Hello everyone! So, a new story I hope you all will enjoy. I started writing this after S3, so that's why the baby's name isn't Rosie, but overall I still like my little girl character, so I'm sticking with her. This work is mostly finished (I think) but I'm still polishing it up a bit. Please leave any questions or comments on my work! I love hearing from you!

Chapter 1

"I don't understand, John," Sherlock said, staring at his friend in mild confusion. John rubbed at the back of his neck.

"I want to move back in with you. Into Baker Street. If you wouldn't mind," he stated again. Sherlock stood expressionless, blinking a few times before replying.

"What about your infant daughter?"

"Well, she'd come with me. We'd both move in with you," John responded, if a bit hesitantly.

"John, you know I don't cope well with children," Sherlock started, only to be cut short by John.

"I know, but Sherlock. My wife just died bringing my daughter into the world. Granted, she was a...well, challenge, but still. I love my daughter, but I can't stay in that flat another day and with having to care for the baby and everything...it would just be better if we can be here." John sighed and looked at Sherlock pleadingly. "Please Sherlock. Just for a little while? For me?"

Sherlock internally cursed himself for getting so attached to John. He couldn't say no to his best friend. He sighed, being a tad dramatic on purpose, but he nodded.

"Fine. But only until we can find you a better living situation," Sherlock said. John smiled.

"Thank you Sherlock."

Inside, Sherlock couldn't help but feel happy that his best friend and former flat mate was moving back in, but it was tempered by the trepidation of John being joined by his daughter. But he'd already said yes. There was little he could do now without risking his friendship with John. How bad can it be? Sherlock thought to himself.

When John moved in, it was a big day. There was furniture moving and unpacking. John was currently assembling a cot in his old room, as Mrs. Hudson held the baby girl in her arms, cooing over her. Sherlock couldn't help but roll his eyes, disgusted by the baby talk Mrs. Hudson insisted on. Finally, the land lady seemed to realize there were two grown men in the room and addressed them.

"So this'll be the nursery then?" She asked, looking around.

"Yup and my room," John replied with a small smile. Mrs. Hudson seemed a bit surprised.

"Oh? You mean you two won't be..." She trailed off, the implication clear. John groaned.

"For the last time, I'm not gay!"

"It doesn't matter to me, dear," Mrs. Hudson replied. John shook his head, but focused back on assembling the cot. Sherlock watched the proceedings until the baby started to cry, at which point Mrs. Hudson attempt to calm her down by bouncing her slightly.

"I think she's hungry," John said, moving to put what he was working on away.

"No no dear. I've got it. In the kitchen, yeah?" Mrs. Hudson asked. John nodded, adding a "thank you." The land lady just smiled and was quickly out of the room with the wailing baby.

"You could help, Sherlock," John said as he went back to work on the cot.

"Hmm?" The detective asked, not really paying attention.

"You could help me with this, you know. Or help with Cassandra." Sherlock frowned.

"Cassandra?" He asked. John looked up at him.

"You've already forgotten my daughters name, haven't you?" He asked, not surprised but a little annoyed.

"No, I simply failed to listen when you told me," Sherlock replied. "I was thinking about an experiment." John sighed.

"Well, can you please try to remember it this time?" The doctor asked. There was silence from the detective.

"Sherlock!"

"Oh fine. If it will make you shut up about it," he huffed out. John nodded slightly, concentrating on his work. He knew he'd probably have to remind Sherlock again, but at least they were headed in the right direction.

The first few days were rather uneventful. John tried to keep himself and Cassandra out of Sherlock's way, as John had promised. In fact, Sherlock hardly saw John because of a case he was involved in.

When he finally did make it home, he collapsed in his bed from exhaustion, only to wake up hours later to John cooking. Cautiously, Sherlock poked his head out the door, and John smiled at him.

"Want some dinner?" He asked, to which the detective nodded slightly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, and whatever it was John made smelled delicious. John's smile widened, and he turned around to check on the food. Cassandra was sat in a small chair with toys all around her. She burbled happily as she hit one of them.

"You know Cassandra is the name of a Greek princess, right?" Sherlock asked.

"No, I didn't," John replied.

"Well, a mythological princess. She was said to have been a prophetess, but when she rejected the god Apollo's advances, he cursed her so that no one would ever believe her prophecies. She was said to have prophesied the fall of Troy, but of course no one believed her." Sherlock had been watching the baby as he spoke, and John mused to himself that Sherlock looked like he was trying to deduce her.

"Fascinating. However, my little girl isn't a prophet," John said as he went over and picked up the little girl, bouncing her slightly in his arms. Sherlock scoffed.

"You don't know that. She has yet to speak. And it's prophetess, not prophet. That's the male term," the detective corrected. John rolled his eyes fondly.

"Doesn't matter," he said, and then the kitchen timer started to beep.

"Sherlock? Hold Cassie for me?" John asked, placing the baby in Sherlocks arms without waiting for a response. Sherlocks mouth flapped as he tried to think of how to say no, but his hands held the little human tightly. John quickly tended to the food before turning around to thank Sherlock when he burst out laughing.

Sherlock was holding the baby, but at the end of his outstretched arms with his nose crinkled in disgust as Cassie chewed on her own fist. John calmed himself quickly and took the baby from Sherlock.

"She won't hurt you, you know," John said, a teasing chuckle in his tone. Sherlock scowled at him.

"She's disgusting. Wet and slobbering and...limp. Honestly," Sherlock said, glaring slightly at Cassie who only burbled happily in response. John just chuckled and shook his head, sitting at the table to cuddle his daughter. Sherlock served himself some food and sat as well, though he rather wished he didn't.

"She's just a baby, Sherlock. She can't help it," John said, picking up a bottle he'd heated earlier and started to feed Cassandra.

"She's disgusting. How can you want that?" Sherlock asked. John looked at him with a playful glint in his eyes.

"I put up with you," he said. "And you're way worse." Sherlock looked at him, offended.

"Excuse me? How am I worse than an infant that drools and needs nappies changed every half hour?"

"Let's see. Human body parts in the fridge, that time the bottom of the shower was covered in...what was it again? Eggs? Or the time you made jelly out of pigs blood," John lists off some of Sherlocks more troubling experiments. "And if I remember correctly, I was the one who had to clean up after you on those occasions." Sherlock huffed.

"That was for science. Necessary experiments to prove my theories. Much more important than whatever it is your child is doing." John raised an eyebrow.

"Oh really? I'm raising another human life, teaching it how to live and survive and learn. One day, she may very well be a doctor or a scientist or something else important. Or maybe she'll be the most important of all - someone who saves someone else," John said. "Experiments and science can't save people the way another human being filled with compassion can."

Sherlock was silent, knowing John was right only because Sherlock had experienced it first hand. His experiments had always given him some measure of fulfillment, but when John came along, that's when he finally began to feel important. John had saved him, in a way he couldn't fully describe.

He sighed in defeat, picking at his food. The only sound in the room was Cassie sucking contentedly on her bottle and Sherlocks fork hitting the plate every now and then. John had noticed how quietly Sherlock had accepted his defeat and was rather impressed. He figured Sherlock was just too exhausted to argue with him any longer.

John happily cradled his daughter in his arms, feeding her with a smile. Sherlock ate quietly, watching John and the baby in his arms guzzling back the bottle. Sherlock wrinkled his nose.

"How can such a tiny being eat so much?" He asked. John chuckled.

"She's constantly growing. She needs as much as she can get," he replied. Sherlock didn't seem impressed.

"She's just chugging it."

"Yeah, she does that when she's hungry." Soon enough though, Cassandra pushed the almost empty bottle away, finished with her dinner. John put her over his shoulder, blanket under her as he burped her. The little girls burp maybe Sherlock's eyes widen. John laughed, watching his friend's reaction.

"Disgusting," Sherlock finally muttered. John held his tongue, choosing to smirk instead. The detective stood, dumping his dishes in the kitchen sink, giving one last contemptuous look at John and the tiny human before heading to the living room. Sitting on his black chair, legs folded beneath him and hands clasped in front of him, he drifted off into his mind palace.

He was drawn out of it, to his own surprise, hours later by the cries of Cassie. He frowned, listening as he heard John trying to calm her down, but to no avail.

"Shh, it's alright sweetie, it's okay," Sherlock overheard John say, a little more desperately than usual. He felt bad for his friend. John needed his sleep, as it was tough enough to get it as it was. The child seemed to decrease his rest even more.

Sherlock sighed, deciding to experiment with something. He grabbed his violin and began playing. When John had first lived with him, the ex army doctor had had fitful nights filled with nightmares. Through studies, Sherlock discovered that John seemed to sleep better on the nights he played violin music. Sherlock now wondered if John's offspring would react in kind. So, he played.

It wasn't to long before the incessant wailing of the infant ceased, and Sherlock could just make out John's sigh of relief. Sherlock hoped that John didn't make the connection between Sherlock's playing and the baby's sudden quiet spell, but he kept on playing.

A short while later he could hear John snoring softly in his room, and Sherlock smiled to himself, finishing his piece before going to bed as well.

Thpughts? Love it? Hate it? Wondering what rock I've been hiding under? Please, comment!