A/N Hey My Lovelies!!! Here's my latest creation....something inspired this...But for the life of me, I can't remember what, so if it sparks something in your mind then feel free to comment and tell me what it is cause I seriously can't figure it out....anyways...minor TRIGGER WARNING just because this one does talk about childhood abuse and homophobia a bit. Hope you like it!! Enjoy<3
John loved these days, the days were there were no cases and nothing pressing to distract Sherlock. The days when he could coax the brilliant man out of the flat to come with him and Rosie to the park. Watching Sherlock play with Rosie was one of the most beautiful things John had ever witnessed, and he made sure it happened as often as possible.
They were at the park, Sherlock chattering endlessly about distinct types of bumble bees, and Rosie babbling wordlessly as she played with the sand.
"John?" A voice that had haunted John's dreams for years came from behind him, and he was instantly on his feet, placing himself between his daughter and the man that he hated more than anything.
He almost flinched when his eyes found the man, standing less than six feet away from him. He hated that he saw so much of himself in that man.
"What the Hell do you want?" He tightened his fists at his side and pulled himself to his full height, trying to hide the fact that the man still made him tremble with fear.
"Is it a crime for a man to want to see his son?"
"I'm not your son!" John snapped, blinking away tears. "I made that very clear when you put me in the hospital on my sixteenth birthday."
"Daddy!" Rosie had wriggled her out of Sherlock's grasp and ran in front of John, her arms reaching into the air as she jumped before him. He leaned down and lifted her into his arms, his fear and anger fading slightly as he pressed a protective kiss into her pale hair.
"Who's this little angel?" The man stepped closer, a sweet smile on his face that churned John's stomach.
"My daughter." John held Rosie closer and shifted her to his other hip, out of the man's reach.
"You had a child? Where's her mother? I would love to meet the woman that makes my son happy-"
"She's dead." John's voice wavered as he spoke. It was still hard to talk about what happened with Mary on a good day, and he did not want this man to know about his mistakes.
"Daddy?" Rosie whispered, tugging on his ear.
"Yes, Bumble?" He couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips when he looked at his daughter, her eyes did that to him.
"Where's Papa?" John laughed, turning to face Sherlock, noting the tension in his husband's shoulders as he pointed him out to Rosie.
"He's right there, Bumble, right where you left him." Rosie squealed a giggle of glee and attempted to throw herself at Sherlock, making the detective lunge to catch her. Sherlock pulled the child out of John's arms and sent him a look, the kind that asked, Are you alright?
I'm sorry. His own eyes screamed before he turned back to the man he used to call his father, leveling a steady gaze at him. He could see the confusion and the beginnings of disgust forming in the man's eyes.
"Who's this? Friend of yours?"
"This is Sherlock Holmes-"
"Ah, the detective you blogged about, of course." The man stepped closer and offered his hand to Sherlock, who glanced between the hand and John for a moment before choosing to simply nod. That's my husband. John thought proudly. Sherlock would never be nice to someone that he knew had hurt John. "Right. Well, I'm John Watson, the senior. I don't want to be rude, but isn't 'Papa' a name for a father or grandfather?" John let out a bark of empty laughter and moved to stand closer to Sherlock, wanting to defend his husband.
