John Watson watched his daughter sleep as he stood in the doorway of his old room at Baker Street. One day, he arrived at his old flat to find Sherlock Holmes had purchased a cot for Rosie, placing it alongside the bed in what was always referred to as "John's room". The room now boasted a toy chest and changing table, and a baby monitor rested near where a nightlight in the shape of a star cast a dim glow. Over the past few months, Rosie and John had slept here more than a few times, when the cases ran late and John couldn't bear to go back to his sterile home in the suburbs. Rosie had eaten her first solids here, teethed her first tooth here, taken her first steps here… into the arms of a delighted and proud Sherlock. Baker Street was more Rosie's home than any other place, and John was giving serious consideration to Sherlock's offer of moving back in. Back "home", as Sherlock had stated, as if it should be plainly obvious. John was always slower than Sherlock about certain things, but Baker Street as his true home was becoming ever more obvious to him, too.
John was grateful Rosie had fallen asleep so easily earlier that evening after Molly and Greg dropped her off. The case had been a rough one, with what had first seemed a tantalizing murder investigation instead concluding as a sad and brutal suicide. The call had come from Sally Donovan the previous evening. A young man (Colin, white, early 20s, single, few A levels, barista at Costa, living alone in Chiswick) had been found with his face disfigured by multiple lacerations under a pillow, asphyxiated. When interviewed, his parents could not come up with anyone who'd want to hurt their son, nor could they think of any new people in his life. That morning, Sherlock, John and Sally had gone to the Costa to interview the victim's co-workers. They related much the same, nothing unusual of note. But then a customer had approached John, saying she was a regular who chatted with Colin a few times per week. John stifled a smile as Sherlock held his tongue, not blurting out the young woman's unambiguous crush on the victim. She said Colin seemed sad the last few weeks, but only when his co-workers could not see his face. Sherlock had drawn a rapid breath at that point and asked if Colin had given her any gifts recently. She seemed startled as she said yes, that he'd given her his collection of Being Human blu-rays, knowing how much she enjoyed the series. Sherlock had cast his gaze down at that point, and then he called Donovan over. In a low voice, he requested her team search bins near Colin's flat and the Costa for any disposed bottles of insulin or syringes.
John murmured, "You think this is a suicide."
Sherlock nodded. "With some self-mutilation added, to lessen the blow to his family by appearing to be a crime instead." He addressed Sally directly. "Injection points will most likely be in the upper thigh. Family would be unlikely to look there even if they suspected self-harm, wanting to respect his privacy, before coming to the conclusion this was murder."
"Jesus. How awful," Sally said, before walking away to give quiet directions to her team.
By the time the empty glass insulin bottle had been found and a suicide note located on an obscure Reddit board, dozens of friends and family members had gathered at the Costa to grieve together. A makeshift flower shrine appeared outside its storefront, and a GoFundMe campaign started to cover funeral expenses. A pensive Sherlock had observed it all.
After Sally had delivered the news to Colin's stunned parents, Sherlock walked silently through the mourners and expressed his sympathies to them. Then he beckoned to John and the two men left the cafe. A mystery solved, but no joy to be found in that today. It was already well into the evening when they arrived at Baker Street. John, concerned by how subdued Sherlock was, asked to stay over.
As John knew he would, Sherlock responded,"You never have to ask, John. You and Rosamund will always have a place here with me."
Trying to make Sherlock laugh, John said, "Oh, I know. Just thought I'd try to set a good example for you by being polite." John was rewarded with an eye roll, but as he gazed at his daughter an hour later, he still was not assured that Sherlock was okay.
"I have to go downstairs to check on your…" John paused. Uncle Sherlock was a non-starter. He would never put Sherlock on the same level as Harry in his or Rosie's life. Father rang most true, if John forced himself to be completely honest, but he did not know how Sherlock would feel about that. Just using his name seemed too impersonal, but for now. "… I need to check on our Sherlock."
Rosie continued to sleep as he spoke to her. John was convinced she slept better at Baker Street, that like both him and her mother, the promise of excitement satisfied her emotional needs and left her at peace.
"Sweet dreams, my Rosie," John whispered, and then he walked down the stairs to the sitting room.