"Mummy, mummy look," Matilda grabbed her mother's hand, tugging her along Main Street USA, pointing.
"Yes I see Tilly," Molly laughed. Matilda, having just turned eight, was enjoying her first trip to Disneyland, California. John and Molly wanted to take her when she was still young enough to be enchanted by everything, and old enough to remember it all. "Sherlock," Molly nudged the Consulting Detective. "Take Matilda over there so we can get a picture of you two."
"I am not posing for pictures," Sherlock grumbled. "I can't believe I even came here."
"All thanks to Mycroft," John said. "Remind me to send him a card, now take your goddaughter over there so we can get a picture of you two by the effing Magical Castle."
"Cinderella's Castle, and Matilda still knows what that means," Molly said, flicking John's ear.
Molly still didn't know how John and Mycroft got Sherlock to join them on their trip to Disneyland, but it was almost worth his grousing to see Matilda tow him around the 'Happiest Place On Earth'.
Matilda, beaming from ear to ear, wrapped her arms around Sherlock while he attempted a half-smile, a hand on her shoulder.
"That's a good one, Sherlock is almost not wincing in this one," John said and Molly laughed.
"Mummy, mummy can we get Mickey hats?"
"Ask your da," Molly said.
"Da, can we?"
"Oh, I'm afraid we must," John said, quite seriously.
"'We'?" Sherlock asked.
"Every single one of us," John said.
Thirty minutes later, having waited in line for most of it, and informed the person in charge of glitter how to spell their names, they exited the Mad Hatter's Hat Shop, Sherlock positively glowering, holding the ear-hat in his hand.
"Oh, that is very dashing, John," Molly snickered, watching him tuck the elastic band behind his ears.
"Do I look hip?" he asked sarcastically.
"Daddy, you look pretty," Matilda said.
"My ambition," he sighed dramatically and Molly kissed him, laughing.
"Uncle Sherlock, you have to wear yours too!" Matilda said as he slumped onto a nearby bench. Climbing up beside him, she took the hat, carefully placing it on his head so that his name written in glitter faced forward. "There," she pressed a sticky kiss to his forehead. "Now we match!"
"I did not think there could ever be a worse hat than that bloody deer stalker."
Matilda, oblivious to her Uncle's rotten mood, took him by the hand.
"Where are we going?" he grumbled.
"To meet the Princesses!"
"John-" Sherlock called, helpless.
"You'll be fine," John waved.
"But-"
"Meet back at King Arthur's Carrousel in two hours," Molly called, waving. Sherlock glared daggers at them. Giggling, Molly slipped an arm around her husband's waist. "We're going to follow them, aren't we?"
"Oh yes," John nodded. "I promised Greg I'd get a picture of Sherlock with a Princess."
Sherlock allowed Matilda to pull him along, once safely out of John and Molly's sight, he tried to relax a little. It was Matilda's first trip overseas, even if it was to this hell-hole. Everyone smiled here, God it was awful. Why would anyone want to come to this place of balloons and fried food and disgustingly cheerful park staff and people in bizarre costumes. He was brought out of his thoughts by yet another delighted gasp from Matilda. He looked down to see her let go of his hand, confused as she sprinted away from him.
"Matilda!" he called, hurrying after her. He'd never hear the end of it if he lost Matilda. Especially in this horrible place. Pushing through the crowd, he searched for the little girl. Finally, he reached the end of the mob, finding a group of people taking pictures of someone, another person dressed as a fictional character. He pushed through to see Matilda sitting on the knee of a man in a blue brocade vest and white puffed shirt. He wore a velvet hat and a red cloak. A woman (wearing a very obvious lace-front wig) and blue and yellow gown stood, hands clasped and smiling that eerie beaming grin he'd seen far too often, at Matilda.
"I've been looking everywhere for you!" Matilda said to the woman and man.
"We're so glad you came," the woman said, and Sherlock frowned. These people didn't know Matilda! "Are you enjoying your stay?"
"Oh yes, it's my favorite place!" Matilda turned, smiling. "Look Uncle Sherlock, I found Snow White and the Prince!"
"She has behaved like a perfect princess," the woman (apparently this 'Snow White') said.
"We ought to have a picture," the so-called Prince said.
"Uncle Sherlock must be in it too," Matilda said.
The one that was a prince (which Sherlock did not believe for one second was royalty) asked if anyone could take their picture. Some other staff-member took the camera from Sherlock and ushered him over into the shot. Sherlock, befuddled that Matilda enjoyed this sort of thing, waited until the staff-member said she had a good shot and handed him the camera.
"Come Matilda," he said, leading her away, she waved at Snow White and the Prince, beaming.
He endured pictures with person after person, all of whom Matilda recognized. Her excitement never wavered, if anything it increased when she found her favorite Princess (the one John referred to as 'The Scottish One'). All the while, he attempted to smile, he endured people telling him where to stand, and after each picture, he had to wipe off the sticky lipstick kisses from Matilda's cheek from the characters kissing her. They stopped by an ice-cream cart and got a frozen banana, which was rather nice, and at some pleading, bought Matilda a balloon as well.
"Uncle Sherlock?" Matilda sat on one of the horses on King Arthur's carrousel; he attached the safety belt around her waist.
"Hm."
"Do you like it here?" Sherlock nearly scoffed. He held it back, as he had been all day. Rather than tell the truth, he asked a question of his own:
"Do you think all those people are who they say they are?"
"No," Matilda laughed. "But they look like them and they act like them, sometimes I forget they aren't the princesses, but they're pretty, and I like their dresses. They make me happy." She swung her legs, waiting for the ride to start. "What's wrong with being happy?" He looked at Matilda Watson, dressed in her favorite yellow sundress that Molly had bought her, her ear-hat sat askew on her head. She was the picture of innocence and one of his few reminders that there were terribly good things in the world. He let out a small sigh, smiling the smallest of smiles.
"Nothing at all," he said and straightened her hat.
"Are you going to ride a horse?" Matilda asked.
Oh. What the Hell.
He gave her a smirk that was all bravado as he climbed onto one beside her, flipping his short-coattails behind him (he refused to wear the t-shirt and shorts Molly had packed him).
"My lady," he held out his hand and she took it with the very tips of her own little fingers, turning up her little nose, sticking her chin out before she burst into a fit of giggles. The carrousel started up and the horses all lurched forward. Sherlock did not sing along with the music, but Matilda did, oblivious to the smiles she was earning from the other park-goers.
By the railing, Molly and John stood, he showed her the picture he'd just taken, it was a little blurry, but the two faces were clearly recognizable. Matilda had been perfectly captured, holding onto the pole of her horse, happily singing, Sherlock sitting astride his own mount, clearly beaming with pride at the little girl.