Johnlock Oneshots

9 - Umbrella

No normal person can ever predict the weather in England, not even the great Sherlock Holmes.

WARNINGS: slight mention of suicide, still pretty fluffy though :)

Mary was dead, John was damaged, Sherlock was broken, Rosie was motherless, Mycroft was scarred, Eurus was locked up... yet life moved on.

Business had resumed back in Baker Street with John once again resuming his residence in the room upstairs. Sherlock was as incredible as ever, solving cases with his sharp words and ever sharper eyes as he mystified and equally pissed off whoever walked through the door. It seemed his break from the smaller crimes they once took meant he was more eager than ever to help every poor sod that turned up on the doorstop, which also meant the amount of heartbroken souls in their living room increased dramatically. John didn't mind though, it made him happy to see Sherlock happy.

As well as being an amazing detective Sherlock was also doing an amazing job filling in as a second dad, helping take the load off John's back when he couldn't find the strength to get up in the morning. It was better though, having someone there to bring you tea or pat your back when everything was on the brink of too much. He needed that stability to continue, just like he had needed Mary when Sherlock had died he now needed Sherlock when Mary had died. Funny how times change.

Rosie was currently asleep upstairs in the cot next to John's bed, the sounds of her soft breathing whispering through the baby monitor on the coffee table. Eventually she'd be too big for the cot and would need her own room, but John would face that problem only when it needed to be faced. If going through so much trauma had taught him anything, it had shown his stressing over unnecessary things only made matters worse. He tried his hardest to let his anger out in other ways than shouting at Sherlock or locking himself away, instead talking to others (well, mainly Sherlock but that was besides the point) and exercising to burn off unwanted brewing emotions. The exercise not only kept his mind under control but also made him happier as a whole as his body was finally getting back to how it used to be during his army days. Feeling healthy and able to run through the streets like he had that first night with Sherlock made him feel more alive than he thought he ever would again after being shot.

On the matter of relationships however John had reached a dead end.

Even though he had forgiven himself for what happened whilst he was with Mary, he still couldn't bring himself to actually live up to his words. He had tried plenty of times to get a girls number or even just talk to one without it being at the supermarket, but his heart wasn't in it. After Mary everyone else just seemed dull, John was beginning to realise how Sherlock must feel. No woman wanted a man with a child, let alone one who was as damaged as he was. But it wasn't just that, he just didn't see any attraction in any of them. They all led boring lives with boring families and boring childhoods, with boring jobs and boring interests. Suddenly dating a normal person lost its appeal, and as soon as that happened John just decided to dedicate his life to his daughter and no one else.

Rosie had just turned 1 last week and the party held for her was excessive even to John, who appreciated the effort but considered it a waste of money for a baby who didn't even know what was happening. Sherlock had groaned and complained the entire time but John knew he secretly enjoyed the attention of people telling him how good of a father he was. Obviously Sherlock wasn't Rosie's actual dad, however the love he held for her and the way he spoilt her showed he may as well be. John didn't mind at all, he actually enjoyed how happy Sherlock was when he was with Rosie, as if her presence alone made him more human than even John had managed.

Their little family may not be fully functional, (after all it consisted of a high-functioning sociopath, a wounded army doctor and the daughter of an ex-assassin,) however it worked in its own little way. Sherlock shot the wall and solved cases, John now worked at St Barts and was climbing his way up the ranks, and Rosie cried and giggled and put a spell on anyone she met. Compared to what John left behind, it was bliss.