IN ARDUIS FIDELIS.

      ‟ If I was doing a bad job, I’d want you above anyone to tell me so and put me in my place. ” Not a comment he’d make lightly to anyone and, as if quickly realising that fact, the easy smile on Jack’s face faltered a little. Taking the sudden opportunity to lift his shirt up and pull it over his head, revealing his lean, scarred torso without the fanfare he’d seemed to promise, Jack went back to ruminating on the first point. ‟ Well, I know that if a limb is beyond saving, you lob it off. Got me through all these years before you turned up. ”

John couldn’t help the way Jack’s words tugged at his mouth and heart in equal measure. The depth of honesty and trust the pair of them had reached was rarely expressed through words alone, but it was well known by both of them. To find someone who knew and understood you so intimately, and have them weather the storms of life together with you… Both men knew the value of such a thing. And neither one of them ever expected to find it, much less keep it. 

Thoughts that were rudely interrupted by the sudden sight of one shirtless Jack Sparrow. Every mark, every scar, every tattoo was familiar to John. He still took his fill, eyes taking their time as they traveled across every inch of exposed skin. He snorted softly at Jack’s medical insights, shaking his head as he turned to his table of tools. 

“You can throw it away.” Came his almost too quick retort, accompanied with a blasé wave of his hand in the general direction of the bin. “It’s all nonsense anyway.”

Which, again, wasn’t strictly a lie. 

The godforsaken list had indeed been his sister’s idea, though the reasoning behind it differed somewhat. After finally admitting to Imogene that maybe he wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea of his relationship with John Watson being something other than platonic (for there was little he could hide from that woman), it was swiftly brought to his attention that in pursuing romantic entanglement with a single Father, the title of step-parent more often than not would come as part of the package deal. Joy unbounded.

In the end, the formation of the list had done little more than, well, list, funnily enough. Staggering facts such as, if you have a child, you’ll have to change nappies. You’ll have to feed them. You’ll have to child-proof your flat. You’ll have to deal with toys everywhere. You’ll have to put up with cbeebies on the telly. You’ll become incredibly attached to them. You’ll end up worrying about them constantly… And so on, and so forth. For all intents and purposes, it did it’s job. A fine list indeed.

Something Sherlock hadn’t expected it to do, though, was lead him the very real conclusion that, well— he did all of those things for Rosie already. 

“——Sorry.”

“ Bloody right it is, ” John muttered under his breath as he crumpled up the piece of paper, fully intending to bin it right then and there. He wasn’t about to admit to Sherlock ( or to himself, for that matter ) that he himself had made a similar list in his mind the night after Mary had told him the news. 

John had never imagined himself the marrying sort. He’d certainly never expected to father a child. It wasn’t that he’d been actively against it ; it simply hadn’t seem to be in the cards for him. One could argue that pursuing a career in the Army that kept him on tour until his late thirties hadn’t exactly increased his chances at family life much. Some measure of self-insight and honesty might lead to the very obvious conclusion that John liked his life as it had been for a long time ; free of any true restrictions, with a skill set that allowed him access to potentially dangerous situations, no questions asked.

Not exactly the sort of lifestyle befitting of a child. But now there was Rosie. And Sherlock. And their clients. And somehow, so far, they’d made it work. Somehow, amidst the mystery and mayhem, John was able to be a father, and a doctor, and be allowed to run around criminal London with Sherlock nearly every night. Who had proven to be a shockingly excellent godfather to Rosie. And John? John was happy. Guilt-ridden, ashamed, but happy even so.

The apology still took him completely off-guard. He turned around, crumpled piece of paper still in hand, to blatantly stare at the other man for a moment.

“You’ve just missed him, I’m afraid. Something about a hanging in Vauxhall. Seemed urgent from the way he bounded out. At least an eight, I’d say.”

Bugger.

“A joke, between my sister and I. She— seems to think it’s time for her to settle down and have children, whereas I believe she would be an atrocious mother.”

Well it’s certainly not all lies.

“It was all quite funny at the time but I can see how from your point of view it may seem rather…” He paused briefly then, swallowed, searching with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes for what word John would deem to be appropriate for the situation, “…insensitive. Given your parental status.”

The idea of Imogene as a mother was mortifying enough to briefly distract John from the first frissons of anger he’d felt just a moment ago. Searching Sherlock’s face, John found nothing but an expression he could safely label as genuine based on years of ( infuriating ) experience. He cleared his throat, lowering the piece of paper as he did so.

“ --------- Right. ”

An awkward silence descended on the room. They’d come a long way since the early days, but that didn’t mean either of them was particularly good at… this. Ironically, Sherlock still tended to be the more emotionally expressive one between the two of them.