2022 Tropes & Fandoms event - Trope: Family

About Bloody Time

Soon after the near fatal events that happened in Sherrinford, John decided to move back into his old room in the Baker Street flat with his daughter. After all, he had learned the hard way that life was short...and dangerous...and under that particular roof Rosie would have not only him, but also her godfather and one of her godmothers with her. They were family. Sherlock and Ms. Hudson would help look after her, protect her, love her, and perhaps even fill the hole her mother's absence had left in her...as well as his...life.

Not only that, but John was also well aware that...for many reasons...the British Government himself kept a very close eye on the dwelling, as well. Therefore...even with the occasional incident...he decided that 221B was probably the safest and most love-filled place that he could possibly raise his daughter without leaving London...and consequently...Sherlock...behind.

John knew that he could never do that. He still did not know exactly how to classify his feelings about the man, but he knew without a doubt that he could never live without him again. After all, it had almost killed him the first time. Only Mary had saved him then. Now she was gone, and therefore, John rationalized that it would be in the best interest for them all if he and Rosie were in close quarters with the detective. That way they could all keep an eye on each other.

...

It was a fortunate decision, too – especially since as a result of the move, John was close by on the day when Ms. Hudson started to develop chest pains while doing her daily housework. The woman was like another mother to both him and Sherlock. Therefore, after a quick examination, he was worried enough to call for an ambulance immediately. When it came, he then insisted...as her friend, family, and doctor...on riding with her to the hospital. Sherlock, just as concerned...but far more experienced at hiding his feelings...promised to follow close behind as soon as he found a suitable sitter for Rosie.

However, he soon found out that Molly was out of town for some sort of medical conference or the other. Consequently, since there was only one other person that he trusted even remotely enough with such a precious assignment, he immediately called Mycroft.

Shocked by the very fact that his brother had called, rather than texted...as was his usual norm...Mycroft realized that the situation was indeed serious. Therefore, he agreed to meet the man at Baker Street without even a hint of his usual condescension. Upon his arrival, when he learned of the specific circumstances and understood the importance of his presence there so that Sherlock could leave and be with Ms. Hudson, he even offered up his car and driver for his brother's use.

After all, even though Mycroft would never admit it aloud, he felt quite a bit of esteem for his brother's landlady, as well. The woman had proven that she deserved it by being one of the very few positive and consistent female influences on Sherlock and putting up with the man...during all of his highs and lows...for so many years. She had always been a steadfast friend...even when the wayward detective's actions occasionally led to her home being infiltrated, ransacked, and...once or twice...blown up.

Accordingly, the woman had earned his respect and Mycroft tried to show it in as many inconspicuous ways as possible. He made sure that her property taxes were affordable, her rubbish bins were always emptied on time, and she won at Saturday night Bingo far more than any of her friends did. Not only that, but Mycroft made a point of being as civil to her as possible...even when he could not be bothered to do so for anyone else.

Consequently, the man agreed to stay with the child so that both John and Sherlock could be at the hospital with the woman who was so much more than just their landlady. Before he knew it, Mycroft found himself alone in the middle of his brother's flat while the toddler stood in her cot and silently watched him with large soft brown eyes as she chewed on a toy giraffe. It was not the first time he had ever been in the presence of the youngest Watson, of course. After all, he occasionally visited the Baker Street flat for whatever reason since John and his daughter had moved back in.

In the process, the elder Holmes brother had even discovered that the little girl's presence was not as distasteful as he might have imagined. She was certainly not as loud and messy as Sherlock had been as a youngster, at any rate. In fact, Mycroft found to his surprise that Rosie's innocent smile lit up the room. It even stirred up some feeling...one that could almost be called paternal... that had been buried deep inside of him.

Therefore, when that completely disarming smile slowly crossed her face again as she dropped the now forgotten giraffe and raised her chubby little arms to be picked up, the man found that...even though he was completely out of his element...he was also powerless to resist the obvious request.

...

After Ms. Hudson had stabilized from what the hospital doctors had deemed to be a minor cardiac episode, they decided to keep her...at least a day or two...for observation. Consequently, she insisted that John and Sherlock return home to Rosie and to get some rest, as well – especially since she was fairly certain by that point that she would live to see them again on the following day. The two men were reluctant to leave her side, but were eventually reassured enough to agree.

Therefore, it was quite late by the time they arrived back to the Baker Street flat by cab. John, especially, felt some trepidation as to what they might find when they opened the door to their living quarters. After all, nobody would ever confuse Mycroft with being a family man and John could not help but to wonder how he had managed on his own throughout the long evening with Rosie. Perhaps he had simply hired a nanny for the night. That certainly seemed like something the man might resort to – especially with his resources and contacts.

Consequently, upon entering the main room, John simply stared with utmost surprise at the quiet and domestic scene before him. A happy and clean Rosie played in her cot with her teething giraffe while Mycroft sat next to her in Sherlock's chair. Apparently, the man had been reading the newspaper in his hand while he directed the occasional comment towards the little girl.

"Well, well...I see the PM did not follow my advice yesterday. Therefore, I believe that I will have to visit him again tomorrow and make my position on the matter a bit clearer. What do you think, Miss Watson?"

"Ya me dada poo jaff," the toddler answered sagely before she started to chew on her giraffe again.

"Yes, my dear. I do believe I agree with you. Poo jaff, indeed," the man replied with uncharacteristic amiability before he folded up the paper and finally acknowledged the presence of the two men who had just entered the room.

"Ah, gentlemen, you are finally home. Pray tell...how is Mrs. Hudson?"

...

While Mycroft was being updated on the woman's improved condition, he called for his car and evening driver since Sherlock had dismissed the other one upon his arrival to the hospital. Once his transportation arrived, he took his leave with just a simple nod of acknowledgement at John's genuine profession of gratitude and a small smile for the child who was now sound asleep in her father's arms.

As soon as they heard the downstairs door shut behind him, however, Sherlock immediately headed for the telly in the corner and turned it on. John was surprised at the action. After all, the detective never watched television himself and had even often maligned the practice as being for those of low intellect and little imagination. In fact, the only time when the device was really used was on the rare occasion when John was able to relax with a beer in front of a football game after a very long day at the surgery or...when Sherlock was not around to point out the impossibility and absurdity of the plotlines that John actually liked...a stolen episode or two of Doctor Who.

When the detective did something complicated with the remote, however, John finally decided to ask. "What's going on?"

"You know that my dear brother always has this flat...and this room in particular...under surveillance, yes?" the man replied easily and pointed to the corner of the bookcase where he knew the tiny camera was hidden. When John just shrugged because he knew that Mycroft was simply trying to look out for his brother in his own way, Sherlock continued. "Well, I decided to co-opt the equipment for my own purposes instead after you and Rosie moved in. That way I could keep a much better eye on the place...even when I was out on a case...and make sure that we never have any more uninvited visitors and such."

At his confession, John's heart clenched in response to the knowledge that Sherlock was actively trying to keep them safe, as well.

The detective did not seem to notice his moment of emotion, however, and continued his explanation. "With just a bit of creative wiring, I was able to hijack the signal. There!" The television screen turned from solid blue to a clear view of a recorded Mycroft standing in the middle of the flat where Sherlock had left him earlier that day. "Now we can see what the Ice Man really was up to all evening with Rosie. After all, you have to be curious."

"Well...yes," John admitted truthfully, "but it's late...so let me put her bed first. Then I'll be right back and we'll watch it together."

Sherlock just shrugged in agreement as he settled down to wait in the chair that his brother had recently vacated.

...

When John returned and plopped down in exhaustion into his own chair, Sherlock immediately started the recording and what they saw amazed them both. After all, it had been strange enough after Rosie had been born...and then almost constantly after they had moved in with him...for John to see Sherlock acting in a relatively responsible parental fashion...and being more carefree...and even normal...with the child than John had ever seen him before. In fact, he had to admit to himself that he was even a little bit envious of the fact that Sherlock could loosen up with his daughter so much more than he could with him!

However, as unusual as that was, it was simply so much more bizarre to see that the stodgy and bureaucratic Mycroft Holmes was capable of doing the exact same thing, as well. Moreover, it was equally clear that Mycroft neither required nor wanted any assistance with the care of little Rosie. He did not bring in a nanny, as John had half suspected...and he did not even need to call in his own mum for advice.

He simply took care of the business of child-minding in the logical and matter-of-fact way that he handled everything else. John was suddenly reminded that Mycroft had been a much older teenager when Sherlock was born...and therefore must have had some practice with his brother...as he held her, fed her, and even changed her diaper. It was all done with an efficiency that could not help but to impress the two men who watched him surreptitiously without his knowledge, after the fact.

An even bigger surprise was yet to come, however, when the man in the very expensive and handmade Italian suit actually sat down on the floor and played with the little girl.

"You are quite the intelligent one, are you not?" Mycroft told Rosie with obvious approval after the toddler had succeeded in creating a small tower with the large soft blocks that Molly had gifted to her. "Well, that is to be expected. After all, your mother was really quite a remarkable woman, you know...and even your father has turned out to be much more than the goldfish I had originally anticipated."

Then Mycroft smiled warmly at the child. If that evidence of affection was not enough to astonish her father, then the man's next words shook him to his core. "Do not worry. We will make sure that your gifts and talents are nurtured. In fact, your Uncle Mycroft has already met with his banker and set up an education fund for you, so you will have no trouble getting into the best schools when the time comes. After all, it is not your father's fault that his income is limited because of the restrictions of the NHS."

John sat back in his chair, simply stunned by both the announcement and the knowledge that not only did Mycroft actually respect him, but that he wanted to help provide for his daughter's future, as well. The doctor simply did not know what to think or say and turned towards Sherlock to see his reaction, instead. However, the other man just nodded his head knowingly as if he had already suspected his brother's involvement and his declaration had simply confirmed it for him.

Nevertheless, neither of them were prepared for what they would hear next from the man on the screen.

"After all, my dear little Rosamund, you're a Holmes now...and my niece...even if that brother of mine cannot seem to get his head out of his..." Mycroft looked down and considered the impressionability of his young audience before he continued, "... bum...in order to admit that he is in love with your father and make our family connection official. After all...contrary to popular belief...we Holmes men do have feelings. To be such an intelligent fellow, however, Sherlock really can be quite clueless about his, you know." The man sighed before he proceeded to tickle the toddler under her chin and make her laugh.

Just then, however, the sound of the lower-level front door as it opened and then two sets of footsteps on the stairs could be heard. Therefore, Mycroft, quickly but gently, scooped up the young girl and deposited her back into her cot. He then also fetched his newspaper and settled down into Sherlock's chair before he arranged himself into a pose of casual indifference. It was quite important to him to impart the correct impression to the arrivals. He had an Ice Man persona to maintain, after all.

Mycroft's obvious machinations were lost on his current audience, however, as his brother quickly jumped up and used the remote to end the recording before he went to stand at the window in silence, instead.

John, however, sat there completely stupefied for a moment as he tried to digest everything that he had just heard. His insides churned with indecision and he did not know whether he felt fear...or elation...or a strange combination of both...by the unexpected revelation.

"Sherlock?" he finally asked hesitantly as he regained his voice and stared at the man across the room from him. "Is...is that true?"

However, his friend and flatmate...and the man who had come to mean more to him than anyone else in the world besides his daughter...remained silent and morose as he continued to stare down at the street below. That came as no surprise, however. Sherlock rarely explained his emotional states. After all, he did not like to admit that he even had emotions in the first place, much less that they could actually disrupt the workings of his well-organized mind whenever he lost his careful control over them.

Consequently, John was forced to reflect on his own personal feelings, instead. He knew he loved the man. That had never been in question. He just did not know in what way he loved him. Did he consider Sherlock to be just a friend...a brother...or something so much more than that?

At that moment, John was also forced to admit to himself that the first two terms just did not seem to come anywhere close enough to describe what Sherlock meant to him and how the man made him feel. In fact, it was the first time John did not automatically deny both the emotional and physical attraction he currently felt for the brooding detective...and had probably done so almost from the very beginning of their acquaintance.

Even that small acknowledgement made John feel more confused than ever, though, because it was impossible to think of himself as homosexual. After all, he did thoroughly enjoy the company and attention of women...even if he had not been with anyone else since Mary's death. Nevertheless, he did not feel as if the word bisexual could correctly describe him, either. After all, men had never appealed to him before.

In fact, Sherlock had been the only man to ever provoke any of those kind of feelings from him. Therefore, John reasoned as he gazed at the person who continued to purposely focus all of his attention out of the window...and felt his heart start to thump madly at the sight...that maybe they would have to invent a new term for him...maybe he was simply Sherlock-sexual.

Sherlock-sexual. As big of a personal revelation as that was, he kind of liked the sound of it. It felt accurate...even logical ...as the man himself might say. However, despite what he had finally just admitted to himself after all of the years both with...and without...the man, in addition to what Mycroft had also revealed, John still did not know how Sherlock really felt. After all, he had always made it clear that he thought sentiment was a weakness and, despite his adventures with Irene and his previous entanglement with Janine, John had never known the man to show that kind of interest for anyone...male or female...outside of a case, before.

Therefore, he could not help but to wonder if the same special situation could apply to Sherlock, as well. Could the man possibly be John-sexual? John felt a secret thrill race through him at the thought and he now realized that he had suspected...deep down inside...the truth all along. He had simply buried the knowledge, though, just as thoroughly as he had done with his own feelings - especially after Sherlock's death and once he had become involved with Mary.

He also knew that there was only one way to find out for sure. Consequently, John quietly gathered up all of his courage and stood up to quickly cross the short distance that separated him from the man in question. When Sherlock finally looked at him, his eyes dark and indecipherable, John felt as if he was teetering on a precipice for just a moment before he dove right off of that metaphorical cliff.

"Oh...sod it all!" John finally exclaimed as he took the Sherlock's face in his hands and pulled the taller man's head down for a kiss.

There was no awkwardness when their lips met because it simply felt so right. It was proven to feel even better, however, when Sherlock gave into some of his own carefully leashed demons and pushed John's body up against the adjacent bookshelf with his own in order to return the kiss with an intensity that the other man could never have imagined. Years of pent-up frustration were poured into the contact as their lips moved furiously against each other. John could vaguely feel some of the books and various odds and ends on the shelf as they dug into his back, but he could not be bothered to care about such a minor detail, not when Sherlock was finally kissing him like that!

After an indeterminate amount of time, though, the two men were finally forced to pull apart a bit to breathe. They were reluctant to separate completely, so they simply rested their foreheads together for a moment.

"Wow!" John murmured. It was all he could bring himself to say at such a moment. No other words would come to him.

Sherlock's lips quirked at the eloquence of such a response. "Well...now that that is all settled," he uttered in his usual pedantic tone, however, before he moved as if to turn and walk away.

"Oh no, you don't." John's quick instincts as both a military man and a doctor kicked in as he reached out to grab the man and hold him still. "You're not pulling away from me again. Not anymore. Not after that! Bloody hell, man. This is huge! We have to talk about this!"

"Do we?" Sherlock turned back to him. "Did we just not say everything that needed to be said? You should know by now, John, that words do not have to be spoken in order to be understood. They should simply be able to be observed."

John was again struck speechless by the sudden understanding that Sherlock had just confirmed, without a doubt, that he had been giving him the "words" all along. Therefore, he did the only reasonable thing he could do at that moment. He launched himself right back into the man's arms.

...

At that point, Mycroft...cozy at home in his slippers with a cup of tea...wore a very self-satisfied smile as he shut his laptop with a soft click. Sherlock had thought himself very clever when he rerouted the feed from the bookshelf camera, but he did not seem to realize...or maybe he just did not care...that Mycroft could still access it. However, the older Holmes brother did not need to see any more of the Baker Street flat's stream that night to know that he had been quite successful in his somewhat devious endeavors to resolve both the emotional and sexual tension that had infiltrated the place for far too long. Both Sherlock and John deserved better than that.

In fact, Mycroft smiled to himself as he thought that he might just offer to watch the delightful little Rosie again for a few hours the next morning. After all, he realized that both his brother and her father were bound to be very tired indeed...and in need of a well-deserved rest before they went to visit Ms. Hudson in the hospital.

...

For her part, a slightly weaker than normal but still very cheerful, Mrs. Hudson greeted the men fondly when they finally made it to the hospital just in time before the morning visiting hours ended. However, her demeanor changed from mere happiness at their presence to pure joy immediately when she saw her boys' faces and she simply knew. They did not touch or do anything obvious to advertise their new relationship, but she...who knew them so well...could see the change between them, anyway...and the knowledge did more good for her tired heart than any treatment the doctors could ever prescribe.

"It's about bloody time, you two!" was all she said, though, before she insisted on giving each of them a motherly hug of approval.