Snap, Rattle, Curls
"Now, for the last time: if you want to keep the rattle, do not throw the rattle. Hm?"
With a little, encouraging smile (well, that's what he was going for), Sherlock offered the baby girl the rattle that she was so fond of tossing about. The baby cooed contentedly as her little hands took the rattle from his grasp. His satisfaction only lasted for a second, though. Because, in the next second, the smallest Watson had not only thrown the rattle, but thrown it right at her godfather's face. She cooed again, quite happily, while Sherlock shot a very annoyed look to her parents. However, John and Mary had fallen dead asleep on his sofa.
But when Sherlock heard an unmistakable sound from the kitchen entrance, he turned that very annoyed look in the direction it came from. There stood Molly Hooper, doubled over with silent laughter (silent due to the fact that she had stuffed her fist against her mouth).
Now looking very sour indeed, Sherlock picked up the offending rattle, walked to his chair, and collapsed into it with a huff. He was now in full-on pouting mode.
Still giggling, Molly skipped over to baby Rosie, and gently picked her up from her baby seat. "Oh, was that fun, little love?" Molly cooed, giving Rosie an eskimo kiss as she held the baby in front of her at face level. "Yes, I'm sure it was! I wish that I were young enough to be able to get away with that!"
Rosie gave a baby giggle in reply, waving her chubby little arms and legs enthusiastically.
Sherlock turned his head and tore his gaze away from the sight of Molly and their goddaughter. The sight of them together did funny things to his chest organs (as in made them feel lighter and warmer), and his pout wouldn't survive if he kept watching them. Now, if only he could turn off his ears the way one could turn off an electronic device…
But the concentration of his pout was broken by something warm being placed on his lap. When he heard the familiar sound of Rosie's coos, Sherlock turned his head back. Molly had knelt in front of him and was holding Rosie up on his lap so that the baby faced him. While Molly hid her face behind the baby, the smallest Watson had a big, gummy and drooly grin on her face.
Determined to see his pout through, Sherlock held up the rattle that he had picked up, well out of Rosie's reach. "If you want this back, then you're out of luck, Watson." He tossed the rattle in the direction of the infant's parents; it collided with John's head with its customary squeak. John gave a start with a snort, but remained fast asleep. Sherlock allowed himself a satisfied smirk for a moment before turning his pout back towards the baby.
Rosie, however, did not seem at all distressed by the fact that Sherlock had thrown her rattle at her father's head. She kept gazing at Sherlock, enjoying the little tickles that her godmother was giving her tummy. Molly, still hiding her face behind Rosie, proceeded to speak in a soft, high-pitched voice. "Please don't be mad at me, Uncle Sherlock."
Sherlock rolled his eyes even as his heart melted a little bit. He leaned forward in his chair so that he was nearly nose to nose with Rosie. "I am not mad at you, Rosamund, I am just trying to – ah!"
The detective's words halted with that exclamation as Rosie reached her little hands out and grabbed his curls, pulling his head down in the process.
Molly couldn't restrain her laughter this time, lightly resting her chin atop Rosie's head as she continued to hold the baby up on Sherlock's lap. "What a clever girl you are, Rosamund Watson! You go right for the gold!"
Rosie laughed as her little hands continued to explore the luxurious wonder of Sherlock's curls.
And Sherlock could no longer restrain himself: he laughed too.
Though John Watson had not woken up when the rattle bounced off his head, Mary Watson had been awakened by the squeak it made. Keeping her tired body still on the comfortable sofa, she opened her eyes and smiled at what she saw. Quick as her reflexes were, Mary pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of the trio as Sherlock let himself laugh with Molly and Rosie. Later that evening, Mary sent it to Molly.
In less than a week, Molly had it as the background photo of her mobile and a print of it in a beautiful frame in her flat.
She treasured it for the rest of her life as the best gift that Mary Watson ever gave her.
A/N: I know I said that I wouldn't write any more Sherlock stories until after the entire series had aired, but darn it I needed to heal myself with some fluff after that first one! Who else is terrified of what the next two episodes will hold? All I know is there had better be more Molly (preferably alive, well, and as good as ever). Read and review!