A/N: I apologize for the long wait, but it took me a while to finish putting this chapter together. Enjoy!
A/N Part Two: I do promise that I am trying to write Chapter 4, it is just taking me a lot of effort. Seriously, like I sat down to write the other night and a four page story just poured out...but it was not Chapter 4. This is my favorite longer story I've written, I do promise that I will update it.
Things between them did start to change but it was not a sudden leap. Sherlock still poured over cold cases Lestrade provided him with while John played with Rosie. They still hadn't talked about moving out of the house; Sherlock felt there was no appropriate moment to bring it up. The changes that were happening between them were overwhelming at moments and despite everything he kept expecting to discover none of this was real-it all seemed too good to be true. Except when it didn't, it was those moments that drew him back to earth. Moments where Rosie had been up crying all night, John was grumpy and Sherlock was itching for another case to solve.
Those were the moments that tested them, tested their patience with each other as well as with the life they were building together. Sex between them also still stayed the same-they would go long stretches without in and then it was like they snapped and couldn't stop themselves.
The more time that went by the more Sherlock began to worry that John would never move back to Baker Street with him. Eventually it became more apparent that they would move back; John would hint about missing the energy of the city and how dull he found the suburbs. Sherlock tried not to push him, but he was also desperate to get back to Baker Street.
It happened one morning over breakfast on a day that wasn't any more special than all of the others.
"Let's move back to Baker Street," John announced.
"Okay, I'll let Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft know," Sherlock replied after a stunned silence. They went back to their tea and Rosie continued to happily spread her cheerios around on her tray.
They stayed at the house for two months after that. John would go into a room with a stack of boxes and sit in the room, staring from one item to another as he tried to figure out where to start. There was so much of the life he had built with Mary, and he didn't know where to begin. Did he take the pictures of them? The wedding album? What did he do with her clothes and her shoes, there were so many of them and he hated the idea of just getting rid of them-it seemed like he was trying to throw her away when he did that. So he sat there, day after day, without packing anything. Sherlock would bring him tea and Rosie when he knew John needed a break.
Rosie played happily on the floor as her father stared at the things he had accrued with the wife he had buried. Sherlock sat in a chair and read, waiting patiently for John to need something. He didn't push, he never mentioned how bored he was, and he never sneered at how sentimental John was being. After a month of no progress Sherlock came and sat down next to John, Rosie nestled in his lap.
"We can keep the house just as it is, for now. Just take the things we need and decide later what to do with everything else," Sherlock spoke softly, as if he was speaking to a frightened animal.
"I don't want to hold onto it and make you think I'm trying to preserve something that isn't there. I just...I don't know what to do." John leaned his head against Sherlock's shoulder, smiling when Rosie turned and smiled up at him.
Two days later Mrs. Hudson and Molly came over, Molly sat down on the floor next to John and Mrs. Hudson stood behind them.
"Did Sherlock call you?" John asked. He didn't sound angry, on the contrary he sounded like a man who was about ready to give up.
"He thought that you might need help, and he didn't think this was something he would be able to help you with," Molly said. She smiled sweetly at him, he returned it with a small smile that came across as more of a grimace.
"Now dear, what is really stopping you?" Mrs. Hudson asked. She moved so she was standing in front of John, her arms crossed as she looked down at him.
John sighed and shook his head. For a few long moments he stared at the rug (it was yellow, he hated it, but Mary had insisted it would brighten the room).
"Getting rid of her things is not the same as forgetting about the relationship you had. You had something special, something beautiful. She loved you, and you loved her. And now you need to move on, for your daughter. Mary wouldn't have wanted you to stay here out of guilt," Molly said. John looked at her and then slowly he nodded his head.
That day between the three of them they managed to pack half a dozen boxes. Two of things to take, two of things to donate and two for storage.
Molly and Mrs. Hudson stopped by as regularly as possible and helped John finish packing the house. Sherlock stayed out of their way, though he always interrupted every few hours with Rosie who enjoyed all of the attention.
After two weeks they had almost finished with the house, the last thing left was the master bedroom and closet. Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table and pouring over one of his many text books while John, Molly and Lestrade helped pack the remainder of the house. He looked over at Rosie who was busy smearing her strained carrots all over her high chair rather than eat them.
"I don't blame you, but your dad insists that you eat these things. Apparently they're healthy," Sherlock said, putting air quotes around healthy.
Rosie looked at him, a grin on her face and exclaimed "Dada!"
"He's in the other room, we can go see him once I clean you up," Sherlock answered. He never understood why people talked to babies like they were idiots. How did they ever expect the child to catch on to normal speech if they were constantly cooed at?
He unstrapped Rosie from her highchair and began to wipe her clean of the carrots. She grabbed at his shirt and exclaimed "Dada!" again. He smiled and assured her it would just be another moment. But she kept saying it, and soon he realized that she meant him.
He smiled at her and then scooped her out of her highchair, cradling her close to his chest. She reached for the button on his shirt excitedly and began to play with it.
When Sherlock walked into the master bedroom it was to find the entire room covered in stacks of clothing, blankets, shoes, books and half packed boxes. He leaned against the doorframe and watched them for a few moments. Rosie turned to watch them as well, her eyes lighting up when she saw John.
"Dada!" She exclaimed again. John looked up from the box he was packing and smiled. Sherlock watched Molly and Lestrade exchange a small smile, as if they were in on a joke together, before they went back to packing.
John picked his way through the boxes and met Sherlock in the doorway, planting a kiss on Rosie's forehead when he got there. "Did she eat her carrots?" he asked.
"No, she thought they looked better smeared on the highchair. I quite agree."
Once they had finished packing a team of movers showed up, much to John's surprise, and took everything to its final destination. John, Sherlock and Rosie stood in the middle of what had been the living room, looking around at the empty house. For a long time they were silent.
"Thank you, Sherlock," John whispered. He grabbed Sherlock's hand and the three of them made their way outside, to the car.
To Be Continued...
A/N: This may seem like an ending but I promise I have more planned, just have patience with me. Until next time!