Seems the assassin plot was pretty popular. I've got a few more requests along the lines of that but I figured before I get started on those, lets take a break and have something happy and fluffy to ease the tension. The intensity will resume shortly!

I can't remember if I've ever done a story similar to this one before or not, but hey here it is. Enjoy!

John had never considered himself a good parent.

Even when Mary was alive and there to help him, he'd struggled through diaper changes and feedings. Anne struggled in his arms and wailed whenever he tried to hold her. It had always been Mary who'd known what to do with their daughter, adding insult to injury whenever he felt her absence. Still the years passed, and Anne grew older, John found himself slowly adapting to the role of a father.

Of course once he was comfortable in one role, he found himself thrust back into a role he hadn't been in for a long time. It all started with the arrival of a thin pale man at his front door.

"John." Sherlock panted, leaning against the doorframe and clutching at his side where spurts of red threatened to spill over his fingers.

"Sherlock?" John asked, a great deal less calmly than the detective had spoken.

"Well, aren't you going to invite me in?" Sherlock asked sardonically, rolling his eyes halfheartedly and slumping further against the wall.

"Well...only if the alternative is having you die on my doorstep." John managed to reply, stepping aside so Sherlock could enter the flat.

He hadn't seen the detective in about six or seven years. Way back when Moriarty had returned. John would have been by his side helping, of course, if it hadn't been for his family. There wasn't any time to run around solving crimes when a baby was on the way. John realized he wasn't even quite sure how that whole situation had ended, had he read about it in the newspaper at all? Had he even heard anything from Sherlock at all these past years? He found himself unable to remember.

Of course seeing a bloodied Sherlock drag himself through the flat brought back older memories of a time when the doctor and the detective were a team. So it was easy to snap back into caregiver mode, which is certainly what Sherlock needed at the moment.

"Sit down, and take off your coat and shirt so I can get a better look." John ordered, going to get what he considered a first aid kit. Mary had always laughed at the equipment he'd kept handy at all times, but living with Sherlock for years had trained John to keep whatever an army doctor might need around. After all, you never know when your best friend might show up with a bullet wound.

When John came back with the kit, Sherlock had manged to wiggle his way out of his shirt. He'd tossed both coat and shirt over the kitchen table haphazardly, and was sitting shirtless on one of the chairs, applying pressure to a wound on his left side.

"What happened?" John sighed, kneeling before the man and beginning to care for the wound.

"Well you know, knife fight." Sherlock hissed at the sudden application of antiseptic. "I'm not as quick as I used to be."

"Not as vain either." John raised an eyebrow, giving a shocked expression. "Did you just admit to a shortcoming?"

"I came for medical expertise not criticism and lip." Sherlock glared down at the man, though he couldn't hide the fondness in his eyes. "It has been too long, John."

"Yeah...it really has..." John smiled slightly, almost happy to have blood all over his kitchen. "So, this knife fight...how did you provoke them exactly?"

"Why do you always assume I was the one to start the fight?" Sherlock scowled.

"Because you are." John replied simply. "So what happened?"

"A bit of undercover work went awry after one of the London Rippers recognized me. Doesn't matter, though, I know which one of them was responsible for Anya Short's assault." Sherlock explained as though it was a simple and boring concept.

"Well of course he recognized you, wearing that fancy coat." John snorted. "Were you even trying to go undercover?"

Sherlock sat in silence for a moment, as though brooding. "Well...I wasn't wearing that when I was with them...I sort of..."

"Hang on...You were near fatally wounded in a knife fight, but you stopped to change into your traditional costume before coming to see me or any other doctor." John rolled his eyes. His friend's flair for the dramatic had often gotten them both into danger, but this was just plain stupid.

"I had them handy." Sherlock argued. "It was hardly a waste of time."

"Mhmm. Yeah. Sure." John finished bandaging his friend. Luckily the injury wasn't as near fatal as he had told Sherlock, and with some time it would heal right up. "I'm going to get you some painkillers, and then the couch is all yours. Sleep, Sherlock. I'll know if you didn't."

"I was just going to go home, text Lestrade that I found the gang member responsible..." Sherlock shrugged.

"Not anymore." John shook his head. "You'll stay here tonight, it's too late to go back out and you're too injured to be left on your own."

"Fine." Sherlock acquiesced, though reluctantly. "For tonight."

"Good." John smiled, happy to have some excitement in his life again, even if it was only for that one night. "I'll go get the painkillers."

When John awoke, he heard voices coming from the living room. At first he reached into his nightstand drawer for his revolver, but then he remembered last night's late house guest. Anne had probably woken up and made his acquaintance...which couldn't be good. The last thing he needed was his old flatmate traumatizing his daughter.

Ignoring his bedhead, John made his way into the living room, stepping on a few ill-placed dolls and Legos in the process. At the other end of the hallway, he could see the living room and in it he could see Sherlock sitting up on the couch and addressing the footie pajama clad form sitting before him.

Sherlock wore nothing but his slacks and the bandages John had given him last night, he looked pale as death and the dark circles under his eyes only helped to make him look more fearful. Yet Anne, who had often called daddy into her bedroom in the middle of the night to check for monsters or kill big spiders, didn't seem scared of him at all. In fact, she appeared to be talking to him quite calmly.

"Morning." He greeted the unlikely pair. Sherlock's eyes flicked up to take in John's unruly state, and they betrayed a hint of what John assumed was amusement.

"Morning daddy!" Anne smiled, her blonde hair as tangled as her father's though clearly resembling her mother's in all other ways.

"Anne, why don't you go wait at the table for breakfast while I talk with my friend, okay?" John ruffled his daughter's hair, and spoke with half a yawn.

"Sherlock already helped me with breakfast." Anne informed her father. "He let me have chocolate. But he made me have applesauce too."

"I figured I would bribe both of you that way." Sherlock smirked, his eyes carrying a mischievous glint.

"Sherlock, please tell me you didn't give my daughter a candy bar for breakfast thinking a side of apples would appease me." John didn't know whether to laugh or sigh.

"Well...I could tell you that but it wouldn't be true." Sherlock admitted.

"Never mind that. How are you feeling?" John asked.

"Better. Stiff." Sherlock rubbed at his side as if he'd only just remembered the injury.

"Someone hit him with a knife." Anne remarked seriously.

"He didn't hit me, he lacerated me." Sherlock corrected.

"He lac-er-ated him." Anne sounded out the word and nodded gravely. "Daddy, does Sherlock live with us now?"

"No, he's just staying for a bit." John explained, and then watched as his daughter frowned.

"Oh...that's too bad. I like his stories."

"Stories?" John's voice took on a cautious edge as he regarded Sherlock sharply.

"About you!" Anne smiled.

"Well hopefully he isn't telling inappropriate stories." John gave Sherlock a warning look. He didn't need Anne having nightmares about beheadings and shootings.

"They're fun stories." Anne added. "Daddy, I'm going to get my doctor kit for Sherlock."

"It's okay honey, I already helped him." John said, but Anne was determined.

"It's my turn!" She shouted, and then took off down the hallway with her footie pajama clad feet pattering across the carpet with soft thuds.

"She's going to have you covered in band-aid stickers in a few minutes." John chuckled.

"I'm sure she's as well trained in the art of medicine as you are." Sherlock jested back.

"She's certainly something..." John sighed.

"But you're having trouble with her." Sherlock inferred. When John opened his mouth either to protest or question how he could possibly have deduced that, Sherlock silenced him with a lifted finger. "Lack of sleep evident, pamphlets for private schools on the desk, Anne is being bullied at school. She told me. You're doing the best you can, John, there's no need to feel inadequate."

"I'm not good with kids, I never have been." John sat down next to Sherlock, throwing his hands up in defeat. "I never know if I'm doing any of this right."

"Well she clearly adores you." Sherlock ran his hands through his hair. "Though...if you feel you need help...I...uh..." Sherlock shrugged. "I don't have any cases right now...and having sustained such an injury it would be best to remain under the care of my physician. I could stay and help you."

"Really?" John was shocked.

"Really." Sherlock nodded. "You aided me when I needed it...I understand that one of the qualities of friendship is to reciprocate this."

"Don't make it sound so mathematical, we were almost having a moment." John laughed, giving the detective a playful shove.

Sherlock did end up helping, and for longer than John thought he would. He'd thought at first that maybe Sherlock's "help" would only provide him with another child to care for, but within the first week he found himself waking up to Sherlock having Anne ready for school without any fuss. In fact, Sherlock had taken to switching off John's alarm clock so the overworked father could get some more sleep while he took care of brushing Anne's hair and packing her backpack.

Of course Sherlock's help caused complications in other areas of John's life.

"Is Sherlock my new mommy?" Anne asked one afternoon during a bout of playtime with her beloved father.

"What?" John asked, stunned by the question.

"Sherlock. Is he my new mommy?" Anne asked again.

"Of course not." John scoffed. "Why would you think that?"

"Because..." Anne scrunched up her nose. "Terry from school says that a mommy is someone that tells you stories, and brushes your hair, gives you kisses, and loves your daddy very much."

"It's a bit more complicated than that..." John stuttered, wondering if his daughter knew what she was implying.

"I don't think so." Anne shook her head. "I'll always love my other mommy, but I love Sherlock too."

"You've only known him a little while. Give it time." John rolled his eyes, chuckling. "You'll hate him as much as I tend to."

"You don't hate him!" Anne protested, giggling.

And of course he didn't hate him. That much was proven later that night when he stumbled upon one of those story telling sessions Anne was so excited about.

He was about to enter Anne's room to make sure she was ready for bed when he heard voices. He hung back, eavesdropping.

"...Of course the knight wasn't without his loyal companions." He heard Sherlock say, his voice deep.

"The warrior princess and the wizard!" Anne joyously replied.

"Correct. The warrior princess and the knight fought side by side to keep the kingdom safe, and they loved each other very much. They had a daughter, a girl who was just as much a hero as her parents."

"Tell me again about when the knight and the wizard slew the dragon that had the fire magic blowing up all over the kingdom, or the nymph that knew all those secrets about the queen! No wait...tell me about the wedding!"

"Well the warrior princess and the knight were to be married as all mediocre romantic figures of such stories do. However there was nothing mediocre about this wedding because the princess and the knight were...perfect for each other. Of course even at their wedding there could be no peace. One of the knight's friends was in danger, and the knight and the princess had to save him. The wizard tried his best to figure out the problem...but he was really only aiding the true heroes. They cared for their friend...something the wizard had once found hard to understand. Of course that was before he met the brave knight. That's why it was so hard for him to be happy for the knight and the princess...that's why he went back to his high cold tower to practice spells alone."

"Sherlock, was the wizard ever lonely after the knight and the warrior princess went away?"

"Of course not. He was a wizard, he had no need for human companionship. Besides he had his magic skull, and his witch of a housekeeper, and the guardsman."

"You're lying, I can tell."

"You couldn't possibly tell. Now go to bed." Sherlock ordered and John could hear Anne giggling. There was a momentary pause filled only by the sound of blankets moving and pillows being fluffed and then Anne spoke again.

"Justin pushed me again today, and he called me a freak...he said I'm weird because I'm too much like a boy and that it's because I don't have a mommy."

"Justin is an idiot. He sees greatness in you and it scares him. He sees you as different and so finds it necessary to label you a freak. What Justin says is not important. You are important."

"Yeah he's wrong...thanks Sherlock..."

"Remember you're the daughter of a knight and a warrior princess. That alone won't make you a hero but it does have distinct advantages."

"And I do have a mommy. He's a wizard!"

"...best not to say that. Wizards are cold and do not love."

"You're lying again, I can tell."

"Goodnight."

John didn't know if he was thrilled or dismayed. Maybe just touched...and also confused? The light switched off in Anne's room and he knew any second now Sherlock would walk out the door and he'd have to face him and say something. Maybe he could just comment on how clever it was twisting all their old adventures into a children's story? Pretend he hadn't heard anything else? It was too late to think on it anymore as Sherlock was already walking towards him.

"I think it would be best for me to leave tonight." He said, his face emotionless. "Anne is getting too attached."

"What?" John shook his head. "And that's a bad thing?"

"Yes." Sherlock nodded. "I am not part of a family."

"Well first I'd like to wonder if Mycroft would agree with you...well he might actually...and second I'd like to say that that is ridiculous because clearly Anne has made you a part of ours."

Sherlock looked uncomfortable. "Exactly why I should leave...I would not like to put you in an awkward situation..."

"Anne loves you! I...I love you." John stuttered, wondering what exactly he meant by that. Sherlock gave a pained expression and shook his head.

"I really should leave."

"Sherlock, was the wizard lonely?" John asked, feeling ridiculous as he referred to the question his daughter asked earlier that night.

"What?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's a story."

"You said it was hard for you to be happy for Mary and I." John pointed out. "You basically said that."

"Well it was hard paying the rent when you didn't share it with me I suppose." Sherlock shot back, shrugging.

"Look...Anne loves you. What's between us...we can find that out later, but even if you leave the flat don't leave her life, okay?" John sighed. "She's friends with you."

"...alright." Sherlock agreed. Then he drew closer to John, looking at his feet. He seemed to be waiting to say something or maybe to hear something. He waited for a bit and then leaned forward and kissed John softly on the cheek. "...that's just for when we find out what's between us...later..."

"...shit...Anne really does have a new mommy." John half laughed, touching the spot where he'd been kissed.

"I told you." A small voice piped up, startling both men. They looked back to the doorway where Anne was standing with a proud look on her face. "See? I told you."

"She's very observant." Sherlock sighed. "Fine deductive reasoning." John rubbed at his temples, feeling a headache coming on. He had a feeling that Anne was never going to let this go, and that given the chance she would gloat about it for days.

"Are you guys gonna get married?" Anne whispered.