Fluffbruary - 6th Day (Butterfly)
Sixth day of @fluffbruary, using the prompt "Butterfly" !
I wrote this really fast, I hate some parts, but I'm posting it anyway. Maybe I'll come back to this fic later.
Read on AO3
French version
-----
John heard about it by chance. He was at the clinic when one of his colleagues was talking about it with a patient.
"It was magical, they were all beautiful," she said. John asked her for the address and kept the piece of paper in his pocket. He thought it might make Rosie happy.
When he got home that evening, he was greeted by a happy Rosie explaining to her father what she had been doing all day with her godfather. She had not left Sherlock's legs, both of them sitting on the armchair. They were reading a book about bees, according to the cover. Since she was a little girl, Rosie seemed to develop a passion for bees, making her godfather proud.
He gave his daughter a kiss in her hair and absentmindedly put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Since returning to Baker Street, John has been able to smile again and see his daughter blossom within the old walls that welcomed him all those years ago. He and Sherlock have become best friends again, but something more is present between them. They are more tactile with each other, a hand on the shoulder, on the back, on the arm and hugs when one is not well.
John is in love with the detective, and he thinks it's mutual, but he would never threaten their special friendship for a single doubt. And he'll blame himself if he makes his Rosie unhappy if he has to go away from Baker Street and his beloved godfather. Talking about his feelings has never been his forte. So he admires Sherlock from afar, imagines and dreams, and says nothing, like the Englishman he is.
He listened to his daughter, Sherlock intervening a few times if necessary, while preparing tea. This has been their routine for months and for nothing in the world would he change this domestic bliss.
"Tomorrow is my day off, we could go out." Proposes John once he is settled in his chair, a hot cup in his hands.
"What do you suggest?" Asks Sherlock, staying focused on the little Watson who continues to ask him questions about the pictures in the book.
"The natural history museum has a greenhouse with lots of butterflies. Apparently it's very pretty to see."
Sherlock agreed, after asking his niece who had put on a big smile.
***
"Rosie, keep your hat on, it's cold."
The little girl grunted but finally decided to keep it on her head. John sees Sherlock smirking at his little Watson being so stubborn. John wonders who she got it from.
"Hello gentlemen." said the man at the entrance to the museum as they approached.
"Two adults and a child." Said Sherlock. "For Sensational Butterflies." John sees him scan the man with his eyes and he warns him with a glance not to say anything. He can see him almost sigh, invisible to anyone else but John who knows him well after so many years of working together.
They pay, and leave in the direction of the big greenhouse. There are few people, and the heat is quickly felt. Rosie was happy to take off her hat.
"Daddy, look!" The girl exclaimed when she saw a butterfly on a leaf. John knew she would love it.
The greenhouse is big, filled with tropical flowers and plants. It's warm and very humid, to match the butterflies' natural climate. Butterflies are everywhere, on the branches, the walls, under their heads, on the visitors. There are all colours, all sizes, and John can see his daughter's eyes sparkling.
Although he seemed indifferent, Sherlock looked around, detailing every butterfly and reading every text they passed.
Quickly, John took off his coat, glad he had put on a simple shirt, and stripped Rosie of her jacket and vest, leaving her with a long-sleeved T-shirt. Surprisingly, Sherlock took off his coat, as well as his jacket, leaving him with just his white shirt. John loved seeing him so casual next to him, seeing him without his armor that he formed with his coat and perfect suit.
As John imagined, Sherlock has done his homework before coming to answer every question Rosie may ask. He watches them do it, his heart filled with tenderness. Thirty minutes later, and a hundred questions later, Rosie is in Sherlock's arms, both talking about the blue butterfly in front of them resting on a leaf, when it flies away. To the surprise of both, it settled in Sherlock's hair, and Rosie laughed.
"He thinks it's a nest !" Laughed the little Watson.
Standing back, John smiled as he watched his daughter try to retrieve the fragile insect that seemed comfortable in Sherlock's curls, and managed to escape her little fingers. He was forced to come to the rescue when the two sent him a look of distress.
Sherlock slowly bent down to allow John to retrieve it, but when the butterfly realised they wouldn't leave it alone, it flew off to land somewhere else. That is, on John's face. Sherlock and Rosie laughed as John tried to coax it to fly away by moving his facial muscles. The detective took pity on him and decided to pick him up.
John stretched out his cheek as Sherlock's fingers tried to take the butterfly. He was reluctant, but allowed it to land on his finger. Rosie was even happier. John, still mesmerised by the feel of Sherlock's fingers against his face, smiled at Rosie's enthusiasm.
"On me ! On me !" Rosie asked.
"Be careful, they are very fragile insects." Said Sherlock seriously.
Rosie nodded and put on her most serious face. Sherlock judged that she would be careful and asked her to hold out her hand. She did so and Sherlock gently placed the butterfly down.
"That tickles." Rosie laughed.
John's heart raced as he saw his daughter so happy, Sherlock taking care of her like a...
A father.
John realised that now, but all along, Sherlock had been taking care of her like a parent would with a child. At the beginning of their return, John thought that Rosie would be a nuisance to the detective and his pace of life, but any suspicions were removed when he quickly noticed Sherlock was always with her if she needed something or just wanted to play.
Sherlock sees Rosie as his daughter.
John took a deep breath when he realised. He had always dreamed of this, of having Sherlock by his side to raise Rosie until she was old enough to go off and make a life for herself. To have Sherlock by his side when Rosie introduces her partner(s) (if she has any), her children (if she has any) or when she comes to visit them when they are old and wrinkled.
All his buried and hidden hopes come back.
"John?" Sherlock called softly to him. John snapped out of his thoughts as he heard that deep voice calling him. He fell into Sherlock's worried gaze. "Are you okay?"
He could never be better than this. "Perfectly." He said with a smile and did something he would never have dared before. He put his arm around Sherlock's back and moved closer to him, his hand resting on the thin shirt. Sherlock was surprised, but didn't move and even stuck closer to him.
Rosie is still captivated by the butterfly that has now advanced on her arm. John looked at her tenderly as he felt Sherlock slide his arm shyly across his shoulders. He immediately relaxed, resting lightly against Sherlock, and Sherlock grew more confident and tightened his grip around his shoulders. He attempted a glance at the detective and was gratified with a smile, the detective's attention already on him.
God, how John loves him. So he couldn't help but get on his tiptoes to land a light kiss on his lips. He felt Sherlock gasp in surprise before he responded to the kiss. John smiled against his lips, a warmth moved through his body.
Suddenly, Rosie burst out laughing, bringing John and Sherlock back to earth. They parted, red with pleasure. John couldn't help but admire him, his cheeks flushed, his lips curved into a slight smile. Sherlock is a beautiful man, John has known that for years, but knowing that he is in this state because of him makes him even more beautiful.
He turned his attention back to his daughter to see her squinting at the butterfly that landed on her nose.
"It seems he likes you, Watson." Said Sherlock with tenderness in his voice as he did every time he called her that.
"It's hard not to like her."
"She must get that from her father." Sherlock replied.
John blushed.
"Uncle 'lock, Dad, look, he's flapping his wings!" Rosie exclaimed. The butterfly built its blue wings faster and faster before finally flying away.
John watched it fly away as he rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. He felt Sherlock place a kiss in his hair. This excursion was definitely a good idea.
(tell me if you want to be tagged) @topsyturvy-turtely
22 notes
·
View notes