Author's Note: Hastily thrown together because I haven't updated anything in a while. Hope you like it, though! Tell me what you think! I own nothing.
John had taken the night shift at the clinic very reluctantly, as he wasn't sure that Sherlock could handle putting Rosie to bed by himself.
"Her bedtime is 7:30, Sherlock, so start the bedtime routine at 7:00." John reminded the detective, hovering by the door and not wanting to leave for work until he was sure Sherlock knew what to do. "She likes to be tucked in, and it is getting cold out, so make sure she has two blankets. Her nightlight—"
"John," Sherlock interrupted, looking up from the jigsaw puzzle he was doing with Rosie, "I've watched you put her to bed for five years now. I know what to do."
John sighed. "Yeah. I know. Be good for Sherlock, Rosie." John said, smiling at his daughter.
Rosie beamed back, "Okay, daddy."
"Text me if you have any questions, Sherlock. This is the one time that I will respond to any of your texts automatically." John said, walking out of the door and banishing his latent worry. "Goodbye!"
Later that night, Sherlock successfully completed Rosie's bedtime routine—which involved brushing her teeth, putting on her pajamas, and reading her a story—and soothed the child to sleep by playing several lullabies on his violin.
Sherlock nodded to himself in satisfaction. With all of John's worrying, Sherlock had thought putting Rosie to bed would be hard. Sherlock was quite proud of himself for two hours, but that pride vanished the moment Rosie woke up crying.
Sherlock dashed up the stairs at the sound of the first sob and entered the crying child's room panicked. Rosie was awake and tangled in her blankets. Even in the dark, Sherlock could see the tears glistening in her blue eyes. He approached the bed, and without hesitation, he gathered the crying child into his arms. Rosie clung to him, tears rolling down her face.
"I fell, Sherlock! Into a big pit! It w-was so dark and I couldn't stop falling!" Rosie said, her voice shaky.
Sherlock hushed her, and kissed her tangled hair. "It's alright. It was a dream."
"I was falling so fast." Rosie whispered, burying her face in Sherlock's shirt.
"It wasn't real." Sherlock said patiently, rubbing her back in what he hoped was a soothing manner. "Nightmares come from weaknesses in your subconscious."
To Sherlock's surprise, Rosie giggled a little. "What?" He inquired, looking down at the child in his arms.
"That's what daddy thought you'd say."
"Your father guessed what I would say to you in the event of a nightmare?"
"He said you would try to explain bad dreams with logic." Rosie said, her tears tapering off.
Sherlock smiled. "He knows me well."
Rosie yawned in response. She had stopped crying, but she still clung tightly to Sherlock. Sherlock rocked back and forth in an attempt to lull her back to sleep. He sat with his legs crossed on Rosie's bed, holding her in his lap until she fall asleep again.