Rosie loves 221b. She squeals whenever they arrive, and she cries whenever they leave. She clings to Sherlock’s leg when he’s standing, and to his neck when he’s sitting, and she pats his curls and his cheeks and says, “Shuh-la, Shuh-la.” She shares her lovey with him, a tattered and grimy bumblebee with one wing missing. Sherlock holds it and makes it fly and says, “Bum-ble-bee, bum-ble-bee,” and Rosie stares at him with huge eyes and says, “Buh-buh-bee, buh-buh-bee.”
John’s heart swells each time he watches his daughter and his best friend, his Sherlock, spend time together. He stands in the kitchen and makes tea, and he watches. He sits in his chair with the newspaper, and he watches. He searches his backpack for a clean nappy, and he watches.
Mrs Hudson watches, too. She brings up biscuits and cakes and sandwiches with the crusts cut off, and she coos and fusses and invents reasons to overstay her welcome, and when she thinks Sherlock cannot hear her, she whispers to John, “You really should consider moving back, John. It would do Rosie a world of good. Look at how much she loves him. And he really shouldn’t be alone after all he went through, don’t you think?”
Mrs Hudson isn’t telling John anything he hasn’t already told himself 1,000 times.
When John finally broaches the subject with Sherlock he uses Mrs Hudson’s words. “It might be good for Rosie, you know? To have more than just me around? You’re really good with her and she, um, she really loves you.”
Sherlock fidgets with a petri dish and does not look up.
“I mean, maybe you’re happy to have the place to yourself, I don’t want to impose, or, well, anything.”
Sherlock turns the glass dish around and around in his hands. “You think this would be best for Rosie, then?”
John is quiet for a moment. He tells himself to get on with it. He’s a soldier, a doctor, for God’s sake. He pulls himself up and squares his shoulders. “I think it would be best for both of us. For me, and for Rosie. I’d like to come home, Sherlock.”
“Home?” John has Sherlock’s full attention now.
“Yeah. Home. To Baker Street. To you.” John does not look away. He licks his lower lip, and he does not look away.
Sherlock nods just once. “You’re always welcome here, John. Mrs Hudson can get your room ready. You’ll need to bring the crib, but there might not be space for the changing table. Will you let your place, or sell it? You can move back as soon as you’d like. That … that would be … good. Yes.” Another curt nod.
“Sherlock.” John turns to make sure Rosie is still sound asleep on the couch. “Listen. It could be different this time. The way it should’ve been. With us.”
Sherlock stares and stares and stares.
“I don’t think I’m wrong that you … well, I should say … I know that I, for one … God, why is this so hard?”
“What are you trying to say, John? Just say it.”
“I love you, Sherlock. Always have done.”
The petri dish shatters to the ground between them, and Rosie wakes up with a cry.
“What?” Sherlock says this one word alone, says it softy, says it with a sense of wonder.
“I love you and I want to come home, and we can put Rosie’s things upstairs in my old room and I could, we could, if it’s okay with you … I’m sorry, I’m shite at this.”
“Go. Go get your things, enough for you and Rosie to stay until you can arrange for the movers to come. I’ll stay with her. You go. Go now. Hurry.” Sherlock moves to sweep around John’s side and go to Rosie, then thinks twice and stops. “Me, too. About you, I mean.”
Sherlock steps closer, bumping their knees and shoes together. He grabs John’s wrist, squeezes. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” John mutters to himself as Sherlock scoops Rosie up and wipes her tears.
“Shh, it’s okay, little bee. Daddy loves us very much, and he’s going to go get your things and come back and you’re going to stay here from now on. Would you like that?”
John grabs his coat and comes to ruffle Rosie’s hair.
Rosie sniffles and rests her head on Sherlock’s shoulder and nods. “Stay Shuh-la.”
“Yes. Rosie and Daddy and Shu—Sherlock. Because Daddy loves us very much.”
“He does,” John says, wondering how this has all happened so quickly, so seamlessly.
“But he needs to go immediately so that he can come back as soon as humanly possible and move his things into Shu-la’s bedroom, right John?”
“Because Sherlock loves your daddy very much, too.”
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