"Dad?!" Rosie called excitedly from the bottom of the stairs. She stomped up each stair and the framed pictures on the wall rattled as she ran by them. Mrs. Hudson had always scolded her about running up the stairs like a wildebeest but Rosie rarely listened.
She fished her keys out of her bag and opened the door to the flat with a flourish. Again, she called:
"Dad? Are you in?" She tossed her suitcase and handbag to the floor and toed off her trainers. Everything about the flat was exactly the same as it had been the last time she was home. She turned toward the kitchen and smiled.
"Hi, Mum." Rosie raised her right thumb to her lips and kissed it, then touched it to the cheek of the smiling blonde woman in the picture hanging on the wall. Her mother died when she was quite young and had no memories of her at all. Dad had told her heaps of stories that she pretended were her own memories. In the last few years though, she'd increasingly more often began thinking of the beautiful woman in the photographs simply as Mary rather than her mother.
She cocked her head and examined the face of the mother she never knew. It was kind to be sure. There was an adventurous spirit and a hint of mischief behind her smile and Rosie noted the shape and blue shade of her own eyes more closely resembled Mary's rather than Dad's. That was where the physical resemblance ended. Her mother's hair was short and natural ash blond and Rosie had chestnut brown curls that flowed half way down her back. She had inherited the color of Dad's complexion, his temper and a lot of his mannerisms. Every once in a great while, mostly when Dad and La were having one of their rows, Rosie would say something that would make Dad sit back in his chair and say the words that made her heart break over and over;
"That is just what your mother would have said."
There was still no sign of Dad. Rosie peeked down the hallway and saw that the bedroom door was closed. She walked over on tiptoe – closed doors were a thing to be respected in this house. She'd once walked in on Dad and La when she'd forgotten to knock and all three of them nearly died of embarrassment. Rosie had learned to be much more careful.
She approached the closed door quietly and was about to knock when she heard a soft snoring sound coming from the sitting room. She turned and was surprised to see Dad sleeping in his usual chair by the fireplace covered in a red and cream tartan blanket. The sight of her old man made her heart soar. She loved being away at school but her heart was always at home. She padded over to Dad, careful not to step on any of the floorboards that were squeaky.
She crouched next to the old armchair that Dad and La refused to part with and stared into his face. There was pale stubble above his lip and the wrinkles in his forehead were slightly deeper. His wire-rimmed spectacles had drifted down his nose as he slept. He had his hands folded above the blanket and Rosie smiled to see that on the ring finger of his right hand Dad was wearing the gold wedding band he'd worn when he was married to Mary. She put her hand over her heart and felt Mary's matching wedding band underneath her blouse. She'd worn her mother's wedding ring on a gold chain every day since Dad and La first brought her to school.
On the ring finger of his left hand, Dad wore a different gold band embedded with a row of four polished dark green bloodstones. Rosie remembered Dad's wedding to La. She had thought of La as her second parent all of her life. The day they married when Rosie was 10 year old was very special to all three of them.
"Dad?" Rose said placing a hand gently on his sleeve. He stirred slightly.
"Dad, wake up…" she said softly and kissed his cheek.
Dad's eyes opened slowly and at first he looked confused. As soon as his eyes focused on Rosie his entire face twinkled to life. He smiled, pushed his spectacles back into place and scrambled to his feet.
"Rosie! My Darling!" He grabbed her hands and held her at arm's length to look at her. His hands were slightly rough but they were the same gentle hands that Rosie would recognize anywhere.
He checked his wristwatch without letting go of her hands. "What are you doing home so early? We were going to pick you up at the station at five!"
"I took an earlier train! I wanted to surprise you!" Rosie laughed.
Dad laughed his laugh which was identical to Rosie's. "Well my girl you can surprise me like that any time you like!" He pulled her in for a hug and kissed both of her cheeks. Nobody hugged like Dad did. Rosie never felt as safe anywhere as she did in Dad's strong soldier's arms. She felt his hands rubbing her back and she giggled, knowing exactly what he'd say next.
"You're thinner! You're far too thin! What am I paying all that money to that school of yours to starve you half to death! Are you hungry?" He let go of her and nearly tripped over the tartan blanket to get by Rosie toward the kitchen. Rosie shook her head and smirked as she folded the blanket and tossed it over the back of Dad's chair.
"Dad, I'm fine. I had something on the train." Rosie said as she joined Dad into the kitchen.
"Well we're going out to dinner tonight anyway." Dad said, his eyebrows knit together in concern. "You must remember to eat, Darling."
"I'm eating, Dad. I promise. The food isn't terribly good, but I'm eating it." Rosie plopped down at the kitchen table, propped one foot up on the seat and hugged her knee. The hem of the skirt of her school uniform rode up.
"Well you can order takeaway, can't you? Shall I call the Headmaster and give her a piece of my mind? I have connections, you know. I could make some inquiries…They ought to be feeding you healthy, balanced meals."
"Ever the soldier protects, ever the doctor diagnoses." Rosie said. "It's not a big deal Dad. Honestly, I'm fine."
Dad didn't seem entirely satisfied, but he relented. "Tonight, we celebrate. Order whatever you want. I've made reservations."
Rosie nodded in agreement. "Where's La?" She asked after a brief silence.
Dad looked put out by the question but his features softened slightly. Rosie knew that look meant they'd had a row. "La is probably in the public garden. Out of my hair for the afternoon so all is well. You'd better be off though, you know there'll be no living with La if you don't go say hello straightaway."
Rosie kissed Dad on the cheek ran up the stairs to her room. She quickly put on a pair of silver thong sandals and ran back out again, nearly forgetting to grab her handbag.
"Glad to have you home, Darling." Dad said before she left. "I missed all the stomping feet."
It was an unusually sunny day in London and Rosie relished the warmth on her skin as she walked three blocks to the public garden. She didn't need to look for La, she knew exactly the spot. Sure enough just past the fountain statue of a Satyr standing on tip toe surrounded by dogs she saw La sitting crossed legged on the same familiar stone bench. La's eyes were closed behind his spectacles. The shock of dark curls were more streaked with silver than Rosie remembered from the Christmas holidays and his frown lines were deeper. She readjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and took quiet steps up to La, careful not to disturb.
"Well that took you long enough." La said at last. Rosie froze in her steps. La opened his eyes and examined her carefully. "You've lost another 5 pounds, Rosie – your father will have a fit."
"He already has." Rosie said with a shy smile. "How did you know it was me?"
La cocked his head at her. "If you're going to sneak up on someone Rosie, you should take care to walk slowly the entire time. I heard the footfalls of your gait as soon as you entered the garden. And then there's your perfume – the wind was blowing just enough for me to detect that scent you're always wearing."
Rosie crossed her arms over her chest. "You couldn't have known it was me, La. I wasn't supposed to be home yet, I took an early train to surprise you both."
La smirked at her. "Watson, the day you are able to surprise me will be a meritorious day indeed. You, like your father, are so predictable but neither of you acknowledge it."
Rosie grew incredulous. "But I didn't know I was taking an early train myself until the last second. You could not have known."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh, I couldn't have, eh? Are you entirely sure?" He gently patted the place on the bench directly next to him.
Rosie dropped her bag on the ground and plopped down next to La.
"What is the detail you are missing? Think." La prompted her.
Rosie pursed her lips together in concentration. Suddenly from La's pocket came the theme song of the Wicked Witch of the West. La pulled the ringing phone from his pocket and held it to his ear.
"Not now, Mycroft. Rosie is here." Without waiting for his elder brother's reply, La ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He looked at her with a smirk and winked; Rosie smiled back.
"The app. Damn. I'd forgotten." Rosie said at last.
"Obviously." La retorted.
La had an app on his phone that sent him an alert any time the bank account was accessed. Since Rosie always put off buying her ticket until the train home was about to leave, La knew she was coming home early but that meant that what he additionally knew was the reason Rosie hadn't yet received a hug.
"You told your father you took the morning train?" La asked.
"Yep."
"But you in fact took the last train out yesterday." La reclined slightly and placed his arm on the back of the bench behind Rosie.
"Yep."
La crossed one leg over the other and removed a pack of cigarettes and lighter. He lit one and inhaled slowly. He passed it to Rosie, who accepted it quickly and put it to her lips but then realized she'd made another mistake. La didn't change expression or position as he lit a cigarette for himself and smoked it quietly.
"You should remember to mind your tells more carefully. As you stood over there, you were holding your fingers together as if holding a cigarette came very naturally. You also applied one extra spritz of perfume in an attempt to mask the smell of smoke in your hair. You clearly changed clothes this morning after your first cigarette of the day but you'd already taken a shower and smoked while your hair was still wet. I won't tell your father you've started smoking if you promise to quit by summer's end."
Rosie sighed and took a rebellious drag. "If you tell on me, I'll tell on you. You know he'll go ballistic if he knows either of us are smoking."
La smirked and smoked. "Yes, but which one of us relies on his monthly allowance checks?"
"Fuck me." Rosie said under her breath.
"Indeed. Checkmate, my dear." La said. He stubbed the cigarette out on the heel of his shoe. He then moved his arm from the back of the bench to around her shoulders and pulled her into his chest in an embrace. If any place in the world was as comforting as Dad's arms, this was it.
"It's good to have you home, Darling." La said placing a kiss on her temple.
Rosie spent the next hour filling La in on the last few weeks of the school term. She'd had another row with her friend Eliza and this was probably the last time because Rosie had absolutely had it with her.
"She's always so smug." Rosie said as they walked by the duck pond. "She thinks she's the greatest thing because her mother was a pop star." La didn't know what to say but as he had met Eliza on occasion and had taken a dislike to the girl, he was quite pleased that Rosie's association with the girl had ended.
"Her mother wasn't even that good of a pop star!" Rosie said.
They walked arm in arm in silence for a while. Rosie spotted the newly finished flowerbeds that weren't there during her last visit. La grew impatient.
"Which one was it? The one with the motorbike or the one with the glasses?" He asked at last.
La kept walking but Rosie stopped and stared at him wide eyed.
"How could you possibly know that?" She yelped.
La turned to her and clasped his hands behind his back.
"When will you learn that I know you better than you know yourself?" La asked.
Rosie crossed her arms over her chest, a sign of putting one's guard up.
"You've a small burn mark on your left leg, indicative of getting burnt on the tailpipe of a motorbike and there's a mark on your cheek that presumably came from accidentally pinching your skin in the buckle of a helmet – but there are no signs of helmet-hair, which means you either didn't wear the helmet when you arrived at Baker Street earlier or you got there another way. I presume from the burn mark that it happened recently, within the last day or two as a scab hasn't formed over it yet. You came home last night but put on a fresh school uniform this morning to proceed with the ruse that you'd caught an earlier train back. If you'd been wearing jeans I'd have noticed you limping slightly from the fabric rubbing on the burn. "
Rosie stood agape. She thought about putting jeans on that morning but her leg hurt. She always went to the train station directly after they dismissed school and she never had time to change into street clothes beforehand. Either way, La would have noticed the anomaly.
"And the glasses…" Rosie said in a tone of wonder – it was deeply annoying but La always amazed her when he did this.
"Simple. You have a small chamois cloth in the pocket of your bag, I saw it when you retrieved your sunglasses. Your sunglass lenses are covered in fingerprints so you don't use the chamois cloth the clean them. You had the same chamois in the pocket of your school jumper when we collected you at the station at Christmas and it was in with your laundry during the last Parents Weekend. Since Christmas, you've been spending a good deal of time in the company of an absentminded male friend who wears glasses and you've picked up the habit of carrying the means for him to clean his glasses with you."
"How do you know it's a male friend who wears glasses?" Rosie asked incredulously.
La smiled at her. "Elementary. Things like greasy fingerprints on glasses tend to bother women your age more than men and women are more apt to remember to carry around a method of cleaning their glasses. He's a close enough friend that you're with him often enough to have the chamois in your purse at all times."
Rosie shook her head. "Amazing La. Truly amazing."
"Let's get home before your father thinks we've abandoned him. I have to apologize for my part of our row this morning anyway." La said.
"I knew it." Rosie said following him. "I knew you'd been rowing. What happened?"
"He took exception when I told him you were shacking up last night with some boy that either wore glasses or had a motorbike."
"You – WHAT?" Rosie stopped walking and screeched at him. "How could you do that? Why did you do that? Fuck!"
"If you had told me not to say anything obviously I wouldn't have but since you made no effort to conceal what you were doing, I thought it pertinent information for a father to know." La turned on his heel and proceeded to walk towards home.
"La! You can't do that! You cannot tell Dad what you deduce about me – it isn't fair! I can keep him in the dark but no matter what I do, you always know. It's not for lack of trying to conceal things from you, believe me!" She wiped a nervous tear from her eye. "The Prime Minister's daughter and son go to school with me. She has the entirety of MI-6 at her command but she doesn't know sweet Fanny Adams what they're up to. All I wanted was one night with my boyfriend and I've got Sherlock-bloody-Holmes telling my father all the gory details!" In spite of the urge to run the other way, Rosie continued to walk with La, albeit a pace behind.
"Surely not all the details, Rosie. I don't know what positions were involved…"He said as Rosie groaned and cringed.
"Stop! Stop it!" She covered her ears.
"I've obviously done something wrong but I can't think what it is." La said.
Rosie took a deep breath "La. I expect – I require a certain amount of privacy in my personal life. You can't spy on me. You can't have Mycroft send a drone to report on me when I'm on a skiing holiday with my school friends and you can't have that creepy smack head pose as a waiter at my school dances! And you cannot tell my father who I'm getting off with."
"'With whom I'm getting off,' Rose Darling. If you're going to scold me in the street at least mind your grammar."
"UGH – LA YOU ARE JUST THE MOST – "
And with that, Rosie launched into a tirade reminiscent of her father. Sherlock admired how like John she really was when she was angry. She spouted off curses at him as if she'd been raised in an army barracks.
"MEDDLESOME PAIN IN MY ARSE…"
Her nostrils flared and she so closely resembled the raging bull John became when he was angry, it was all Sherlock could do not to laugh.
"YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO RIGHT…"
He adored that she still called him 'La' even when she was upset with him. He'd been called many names in his like, some of which she was yelling at him right at that moment.
"STUFFED SHIRT, STONE FACED GIT, GRAMMAR NAZI…"
But 'La' was probably his favorite name. They had tried getting her to say 'Sherlock' as a toddler but it always came out too similar to the rude name his classmates called him as a young man.
"Sher-lock." He said slowly.
"Sher-clock." Rosie would reply.
"No Darling, not clock, lock…La-k"
"Sher-cock…"
"That's the end of that. Can't she just call me Mummy?' Sherlock asked John, knowing the answer in advance.
The day they were first bringing her to nursery school, Sherlock was nervous about explaining who exactly he was – how he fit into Rosie's family.
"Don't be foolish, Sherlock. I'm her Dad, you're my partner. They don't need any further explanation than that." John had said.
"But she doesn't even say my name, John. What if I have to collect her one day and they don't let me because I'm not a relation!" Sherlock worried as he helped Rosie into a sparkly pink tutu. Rosie had been eating a banana and smushed what was left into Sherlock's hair as he got her dressed.
"There's an emergency contact form, I already put your name, Molly's and Mrs. Hudson's on it. You're her godfather and they won't pry any further. If they have a problem with our relationship then we've chosen the wrong nursery school and she'll go somewhere else." John said calmly, packing Rosie's lunch.
They arrived at the posh nursery school they'd agreed upon, Sherlock holding Rosie as she played with his now banana-encrusted curls.
"I want you to be friendly, but hold these other children at arm's length for a while, Rosie. They won't all be worthy of your loyalty." Sherlock whispered in her ear. She cackled and nodded as if she fully understood.
Miss Givens, Rosie's teacher met them at the door. "We don't let the families come inside for the first couple of months." She explained. "It gives the children less separation anxiety that way."
Sherlock grimaced, not wanting to let her go. Miss Givens smiled kindly and held out her hands for Rosie to come to her.
"Mr. Watson, I assure you Rosemond will be perfectly fine with us…"
"Actually, my name is Sherlock Holmes. This is Dr. Watson, Rosemond's father." Sherlock said, still clutching Rosie to him and nodded in John's direction.
"Oh, my apologies, Dr. Watson." Miss Givens said. "And how are you related, Mr. Holmes?"
John and Sherlock exchanged an awkward look.
"Well, we're…erm…" John cleared his throat.
"S'my La." Rosie said happily pointing at Sherlock. "Rosie's La!" She wrapped her chubby arms around Sherlock's neck and buried her face in his hair.
Miss Givens smiled sweetly. "How lovely she is!"
"Rosie stay wif La." She said turning back to Miss Givens.
John reached for Rosie. "Rosie, Darling we talked about this, remember? This is school. We'll collect you straightaway at the end of the day."
"Rosie stay wif La." She said defiantly.
It warmed Sherlock's heart no end to hear Rosie not want to leave him but he knew exactly what he had to do. Sherlock took one step past Miss Givens and placed Rosie's feet on the floor.
"Darling, you must stay here. We'll be back to get you before you know it and you can tell us all about your day. You must be brave, my Rose." He gave her a wink and kissed her cheek.
"Bye-bye La!" Rosie waved a chubby hand at Sherlock as he walked away. John stepped in and knelt to say goodbye.
"Love you Rosie Posey. Enjoy your first day." He said, trying not to let his voice catch in his throat.
"Bye-bye Dada. Rosie luff you!"
John laughed and looked down at his feet.
"And I love you more."
"INSUFFRABLE TOSSPOT…"
"Oh, are you still on that?" Sherlock came out of his reverie to find Rosie still shouting abuse at him. His comment stung her out of her tirade.
"You haven't even been listening to me! Oh what is the use?!" She turned on her heel and took off angrily walking back to Baker Street.
Sherlock sighed and walked back at his own pace, hoping she'd calm down a bit before he arrived at home.
Rosie was in her room with music blaring when Sherlock got back. John was updating his blog. His glasses kept slipping down his nose and he pushed them back up as he typed.
"You really ought to get new ones, John. I daresay we can afford it." Sherlock said as he removed his shoes and pulled on his slippers. John looked up and smiled. Sherlock approached him and kissed the top of his head.
"Our Rose is upset." John said pointing upward. There were banging noises coming from Rosie's room.
"Indeed. That would be my fault, I'm afraid." Sherlock replied as he sat in his chair.
"Oh, I've no doubt." John replied. "You do antagonize her so, sometimes."
"It's my way." Sherlock said. "She knows there's no one dearer to my heart besides you."
John finished what he was typing, uploaded the blog entry and closed his computer. He stood, stretched his arms above his head and made his way over to Sherlock.
"Make up with her before dinner, please?" John tilted Sherlock's chin up. "For me?" John stooped and placed a sweet kiss on Sherlock's mouth.
"Of course." Sherlock said. "Shall I go now?"
John looked at his watch. "Might be a good idea. We should be getting dressed soon, the car is coming at half-seven."
"She can be impossible." Sherlock said under his breath.
"Just like her mother." John replied.
"Mary wasn't…" Sherlock began.
"That's not who I mean." John interrupted with a smirk, his eyes twinkled with the joke.
Sherlock nodded and stood up, smoothing his shirt with his hands. He'd never been good at apologizing when he knew he'd done nothing wrong.
He climbed the stairs to Rosie's room and wrapped his knuckles on the door.
"Rosie? May I?"
The music and banging noises stopped at once. Rosie opened the door and Sherlock took a step back in surprise.
She was wearing a black lace dress and heels, her hair was up off her neck in a sophisticated bun with ringlets framing her face and Sherlock saw Mary's glittering ring hanging on her necklace. When did she get so grown up? Suddenly, John cleared his throat behind Sherlock, who turned and saw John standing there with a strange smirk on his face, leaning casually against the wall.
"I…what…I don't understand." Sherlock stumbled.
"Come in…" Rosie bade him enter her room and sit at her desk.
Sherlock looked to John who nodded approval and he followed Sherlock in. John sat on the bed next to his daughter, who nervously fumbled with an envelope.
"I…I…" Sherlock tried to look for context but he was genuinely gobsmacked.
"La." Rosie exhaled. "My entire life you have been there for me and Dad." Rosie turned to her father, who was beaming. "I didn't grow up longing for my mother, because I grew up in a home so full of love with two parents who took care of me."
Sherlock felt his eyes well up.
"I asked at the beginning of the school year if we could start this process and we've been chipping away at the details whenever we could, behind your back."
Suddenly Sherlock had a flash of Rosie handing John the chamois cloth she'd kept in the pocket of her jumper at Christmas. Then he looked at John's glasses, full of fingerprints and as if Rosie knew it was time to confirm, she removed the cloth from her handbag and handed it to John who nodded gratefully before cleaning his lenses.
"I'm sorry it took this long. I only recently realized that we could make it official." Rosie said, a blush rising up her face.
"I had Max ride up to her school and deliver the papers to her yesterday evening." John said. Max was a lawyer friend they'd met on a recent case. He drove a motorbike.
"Right. And I was so excited to give you this, I caught a ride with Max on his motorbike and stayed in his daughter Frances' room last night, that's when I burned my leg. I bought a train ticket for a friend so it wouldn't look odd that I was home without taking the train. So, I guess what I'm getting at is…" Rosie nervously handed Sherlock the envelope.
"You've been my second father all my life. Now, I want it to be official." She said finally.
Sherlock opened the envelope and pulled out the court documents, reviewing them with confusion.
John said "It's all there, Sherlock. All you have to do is sign your name and she's yours." He put an arm around Rosie.
Sherlock read the petition outloud:
"So may it please the Court. On this day, the 20th of May in the year of Our Lord 2033 now comes one Rosemond Mary Watson to petition the court to officiate her adoption by one William Sherlock Scott Holmes…" As he read, his voice caught and his heart was bursting.
"The biological mother, Mrs. Mary Watson died during the child's infancy and Miss Watson declares that Mr. Holmes has been a parent-in-place to her from birth and he is currently married to her biological father, Dr. John Hamish Watson. Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes have provided the minor child with a loving, stable home and she wishes at this time to be named Mr. Holmes' daughter by law and will receive all rights of title, inheritance and name as any biological children Mr. Holmes has or may have in the future.
The Court hereby grants the request of Rosemond Mary Watson, hereafter to be known as Rosemond Watson-Holmes."
Sherlock's grip on the page tightened as he read the final line. He looked up and saw Rosie and John watching him, tears streaming unabashedly down their faces.
"So, what do you say?" Rosie asked in a whisper.
Sherlock had no words, he reached his hand out to John who was holding a pen.
"With all my heart, Rose." Sherlock whispered as he made his mark on the page.
Rosie broke down and leapt into Sherlock's arms. He held his child – his child – and allowed himself to cry. John wiped his own tears on his handkerchief and he knelt next to his husband and their daughter.
"It's always been the three of us. This paper hasn't changed much." John said kissing his beloveds.
"It has changed everything." Sherlock said looking from John to Rosie and back again. "You're my daughter Rosie now."
"She always has been, Sherlock." John said, kissing his temple.
"I'm sorry it took so long to ask. I wanted it to be a surprise." Rosie said sniffling. She cuddled into Sherlock's shoulder.
"You'll need to change your name too, John." Sherlock said with a smile.
"Way ahead of you there." John pulled a declaration out of the breast pocket of this jacket. "But if you think you're going to call me Mrs. Holmes, I'll knock you on your arse." All three of them chuckled. "Dr. John H. Watson-Holmes, at your service." He gave a slight bow. Sherlock looked at their marriage certificate and John's notarized change of last name form.
"And that leaves you, La. You need to get yourself hyphenated." Rosie said kissing Sherlock on the cheek.
Neither John nor Rosie had ever seen him so utterly shocked. It brought John back to moment he'd asked Sherlock to be his best man when he'd married Mary.
The doorbell rang before Sherlock could speak. He wiped tears from his eyes.
"That'll be the car. Sherlock, did you want to change before dinner? I only want to change my shirt." John asked stepping back.
"Oh, um, yes. I'll just need a minute." Sherlock stood on shaky legs and kissed them both on the cheek as he went downstairs.
"We got him, Dad." Rosie said with glee and they high fived.
"I've been waiting the last 20 years to get one-up on that man." John said proudly. They quickly did their father/daughter secret handshake which ended in them bumping hips.
"I'll let the driver know we need a couple of minutes. Go change your shirt." Rosie said lovingly.
John winked at her and went downstairs. Rosie's heart was full as she floated down the stairs, making no noise at all in her red-bottomed heels.
Rosie waited in the car for her fathers and they came down a short time later in fine shape. Sherlock in a new black suit with black dress shirt (no tie). John was in a similar black suit, crisp white dress shirt and paisley print blue pocket square (which, as was John's habit, matched his socks). It made Rosie's heart flutter every time her fathers held hands, even for the briefest moments. John opened the car door for Sherlock and received a small peck on his cheek as his husband moved past him into the car. John unbuttoned his suit jacket before sliding in on the black leather seats.
John gave the address of the restaurant to the driver and Sherlock interrupted, "One brief stop-off at the public garden, please."
John and Rosie gave Sherlock the exact same quizzical expression but he pretended not to notice. A few minutes of riding in silence later, the driver slowed to a stop in front of the public gardens.
"Thank you, we'll only be a tick." Sherlock unceremoniously crawled over John to leave the car first. He held the door and only motioned for them to follow.
"Sherlock, we've got a reservation…" John began.
"It'll only be a brief moment, John. Indulge me."
John sighed in annoyance but he motioned for Rosie to follow them both. Sherlock lead them to the flowerbeds Rosie had observed earlier. Sherlock was crouched carefully not to get his trousers dirty. It didn't take John long to see what Sherlock was showing them.
"Oh you've got to be joking." John said.
The bronze plaque read:
"This garden was the generous donation of Mr. Sherlock Watson-Holmes with love to his John and their glorious Rosie."
Rosie's jaw dropped.
Sherlock smiled smugly and told them the garden would be in bloom through most of the year. Larkspurs and Carnations would grow in their seasons (coinciding with John's July birthday and his own in January), though it was primarily a rose garden.
"I…I…" Rosie had no words, John didn't either.
"You're both going to have to try a bit harder to surprise me." Sherlock winked and held out each of his arms to escort his family back to the car. Rosie took his elbow and John interlaced his fingers with Sherlock's.
"I'll get you someday, Mr. Holmes." John said shaking his head.
"Watson-Holmes, John. Watson-Holmes." Sherlock giving John's hand a squeeze.