A/N: Sorry this took so long to get up. I appear to have become a bit disillusioned by my own writing. I just lost my motivation somewhere. Blame Reichenbach. But here it is. Let me know how you like it. Many thanks to my lovely beta, ongreenergrasses.

She didn't plan these conversations, contrary to deceptive appearances. She would just be sitting there, alone in a room with Sherlock, and whatever she was thinking would dart out from between her lips when she went to take a breath. She'd have said it before she had fully formed the thought.

This time, she was lounging on the couch in a sports bra and sweatpants, completely illogical clothing in Sherlock's opinion, but she had rebuffed him with the fact that nine times out of ten, he and John didn't even wear shirts around when they first woke up, and more often than not she was lucky they remembered to put on a stitch of clothing at all.

"Propose to him." She could have actually slapped herself for that one. Just because they'd gotten closer in the past few months didn't mean they were able to talk about everything and anything.

"Excuse me?" This time he, remarkably, turned and gave her his full attention.

Well, she had said it now. She might as well explain her logic to him.

"He loves you, God knows why, but look at you. A self-proclaimed sociopath who has an absolutely terrible record with relationships, even the family sort. You get so bored with people so easily. He can't help loving you, but he's never going to go any further by himself because he's terrified of you breaking his heart. He couldn't survive you getting bored of him. It would end him, totally and completely. No chance of recovery. He's devoted his entire life to you, but you can't even tell him you love him in return. What sort of a life is that? He's never going to propose; sometimes I think he's half afraid you just go along with the relationship to keep the peace. I'd have this conversation with him if I was more than half-sure that you aren't doing just that. Sometimes even I can't tell." That one hurt Sherlock, more than he'd show. "Because that's what you do, Daddy, you push people away. I don't know if you try to, I don't know if you mean to, but you do. And the people that are still here? We have to fight every day to stay here. It's like swimming against a current. And we get tired sometimes. Right now, John's too tired to exert any more energy than what it takes to simply stay where he is, by your side. If the two of you are going to get any closer, it'll have to be you. It's the only way, really… How can you be so brilliant and so observant but so blind?"

Sherlock blinked, once, twice, taking in the recent deluge of information. He filed away Astrid's question-how can you be so brilliant and so observant but so blind?- for future thought; it was a valid inquiry, requiring further research. Right now, though, his entire focus was required to formulate an answer. Of course none of this had ever occurred to him, not as such. Not in so many words.

"So you're saying I should ask John to marry me?"

"Yes. So he knows you mean it. Sincerely. Or one day you might wake up to an empty bed and the realization you've finally succeeded in pushing him away." Their relationship had taken huge strides; a few months ago Astrid would have rather died twice than try and have a heart-to-heart with Sherlock.

"Well that's not what I want," he answered almost indignantly.

Astrid smiled indulgently, like she was coaxing answers from a small child. "Yes, exactly. So you need to show John you love him as much as he loves you. And how do you do that?"

"…ask him to marry me?"

"That is what I would recommend."

"But how?"

"I'll help with that bit, if you want."

Right about now, it occurred to Sherlock that Astrid was much like John, in that she understood people but understood him too. She knew how to talk to him to make regular humans make sense. Perhaps she understood him and John more than John did, because John wasn't any sort of a regular person. That led him to believe that she was uniquely suited for the task of teaching him how to be in a relationship with John. It would never cross his mind that that was not the sort of task one's teenage child usually has. It would never bother Astrid that it didn't.

Astrid didn't have friends her age. Really, the closest thing she had to a friend at all was Lestrade, even with their history. If you looked into her phone book, there were only a few contacts: Sherlock, John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, the Chinese takeout place down the road, Mycroft, not-Anthea (yes, that was actually how she was listed), and the Holmes estate. She wasn't sure why she had that last one, but it had been pre-loaded onto the phone when she had gotten it from Mycroft as a 'welcome to the family' present. So it was fairly logical that when she needed to share her feelings about the conversation between her and her father with someone, it was Lestrade.

I swear, sometimes it's like I'm a bloody relationship counselor in my own home.

-AH

When Lestrade got the message, he opened it and started to laugh. Seeing the looks his team was shooting him, he quickly stifled it. It doesn't do to giggle at a crime scene.

When Astrid came down for dinner that night, John was still out; pulling extra hours at the surgery, Astrid remembered. Sherlock looked deep in thought, pondering their earlier conversation.

"So how does one go about proposing?" asked Sherlock.

This was a question Astrid had been preparing herself for, but still didn't quite know how to answer. "In general, it's done in whatever a way best suites the couple. Some people go on elaborate dates, or scavenger hunts, or skydiving with messages written below them…I'm guessing you've never seen a proposal video on YouTube."

Sherlock did not dignify that statement with a response.

"It's got to be from you, Daddy. I can help, but if it's not genuine, he'll know."

Please, she silently begged, please love him enough. Please be able to do this. Please just…She wasn't really sure exactly what she was pleading for, only that she needed it more than she had needed almost anything.

Out loud, she said, "It generally involves some shared interest. Or just a very nice date."

Sherlock reflected, and then, struck by an idea, he timidly suggested, "I could take him to Angelo's. That's where we had our first date, in a manner of speaking."

"Yes! Lovely. Shared history and all that. Good idea." She gave an encouraging smile. "What else?"

"From the movies John has made me suffer through, I believe we're to dress nicely?"

"Definitely."

"I'm to have a ring, correct?"

"Yes. An engagement ring, generally, but perhaps in this case, seeing as there's not exactly a girl to wear the ring, which by the way is an entirely antiquated practice and quite frankly either both parties should wear rings or else neither should, there's no reason for such a stupid symbol of 'staking one's claim'-"

"Astrid?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you terribly mind not digressing on a feminist tirade?"

"…as I was saying, perhaps simply asking him to marry you, or giving him some token which you can have a match to, would suffice."

"And have you any ideas, oh great counselor on the subject of proposals, what sort of object that might be?" A smile.
"…None whatsoever." She shrugged.

"Brilliant," Sherlock said, in his best sarcastic mock-up of John's tone.

"Bracelets!"

It was the sort of thing John expected to hear randomly shouted by Sherlock; probably the evidence necessary to solve a case, or an experiment he'd forgotten about, or maybe some long-held Mycroft-related grudge. This time, however, it was Astrid, walking down the stairs, who shouted the seemingly random word.

Seeing John in his dressing gown, paper in hand, standing at the end of the stairs, she looked strangely bashful and hurried down them, avoiding his gaze.

This is an odd household, John thought to himself as he made another cup of tea.

"I've an idea."

"For what?"

"Your engagement not-rings."

Sherlock jumped up, alarmed. "Shhhh! John will hear you!"

Astrid paused, hoping he was joking. He wasn't.

"Dad's been out for two and a half hours…went to run some errands. He announced quite loudly that he was leaving."

"…Oh."

An exasperated sigh, and then: "Do you want to hear my idea or not?"

"Yes, yes, of course!"

Over the next few weeks, Astrid flirted with several ideas for the boys' bracelet engravings. In fact, there was a page in a notebook, well hidden under her mattress, with ideas scrawled all over it:

"John's" and "Sherlock's" too teenage

"Always" Sherlock's never read Harry Potter.

"Love is patient, love is kind…" ?Bible verses are questionable for a gay marriage, but I like it-sounds like John

"Detective" and "Doctor" Dear Astrid, what are you thinking?

'Love' in multiple languages?-less Biblical, same idea

After one particularly strenuous brainstorming session that resulted in a grand total of zero ideas and a page full of doodles, she resigned herself to presenting Sherlock with the ones she had, none of which she was particularly fond of. She hoped he had some better ideas.