Chapter Text
XXIV
He watches her smile as she moves over the dance floor, her feet sure of every step as she turns and twirls, and John smiles too. It doesn’t matter that she won’t notice, that her smile is for someone else.
He pulls his handkerchief from his trouser pocket to dab at wet eyes, and she dances, her curls bouncing. She is graceful and beautiful, and John wants to beg her to stop growing up and come back home, where she can always be his little girl. But then, neither of them has been to Baker Street in ages, not since she went off to Oxford five years ago. And John misses the flat, misses the buzzing of the city that never sleeps.
As the song ends, the room erupts into applause. She smiles again and bows, and he sees her reaching for her necklace. She never takes it off, and John knows it is a token of comfort to her to play with the small ring she got twenty-six years ago, and the heart that had been fused together out of the old wedding bands. And John wants to hug her, tell her how beautiful she is, how happy he is for her. Instead, he reaches out his hand, and long fingers find his own, squeeze them.
“Okay?” Sherlock’s voice is so quiet, only John can hear him.
He nods, turning to his husband. “Our little girl is married.” John whispers.
“She’s not so little anymore, John. She is of average height for a twenty-first century British woman .”
“Not what I meant.” John grins and lifts Sherlock’s hand to his mouth to kiss it.
“Dad?” Rosie steps towards him. “I’d like to dance with you next.”
There is no way he can say no to the bride, and so John lets himself be pulled towards the dance floor, taking her hand and wrapping the other arm around her middle. His daughter is just a bit taller than him in her high-heeled shoes, and he looks into her lovely face. She got lucky, inheriting most of her facial features from her mother, especially the smile, but he recognizes his own eyes in hers, the dark blue a stark contrast to her light blonde hair. When she moves, it’s all Sherlock, graceful in everything she does, confident in the way she acts and talks.
Nature and nurture.
She is going to go far in life, John knows. She had studied medicine, and has been working as a pathologist at Bart’s for four months now. She’s so much like Sherlock in her fascination with death, having taken part in many experiments much earlier than John might have liked. Sherlock often insists, though, that the need to help others with her work is something John instilled in her.
She’s like Mary in the way she looks, like John and Sherlock in the way she sees the world, but she is also her own person, vibrant and open, easily fascinated by small things and able to focus completely on her work, which she takes very seriously. And John is not sure if anyone deserves to be married to their daughter, but that is just the protective father in him. Tim is a good man, and John trusts Rosie’s judgement. She is all grown up now, and knows what she is doing.
They sway together in a waltz, and John is proud to say that he doesn’t step on her toes even once as they move, everyone watching.
“You look so happy, sweetheart.” She smiles at him, as if to prove he is right.
“I am, Dad. Can’t believe I’m actually married. The whole day has been a bit of a blur.”
“Weddings always are. And then you wake up, and you’ve been married for over two decades and your baby is all grown up.”
Rosie squeezes his hand, sensing how sentimental he is being tonight. “Oh dad. You’re old, just accept it.” She winks, and they burst into a giggle. This, she also inherited from John.
“Your Papa can’t wait to dance with you. That’s the only thing he had to abstain from in our marriage, dancing.”
“I know. I just thought I’d dance with you first, tease him a little.” Rosie grins, looking over John’s shoulder to where Sherlock is watching, tall and beautiful as he has always been, grey curls giving him an almost aristocratic look, his body swaying with the music, eager to move.
And John knows this man will always be there, observing and waiting, and John loves him so much, a deep love that has long gone beyond rose-tinted glasses and the excitement of a new relationship, a love that fulfils him and makes him whole. They have caught criminals together, raised their daughter against all odds, fought tooth and nail after John’s cancer diagnosis three years ago, and accepted the fact that Sherlock’s arthritis will soon silence the violin forever. In good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, just as they vowed to each other so long ago.
And that vow has now has been made between their daughter and her new husband, and John is so proud of her, of their family.
He steps aside as Rosie shares the next dance with her Papa, and John needs to sit down for a moment as they twirl over the dance floor, Rosie in her plain cream-coloured dress and Sherlock in a three-piece suit, elegant as always.
Later, when the music has switched from classical to pop, and they are sitting in a quiet corner sharing another piece of the wedding cake that Sherlock has pilfered, the former detective and now-beekeeper looks over at Rosie.
“Would it be A Bit Not Good to deduce our daughter’s pregnancy to her?”
John’s eyes widen as he looks back and forth between Rosie and his husband. “She’s… pregnant?” He whispers, hoping no one can hear.
“Yes. She has gained two pounds, possibly three, when most brides try to lose weight before…”
John kisses him urgently.
“Shut up. I don’t care how you know it. We’re going to be grandparents!”
“Oh god, yes.”