Author's Note: Love the idea of Uncle Greg. I own nothing.
The new resident at 221b Baker Street was a perpetual source of distraction for Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade whenever he called to consult Sherlock on a case.
The little girl, who was nearly a year old now, never failed to divert Greg from the matter at hand, much to Sherlock's consternation.
"I've got a tricky one for you, Sherlock: triple homici—Rosie! Hello, sweetie, how are you?"
Greg scooped the smiling girl into his arms and kissed her forehead.
Sherlock had raised his head from his microscope when Greg walked in, but upon seeing the Inspector was distracted by Rosie, he rolled his eyes and refocused the eye scope.
"Can you say Uncle Greg, Rosie? Uncle Greg?" Lestrade babbled to the baby. Rosie just smiled a toothless smile.
Sherlock took a minute to marvel at the ability all babies had to reduce normally respectable men into cooing fools. "Inspector, Rosie has only spoken incoherent syllables so far, I highly doubt she will be able to say 'Uncle Greg'. It's an inaccurate term, anyway, you're not related to John." Sherlock finished in a mutter.
Lestrade's smile didn't waver at Sherlock's pessimism. "Nonsense, she's the most intelligent girl I know, she'll be talking in no time."
Sherlock switched off the microscope and stood up, joining Lestrade in front of Rosie's playpen.
"Yes, well, she's my goddaughter, of course she's smart," Sherlock said taking Rosie out of Lestrade's arms and positioning her on his hip, "Now, I thought you came here because of a case? Not to make baby faces at John's daughter."
Greg began to explain the case that had brought him there, and if he sometimes reverted back to baby-talk when he caught Rosie's eye, neither of the men mentioned it.