"That man looks just like you, Daddy!"
"Which man?"
"That one, the one hitting the other man!"
John groaned and rolled his eyes. "Rosie, love, just because the man is in a fight doesn't mean he looks like-"
"Oh, but he does, John."
John blinked and turned to look at Mycroft's PA with a frown. "Look, Anthea - sorry, Andrea - I really don't think you should encourage her."
"I'm not." She smiled at him, turning her ever-present phone so he could see the image of Player #17, his jersey emblazoned "'Freeman" toward him. "Well damn," he muttered, gobsmacked to see that yes, the player currently being hustled off the ice by the linesman could, indeed, be his long-lost twin.
"Told you," seven-year-old Rosie said smugly. Sounding an awful lot like her git-of-a-godfather. Then she leaned across him to look at Mycroft's PA, who had accompanied them to the game for reasons John still didn't understand. "My daddy's a better fighter though," she said, as if confiding some great secret.
Anthea - Andrea, damn, he never would get her name right, especially since 'Anthea' suited her better - smiled back at Rosie. "Yes he is, it's something he's quite good at."
"My daddy's good at a lot of things," Rosie further confided, now leaning eagerly on John's knee, one sharp little elbow digging in particularly painfully. "I heard my Aunt Molly telling Uncle Sherlock that my mommy used to say he had a really big,um…" Her nose scrunched up as she searched for the right word.
Terrified of what that word might turn out to be, John blurted out, "Mouth! Mary always said I had a big mouth." He gave Rosie a warning frown. "Isn't that right, pumpkin?"
She blinked innocently up at him. "Sure Daddy. Whatever you say."
Andrea was giggling, the first time he'd ever seen so much emotion from the woman. "Yes, I'm sure that's exactly what she said, and anything else, well, it's not nice to repeat gossip, is it Rosie."
"But I just wanted to tell you all the good things about my daddy so you'll like him more."
John's mouth dropped open and he felt his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Was Rosie actually trying to set him up on a date? "Andrea, um, why exactly did you come with us to this game?" he asked, forcing himself to meet her gaze.
"Rosie asked me to, and now I'm afraid I know why."
John held in a groan of mortification, but only barely. "I'm so sorry," he began, only to be interrupted by Andrea saying, "And frankly I'm glad she did."
"Sorry, what?"
Andrea rolled her eyes. "I've been patient, John Watson, but don't you think it's about time you asked me out on your own?"
"The first time I tried to ask you out you shot me down!" he protested.
She rolled her eyes again. "I was working, I didn't know anything much about you, and you hit on me on the way to meet Mycroft Holmes. Of course I shot you down!"
"So you're saying, you're actually saying you'd like me to ask you out. On a date." John was still having trouble computing. He could practically hear Sherlock telling him what an idiot he was - but considering how long it had taken his best friend to ask Molly out on a date, that inner voice hadn't an imaginary leg to stand on.
"Yes, Daddy, course she is!" Rosie exclaimed with a happy clap of her hands. "And since you always say first dates are super awkward, you get to count this one even if I was the one who did it for you!"
"Seems fair to me," Andrea agreed, then smiled at John. "And it's been a lovely one, fights and all."