A/N: I don't care where Moffat is going with this 'he loves her' revelation. For now, I will accept it as the present, the truth and will celebrate with this fun little one-shot that borrows some of my favourite lines/scenes in series three. *continues to throw confetti*
Confidante
Little Sophie Watson sat on her special little chair (that Sherlock had specially gotten for her) in the middle of the flat at 221B. She was being very good and kept very still as Sherlock manoeuvred carefully around her, observing her from all angles. When he had finished surveying his work, he smirked to himself, just in time for Mary and John to come trundling back into the flat from their quick little run to the shops.
"Thanks for watching her, Sherlock," said Mary, setting the shopping bags down on the kitchen table. John headed to his own armchair and began to check on some important work messages. When Mary stepped out of the kitchen to greet her adorable five-year old daughter with a hug and a kiss, she stopped short in her tracks, staring hard at her daughter and then at Sherlock. Mary's face then broke into a smile, admiration beaming from her eyes. She walked up to her daughter and, like Sherlock had before, walked around the little girl, surveying the intricate side braid that now cascaded down Sophie's tiny shoulder.
"Where'd you learn to do that?" Mary asked him as she reached to touch the soft twists of hair.
"The art of dress and disguise is of paramount importance in the field of detect-…"
"Fibbing, Sherlock.
"I once had to sieve through a series of women's wigs for a case so intricate I never thought I'd -…"
"Sherlock? I've said this before, I'm not John…"
Sherlock sighed and walked over to Sophie, stroking her hair endearingly.
"Well, I…" began the detective.
"Yes?"
"I…"
The adults were interrupted by the soft, bell-like voice of Sophie Watson. She looked up, smiling, at her beloved godfather before turning to her mother.
"Aunty Molly taught him, Mummy," said Sophie, "He wanted to play with her hair every day. So she taught him how to."
"Well, now. How interesting." Mary exclaimed, turning to Sherlock who seemed suddenly engrossed in inspecting his shoes.
"You've been…playing … with Molly's hair?" John got up from his armchair, suddenly catching up on events. "What on earth for, Sherlock?"
Mary could only chuckle as she observed the silent detective. His mouth twitched nervously as he continued to peer at some unknown spot on his shoes.
"I know why, Daddy…" said Sophie.
"Why is that, Sophie?" John asked, crouching beside his daughter, amused.
Sophie Watson, who was thankfully tiny enough to catch Sherlock's shy, downcast eyes, looked up at her godfather and smiled.
"It's 'cause he loves her." she whispered to John beside her.
The Watsons laughed knowingly as John swept little Sophie into his arms, before leaving the flat. Mary walked over to Sherlock and nudged him gently in the ribs.
"What?" he asked, gritting his teeth from bashfulness.
"Will you tell her or shall I?" Mary teased.
"Tell her what?" Sherlock remarked, almost scoffing.
"Oh, Sherlock…" Mary said with a chuckle. She tip-toed to peck him on the cheek and quickly left to follow her husband and daughter.
Sherlock sighed. He should have never confided in a five-year old. Reaching for his phone, Sherlock began to text. Perhaps it was time to tell her.
End
