The boys upstairs

Patience

You aren't sure when you are awake because it grows on you slowly. Light travels through the curtains in beams, highlighting the dust particles while you blink.

The bed isn't your own, you realise with intrepid curiosity. The bed set is a deep maroon and the frame a dark oak. A gilded mirror hangs on the wall opposite, draped with photos and drawings varying from a map of London's streets to a close up of a women's fringe. There are few personal touches but a music stand leans against a wall, graffitied books of sheet music stacked in messy piles here and there. A long smoking jacket hangs on the back of the door, your first clue. Not that you needed it, surprising as it may be that you resided here, this was clearly the bedroom of Sherlock Holmes.

You sit up and rub your head, pausing and running your hands through the braid at the back of your head. You certainly didn't do it but you are strangely comforted.

With slow precision you hang your legs over the side of the bed, gently stroking the soft coverlet. You are dressed in a long white nightshirt and blue silk dressing gown, both of which are too big and clearly men's sizes. Standing awkwardly, you turn on the spot and continue to admire the room.

The copious junk and hidden treasure add a certain charm to it, as though each piece were infinitely important and significant to its owner. It was very Sherlock.

You pad softly out the door and down the hallway, pausing outside the other bedroom, unsure what to do when you hear the quiet snufffles and first cries of a woken baby. You enter, delicately approaching the cot in the corner.

Rosie lies fussing, pacifier hanging out her mouth. You gently poke it back in and she suckles happily and you smile, catching sight of the mobile and giving it a gentle flick.

It was made of wood, unconventionally adorned with a spyglass, bird skull, conical flask and magnifying glass. Rosie begins to fuss again and you sigh, scooping her gently and holding her close, rocking her as she gurgled. You didn't have a lot of experience with children but this came naturally you think as you carry her out the bedroom into the main room. You push open the door and are greeted with a smile from both the boys. John looks at Rosie and you shift her weight slightly.

"Sorry, she was fussing so I picked her up- I hope you don't mind"

"Not at all, I expect she's glad you're awake. She fussed all night"

You smile and stroke her face. Sherlock watches you from over his finger tips, calculating your expression.

"You're confused" he states quietly and you roll your eyes.

"A little"

"We thought it best not to alarm Mrs Hudson by carrying your unconscious self through her door. So, I left you in my room- we thought Rosie might disturb you in John's. Or vice versa."

You nod and sit on the sofa, both pairs of eyes still trained on you.

"There's something else?" You ask

"Yes. I am- I wanted... to thank you. For... you know-" Sherlock looks away then stands, spinning on the spot. You nod that he doesn't have to but he isn't finished. "It was- not leaving me behind. I mean- don't do that again obviously... but yes. Thank you" he says, avoiding your eye.

"Well no worries. And same here. For, not leaving me behind at the hospital. I can't imagine Mycroft is too pleased about that" You say and Sherlock smiles too.

"Oh I'm counting on it- anyway he's taken me off the case" he says and you exchange a glance with him.

"So. What do we do about that?" You ask and John sighs.

"We don't. Sherlock you're supposed to be on your best behaviour and (Y/n) it's probably best if you stay out of this too" he says calmly. Sherlock looks offended and you match his expression.

"Boring" you say together with Sherlock and then look at him in surprise.

"I don't care. Both of you are grounded"

You open your mouth to protest but John holds up his finger and removes Rosie from your hold. He scoops up a papoose and slips her in, adding a pink jacket and adjusting her in silence.

"We're going out. I expect you to have picked a new case by the time I get back" he says before exiting. Sherlock slumps on the sofa and crosses his arms sulkily while you flop into John's still warm armchair. You pull his laptop towards you and start to read the open blog. It's their experiences and adventures, and this other section is inquiries. You begin to suggest aloud.

"Come on Homey we have homework... Dear Mr Holmes... think wife is having an affair... Dear Mr Holmes... dog is acting strangely... Dear Mr Holmes.... I'm being followed..."

He groans and kicks the wall in frustration. "Definitely, doesn't want to be vegan, girlfriends' father" he reels off in exasperation. "Boring boring boring! I need a case- something good if not Moriarty" he sulks, still facing the wall.

"Well this is the best I can do for you" You say in amusement as he stands on the sofa, stepping across to the coffee table like a baby giraffe. He seizes the skull on the mantelpiece and shakes it vigorously. Square stickers fall out that he catches and peels, rolling up his sleeve and slapping three on his forearm. He sighs and sits back in his chair, staring you down and tapping his fingers on his leg expectantly.

"I can't just conjure up a murder" You state obviously and he narrows his eyes.

"No. But I can"

You are wary. "You can?"

"All we have to do is wait for Moriarty to strike again. He will, he gets bored. I can't imagine why."

"Stop being smart and explain"

"The murders are for me. If the police don't call in my expertise, which they probably will, then we will go to them anyway. Either way we get ourselves a case" he pauses. "And unlike your absent minds, I can't just turn it off and stop being smart" he remarks.

"I can see why people want to slap you a lot"

"They do?"

You nod and, before he can move, slap him clean across the face. He gasps and clutches his cheek.

"What did you do that for?"

"Recreational purposes. I, too, get bored"

He scowls and you keep a straight face. You break first, lip twitching then he does the same.

"Now all we need is to be patient and the Moriarty cases will come to us" he says and you sigh.

"You? Patient? We'll be dead by Tuesday"