That night John slept soundly. He spent the night peacefully, dreams dancing wonderfully through his subconscious. That was until he was rudely interrupted. But John couldn't have been more content with the result of his interruption. It started with a nightmare, and no, it wasn't John's.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

John shot up in his bed. A scream had shaken the flat rather thoroughly. Startled, he was panting, staring at the door, and blindly searching through his bedsit table drawer for his gun. Hand clasping around his weapon of choice, John slid out of bed. Carefully stepping out of the room, he tiptoed down the staircase slowly, avoiding the creaking steps.

Now stepping down to the main floor, John could hear faint whimpering, along with something even more surprising. Singing. He continued down the hall to the living room, feet shuffling lightly against the wood floor. The noise became more apparent the closer he got to Sherlock's room. He set down his Browning on the coffee table, and dared to get closer.

"I think about you every single day

And every time I see your face

I wake and it brings me to tears

We hadn't spoken in years

We were close when we were young and naive

We grew up and we learned other things

You'll always be sweet 16"

John could hear the low baritone voice wafting through the flat. It almost stopped him from continuing, but he needed to see with his own eyes.

"And you will always be perfect

You'll always be beautiful

Our hearts will never forget you

You didn't belong here

And it's become so clear

Why heaven called your name"

It was Sherlock, definitely Sherlock. But John needed to know why. It was obvious from the start the scream came from Lisbeth, but John needed to know why.

"I miss you and it still feels like I know you

I've got pictures of us side by side to show you

But it feels like I owe you so much more"

John reached the door to Sherlock's room. It was cracked open, though John faintly remembered it being closed when he went to bed. He leaned forward and looked in, and saw a sight he didn't think he's ever see.

Lisbeth was curled into a ball, shaking slightly. Sherlock held her in his lap, arms wrapped around her tightly. He was rocking back and forth occasionally, singing to her as she slowly fell asleep.

Nightmare, then, most likely of her mother's gruesome death. It reminded John of the nightmares he would have about Sherlock. About the fall, the blood on the concrete, the slow agonizingly painful feeling he got watching the life leave his eyes. John almost burst into tears right there, until he realized, the singing stopped. John opened his eyes, not realizing he had closed them, only to jump back at the sight of Sherlock so close to him.

He had been found out.

He cursed himself inwardly for not being more careful. He tried to quickly come up with an excuse for why Sherlock's, nothing daring to come out. John recognized that gaze. Sherlock's eyebrows were slightly furrowed and he was squinting a bit. The deep pools of icy blue turned calculating, flitting side to side to take everything in.

He was gauging John's reaction. Ever since his daughter had come into the picture, he was becoming more and more emotional around John. He even cried in front of him, for God's sake. Now, he had caught him in his fatherly mode, singing his daughter to sleep. Though, in retrospect, this turn of events was not all bad. Maybe crying and dinners and singing would show John that Sherlock was worth loving, could love in return. But for now, things will just have to stay awkward.

Sherlock stepped completely out of his room and closed the door. John caught a glance of Lisbeth sleeping soundly on the mattress. He smiled softly at the sight.

"She woke you." It wasn't a question, more like a confirmation in John's eyes.

John smiled weakly. "It's fine, I'm used to it." Sherlock took a moment to look for any hint of sarcasm in his voice. He found none.

"Crime scenes never used to effect her before."

John thought he could laugh at the outright stupidity of Sherlock's comment. "Sherlock, that was her mother. Of course it affected her. Didn't it affect you?"

Fuck. John should have held his tongue. That was not something you ask someone who has just lost his or her wife. Sherlock, on the other hand, was relieved that John brought it up.

"Yes and no," He began, peaking John's interest. "It affected me on the basis that, yes, that woman was the mother to my child, and yet, I feel unaffected entirely. I figured out, not too long ago, that I never really loved her in the first place. Emily was a dear friend, and shall be missed greatly, but her death will not keep me from going on with my life. The song was just one that Lisbeth would appreciate. She knows where I stand with her mother."

John didn't look up from the spot on the floor. What Sherlock had said, what Lisbeth was continually saying, gave John hope into a relationship with the detective. Sherlock's actions over the previous day showed him that the man did have the ability to love. Had it really only been a day? It seemed like eons.

Thinking back to what Lisbeth had said earlier, 'Sherlock Holmes is already in love with you' John's heart swelled with hope. If only he could trust her words.

"John?"

His gaze lifted until dull brown bet stunning blue. Sherlock looked concerned, if that was possible. He gave his blogger a smile. Closing the distance between them, he reached out and cupped John's face in his hand.

John looked stunned; a blush crept onto his cheeks and Sherlock could feel the heat radiating into his hand. Leaning forward further, their foreheads met softly. Sherlock marveled in the sight of John so close. He cataloged everything into his mind palace, in the wing entitled 'John'.

John's breath hitched. Sherlock was so close to him touching their foreheads, it was all too overwhelming. He swallowed, hard. His eyes were even more gorgeous up close. What was this? Was Sherlock going to kiss him? He closed his eyes to hide his anticipation.

Sherlock watched John close his eyes in curiosity. Did John want him to kiss him? That was a lovely thought. But Sherlock was not about to ruin his plans.

Lifting his head slightly, Sherlock placed a soft kiss to John's temple. He let it linger, feeling John's eye's open in surprise, feeling him settle and calm, content with the situation. Parting, Sherlock gave him a just-for-John smile.

"Get some sleep." He whispered, before straightening and retreating back to his room.

John felt light-headed. Cloud nine even. He floated up the stairs and into his bedroom, to crawl into bed and fall asleep.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH SH

The door clicked softly behind Sherlock. He turned to see Lisbeth sitting upright on the bed playing on his mobile. She looked up at him.

"How'd it go?"

"Perfect."