Requested on Wattpad: could you make a fluffy oneshot of sherlock and margaux where the kids can be at John's house where he struggles to babysit them and here sherlock and margaux have a night in.
Night In
"How do I look?" asked John, holding his arms out and turning around slowly.
Rosie was sitting on the couch, laughing as she watched her father twirl in the middle of the living room. "You look nice."
"Thanks, love." He kissed her on the side of the head. "Have you decided what you're taking with you to auntie Molly's?"
She nodded and pointed to her backpack leaning against the leg of the coffee table.
"Organised. I like it," he replied.
There was a knock at the door.
John looked down at his watch. "She's early. What do I do?"
Rosie rolled her eyes and stood up. She made her way to the door and peered through the letter box. "No way," she giggled.
"What? What is it?"
She stretched up on her tip toes and undid the latch, stepping aside as a sea of dark hair and blue eyes flooded through the door. She looked up to her father and grinned. His face, however, did not look so amused.
"Sherlock?" said John. "What's the matter? What're you doing here?"
"I was rather hoping you'd be willing to babysit," he replied.
John stared at him in disbelief as he stood calmly, holding his youngest son in his arms while the other children dispersed into the house.
"Babysitting is something you arrange in advance, Sherlock. You don't just turn up on people's doorsteps. What if they have plans?"
"Do you have plans?"
"Actually, I-"
Sherlock hooked the large, heavy overnight bag on John's shoulder and handed him the baby. "I really must go. Sadie tends to get upset if she sees me leaving, then that sets Arden off because you know... twins and all that."
"Sherlock!"
He pinched his son's cheek and disappeared through the front door, like smoke escaping through an open window.
"I..." John stood for a moment in shock, before turning and laying eyes on the chaos around him.
He put down the heavy bag and walked over to the couch where Rosie and Vaughan sat talking excitedly. He sat the baby down between them, pulled out his phone and disappeared into another room.
"Molly, hi," he said, covering his other ear to drown out the noise. "You don't fancy watching an extra five kids tonight, do you?" He rubbed his forehead as he listened to her anxious reply. "Nope, no. Didn't think so," he sighed.
III
Margaux stepped through the front door, her brows immediately falling heavy over her eyes with suspicion. She unwrapped her scarf and hung it up, glancing up the stairs and making extra noise taking off her shoes, but still, no one came running.
"Hello?" she called out.
Sherlock appeared at the end of the hall, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen.
"Why's it so quiet?" she asked.
"I got rid of the children," he replied proudly.
"Got rid of? Oh god, please elaborate."
"John is babysitting."
"All of them?"
"Mhm."
She sighed. "How much did you pay him?"
"What do you mean 'pay him'? He's uncle John, jumped at the chance to spend time with his nieces and nephews..."
"You dumped them and ran, didn't you?"
"I may have."
She laughed and reached for her bag. "I'll give him a call."
"No, no no no," Sherlock whispered quickly, rushing down the hall towards her. "Don't do that."
"Why?"
"Because I've planned for us to spend the evening together."
"Why?" she asked again, her tone rich with skepticism.
"Well... You recently said you were feeling overwhelmed. And if I'm correct, as your husband, that means it's my job to make you feel... whelmed?"
"Mm don't think that's the right word."
"No, doesn't quite sound right, does it." He shook his head. "Stop distracting me. What I'm saying is I would like to have a... night in... with you."
She smiled. "What's got into you? I usually have to bribe you just to sit down and watch TV."
"Well, I like to examine my own behaviour every so often to make sure I'm performing adequately in our marriage."
"You give yourself husband M. ?"
He shrugged.
She placed a hand on her chest. "That is so ridiculously sweet."
He grimaced. "You know I hate that word."
"Maybe I should be giving myself wife M. too." She thought about it for a moment. "Then again, I've given birth to five kids so I think I'm off the hook."
"Surely it's not fair that you get to use that as an excuse for everything?"
"Not fair? Sherlock, in the ten years since we first slept together, I've been pregnant four times. That's... just under three and a half years of my life I've spent growing humans."
"That was impressively quick maths."
She rolled her eyes.
He walked up to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Will you please just let me indulge you tonight?"
"What did you have in mind?"
"Dinner... Television... I thought you might appreciate an uninterrupted bath."
"Will you get in it with me?"
He groaned. "Fine."
She smiled. "What are you after?"
"What do you mean?"
"Are you trying to put me in a nice mood so I don't get angry about something you've done?"
"No!" He let out an offended laugh. "I know it's hard to believe, but sometimes I just want to be nice."
"Mm, you're right, that is hard to believe."
III
There was a knock at the door. John approached it quickly, a hopeful glint in his eye that his friend may have returned, that this was all an experiment to see how he'd react, or maybe Margaux had found out and demanded he come and collect their children.
He opened the door and his face dropped. Rose was standing on the step, auburn hair styled into smooth waves, fancy skirt poking out the bottom of her coat.
They had dated a few years before, deciding to part ways after Molly and Arthur's wedding. But being the best friends of Sherlock and Margaux Holmes meant that they were never far from one another - always crossing paths and finding themselves in each other's company. Rose reminded him of Mary in some ways, of Margaux in others. She was headstrong yet laid back, spirited yet realistic, she never expected anything from him besides what he was willing to give. And finally, after being a widower for so long, he was ready to give more.
She peered over his shoulder into the house, at the lively ruckus of children.
"Hello, is this the John Watson private nursery?" she asked sarcastically.
He sighed. "I know, I know. Sorry. He left before I got the chance to tell him I had plans."
"You really think Shuttlecock wouldn't have left them anyway? Even if you told him?"
"True." He stepped aside and let her into the house.
In the living room, Rosie and Vaughan were challenging each other on the PlayStation, arguing with one another and trying to knock the controllers out of each other's hands.
"Auntie Rose!" Flora shouted, running across the room with her arms outstretched.
Rose bent down and hugged her tight, scanning the room with her eyes.
"We're three kids short," she said.
"The twins are playing in the other room," John replied.
"And Milo?"
He opened his mouth and took a breath as if he were about to speak, but stopped suddenly, looking around in confusion. "I... have no idea."
"How do you lose a baby?"
"I haven't lost him..."
"Mm."
He huffed and stepped into the middle of the room. "Vaughan, where's your brother?"
"Daddy move!" Rosie shouted, batting her arm at him.
John turned around to see he was standing in the way of the television. He rolled his eyes and stepped aside. "Vee. Your brother?"
"Which one?" Vaughan replied, his eyes never leaving the screen.
"The littlest one."
There was a loud smash that made John and Rose jump in fright. They ran into the kitchen to find one-year-old Milo Holmes smiling contently as he ate something off his fingers, a smashed jar and a puddle of jam on the floor beside him.
"Jesus Christ!" John shouted, rushing over and scooping him up off the floor. "How did you reach that?"
Rose cleared her throat. He turned to see her nodding towards the kitchen drawers, each one pulled out a different amount like a set of stairs leading up to the counter.
"I swear these kids were created in a lab," said John.
III
Margaux walked into the kitchen, standing quietly for a moment and watching as Sherlock placed the dirty dishes in the sink. It had always been one of her favourite things to do; to watch him perform simple, mundane domestic tasks. Like a reminder that he was human, that he could be soft and beautifully ordinary, just like anyone else.
He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, slipped off his wedding ring and placed it on the windowsill.
"Wow, you're even doing the dishes," said Margaux. "You're going all out tonight."
He glanced over his shoulder at her. "I thought it only fair. You did them yesterday."
"And the day before that, and the day before-"
"Yes, yes, alright I get it."
She laughed as she walked across the kitchen, reaching up and opening the cupboard. "Do you think I could have another drink without it affecting my breastmilk?"
"Why do you assume I'd know that?"
"Because you research everything."
He shook the water from his hands and dried them on a tea towel before stepping up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. "Yes you can have another one," he mumbled, kissing the side of her head.
She giggled and leaned back against him. "See, it's handy being married to the human version of Google sometimes."
"Or perhaps five children later, I've just learned a thing or two."
"Do you miss them when they're not here?" she asked as she spun around to face him.
"Of course I do. Though, unfortunately, I find myself missing you when they are here."
She rested her palms flat on his chest, thinking for a moment before speaking again. "Do you realise that it's never been just the two of us? Like... there's never been a time in our relationship before children."
"Are you saying you don't like it when it's just the two of us?"
"No! I do. I really do. I just... I wish I knew what it was like to have a night alone with you without worrying."
"There's no need to worry, they're okay."
"I'm not worried about them. I'm worried about John."
He chuckled, stroking the hair out of her face and leaning down to kiss her. "Darling, there is more to us," he said against her lips. "Than our children."
"God, you're right." She closed her eyes and sighed. "You're right, I haven't stopped talking about them once, have I."
He kissed her again before reaching over her head and taking down a bottle from the cupboard. "Pour yourself that drink."
She stood holding the bottle in her hands as he turned and made his way to the door.
"Put your wedding ring back on," she replied quickly.
He turned sharply, lifting it off the windowsill and sliding it onto his finger. He held up his hand as if to prove he was wearing it. She smirked, biting her lip as she watched him walk away.
...
Steam filled the bathroom like a thick fog. Margaux liked her baths hot, so hot that condensation dropped down the window and made the tiles glisten.
She had packed away the children's bath toys, replaced the multicoloured bottles of kids shampoo with candles and essential oils. She felt strange closing the door, struggling to remember the last time she had bathed in peace.
Sherlock sat opposite her, his hair slicked back out of his face, arms resting on the rims.
"This reminds me of our honeymoon," said Margaux as she reached for her glass.
"Mm," he agreed, his eyes trailing the bubbles covering her body.
"Don't be getting any ideas," she said. "This bath's not as big as the one in Paris. Don't think we'd manage it."
"We've managed it in more challenging places than this. The desk in the study was quite an impressive feat."
She took a sip of her drink and relaxed into the hot water. "Which time?"
He smirked.
"This is nice," she sighed happily. "Thank you, Sherlock. I really did need this."
"I know you did. It's important to make time for each other - remind ourselves of why we fell in love."
She raised an eyebrow. "What relationship book did you get that from?"
"My father..."
"You go to your dad for relationship advice?"
"Sometimes. Mostly his advice is unsolicited. Though it's still worthy of listening, I've found."
She smiled.
"With a relationship as strong theirs, I suppose it would be foolish not to take note," he said.
"You've come such a long way from the man who kept Vaughan and I a secret from them."
"I never kept you a secret." He raised his finger. "It simply never came up in conversation."
"Sure," she replied sarcastically.
He grabbed her ankle and tugged on it, pulling her under the water. She disappeared for a moment before surfacing again, sitting up and gasping as she wiped the water from her eyes.
"You bastard!"
He was grinning. "I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not. That was rather amusing."
"Amusing, was it?" she rose onto her knees and climbed on top of him, water spilling over the edge of the bath.
"Mhm," he replied as their faces grew closer.
He tilted his head, ready for their lips to meet as he felt her hand slip down his side. But instead of kissing him, she pulled the plug from underneath him.
"We'll see about that," she said, climbing out of the bath and wrapping herself with a towel.
III
John sat in the living room as Flora, Sadie and Arden bounced around him. Although there was fifteen months between them, people would always mistake them for triplets. Flora was dainty, small for her age. While the twins were clever and cunning, their speech more advanced than the average three-year-old.
The three of them were climbing and jumping on John, chanting the word 'camping' over and over again.
"What do you mean camping?" He was growing tired, his eyelids heavy, his ears permanently ringing.
"They want to sleep in the living room," said Vaughan. "Dad does it with them."
"Right well I'm not your dad and quite frankly I'd like to wring his neck right now so no. Not happening." He began trying to scoop the kids up in his arms. "Come on, sleepover in Rosie's room."
"No!" the children screamed together, giggling as if it were a game.
"Sssshhhh! Your baby brother is sleeping."
"Oh don't worry about Milo. He sleeps like a rock," said Vaughan. "Dad accidentally made the kitchen explode once and he slept right through it."
"How did he make the-"
"Chemicals."
"Ah." He turned back to the children. "Well even still, it's bedtime now so we need to use our quiet, sleepy voices, okay?"
"Unky John tired," said Flora.
"Yes. Uncle John is very tired, and also completely dumbfounded that you're not."
"We never sleep!" Arden roared, as if he were a monster, before diving off the couch and landing on top of Sadie.
John stopped breathing for a moment. It looked like it hurt, and a trip to A&E was the last thing he needed. But instead of tears, the twins began to laugh and play-fight on the ground.
Rose appeared in the doorway. "I'm going to go," she said softly.
John turned to look at her, a desperate panic on his face. "You're going?"
"Yeah, gonna go home and print off some information about contraception, post it through Marg's door."
He laughed. "Listen, Rose, I'm sorry about tonight."
"Don't be." She smiled. "I think it's really lovely that you'd do this; it shows what kind of friend you are." She walked up to him and placed a hand on his arm. "I really would stay if I didn't have kids of my own at home."
He nodded.
"Good luck."
"Yeah, I think I'm going to need more than luck."
III
He found her in the bedroom, sitting at the dressing table brushing through her wet hair. She glanced at him in the reflection of the mirror, at the towel wrapped around his waist, the droplets tricking down his chest.
She smiled to herself and pretended to ignore him, something she knew he couldn't bear. He walked up behind her, tangling his fingers in her hair and tilting her head back to look up at him.
"You're not actually upset with me, are you?" he asked.
"Of course I'm not," she laughed. "I am going to make you pay for almost drowning me though."
"Almost drowning you," he scoffed, letting go of her hair and wandering across the room to his dresser.
She ran the brush through her hair again, smoothing out the tangles his fingers had left behind.
"So what do you have in mind?" he asked.
"Hm?"
"How are you going to make me 'pay'?"
"Haven't decided yet." She stood up and slipped off her dressing gown, revealing a delicate, black lingerie set. "I was thinking I might just walk around in this for the rest of the night." She shrugged.
"I don't understand. How would that be a punishment to me?"
"Oh, because you won't be allowed to touch me." She smiled.
"That's evil."
"Should be easy for you. I mean, you managed it for years before we got together."
"With great difficultly," he replied quietly, his voice deep and low as he walked towards her.
She let him get close before taking a step back, holding up her finger and shaking her head. "No touching," she whispered.
He inhaled slowly.
"Let's go and watch TV," she said.
"Really, Margaux? You're really going to sit in front of the television like that?"
She looked down at herself, pretending to be oblivious. "What's wrong with it?"
He rolled his eyes. He should have known by now that there was no outwitting his wife. She was so soft with their children, so kind and forgiving with him; sometimes he forgot there was a fire inside her too.
III
The kids were asleep. Finally.
John's eyes were closing, like sleep was tugging on his eyelids, forcing them shut. He pressed a button on the TV remote to check the time, expecting the early hours of the morning to have crept in quickly. He blinked, sitting forward to make sure he was seeing it right: 10.30pm. He groaned.
He was annoyed with Sherlock. But there was another feeling niggling away in the back of his mind - admiration. As if he'd seen a glimpse into his friend's life and suddenly wondered how he managed to make it look so easy.
III
The living room was warm and cozy. Sherlock sat on one end of the couch, his gaze flitting every few minutes to Margaux who sat in her black lace underwear, one leg crossed over the other, eyes glued to the game show on the television.
'What is the reaction between iron and copper sulphate?' said the host.
"Oxidation-reduction," Sherlock answered quickly.
'Pass,' said the woman on the screen.
'Oxidation-reduction,' the host replied.
Margaux bit the inside of her cheek, glaring at Sherlock from across the couch.
"I used to watch quiz shows with my mother growing up," he said.
"You also have a degree in chemistry."
'Who wrote Metamorphosis?'
"Kafka."
"Kafka!" Margaux shouted. But Sherlock got there first.
He gave a smug grin.
She huffed and stood up, making her way to the door.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"To get a drink."
"You probably shouldn't have another."
"A non-alcoholic drink. Do you want one?"
"Oh. No, I'm fine."
She left for the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water and made her way back down the hall. It was getting chilly, but she was too stubborn to cover herself up. Instead she took a moment to shiver away the goosebumps before pushing open the living room door.
Her mouth fell open when she entered the room. Sherlock was in the exact same place she'd left him, except now, his clothes were in a heap on the floor. He was sitting on the couch in his underwear calling out the answers to the quiz show.
"Sherlock," she stifled a laugh.
"What?" He looked down at himself. "Oh, you looked comfortable so I thought I'd join you."
He was trying to get a rise out of her. To make her give in and admit defeat. They had always enjoyed winding each other up, competing to see who would break first.
"Do the rules apply to you too? No touching?"
"No." He shrugged. "Though, in order for you to touch me, I would be touching you. Therefore I think it's best if we keep our distance."
A smile threatened to tug at the corners of her mouth. She nodded in agreement and sat down in the armchair on the other side of the room, crossing one leg over the other and curling her fingers around the armrests.
"You're not going to win this one, Holmes," she said.
"Neither are you... Holmes."
Sherlock had never been overtly flirtatious; much preferring to say exactly what he meant without the frills of suggestion. But sometimes, if Margaux got him in the right mood, she was able to draw it out of him. A playfulness; a confidence in his own sexuality in which he knew she couldn't resist him for long.
His eyes flickered to the television as the host asked another question.
'What is the name of the psychologist whose 1963 obedience study was deemed unethical due to the lasting effects on its participants?'
"Zimbardo," said Sherlock confidently.
"Milgram," Margaux countered.
'The correct answer is Stanley Milgram.'
She smiled smugly and raised an eyebrow. "So, we're really going spend our one night alone doing this?"
"Feel free to put an end to it whenever you like," he replied.