Molly walked up the stairs, carrying a bag full of groceries. Her back had been giving her trouble for a while and she stopped for a moment, placing the bag gently on the floor and stretching herself a bit.
It had been a busy week. Work had been quite hectic and a lot of strange cases have shown up: a strange death, one fake suicide and three real ones. St. Bart's was a daily source of sad news, but this week had been too much. On top of that, Sherlock had been as busy as her. In some ways their jobs were connected, and Lestrade had required Sherlock's help both on the strange death and the fake suicide – cases that Sherlock had tackled and been successful in solving them.
Raphaella had been complaining all week for lack of attention. She was right, of course, but she also had an ingenious manner to put sentences in a way that would make Molly and Sherlock feel even guiltier than they should; after all, they were working and Raphaella spent her time at school and playing with friends when Sherlock and Molly couldn't take care of her for some reason. She was never abandoned and either of them would leave their work at once, rather than leave Raphaella alone. Usually they took turns, doing all they could so that their working schedules didn't clash, and many times the parents' of Raphaella's friends would call and ask if Raphaella wanted to sleep over. She would go happy, but when she had to stay at someone's place because her parents were busy, she would use that to get something in return. She was not mean-spirited, just too clever.
Molly took a deep breath and carried the groceries' bag to the kitchen table. She called.
"Sherlock? Raphaella?"
She heard a rustling of feet on the first floor.
"We're here Mama!"
Raphaella's voice resounded down the stairs, coming from her room. Molly smiled at her voice and her eyes set on the pictures placed over the fireplace, in the living room. Raphaella had grown so much in the past seven years. Her presence in the house had naturally taken over Sherlock and Molly's. The shelves that usually contained medical books and weird matters – Sherlock had a collection of books about plants and insects, and gruesome ones like poisons and ways to murder – were now mostly filled with children's books, Fairytales and other fantastic stories.
Raphaella loved adventure stories the most; many times, Molly would be watching TV downstairs in the evening, and Sherlock would go up to read Raphaella a story before sleeping. Then, the ruckus would ensue, and when Molly walked up the stairs to see the source of the commotion, she would find Raphaella standing on top of her bed, pretending to be a warrior and pretend-fighting her dad. Sherlock would eventually pick her up and place her carefully on the bed again, tickling her. Raphaella would laugh and laugh and fall asleep exhausted. Then, Sherlock and Molly would sit downstairs with each other and talk more about their day and hold hands in silence afterwards, until it was time to sleep as well.
Molly walked up the stairs, smiling, and stopped at the door of Raphaella's bedroom.
"What are you doing?" She chuckled.
Sherlock looked up and smiled, winking.
"Papa is polishing my nails!" Raphaella almost screeched, excited.
"You can't move that much, this is difficult as it is." Sherlock admonished.
He was a man of method, and he was used to handle fragile things but somehow, polishing nails without messing up seemed to be a science of its own. Molly laughed and approached them. Then she looked at Raphaella's left hand that was already finished.
"Really, Sherlock?" She asked.
Sherlock looked up and frowned. He knew it wasn't a perfect job, but he was doing the best he could. He was sure he would be doing that without a problem with a few days practise.
"She's happy with it. She says it's fine like this, I'll get better. Eventually."
Sherlock responded, focusing on his daughter's nails again. Molly laughed.
"No, that's not what I meant. From all the nail polish you could have bought for her, you went for black?"
Sherlock looked at Molly, then at the nails and then at Raphaella, cocking an eyebrow.
"What did I tell you?" He asked her, smiling.
Raphaella's mouth opened in a smile and she faced her mother.
"I chose the nail polish, not Papa."
"Oh, I see." Molly said. "Why black, then?"
"Because black is Pirate Piper's favourite colour."
'Pirate Piper' was one of Raphaella's favourite stories, a book offered to her by Sherlock and one of the first books they had read to her after she started school; it was a bit like Robin Hood: Piper would pillage the rich villages by the shore and take the treasures to the poor villages, helping those in need, hungry and sick.
"Very well." Molly acquiesced.
As long as Raphaella was happy she really couldn't care which colour she used in her nails.
Sherlock finished his work and closed the bottle of nail polish. Raphaella admired her own nails and the dimples on her cheeks showed when she smiled, satisfied with the result.
"Not bad." She admitted.
Sherlock laughed.
"Now let it dry before you start playing again. I didn't have all this work for nothing." He got up and placed a kiss on top of his daughter's head.
Raphaella nodded in agreement. Sherlock turned to Molly.
"Do you want me to polish your nails too? I'm practically an expert."
Molly laughed.
"Which colours do you have?"
"Just black, I'm afraid." Sherlock answered.
Molly paced forward and sat on the chair her daughter had been sitting, kissing her cheek before she paced away to sit on her own bed.
"Okay." Molly agreed, and extended a hand in front of herself, just like Raphaella had done before her.
Sherlock sat down and grabbed Molly's hand in his, kissed her on the lips quickly as a 'welcome home' gesture, and then got to work.
He and Raphaella, who was now proudly checking her nails, waiting for the nail polish to dry, engaged in conversation. When Molly looked down, observing Sherlock's hands working with the nail polish brush on her nails, she realised that Raphaella had not been Sherlock's first subject of experimentation when it came to polishing nails, and as it was, they all matched now. The black nails trio. Molly chuckled. Raphaella would very much enjoy making up a story with that.