Sherlock is in the sitting room with Rosie. Not typical for 7:30 in the morning, John thinks, but safe enough. Either of them alone in the sitting room might be cause for concern, but together, they stay out of trouble. For now. That will surely change went Rosie learns to run.
John peeks through the doorway, first tea in hand. Papers are strewn across the living room, sheet music, journal print outs, hand written scribbles, graph paper charts, and Rosie is sitting in the middle of it all, holding Sherlock's bow.
"ROSie... luv, let me take that." Prying the fun stick from her ends up needing both hands and tea splatters on a page of scales.
"Ah, Sherlock, Sorry? That better not have been more important than your bow."
"Ho, uhm, no?" Seated on the couch with his laptop, Sherlock doesn't even bother to look up from whatever he is typing.
"Sherlock!"
"Yes..."
"What are you DOING?"
"Writing up the results from this morning's tests." Mrs. Hudson could have heard the unspoken OBVIOUSLY downstairs. "You heard the arpeggios. Rosie was quite taken with the novel tunings I played during your shower. Well, novel to her. You probably didn't notice the difference."
John opts for glaring at Sherlock instead of yelling about who notices what.
Recognising the silence, Sherlock looks up. "No, no, don't take it personally. Your brain, like those of most humans over the age of 7, has already been limited by tonal harmony. The paper you are squatting over is a nice review of the developmental neuroscience."
"Sherlock. If you are going to be writing, take Rosie to visit Mrs. Hudson or I swear I will teach her to play drums on your violin."
"... Right. Yes."
Without the bow to play with, Rosie has squirmed over to John's tea puddle to make hand prints of wet on more pages. Setting his laptop aside, Sherlock scoops her up and holds her at eye level.
"How about we go to the park then, and see whether you recognise a relationship between the bird calls and my whistled imitations."
A wet grin seems a satisfactory reply, as Sherlock settles her on one hip and marches for the stairs and up to the nursery. "I'll leave her with Mrs. H when we get back. Have a good day at the surgery!"
With a fond and only slightly concerned shake of his head, John gulps the last half of his tea, and gets ready to leave himself.