Chubby little hands rested on his chest, as he looks at the pictures of the crime scene posted on the wall. Scottie Margret Watson was the image of perfect health and brain development sleeping soundly in her, what was this ridiculous thing called again? Ah a papoose , unlike the bodies that her godfather was viewing. After nine months of watching the Watson's usher in this new life and coming around more than ever, some would say that Sherlock was starting to understand human emotion.
Not that he greatly approved of it, but he could see where it could be interesting. Tracking the growth of the child, memory development, word retention, all great fun in his own opinion. But how many times had he counted Scottie's toes?
There were 10, every single time, he did not need to be reminded and he surely did not need to count them. But still, as the shoes came off, the toe counting began. Once she was deemed healthy as always, Scottie would coo happily as she leaned on his chest and he made deductions.
But as he looked at the small human on his chest, with her wispy blonde hair and 10 tiny toes, and the bodies on the wall, Sherlock felt something inside him constrict.
Something akin to protectiveness, similar to John. He checked her breathing as his thoughts flew. Affection. Love. Sherlock was startled at how quickly his mind made the jump and how at ease he was to accept that he did, in fact, love Scottie. The product of his best friend and his wife, their own love of each other, and their odd affection for him.
He is not surprised to see how quickly Mary Watson has merged into John's room in his Mind Palace. So close to the cellar, close to the core and the padded walls that contained Moriarty. They can hear Moriarty's screaming and pounding, but Mary turns to him with a sharp grin and a twinkle in her eye.
"Oh my, the wind is certainly trying to howl tonight. Bit weak, actually."
It's warmer in John's room now that Mary is there. Not overwhelmingly hot, but comforting. The walls change colors every now and again, but the room always smells of tea and biscuits. Mary always keeps a few of his favorites stored away for when he comes over. Just to make sure that he's had something to eat.
She cares, not in the up front way that John does, but gentle nudges and an understanding ear. He enjoys her company, never dull, but helpful and encouraging.
Teasing, as he looks baffled at the papoose that he'd been gifted. Motherly even, when he and John came back from a case a little battered and bruised.
The Watson's love him.
And as memories fly across the walls of his Mind Palace, Sherlock decides that maybe he has too many Human Errors. But he doesn't mind as much as he once did.
He enjoys showing off for her, little tricks or tidbits that he knows that she will like and enjoy. It pleases him when she smiles, her brown eyes widening and her jaw slackening.
He likes watching her dance around the morgue, with her music up too high that she completely misses her phone calls. She doesn't know, but he imagines that she'd be baffled and embarrassed if she did.
But his reaction to her physically is much different to that of The Woman. He does find her sexually attractive, of course she'd have to get rid of those baggy layers that she's so fond of, but there's an emotional calm that Molly Hooper gives him.
He craves her presence just as much, if not more than, her touch.
Her image altering at every encounter.
Bashful, hardworking, loyal, romantic, strong, and loving. She's so full of errors and riddles that every time he tries to pick the pieces back up to tinker with again, he finds that they've shifted shape.
She's the fall back in his Mind Palace. The doctor of the dead continually saving his life, though he knows another who could do the same. She gives him center and gives him life.
She gives him love and he finds that he desperately wants to return. To stand guard for her, just as she does right outside Moriarty's cage. To care for her, just as she does for him. She manages to surprise him by showing up in the oddest places in his Palace. The core, Red Beard's corridor, everything that has been touched with love.
He doesn't open her door, afraid of what he might see. Unable to turn back once he fully acknowledges her. But even though the door is locked tightly, her warmth still drips through.
"Molly Hooper, I can't give you what you want."
"But you can give me what I need."