(Combining two prompts for this one because I might miss a writing day later)
Sometimes Sherlock was the one who read Rosie her bedtime stories and put her to bed at night, and sometimes it was John. They almost never did it together, but tonight, after John had given her a bath and gone upstairs with her, Sherlock had a sudden breakthrough on the case he'd been working on. He texted Lestrade and then ran up the stairs, eager to tell John about how clever the killer had been in hiding his crimes.
John had already finished reading Rosie's book; he was now singing a song to her, softly enough that Sherlock could barely make out the tune. He stopped in the doorway, unwilling to interrupt the moment, but when he had finished singing, John turned and beckoned him into the room. "Rosie doesn't want you to miss your goodnight kiss."
"And I wouldn't want to miss my goodnight kiss from such a wonderful little girl." Solving the case had put him into an ebullient mood. He crossed the room, making a mental note to tell John about the case later tonight instead.
John stood up from the bed to allow Sherlock access, and Rosie sat up, threw her arms around Sherlock's neck, and smacked him on the cheek with her lips. He kissed her nose delicately in return and then stepped back from the bed.
"Now you, Daddy!" Rosie stretched her arms towards John, who obliged with a series of three kisses.
"Hugs!" Rosie declared, and John wrapped his arms around her for a moment, and planted another kiss on top of her head.
"I think someone is trying to delay her bedtime," John said, but stepped out of the way again to let Sherlock give her a hug.
She did try to prolong it, but eventually Sherlock pried himself out of her arms and straightened up. "Now that you've had extra hugs and kisses tonight, you'll have to sleep twice as long."
The joke was a bit over her head, but Rosie ignored it anyway. "Now your turn! You hug Daddy!"
Sherlock's smile slipped. Not a usual part of the bedtime routine, by far. He and John had certainly hugged one another on a number of occasions, but only in times of emotional extremes. It definitely wasn't a casual, everyday occurrence. He glanced sideways to gauge John's reaction.
John's eyebrows went up, questioning, as if Sherlock were the one who might object to Rosie's demand.
Sherlock turned to face him, spreading his arms. He wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to put his arms around John, even if it wasn't in the context he would prefer.
John stepped towards him and they embraced; John was warm and solid and entirely too enticing in his arms. Sherlock let himself linger perhaps longer than was wise, though in his defense he did feel the need to savor such a rare opportunity. But John didn't seem to be trying to pull away, either. He had his arms firmly wrapped around Sherlock's torso, his hands resting lightly on his back. The hug went on for several seconds, until Rosie called out, "Now kiss, too!"
Without thinking twice about it, Sherlock tipped his chin down. John tipped his head up at the same moment, and their lips pressed together. Had he been aiming for John's lips, or had it just happened?
It was a brief kiss, chaste, of course, though far, far different from any kiss Sherlock had shared before, and not simply because it was with John. It was if a small spark of electricity passed between them, though there was no carpet in the room likely to have given them a shock. Kissing John was simply...electrifying.
Perhaps Sherlock shouldn't have been surprised. He'd known he loved John; he'd known he was attracted to him, as well. He had not known how desperately he wanted to kiss him. How could he have? He'd never known kisses could feel like that. Weren't they simply something done for show, to signal that you were interested in another person? And yet that simple press of lips they had just shared, while a far cry from an intimate kiss of lovers, had made every nerve in Sherlock's body leap in joy.
As they pulled away from each other, John made a small sound, almost a hum, as if he'd just read something of interest in the morning paper. Sherlock scanned his face quickly, knowing it was a risk to stare but unable to help himself. The sound John had made had been pleased, without a doubt. Yet now his eyes were cast down, not looking at Sherlock, and he turned his body away quickly, bending forward to pull the blanket on Rosie's bed up, encouraging her to lie down. His voice sounded different, too, gruffer than it had been a few moments earlier. What did it all mean? John hadn't objected to the kiss, had moved automatically to offer it, had made a sound of enjoyment, and yet now did not want to acknowledge it.
Of course. Not hard to interpret at all, really. John didn't want to admit, perhaps even to himself, that he had enjoyed kissing a man. Sherlock had long suspected that John might be bisexual but in denial about it, and now here was another bit of evidence to support that theory.
He stepped away from the bed, leaving John to finish tucking Rosie in for the night.
"Night, Daddy!" Rosie trilled. "Night, Sherlock."
"Goodnight, my sweet little rose," Sherlock said, watching as John turned away from the bed. Yes, he was clearly embarrassed and regretted the kiss. Why else would he walk so quickly past Sherlock, headed towards the stairs?
Sherlock lingered for a moment longer, giving John time to get downstairs without him. When he finally judged it safe to follow, he couldn't stop himself from glancing into John's bedroom as he passed it by on his way to the staircase. They'd separated the space up here over a year ago, when Rosie had moved from a cot to a regular bed. At the time, Sherlock had entertained an elaborate fantasy of confessing that his feelings for John went far beyond friendship and suggesting that John did not need to continue to sleep alone upstairs. He could sense that fantasy trying to make a resurgence now, prompted of course by that brief, brilliant kiss, but he squashed it down. There was no sense in having a dream that couldn't come true.
--read all the ficlets here: Put a Little Love in Your Heart
