John
It wasn't everyday that I walked down the stairs from my room in 221B Baker Street to find Sherlock awake before me, and it was even less often that I would see him having fallen asleep while giving Rosie a morning bottle. But that made it all the better when it did occur, and I always took photos when it was the latter. If Sherlock knows about those, he hasn't said anything yet.
That morning, I stayed at the bottom of the stairs just a moment longer than normal, leaning against the wall. I admired the sight: Sherlock cradling our my child, his face for once relaxed, his head lolling slightly to the left. Rosie was just as calm, and her little hands tried to wrap around the bottle that Sherlock held for her. They both looked… content. Happy, even. For a baby that appearance was normal, but for Sherlock, it was rare to see this kind of calm happiness.
Normally when Sherlock was happy, it was a loud and energetic emotion; his anxious excitement was contagious. When Greg Lestrade called with a new case (preferably a homicide), a smile would appear that would rival the one spray-painted on the wall. If a client came in with an interesting case, Sherlock's eyes would have a glint similar to that of a child staring in awe at a wall full of their favorite sweets. And sometimes, his happiness would be at small things; we both knew the hound that Sherlock had commissioned when we had the case I named as The Six Thatchers was useless to the mission, but Sherlock insisted on keeping him around. I don't think I had ever seen him looking at a living creature that fondly before. Until Rosie, that is.
When Sherlock thought no one was watching, I sometimes would see him watching her as if she were the most interesting being he had ever seen. He didn't gaze as her with intensity, however. There was no fire in his eyes as he studied my child, just a flickering candlelight, soft and mild.
"John?"
I looked up and shook my head; I had been lost in thought.
"John? Are you alright?" It was Sherlock, eyes now open, looking like he wanted to move but was scared to in fear of disturbing Rosie.
"Yes, Sherlock, I'm fine, got lost in thought is all." I wasn't going to tell him what I had been thinking about; I'd never hear the end of it. A nagging voice in the back of my head whispered and asked if that would really be so bad, for Sherlock to know how often John focused on him, for Sherlock to be given the facts so he could deduce why John was thinking about him so much, although that really was child's play, anyone could guess why-
"Thoughts? I didn't realize you had those."
Damn Sherlock, even when he was half-asleep he could make remarks that made John want to slap (or maybe kiss) him.
"Ah, shut up. Did you eat? I was going to make some eggs."
"Not hungry."
John sighed. He could see the outline of Sherlock's ribs through his baggy shirt, and he didn't need a medical degree to know that Sherlock didn't eat enough. He had tried to talk to Sherlock about it, but the man had refused, either changing the topic or walking away and ignoring him. John had half a mind to text Mycroft about it, but he didn't want to involve him just yet. So instead of responding, John simply left and went to make breakfast. He would contemplate that problem later.
Sherlock
I watched John head into the kitchen. I felt what I recognized as a twinge of guilt as he walked away, I knew me not eating was what was bothering him. I decided then that I would take him to lunch later, it would assuage his worries a bit. But for now, Rosie was done drinking, and she wanted to play.
While I watched her play with a teddy bear that Ms. Hudson had gifted her, I let my mind wander. John had been watching the two of us for a while before I had come out of my trance-like sleep. I assumed it was because he was watching Rosie at first, but he had been staring directly at me- not looking at Rosie, not staring into space. There is a difference between spacing out and looking at, and John had been looking. Obviously it had been subconscious, judging by his reaction when I spoke to him, but what did that mean? For a fleeting moment I wondered if he might be in love with me, if he perhaps was longing for me, but I quickly dismissed the thought. He had already rejected me, whether he knew it or not. The very day after we had moved in together, I had tried to take him out on a date; I guess I hadn't made my intentions quite clear. I do think I might have confused him a bit, what with the murder and all. Or perhaps, I had read him incorrectly back then, got my hopes up too much, let them blind me. I glanced at Rosie, making sure she was fully occupied before I let myself wander into my mind palace and find the memory.
"Girlfriend?"
"No, not really my area." I was trying to tell John I was gay; he must have gotten that, at least. He wasn't quite as observant as he is now, but he wasn't a complete idiot, either. I watch my memory of John, the way he awkwardly nods for a moment, the way his eyes dart to both sides. I know he'd denied being my date a minute before, but perhaps he didn't want to label anything, perhaps- no, definitely- he didn't realize that I had him there as a course, he was a war veteran, likely not one to jump into relationships of any kind quickly.
"So, uh, do you have a boyfriend, then? Which is fine, by the way."
I re-studied John in that moment. Why did he rush to say it was fine? People today are much more accepting than they were when Mycroft and Eurus and I were school-age, they don't normally condemn you on the spot for your sexual preference. I had gone through that, but it didn't seem to me that John had. His brother had been an alcoholic married to a woman- he was most likely straight-, was his sister bullied? Did John perhaps have to stand up for her like Mycroft and Victor had for me? I couldn't tell. That was a first, for me.
"I know it's fine." And why had he seemed so nervous about asking if I did have a boyfriend? Was he trying to fill the silence, was he trying to find out things about me that he didn't have the mental capacity to observe, or was there a possibility that he could have thought we could be a couple?
"So you've got a boyfriend then."
"No."
"Right. Okay. You're unattached… just like me. Fine. Good."
I truly couldn't tell if John was asking because he liked me or if he was just making small talk. Quickly, I came up with an idea, I'd make him think I didn't want a date, I would be able to tell then, I'd read his face and learn what John truly wanted from this. I was already speaking aloud before I could fully process the possible outcomes.
John interrupted me, assured me that he wasn't asking *that*, that he was just saying it was all fine. It was a metaphorical slap in the face.
I snapped back to reality as Rosie's teddy bear literally hit me in the face. I smiled a bit and teasingly scolded her, watching her imitate John's smile, watching her eyes glint in the same mischievous way that his do.
I still couldn't fully tell, even after visiting the memory. Was it my hopes again, getting in the way of my deductions? I really needed to stop that. For a fleeting second I considered asking Mycroft his opinion, but I waved that away. He had always said that love was a weakness; I refused to let him know that I was in it.
Did I just admit to myself that I was in love with John? I push that to the back of my mind. I was still getting used to not repressing my feelings, and I did not feel that this one would be the best to start with. Rosie throws her toy at me again, so I stop thinking about John and instead busy myself with her.
