John's face showed concern and fear as he stepped through the door to 221b after 3 long weeks away, but Sherlock's mind was elsewhere.
"It looks... alright." John admitted, glancing at the new décor, almost identical to the old one... even down to the bullet holes and the smiley face. Those had to have been destroyed - the wall had been repapered, meaning Sherlock had deliberately recreated the graffiti. Worrisome. Sherlock was laid out on the sofa, having not even acknowledged John and Jay's return. John sighed and placed Jay's car seat on the floor while he lugged their bags back upstairs. When he returned Sherlock was crouched down over her.
"She's grown." The apparently retired detective said in a hollow tone.
"Yep. They do that." John agreed cautiously. "You uh... you missed some milestones..." He added nervously. He knew how meticulous Sherlock had been about writing the important things down, however, Sherlock looked unperturbed - his face a blank mask, even when Jay reached her little fist up and bopped him on the nose by way of greeting.

"I uh... I made notes, and you got the picture messages right? Like you said it was time for solid food... she likes the jar of apple stuff..." Sherlock reacted the way any normal person would, with a nod and a glance, John frowned - something was very wrong. "And you missed her first word."
"Nonsense." Sherlock said, showing the first sign of emotion since their return by looking indignant. "She's less than 7 months old, she's clever but the misconception that infants 'talk' at such a young age is idiots believing their children possess great talents beyond their means, monosyllabic babbling such as 'dada' and 'mama' are common but they have no knowledge of appropriate usage until at least 9 months old." He recited - most likely from the baby book. Sherlock lifted her out of the car seat and onto his hip.
"Yes well, she's not STOPPED saying it since so I think she knows exactly what it means..." John protested weakly, making for the kettle. He was in desperate need of a cup of tea, Harry was back on the wagon and whilst she had adored Jay enough to stay sober for the duration of their stay, the only drink she had in was a ridiculously strong brand of instant coffee that tasted like old car tyres.

"What is it?" Sherlock queried. "The most common 'first word' before an actual first word is 'mama' because the mmm sound is easier to make. 'Duh' and 'Tuh' etcetera are harder to grasp because they require the usage of the tongue." He bobbed Jay gently in his arms and she cooed happily, sucking on her sleeve.
"Yes, okay fine it's 'mama', but it's cute alright, and she only uses it for me." John opened the newly lacquered kitchen cupboard to get the teabags, before frowning. A large brown bottle took up half of the space not occupied by the teabags, he recognised it as a medical prescription and took it down. Fluoexetine - common enough SSRI used for anxiety and depression. John blinked, glancing at Sherlock, who seemed fine if a little reserved. SSRI's took weeks to kick in and there were approximately 10 missing from a monthly supply... He put them back and went back to making the tea, his stomach twisting in knots.

"You uh... okay, Sherlock?" John asked, bringing the cups through.
"Hm? Oh yes, fine." Sherlock said distractedly, wriggling Jay's rabbit in front of her face and watching her snatch for it.
"It's just we haven't really talked about..." He trailed off awkwardly. How was this sort of conversation even started. 'By the way is someone trying to kill us or have you lost your marbles' seemed inappropriate.
"Oh, yes... the kiss." Sherlock hummed, frowning slightly. Ah. The kiss. Well, they could talk about that as well. "I believe I owe you an apology John." Sherlock said crisply, looking up at the doctor. John smiled and shook his head.
"No, you don't, it's fine really I've kind of been expecting it." He said with a grin which only seemed to intensify the detective's frown.
"That's what I need to apologise for... I think I may have given you the wrong impression." Sherlock said softly. "It's natural I suppose... we're raising a child together, wires get crossed." John sat up and paid attention trying to read Sherlock's face but the man had become unreadable, his face calm and blank. "So if I somehow gave you the impression that I desired a romantic relationship with you... then I apologise." He said sincerely. John felt cold.

This wasn't right. Something was wrong. Sherlock wasn't telling the whole truth.
"But you kissed me..." He argued, because regardless of who started the kiss Sherlock had definitely returned it. Sherlock pursed his lips.
"Perhaps, but we can't let something like that happen again, John." Jay grabbed at her rabbit and tugged it out of Sherlock's hands as if to tell him he did not deserve to cuddle with rabbit if he was going to upset mama. "Emotions are high, we're running on little sleep, it impairs our judgement," Sherlock began but John held up a hand.
"Stop it." He said in a low, dangerous tone. "Just... just stop it." He growled and sipped his tea, ignoring Sherlock's furrowed brow.
"Our present arrangement is more than satisfactory..." Sherlock tried again.
"Shut up." John warned, because he was annoyed. They had made so much progress and now Sherlock was back-pedalling, erasing it all like it was meaningless excess data. John hadn't been imagining it, he was certain that he and Sherlock had been heading down that path. There was something dodgy about all of it.
"I'm going to put her to bed." Sherlock said with a sigh, standing up and carrying Jay towards the bedroom. "If I have upset you..."
"Yes." John said bluntly. "You have." Sherlock bowed his head and nodded, disappearing into his bedroom.

Jay stared at him intensely, most likely due to their hasty departure. It stood to reason that she was looking at him because she missed him. Sherlock, however, thought he saw critical wisdom in those eyes.
"Oh stop it." He muttered at her. "It had to be done." He placed her in the cot and she continued to glare at him, as though betrayed.


Things were tense over the next few months, Jay's teething meant they were up and down like yo-yos and John felt that sleeping in Sherlock's room, while convenient, wouldbe inappropriate after being so bluntly rejected. Sherlock seemed to have regressed - he barely spoke to anybody other than Jay. John was at his wits' end by the time Jay was 9 months old and not just for the fact she'd taken to crawling properly and even walking by clinging on to furniture, skirting around tables and chairs. He didn't know what to do about Sherlock, who didn't seem depressed or anxious, he just seemed sort of empty. Whatever had made Sherlock Sherlock seemed to have died the night of the fire and John hadn't realised it was possible to miss someone so much while living in the same house.

It was sheer desperation that lead him to inviting Mycroft for tea one day while Sherlock was out pestering Molly for child-friendly experiment ideas. The elder Holmes brother seemed unsurprised by his summons, sweeping in and looking very out of place amongst the mountain of brightly coloured toys that had taken up residence in 221b.
"John..." He said curtly, managing to look mildly offended by all the child paraphernalia cluttering the flat.
"Mycroft." John said in an equally cool tone.
"Mama!" Jay chirped. Originally she had babbled it repeatedly at John, choosing to ignore Harry. Sherlock had been right about her not knowing what it meant though because now anybody she even remotely approved of was addressed as 'mama', which Mrs Hudson had found adorable. Mycroft raised an eyebrow at her choice of moniker but sat down opposite John who poured them both a mug of tea. Jay crawled beneath the coffee table and set about stacking plastic cups as though it were a very important task. John smiled down at her and ruffled her hair.

"I'm worried about him." John said in a matter of fact tone. Mycroft smiled sadly.
"Yes, I know the feeling." He agreed.
"I'm not playing games any more, I'm not being vague and mysterious here - I want the truth." John ordered seriously. Mycroft was startled by a tiny pair of hands on his knee as Jay pulled herself up to a shaky standing position, leaning against his legs under the table for balance. He peered down at the small person, locking her big blue eyes on his. "Mycroft I need to know what's going on..." John pleaded. "He was happy... he was bloody ecstatic and now... It's like he's not even there any more. He was acting oddly before the fire but..." Mycroft sighed. He had no intention of making matters worse for Sherlock but John seemed to be the one person who could get through to him.

"Mycroft I am a stubborn bastard and a proud git." John said firmly. "But I am asking nicely, please..." Mycroft sighed again, heavier this time.
"You appreciate that if I tell you this he will never speak to me again?" Mycroft asked in a slow drawl, seemingly transfixed by the little girl. Jay was adopted, there was not a chance in hell that she was Sherlock's daughter but her dark hair (even darker than Sherlock's now) and vibrant eyes made Mycroft remember the lost little boy he had grown up with. He shook his head. "But I would rather he never spoke to me again in his lifetime... than for him to wind up dead, which is where I fear this may lead." Mycroft said quietly, reaching down and for the very first time he touched Jay, letting his fingers play lightly at the black strands of hair as he pushed them from her forehead.

"Our father died when Sherlock was..." He began only for the door to open and said detective to storm through the door with a vehemence that suggested he had been eavesdropping. He scowled at his brother, swooped down under the table and plucked Jay from where she was.
"Nice of you to drop by, Mycroft." Sherlock said coldly, shooting an icy look at his co-parent. "I'll be sure to ring if I need my privacy invaded, until then..." He waved Jay's hand in a vague 'goodbye' motion at his older brother. "Ta-ta." Sherlock hissed and almost obediently - knowing he had crossed a line, Mycroft stood.
"Very well then, I'll leave you to your domestic bliss." Mycroft said sarcastically, and swept from the flat, abandoning his tea. John licked his upper lip nervously as Sherlock rounded on him.

"Calling my brother?" He demanded.
"Sherlock..." John began, attempting to nip the rant in the bud.
"I am appalled at how childish you can be!" Sherlock snapped, whirling around and plonking Jay back on the carpet. She sat back to watch the fireworks, gnawing on her cloth rabbit.
"I'm childish? For god's sakes if you'd just speak to me!" John growled furiously.
"Speak to you? Or sleep with you?" Sherlock fumed. "That's what this is about isn't it? I said I don't want a relationship and you start running off and colluding with Mycroft?" Sherlock spat, he began to pace as he spoke.
"Oh for... no! This isn't about that!" John raised his voice, nearly shouting now. "It's about worrying about your bloody mental health! I'm a DOCTOR for crying out loud, you don't think I know what I'm doing? Sherlock, I am waking up some mornings frightened that I'm going to find you've gone the same way as Miss One-twenty-seven!" Sherlock's eyes widened in horror.
"I would never..." He hissed.

"Then why have you completely shut yourself off! You're not in love with me - fine, fuck it, I'll get over it. You sever contact with Greg, and start wars with your brother, you ignore me and the rest of the world! You stop working! Yet you expect me not to worry? What am I supposed to think, Sherlock? I don't even know you any more!" He roared. "What am I supposed to do?"
"I never said I wasn't in love with you!" Sherlock howled in frustration. "I said I didn't want to be in a relationship with you!"
"There's a difference?" John demanded. Sherlock was about to snap a retort when his phone rang. He was grateful for the distraction and even though John tried to snatch it from him he answered it with a barked.
"Hello?" John rolled his eyes dramatically. At least fighting was better than not talking at all, and Sherlock had just very much implied that he did in fact have feelings for him - that was a positive step, right? He saw Sherlock's face go paler than usual, ghost white and frightened.
"She's alive though?" Sherlock asked. John's heart began to race - something was wrong. "We'll be right there." He hung up and stared at John.

"Molly's been attacked... minutes after I left her." Sherlock said softly, and all of John's anger dissipated as quickly as the colour had left Sherlock's cheeks.
"Oh god... who by?" John asked, feeling his heart wrench at the idea of Molly being injured. He liked Molly, she was a good mate - in fact John had always suspected he and Molly would have been best friends if it weren't for the painful fact they were both in love with the same man.
"I don't know, Lestrade's with her now at the hospital..." Sherlock had not yet removed his coat, he grabbed for John's and threw it at him.
"That's awful... we're both going to see her?"
"Leave Jay with Mrs Hudson." Sherlock said, picking her up and making sure she had the stupid cloth rabbit he loathed so much. He hated leaving Jay but she'd seen far too many hospitals in her short little life, and this could be dangerous.

"I only meant... why? I mean, we won't be much use to her after an attack?" John said pulling on his jacket and grabbing Jay's travel bag to bring downstairs. Sherlock looked sad.
"Because... the first thing Molly told Lestrade when she regained consciousness... was that her attacker had said he was delivering a message for Sherlock Holmes and John Watson." There was a time this sort of thing would have thrilled Sherlock, now he only looked pale and grave. John nodded.
"I'm in," He agreed. He made sure they both gave Jay a kiss before handing her and rabbit over to a slightly bewildered Mrs Hudson.

And it was terribly wrong, far too close to home to feel like a proper case, but as they raced out of the door towards the hospital, John felt a pulse of adrenaline and for just a short period of time things felt back to what passed for normal.

A/n: I'm sorry this chapter took so long and I'm sorry that me apologising tends to be a recurring theme but we are heading towards the climax of this story. Poor Sherlock, poor Molly! Reviews are very helpful xx.