arcane [johnlock]

The Final Problem

You always hear people talk about "the calm before the storm" - what about the calm after the storm? It's a confusing kind of bittersweet, a moment of comfort only found within love.

Perhaps, during this time, you'd console with friends, take up walking, find people with similar stories - or in Sherlock and John's case, sit in a soothing silence with odd sighs from a calmed baby.

The silence was unlike the quietness at Baker Street, it was pained - yet somehow seemed to heal them both. They were comfortable enough to not need words to communicate, just nods of their heads and small hums. The men, despite not speaking, had found themselves becoming closer than ever - both physically and mentally.

Sherlock shuffled towards John, who was deep in thought on the grey sofa. The scenery in the Watson's house was a lot different to Baker Street: with a lighter colour scheme and somewhat fluffy pillows. It was strange, but something he would eventually get used to.

He looked the doctor up and down, his heart beating like a drum. His sentiment for John had began to grow at an alarming rate through the past few weeks, making the detective slightly uncomfortable with all of these new...feelings?

John rose suddenly, smiling at Sherlock before walking to Rosie's cot. He picked his daughter up gently, cooing at her faintly, and brought her down to where Sherlock was sat. They played with her with quiet voices, Sherlock rattling her favourite bear with a smile.

John watched him with admiration, his smile growing as their eyes connected. He searched Sherlock's deep blue orbs for what felt like forever, his thoughts running wild.

After everything, he was still the one. Sherlock was still the one to make John smile, to calm him, to make him feel truly safe. Throughout the years, those dark curls became his weakness, his home. Nothing could compare to the man in front of him, the feeling of his heart skipping, his body relaxing, his smile forming.

He'd thought that Sherlock would of deduced his adoration for him by now, but alas, the man still waited for the day he realised. Some days, the wait would feel especially long - and some days, it was all worth it for moments like these.

John broke the eye contact nervously, reluctantly standing up straight and cuddling Rosie to his chest. He carefully made his way up the stairs, rocking her slightly.

The setting sunlight shone through the living room window, illuminating the room in an orange light and bouncing from one object to another.

From the corner of his eye, Sherlock spotted a glimmer of sunlight reflecting from a glass case. Enclosed was a CD.

"Miss You."

"John...?" Sherlock shouted, startling himself a little with the loudness, "John, you need to get down here."

He loaded up the television as John hurriedly tucked Rosie into bed and practically leaped down the stairs. Heart now pounding, he stood next to Sherlock as a familiar blonde woman appeared on the screen.

"I know you two; and if I'm gone, I know what you could become," Her voice echoed throughout the house as she took a deep, shaky breath in. Whatever she was about to say wasn't going to be easy. "...because I know who you really are."

John straightened his posture, wiping his damp hands on to his trousers.

"He loves you, Sherlock. Always has done. And I want you to know, John, that he loves you too." She chuckled, wiping a loose tear from her cheek, "You're both idiots for not realising."

Sherlock combed a hand through his tangled hair, beginning to pace back and forth as the woman continued explaining. How could she of known? He was Sherlock Holmes, for god's sake, nobody could deduce such a thing from him.

"Turn it off." John whispered, a strangled expression on his face.

Immediately, Sherlock made his way to the television. He fumbled with the remote, growing frustrated at the loose connection.

"Do something, boys."

The video ended with a black screen, the dvd pushing out and falling to the floor as the men locked eyes.

It could of been five minutes or five hours until the baby monitor rang with Rosie's cries. For a few seconds, their eyes lingered on each other's bodies, reluctant to let go.

"I should-"
"Yeah."

John took a heavy breath, making his way up the stairs.

Arriving at Rosie's cot, he scooped her into his arms, rocking her slowly as unanswered questions bounced around the empty room of his mind. How could she of known? And why now, after all this time?

The stressed expression on her father's face only made Rosie cry harder, attracting the attention of another familiar face.

"Need any help?" He lingered in the doorway nervously, desperately trying to show he cared.

John nodded with an awkward smile, rocking Rosie faster.

"See, John-"

Sherlock faltered towards John, wiping his palms against his trouser legs. He stood behind the man and hesitantly brought his arms around him, holding both Rosie and John. The father leaned into his warm embrace longingly, allowing him to take control.

"Like this." He whispered into John's neck, resting his head gently on his shoulder. He rocked the baby slowly, calmly. To John's surprise, she settled down within seconds.

After a few minutes, John lay Rosie to rest peacefully and tucked her in to her favourite blanket. He turned around to face Sherlock, who was watching him with a small smile.

"Look," Sherlock started with a whisper, careful not to wake the child.

Before he could finish, John's lips were pressed against his. The world came to a stop as Sherlock held his waist and returned the kiss. The subtle taste of tea and cologne comforted John more than anything else, the feeling of Sherlock's tight hold bringing him to safety.

For the first time in months, both men finally felt comfortable, secure. For the first time in months, everything was okay.

Thank you, Mary.