Question asked on tumblr: "Why is Warstan even a thing?" Response: Because it's canon...and it's hot. So have some canon Warstan-parentwarstan-snuggling-with-the-baby.
John pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes scrunched tightly shut as he gave a quick, aggravated shake of the head. "Not this again," he groaned, the newspaper scrunching up as he clenched his fist.
He heard movement, felt the whisper of disturbed air against his skin and felt the slight weight of his wife settling on the arm of his chair. His eyes remained stubbornly shut as she dropped an arm across his shoulders. The other, he knew, was carefully cradling their sleeping daughter, who'd just finished a feed-and-burping session at what Mary wryly called the Watson 24-hour saloon. "What again?" she asked as she pressed a soft kiss to his shoulders.
John rattled the newspaper before dropping it to the floor in disgust. "You know. The usual. People speculating about our marriage and how heartbroken Sherlock must be. Getting old, that."
Mary's soft laugh was soothing to his ears, and to his heart. "Oh, John, you know I'd never keep you away from your boyfriend," she said teasingly, grinning adorably as he opened his eyes to give her a mock-glare. She pulled her arm away, cradled Melanie in both arms, then handed her to her husband. "I'm not threatened; we both know he'd be a rubbish mom."
John laughed and nodded as he took his daughter, holding her reverently as he gazed down at her tiny, perfect features. Only six weeks old and she already had a firmer hold on his heart than even his wife...or his annoying prat of a best friend. "Yeah, I'd be the one changing all the nappies and making up the bottles; he'd be the one forgetting about her and heading out to a crime scene while she was napping in her cot."
"The baby monitor would have to be in Mrs. Hudson's flat," Mary agreed, continuing the joke. "You'd be forever fretting that he might do something rash and take her to a crime scene."
A mental image of Sherlock wearing a baby-go on his chest, while Melanie slept peacefully with her head tucked up against his heart and Lestrade remonstrated in a whisper-shout that a crime scene was no place for an infant, made John chuckle even more. Loudly enough that Melanie's tiny face scrunched up in displeasure. "Sorry, love," he whispered, rocking her a bit until she settled back into sleep.
Mary dropped another kiss on his head. "Tea?" she asked, starting to rise from her perch on the arm of the chair.
John reached out and grasped her wrist, keeping her in place. "No," he said firmly, meeting her startled gaze. "Time to put Melanie to bed...and," he added with a lascivious leer, "Mum and Dad as well. Your checkup went all right, yeah? Feeling OK, Mrs. Watson?"
Mary's smile was heated and filled with promise as she leaned down and pressed a kiss that was anything but chaste to her husband's lips. "Yup," she said, popping the p in a deliberate imitation of their mutual best friend at his most obnoxious. "Everything's good. Time to test out the plumbing again, Mr. Watson."
Not the sexiest thing John had ever heard from a woman's lips, granted, but in that moment, he wouldn't have noticed if anyone else was whispering filthy suggestions in his ear; all he could see was his beautiful wife heading for their bedroom as he hurried to Melanie's room and placed her carefully in her cot.
Then he was hurrying even faster to join his wife, his Mary, for a long overdue tryst.