My Dearest Friend, My Dearest Love

Dedicated to Hucklebarry in honor of her birthday! (Also, it's my very first Johnlock one-shot! Woohoo!)

...

'John, why is it that Americans are so stupid?' bemoans Sherlock, and I chuckle lightly as Rosie scampers into the room from the kitchen and hops on my lap. I sit back in my beloved armchair to give Rosie more space, and she snuggles into my chest as Sherlock resumes complaining.

'The radicals over there refuse to wear a mask and claim it's a violation of their human rights. It's so stupid! In their self-righteousness, they're killing other people in the process and increasing the worldwide death toll!'

'I wouldn't say killing, Sherlock', I reply, amused at my friend's latest rant about the Americans' refusal to comply with their government's guidelines. 'Most people recover from the coronavirus. Besides, it's not like everyone is refusing to wear a mask.'

'But they have the highest number of cases', Sherlock retorts petulantly. 'If they would just take the time to put on a mask, which isn't that hard to do, we'd all be out of this pandemic quicker and we'd get more cases. It's because of them that we're in more of a mess than we should be.' Rosie giggles at my friend's response, and I hug her tightly.

'There are people who can't wear a mask, you know. One of my patients has asthma. If she wore a mask, she'd suffocate.'

'Then tell her to not go outside. Problem solved.'

'What about groceries?'

'Get them delivered.'

'Bills?'

'Pay them online.'

'Invitations?'

'Decline them. You know this, John', he adds dispassionately. I, on the other hand, roll my eyes.

'Appointments?'

'Schedule them virtually. Don't you meet up with your patients on Zoom?' Sherlock smirks at this latest rebuttal. Rosie cranes her little head around and smiles in agreement.

I sigh, trying futilely to think of something that would stump Sherlock, but I know it's a moot point when he predictably tells me that whatever I come up with will easily have a valid argument.

'Fine', I concede good-naturedly, accepting my defeat. 'You win, as always. Listen. I'll be back in a bit. I've got to put Rosie to bed. It's her bedtime.'

'But Daddy! It's only seven!' Rosie whines, speaking for the first time since joining us.

'Rosie —' I start warningly.

'Oh, let her stay up a little more', Sherlock says with a dismissive wave of his hand, and I smile at how far my friend has come since the whole ordeal with his sister. I know my friend has a soft spot for Rosie, but I never mention this to him. Especially since her fifth birthday, he's been involving her more and more in his oftentimes questionable science experiments. He usually tries to get her to solve different beginner-level logic puzzles (which to my surprise she does brilliantly). He doesn't realise that I notice these little things, but I do. I notice how his eyes light up whenever she sits in his lap or when she makes little, almost tiny but helpful deductions whenever we're discussing a case at length in the main room. I notice how he never shoots holes these days in the wall with his revolver out of fear of scaring Rosie. I notice how excited he gets when Rosie somehow understands what he's thinking or when she reads someone's intentions so well that it blows him away. I notice how he gets upset whenever there's something wrong with her, and I notice how worried he gets whenever Rosie's sick. I notice how protective he is of her, going as far as to wash his hands at least thrice when he comes home, and I notice when he immediately rushes to her aid when she gets hurt.