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Author's Note: You guys are amazing, thank you so much reading and sticking with me. Enjoy!
John and Rosie Watson meandered through the streets of London, towards Baker street the next morning. John had woken up that day, after having scarcely slept for a moment, with an urgent need to see his best friend, to make sure he was at least alive. He'd nearly lost Sherlock too many times over the course of their friendship, and no matter how angry or disappointed he was in his best friend…he loved him, and his loss would be unbearable.
He'd meant what he'd said to him. That no matter what happened, he would stay his best friend, and he would always be there for him.
He just didn't have to be in a good mood to do it.
"Ready to see your Uncle Sherlock?" he asked Rosie now as they approached 221B.
Rosie was all grins this morning, chattering excitedly about finally getting to see her Uncle Sherlock after days and days of not seeing him. In her childish way, she'd expressed her astonishment that her favorite uncle had abandoned her for so many days, hadn't come over to play, or didn't shoo John out of Baker street so they could play in peace. John had woken her up that morning with the news and she'd been ecstatic, nearly vaulting out of her crib.
John had barely opened the front door before Rosie ran up, yelling for Sherlock, clambering up the stairs in haste. "Let me help you," he laughed, picking up his daughter with an arm around her middle, holding her on the side as he carried up to the door of Sherlock's flat. As soon as he set her down, she vaulted inside, pushing the door open with some effort as her tiny hands struggled with the door handle. He watched her stand in the living room for a moment, quickly scanning all the places Sherlock could be in the living, turning to him inquisitively when she didn't find him.
For a moment, John was confronted with Mary's raised eyebrow in his daughter's face and rightly placed suspicion, wondering if Sherlock had gone back to Stuart instead of here. But then he heard muffled noises coming from Sherlock's room, and saw that the door was open and there was movement of a shadow inside. John pointed at the bedroom and Rosie took off, yelling his name.
"Why Miss Watson!" he heard Sherlock's gruff voice and an audible "oomph" as Rosie had no doubt launched herself at him, "you are certainly a sight for sore eyes!"
John walked over, laughing as he saw his daughter wrapped around Sherlock, who'd clearly still been in bed. He was clean finally, his hair washed and his beard shaved off. He was gaunt, the hollows beneath his cheekbones more pronounced, with purple circles beneath his eyes. He was also wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt to bed, no doubt to hide the track marks on his forearms. Rosie didn't care about any of that, and the two sat in his bed, with the little girl tucked against his chest, looking so content that John was nearly jealous.
"Rough night?" he asked his best friend, standing in the doorway as Sherlock absently kissed the top of Rosie's head.
"The usual DT's," Sherlock's sleep gruff voice told him nonchalantly, "nothing I couldn't handle."
"You're gonna be miserable for the next three days," John told him.
"At least," Sherlock agreed, wrapping Rosie up so completely in his arms that she nearly disappeared from John's view, her head tucked securely under Sherlocks' chin, "but most of it got expelled from my system, one way or another."
The little girl lifted her head up that moment, asking if he would play with her. "After a quick bath darling," Sherlock told her with a smile, "why don't you go help daddy make some coffee for me?"
Sherlock was out of the shower and dressed in record time, finding Rosie and John sitting on the floor together in front of the fireplace, seemingly drawing together. "How are you feeling?" John asked as he watched Sherlock lower his body into the leather chair with a grunt, his hair wet and slicked back, looking sicklier without the mop of curls to hide his tired eyes.
"Like a fool," he forced himself to look into John's eyes, something he'd avoided doing since Mycroft's office the previous night, "John I'm…I'm sorry. For everything," he shook his head, "I know worrying about me shouldn't be on your list of daily worries. You've got enough on your plate."
Sherlock eventually sat down on the ground with Rosie, playing with her with a gusto that always surprised John. He had always thought Sherlock would be uncomfortable around children, standoffish, unsure of what to do with them. But he'd been so surprised by the freedom he saw in Sherlock around Rosie, how comfortable he was in showing affection. John suspected it had something to do with the fact that a child's love was unconditional, innocent, without any harsh judgement as to his ability to relate to her emotionally. He also suspected that Sherlock could unleash his imagination with the little girl, and hence, the perfect play date was born.
But after about half an hour, Sherlock's much abused body began to shut down and he walked her downstairs, handing her off to Mrs. Hudson with a kiss on both of their cheeks, promising Rosie he'd return for her after a bit.
He walked back up the stairs, sitting across from John, pretending he wasn't about to collapse. John watched his friend, noting that he was dressed in his usual suit, looking more like himself than he had before. Sherlock finally broke the silence, staring directly into the empty fireplace, "Molly will never forgive me."
"Yeah," John agreed, perhaps too quickly, "and no one would blame her."
"What do I do?" Sherlocked asked quietly, "as unaccustomed as I am asking for your advice, this is a matter that has to do with the heart and with emotions. It is an area that I am a novice to...so I'm asking for your advice with the preface that I have eaten a very, very large piece of humble pie."
John chuckled, "I think I'll commemorate this great moment with a stamp," he grinned, leaning forward to his best friend, "it's not gonna be easy. She's pissed and she has every right to be. And knowing Molly, she's going to put you through hell but she loves you for some reason."
"But it is possible?" he asked, sitting up straighter with a hopeful note in his voice, "there is a chance?"
John laughed again, "this is Molly. Nothing is guaranteed."
"You'll help me get her back?"
"It's an uphill battle," he muttered, but nodded. Of course, he'd help Sherlock. After all, isn't that what friends were for?
