One shots (johnlock fluff mostly)

Then he'll ask

"Chim chimney, chim chimney, chim chim chim charoo, I dos what I likes and I likes what I do!"

John could hear the singing from his room upstairs and he couldn't help but smile to himself, maybe he shouldn't have let Sherlock sit down with Rosie watching Mary Poppins, but then again, it was too endearing to see a bad side.

He decided to heave himself out of his bed and down the stairs, tying his robe as he went. It was then that he caught sight of Sherlock and Rosie in the living room. Sherlock was holding her securely above the ground and singing in a cheery tone and spinning her around the flat as she giggled and squealed.

"Daddy!" She squealed as she set eyes on John, who came over and kissed her lightly on the head before reaching up and ruffling Sherlocks disheveled curls as he placed a kiss to the detectives pale cheek.

"I think daddy is like Mr Dawes, what do you think bumblebee?" Sherlock asked, lifting her to his face so her nose bumped his.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" She cried with glee, wrapping a hand in Sherlocks hair and tugging, John came over again and gently released Sherlocks hair from her tight grasp, stroking it back down.

"I think papa is like uncle Albert" John whispered into Rosie's ear, to which Sherlock heard perfectly and kicked John lightly in the shin.

"But you know who Mary Poppins is like, smarty dressed, always has food and carries an umbrella?" Sherlock asked, leading up to his usual dramatic reveal.

Rosie looked confused, expecting an answer whereas John wore an amused smile on his face and then began a quiet countdown from three to which he and Sherlock both said "Uncle Mycroft!" Simultaneously before bursting into giggles.

It was at that moment they heard the soft step of someone walking up the stairs and then the grand reveal of the man himself.

"Impeccable timing ma'am" Sherlock spoke smoothly with a curtsy. Mycroft just looked at his brother in an amused fashion.

"Really brother mine? what film was it this time?" He asked John, who just smiled knowingly.

"Mary Poppins" he said with a grin, as Sherlock spun Rosie back into the air and carried her into the kitchen, both giggling as they worked at preparing cereal.

"He's changed for the better since he met you" Mycroft said with a sad smile as he recalled memories of the closed off little boy he once knew. "He'll say yes John"

"Sorry what?" John asked confused.

"What you plan to ask him, he'll say yes" mycroft decided with a fond look at his younger brother dancing around the kitchen, now singing "feed the birds, tuppence a bag" in his softest voice.

John thought of the small gift bag upstairs from Hsamuels, the blue velvet box that lay inside wrapped in tissue paper. "Thankyou Mycroft"

"Say goodbye to Mary Poppins bumblebee!" Sherlock called in a singsong voice to which mycroft deciding to play along swung his umbrella and stepped gracefully down the stairs until he finally left.

"Gu'bye!" Rosie squealed as they watched mycroft open his umbrella from where they were at the window and pretend to fly away into his jag before driving away.

"Mycroft seemed different, did you rewire his brain?" Sherlock asked amused as he sat down at the kitchen table with Rosie in his lap, jigging her up and down on his knee as John prepared baby food for her.

"Never did anything" John replied in mock innocence.

*****
Later that evening John found himself enclosed in six foot long of lanky detective wrapped around him as he sat  on the sofa, the last few minutes of Mary Poppins playing yet again from Sherlocks and Rosie's demand.

He'd put Rosie to sleep in her crib and admired how perfect she was even whilst sleeping. When he left to go back into the living room to find Sherlock staring drowsily at the television, barely awake, he had sat back down next to him and pulled him into himself so the detective would be comfier.

Sherlock wrapped a arm around him and then his legs were soon hooked over his ankles and his other arm around his neck, John couldn't help but smile, his boyfriend soon asleep in his arms.

He spent an hour of this time contemplating how he would ask, a question that only had two possible answers and both would affect him eternally after.

He decided he'd do it tomorrow, call some friends over, do it then, in front of everyone, or do it spontaneously at the exact write moment? No, do it with family and friends. Perfect. Just a few more hours, then he'll ask.