Author Notes: Merry Christmas! Happy winter Holidays and a great time to everyone! :) This story is a little longer than my usual One Shots, but I didn't want to cut it into two chapters, because I was sure that I would forget to post the second one, in time - holiday stress and all.^^ So, I hope you all enjoy this story! :)
As this will be the last story for 2016, I wish you all a Happy New Year as well! =)
An Addition of Love
"... Stupid Anderson went home to set the work of the police force back for years, while the fearless Captain Redbeard sailed the seven seas and became Pirate King. And if he hasn't died, he still rules his wild kingdom." John smiled to himself, when a high-pitched cry of joy followed the end of the story. He knew exactly which picture would greet him, when he pushed the door to their flat open and stumbled gracelessly into their living-room - two bags of groceries was one too many.
"See, I told you that your Daddy would be back, soon," Sherlock murmured to the bundle on his chest, as he stretched out on the couch. "He merely had the great idea to go to Tesco's - two hours before closing time at Christmas Eve - without a shopping list and to give the Chip & Pin machine a second chance, which led to another delay. Then, instead of taking a cab, your Daddy took the Tube - bad idea at this time of the day - and barely managed to get home, before one of his shopping bags ripped." Sherlock sighed dramatically at the end of his deductions and wriggled his finger at the little girl, before he turned his eyes to John. "You should put your shopping away, the bag with the milk in it, is about to rip in a minute."
"Thanks for the advice, genius," John huffed and set the bags down to take his coat and scarf off. "Might I add that someone kept going on about the importance of hot chocolate and porridge at Christmas morning, after he had used the last milk for an experiment?!" There was no heat in John's words as he crossed the living-room to stand in front of the couch that held the two most important people in the world to him and smiled down at the pair. Sherlock was clad in his usual attire - silk pajamas and his second favorite dressing gown - as he lay on the couch and arched an eyebrow at John. It would have been like old days, if it hadn't been for the pair of big blue eyes that fixed him with a searching look, before their owner wriggled into a sitting position on Sherlock's chest and held her arms out to John.
"She missed you," Sherlock murmured, as John picked his daughter up and pressed a kiss on her right cheek. "Have you been a good girl, Ayla?"
His daughter gifted him with a big smile and a flood of mostly unintelligible words and John's heart swelled with warmth, as he stroked her blonde curls - darker now than when they had first grown out - and nodded earnestly at her tale. He made out a few words like dog, ship, sea and pirate - the last one was new - and grinned at Sherlock over her head. "You told her a story about Pirate Redbeard and his faithful dog, again."
"Captain Redbeard," Sherlock corrected him with a pout and John had to ignore the urge to lean down and kiss the pursed lips. They weren't like this after all. Not a couple. Not lovers. Just a pair of friends and flatmates that raised a child together... at least, John had given up to fool himself with such weak excuses months ago. Right when he had moved back in at Baker Street, in fact, after Mary had...
"Back to Papa." Ayla kicked her tiny legs at John as she turned in his hold and reached out for Sherlock once more. John chuckled quietly and handed her back to his best friend. "Seems to be official now, I'm Daddy and you are Papa." It had been meant as a light-hearted comment, but the guilt that flashed through pale blue eyes proved that it was received differently. "I'm sure she will soon realise her error. Ayla is a clever girl, but she is only ten months old. Some wrong deductions are to be expected."
"Sherlock..." John didn't know if he wanted to cry or laugh. Cry, because even after nine months of co-raising the little girl, his friend still believed that he wasn't entitled to call himself her father - in all that counted - and felt guilty whenever she called him Papa. And laugh, because despite his brilliance, Sherlock still hadn't realised just how happy John was about the development and that there was no reason for his friend to fear that he would get angry over how their daughter called him.
"She will understand that I'm Uncle Sherlock, soon enough. Won't you, Ayla?"
John bit down on his lower lip and walked away to put the groceries in the refrigerator, before he could do something to ruin his carefully laid out plans for Christmas Eve - like giving his gift to Sherlock right now. He would get his chance to watch the blue eyes widen in surprise and the plush lips to curl up in delight, so there was no need to rush ahead, when John merely had to bridge a couple of hours, before the perfect moment would arrive. And he knew exactly how he would pass the time, until then.
"Potato salad with Vienna sausages fine with you?" John didn't even wait for Sherlock's positive reply as he started to lay out the ingredients on the - surprisingly clean - table. He had learned from Mrs. Hudson that Sherlock loved potato salad at Christmas Eve and considering that Sherlock's parents were coming over tomorrow and that Mycroft had promised - or threatened - to let lunch be catered to them, it was for the best to eat something light this evening. Besides, John was so experienced at preparing potato salad - as it happened to be Ayla's favorite - that he could easily allow his thoughts to drift away as he set about making dinner. And away they drifted to the day of Ayla's birth - ten months ago - as her delighted squeals and Sherlock's rumbled laughter became a background noise.
"Congratulations, Doctor Watson, your daughter is in perfect health. Do you want to hold her?"
Still a little dazed by the happenings of the last few hours, John took his daughter from the beaming nurse - who had measured and washed her - and stared down in deep blue eyes. Logically, he knew that a baby this age - barely an hour old - couldn't focus directly on anything, but it still felt like his daughter was looking at him. Dear God, his daughter!
John took a shaking breath as he sat down in a chair, as it suddenly hit him that he was a father, now. Of course, he had known that this day would come - since his wedding, thanks to Sherlock - and he had believed that he was prepared for it, but now... it felt different to hold his daughter in his arms, to feel her warmth and look into her tiny face. She was so small - perfectly average for a newborn - but to John she still appeared so tiny and vulnerable.
Idiot, John scolded himself, she appeared vulnerable, because she was vulnerable. She was a baby. His baby. His responsibility. It was frightening and humbling at once that this little human being was entrusted into his care and he knew without a doubt that he would kill everyone, who dared to lay a hand on her.
"Excuse me, Doctor Watson?" A nurse appeared at his side, a baby bottle in hand. "Do you want to give your daughter her first bottle?"
John blinked and looked from the baby in his arms to the bottle. Mary and he hadn't talked about it, but somehow he had assumed that she would want to breastfeed their daughter. Of course, it was fine with him, if she had decided against it, but he should probably consult with her, before he made a decision like this.
"Oh, don't worry," the nurse interrupted his thoughts, which had to be written all over his face. "Your wife told us that she didn't want to breastfeed, before she went to take a shower."
"A shower?" John furrowed his brow as he glanced in the direction of the adjusting bathroom. Somehow, he had believed that Mary had just needed to use the toilet and... Well, he had been busy writing to all their friends and waiting for his daughter to be brought back, therefore he hadn't paid as much attention to his wife as he probably should have. The actual birth had been easy enough - only a couple of hours in labor and their baby had been born - but John still wasn't sure if it wasn't too early for a shower.
"A nurse is with your wife, Doctor Watson. All is fine. So, do you want the bottle now? Your daughter seems hungry."
"Ayla," John corrected absentmindedly as he adjusted his grip on the tiny bundle and accepted the bottle. "Ayla Ruby Watson."
"You decided to follow my suggestion, then." A deep voice startled John and the nurse. The latter turned around to give the newcomer a piece of her mind, but John gestured to her that it was fine. After all, it was to be expected that Sherlock wouldn't care about social conventions and just come to the hospital as soon as he had gotten John's text.
"We will be fine," he told the nurse as Sherlock moved to stand next to him and peered down at the baby. "She is so small," his friend echoed John's former thoughts and a small laugh escaped his lips as he managed to introduce Ayla to the bottle. "She is a baby, Sherlock. Of course, she is small."
"Yeah, but..." John glanced up just in time to notice the flash of insecurity in the pale eyes of his friend and he believed to understand the reason behind it.
"Sit down!" John waited until Sherlock had done as ordered and then took the bottle away from Ayla to transfer her into his friend's arms.
"John," Sherlock protested, his eyes wide and horrified. "I can't hold her, I..."
"Did you smoke? Experiment with hormones or other chemicals? Are you infected with something?"
"No," Sherlock shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the bundle in John's arms. "I knew that the due date was close and I didn't even use nicotine patches. I washed and disinfected my hands, but..."
"Then, there is no reason why you shouldn't hold her," John stated matter of fact and handed his daughter to Sherlock, who adjusted his grip at once - he had probably watched online tutorials again - and kept on alternating between staring at John and at Ayla. Maybe because no one else would have entrusted their newborn child to him, John thought with a pang as he handed the bottle over to his friend. "You helped me to decide on her name, when Mary told me that I should choose it for her. It's only fair that you get to hold and feed her, as I wouldn't have thought of giving her a Scottish name otherwise."
"It's a fitting name," Sherlock agreed, even while he was absorbed in watching Ayla gulp down her milk. John suspected that Sherlock would start on creating spreadsheets about the baby's eating habits, even as he wondered if the soft look in the pale eyes was just the light or something more. "In Scottish it means From a strong place and in Finnish it means Bringer of Light. I'm sure she will live up to her name."
John nodded and stroked the light hairs on his daughters head, smiling slightly when his fingers brushed against Sherlock's, as they sat together and fed Aila her first bottle together.
John smiled fondly at the memory as he put the potatoes in the boiling water and started to cut the onions. It was a shame that there were no photos of the first few moments of Sherlock and Ayla together, while a stack of pictures of Mary with their daughter existed. At this point, some would accuse John of being heartless - if they were privy to his thoughts - because most people believed that a mother and her child belonged together, but... Mary had been a different case. It wasn't that she hadn't taken care of Ayla or treated her badly. No, Mary had changed her diapers, had given her the bottle and had bathed her just as often as John had, but... she hadn't enjoyed it in the same way. In fact, Mary had only taken care of Ayla, because it was her responsibility and John had been too blind - or too happy and tired - to see it, until... that Day.
"Sorry, that I'm late," John apologized as he ventured into the living-room and breathed a kiss on Mary's cheek. "Sherlock invited me to the morgue and I forgot the time." It had been the first time - since Ayla's birth - that John had gone out for anything other than shopping or working and it had been a nice break. Still, he felt bad about leaving Mary alone for longer than had been agreed on and he held his breath as he waited for her to tell him off. Instead, she just waved his apology away and gestured for him to sit down in his favorite armchair. "It's fine. Just as fine as Sherlock coming over every Wednesday, when I meet up with old colleagues." She raised an eyebrow at him, when John opened his mouth in surprise. "I was an assassin, John. I should notice, when someone else played with my daughter, in my home. I'm not saying that he shouldn't come over. In fact, it's good that he is so besotted with our little girl. It will make everything much easier."
John swallowed hard as a hot lump settled down in his stomach. He didn't need to be Sherlock to understand that something was wrong. Very wrong. Firstly, Mary had never mentioned her past so casually and she had also never rambled like this. Not unless, she was nervous and if a former top assassin was nervous, then John guessed that it was alright for him to feel uneasy. At least, a little bit.
"An old friend of mine informed me that my cover is to be blown in about a week and I need to leave before they find me. Simply put, Mary Watson needs to die, so that I can survive. I have already set a plan in motion and put my things in order. It will look like an accident and I will start over new somewhere else - I can't tell you where." Mary's voice had grown more confident with every word and when she met his eyes, John almost recoiled as he didn't recognize this woman. She still possessed the same body as the Mary, he had married, but... the calculating and cold look didn't belong to the woman, he had once loved. Once - months ago, before she had shot Sherlock and revealed her past to him - he would have begged her to stay or to take him with her, but now there was only one thought on his mind. "Ayla?"
Dear God, but John would rather kill Mary for real - if he stood a chance against her - and then beg Mycroft Holmes for help than give up his daughter. His inner turmoil must have been written all over his face, as Mary's eyes softened and she shook her head. "I won't take her away from you. You love her more than I ever could. No, don't deny it!" She held up her hand to silence him. "Your connection with her is far deeper than mine. I can change her diapers and feed her, but you play with her, sing songs to her and read stories to her. And I know you enjoy it, while it would only be a task for me. Don't try to tell me, that I'm depressed, because I'm not," Mary beat John to the reply that had been on top of his tongue. "I'm just not the type to be a mother. I would never have gotten a child, if it hadn't been yours and... I feel more like an aunt than like her mother. That's why I have decided that she will stay with you. My life insurance should cover her schooling - if you don't chose the most expensive school - and you will have sole custody of her, as soon as I'm declared dead."
"But Mary, are you sure..." John didn't know what to say. On the one hand, he was relieved that they wouldn't fight over Ayla, but it also didn't feel right that Mary should never see her daughter again. Besides, she was still his wife and...
"John, let's stop pretending that our marriage is still working. It was destroyed the second you found out that I shot Sherlock. If Mycroft hadn't created a false Moriarty and played the government - yes, I know about that - then you would have divorced me as soon as Sherlock had been declared dead, because he would have never survived this mission. Instead, everything turned out fairly well and you stayed with me out of obligation. You don't love me anymore and you will soon start to despise me. It's better to end it this way. I'm certain Sherlock and you will take good care of Ayla."
"But..." John never got around to voicing any of his protests as Mary left him in the living-room and went into the nursery for the rest of the night.
The next day, John learned that Mary had prepared a video message and a letter for Ayla, but by then, it had been too late for any discussions. John had barely had the time to hide the letters - she had left one for him as well - and the video, before two police officers had knocked at his door to tell him that his wife had died in a terrible accident.
John ignored the tears that ran down his cheeks as he finished with the onions and attacked the cucumbers. The reports had stated that Mary had been burned to death in her car and could only be identified by her teeth - John didn't even want to know how many files had been faked to achieve such a convincing end. And it had been very convincing, not only for all of his friends and co-workers, but obviously also for Mary's old colleagues, as John hadn't been bothered by anyone.
After a month of faked grief - mixed with annoyance and anger - John had sold the house and moved back in with Sherlock. A lot of people had frowned at this decision and warned John that Sherlock was only interested in Ayla, because she provided new data, but John hadn't listened to them. After all, he had witnessed how Sherlock had carried Ayla around all night, when she had gotten her first tooth, so that John could get a few hours of sleep. Besides, Sherlock had banned all of his experiments to 221c and he only played nice melodies on his violin, when Ayla was around. And if this wasn't proof enough for Sherlock's love to Ayla, then the one time, John had received a frantic call, while at work, should make everyone see that the little girl wasn't an experiment to his best friend.
John's phone rang. He almost ignored it and called for the next patient, when he noticed the name of the caller: Sherlock. His best friend, who preferred to text and who had only ever called him once, when... John took a deep shuddering breath as he pushed the memories of blood splatters on the pavement away and grabbed his phone. Sherlock probably only wanted to make sure that John bought something for one of his experiments on his way back home... or maybe, they had ran out of Ayla's favorite baby food. For a six months old, she certainly had made her preferences clear, when it came to mashed artichokes.
"Hi," John started, but didn't get any farther as Sherlock's frantic voice swept his calm away. "Ayla has a fever. It's terribly high. We are at St. Bart's now. John, you need to come, I don't..."
"I'm on my way!" John disconnected the call and jumped to his feet, before he rushed out of his office. He barely remembered to inform Sarah of what had happened, before he was out of the clinic and on his way to the next Tube station. Ten steps in on his way, a black car pulled up on the kerb next him and John didn't think twice about climbing in and allowing one of Mycroft's drivers to bring him to his daughter.
Sadly, the relaxed car ride - without all the passengers at the Tube - allowed John to imagine all kinds of horrifying conditions that could lead to Ayla having a fever. A fever, obviously high enough, that Sherlock had brought her to a hospital.
John drummed his fingers on his knees and wished for the driver to go faster. He needed to see his daughter to make sure that she was alright - or would be alright in no time. If she wouldn't ... if John lost her as well, then...he didn't know if he could go on living. The loss of many of his comrades had broken his heart over and over again. Sherlock's faked suicide had almost killed him and Mary's betrayal had taken its toll on him as well, but John had survived all of these tragedies. He couldn't see himself surviving the death of his own child, though. He just couldn't.
Thankfully, the car pulled up in front of the main entrance of St. Bart's before John could work himself into a full-blown panic. He was out of the car and on his way to the reception, before the driver had even come to a halt.
"My daughter," John managed to rasp out to the woman at the front desk. "Ayla Ruby Watson, she was brought here this afternoon. I need to see her." Either the woman was used to frantic relatives - very likely - or John didn't sound as scared and terrified as he felt, as she only glanced at him once, tipped something in her computed and then turned back to him. "I need your ID, to verify that you are allowed to see her. Standard procedure," she added, when John was about to protest. With a sigh, he handed his ID over and willed his leg to hold him as a spark of pain shot through it. The last thing he needed was to be pushed to his daughter in a wheelchair, just because his stupid leg had to act up at such times.
"Doctor Watson?" Startled, John met the eyes of the receptionist, before he remembered to take his ID back. "Your daughter is at the children's medical unit. Third floor, station B, room 321."
John couldn't recall if he thanked the woman or not, as he was already running up the stairs - the elevator was too slow for his liking - and dismissed the thought as unimportant. What did it matter, what a stranger thought of his manners, when his daughter could be in danger?!
John located the correct room in under a minute and knocked, before he walked in. Ayla lay in a cot, hooked to an IV pole and a monitor. The picture alone was almost enough to flood John's eyes with tears - it was so wrong - before he forced himself to think as a doctor. Yes, Ayla was hooked to the IV and a monitor, but both was to be expected, if a child with a high fever was admitted to the hospital. At least, she wasn't hooked up to any other machines, which showed that her body was able to function on its own. John took a steadying breath and then stepped up to her bed to glance at the details on the infusion bag: Ringer's solution and an antipyretic medicament. All in all, it didn't sound too serious, at least not from John's view as a medical man.
"Doctor Watson?" John turned towards the elderly man - obviously a doctor - and nodded. "I'm Doctor Redwood and responsible for the medical care of your daughter." John glanced the title of the head physician on the name badge and knew that this was Mycroft's doing. "When she was admitted to the hospital her fever was 40.1 degree Celsius and she was slightly dehydrated. After a few tests, we could exclude any major diseases, including an influenza and it's safe to say that you daughter only suffers from a very persevering cold. We would like to keep her here over night, but she should be fine to go home tomorrow. It was still good that you brought her to the hospital, though."
John sagged in relief at the news and smiled at Ayla - who was deeply asleep - before a frown appeared on his forehead. He had been preoccupied with Ayla's health so far, but now that he had been assured that everything would be alright, he couldn't help but wonder where Sherlock was. John had expected to find him with his daughter - keeping watch over her and harassing the doctors and nurses - but he appeared to have vanished after his phone call. Narrowing his eyes, John stroked Ayla's head, promised the sleeping baby that he would be back soon and then went on his search for his brilliant friend.
It wasn't long until John found Sherlock - the nurses remembered him very well - and it was an understatement to say that he was disappointed. There, Ayla lay alone in her hospital bed, without even her favorite plush toy - a stuffed dog - and here, Sherlock stood on the roof terrace, chain-smoking. John grinded his teeth to keep his anger in check, as he pushed the doors to the roof terrace open and marched up to his friend. "What do you think you are doing out here?" He all but slapped the half-smoked cigarette from Sherlock's hand, before his friend got a chance to reply. So much to keeping his anger in check. "Why aren't you with Ayla? Couldn't you keep your craving for nicotine under control until I got to you? Are you really this much of an addict that you need to chain-smoke a pack of cigarettes, while Ayla might be in a serious condition? Christ," John groaned in exasperation. "And to think that it would be a good idea to leave you alone with her."
John regretted the words as soon as they had left his mouth. He could see the exact moment as they hit home and Sherlock all but flinched at their impact, before he composed himself and averted his gaze. Fuck, John cursed to himself, as Sherlock wandered to the edge of the terrace - which thankfully had a safety guard - and he hurried to follow him. He might have been right about the smoking - and maybe even about the addictive part of Sherlock's personality - but John was man enough to admit that he had done his friend wrong with the last comment. Ayla had been left alone with Sherlock numerous times by now and nothing had ever happened - excluding that they had both needed a bath after their trip to the playground. Sherlock had always taken excellent care of John's daughter and he had even called Mycroft once, when he had needed to go to a crime scene, but needed to find someone to look after Ayla first. It had been more than unfair for John to call Sherlock unfit to look after her. After all, he had brought her to the hospital in the first place and he had informed John right away... and he was still here. So, what if he had needed a smoke, after all the excitement? He had probably grilled the doctors about Ayla's condition, beforehand and then needed a few minutes to himself to sort out his Mind Palace.
"Sherlock," John placed a gentle hand on his friend's arm. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. You're great with Ayla. She is always quiet - or at least calms down faster - when you carry her around. And you can interpret her cries like no one else can and you almost always know which baby food, she prefers on any given day and..."
"I didn't see that she was sick, until I changed her nappy. She was so hot to the touch and I... I didn't notice that she was unwell, although she whimpered sometimes in her sleep. God, I should have seen it sooner and..."
"Sherlock, it's fine." John could feel his own heart breaking at Sherlock's self chastening. "No matter what you want others to believe, you aren't superhuman. There was obviously no indication that you needed to check on Ayla more often than usual and you noticed that she was sick, in time. You brought her to a hospital and then you called me, you did everything right."
Pale eyes looked hopefully at John, before they were lowered to the ground once more. "I didn't do enough. If I had been more insistent - or called Mycroft - they might have allowed me to see her, but I wasn't thinking clearly and feared that they would throw me out of the hospital for good, if I made a scene and...I wasn't there for her."
"Wait! Just wait a second!" John held up his hand to stop Sherlock's rant and to go over his words quickly. It didn't take him long to figure out which part of the statement had rubbed him the wrong way. "They didn't allow you to see her?!"
A pair of slim shoulders lifted and sagged in a sad imitation of a shrug. "I'm only the flatmate of her father. I'm not connected to her in any relevant way."
"Bullshit!" John didn't care for the scandalized looks two nurses sent his way as they passed them on their way back inside. "You're my best friend and you have been there for Ayla, since her birth. I wouldn't have slept more than a couple of hours per night, if it hadn't been for the lullabies you played on the violin. You have fed Ayla as often as I have and I'm damn sure that you have changed more of her nappies than I have. You have bathed her and pushed her pram through Hyde Park. You're as much a parent to her as I'm."
Instead of acknowledging John's superior logic, Sherlock only shook his head. "No, all this... it doesn't count. I'm not related to her, that's all that interests anyone."
John felt a threatening burning sensation in his eyes as he took in Sherlock's defeated posture and his resigned voice. This wasn't right. Sherlock was part of John's family. He had been since John had moved in with him for the first time, years ago - if he was honest with himself. It didn't even matter if Sherlock didn't want him in a romantic way - John had only admitted his own feelings on this matter to himself after Mary had left - as it didn't change the fact that his best friend was Ayla's parent. That anyone didn't accept this universal truth - no matter that John understood the reasoning behind the hospital's policy - was beyond John.
"It doesn't interest Ayla that you aren't related to her and it doesn't interest me. Sherlock, you're..." My family, John wanted to say, but didn't dare. "Very important to us both. Please, believe me."
"I do," Sherlock whispered, without meeting John's eyes. "I suspect that Ayla is fine, if you aren't worried to leave her alone." It was more a question than a statement and John slapped himself mentally for not realizing sooner that Sherlock couldn't know about Ayla's condition, if he hadn't been allowed to see her. The doctors wouldn't have given him any information about her condition. "Yes," John hurried to reassure his friend. "She has caught a nasty cold and her doctor wants her to stay overnight, but she will be fine. We will take her home with us, in the morning."
A choked sound escaped from Sherlock's throat and John needed a second to realise that it had been a sob. John hadn't seen his friend cry for real, since... No, he didn't want to revisit this memory, while they were at St. Bart's, but it shocked him. Not the fact that Sherlock could cry - he was human, no matter what others said - but that the stress over Ayla's illness had moved him so much. It was the final proof - if there was still one needed - of how deeply and completely Sherlock loved. John blinked back tears of his own and then did the only logical thing in such a situation - when they both were on the edge of crying and neither wanted to admit it - he hugged Sherlock. The scents of tobacco, baby powder, spit milk and sweat enfolded John, when Sherlock closed his arms around him in return.
John couldn't tell how long they remained like this, but when they parted, they had both calmed down and John even managed to smile at Sherlock as he gestured towards the doors. "Let's get your hands scrubbed and disinfected and then, we will go to visit Ayla."
Pale eyes were lit up by a warm smile at his words and John almost believed that it had been worth the horrible day, if he was allowed to see Sherlock so happy now. But only almost, as John never wanted to see anyone deny Sherlock his right to be with Ayla ever again and he vowed to himself that he would find a way to prevent such a scene from ever occurring again.
As it turned out, John had only needed a couple of days - after Ayla had been back home with them - until he had figured out the best way to assure that Sherlock was never denied access to their daughter ever again. It was quite simple or it would have been quite simple, if John had accepted Mycroft's offer for help or if he had been better at understanding bureaucrats.
John grimaced as he remembered all the hours hauled away with the necessary paperwork and his countless trips to offices, until he had feared that it was impossible to achieve his goal. Matters had been made more complicated by the fact that John hadn't wanted Sherlock to know about the proceedings, until everything was in order. He had needed to make excuses, when he had gone out to see one of this - bloody - bureaucrats. Countless hours had been spent in Greg's office - he had bought the DI a very expensive whisky for Christmas - to get the paperwork done, away from Sherlock's prying eyes. Nevertheless, it was a small miracle that his best friend hadn't noticed what John had been up to or his Christmas gift would have been ruined.
Yes, John smiled ruefully, he had needed almost four months to get everything ready - only their signatures were needed anymore - and therefore, he had decided that a couple of weeks wouldn't matter in the long run, so that he could give the papers to Sherlock on Christmas Eve. It would be the first time that his friend hadn't deduced what his gift would be.
John threw a wistful glance in Sherlock's direction as he started on the final stage of preparing dinner. Soon - very soon - Ayla would legally have two parents, once more.
OOO
"You're tired, aren't you?" Sherlock murmured softly to Ayla, who yawned in reply and wriggled on top of him, until she had found a comfortable position. "Just go to sleep, Sweetie. You're safe." Sherlock rubbed her back gently, until Ayla's even breaths told him that she had fallen asleep.
Sherlock smiled softly and glanced at the cot, in front of the Christmas tree - the other one was upstairs in John's room - but he dismissed the thought of putting the little girl to bed very fast. Firstly, because Sherlock was accustomed to Ayla's sleep cycle by now and therefore he could easily predict that she would wake up, as soon as John called for dinner. She would want a small bottle of baby milk - she had already had her baby food - and a change of nappies and then she should sleep for the next five to six hours - at least from what Sherlock had observed so far. So, it would really just be a waste of time to put the little girl into the cot, if she would wake up again, in about half an hour. This was, what Sherlock would have told John, if he had asked for his reasons to stay put on the couch and it wouldn't even have been a lie, but... it wouldn't have been the full truth either.
Sherlock let out a quiet huff of air and closed his eyes, as he filled the moment with all the sensory input away in a special wing in his Mind Palace. The warmth and weight of Ayla on his chest. The faint scent of baby powder, milk and cleanliness, that Sherlock always associated with the baby girl. The underlying scent of the Christmas tree in the corner and the burning wood in the fireplace. The tiny huffs of her breaths and the background sounds of John's dinner preparations. Sherlock filled them all away and then quietly closed the door to his Mind Palace and opened his eyes, again.
The sparkle of the ornaments on the Christmas tree greeted him open his return from the Mind Palace and it hit Sherlock again how fast a year had gone by. If he hadn't trusted his memory, he wouldn't have believed that it had only been last year, that he had visited his parents for Christmas and had then shot Magnussen. It didn't seem possible that so much could happen in only one year - Moriarty's faked return, Mary's faked death, John's return to Baker Street - and yet, it had happened and the proof for it all, was sleeping peacefully on his chest.
Sherlock stroked one finger over the soft layer of curls on Ayla's head and wondered how she would look in one year. Would her hair stay curly or would it grow out straight? Would it darken or would it keep, it's light shade of blonde? Would her smile be open and bright or shy and cautious? Sherlock couldn't deduce the answers to all these questions and yet, he was content to wait and see what the future would bring. This was certainly a new development, just like Sherlock's overall interest in Ayla and her wellbeing.
A wry smile touched Sherlock's lips as he placed a hand on the little girl's back, as she moved around in her sleep. If someone had told him that he would enjoy taking care of a baby, a year ago, Sherlock would have advised them to look for a different dealer, but now... Sherlock couldn't imagine not taking care of Ayla. No matter, if he needed to feed her, bath her, change her nappies, play her a lullaby or take her for a walk at the park, Sherlock enjoyed every one of these activities - John had looked at him in disbelief, when Sherlock had volunteered to change her nappies - and he had even started to miss the little girl, when a case took longer than ten hours to solve. These new feelings, they were wonderful, fulfilling and... frightening. Sherlock took a shaking breath and let it out slowly as to not startle Ayla out of her sleep. He had only gotten so deeply involved with another person, once before and it had brought him nothing but pain, when he had joined his life to someone else's... Yes, Sherlock was talking about one John H. Watson. The only man, for whom he had ever felt more than a fleeting attraction or admiration, had shattered Sherlock's heart to pieces and yet... Sherlock still loved him. It was as impossible for him to stop loving John as it was to stop breathing. John was essential to him and... obviously Ayla was as well.
And this was the real frightening part about it, because Sherlock was aware that it wouldn't last. John wouldn't stay at Baker Street forever... and he would take Ayla with him, when he went. Sherlock would be left alone once more, with only his Work and experiments to keep him company and he already hated this future. He detested it, but at the same time, he couldn't do anything to prevent it. After all, Sherlock had noticed the looks, John had thrown Ayla's and his way for the last few months. Looks filled with a sad longing that made Sherlock's heart ache for his friend, as he couldn't do anything to fill the void that had been left by Mary's betrayal. Sherlock couldn't give John the family that his friend clearly wished for and he couldn't replace Ayla's mother. Therefore, it was only logical, that John would start looking for a new girlfriend, in the near future. Of course, he would make sure that she would also be willing to be a mother to Ayla - and who wouldn't fall immediately in love with the little girl? - but Sherlock feared that more than one suitable woman would take Ayla to her heart. And then... John would move in together with this strange woman and Ayla. Sherlock would only see them for the holidays - if at all - and his sweet little princess would only know him as Uncle Sherlock.
She wouldn't remember all the nights, Sherlock had spent soothing her back to sleep or how they had indulged in a water fight in the bathtub, when John had been away to work. Actually, it wasn't so bad that she wouldn't remember these events - it was natural for her to forget what had happened so early in her life - but that Sherlock wouldn't get the chance to repeat them or to tell her about their little adventures. He would never dress her wounds, after she had a rough fight at the Kindergarten. John and he wouldn't go together to a parent-teacher conference at her primary school and... Sherlock took a deep breath to get himself back under control. It was of no use to anyone if he kept on dwelling on things, he couldn't change. Yes, he would most definitely loose his little family, but this was no reason to ruin this Christmas - probably their only one together - by working himself into a full blown panic.
Ayla kicked out with her little feet, as if to agree to his silent resolution and somehow it reminded Sherlock of her first steps. Her very first steps, without any help.
"Such incompetence," Sherlock muttered to himself as he sorted through the photos of the latest crime scene, on the floor in the living-room. He had truly hoped that Anderson had learned a thing or two, after he had gotten his job back, but the man was as useless as ever. It
was only slightly more annoying that he had morphed into one of Sherlock's admirers. Strange, what guilt could do to a man.
"You would have done a better job with the pictures, right, Ayla?" Sherlock turned from where he was hunched over the pictures to the little girl - who had been busy blabbering to her teddy on her favorite blanket minutes ago - and almost gasped in surprise, when he noticed that she was standing upright. And not just hanging onto the edge of the couch like she had done on numerous occasions by now, but she was standing completely on her own.
Sherlock held his breath - and opened his arms in a welcoming gesture - as the eight-month old girl took her first wobbling steps. Her lips were pursed in absolute concentration - or so it seemed to Sherlock - as she put one foot in front of the other and then stopped for a few seconds, before she repeated the process. It might have taken minutes or hours - Sherlock was too focused on Ayla to pay any mind to the time - until she finally crossed the distance between them and tumbled into his arms.
"Well done, Ayla." Sherlock pressed a kiss to her forehead and stroked her fine hair adoringly. "I knew that you could do it. There was no reason for your Daddy to worry, just because you didn't want to crawl. Which sane person would want to run around on their hands and knees?!" The little girl in his arms giggled and Sherlock imagined what John would say, when he told him that his daughter had skipped the crawling stage, in favor of walking, before a frown appeared on his face. John had already missed Ayla's first word - Teddy - and although he had been happy to listen to her attempts at speaking her second and third word that evening, Sherlock hadn't just imagined the disappointment in his friend's eyes, at that time.
"We won't tell, Daddy, alright?" Sherlock whispered in Ayla's ear and got up with her to retrieve her favorite storybook from the shelf. "You will show Daddy how nicely you can walk and I will act just as surprised as I was, now. Deal?"
"Yes," Ayla squealed - probably because Sherlock handed her teddy to her - and he took it as an agreement.
A warm smile ghosted over Sherlock's lips at the memory and it was enough to push the threat of separation away, at least for this evening.
"Sherlock, dinner will be ready in ten," John informed him from across the room and as predicted, Ayla came awake with a cry of protest and eyes filled with expectations, as Sherlock got up to retrieve her nightcap in the form of a baby bottle.
"I will always remember this day," Sherlock whispered into her ear as he fed her, in front of the Christmas tree and stored every second away in his Mind Palace.
OOO
"You're nervous."
John looked up from his half-eaten plate to meet Sherlock's puzzled gaze over the table. Of course, John thought with a silent sigh, his friend would pick this moment of all moments to be observant about his feelings. He had neither noticed John's annoyance, when Sherlock had used the last milk in an experiment nor had he shown any compassion, when John had complained about the newest doctor at the surgery. No, Sherlock had kept on experimenting or maintaining his Mind Palace, but now - when John had to stop himself from fidgeting on his chair - his friend noticed that something was amiss. Great, just great. How was John supposed to find the courage to present the papers to Sherlock, when he was under his sole focus?!
"I'm not nervous. Well, maybe a little. It's not every Christmas that the British Government and his parents come over for lunch." John gave a false laugh at his own weak joke, which only deepened Sherlock's frown. "You aren't nervous, because of Mycroft. You are one of the few people that don't care with what my brother threatens them and my parents adore you. Ayla and you, to be exact, so what could have gotten you so worked up?!"
John almost laughed out loud at the question, while a sarcastic voice whispered a honest reply in his head. "Oh, it's nothing much. I just realised that I should have consulted you first, if you wanted to have shared custody over Ayla with me. It was a bad idea to prepare everything in secret, because I would be completely heartbroken, if you refused to become her second father, before the law."
Of course, John didn't say any of it out loud, as a) it would have ruined the surprise and b) he was damn sure - to 99.9 percent - that this were only his nerves talking. Hell, he hadn't doubted Sherlock's reply, until they had sat down for dinner and the moment of truth came closer with every bite they took. It was an absolute irrational fear to have. Sherlock loved Ayla and it was obvious that he wanted to be a part of her life, so why...
"Does it have to do with Mrs. Hudson's punch? Because I assure you that I prevented her from spiking it. Or do you worry about the silk scarf, you have picked for my mother? I'm sure that..."
"Oh, bugger this!"
John ignored Sherlock's perplexed expression as he pushed his chair back with more force than necessary and marched up to his room. Fuck the perfect moment to hand over a gift and fuck a special atmosphere, John just wanted it to be over with. He wanted Sherlock to look at the papers, deduce their full meaning and kiss John senseless as a result. He nodded grimly to the man in the mirror, as he retrieved the file from its hiding place - the drawer of his nightstand - and marched back down the stairs.
"John, I don't know what I did to make you angry, but I swear I didn't mean it. Can't you just tell me what's wrong and I will apologize and..."
John interrupted Sherlock's rambling - had he mentioned yet, how cute he found it, when his friend got it completely wrong - by thrusting the file at him - not the most elegant move - and sitting back down at the table. "Read it! It's my Christmas gift for you."
"But," Sherlock started to argue - obviously still confused - and didn't open the file, before John interrupted him. "Yes, I know that you deduced that I have a new pair of leather gloves for you and you are right, but this," John pointed at the file. "Is your main present and that's why I was nervous. Read!" John commanded, when Sherlock opened his mouth once more in protest.
John watched with ripe attention, when Sherlock retrieved the first page, skimmed through it, stopped and then jumped back to the top of it. His eyes grew wider with every word - wider than John had believed possible without the aid of drugs - but he didn't say a single word, as his gaze wandered back to the top and he gripped the page as if his life depended on it.
With a sigh, John leaned back in his chair. He was used to this - Sherlock sort of shutting off, when he was confronted with unexpected, emotional matters - by now and he knew that he didn't need to worry about Sherlock refusing to adopt Ayla anymore. His friend was fast to react negatively to unwanted news, but he needed a little longer to accept something good in his life.
John took another sausage and waited.
OOO
Adoption papers!
For a second - or maybe even an hour - Sherlock merely stared at the words, sure in the knowledge that he was dreaming... or hallucinating or locked into his Mind Palace, after falling into a coma. Everything seemed more likely than that John wanted to share his custody of Ayla with him. After all, John and he weren't a couple - the reminder brought a bitter taste to Sherlock's tongue - and it would certainly lead to trouble - legally and emotionally - if John found himself another girlfriend, when Sherlock had a legal claim to Ayla. No, it really didn't make any sense as to why John would want Sherlock to be Ayla's father.
Of course, Sherlock had helped his friend to raise the little one to the best of his abilities, but that was something every decent friend would do, wouldn't they? It certainly was no reason for John to bind Ayla's and his life to Sherlock like this. Especially not, when Sherlock was certain that his friend would regret this decision in a matter of months - if not weeks. John would realise that he had made it hard for himself to leave Sherlock - if he wanted to settle down with someone else - without getting into a custody battle with him and - by extension - the British Government himself. Not that Sherlock would ever try to take Ayla away from her Daddy, but he wasn't a saint either and it wouldn't be beneath him to hold his status as Ayla's legal parent over John's head, if he intended to leave Baker Street. And such a move would certainly destroy their friendship, therefore...
"Don't do anything stupid, brother mine!" Mycroft's voice sounded in his Mind Palace, when Sherlock was about to reject John's gift. "Think, before you make a mistake, you will regret for the rest of your life!" Sherlock rolled his eyes at this, as he fixed his mind's manifestation of his brother with a deadly glare. "I thought about it and John obviously made the mistake here. He didn't think this through and probably rushed into it, without considering all the consequences. I'm just trying to save our friendship." The imaginary Mycroft only sighed at this - a long suffering sigh that had been reserved for the occasions when Sherlock had been extremely slow on the uptake in the past. "Rushing into an adoption... Really Sherlock? Do you really believe our bureaucrats work so fast that John didn't have a chance - more than one - to change his mind, if he so wanted?! Maybe, you should take a look at the dates on all the papers, before you make a mistake." With these parting words, his brother vanished from his Mind Palace and Sherlock blinked himself back to reality, which included the adoption papers in his hands. He had half a mind to ignore his brother's advice - for good measure - but in the end his curiosity - or was it the blooming hope in his heart - won out and Sherlock started to scan the papers for dates.
The oldest date reached back four months. Four months, in which John could have changed his mind and decided that he didn't want Sherlock to become such a big part of their lives. Four months, in which John had run from one office to the next one to get the necessary papers and signatures - and probably to complain to the clerks how slowly they were working. Sherlock could see how much work it had been to his friend - who detested paperwork just as much as Sherlock did - and how he had struggled to remember to get all the necessary papers, as some documents had obviously only been added at a later date than others. This alone also proved that Mycroft hadn't been involved in the legal process - at least not officially - because the papers would have been ready to sign in a matter of hours, if his brother had had any say in it.
"Awesome observations," the Mycroft in his Mind Palace drawled unimpressed. "Now, what can we deduce from all this evidence?"
"John has thought everything through and he really wants me to be Ayla's Dad," Sherlock replied without missing a beat, even as his breath hitched in his throat at this possibility. Still, even if Sherlock was certain that John was serious about the adoption, there was still one question, he couldn't answer for himself. "Why would he go to such lengths, though? I would continue caring for Ayla no matter my legal status to her." This time, his brother didn't reply to Sherlock's question, but only offered him a kind smile - the one that was a memory from their childhood - and shook his head. "If you haven't seen it yet, ask him." And with that, Sherlock found himself back at the kitchen table, where John had just finished a sausage and ogled another one hungrily.
"John," Sherlock started, before his courage could vanish. "I am... flattered, but I need to know... why?" Sherlock didn't know if he looked as insecure as he felt - judging from the softening of John's eyes and his gentle smile, he did - but he didn't have the time to worry about it. Right now, Sherlock needed to know why his best friend would want him as a fixed part of his family, when Sherlock couldn't come up with an explanation himself.
John put his cutlery down - although it was obvious that he was still hungry - and leaned forward on the table to hold Sherlock's gaze. "You mean, why I want you to adopt Ayla?"
Sherlock nodded - too nervous to mock John for asking for clarification, when none was needed. "You remember the day, when Ayla was brought to hospital and you weren't allowed to see her, until I arrived?" Sherlock frowned at the question - how could he ever forgot the panic and paralyzing fear of this day? - and nodded. "Of course, I do. But what... Oh!" All of his hopes crashed to the ground, as he understood the motivation behind John's wonderful gift. His friend only wanted to ensure that Sherlock was allowed to make medical decisions for Ayla, if he wasn't around to see to her needs. While this spoke of an immense trust in Sherlock, it still wasn't what he had hoped for and besides...
"There is no need for me to adopt her, if you only want to ensure that I - should the need arise - get to see to her medical needs. You just need to draw up a paper, that gives me the authority to make necessary decisions in your absence. If you want, I can ask Mycroft to do it for you." As much as it hurt, Sherlock didn't want John to share custody with him for all the wrong reasons.
"No, Sherlock." John sighed quietly and then did something, he had never done before, he reached across the table to clasp Sherlock's right hand in his. Sherlock startled at the contact and almost missed John's next words, as he tried to come up with an explanation for the unexpected move. "You having the authority to make necessary decisions for Ayla is certainly one reason, why I want you to adopt her, but it's not the only one." Sherlock watched mesmerized as John's tongue darted out to wet his lips. A nervous habit, Sherlock had learned. But why would John be nervous? Before he could even start to ponder the question, John offered him the answer for free. "I want you to adopt Ayla, so that you are legally recognized as the father that you are to her. I want you to have a connection to her - other than the emotional one - because you..." John took a shaking breath and Sherlock prepared himself for whatever was to come - or at least, he tried to. "You are our family and I don't want anyone to ever doubt this."
Sherlock opened his mouth to reply... and closed it again. It was... he couldn't believe that John had just declared him a member of their family. It was just like in one of his dreams, which left him longing for everything he couldn't have, as soon as he woke up. But now, it appeared that Sherlock could finally have, what he had always wished for, but...
"You... What about, when you find... a girlfriend and..." Damn, obviously John's gift had robbed him of his eloquence. There was no other explanation as to why he would stumble over such an easy question, although it wasn't exactly easy for him to imagine John with someone else.
"There will be no other girlfriend." Sherlock stared at his friend in disbelief, who shrugged. "Ayla and you... You're enough, more than enough. You're my family and I don't want to enter a new relationship that would be completely meaningless to me, because... I love you. Both of you."
All the air left Sherlock in a rush and he could only stare at John and blink stupidly as he tried to work through this new piece of information. To imagine that John loved him, it was... brilliant and frightening and Sherlock didn't have the first clue on how to react. Christ, he didn't even know how John had meant it. Maybe, he didn't mean the kind of love, Sherlock had been longing for, for so long. Maybe, he just loved Sherlock as a good friend or in a romantic, but utterly platonic way. After all, John had never shown any interest in men and Sherlock couldn't believe that he would be the exception to the rule. So, what...
"If you don't return my feelings, that's fine," John murmured reassuringly, a hint of hurt and disappointment in his voice. "I still want you to adopt Ayla. I won't leave you, if you don't feel the same way about me."
"And how exactly do you feel about me?" Sherlock dared asking as he gathered every piece of courage he possessed. "I know that you said you loved me," he added, when John frowned at him. "But what kind of love do you mean? Do you love me in a platonic way? Is your love of the romantic kind or more like the love to a brother or best friend? Do you want to..." Sherlock bit down hard on his tongue to stop himself, before he could finish the sentence. It would be rather awkward to ask John if he wanted to kiss him and make love to him, especially if his friend replied in the negative. Besides, Sherlock doubted that he would survive the humiliation if John rejected him openly.
"I..." A faint blush colored John's cheeks as he squeezed Sherlock's hand. "It's not platonic. I want to... kiss you and sleep next to you and... Yes, I would also like to sleep with you." Sherlock watched in fascination as his friend's face took a deep scarlet tone. Who would have thought that Three Continents Watson could be so easily flustered. "Only if you want to, of course. There is no pressure. No matter what you want or don't want to do, I'm fine with it. I just wanted you to know how I feel and if you..."
"Yes!"
Sherlock couldn't stop the silly grin from spreading over his face as he beamed at his confused friend. "Excuse me?"
"Yes, I want all of it. Kissing and sleeping with you - in the biblical and the literal sense - and raising Ayla with you and... I want everything you offer and I... love you, too." Sherlock's heart fluttered nervously in his chest, after he had opened himself up like this. A part of him - a very small, but insistent part - was convinced that John would withdraw his offer, now that Sherlock had accepted it. Of course, Sherlock knew his friend not to be cruel, but years of rejection and disappointment had taught him to only ever expect the worst from people. Still, it was like a punch to the stomach, when John jumped up from his chair and rushed from the room, after Sherlock had declared his love to him.
Thankfully, the pain only lasted for about a minute, when John came back with a pen and signed the final paper hurriedly, before pushing it at Sherlock. "Sign it!"
Sherlock accepted the pen and then stared up at John. "Why the hurry now? You have waited for so long and now..."
"Now, I want you to sign the paper, so that I can make true on my promise and kiss you senseless, before I take you to bed... if you are amenable."
Sherlock couldn't remember the last time, he had signed a paper so fast - or in such a horrible scrawl - before he jumped to his feet and capture John's lips in a surprise kiss. A horrible surprise kiss, as their noses pumped together and their foreheads collided painfully, but Sherlock would still keep it as the most cherished memory in his Mind Palace, as it was John's and his first kiss. Still, he would certainly make room for the following kisses and their first skin on skin contact, as John's hand sneaked under his shirt and Sherlock all but melted into his arms.
"Bed?" The questions was murmured between kisses and John eagerly nodded against him, before he threw a worried glance in the direction of the cot.
"Don't worry." Sherlock nipped at John's bottom lip. "Ayla has had her dinner an hour ago and a change of nappy, as well. She should be asleep for another few hours and I have a baby phone next to the cot and the counterpart to it in my bedroom."
As it appeared, this was all the reassurance, John needed, as he claimed his lips in a passionate kiss and then proceeded to lead Sherlock to his own bedroom, which Sherlock happily allowed, as his whole being longed for John. A longing, he would finally be able to satisfy.
OOO
The movement of the mattress was what woke John. He blinked sleepily - and a little disoriented - into the darkness of the room - which wasn't his - before the memories of the last few hours came back to him. His love confession. The adoption papers. Their first kiss. Referent touches in the soft light of the bedside lamp. Coming undone under the skilled tongue of his lover and returning the favor in kind. Stroking damp curls afterwards and snuggling up to his lover, until they both fell asleep.
A goofy grin formed on John's face and he was half asleep, once more when Sherlock's voice filtered into his mind. "Ayla is awake, I will see to her." John murmured his sleepy agreement and listened to quiet footsteps, before he slipped off into sleep once more.
He couldn't tell how long he had been asleep, when he woke the next time, but as it was still dark outside- and relatively quiet in the streets - John assumed that it was still the middle of the night. Sleepily, he felt around for Sherlock and frowned, when he only encountered cold sheets. It took him a second to remember that his boyfriend - wasn't this a nice change?! - had gone to see to Ayla, but it was still strange that he wasn't back yet. Confused, but not alarmed - Sherlock would have woken him up, if something was wrong - he went in search for his boxers and a shirt, before he stumbled through the dark flat to their living-room.
"Sherlock, is something..." John didn't get to finish the sentence. His mind simply short-circuited at the sight before him. The electronic candles on the Christmas tree were all lit to illuminate the stacks of gifts underneath its branches. Gifts that hadn't been there, when John had gone to bed. And it didn't stop there. John's eyes wandered to the dancing flames in the fireplace to the couch, where Sherlock sat with Ayla in his lap - both wrapped in a thick blanket - and a plush penguin in her arms, that was definitely brand new.
"So, you had a head start on the gift giving?" His voice sounded overly loud in the quiet room, but Sherlock merely looked up with a sheepish smile and shrugged. "Ayla was awake, so I decided to place all the gifts under the Christmas tree - you should find a better place to hide them than under your bed - and when I carried her around afterwards, she was so fascinated by the penguin that I couldn't deny her the plush toy. Besides, it's five in the morning, so it's in fact Christmas morning."
John shook his head with a smile. "You're going to spoil our child rotten, aren't you?" His smile turned softer, when Sherlock hid his face behind Ayla's head at John's choice of words and he decided that he could as well start his day now. If he fell asleep after one glass of Mrs. Hudson's punch, he couldn't care less.
"Hot chocolate or tea?" John already knew the answer, even as he waited to retrieve the milk, until Sherlock had replied with an eager: "Hot chocolate!"
John was halfway through melting and stirring the chocolate into the milk, when Sherlock called again from the living-room. "Prepare a bottle of baby milk for Ayla, as well. I assume she will want some, soon."
Sherlock was right, of course. John had just managed to carry two steaming mugs and one bottle to the table in the living-room, when Ayla gave a tiny cry and struggled in Sherlock's arms as she reached for the bottle.
"Slowly," Sherlock murmured as he adjusted his grip on her and then handed her the bottle.
Carefully, as to not startle them, John sat down next to Sherlock and sighed happily, when his lover leaned back against his side, while Ayla gulped down the milk from her bottle. Yes, John mused - as he sipped his hot chocolate, cuddled up to his little family - this was definitely the best Christmas he had ever had.
"And there are many more to come," Sherlock whispered next to him and John chuckled at the display of his lover's extraordinary ability to read his mind. "Yes, there are," John replied and sealed his words with a kiss, accompanied by a happy squeal from Ayla. Their new life together had only just begun after all and John knew that no other gift would ever make him as happy as spending time with the two people he loved most in the world: With his family!