Johnlocked

The Boy

I kept delaying this part because I wasn't sure how to end it, but at this point I just need to publish it for you guys.

John Watson-Holmes liked to think that he was a sensible man. He had to be, for God's sake, because he was married to Sherlock bloody Holmes. He had dealt with heads in the fridge, chasing murderers, and bullet holes in the walls for just over 22 years now. He had to be a patient man, it was part of the job description.

However, Sherlock softly touching his arm in a placating gesture as he calmly accepted that their daughter was going out on her tenth date with a boy was too much. Rosie was actually bringing this Rick kid by the house to meet them, and so even John could deduce that this was heading into more serious territory.

Rosie had taken after Sherlock in the emotional department. For example, she hadn't had any sexual desires or affinities until she was 17. She never mentioned a crush, boy or girl, and John and Sherlock had been forced to conclude that she simply didn't care. So if she was taking someone to meet them, then it was important.

Back when she had just turned 17, in her stylish coat that somewhat resembled Sherlock's, she had gone on a case with her fathers which had ended up revealing quite a bit about her feelings. While her jacket wasn't nearly as flamboyant as her father's, her personality was undeniably similar to the detective's and it had led to much worry about her ability to connect with anyone besides her parents.

A serial adulterer had been taking the name quite literally in murdering their lovers, crossing over into serial killer territory. Once at the scene, Rosie had looked at the latest body, and although accustomed to the sight of the dead, she had been silent for a long moment. John had noticed and asked if she was alright. At that point Sherlock took a glance at his daughter and realized that something was wrong... She was too... quiet. Her skin was too pale. Her eyes were too sad.

"Sentiment." She had murmured, bending down and pointing at a small injection mark in the neck of the latest victim. This one was the second man of five unfortunate people. "They've made a mistake. We used to get the bodies every night, but it's been three days since the one before this man. He's still been shot, obviously, judging by the gigantic hole in the back of his head. But here, the killer must have injected him with something to knock him out. Check his for blood and such under his fingernails. You won't find the signs of distress like in the others. I'll also bet he has sedative in his system."

And then she had clammed up, completely unwilling to talk. With the tip, though, Scotland Yard had ended up finding the criminal and Rosie had been right. The woman had killed her latest victim when he learned the truth and threatened to expose her. But she hadn't wanted him to hurt. She had actually loved him- unlike the others, actually seeking a serious relationship with him. She's been willing to leave it all behind. Yet despite that, she hadn't wanted to be caught. The police had tracked the killer down by interviewing the last victim's family about his recent girlfriend.

Later that night Sherlock had talked with Rosie and she had asked him a question that reminded him of his own past struggles.

"Is sentiment a mistake, Dad? The killer let herself get attached and that got her caught. It feels like passion is what drives everything to failure... I can't see how love can get you anything but hurt... I don't know how to be like you and Papa." Rosie's eyes had welled up and her chest had felt horribly empty. She'd curled in on herself, actually starting to cry, desperately wishing to know just why caring about people was so important.

Sherlock had pulled Rosie into his arms and told her that love did hurt. It was easier to shut feelings off. She was going to make mistakes. But the one that she found in the end would be well worth it all.

"Whoever they are, my Dearest Watson, they will make you forget your past mistakes. And even though it can hurt, in the end having someone you can trust and love who does the same to you is the best feeling in the world."

Sherlock had pulled her over to the couch and sat down by her side. "Before I met your father... I was a callous prick." He had smiled wryly.

"I didn't care about anyone or anything, in fact I scoffed at sentiment in any form and labeled it as a chemical defect. But, your father," Sherlock paused and a faint smile twisted the corners of his lips up.

"He is an amazing man, truly, to deal with me all these years. And someday, you'll find someone who means everything to you, like he does to me. Someone that will change you, make you better in ways that you've never even imagined..."

A week later Rosie had informed John and Sherlock that she was going on a date. Sherlock had smiled; John had been less than excited. Sherlock had slipped her pepper spray. "Make him cry if he does anything that you don't like," Sherlock murmured in her ear. She smiled. Sherlock ended up spending the afternoon consoling John, the latter having always been very protective of his daughter.

A few boys later and Rosie was finally bringing one home. They hadn't had sex, Sherlock could tell of course, and from reading her text messages he could infer enough about the boy to the point where he trusted him. But more importantly, Sherlock trusted Rosie. He knew that she could fend for herself. They'd raised her to be able and willing to do just that.

So while John was on a tirade about how Rosie was too young to date so seriously, Sherlock wouldn't budge on the matter.

"John." He said softly, meeting eyes with his husband. John clenched his fists and looked up at the ceiling. Sherlock didn't move, his gaze unwavering.

"He'll be picking me up in an hour. Rick was the one who insisted on meeting you two. He's really all about morals, he hasn't even kissed me much yet, you know. Wants to do things right," Rosie sighed slightly, but her mouth twisted up in a smile. "His moms brought him up that way." She added.

"Moms?" John said, surprise filling his tone.

"Mhm. They're really traditional. I found it funny when I met them, Christians down to a T, but not to their sexuality." Rosie smiled as her eyes glazed over with a memory.

"Go ahead and get ready, Rose." Sherlock smiled approvingly at his daughter and she scampered off. John dropped heavily into his armchair, holding his head in his hands.

"Is she right about the traditional bit? I just can't think of Rosie having.." John struggled for words.

"Sex," Sherlock patiently supplied him with the word. John nodded his head somewhat weakly.

"She's just so young," John looked into Sherlock's eyes when his husband came to kneel between his legs. "F-for that sort of thing."

"I was a virgin until you, what do I know?" Sherlock teased, shrugging his shoulders. John let out a giggle, the laugh that only his detective could ensue in him. But Sherlock sighed and looked at him seriously. "She's seventeen, John. We can't stop her growing up forever."

"I know, Sherlock." John whispered, pressing his forehead to Sherlock's and shutting his eyes. "I just can't believe that we've even gotten this far without messing up terribly... We're bound to screw up at some point."

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's waist as he held his husband. His face was pressed into John'd stomach, and the retired army Doctor laced his fingers into Sherlock's dark curls.

"I'm not certain about that, John. I think you had plenty of practice dealing with childish individuals, and Rosie was never like that." Sherlock smiled impishly and guiltily, and although he couldn't see his face, John could practically hear his grin. "Haven't you wondered if maybe we can just do something right, perhaps we won't 'screw up'? We've made it through everything else." Sherlock paused.

"But I must admit we have done plenty of screwing." This made John laugh, a light and happy trill. Sherlock grinned, he loved to make John laugh, he especially loved hearing that one laugh, the giggle that was reserved just for him.

Sherlock pulled away and grasped John's hands, standing with him. "C'mon. Let's get ready. Do you still have that old hunting rifle? Might be nice to display it on the mantle...."