Sherlock fandom.
Home At Last
Sherlock is restless. He hates waiting. Especially when he doesn’t know how long he has to wait. It’s fine when he’s on a case, but not when it’s related to the two Watsons. His patience is stretched to its limits and his skin feels taut and itchy.
“We’ll be around some time in the afternoon on Sunday,” John had said when he last visited.
What Sherlock wants to know this instant, is what John had meant by some time. Was it 1 pm or 4 pm?
He paces back and forth in front of the fireplace and startles when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His curls look like a birds’ nest and that is intolerable. He must look his best when John and Rosie come home.
Did he shower at all today?
The last couple of days have passed in a frenzy of organising, planning, rearranging, and tidying – making 221B fit to be inhabited by three people instead of one. Sherlock doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Everything is in place; there’s nothing more he can do but wait. One more look in the mirror makes him stride to the bathroom.
***
The hot water pours down his body. He sighs contentedly and revisits his last encounter with John.
He’d left Rosie downstairs with Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock’s heart leapt to his throat when he realised that John wanted to talk to him undisturbed. This could mean all sorts of things. He dared not hope for anything positive for his own part, though things had improved between them. John’s hostility and reluctance to even look at Sherlock, had evaporated.
“A stern talking to from Molly,” John explained.
“Oh,” was Sherlock’s response.
What did that mean? Didn’t John know that he needed it spelled out to him?
“You need more data, I reckon,” John said, his lovely smile from before directed at Sherlock.
Sherlock nodded and didn’t take his eyes off John’s face, lest he miss something important, some clue that could enlighten him if John left anything out.
John sat down in his chair opposite Sherlock. He was tense but not excessively so, and Sherlock relaxed a fraction.
“Molly made me realise what I was about to lose. That you wouldn’t wait forever,” John started.
I would wait for eternity if it meant that I would have you back in my life, Sherlock thought to himself, but he stayed silent.
“I’ve been an idiot. Nothing new, really.”
John chuckled but Sherlock couldn’t detect any mirth. Before he could respond, John continued.
“My legendary stubbornness and anger got the better of me. Again. But then I realised that…this, 221B, is the only place I’ve ever felt..it…”
When Sherlock met John’s gaze he saw tears in those ocean-blue eyes, and he knew what John couldn’t say.
“Home,” Sherlock murmured. “From the first time you set foot in this flat, it felt like home.”
“Yeah,” John agreed. “That.”
John’s breath was heavy, and Sherlock didn’t known what to do. Before he could make a fool of himself, John asked the question there was only one answer to.
“Can I come home, Sherlock? With Rosie.”
***
The glee Sherlock felt at that moment, still lingers in his chest. His expectations are great, grand, glorious, and the sensation is utterly addictive. When he hears the familiar steps ascending, Sherlock stands in the doorway, ready to greet the two people he loves the most.
Rosie beams at him and stretches out her chubby arms, chanting “Lock!”
He takes her in his arms and buries his nose in the nape of her neck. A sharp pain makes him yelp a little. The little girl’s tiny fingers have grabbed a handful of hair and pulled hard.
“Careful, darling. You don’t want Sherlock without those beautiful curls,” John says and carefully entangles Sherlock’s hair from the surprisingly strong grip.
Sherlock expects John to move away, so he’s taken by surprise when a strong arm is placed around his waist. John rests his head on Sherlock’s shoulder and exhales.
“Home at last,” he whispers.
Finally, Sherlock wants to say, but his throat is uncooperative. So, instead he pulls John tighter and tries to just breathe.
The trio stands enveloped in a cocoon of bliss and contentment for a small amount of time; Rosie isn’t a patient girl, but it’s enough for Sherlock to create an art installation in the newest wing in his Mind Palace. A wing that is light, kept entirely in pastel colours reminiscent of Turkish delights.
A sign over the door, white with green letters, reads:
The Baker Street Family
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Happy tears!! 💕
