Another Cinderella Story (Sherlock fanfiction)

Chapter 18

"Who knew the famous Sherlock Holmes would help someone repaint their living room?" John joked, helping Sherlock mix the chestnut brown paint. Sherlock grimaced at what his friend said, and rolled his eyes.
"This is so we can look at the case sooner." Sherlock huffed.
"Or because you care for her?" John said in a sing-song voice. "You did say you love her, so this was expected. She has you wrapped all around her finger without herself noticing."
"I'm still new with relationships." Sherlock attempted to defend his pride.
"Yeah, yeah," John waved off, "yet look at Melody. She's really happy that you're in her life now - you know, since she didn't really have a good life ever since her parents died."
Sherlock stayed quiet, frowning down at the paint in front of him. "She deserves to be loved after what she's been through." Sherlock finally said.
Melody walked into the room, making them stop their secret conversation. "Thanks for helping me, guys." Melody said, smiling at them gratefully. "You guys didn't have to though. . ."
"We wanted to." John replied, smiling at her kindly. "And besides, this is a very weird request from your step-mother and sisters that needs more than one person on the job."
"Thanks. . .again. . ."
"Come on!" Sherlock exclaimed, "let's quickly repaint this room so we can find your father's killer quicker!"
***
Two hours later
John received a phone call from an unknown contact, making him frown in confusion. Sherlock peered over John's shoulder at the contact, before facing the wall he was painting. "That's the hospital's number." Sherlock told him. "You should answer it."
"Ah," John grimaced, placing his paint brush down, making sure there wasn't any paint on his hands, "it must be about the new scheduel I asked for - you know, now that Mary is gonna be havin' the baby soon."
John clicked Accept and raised the phone to his ear. "Hello?"
   "Doctor John Watson?" an unknown voice replied.
"Yes, this is he."
"This is the Saint Bart's Hospital. Your wife, Mary Watson, she's having the baby."
"Oh my God!" John gasped, almost dropping the phone.
"John?" Melody called out concerned, stopping her paint war with Sherlock. Sherlock also turned to his best friend, confused.
"John, what's going on?" Sherlock asked him.
"I-it's Mary!" John said, hanging up the phone and started getting ready to leave. "She's having our child!"
"Oh!" Melody exclaimed, "I forgot your wife was due any day! John, you didn't need to come here when your wife is due any day. You could have told me that you couldn't go!"
"No-no," he shook his head, "I wanted to help and actually get away from all the baby drama."
"Well, you better hurry, then." Sherlock said, looking down at his watch. "I am guessing she is having a contraction right now and is cursing your existence."
John immediately paled at what Sherlock said, and started rushing outside, leaving the front door wide open. "Go with him." Melody told Sherlock, turning back to the wall. "He needs as much support he can get. He's your best friend."
"But I don't want to leave you alone." Sherlock frowned, though deep down, he wanted to tag along with John. He wanted to meet the baby, see if it will be annoying or not, see if it is a healthy baby.
"Sherlock. . ." Melody gave him a warning look. "Go where you want to be. I'm fine by myself here! Not the first time I repainted the room."
"Thank you." Sherlock kissed her on the forehead quickly and started to grab his stuff, leaving the files on the kitchen table. Sherlock froze at the front door, however, debating his moves. He didn't want to leave Melody all alone, yet he needed to be at the hospital for John. What to do, what to do. . .
Sherlock went back to the living room, and watched her for a moment. The way strands of hair fell from her ponytail onto her face, making her blow it away, the way her strange gold eyes held concentration, how her arms doesn't show any tiredness from painting the wall, how she doesn't care there is paint all over her pale skin from their mini paint war. . .
"Come with me." Sherlock said, startling her.
"Sorry, you scared me. What was that?" Melody breathed out, her hand over her fast beating heart.
"Come with me." Sherlock repeated, walking towards her. "Come with me to the hospital."
"But Sherlock," she sighed, putting her paint brush down, "this is between you, and the Watsons. I would just be a burden there because. . .you know, they just met me - we finally met without a mask."
"So?" Sherlock retorted, a foot away from her now. "So what if we just met. What if those feelings I had for you that night, was still with me now?"
Melody stayed quiet, staring deeply into his eyes. "Just come with me." he whispered. "Please."
"Why do you want me to go so badly?"
"I don't know," he shrugged, "I just feel comfortable and normal around you."
"Okay. . ." she said slowly. She shrugged it off and grabbed her jacket. "Come on, then. We better quickly meet up with John."
They dashed out of the house, painting all forgotten.
***
"We're here!" Sherlock breathed out, stopping in front of John, along with Melody. "Has she given birth yet?"
"No, but she's about to." John replied nervously.
"Don't worry, John." Melody said soothingly. "Mary and the baby are going to be fine."
"Doctor John Watson?" a nurse called out.
"Yes?"
"She's ready."
"Good luck." Sherlock nodded at the suddenly pale John. Melody nudged John, getting him out of his state.
"Okay. . .right." John nodded determined. He smiled at the couple, before following the nurse to Mary's room.
Sherlock and Melody went to the waiting room, sitting down in the uncomfortable chairs. Many weird glances were thrown towards them, making Melody frown. She looked at her reflection, and couldn't help but giggle in realisation.
"What?" Sherlock glanced at her, snapped out of his thoughts of concern for the Watsons.
"You realise we are getting weird glances, right?" Sherlock nodded, making her continue speaking. "Do you know why?"
"Um. . .no." Sherlock answered with a frown.
"It's because of how we look." Melody giggled. Sherlock glanced at themselves. They were wearing what they usually wear, confusing Sherlock more. He then looked at where she was looking before, making him realise as well.
They may be dressed professionally; but their head? Not so much.
Their face and hair were splattered with paint, very visible.
"Oh. . ." Sherlock stared at his reflection with wide eyes. "I look so unprofessional!" he hissed, madly wiping his face, making her laugh her bell-chime-like laugh. Sherlock stopped wiping his face for a moment to take in the sound of her laugh. In his opinion, it sounded beautiful.
Sherlock realised he was smiling down at the ground, and quickly dropped it. Sherlock doesn't smile. I'm a high-functioning sociopath, he thought. I don't show sentiment.
Too late, came the voice of Molly Hooper in his Mind Palace. You're in love. I should know.
Sherlock thought about what his subconsciouss mind was telling him, coming to a conclusion.
Yes, I am very much in love with Melody Rose, ever since I met her, he realised.