#parentlock fanfic

[leosficlist]

Parentlock Part Two!!

As always, I can guarantee happy endings, Sherlock being amazing with children, and lots of love ❤️

Parentlock List 1, Parentlock 3

Unglamorous by YayCoffee 2k words

“John's heart is showing, and it leaps out and brushes Sherlock's face”

notes: john sees sherlock being lovely with rosie and falls deeper in love, obviously.

Rosie the Troublemaker by AmyTheMess 5.5k words

“Post-season 4, a few years later...7-year-old Rosie Watson gets called to the principal office. What a surprise when it's not John but Sherlock that shows up at the headmaster's door to pick her up”

notes: Sherlock defending Rosie every time she gets in trouble, and John finding out about it eventually.

Operation Homecoming by PlainJane 6.9k words

“Sherlock knows what he wants, and he's set about to get it.”

notes: soft and slow, the two of them finally drift closer.

Coming Home by Disc0inferno 2k words

“John keeps falling asleep in Baker Street, and Sherlock decides to finally call him out on it.”

Hidden Changes by MaddyisMo ���� 2k words

“For the prompt: Sherlock is mid case at NYS and John has to pick up toddler Rosie. When he brings her in, there’s a few incredulous questions about Sherlock helping raise her from Greg and snide remarks from Donovan. Rosie is a bit tired and fussy. However, as soon as Sherlock walks in, Rosie lights up and reaches for him and he settles her on his hip without blinking and carries on working, while she rests her head under his chin and settles down. The others are surprised, John is not”

Over Eggs and Bacon by UnrelentingHost 3k words

“Sherlock freezes every time John observes him interacting with Rosie. John decides to do something about it.”

notes: quick little getting together, they’re almost arguing while confessing their love to each other, sherlock is proud of loving rosie

Oscillation by @aquilea-of-the-lonely-mountain 4.2k words 🔒

“John reached for his own little parcel on the table. He eyed it curiously and reached out to remove the wrapping paper. “Don’t open it. Please.” John’s movements stopped immediately. The parcel remained wrapped. He looked up and watched Sherlock with wide eyes, surprise and concern about his sudden outburst written all over his face.

“I … I’ve realized that I made a mistake.”

notes: oscillation on the pavement means a love affair …

Home by @aquilea-of-the-lonely-mountain

“Suddenly, Sherlock couldn’t get his suitcase fast enough. Impatiently, he grabbed it and hurried through the masses toward the exit. A month abroad had been far too long.”

notes: absence makes the heart grow fonder, or simply, makes the heart miss what its fond of.

Your Daughter by loveanddeathandartandtaxes 2.2k words

“Soon enough everything in the house that could reasonably called 'John's' or 'Abigael's' is either wedged into the car or stacked by the front door, and it's a weight off his shoulders, actually, to know he's moving back to Baker Street indefinitely.”

notes: Sherlock is attentive and caring, John falls even more in love

A Decent Proposal by @england-would-fall

“When John tells Sherlock that he's ready to re-marry, the detective offers his particular skills in support of his best friend. However, John's request is not quite what he expects...”

Shape of My Heart by MissDavis @missdaviswrites 4.6k words

February, 2021: John (finally) moves back to Baker Street. / John opened his eyes. "Thought we agreed we weren't going to get takeaway for every meal.” "We won't. This is a special occasion."

notes: quick little pining, moving back in and getting together

Permenant Fixture by @vitruvianwatson 18.8k words

“ Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.”

notes: have reread many times, figuring out what they are, rosie dropping a “dada” makes them finally talk

Full Circle by CumberQueer 13.7k words 🔒

“Sherlock Holmes has noticed that his best friend and crime-solving partner John Watson is doing well - too well for what they've been through, if you ask him. Sherlock is worried John is seeing someone that is making him very happy, and intends to find out who. But first: data. Featuring a spreadsheet of John Watson's Smiles, a parentlock makeover for 221b, and John being charming af.”

notes: slowish first time, laughing during sex, convos about what they are, a spreadsheet of john’s smiles

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

I Can’t Stand It

Rosie’s tantrum in the park, reminds Sherlock of his own childhood. It’s strange that so much of what the little girl says and does resonates with him.

“She’s not yours,” several voices inside his head tell him.

Still, he can’t shake off the feeling of being something more to her than just…what is he exactly to her? She calls him Lock; he calls her Watson. He desperately wants her to call him something else, which he only allows himself to think about when he’s alone.

“I can’t stand it, daddy!” Rosie exclaims and stomps her feet.

“But, sweetheart,” John tries to reason with his four-year-old daughter. “You were perfectly fine eating this last week.”

Rosie rolls her eyes and throws her arms in the air. Sherlock can see that John’s mouth twitches slightly as he’s supressing a smile. Sherlock hears his mother’s voice filled with delight in his mind.

“She’s so much like you sometimes, darling.”

“There are big pieces in it,” Rosie explains to John. “I want smooth ice cream.”

John looks over at Sherlock for help, but Sherlock has long ago decided to never lie to John again. He shrugs apologetically and mutters something under his breath.

“What was that, Sherlock?” John inquires, his tone exasperated now.

“It’s quite normal for children her age to change tastes and react to new textures. I was the same.”

“Yeah, well, she’s not…”

“I know, John!” Sherlock snaps. “You and everyone we know keeps telling me that.”

He turns on his heel and walks briskly out of the park. Behind him the two Watsons call after him, begging him to come back but he can’t. Sherlock can live with everyone else claiming that he’s not Rosie’s father, but it hurts when John joins the choir. Of course, Sherlock knows he has no biological connection to her, but he’s raising her together with John, isn’t he? She comes just as willingly to him as to John. 

“Protect your heart, brother mine,” Mycroft told him after John and Rosie moved to Baker Street, and not for the first time. His brother knew that Sherlock’s heart belonged to John and had for a very long time.

***

Where are you? I’m sorry, Sherlock. We need to talk. Are you coming home soon?

Sherlock’s heart races in his chest when he reads John’s text. He barely registers the apology. All his brain is capable of is trying to deduce what John wants to talk about.

Are they moving out? Does John want him to spend less time with Rosie? Won’t he be allowed to do children safe experiments with her anymore?

He pulls his hair in frustration. Why is it so hard to figure out what John wants? Sherlock’s able to read anyone but John. Why?

“Hi, Sherlock. I didn’t know you were here,” Molly says when she walks into the lab at Barts.

“I’m leaving,” Sherlock tells her and walks rapidly out of the room.

***

Sherlock stands and watches the Thames float by. The London Eye is coloured in pink in the far distance. It’s getting dark and he’s got no recollection of the last hours. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he suddenly remembers that he’s forgotten to answer John’s text.

“A bit not good, Sherlock,” John’s voice scolds him.

Can I call you? Rosie wants to say goodnight.

Sherlock feels his face soften. The Watsons are probably still at Baker Street then. He doesn’t hesitate but calls John’s number.

John’s voice sounds relieved when he picks up, but it’s tinted with worry.

“Hi. You alright?” he asks.

“Fine,” Sherlock says, and it comes out more clipped than he intended.

John sighs and apparently gives the phone to Rosie.

“Lock!” the little girl exclaims.

“Hello, Watson. Ready for bed?” Sherlock inquires softly.

“Yes. Tired,” she tells him and yawns.

Sherlock feels his throat thicken, and he must swallow hard and close his eyes to keep his tears at bay. Without thinking he uses the endearment only Rosie has heard.

“Goodnight, my heart.”

“Night, Lock. See you tomorrow,” Rosie slurs, clearly almost asleep.

Sherlock ends the call before John gets a chance to ask him humiliating questions. The sharp intake of breath from John when Sherlock bid Rosie goodnight didn’t go unnoticed.

“You’ve ruined it now, Holmes,” he tells himself.

***

Aldi is still open, and Sherlock buys two boxes of ice cream for Rosie without any pieces of fruit, berries, crunch, chocolate or other abominations.

He takes a deep breath before locking himself into Baker Street, and he ascends the stairs silently. John sits in his chair, reading one of his medical journals. Sherlock just nods and walks to the kitchen with his purchases. He places the boxes in the freezer before walking to the bathroom.

“Sherlock?” John calls after him.

“Shower,” Sherlock answers.

The shower does wonders, and Sherlock feels quite refreshed and relaxed when he puts on a t-shirt, pyjamas bottoms and his maroon dressing gown. John stands just outside Sherlock’s bedroom and Sherlock startles a bit.

“Everything alright?” he asks. “Watson?”

“She’s fine, Sherlock. Soundly asleep. I just want to apologise properly to you. I was way out of line earlier. No, Sherlock, listen. I need to say this. Please.”

John’s expression is pained, and Sherlock doesn’t know what’s to come next. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

“I know it’s no excuse that I was exhausted and sleep deprived, but that’s the defence I have, and it’s appalling to say the least. Rosie…she is…just as much yours as she is mine. You care for her just like any parent. She loves you, we both do, and…”

“John?” 

Sherlock’s voice is trembling, and he feels his balance is about to fail him. Warm and steady hands are placed on his upper arms and when John speaks again, his voice is warm with affection.

“Forgive me. Please?”

Sherlock just nods and lets himself melt in John’s embrace.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @helloliriels @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @raina-at @peanitbear @topsyturvy-turtely @7-percent @ninasnakie

[neil-perrys-suicidal-tendencies]

SHERLOCK FICS PLEASE. GOVE ME SOME RECS.

Preferably no smut

Preferably parentlock

Kill me

[starkraivennemad]

Covenant of the Blood

John Watson was tired after shift; all he wanted to do was sit and rest.

“Hey, Sherlo---”

John enter the flat and pauses at the sight of Sherlock and Rosie asleep on the sofa. A hint of Sherlock's dark curls just seen over the arm of the chair. His hand resting on the Rosie's small body, protected by the slight curve of his body around hers.

He and Sherlock were supposed to go out to dinner, but clearly Sherlock had heard about his day and knew he wasn’t up for it. There was no need for a babysitter if they were staying home.

“Our daughter’s asleep, I’m not. ” Sherlock’s rich baritone chuckles.

Our daughter – John internally smiles.

Some people think Sherlock uncaring, but John knows better.

The living and loving proof was right before him.

The way Sherlock takes care of Rosie and him, as John takes care of them both.

“Would you like to be Rosie’s father? For real?” John kisses Sherlock and sat on the coffee table.

“By adoption?”

“By Marriage.”  

Sherlock carefully sat up and studied him. “You’re… serious…”

“I am.” John takes his hand. “We’re family of heart – I love you so much. Marry me.”

“You, Rosie and I. Yes.” Sherlock smiles. “A family by the law and by the covenant of the Blood.” @flashfictionfridayofficial

Art credit: hamish_by_milgarionangel

[randomquadballpun]

DAY 61 (attempt no 10) - fin

On Saturday, John woke to an empty bed and a silent flat. Well, nothing new there. He kept still for a couple of moments, listening in on the flat around him. But there was no cursing, no plastic plates being flung into the waste bin aggressively, no slammed doors or unhappy showering sounds. Just silence.

He swung out of bed, tiptoed to the door, and into the corridor beyond. Here, he could hear the faintest sound of voices from the living room. Walking a little bit further he could see that someone had drawn all the curtains shut and the whole room was filled with blue light.

Curious.

He inched over until he could actually look into the room, where he found Sherlock and Rosie side by side. Rosie was sitting on the armrest of the couch, holding one of the agar plates up into the air and shining at it with a small blue light, while Sherlock sat hunched over next to her, fingers carding restlessly through unkempt curls.

"Everything alright?", he asked carefully, causing both of his mad scientist to look up at him.

"It worked, they are glowing green! You have to see this, Dad!" Rosie gestured excitedly with the plate until he had taken a seat next to her.

And yep, there certainly were a bunch of small dots all over the surface of the growth medium and when illuminated with the strange lamp they definitely glowed bright green. It was quite impressive to see really, especially knowing how much effort had gone into this moment.

"Sherlock said that we can go to Barts and try to look at some green bacteria with one of the really good microscopes there!" Rosie - bouncing up and down like a caffeinated rubber ball - pressed both lamp and plate into Johns hands, before springing to her feet and making for the stairs. "I have to show Mrs Hudson as well!" And off she went.

"So ... it worked?", John asked the crouching figure next to him.

"Obviously."

"So what was the key? What did you change this time around?"

Sherlock unfurled, his fingers releasing his dishevelled curls and staring at John with a sour expression. If looks could kill, John would be deceased right now ... as would the innocent green E.coli that Sherlock had put so much work into growing - which would be quite ironic, all things considered.

"Nothing, I did everything the same. I performed this experiment with these exact parameters at least 5 times before without any success."

"Well, something must have changed, right? Maybe The new holes in the wall did something after all?" It was a weak joke to begin with, but confronted with Sherlocks most deadpan expression it fizzled out even more spectacularly.

"All the good bacteria grow into little dots because they grow so fast. They are green when you just look at them without the light. But with the lamp, they really glow!"

Rosie was back, Mrs Hudson in tow. She ran over, took the plate and lamp out of Johns unresisting hand and demonstrated the glowing dots once again, to suitable 'oooooing' and 'awwwing' from their landlady. "I have to take pictures so that I can show them to Molly and Rebecca and Uncle Greg and Uncle Mycroft", she continued, breathlessly. "They are so cool, I knew Papa could do it! And I need to show Mrs Bromley for science class, she did not believe me when I told her about our experiment. And ..."

John tuned out the continued narration, turning to Sherlock just in time to catch the moment when the words sunk in ... It had been such an off-hand remark, but of course, Sherlock Holmes would not miss it. As far as John knew, this was the first time that she had ever called him that. And Io and behold, Sherlock could do the wobbly look with his eyebrows as well. Must run in the family then.

John allowed himself a fond little grin, pulling one arm around his lanky git and squeezing gently. A warm feeling filled his chest and the animated chatter of Rosie and Mrs Hudson filled the air.

It all came together quite harmoniously after all. That was: harmonious measured by the Watson-Holmes household standards. And John would not have it any other way.

--------------------

Troubleshooting, part 29/?

-> That's it! (I could have gone on for much longer, but I think this is a good place to stop). Pure fluff because we can never have enough of that and the characters deserve it! I will need to think of a new short-form writing project now, because I really enjoyed having something that could be written in an hour or two.

-> You can read this entire series starting from DAY 0 on Tumblr or Ao3 or read the previous snippet here.

-> Thanks for coming along!

[charlie-novakk]

Sooo, for any Sherlockians and Sherstraders still out there, it's been x years since the show ended hence I wrote this little Sherstrade story that's also very Johnlock in a way ;) Like, A LOT has happened.

Summary:

It's been 10 years since the Final Problem. John and Sherlock make important decisions about their life. Lestrade has his own opinion on the matter. Will he keep it to himself? [Or: finding happiness in imperfect life circumstances.]

[strawberrywinter4]

i saw your post about prompts!

and ooo maybe something related to sherlock's growing/settling relationship with rosie as she grows into a teen and john realising that she's much more alike mary than she thinks when she gets upset that she can't remember much about her mother. the men help her see that.

Like Mother, Like Daughter

Fandom: Sherlock (TV)

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson & Rosie Watson

Rating: General Audience

Tags: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Post Season/Series 04, Father-Daughter Relationship, Rosie is a teenager, Teen attitude, Parentlock, Post Mary Morstan, Angst, Fluff

Thank you so, so much for this prompt, anon! I’m so sorry I didn’t get to it sooner and you were one of my first people to send in prompts. I hope this is to your liking❤️❤️

*•*•*•*

Something’s different about Rosie today, John can tell.

Maybe it’s the unsaid sense of a father or maybe it’s because the teen has displayed a frown since the moment she woke up.

John remembers wishing Rosie a good day at school when he dropped her off, students hurrying to get to their first class.

Rosie, however, only stared at the ground, ignoring John. Her blue eyes were blank, her jaw tense.

John blinked, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Hey.”

Rosie’s eyelashes fluttered as she turned to John. “Yeah?”

“You alright?”

She shrugged, and John was only happy it wasn’t an eye roll as well, a pair of gestures that the teen had acquired as the years went on. “M’fine, Dad,” she dismissed, carrying her bag and leaving John’s side before John could say anything else.

“Her menstrual cycle, maybe?” Sherlock had suggested back at 221B when John voiced his concerns. “Did she seem irate?”

“No,” John had said. “Well—god, I don’t even know. Maybe? Just… down, I guess.”

Sherlock came up behind John and soothed a loose hair on the doctor’s head. “Ask her when she gets home, then.”

John snorted. “You know how to deal with her best. You ask her.”

“John,” Sherlock said, sending him a pointed look. “Talk to her.”

The conversation replays in John’s head as he and Rosie walk home, their steps in sync.

Rosie has just turned 14, and her attitude certainly shows it. John finds that his daughter has obtained his obvious anger issues. That can cause some arguments to take place, as much as John wishes it didn’t. Or maybe it’s because she’s around the snarky detective, catching on to his sass.

John sighs through his nose. He hopes not.

Before they enter the flat, John stops her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Rosie, wait.”

Rosie stops, turning to him with a stiff shrug. “Yeah?”

John turns his head. “You sure you’re alright, darling?”

Rosie’s still for too long, her eyes never leaving John’s. “I told you, I’m fine,” she says.

“Right, well, you say that, but you don’t seem like it.”

Rosie scoffs. “Well, I don’t know what you want me to do about it. This is how I act.”

John grits his teeth. “Not usually. Usually you don’t give me an attitude.”

“I’m not giving you an attitude. I’m talking.”

John laughs humorlessly. “Rosie, this isn’t talking. This is starting an argument.”

This time, Rosie rolls her eyes. “God, I can’t get anything through with you!”

And to John’s great surprise, she barges through the door and practically stomps up the stars. John waits for another moment and soon, he registers a door slamming.

John sighs in frustration and heads up to 221B as well in a much calmer fashion. Once he steps into the living room to the flat, Sherlock turns to him where he’s conducting an experiment on the kitchen counter.

“Not good, then?” the detective asks with a quirk of a brow.

John runs a hand over his face. “No. No, not good.”

“She doesn’t like when you’re snarky back,” Sherlock murmurs, flicking a glass tube with his fingers to allow more water flow.

“I wasn’t- look, she has to learn how to dial down that attitude,” John says, leaning on the frame of the entrance to the kitchen. “I swear, it’s almost like arguing with you.”

“No. It’s like arguing with you,” Sherlock corrects. “Or Mary. Really, I can see both of you in her quite clearly.”

John grits his teeth at the comment. He looks up at the bedroom, the shut door displaying unwelcomeness. John steps forward. “Maybe I should-”

“Don’t,” Sherlock says, his eyes still on the tube. “Give her time. Allow her to cool off.”

John clenches his jaw, then nods curtly. “Yeah. Right, erm-”

In a swift movement, Sherlock turns on the stool, taking John’s sides and bringing him closer so that he’s able to stand between his legs. John releases a quiet sigh of relief at the feel of Sherlock’s hands at his sides, soothing him.

“In the research I’ve done, teenagers are prone to get angry easier,” Sherlock says.

“You’ve done research?”

“Shut up. What I’m saying is, just… be patient with her, I suppose. If you two keep bickering back and forth, it will be to no end.”

John stares at Sherlock, unable to take his eyes off this wonderful, brilliant man in front of him. “I love you,” John breathes.

Sherlock grins. “I know.”

___

Two hours pass, maybe three. John is jittering in his chair, and Sherlock is browsing his (John’s) computer leisurely for a case.

John nods, making a decision. “Right. I’m gonna go talk to her.” He stands and Sherlock’s deep voice catches him.

“Calmly,” Sherlock warns, not looking up from the screen.

John opens his mouth to say something, then decides to simply settle for a nod.

Two steps at a time, he heads up the stairs. For a while, he just stands there, fist hesitantly nearing the wooden door.

He takes a deep breath, then knocks.

Nothing.

He knocks again.

John can hear an annoyed breath from the other end of the room. Soon, Rosie opens the door, her eyes expectant. “Yes?” she asks.

John gestures into the room. “May I come in, your majesty?”

Rosie fights a grin, but quickly hides it as she steps aside. “If you want.”

John comes in and briefly admires Rosie’s room. The design has changed over the years. It used to be John’s old room and it was quite bland, but as Rosie’s gotten older, John has encouraged her to decorate it how she pleases. Now there are a few posters of celebrities (that Sherlock rolls his eyes at) and John catches that there’s even a poster of James Bond.

John’s heart swells. He made sure to introduce Rosie to the Bond films at an early age and, together, they’ve made it a tradition to have a movie night at least once a year to binge watch the films. At first, Sherlock refused to partake in it. But when Rosie gave him her big blue eyes, silently pleading that he join them, Sherlock sighed in defeat, taking a seat next to them on the sofa.

John sucks in a breath, breaking his thoughts. He turns to Rosie, his eyes now filling with concern. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong now?”

Rosie looks down, fiddling her fingers. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Rosie,” John says gently. “Come on. You don’t have to lie about this.”

Rosie stares at him, then seems to make a decision. She goes across the room, opening a drawer and pulling out a deck of photographs.

John doesn’t have to see them to know what they are.

“I didn’t mean to snoop,” Rosie claims nervously, stepping forward as she looks down at the pictures of her mother on her wedding day. “But… I mean- I saw the photo album in the corner of your room and- and I couldn’t help but look… keep them. I promise I’ll put them all back, but I just wanted to look, and-”

“Rosie,” John says. He sighs, putting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright, darling. It- I knew you’d be curious someday.”

Rosie released a trembling breath. John’s heart breaks. “Why don’t we talk about Mum?” she asks.

John bites down hard on his inner cheek. “You know it’s a sensitive subject. You know how she died.”

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk about her,” Rosie counters, her voice cracking.

John squeezes her shoulder, then leads them both to sit on the bed. “I know,” he says. “I know and I’m… so sorry. I just- there’s so much about your mother that- that’s not… I just don’t want you to see her in a bad light.”

“Then… at least tell me if- if I’m like her,” Rosie pleads.

“Oh, darling, of course you are,” John reassures. “You’re a spitting image of her.”

“Could you just- tell me about her? Tell me what she’s like?”

“Well, she was-”

“I want Sherlock to be here,” Rosie interrupts, her eyes desperate.

John pauses. He quickly recovers and nods. “Yeah… yeah, ‘course.”

Just then, Sherlock opens the door. He sniffs and John frowns. “You summoned me,” Sherlock says as he shuts the door behind him.

“Sherlock, how many times do I have to remind you not to listen in on conversations?” John says with gritted teeth as Rose laughs.

“You can hardly blame me, John,” Sherlock defends as he sits on the other side of Rosie.

“I can and I most certainly will.”

Sherlock’s eyes focus on Rosie. “What would you like to know?”

Rosie looks down as she thinks. “It’s selfish.”

“Bee,” Sherlock says in the soft voice he only reserves for Rosie and John. “Nothing you can say is selfish. You have every right to know. I was wondering when you’d bring the topic up.”

Rosie sighs. “Anything, really. I want… I want to know if I’m like her at all or- just anything.”

John can’t help but give a small smile. “You have her stubbornness,” he says. “I think that’s the main thing. I swear, sometimes you talk just like her.”

“You have her energy,” Sherlock continues, and John wants to kiss the man for being such a wonderful sport. He knows Sherlock still feels inexplicable guilt, even as they’ve progressed their relationship into a couple. He knows Sherlock has a difficult time talking about the subject, but the fact that he talks about it like it’s the easiest thing in the world when someone brings Mary up… John loves him. “She was quite the lively woman.”

“You’re clever,” John says, his voice now a whisper. “She was intelligent, could always see through a lie and had a lense of reality.”

Rosie looks like she’s on the verge of tears. Sherlock rubs her back. “What is it?” the detective asks.

“No, no, it’s just…” She lets out a long breath. “Everyone at school always talks about their mothers. And- And that made me more upset that I couldn’t relate to them.” A small smile forms on Rosie’s lips. “I’m glad I can… that I can learn about Mum. And just knowing that I’m somewhat like her-” Rosie sniffles, smiling through her tears. “It makes me so happy.”

John pulls Rosie in for a tight hug, striving not to shed tears himself. He kisses her blonde curls. “You’re a lot more like her than you think. She’ll always be a part of you and I want you to never forget that.”

Sherlock seems hesitant on joining in on the affection, but Rosie huffs and pulls him in by his arm sleeve. “‘Lock, get in here.”

Sherlock chuckles at the nickname and joins in, wrapping his long arms around the both of them.

They stay like that for a while, just the three of them.

*•*•*•*

Tags: @a-victorian-girl @whatnext2020 @totallysilvergirl @ninasnakie @thegildedbee @whodwantmeasaflatmate @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @sherlocknjohn221b @jawnn-watson @blogstandbygo @lisbeth-kk @holmesianlove @7-percent @itsonlytext @chinike @peanitbear @mary-johnlocked @bakerstreetbe @curlyjohnlock @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @ceceliajupe @ghostofnuggetspast @dw91165 @jolieblack

(Please let me know if you don’t wish to be tagged or if you’d like to be tagged.)

[holmesianlove]

Well I may have failed at NanoWriMo this year but last year I wrote this one which I am super proud of. Another one that suffered at the hand of the algorithm.

My 2022 Nano story DISTORTION

A mind bender that messes with season 2-4 Sherlock

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43404736

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 3) Chapter One

Father Figure! Sherlock x Teen! Reader

Chapter One: Surprise Return

Summary: Sherlock returns to London and sees John once more.

In Serbia…

            A man, long-haired and straggled, ran through the forest. A helicopter searched for him from above, and it shone its giant beam of light down onto the trees in search of the man. Infrared cameras caught his position, and gunshots rang out. The man was forced to stop and panted in exhaustion as the ache in his bones caught up to him at the same time as the men. Unable to go on any longer, he slumped to the ground.

l

            The man’s body swayed from chains embedded in the ceiling. His wrists were twisted above his head at an uncomfortable angle. His shirt was gone, and his skin was bruised by repeated blows from his captors.

            One of the men struck the captive again, and he gritted his teeth. The other man in the room remained at a desk with his feet up, simply watching the proceedings closely.

            “You broke in here for a reason. Just tell us why and you can sleep. Remember sleep?” sneered the torturer, pulling his captive’s hair back. He drew his hand back to strike with his metal pipe again, but he paused as the prisoner spoke quietly. “What?” he said in confusion, leaning in. The man whispered again.

            “Well? What did he say?” asked the other soldier.

            “He said that I used to work in the navy where I had an unhappy love affair,” said the torturer in bewilderment. The man continued to whisper.

            “What?” said the other soldier.

            “…The electricity isn’t working in my bathroom, and my wife is sleeping with our next-door neighbor,” exclaimed the torturer, but the captive was still going.

            “And?” asked the other.

            “The coffee maker! And? And? If I go home now, I’ll catch them at it! I knew there was something going on!” shouted the torturer angrily, abandoning his charge to storm out of the room as his rage took over his rational thought.

            The prisoner was left hanging from the chains.

            The other soldier stood. “So, my friend. Now it’s just you and me.” He tutted. “You have no idea the trouble it took to find you.” He pulled the captive’s head up and whispered to him in English. “Now listen to me: there’s an underground terrorist network active in London and attack is imminent. Sorry, but the holiday is over, brother dear.” Mycroft let the man’s head fall back. “Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes.”

l

In London, in Mycroft’s office…

            Sherlock leaned back in the barber’s chair as his hair was cut and his scraggy beard was shaved. He held the paper open before him, but he wasn’t paying attention to it. It had taken a glance to get any information he needed, anyways.

            “You have been busy, haven’t you?” remarked Mycroft. “Quite the busy little bee.”

            “Moriarty’s network—took me two years to dismantle it,” said Sherlock. “You know I couldn’t leave anything still going.” Not when (Y/N) could be threatened by any remnant of Moriarty and his influence.

            “And you’re confident you have?” said Mycroft.

            “The Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle,” said Sherlock. He glanced back at Mycroft. “And you know I wouldn’t leave this to chance. I made sure I took care of everything.”

            “Yes, yes, for (Y/N)’s sake,” said Mycroft, but despite his disdain for sentimentality, they were part of the Holmes family, so he understood what Sherlock meant. “And by doing so, you got yourself in deep there with Baron Maupertuis. Quite a scheme.”

            “Colossal. But worth it,” said Sherlock simply.

            “Anyway, you’re safe now.” Mycroft folded his hands together. “A small ‘thank you’ wouldn’t go amiss.”

            “What for?” said Sherlock casually.

            “For wading in,” said Mycroft. He wouldn’t ask for thanks for looking out for (Y/N) over the last two years. That was family. But going into Serbia personally? Mycroft would hold that over Sherlock until he figured out this terrorist business (and a bit after). “In case you’d forgotten, fieldwork is not my natural milieu.”

            The barber, having finished, left the room. Sherlock stood and faced Mycroft angrily.

            “Wading in?” he said sharply. “You sat there and watched me being beaten to a pulp!”

            “I got you out,” said Mycroft indignantly.

            “No, I got me out,” said Sherlock. “Why didn’t you intervene sooner?”

            “Well, I couldn’t risk giving myself away, could I? It would have ruined everything,” said Mycroft as if it was obvious.

            Sherlock glowered. “You were enjoying it.”

            “Nonsense,” said Mycroft.

            “Definitely enjoying it,” muttered Sherlock.

            “Listen, do you have any idea what it was like, Sherlock, going undercover and smuggling my way into their ranks like that?” Mycroft tsked. “The noise, the people…” He had a clear disgust for it all.

            Sherlock just crossed his arms and decided to let that part slide since Mycroft wasn’t going to apologize (Sherlock would be shocked if his brother did). “I didn’t know you spoke Serbian.”

            “I didn’t, but the language has a Slavic root with frequent Turkish and German loan words. Took me a couple hours,” said Mycroft.

            “You’re slipping,” said Sherlock, happy to have something to poke Mycroft with.

            “Middle age, brother mine. It comes to us all,” said Mycroft, turning around so Sherlock could change into fresh clothes. “Now, I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock. Is that quite clear?”

            Sherlock turned around and let Mycroft look at him. Pointedly, all he said was: “What do you think of this shirt?”

            “Sherlock,” said Mycroft in exasperation, and Anthea walked in beside him.

            “I will find your terrorist cell,” said Sherlock. “Just put me back in London.” Let me go back to (Y/N). “I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in, feel every quiver of its beating heart.”

            “One of our men died getting this information,” said Anthea, pulling out a folder. “All the chatter, all the traffic, concurs there’s going to be a terror strike on London—a big one.”

            “And what about John and (Y/N)?” said Sherlock, finally asking the question on his mind.

            “I’ve kept an eye on them, of course,” said Mycroft, gesturing to Anthea. She procured two more folders and handed them to Sherlock.

            Too nervous to open (Y/N)’s, Sherlock opted to look at John’s first. He found that John had gone greyer and grown a mustache. Sherlock disapproved. “Well, we’ll have to get rid of that.”

            “We?” said Mycroft.

            “He looks ancient. I can’t be seen wandering around with an old man,” said Sherlock, tossing John’s file to the side. He held (Y/N)’s and gazed at the name printed on it. (Y/N) (L/N). Not (Y/N) Moriarty. Good. Sherlock summoned his courage and flipped open the file.

            He looked at a picture of (Y/N)’s face dated the previous week. They were older. They’d been fifteen when he’d left, and now he was looking at a seventeen-year-old. (Y/N) was almost an adult. But there was something wrong about the picture. Sherlock recognized it immediately—their expression.

            It was the same as his when he relapsed and lost himself to drugs before he pulled himself out of addiction and properly took care of himself and his boredom. (Y/N) had an empty look in their eyes.

            Sherlock’s gaze snapped up to Mycroft’s. “I thought you were going to take care of them.”

            Mycroft didn’t respond and just looked at Anthea. She took her cue and left to leave the brothers to discuss family matters.

            “(Y/N) did not take your…absence well,” said Mycroft.

            “I saw them at the grave after my funeral,” said Sherlock. “I know.”

            “They have not moved on at all,” said Mycroft. He sighed, and though his sighs were usually those of exasperation, this was one of worry and tiredness. “Sherlock, after your ‘death,’ they wouldn’t eat. They barely slept. It took Dr. Watson and I quite some time to get them to do so. And even then, they often forget.”

            Sherlock’s heart clenched. (Y/N) wasn’t alright. They were suffering, and it was his fault. Even if he’d left to deal with Moriarty’s network—to protect them—it had still hurt them. “It’s been two years.”

            “They’ve improved somewhat, but they relapse into dangerous bouts of depression frequently,” admitted Mycroft. He laced his fingers. “I even ensure they had cases—safe, of course—to work on, but it didn’t seem to help.” He looked at Sherlock. “I’m sorry, Sherlock.” He wouldn’t apologize for anything he did to Sherlock, but (Y/N) was younger family, and just as he was protective of Sherlock from behind the curtain, he was the same way with (Y/N). He was sorry he couldn’t help them. “The doctor and I did the best we could.”

            “Then it’s good that I’m coming back,” said Sherlock, trying to keep his usual pragmatism, but he was worried now.

            (Y/N)’s mental health had always been fragile—the curse of being a genius in a world of idiots. They had been wary of people in the orphanage, pushed aside by adults who wanted to ignore their mind looking through them. Then, of course, the cases they and Sherlock had ended up on were…traumatizing, to put it lightly. But (Y/N) had always had Sherlock. He had watched for any serious signs of danger and taken care of them. But he hadn’t been there this time. It had been his absence that caused them this pain.

            “Have you done anything to prepare (Y/N) or John for your return?” said Mycroft.

            He sincerely hoped that (Y/N) found some stability again now that Sherlock was coming back, but he also knew that Sherlock coming back after so long being dead could also cause problems (and Mycroft didn’t want (Y/N)’s mental health to be any worse than it was).

            “Where’s John going to be tonight?” said Sherlock, ignoring Mycroft. His brother knew Sherlock had kept silent on his status being alive and not dead. It had been for John and (Y/N)’s safety.

            Mycroft looked at Sherlock disapprovingly. He knew Sherlock was going to go to John first because he was scared to see (Y/N) unwell because it was partly his fault. But he also knew he couldn’t stop his brother form doing what he wanted (and it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t go to (Y/N). Sherlock cared too much to leave them like this for long now knowing how they were.)

            “How would I know?” said Mycroft, deciding to be obtuse as ever.

            “You always know,” said Sherlock, knowing Mycroft as well as his brother knew him.

            “He has a dinner reservation in Marylebone Road. Nice little spot. They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint-Emilion, though I prefer the 2001,” said Mycroft. “And there is also a sweets shop that sells lollipops there.”

            “I know,” said Sherlock. He had bought (Y/N) their favorite lollipops from there many times.

            Anthea reentered and held out Sherlock’s Belstaff coat. He took it and slid it on.

            “Welcome back, Mr. Holmes,” she said.

            “Thank you,” said Sherlock sarcastically, facing his brother. “Marylebone Road, was it? I trust you can spare a car for me?”

            Mycroft tutted. “Anthea will escort you there. But then you’re on your own.”

            His brother could face John and (Y/N)’s reactions on his own. John’s reaction was easy enough to guess—anger. But Mycroft knew Sherlock could take a punch. However, he wanted (Y/N) and Sherlock to be alright soon. Neither was quite right without the other. Mycroft wasn’t one for guessing or hoping, but he did wish for everything to return to being as it should be.

            Sherlock followed Anthea to the car. And while he watched the streets go by to take him to John, all he could think of was (Y/N). His kid. Soon, everything would be as it should be. Him, John, and (Y/N)—family.

l

            “If you’ll have me, Mary, could you see your way, um…” John cleared his throat nervously. Trying to propose to the woman he loved was scarier than anything he’d ever done. “If you could see your way to—”

            “Sit, I think you’ll this vintage exceptionally to your liking,” said Sherlock, disguised with just a drawn-on mustache. He expertly interrupted John and Mary. “It has all of the qualities of the old with some of the color of the new.”

            John didn’t even look at Sherlock the Waiter and gritted his teeth. “No, sorry, not now, please.”

            “Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers, suddenly one is aware of staring into the face of an old friend,” said Sherlock, trying to prompt John to see him.

            “No, look, seriously, could you just…” John looked up, and his face fell.

            “Interesting thing, a tuxedo,” said Sherlock nonchalantly as if he wasn’t suddenly back from the dead. “Lends distinction to friends and anonymity to waiters.” John stood silently.

            “John?” said Mary in confusion as John tried to take deeps breaths. “John, what is it?”

            Sherlock cleared his throat and intelligently tried to defuse John. “Well, the short version is…not dead.” Or maybe not try to defuse anything. He coughed. “Bit mean springing it on you like that, I know. Could have given you a heart attack, probably still will. But in my defense, it was very funny.” John stared angrily. “Okay, not a great defense.”

            Mary’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, you’re—”

            “Oh, yeah,” said Sherlock.

            “Oh, my god,” said Mary.

            “Not quite,” said Sherlock.

            “You died, you jumped off a roof,” said Mary.

            “No,” said Sherlock.

            “You’re dead,” said Mary.

            “No, I’m quite sure, I checked,” said Sherlock. “Excuse me.” He dipped a napkin in their wine glasses and wiped away his mustache as John glowered. “Does yours rub off, too?”

            “Oh my god, oh my god,” exclaimed Mary. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

            Sherlock cleared his throat. “Okay, John, I’m suddenly realizing I probably owe you some sort of an apology.” John slammed his hand down on the table.

            Mary tried to soothe John. “Alright, John, just keep—”

            “Two years,” snapped John. He took a deep breath, but he didn’t calm down. “Two years! Hm? I thought—Mm…I thought you were dead. Now, you let me grieve. You let (Y/N) grieve. How could you do that?” Sherlock winced at the mention of (Y/N). “How?!”

            Sherlock coughed and tried to collect himself. “Wait, before you do anything that you might regret, one question, just let me ask one question.” He pointed to John’s mustache. “Are you really going to keep that?”

            John took a deep breath and chose violence. He grabbed Sherlock’s collar and pushed him to the ground roughly. Onlookers gasped, and Mary shot up from her seat. John didn’t care and just continued to throttle Sherlock.

l

            In a dingy little diner (they had gotten kicked out of the fancier restaurant for fighting), Sherlock attempted to explain himself to John without getting punched again. “I calculated—”

            “You know, for a genius, you can be remarkably thick,” snapped John, just cutting him off.

            “What?” said Sherlock.

            “No one cares how you faked it, Sherlock. I want to know why. For God’s sake, why?!” snapped John.

            “Because Moriarty had to be stopped. I had to protect (Y/N),” said Sherlock simply. “I needed to get rid of his network to protect them.”

            John relaxed slightly. “Fine, fine. Did anyone know?”

            “My brother, of course. And then Molly Hooper had to fake the documents for my death…and maybe a few people in my homeless network,” said Sherlock.

            “So just your bother, Molly Hooper, and a hundred tramps,” snapped John, back to being angry since he suspected Mycroft would know, but others knew before him and (Y/N)?

            “No, twenty-five at most,” said Sherlock, thinking he was fixing something.

            John launched across the table and grabbed Sherlock’s throat.

l

            In a shabby ice cream parlor, Mary crossed her arms and tapped her foot as John just glared at Sherlock as he dabbed a napkin on his broken lip. The night was just getting worse and worse.

            “Seriously, it’s not a joke? You’re keeping that?” said Sherlock, glancing at John’s mustache.

            John cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

            “Sure?” said Sherlock, questioning John.

            “Mary likes it,” said John.

            “Mmm…no she doesn’t,” said Sherlock.

            “She does,” said John.

            “She doesn’t.”

            John glanced at Mary, and she coughed.

            “Oh, don’t,” she said.

            “Oh, brilliant,” sighed John.

            “Look, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you,” said Mary.

            “Right, no, no, this is charming. I’ve really missed this!” snapped John. He groaned. “I’m surprised it’s not you and (Y/N) back at this.” He glanced at Sherlock. “Actually, I’m surprised (Y/N) isn’t here at all.” He frowned. “Where are they?”

            Sherlock was silent.

            “Sherlock,” said John. “Where’s (Y/N)?”

          �� “I haven’t seen them yet,” said Sherlock slowly.

            “What!” shouted John.

            “I haven’t told them yet,” said Sherlock guiltily.

            John reared back and punched Sherlock.

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

@awsedrftgyhujikol

@lxserthxngzzz

@forever1313

@mentallyunstablemanlover

[itsonlytext]

Until We Fall Asleep · only made us closer (two)

John, useless kidneys, John, useless kidneys, John, John, John. Isn’t that obvious?

so far we've seen sherlock and john decide to go back to the way they were. seems all rainbows and sunshine and pink bows now. right?

LOL

read chapter one - you both let go.

in this chapter, john visits more, mycroft is being mycroft, giles (gordon (ramsey)? gideon?) calls for the men's help, sherlock pines, and rosie learns a few words. and then.. well it wouldn't be my book if it WASN'T angsty let's leave it at that x

read the beginning down below, then take yourself to finish reading it on ao3.

THERE WAS A 150% increase in the number of John’s visits to 221B in the last two weeks than at all in the two months right after Mary; Sherlock calculated it.

If anything, it had become the way it used to be, the way it was in the small space before Rosie and after his resurrection.

His dinners were far less lonely (John forced him to eat; he said that Rosie needed to see them all together at the table in order for her to eat. Sherlock was fairly certain that was a lie but, for the first time in months, he didn’t need to be persuaded to eat), 221B felt lived in what with the constant buzz of obscenely bright plastic pianos, plushies that squeaked (which Sherlock was convinced were supposed to be dogs toys), teethers, (god-awful) nursery rhymes on the TV, and a constant stream of babbling that came with the discovery of language (more, no, dada, yeah), and, most of all, John.

(Oh God, John.)

He occupied, filled and cured any cracked crevice within Sherlock - he did it every time he walked in and sat in his armchair with a comfortable smile.

The tangible cloud of stiffness and guilt that loomed above their heads blew away seamlessly, John now always waited for him outside the clinic after his triweekly appointments (something for Sherlock to look forward to), their conversations stretched out for hours instead of moments, and their tense politeness vanished.

And, a week after the {American/French} Casserole incident, Mrs Hudson started cooking for them again.

Sherlock supposed, in that sense, he was getting better. They were getting better.

A nighttime breeze rolled smoky clouds over Baker Street. The little lamp by the TV was on and so were the kitchen lights.

Sherlock was trying not to smoke.

He had situated himself at the desk by the window, in his pyjamas, hovering over the piles of papers that almost toppled over into his mug of cold coffee.

For a moment, he considered phoning Lestrade to see if there was a case but, he knew that no matter the situation, it would be boring - John wouldn’t be able to come, he’d have to watch Rosie. Donovan would be there.

Asking Molly Hooper if she had reserved any uniquely spare body parts was an option, but right now she’d be on a date with one of her work friends. (Jasmine? June? He couldn’t quite remember her name.)

And even if Sherlock did have a brilliantly electric triple murder or a fascinating sternocleidomastoid to experiment on, he still wouldn’t be smoking.

That would cancel all the fun out.

He wondered what normal people did, when they wanted to smoke but couldn’t - he supposed they weakly succumbed to the temptation after a lame attempt at tooth picking or nicotine patching or using those silly, flashing electronic things.

In the twenty-six minutes he had been sitting there, he had managed to unconsciously roll six dozen strips of paper.

Although he knew the detrimental and likely fatal consequences of smoking whilst on dialysis, Sherlock searched it up anyway and decided to create a list of pros and cons.

Pros: He’d be happy. Really happy.

Cons: Significant increase in mortality rate, hypertension, John would be disappointed in him, respiratory failure, cardiovascular disease.

It was a difficult decision to make. (He spent the last two hours going back and forth.)

He had just concluded his sixth week of ‘temporary’ dialysis - one week over what was predicted for him. No one except Mycroft knew this fact (of course he did) and he didn’t feel like lingering on it for too long. But every day after that fifth week, a small tally would scratch onto a wall in his mind palace.

The idea of permanently damaged kidneys threatened him, even frightened him, but he had made a promise, all those months ago, to Mary that he’d do whatever it’d take to save John Watson, no matter the consequence. And he had. So whenever Sherlock sensed that petrifying wave of dread near, he remembered that in return for potentially useless kidneys, he had John. Which, to put in perspective, was infinitely better. He often felt better after that.

read the rest of chapter two - only made us closer on ao3.

YEAHHHH WE MADE IT

we made it to chapter two. thank you for all the overwhelming love i recieved on the first chapter. let me know if you'd like to be tagged or removed from the list:

tags: @nathan-no@helloliriels@dragonnan@strawberrywinter4@with-a-ghost-mr-holmes@7-percent@totallysilvergirl@inevitably-johnlocked@meetinginsamarra @pressurepoint221 @gaylilsherlock @catlock-holmes @gaypiningshit @johnlocky @a-victorian-girl @astudyinlaura @discordantwords

[windforkthewriter]

Notice! Artist Writer Collab!

I have put together a children's book called, Are you my daddy? Which is a parody from Terry Pratchett wonderful where is my cow, heavily edited by Sam vimes.

Young Rosie Watson is looking for her daddy. Can you help her?

My little picture book is in need of an illustrator. If you're interested message me. I can give you a look at what it looks like<3 I would love it if you or any friends are interested.

Let's make this the best Parentlock ever.

Please reblog to spread it around.

[leosficlist]

Parentlock Part Three!!

I truly cannot get enough of reading about this little family

Parentlock List 1

Parentlock List 2

An Addition of Love by Schattengestalt

11.5k words “Sherlock and John spend Christmas Eve together at Baker Street. They both want this Christmas to be perfect, but they are still surprised when it turns out even better than they both have envisioned it.”

notes: getting together, adoption papers, first time

Flowers in His Hair by Reveling_in_mayhem

3.6k “He stepped closer and Sherlock seemed to hold his breath. John reached a hand up to his hair before gently pulling the dandelion free. “It’s just you still had a flower in your hair,” he explained as he held up the item in question.”

notes: soft sherlock, fluffy

In July of This Year by yaycoffee 12k words

“There is an oft-cited experiment discussed in classrooms and cocktail parties alike, a convenient analogy when one endeavors to make a point about not noticing the obvious until it is inevitable. Simply, if you place a frog on a hot plate, it will jump off immediately, but if you put that frog on a cool plate and turn up the heat slowly, slowly, it will simply burn. Or: How these two idiots melt together, finally.”

You See The Leaving, I See The Coming Back by NutMeag83 3k words

“John is miserable and lonely out in the suburbs in the place he once shared with Mary. He slowly begins spending more time at Baker Street to see how it would feel to move back.”

A Family Trait by CumberQueer 12.6k

“Set post-S4, John is back at home with Rosie in Baker Street. He's working on a lot of things, including building his trust with Sherlock once more. An emergency shift at the clinic jumpstarts the process, forcing John to leave Rosie at home with only Sherlock to watch her. Sherlock does his best and John makes a mistake, but everyone is happy in the end.”

Swan Dive by hitlikehammers 8k words

Sherlock has definitely leapt blindly into worse things. Or: Five Times Sherlock Acted as a Parent, and One Time He Didn't Have Any Reason for Acting at All.

notes: scenes of rosie & sherlock through the years

On The Nature of Daylight by iridescentrey 3.8k words

Rosie enjoys Sherlock's stories of the adventures, deductions and chasing bad guys, she does. But sometimes a love story would be a nice change. And not just any love story, a REAL one

Without Complexities or Pride by Raina_At 1.6k words

Love is what happens when you look and look and finally see.

notes: getting together, sherlock's side of falling in love

Da-Da by Anonymous_me 1.7k words

Rosie is learning to use her words.

Did You Ever Think? by orphan_account 1.2k

“Shh, shh... That's right, I've got you.”

Sherlock swallows hard around the lump in his throat and hugs a pillow to his chest.

“Don't you know much I love you? I would do anything for you,” John murmurs upstairs, voice crackling over the baby monitor. Sherlock knows that John knows he can hear him. Knows that John's words are for both of them.

notes: quick little coming together

Don’t Read The Last Page by Raina_at 4.5k words

What does it mean to be brave?

Or: Sherlock and John spend New Year's Day with a grumpy toddler and have a long overdue conversation.

Father by NomdePlume 5.5k words

Sherlock never realized how good he would be at this parenting thing. Or how much he would love it. (post t6t, pre-tfp)

notes: gen, sherlock has feelings for john but this focuses on his devotion to Rosie.

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Urban Life

Being London born and bred, she knew the city’s sounds by heart. Cars honking or backfiring. Large groups of tourists chatting and laughing in the famous sites of the city. Shouts and arguments from the pubs. Swans and ducks cackling in St. James’s Park. They were all a part of her, which became apparent every time she visited her grandparents in the countryside. 

As a little girl, she slept through everything, sound or no sound, but as she grew older, she had trouble falling asleep without all the bustle from the streets of her beloved city. It used to pass after a day or two, though.

When she was nine, her teacher gave the class an assignment about sounds, smells, or tastes and what one or more of them, reminded the children of.

She asked her father for advice on what she should choose, or whether she should go with all the subjects.

“It’s really up to you, love,” John said. “Perhaps avoid the smells. You know far too many disgusting ones that might be difficult to explain. And your teacher might think you’re exaggerating and making things up.”

He looked over at his husband who were currently measuring something green with…well, something foul smelling.

Rosie’s papa didn’t notice any of this, because his sole focus was on the delicate experiment that could solve the case he was investigating.

“Yeah, I think I will go for the sounds,” Rosie said after a few moments.

“Good decision,” John praised just as steam rose from Sherlock’s concoction, and a terrible stench made John and Rosie run to the sitting room and open both windows while coughing loudly.

***

Rosie’s teacher was not entirely satisfied with her assignment. She made her stay in the classroom after she had excused the other children.

“This task was supposed to be truthful and not fictional,” she said.

“I know that. And it is,” Rosie protested. 

“You can’t seriously mean that police sirens and lights remind you of your parents and your uncle.”

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

“I refuse to have a lying pupil in my class! I’ve called your father and he will be here any minute, so we can solve this,” the stubborn teacher said.

Rosie rolled her eyes and wanted to tell her teacher, who was new, that calling John or Sherlock would do nothing to help the woman’s cause.

As it where, both her parents came to their precious girl’s rescue, and left a befuddled and slightly dazed teacher in their wake.

“How was I supposed to know that her parents are the famous detective and that doctor, and that the uncle is a DI at the Met?” she complained to one of her colleagues later.

She didn’t get much support.

“If you hadn’t been so reluctant to learn the kids’ surnames, you wouldn’t have found yourself in this mess. Watson-Holmes is a dead giveaway in my book,” the colleague grinned. 

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@gay-ass-bitch @acumberlockedgirl @williamholmeswatson

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[demonicangeling]

FTH2023 for @chriscalledmesweetie

Digital art using Procreate. Please do not reupload.

Breaking my radio silence barely before the year end! Here's my FTH23 artwork for @chriscalledmesweetie based on their adorable fic, The Defenestration of Rosie Watson-Holmes (do check it out if you haven't read it! You're in for a sweet treat <3)

Why exactly is our little bumblebee being held out a window? (And by our hopefully not-too-menacing consulting detective?) Why is Mrs. Hudson smiling while looking on? No injured infants or volatile geniuses in this fluffy domestic fic!

(An earlier version did mistakenly use 221b wallpaper, which would have made for a very different kind of genre...)

Thanks very much to chriscalledmesweetie for bidding, and a huge round of cheers and thanks to all FTH creators and bidders this year! It's been a blast wrapping up the holidays and catching up on all the new posts and art.

Tagging (gosh it's been too long...): @jobooksncoffee @totallysilvergirl @calaisreno @helloliriels

[i-am-adlocked]

Sherlock Holmes: Detective, Friend, Father

A series of short Adlock one-shots of Sherlock dealing with being a father, Irene dealing with being a mother, and them dealing that they have to be parents. These will be really short chapters. Around less than 500 words, probably. I know, very unusual for me. But these are prompts I have gathered from the members of my Adlock discord server. Just wanna write short fics while I'm still writing the Karachi fic I haven't published yet.

Tags: parenthood, parent!lock, parentlock, sherlock dealing with being a father, irene dealing with being a mother, they both are terrified but they do their best, the reason irene kept nero will be revealed, fluff, well a little bit, the first few chapters will be angst, hurt/comfort, it'll be great in the end though, dw sherlock will love nero so much, the reason irene even got pregnant in the first place will be revealed too

aka

I was asleep when the members of my Adlock Discord Server were discussing about Sherlock as a dad. I read their discussion, and one hour later, I finished writing and was posting the first chapter of this fic. It just came to my head. It's their fault 🤣

I told them I'll probably write the next chapter tomorrow but my boyfriend is busy gaming and I was bored so I accidentally wrote the second chapter.

[randomquadballpun]

DAY 58 (attempt no 10)

When John arrived home on Wednesday after a too long shift at the surgery, he opened the downstairs door to a silent house - which was not unexpected, since Rosie was spending the afternoon with Molly and Mrs Hudson was visiting her sister for a couple of days. He closed the door behind himself, shrugged off his jacket and had just set his foot on the bottom step of the stairs when the gunshots started.

Needless to say, he took the stairs in record time, bursting into their living room just in time to catch Sherlock in his pyjamas, Johns gun still raised and staring back at him with wide eyes.

"What the hell are you doing?", he demanded, the adrenaline rushing through his body so furiously that he could barely hear anything above the sound of his own frantic heartbeat in his ears and the echo of the gunshots still bouncing around the insides of his skull.

"John? You are home early!" Sherlock slowly lowered the weapon, allowing John to ply it out of his hands after he had rushed across the room. "I thought ... Rosie and Mrs Hudson are not in today ..."

"And so what?", John turned around angrily - gun still in hand - to muster the new set of holes along their living room wall. "The wall did look at you the wrong way? The room needed some redecoration? Other people go for some furniture DIY or new wall paint instead!"

"Other people are boring."

"But they also aren't in danger of getting into massive trouble over an illegal handgun!"

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, while John disassembled the gun and returned it to its safe up on the high shelf of their bedroom wardrobe. Sherlock followed him to the other room like a scolded puppy.

"I was troubleshooting", he mumbled.

"You were what?"

"Troubleshooting."

John stared at his boyfriend, slack-jawed - trying to wrap his head around the other mans sheer stupidity.

"I did it a couple of times in university and you would be surprised how effective it can be from time to time."

John continued to stare at him.

One corner of Sherlocks mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, before he was able to wrestle it back into an innocent expression.

John stared on.

Sherlock shifted from one foot to the other, clearly struggling to keep up his earnest face at this point.

"You are such a twat", John uttered softly.

Sherlocks grin, no longer content with being contained behind a mask of insincere innocence, finally broke free.

"And an absolute berk on top, that's what you are!"

"I made sure that no one else was in", he reminded mildly. "You were supposed to be meeting up with Greg after work", he sounded almost petulant now, even though the smile softened his accusatory tone by a lot.

"Greg is sick with the flu", John explained with an eye roll, pushing past Sherlock to get back into the living room. He stopped in front of the couch to take a closer look at the damage.

"And don't believe that you are in the all-clear yet, just because Rosie wasn't here. She is clever, she'll notice the holes in no time."

Sherlock crowded in behind him, stooping low until he could rest his chin on Johns shoulder, his hands slung loosely around the other mans middle. "We can move the skull poster to cover it up."

John snorted. "Sure, and then she will ask you why you moved it. And then what?"

The detective let out a little curse. "I am rubbish at lying to her."

"You really are!"

There was a moment of companionable silence before John reluctantly freed himself from Sherlocks warm hold to take care of the work bag that he had dropped by the door when rushing inside.

"This is on you! You shot the wall and you taught her to be so bloody observant!"

Another sigh. "I will tell her that it was for redecoration purposes ... adding ... texture to the wall. 3-D wall art!"

Another snort. "Yeah, sure." He picked up the bag and began walking back into the bedroom. "Oh, and she is so going to snitch on you to Mrs Hudson."

That triggered a more colourful curse. With a grin, John put away the backpack and changed into more comfortable clothes.

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Troubleshooting, part 27/?

-> That's it, that's the joke I have been working towards since the start. Troubleshooting. I am very proud of myself, let me tell you. Take these two being silly during these trying times.

-> Next part can be read here.

-> Until then you can start reading this series at DAY 0 (tumblr/ao3) or read the previous snippet here.