Distasteful Profession

East wind coming

John got out of the car and opened the back door to pluck Rosie from her seat. He took his time walking up to Julie's flat and talking to her. He didn't want to confront Sherlock for what he'd done, nor himself for wanting it to happen again.

After a painstaking silent drive to the precinct, John settled in his spot and Sherlock in his. He had a few piles of paperwork done by the time Sherlock has pulled away from his station, quite literally. Mycroft, the sketchy guy from the flat, walked in and grabbed Sherlock by the ear, grumbling things to him. But, John not dares intervene. He couldn't. He just watched as the rest of the building continued with life as if the man hadn't just burst through the doors shouting Sherlock's name, finding him hiding under his desk and physically dragging him out of the building, probably cursing him out.

"Right, what was that about?" John asked, tapping Anderson on the shoulder. "Freak's brother. He usually comes once every other week. But, something must be wrong. He's been pulled out twice this week. Give me the creeps, both of them." Anderson explained then groaned. John nodded and looked out of the window.

John was packing up for the day, and still no sign of Sherlock. John walked over to the forensics tables and picked up files. The ones most recent were the only ones he looked at. He didn't even look at the whole thing, he kept Sherlock's privacy in mind. John put Sherlock's things in the back of his car, picked up Rosie, dropped her off with Mrs Hudson when he dropped Sherlock's things off. John made trips to get Rosie's crib, nappies, clothes, food, bottles first; the essentials for her.

John then laid her down to sleep. She fell asleep almost right away. "Julie did say she didn't have a nap," John muttered as he walked out the door to leave Mrs Hudson guarding the flat and his baby. John picked up most everything from his house, which was mostly emptied out after Mary died. He felt so lonely in the big house with no other adult to talk to and have them understand what he was saying. It was a pain living there by himself. He hated his lonely life in that house. Just being in it made him feel depressed.

By the time John had finally moved everything out, he calls the couple he'd sold it to, to let them know they can move in now, which they thanked him and assured him they'd be there the next morning. John sighed, lingering in the house. He'd finally found a place to move on, so why did he feel empty? Maybe, he always thought that the three of them would be moving out together. John, Mary, and their little Rose Garden.

John recalled first getting married. Kicking in the front door, keeping his wife in his arms, her lips lingered on his lips, it felt like. Her scent still stuck in the atmosphere. He'd recalled the exact place Mary was when she first thought she was pregnant. The exact spot John passed out after finding out she really was pregnant. John could point out every throw-up stain on every carpet, hardwood floor, door, wall, and even window there was possible during her pregnancy. He remembered rushing to the hospital with Mary after she broke her water trying to put a plate on the top shelf in the kitchen. He remembered holding Rosie as she got her first glimpse at her supposed 'forever home,' as if she were a newly adopted pup. John remembered getting that dreadful call from the recruiter, saying he'd had to go and serve his duty again. He remembered wearing his uniform, hugging his wife and his daughter before leaving them behind for six months. He wasn't even adjusted to having a child and he was already pulled away. He remembered how he came back, full on moustache comes hair, he looked like a new person. He chuckled at the memory of Mary refusing to kiss him until he'd shaved it off. He recalled Rosie's first tooth, her first laugh, her first babble. He could name anything he had done in this house from the time Mary and he got married, to now.

John's heart tightened at the thought of her being gone, leaving him to figure out Rosie on his own. Then, again, he wasn't completely alone, was he? Sherlock's there to help him out, but how long will it stay innocent? How long before John gives in to his dark passenger, the voices telling him that he needs someone else in his life. Before John looks at Sherlock as a lover instead of a flatmate?

John shook his head to forget about it as he hauled the last of the boxes into the car, shut the door, and left the keys under the mat. John got into his car and looked back at the house. He couldn't just leave it. It was a part of him. John quickly got out of the car and, as strange as it may sound, he kissed his two fingers and placed them gently on the siding of the house's wall. "Thank you, for always being there, for me to come home to," John muttered as he finally felt peace. He walked toward his car again, not feeling the need to turn back any more. He drove home as fast as he could, and as he brought the last box up and opened it, he'd noticed Sherlock was playing the violin by the window. "Oh, hello, Sherlock," John greeted, only glancing up to the long, lean figure that must not have been paying any mind to his surroundings because he jumped. Sherlock turned around. "John, hello. Mrs Hudson went to bed. You were out late..." He said, a bit of a questioning look crossed his face, but only for a moment. John was still packing when Sherlock put his Violin and Bow down on the couch and walked over to him, grabbing his hands from inside the boxes. "Are you okay?" He asked, but his face said, 'No matter what you say, I'll know when you're lying,'

John quickly took his hands from Sherlock's and shouted, "No, I'm not! It's not okay!" Before he looked up to see Sherlock's surprised face. John put his face in his hand, holding his arm with the other. Sherlock slowly walked over and wrapped his arms around John, not knowing what else to do. He lowered his face to John's hair and planted an innocent, comforting kiss. "No, but it is what it is," Sherlock said, stroking John's hair and back with his hands.

John softly pushed himself out of Sherlock's arms and went to the kitchen to make a cuppa. Sherlock smiled as John handed him a cup. "Thank you, John," Sherlock said, blowing on the steaming hot liquid. John smiled, "No problem. It's the least I could do, really."

Sherlock remembered that he had to do something tomorrow. "Hey, John. I won't be at work tomorrow, so don't wait up in the morning." He did, placing his tea back onto the saucer. "What are you doing tomorrow?" John asked after taking another sip. "My sister, I have to help her move." Sherlock sighed as if he could be doing something much better with his life, which he could. "What If I help? Could I help?" John offered, hopeful to get to know a sane part of his family, hopefully.

"If you don't mind the danger," Sherlock warned, John only seemed to be encouraged by his earning, though. "Bring it on," John said with a confident grin as if he were the king of the world. Sherlock didn't want to knock him down, not one peg.

"Well, good night, John," Sherlock said quickly, almost rushing to his room. John had guessed it was to avoid awkward tenseness. He sighed. Sherlock sure was a strange one. "I think I may learn to like him," John muttered to himself, then chuckled. He continued to unpack and set the boxes aside for tomorrow when they'd help Sherlock's sister with moving out. When John felt tired enough, he'd set up a blanket or two on his armchair and went to sleep comfortably next to Rosie's crib. Lucky for John, Rosie hadn't cried at all during the duration of the night.

He, however, woke up in a bed, with real blankets, cuddling his daughter and something cuddling the both of them. "Sherlock?" John guessed. "Hmmm...?" Sherlock groaned, his voice so gruff and tired, it sounded like a different person. "What am I doing in here?" John asked, rubbing his eyes. "Sleeping, obviously. Do keep up, John,"