Sherlock's Second Vow [FINISHED]

Chapter 3: Angel

Sorry this one is kind of short as well. There are going to be some longer chapters coming up and this is intended to be a novel-length story.

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3

John placed his hand on the chilly gravestone. It was small and simple, white marble, the figure of an angel cradling a baby. He cupped the angel's cold cheek in one hand. "This is where she was buried," he said quietly. "Do you want to give her the roses now?"

Rosie knelt and placed the bundle of flowers at the statue's feet. Their pink heads bobbed and drooped. He picked a small one and placed it in the baby's grasping hands, where it brushed the side of the angel's face. Mary's face.

"Hi Mommy," Rosie said. She rested her head against John's shoulder.

"Hi Mary."

Her smile was sad, and cold, and empty.

"I hope she likes the flowers."

"I bet..." he choked a little on his tears. He had been crying. "I bet she loves them."

"I'm sorry you're sad." She snuggled closer into his lap and he wrapped his arms around her. She didn't seem to mind his tears as they dripped onto her hair. She only hugged him tighter.

"Emotions are very odd aren't they?"

Although he was sitting down, John almost fell over. "Sherlock! What are you doing here? I--we were having a moment."

"I do have a habit of turning up during moments. Your proposal comes to mind especially."

"Whatever it is, can it wait? You don't really need me for the case."

"I came to give my condolences," Sherlock said stiffly.

"Oh."

John knew how hard this must be for Sherlock, to talk about feelings and sentiment and sadness. But he wasn't the one who had lost his wife. And although John didn't blame him for her death anymore, there was still a connection in his mind between them. It was a sore spot.

And like all sore spots, he almost itched to press it, to test the pain. "You can come sit down if you want," John said, to see what he would do.

"I'll leave you to your moment."

Rosie squirmed. "But Uncle Sherlock! Mommy says hi!"

Sherlock had respected them, was willing to leave them alone, willing to try to understand. That was enough for John, for now.

Besides, this day was not for him. It was for Rosie. He motioned for Sherlock to sit. "Come say hi."

Sherlock settled himself beside them. "Hello Mary," he said, somewhat awkwardly.

Rosie tilted her head to look up at the angel's face, lightly bumping John's chin. "I'm sorry I'm just now meeting you."

He folded her hands in his. "You've met her before. She used to sing you songs and rock you to sleep. She loved you so much, Rosie"

"But I don't remember her."

"That doesn't make it any less real."

"Oh," she said. "Then... Nice to see you again, Mommy."

John glanced at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. "Thank you for helping me last night. And for helping Rosie."

" Of course. She wouldn't have wanted me to ignore you lot."

He almost wanted to hug the detective. It was a weird feeling. But Sherlock didn't like touching.

"I started school this week!" Rosie said, and John realized she was talking to Mary. "The teacher doesn't like me very much, but it's fun."

"Tell her about your favorite part of school."

"I like drawing." She paused, "But she told me that I couldn't draw my family anymore."

Sherlock laughed softly, more of a rumble. "Why not? Your family is a joy."

"That's true," John said.

Family. A family for him, for Sherlock. A family to raise Rosie in, hands to hold hers, words to guide her.

Thank you Mary, he thought, that I don't have to do this alone.

Rosie continued, breaking his train of thought. "The teacher lady said that this isn't Alabama and I just had to draw Daddy."

"What did you draw the first time?" Sherlock asked. He probably had an answer, likely he was correct. But he always asked for Rosie's sake.

"I drew Daddy, and you, and Mooper, and Mrs. Hudson, and Grandpapa Lestrade." Her knee bobbed up and down as she talked. "I told her that's my Daddy, and that's my other Dad, who's also my uncle, and not related to us. And Mooper is my aunt, Mrs. Hudson is kind of my grandma, and Grandpapa yells at you both a lot."

Bloody hell. He could look forward to some awkward parent-teacher conferences. And then John realized what he'd just heard.

My other dad.

He groaned silently. She saw Sherlock as a father figure, and that couldn't be good. Did that mean... she also saw them together? Couple-together? Surely not!

"Our family, it's not a normal kind of family. It's complicated. We aren't supposed to talk about it because other people won't understand."

"Why shouldn't she?" Sherlock asked. "Don't ask her to be ashamed." He paused. "You're ashamed. Of me."

John let out a breath of relief when Rosie butted in. "What's Alabama?"

"It's another word for America."

"Oh. That's why she was mad."

"I'm going to go and look at my grave."