Multifandom Oneshots

Quiet. (A Sherlock Drabble)

"Sherlock?"

John frowned up the stairs, shifting the shopping to his other hand and shaking out the one that'd been carrying it the entire way back. It was oddly silent, which was usually not a good sign. He was used to being greeted by Rosie's chatter and giggling, Mrs. Hudson's chattering in babytalk or ranting at Sherlock, or, on particularly bad days, to a note from Mrs. Hudson saying she and Rosie were out on a walk and the sound of gunshots and "BORED!"

Today, he was greeted by nothing at all.

Deciding that perhaps shouting had been a bad idea, he took the stairs quietly, straining for every sound and trying to calculate how long it'd take to reach his gun and if he could do it before someone had time to get to him. Every creak made his heart pump faster and his grip on the banister tighter.

He paused at the top of the stairs to listen at the door. All he could hear on the other side was what might be breathing. Slowly, he turned the knob, and opened the door just a crack...then a little more...and then it was all the way open.

The sight was not what he expected.

Scattered all over the floor were Rosie's toys. Her little building blocks, a chunky book called "Goodnight Moon", and, for some reason, a bib were in something of a trail leading up to Sherlock's chair, which was vacant except for his violin and bow, and a small stuffed bear. Glancing at the kitchen, John saw Rosie's high chair, covered in some unidentifiable baby food, set up by the table, with an arm's reach of clean space cleared off next to it.

When his eyes swept back across the room, they landed on the couch.

He was caught somewhere between surprise and the biggest smile he'd ever had on his face.

Sherlock was fast asleep, a rare enough occurance on it's own. His blue bathrobe was tangled under him, sleeves pushed up unevenly, and his hair was properly a mess as opposed to its usual styled mess. He seemed to have a few splotches of the baby food on him as well, staining his tshirt.

Curled up on his chest was Rosie, fast asleep, also covered in food, one hand wrapped around one of Sherlock's fingers.

Both of them were smiling in their sleep.

John shook his head, trying not to laugh too loudly as he started to clean up. Today, he didn't mind.