better than being raised by wolves…"
"Excuse me, but I'd very much appreciate you leaving now." His voice boomed, filling the room as the jock he knew very well was the woman's son and the one that had fought with his daughter walked in. It was Dan, who had given them vodka months earlier. His jaw was broken and an eye heavily swollen. "I'll be pressing assault charges on you." The woman turned her fire on Jo, who merely scoffed.
"I'd like to see you try." She gestured to her face. "Your son hit me first, I have witnesses and CCTV footage and a very important uncle." Sherlock smiled at this.
"Besides," He added, "I didn't raise a violent, air headed bigot, now did I?"
"How dare you! Its your daughter, the filthy rug muncher, stealing women away from good boy like mine…."
"Excuse me, but I don't take kindly to people insulting, degrading or threatening my family and you have every reason to not want me angry at you. The last person that did that, ended up killing himself. So, if I were you, I'd take your son and leave." His voice was a smooth, threatening growl and he could sense the shiver it sent up her spine,as she took her sons hand and they rushed out of the room.
As he slowly turned around, to his shock, he found Sheryl to have fully collapsed into tears, red faced.
"Uncle Sherlock, how could you?" She breathed.
"Wh-what?" He was genuinely confused for a moment, until he turned to look at John for advice. Finally, he realized, he had broken his promise to her, in her eyes. Even though it was the mother who had thrown out the slur, Sherlock hadn't repudiated it. In Sheryls eyes, given the full context of the conversation, this was him saying she was gay. "Oh, Sheryl, I didn't mean to—"
"It's ok… really." John rubbed her back. "Did you think I would mind?" He even offered a chuckle.
"No," She bounced onto her feet. "I never thought you'd be upset,I just… thought that… I don't even know if I'm gay because I don't know what this is."
"Boxes." Jo smiled at her father, having picked up a ice pack while he and the woman where arguing, she held it to her lip.
"What?" Sheryl asked.
"Boxes… defining yourself a certain way doesn't work for everybody… you don't have to use a word if you don't want to or aren't ready to." For the first time, he remembered thinking she sounded like a grown woman and had actually absorbed something he'd told her. It gave him a very warm, tingly feeling.
"Jo… I don't want this."
"Why—" For a moment Johanna glanced up at their fathers, before hushing her voice, it became a bit small. "Why do you treat it like it's something dirty and shameful? Thats not what this is at all."
"I'm done talking, Jo." Sheryl grabbed her jacket and left nothing but the crushing sound of crinoline in her wake.
And again, the girl that never cried, cried.
—
"I was just thinking that I'd wished I'd seen you beat the daylights out of that kid." Jo laughed at this, placing her hand on his shoulder.
"Dad!" She shook her head. "Come out to the sitting room, we're going to start my make up and hair."
Sighing, he followed…
—