#fff349

Sherlock trails off and pinches the bridge of his nose. John’s stomach churns from worry and concern, and he makes his way over to where Sherlock is sitting. He kneels in front of him, grabbing his hands and kisses the knuckles.

“Tell me,” he urges softly.

Before Sherlock can open his mouth, a tiny voice is calling from the top of the stairs.

“Papa. They’re still here.”

John’s heart clenches when he hears his daughters tear-filled voice.

“I’ll go, Sherlock,” he says and kisses his forehead before making his way upstairs.

“Daddy!”

Rosie’s happiness at seeing him, fills John’s chest with love for this little girl who lights up his and Sherlock’s life on a daily basis.

“Rosebud, what’s the matter? You’re supposed to sleep at this hour.”

Her happy expression changes immediately. Tears stream down her flushed cheeks and her bottom lip quivers.

John scoops her up in his arms with more effort than last month. At the age of six, Rosamund Watson-Holmes is heavier than she looks.

“She inherited your sturdy bones.”

Sherlock’s voice in his mind is teasing, and John shakes his head to tend to the matter at hand.

When Rosie is safely back in her bed, she pleads for John to take a very good look under her bed and in her wardrobe.

“There are monsters,” she whispers, her eyes wide with both excitement and fear.

“Sweetheart, there are no such thing as monsters. Not for real.”

“I can hear and see them!” his stubborn daughter insists, so John searches the room, and comes up emptyhanded.

“Not a monster in sight!” he proclaims triumphantly.

Rosie looks sceptically at him, but her eyelids are getting heavier by the second, and when John wraps the duvet around her and hums the tunes of a lullaby he used to sing when she was smaller, she finally drifts off.

***

“So, what’s this nonsense about Molly?” John asks when he joins Sherlock on the sofa some minutes later.

Sherlock makes himself comfortable with his head in John’s lap, and John cards his fingers through the silky curls relishing the proximity.

“Molly picked Rosie up at school today since I had to help Gerard with closing the case. Apparently, our dear friend took it upon herself to educate our precious daughter by reading an illustrated edition of Frankenstein to her. And no, not a child-friendly copy.”

“I see. Molly’s sense of humour is a bit morbid, but so is ours.”

“Quite, but the difference is that we are able to censure the grisly bits where Rosie is concerned. Molly clearly has no boundaries in that department,” Sherlock huffs.

“True. Her awkwardness in social situations is legendary, which most likely has to do with her job. Being surrounded by dead people all day long – “

“Oh, hello, have we met? I deal with corpses just as regularly as Molly.”

“You do, my love, but there’s a difference. Who waits for her when she gets home? A cat. Have you ever heard of friends other than us?”

“I suppose not.”

“She’s lonely, Sherlock, and I won’t have any part in removing Ro from her life. It will destroy her, not to mention our daughter. She’s her godmother after all. I’ll have a talk with her, alright?”

“Fine,” Sherlock replies, though it’s clear that he needs more convincing, and John gets an idea.

***

“What are you doing?” Rosie asks Sherlock when she comes back from school the following day.

Sherlock is wearing his safety goggles and the thick rubber gloves he uses on his more toxic experiments. Said experiments are normally performed inside 221C these days, but this charade is all for Rosie’s benefit.

“I have created an anti-monster spray,” Sherlock declares and retrieves a spray bottle from the kitchen table.

Rosie’s eyes go wide with surprise, and when Sherlock has removed his gloves and goggles, she launches herself at him and hugs him tightly.

“You are the best!” she exclaims and kisses his cheek.

“It was actually Daddy’s idea,” Sherlock says softly and cradles her face with his right hand.

“Really? That’s brilliant!”

“Did someone call my name?” John asks from the doorway.

Sherlock snorts, but his fond smile doesn’t fool John.

***

That night, Rosie’s room gets a few well-placed sprays of the concoction Sherlock made, which smells like freshly cut grass and a hint of honey.

“Are they gone now?” Rosie asks before Sherlock turns out the light.

“Oh, yes,” Sherlock assures her.

“Most definitely,” John concurs. “No one can withstand Papa’s chemical magic. Sweet dreams, Rosebud.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes at him, but he makes sure only John sees it.

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“What an idiot…” he murmured. The only words that were comprehensible to his ears then the man wobbled.

Jun possessed a good reflex when breaking a fall. He caught Tsukasa just in time before he hit the floor.

He didn’t hurt himself, did he? He needed some water.

Using his lap as Tsukasa’s pillow he inspected any injury on his head and lower limbs, except for his right hand that was swollen. Just when he looked back to his face, the man lying on his thighs gazed at him with his enormous eyes. That was when Jun noticed the beauty mark, the mole under his right eye. Tsukasa quickly moved away from him. Still unsteady, but more awake.

They heard a pair of steps walking, then several taps on the door.

“Coach Akeuraji, are you all right?”

Jun stood up and opened the door slightly, wary of others who could hear.

“Schinichiro…”

Is the party over?

“Oh, Jun, you are also here? I suspected that Coach Akeuraji was in the room… after he… after they …”

“I am here,” Tsukasa answered raising his left hand. He was seated now leaning on the mattress.

“Coach Futaba and Mr. Smith thought you could hold your liquor. Coach Jakuzure gave them a dressing down.”

“Are they gone?” Tsukasa asked.

“Yes. They left already. I am… apologies, Coach Akeuraji. I didn’t anticipate that there was a malice intent on their part.”

“What happened, Schinichiro?”

Tsukasa answered him instead.

“We were drinking. Well, I had a non-alcoholic beverage with me. I told them that alcohol is not an option for me. They took it as a joke. To appease them, I drank a little wine. One of them said something about... oh well, you,” he glanced at Jun then sighed. He continued as he looked down on the floor avoiding Jun’s face this time. “I lost my control and hit one of them on the face. I didn’t want it to escalate so I hid here… I didn’t know that you were here.”

“Oh, they said something about me…” was all Jun could say.

“The reason you ran away from skating… it made me angry.” Tsukasa furrowed his eyes.

Jun looked at Coach Sonidori asking for guidance. Why would Tsukasa Akeuraji defend him after all those instances where he mocked his student, Inori Yuitsuka, taunting him to ditch her and instead come back to ice skating because Tsukasa could?

“I don’t think I have anything to add,” the senior coach said, smiling. He left the two men in the guest room.

Tsukasa leaned his head on his arms. Jun touched his neck, a sign of his insecurity. He sat next to the other man.

Silence reign in until Tsukasa raised his head.

“Mr. Yodaka… you see…”

“Akeuraji… I want to know…”

“Ah, please, you go first.”

“No, you go first, please…”

“Ahhh, this is so awkward…” Tsukasa rubbed his face. Redness all over it and it was not due to alcohol anymore. He was as sober as he was when he arrived to the Sonidori residence.

“I agree.” His back found the mattress so he leaned on it.

“I still hate you, you know?” Tsukasa said, with his right eye open covering the other one with his arm. His mole looked like a star twinkling.

“Tell me all about it. We have time in the world.”

Tsukasa chuckled.