Baker Street. The little flat with the highest foot traffic. The home that encased Sherlock Holmes, all that he was, and all of the adventures he has had with his Baker Street Squad. His home. Home...a funny little concept. What really WAS a home? Surely the definition of Home will change from person to person, experience to experience. But what was home for HIM? That is the question. Is it the building? Is it the small piece of mangled rooms that he calls a flat that exist within the building? Was it something more?

"Sherlock? Sherlock!?" His eyes shoot open and quickly focus on John standing over him with little Rosie, who is squirming and giggling before John sets her on his chest and she burrows her little face into his neck.

"Oh hello John. Hello Rosie." Sherlock smiles and runs his fingers through Rosie's blonde curls, a mirror image of her late mother. "I was in my mind palace."

"Yes, I figured. You texted?" John puts is hands on his waist, as if he is dealing with his older child.

"Ahh, yes. Lestrade is meeting us here in ohhh...20 minutes." Sherlock states as he checks his watch. "He has a case for us, isn't that great? FINALLY!" He halfheartedly grins as he holds Rosie tucked into his side on the worn sofa.

"Finally? Sherlock we have had a case nearly everyday for a week. What the hell could you bloody mean, "finally?" This is getting..." John stops mid-sentence and tilts his head to the side, looking at Sherlock as if he is looking straight through him. "I know what you're doing."

Sherlock cocks his head and raises an eyebrow innocently. "What I'm doing? I'm not doing anything, I'm eager to solve another case aren't you?"

"Nope, nope. We BOTH know what you're doing. It's a distraction Sherlock. I'll admit I am not as good as you, seeing through people but I know YOU. I. KNOW. YOU. You haven't spoken to her yet have you?"

Sherlock avoids his gaze and begins rambling about the possibilities of this new case and that it is most likely an 8 on a scale on 1 to 10.

"Sherlock bloody Holmes!" John scolds him loudly. "What did I tell you hm? She's out there, she's alive, she likes you! You have no idea how bloody lucky you are!"

"Yes, yes and it's "gone before I know it". I know John. Except you have such a skewed way of looking at things."

"Me? Skewed? I have the skewed way of looking at things!?"

"Yes John. You started out scolding me about not speaking to Molly yet after...Sherrinford, and then you immediately move into scolding me about not contacting Irene because somewhere in your feeble mind you still believe that Irene is the end all and be all to me, which I assure you is not true. Irene was a challenge. An amazing challenge and extremely intriguing. She taught me that no matter how tough normal human beings try to be they all have weak spots that will ultimately be their doom."

John sighs, seemingly exhausted of Sherlock's fake demeanor. Afterall, he IS till a human man, regardless of how ignorant he can truly be. "Sherlock, you ARE human. And despite this cold and ignorant facade you so perfectly put on, I know you actually care when you choose to."

Sherlock huffs softly. "Yes, well my having weak spots gets people hurt or killed..clearly." He looks down a little Rosie, dozing in his arms with an expression of sadness and guilt.

"No Sherlock, criminals and psychopaths get people killed. You try to stop them. If people get caught in the crossfire, I am reluctant to say that you are not at fault for what happens to them. You always try to resolve the situation in the safest way. I know that and you know that. I know you still have guilt over Mary and the way I acted towards you was wrong. I know you cared for her as well. I still know that. Mary chose to take that bullet for you. She was stubborn and lovely. I know now that it was not your fault. Alright? Friends protect people. Remember?"

Sherlock sighs. "Right..friends..I suppose I should speak with her then. I'm sure shes still furious. Text Lestrade. Tell him to postpone until this evening. I'm going out." Sherlock swiftly arises from the sofa, sweeping Rosie into both his arms and then gently placing her into John's. He grabs his Belstaff off of the rack and ruffles his hair. "Wish me luck hm?" He mutters as he swoops out the door into the chilly London air.