John returns from the clinic to find Sherlock sitting on the floor in the corner of the room cradling Rosie in his lap. She is sleeping peacefully, her thumb in her mouth, the fingers gently curled and twitching slightly as she dreams, but Sherlock.. He looks wrecked. His eyes are red and puffy and tears are streaming down his cheeks and dropping onto the collar of his shirt and into Rosie's hair. He is holding the toddler gently but John can see tension in his muscles and a tremble in his arms. His hair is in disarray, lank and greasy where fingers have run through it repeatedly. After several seconds, far too long for the normally sharp man, Sherlock looks up at John and speaks with a tremor in his voice.
"You need to take her away. Never bring her back, I can't see her again... I'm no good." His voice breaks and he dissolves into sobs and buries his face in Rosie's hair.
"What happened?" John asks gently "Did she fall over and bang her head again, because you know that's fairly normal for toddlers just learning to walk, you don't need to worry."
Sherlock looks up with wild eyes "She could have died! I was looking after her and she could have died."
Rosie stirs, awakened by Sherlock's shouting, and begins to whimper, a prelude to a full on crying fit at being prematurely woken. Sherlock pulls her into his chest tighter and softly shushes her and jiggles her until her tiny body relaxes and she slips back into sleep. John looks on bemused, trying to make sense of Sherlock's assertion that he is no good for Rosie and that he has done something to hurt her when she looks absolutely perfect and Sherlock just did something that neither John nor Mary could do.
John crouches next to the pair on the floor and places a hand on Sherlock's shoulder reassuringly. "Come on, kids have knocks all the time, has she got a bump? I'll have a look at it I'm sure she fine."
"No no no!" Sherlock whisper-shouts, "She almost took cocaine. She.. She..." He dissolves once more into tears and curls up around John's daughter.
John rears back so quickly that he falls. He stands up slowly clenching his fists at his sides and grinding his teeth to keep from shouting. Instead he growls "What the hell?"
He shakes his head trying to get the confusing jumble in his head to make sense. As he looks around the room he sees Rosie's bottle of milk abandoned next to a small plastic bag full of white powder on the floor at the far side of the room, he bites his tongue and squeezes his eyes closed, then stares back at Sherlock to get his explanation.
Sherlock is rocking from side to side on the floor, his shoulders shaking, he takes a deep shuddering breath and slowly raises his head. "She found, she, she found my stash. It was hidden under the elephant statue on the bookcase. I, I haven't been using, I wouldn't, not around Rosie, but, I couldn't let it go. I just needed it in case... in case it got too hard."
John growls deep in his throat, his face like thunder and trembling with adrenaline.
"I went to get her milk, she was playing with her blocks, she was fine. I came back in and... and she... she had it in her hand. I checked, it's not open, she didn't get any, but.. but, if she'd put it on her mouth, if she'd...I didn't mean to, I didn't think she could reach it." He uncurls and stands up holding the sleeping child out to John. "Take her, both of you get away from me. I don't deserve either of you."
John snatches his daughter away as forcefully as he can without waking her and holds her to his chest, taking her pulse and checking her breathing. Glaring at Sherlock he stomps out of the door, closes it firmly behind him and carries Rosie down the stairs away from the flat, away from Sherlock and back towards the house he had shared with Mary. He holds his daughter tight as he walks, breathing in the scent of her hair, underneath it he can faintly smell tea and Sherlock's aftershave, "the smell of home" his traitorous mind supplies.
He keeps walking as tears form in his eyes, he had been on the verge of asking Sherlock if he could move back in, these past few months have been better and the house he calls home has been feeling emptier every time he returned to it from Baker Street. Now what is he supposed to do? John walks, he needs to get home, his arms are aching from carrying Rosie but he had left the buggy. He walks lost in thoughts of what could have happened if Rosie had taken the drugs. The thoughts gradually shift to the look of pure misery and self hatred that had been on his friend's face, then looks up to find that he has not arrived at the house as he intended but somewhere along the way had got turned around and ended up back at Baker Street. He bites his lip then kisses Rosie's hair. A few tears drop from his eyes and fall onto her jumper.
The fresh air has cooled his temper, he takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, unlocks the front door and then knocks softly on Mrs Hudson's door. Her brilliant smile when she opens it to see them drops when she sees the tears in his eyes.
"Can you take her for a while, please, I need to talk to Sherlock."
"Of course dear, but whatever is wrong?"
"I..I can't go into it now. I need to sort something out with him, please." He says in a small voice.
Mrs Hudson gently lifts Rosie out of his arms and pats his shoulder "Go on, we'll be fine down here. You go sort yourselves out."
John smiles gratefully, gives Rosie one last kiss and then goes up to 221B.
He opens to door to find Sherlock sitting in his chair, his elbows on his knees and his head hanging down. In his hands he is grasping the bag of powder, his fingers alternately clenching and relaxing and a low keening sound is coming from his throat.
"You don't need that." John says from the doorway.
Without looking up Sherlock replies "You shouldn't be here. Stay away."
"I was going to ask you if we could move in. I've been thinking about it for a few weeks."
Sherlock laughs dryly, "Just as well, you've been shown what a stupid idea that would've been then."
John moves a little closer "I still want that, to live here again. This has always felt more like home than that house ever did."
Sherlock looks up, tears filling his eyes. "Ok...Ok. I'll be gone by the morning. I'll find somewhere else. You have the flat, I'm sure Mrs Hudson will be delighted to have you and Rosie here instead of me."
John kneels down and takes the bag out of Sherlock's hands, placing it on the floor next to the chair. He rests one hand on Sherlock's knee. "I don't think it's the flat that makes it feel like home."
Sherlock's tears are slowing down. "I don't understand."
John shuffles forward and pulls Sherlock's head into his chest. "You are my home. Me and Rosie, we need to come home to you."
Sherlock trembles in his arms and mumbles a reply against John's chest too quietly for him to hear.
"Sherlock, I can't hear you." John pulls away a little so that he can see his friend's face.
"I don't deserve you. I'm just a stupid drug addict, I would have taken this when you left before but I was trying to decide whether to go out and get enough to actually finish the job."
John hugs him tight. "You are an addict, but you're far from stupid, and I'm going to look after you." John finds himself kissing Sherlock's hair, over and over small kisses that he just can't hold in any more. He whispers into Sherlock's ear "We're moving in to my old room and everything is going to be ok."
"B..b..but..." Sherlock stammers.
Holding Sherlock by the shoulders John looks him straight in the eye. "Are you ever going to do that again? Keep drugs in the flat? Put Rosie in danger?"
"No! No. Never again. I will never do that again."
"Good. That's good."
"Why are you doing this? You should be running for the hills." Sherlock murmurs.
"I guess you're not the only one with an addiction." John whispers back, then slowly leans forward and kisses Sherlock gently on the lips.
"John?"
"I've been wanting to do that for a very long time. If, that is, if you..."
"Yes." Sherlock whispers, barely more than a breath, and pulls John back for another kiss, firm pressure on his lips and Sherlock's hands, still shaking, find their way to cradle John's face tenderly.
Pulling apart they smile wetly at each other.
"I'm sorry. I didn't say it earlier, but I am."
"I know. You didn't do it on purpose. It's ok, it will all be ok. Rosie's fine."
"If she'd taken it, if she'd died, you would've hated me."
"Let's not think about that. You get rid of this," John hands the small bag back to Sherlock "and I'll go get her. Then we can organize some dinner."
John goes down the stairs leaving Sherlock staring at the small bag hardly able to believe that John had trusted him to dispose of it.
He smiles as he flushes the contents down the toilet, "it won't be easy to quit, I still sometimes feels the call of my old habits in the still of the night. Hopefully now that 221B is going to be filled with the people I love, I can drown them out with Rosie's giggles and John's calming voice. And kisses, yes, lots and lots of kisses. They will be a most welcome distraction." He hears the door to the flat open and goes to greet his family.