#parentlock fluff

Decided to draw some parentlock cus I remembered Rosie existed lol

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

           Lily and Lulu’s eyes bounced between their father and younger brother, Grady, wondering who would win the battle of wits slash staring contest: the 45-year-old or the 4-year-old. The girls were convinced no one could win against their father, no one ever dared challenge his intellect.

           The girls were convinced no one could win against their father, no one even dared.

           Except maybe their uncle…and mum.

But that was it.

           Oh, and their godfather.

           Other than that.…

           But Lily and Lulu watched as their father narrowed his eyes at Grady, who didn’t back off, mirroring his father’s pose in perfect detail. Except Grady had brown hair, like their mum, whereas their father had black hair, like his daughters.

           “So you’re saying Jupiter, the largest planet, a so-called gas giant, named after the chief god in Roman mythology, is so large that it would swallow 1,300 earths? And that there is a million-year-old storm that’s known as the red spot would destroy earth in a manner of seconds?”

           Grady looked deep into his father’s eyes, a perfect reflection of the mercurial, pale depths, “yup,” popping the “p” the way their father always did.

           “And that’s relevant, why?”

           “Mum says it’s important,” Grady answered, unfazed.

           “And Uncle said to mention the ubiquity of the ecliptic if you told us that astronomy wasn’t important,” Lily, the oldest chimed in.

           Her father looked at her, his eyes narrowing even further though he remained seated in his armchair, wearing a housecoat, long legs stretched out in front of him. Grady sat on the coffee table across from him, Lily nestled under one arm, Lulu under the other, their schoolbooks strewn around the floor, forgotten.

           “Well, you can tell your Uncle to f—” he was interrupted as the front door opened.

           5:17, on the dot.

           “Kids!” a female voice called out, followed by the sound of heavy bags being thrown on the hardwood floor, “Sherlock?”            Sherlock and his kids scrambled, the girls practically diving towards their books to look engrossed, Sherlock grabbing Grady and pulling him off the coffee table and onto his lap, lest his wife see that he let the kids climb on the furniture. He quickly took stock, making sure the girls looked like they were busy doing homework, while he and Grady were casually reading nearby. “In the den, Molly,” he raised voice, catching the mug of cold tea that Grady tipped over as he tried get more comfortable in his father’s lap.

           Molly Holmes-Hooper walked in, running a hand over her hair, bundled up in beige pants a white sweater with cherries sowed into it. She looked immediately suspicious as her kids and husband looked much too concentrated on their tasks.

           “Hello darling,” Sherlock unraveled his great body from the armchair, Grady haphazardly thrown over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold in a practiced and familiar move, stepping over their daughters to come to Molly. “How was work?” he asked, leaning down to kiss Molly, Grady laughed heartily over his father’s shoulder.

           “Hi,” she responded, smiling against her husband’s lips, the other hand stroking her son’s back. She pulled back to crouch down by her girls, kissing each on the cheek. “What were you all up to?”

           “Oh, you know,” Sherlock cleared his throat, nudging Lulu with his bare foot, “girls are busy with their studies. This old fellow and I were reading. All perfectly seemly.”

           “Mmhmm,” Molly hummed, stroking their daughter’s curly black hair, “I’m gonna go wash up, you all need to think about what you want for dinner.”

           With a final kiss on each daughter’s forehead, patting Grady’s butt as he lounged upside down on Sherlock’s shoulder, she walked out of the den and headed upstairs to their bedroom, grinning to herself.

           Nearly 12 years of marriage and he still made her feel giddy. The sight of him with their children always a warmth, an endless pleasure.

           Especially when they tried to conspire together, pretending they hadn’t been goofing off or lounging about in her absence. She knew that it wasn’t because she was strict or a taskmaster, it was just fun for them to try and fool her, and she loved watching them all scramble to set a stage.

           Exhausted, she sat on the edge of her and Sherlock’s enormous bed, stretching her neck, her increasingly arthritic finger joints aching. She looked at the picture she kept on her bedside, and grinned unabashedly, her exhaustion disappearing. It was her favorite picture in the universe, the greatest image and moment to have ever been captured. Incomparable. Perfect. Fantastic.

           Hers.            The picture had been taken by her during a random outing with the kids, enjoying the combination of good weather on a Saturday, they had taken a picnic basket to a nearby orchard and enjoyed the day together. The picture had been spontaneous, a moment in time, born of the photographer within Molly that had come to live when she’d given birth to the twins.

           Sherlock had been wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt, his curly black hair tussled by the wind, having just moments before been knocked down on his side by Grady on the picnic blanket. Sherlock’s head was in Lulu’s lap, her fingers in his hair as she grinned down at him. Sherlock held himself up on his elbow, Grady straddling his hip, held securely by Sherlock’s strong hand, Lily leaning towards her father, seconds away from receiving a kiss, both of their lips pursued.

           Everyone in the picture was grinning, the memory so fresh and beautiful that Molly could practically hear the kids’ giggles and squeals of delighted protests as Sherlock chased and tickled them, one by one.

           He often asked why she loved that particular picture so much. She thought maybe it was the vitality in the picture, the essence of love and life. Maybe it was the motion, everyone caught in a different moment that seemed to capture their personalities. Maybe it was the adoration on her kids’ face as they all focused their attention on him. Maybe it was the pure joy on Sherlock’s face, her fascination with the man he’d become now.

           She also found herself intrigued by the picture he kept on his bedside. While Molly had numerous ones of Sherlock or the kids, he kept just one. It was a photo of Molly, another unplanned random moment capture during the twins’ baptism. The expression on her face was pure bliss and adoration, contentment beyond words. She knew Sherlock always assumed she’d been looking at their babies, but her dirty secret was that she’d been watching him at that moment, one baby in each arm, a young father, completely smitten and wrapped around his little girls’ fingers.

Happiness filled her endlessly, and the sight of her barefoot husband, wearing his housecoat over navy blue trousers and white shirt, casually leaning against the doorjamb, watching her with those shrewd eyes, made her sigh with contentment. 

All was well. 

"Daddy, I'm tired," Matilda tugs at John's arm, and he turns to her and smiles.

"I really don't think we're going to get a cab in this state, Tillie." John is grass-stained and mud-spattered, as are we all after our little turn in the park that turned into tag that turned (somehow) into a mud fight. "Still, I think I might give you a lift." John drops to one knee, and Matilda hops onto his back. John rises to standing again, and they both shift about to get their bearing. "Comfy?"

Matilda nods, "Mmmyep!" She grins at me, "Bab's the caboose!"

Laugh and give her plait a flick, "Dreadful child. You two bully me horribly." 

Matilda giggles and gives my shoulder a magnanimously sympathetic pat, "It's all right, Bab. Here, you can hold my hand, so you don't get lost."

I take her muddy little hand and kiss it, "Thank you, Tillie."

John sort of prances in place, "Come on, lovelies. Let's get ourselves home. I've got this funny feeling that bath time is going to take ages tonight." 

I make them a little bow, "By all means, lead the way John."

Parentlock is my weakness.  For you, my dear Sally!  Hope you enjoy!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

“Arrrrr!  Avast!  Let him go!”  Captain Mattie shouted from her position high atop the coffee table, pointing her plastic sword at her sworn enemy, the evil Hook-Eye Molly (neither Sherlock or Molly were sure where that name had come from, but Mattie was insistent upon it). 

“Never!  He’s my prisoner!”  Molly replied, waving her sword back and forth and then laughing evilly.  Sherlock couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face, as he sat on the floor in front of the couch with his hands tied in front of him with his scarf.