Let The Shadows Win

The Horrors Can Be a Home

Sherlock POV: It wasn't always Sherlock's goal to end up thrown underneath John Watson every night, and tonight especially he had arrived just so that he could show off his newly fixed up car. Yet these days they really couldn't seem to keep their hands off each other, and with just one glass of wine they had descended once more into a frenzy of passion, an unstoppable force of love. Sherlock always enjoyed claiming John in his own house, especially if there was even the slightest chance that Mary's ghost still lingered about these halls. He loved to kiss him in that living room, and lay with him on his own couch, and help throw his clothes all about the hardwood floors. It was suburbia interrupted, for most men in these neighborhoods would never dream of being with another man. Most men here would not dream of leaving their wives, or killing their wives, and never would they dare touch a criminal. Yet Sherlock got to lead John down a path that was entirely of their own creation, they forged their way into uncharted and unaccepted territory, and they were so close to finally arriving at their own utopia. There was only one flaw, an adversary that couldn't very well be stopped by rudeness or ignorance, or even murder. Well, murder was possible; however it would be very wrong indeed. Yes there was one obstacle, a particular person who made it rather hard to love each other at seven o'clock right on the living room couch.
"Daddy, what are you doing?" mumbled that sleepy little voice, coming from next to the couch which they were now lying on. Sherlock froze, yet John stiffened right to the bone, for this situation was not one which could be explained just yet to a child. John's eyes widened fearfully, for even though they were both clothed from the waist down it would still take quite a bit of lying to explain why they were lying on each other and kissing each other the way that they were. John sat up a bit regretfully, turning so that he could very painfully sit upon Sherlock's legs as he went to address his daughter. The two of them were shirtless, John without his jeans, the both of them still breathing heavily, their hearts beating furiously, and sweat collecting along their brows. Their faces were red in humiliation and drunkenness, and yet they had to make it so they could at least try to make an excuse to John's very confused, very afraid little daughter. Sherlock cleared his throat a bit awkwardly, trying to sit up himself yet finding that impossible when taken into account John's choice of seat. Rosie was watching them with wide, curious eyes. She was wearing her pink pajamas and holding onto what appeared to be the horse stuffed animal that Sherlock had gifted her when they first met. He wasn't entirely happy to see her; however he had to make an effort to smile.
"Rosie you should be in bed." John managed, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand before getting to his feet to retrieve his clothes. Sherlock sat up and pulled his knees to his chest, sitting against the armrest and watching in some relief as John pulled on his jeans and tee shirt in something of a scramble to make himself decent. Yet it wasn't enough, Rosie had seen enough to get her little head full of questions.
"Why were you kissing Mr. Sherlock? I thought you were only allowed to kiss Mommy." Rosie muttered.
"Mommy is gone, Rosie." John reminded her.
"She'll come back." Rosie whispered, as if that was what she tried to tell herself when faced with the topic of her mother's abandonment.
"She's not coming back." John snapped, seeming more irritated with Rosie's interruption than concerned about making this whole experience easier for her.
"You can't kiss Mr. Sherlock." Rosie repeated.
"Well I just did." John snapped.
"John, be nice." Sherlock warned, feeling quite bad, if not embarrassed, at having to make John explain such things to his small daughter. Yet he wasn't even trying to be empathetic, he was being irritable! This really was no way to treat a child, especially when your main task was to get them to keep their mouth shut.
"He's a boy." Rosie pointed out. Sherlock couldn't contain the little amused smile that burst out onto his lips, for such rudimentary ways of classifying who could love who were almost laughable at this point. Even for a child of her age to think such things, well wasn't it supposed to be a changing age?
"I thought we went over this before, Rosie? You can love whoever you want; it doesn't matter if they're a boy or a girl. They're still human, aren't they?" John pointed out in a much softer, more family friendly tone. Rosie nodded a bit nervously, as if she wasn't entirely sure what she was agreeing to.
"But you're married to Mommy." She reminded him once more.
"Not anymore, Rosie. Mommy left, and she isn't coming back. I love Mr. Sherlock very much, and I was just expressing to him my feelings. When you love someone very much Rosie, you kiss them." John explained quietly.
"Why weren't you wearing clothes?" Rosie asked, to which Sherlock blushed right down to his shoulders. John cleared his throat a bit apprehensively, looking towards Sherlock as if asking for any suggestions on how to answer.
"It's something you'll understand when you get older." Sherlock offered, to which Rosie didn't look very satisfied.
"Are you supposed to be my new Mommy?" Rosie asked fearfully, her lips quivering as if she was threatening to break out into tears. Sherlock really didn't think his replacement as mother would be too bad, however in Rosie's opinion it was obviously some sort of tragedy. That was almost upsetting, to be second rate once more to Mary Morstan.
"I'm not supposed to be anything yet, Rosie. I just want to be your friend." Sherlock assured.
"Yet you love Daddy." She whispered. "While Daddy is supposed to love Mommy."
"I already told you..."
"She'll come back!" Rosie exclaimed, now bursting into tears that neither man knew quite how to handle. "She'll come back because she loves me! She'll take me away from here, from you and Mr. Sherlock! She would never leave without saying goodbye!" With that Rosie took of down the hall, her sobs echoing off of the walls as she raced upstairs to her room. With a frightful bang they were left once more in silence, and it was all Sherlock could do but take a deep, unnerved breath. John sighed in a defeated sort of way, shrugging his shoulders before turning back to Sherlock.
"Well then, where were we?" John wondered, acting as if Rosie's little episode had merely been an interruption to the fun they were having together. He was even beginning to take off his shirt once more before Sherlock snarled at him, getting quickly to his feet as if he couldn't believe the audacity of some people.
"Aren't you going to go comfort her?" Sherlock pointed out, pushing John away from him in an effort to make him go and talk to his daughter. John looked legitimately confused, bothered even, by such a statement.
"She's made it kind of clear that she wants to be alone." John pointed out with a little shrug.
"Oh my God John! You're as thick as a brick wall! Go on then, you've got to go and stop her crying. You need to talk to her gently." Sherlock insisted, unable to comprehend just how terribly John was treating this situation. It was as if he had never actually had to do any parenting before.
"Well if you're so good about that stuff why don't you just go and talk to her?" John insisted with a groan. He really seemed as though he wanted to continue what they were doing, as if the mood hadn't been killed off with the sudden arrival of his own daughter.
"This isn't my problem John, she's your daughter! Besides, I don't think she likes me very much." Sherlock admitted with a regretful sigh.
"She's just moody." John decided with a frown, obviously still unable to figure out what this parenting stuff included.
"She's like two years old John! You can't blame her for being upset about all of this!" Sherlock defended, gaping at John for he really didn't understand what sort of sour mood the man had been swept into.
"She's not two! Besides, if you hadn't gotten all friendly we'd never have..."
"I was not the one who started that!" Sherlock defended. "In fact I do recall suggesting we go somewhere more private, so as to prevent that!"
"Oh so now this is my fault?" John growled.
"Yes! Now go up there and apologize, and explain, and be a father for God's sake!" Sherlock exclaimed, to which John's eyes narrowed in a threatening sort of way.
"Don't ever accuse me of not being a father. I do my best each and every day." John growled, sounding very defensive, as if he knew in the end that wasn't entirely true. It was all Sherlock could do but scowl at him in a very unimpressed manner, as if trying to explain through mere expressions that John's best was not nearly enough to be even acceptable.
"Not when you're thinking with something other than your brain." Sherlock responded in a snap.
"I'm mad at you now." John decided, crossing his arms and staring down at Sherlock in a disapproving way.
"I'm mad at you too." Sherlock agreed with a frown.
"I'll make this quick then, and I'll meet you in the bedroom." John decided, to which Sherlock nodded once more.
"You better hope I don't kill you for real this time." Sherlock warned, grabbing his shirt and his cane as he got to his feet with a very odd mix of both blinding anger and overwhelming passion.
"Oh I do think it'll be an honor." John decided, and with that he started up the stairs to console his daughter while Sherlock followed along in his wake, landing heavily onto his cane with each step as he tried to figure out where his priorities lay anymore these days. Well actually, that answer was an easy one. They lay with John, or rather under him.