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
Relationship: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson & Rosie Watson
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?”
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.
“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.
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?”
“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.
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