A/N Hey My Lovelies!!! So....I wrote this while drunk....Not gonna lie, it was bad lol I spent all morning editing it. It's still not that great, but you all seem to really like my drunk stories so here it is. The idea came from something my mom used to do for me and my siblings when we were kids. On Saint Patrick's Day, while we were at school, she would switch all of our stuff around, leaving candy everywhere. When we got home she would tell us that the Leprechauns came in and moved our things. It was silly and fun and I must have remembered it last night because I made it into a JohnLock story lol. It's really short. Enjoy<3
When John got home from picking up Rosie from school, everything seemed normal, until Rosie went into her room to change out of her uniform.
"Daddy! Lock! Where's my stuff?" She came running from her room, looking thoroughly confused. John allowed her to drag him back into her room, Sherlock following close behind. "Where'd it go, Daddy?" the child asked when they reached her room. John looked around in confusion. Sherlock and John's stuff had been switched with Rosie's. He turned back to face Sherlock, knowing that the detective was the only one home that day. Sherlock shrugged, putting on his best 'I have no idea what is happening even though I am lying through my teeth' face.
"Must have been the Leprechauns." Rosie spun to face Sherlock, awe taking over her young face as she stared up at her.
"The what?"
"The Leprechauns." Even John was confused at this point. "They come in while you are away and switch your stuff around with those you love." Rosie was in awe, staring up at the detective with such curiosity that John couldn't help but feel the same.
"What Leprechauns Love?" He asked, almost as caught up in Sherlock's theory as Rosie. Sherlock pulled them onto the bed, and spun a fantastical tale of Leprechauns, and how they would come into your house on Saint Patrick's Day and switch your stuff around. He claimed it was because they were bored, and would chose one family a year to play with. If a Leprechaun chose to play with your stuff, your year was going to be filled with the luck of the Irish.
Rosie loved the story, and she especially loved the overabundance of candy that the 'Leprechauns' had hidden among the stuff. They spent the rest of the night returning their rooms to normal, the chore eased by the promise of candy.
Later that night, after Rosie was asleep, John poured a couple glasses of whiskey and passed one to Sherlock. He sat on his husband's lap and tucked his head into the crook of his neck.
"Where did that story come from?" He felt Sherlock squirm slightly and pulled back to look at him. The detective was blushing.
"It was a silly thing my mother used to do. Her mother was Irish and used to talk endlessly about Leprechauns, so my mother would pretend the Leprechauns would switch mine and Mycroft's stuff. They would always leave candy. Some of my favorite memories were because of that Saint Patrick's Day Tradition." John felt a swell of love for the man he married.
"Love, that's so sweet." John pressed soft kisses to Sherlock's face. "You never told me you liked Saint Patrick's Day."
"I know, I had hidden most of the memories when I became a teen. I was cleaning out my Mind Palace today when I came across the room I hid them in. I thought it would be fun to bring the tradition back for Rosie." John kissed Sherlock deeply, tasting whiskey and just the faintest hint of candy.
"Thank you."
"Why are you thanking me John?"
"For being such a wonderful parent. Kids need traditions like that, and it makes me happy to know that Rosie gets to grow up with some of your traditions." Sherlock's eyes welled with tears, as they always did when John called him Rosie's parent. Even after five years, John knew Sherlock still couldn't believe he and Rosie had stayed. "I love you Sherlock."
"I love you to John." They kissed again, a slow, languid kiss that left heat pooling in their stomachs.
"Tell me more about your childhood." John asked, nuzzling into Sherlock's neck, feeling the detective wrap his arms around him and hold him tight.
"Well, I used to make Mycroft dress up as a pirate and walk the plank." John laughed, his mind supplying the image of the young Holmes boys, dressed as pirates. Sherlock talked late into the night, entertaining his husband with tales from his childhood.
