For @sherlock-overflow-error who asked me to fic @culverton‘s hilarious Rosie post, with @ambiguous-ly-bee‘s amazing addition. (x)
Sherlock can feel the argument brewing in the air. He knows it’s nothing serious, though, so he’s quite happy continuing to drink his tea as his eyes swivel back and forth between Rosie and John. It’s like a very entertaining tennis match.
“Your definition of ‘not late’ is late. Besides, you’ve already told the lads at the café that-”
“I’m not helping out ‘till noon. Noon. And it’s a Sunday, they’re always dead then, it’s just the little old dears going in with-”
“Now, Rosie, listen, you need to take some-”
Personal responsibility, Sherlock finishes in his head but Rosie’s words are quicker: “Personal responsibility, yeah, I know, John, I am!”
Risky move, Sherlock evaluates as John bristles and draws himself up to his full height. “I’m your father, don’t call me ‘John.’”
Rosie grins, eyes flashing. “Okay. Fine, then.” And Sherlock sees it coming as she readies her mock salute: “John Watson, fifth Northumberland fusiliers, three years in Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand, and Bart’s bloody hospital!”
Sherlock chokes on his tea. Her tone is pitch-perfect. By the time his coughs are controlled, John’s glaring at him now, which just makes Sherlock laugh all the more.
“What?” Sherlock says. “It was excellent timing. I applaud the spectacle.”
Before John can interject, Sherlock decides he’d better swoop in and salvage something. He turns to Rosie and tries to confirm his suspicions. “Who’s having pre-drinks, then?”
An unmistakable blush glows on Rosie’s cheeks. Bingo. “Danielle.”
Sherlock raises a knowing eyebrow at John, and sees him visibly calming. But, John still asks, “Sorry, who’s Danielle?” and Sherlock can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.
“Oh, John, do keep up, dear. Danielle who sits behind her in history, who’s always the striker in football.” He nods at Rosie. “That Danielle?”
Definitely blushing, then. “There’s only one Danielle,” she replies.
John sighs. “Oh God. Fine, fine, go. Just make sure you’re up in time for the café.”
Rosie bounds across and kisses John’s cheek. “Thanks, Dad,” she says pointedly, and rushes off in a whirlwind to fetch her purse.
Sherlock chuckles at how stunned John looks. “Have you recovered, John?”
John starts laughing. “She’s like a miniature Harry, I swear. It’s scary.”
A clattering of heels. “Byeeeeee!” Rosie calls out, all sing-song and joyous.
Sherlock dashes out to the stairs before she can go out of the door. “Rosie!” he calls, reaching into his pocket.
She turns and he throws her the spare keys. “Be sensible. And don’t wake your Dad up coming in or he might actually murder me.”
Her face softens and she gives a cheery little wave. “Cheers, Billy!”
Sherlock splutters, but she’s already off and away. He hears John’s cackle of laughter, and turns to run at him: “Come here and I’ll really give you something to laugh about!”
I’m taking ficlet prompts. <3
kianamaiart
prguitarman
baratheonpilled
discoholicmusic
gummygunk
titsay
