Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock and am not making any money by writing about it.

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Peanuts

Part 1

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John Watson woke up when someone gently shook his shoulder. Startled, he jerked upright only to be met with an affectionate smile from his wife: "You fell asleep in the rocking chair again."

"Oh," tiredly, he rubbed his eyes, "I've really got to stop doing that." His gaze automatically strayed over to the cot in which his daughter was sleeping. He had rocked her back to sleep after she had woken in the night, and hadn't been able to resist watching her for a bit after he had put her back down; she was only two weeks old, but she was already firmly holding his heart in her tiny hands.

He never tired of looking at her; the moment he had been allowed to hold her for the very first time had done something to him, had made him realize how insanely wonderful life could be, how precious the small being in his arms was. She was small yet strong, and holding her made John feel proud and, at the same time, helpless. How was he supposed to protect such a marvel? How was he going to provide her with everything she needed?

He later read that such insecurities were quite normal in new fathers, which made sense; once you realized what had really happened, that you had actually been part of creating a life, the responsibility which came with it was enough to bring you to your knees.

It certainly was doable, John figured, it had to be, since so many others had managed as well.

Mary was admirably relaxed once she had recovered from birth; even after they had been released from the hospital, she adjusted to the new rhythm her daughter was setting with remarkable ease. Whereas John was in a constant tizzy the first few days and went to check on the baby every ten minutes when it slept, making sure it was still breathing, Mary was calm and seemed in control of the situation.

During the following days, John slowly begun easing up as well. He realized that he didn't need to worry every time the baby snuffled in its sleep, and that the little girl wasn't half as frail as it seemed. Her lungs for example were marvellously strong, as she had just proven that night. John didn't mind getting up, on the contrary; it was nearly ridiculously soothing to hold the small being that was his daughter, to cradle her close and feel her warm, compact body.

"Let's get you back to bed," Mary now said, smiling at him once more. "Maya will still be here in the morning."

John lay awake for quite some time after they had lain down again; he still had that pure, amazing baby smell in his nose, and his heart was beating faster again. Two weeks and it still took him by surprise at times, the fact that he was a father awing him to no end. He was happy in a way he'd never have anticipated. The prospect of marrying some day, of buying a house and having children and a dog had never held that much appeal for him, and yet now, he'd not change it back for a gazillion pounds.

The only thing which was bothering him was his best friend. Sherlock had not seen Maya yet, and it irked John considerably that he had not shown any interest in the baby so far. He had written a text, congratulating them, but that had been it. It was disappointing, to say the least.

Mary had of course noticed her husband's annoyance, and it hadn't taken her long to guess what it was about.

"There you are," she said on the following morning, shoving the paper over to John, "this is why Sherlock's been awol."

He was in the headlines: CONSULTING DETECTIVE STRIKES AGAIN it read, followed by a rather enthusiastic article, detailing how Sherlock helped the police to break up and arrest a drugs ring, apparently only gaining the vital piece of information by solving a cold double murder case from ten years ago which, as it turned out, had after all been related to the group involved. Or rather, John realized upon reading, not so much detailing as using a lot of words to say surprisingly little.

"He's outdone himself once more," John murmured while he regarded the picture: an old photo of Sherlock, fortunately sans the deerstalker.

Mary watched her husband closely while she fed Maya; she knew that he regretted not being able to help Sherlock as much as usual, especially now. She had never made him choose between her and his friend, though; it was his own decision.

"Yep," John said now, going to find the phone, "I'm going to call him."

"John, it's-" seven in the morning, Mary wanted to say, but John was already on the stairs, Gladstone on his heels, and she didn't dare to shout so as not to frighten the baby.

"Poor Sherlock," she murmured, smiling at her daughter, who waved her little fist at her. "He's probably not had much sleep."

She was right. When Sherlock answered the phone, he sounded groggy and a little slurred: "John?"

Only now did it occur to John to look at his watch. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I'll call you back later."

"John, are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"Okay." With that, Sherlock hung up.

After staring at the phone a little dumbfounded for a moment, John couldn't bite back a laugh.

It was Sherlock who called him back around noon.

"Congratulations," John said, "I read about you in the paper." Which sounded wrong, somehow. Distant.

Sherlock huffed dismissively: "Morons," he murmured, addressing the press in general.

"Are you okay?" John asked. If Sherlock missed the opportunity to slag off a journalist, he was not up to his usual form; probably still tired.

"I'm fine," Sherlock replied, "just this lengthy and exhausting case. Mrs Hudson went straight into her kitchen after seeing me just now. I must look starved."

"Well, you probably are," John mused,"when was the last time you ate?"

Sherlock sighed: "Irrelevant. So why did you call earlier?"

"I wanted to talk to you and hear how you were."

"Oh." He did actually seem taken aback. "I'm fine, as established half a minute ago." He seemed to ponder the matter for a moment. "How are you?"

"Fine as well. Settling in." John said, pointedly.

"Oh, right."

John could practically hear Sherlock reminding himself about the baby. He counted down in his head: 3-2-1-

"So how's... Mary? And the baby, how's the baby?"

"You don't even know her name," John stated, calmly.

"... You're disappointed."

"Well guessed, Sherlock. And I'm not saying deduced, because this really was an easy one."

"Disappointed and angry."

"Bloody well yes, I am. You're my best friend and you didn't once call or visit- I have become a father, Sherlock, which is not something that happens to me every day, and I really wanted you to be involved. Is that too much to ask?"

"I was busy-"

"Even Lestrade sent a card, for heaven's sake!"

"Of course he did, considering that I was doing his work for him."

"Modesty really has never been your strong suit, has it."

Sherlock was silent for a moment. "I'm... sorry, John."

John exhaled audibly, pinching the bridge of his nose because he felt exhausted all of a sudden: "That's a start," he said quietly. "And I'd very much appreciate it if you came by and met my daughter."

Again, there was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds: "I will. How about next Sunday?"

"Today's Monday."

"I know."

"That's nearly a week."

"I know."

"You've just solved a case, why don't you come by sooner? Tomorrow, after you've rested a bit- and ate, if only to make Mrs Hudson happy?"

Sherlock hesitated. John didn't know what had happened during the past week, how close a shave it had been. How he, Sherlock, looked right now. He was however aware that his status as John's best friend meant he couldn't simply push the doctor away as he'd ordinarily have done in such a situation.

He didn't want to compromise said status, and he'd learned the hard way what it meant to lie to John. How much hurt it was capable of producing, on both sides.

He simply couldn't find it in him to further affront his friend, so he heard himself agreeing, hoping he didn't sound too reluctant.

When they hung up, he realized that he still didn't know the name of John's daughter.

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To Be Continued

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Thank you for reading. Please leave some feedback.

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Author's notes: This story can stand alone, it does however complement "Same Same But Different"- if you'd like to know more about how Sherlock copes with John and Mary being married etc. according to my headcanon, you should read that.

Gladstone is a Dalmatian here because I know nothing about Bulldogs.

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I'm no native English speaker, therefore I apologize for any mistakes.

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