March 11, 2002 - London, England
Sherlock is holding baby Victoria to his chest, trying to soothe her to sleep.
"Hush now," he whispers, rocking her gently, "Daddy needs to get some sleep. He needs some rest after working so hard to plan for your second birthday party next week. Of course, Daddy thinks that there is no reason to make such a big fuss over your birthday, seeing as you will have no recollection of this party years in the future. However, Grand-mummy would never let me hear the end of it if I didn't put on some type of celebration for it, and we wouldn't want that, would we?"
Victoria does nothing but drool in response, having fallen asleep about halfway through Sherlock's conversation with himself. He gently laid her down in her wooden crib, careful not to wake her. It was already two o'clock in the morning, and he had no desire to disturb her now. Looking down upon her, he smiled, admiring how precious his daughter was in this moment, taking in every detail of her small face, from her tufts of curly black hair, to her stunning blue, almost green, eyes that she most certainly got from her mother. Oh, how he missed her. But it does not to do well to dwell on the past. Now, in this moment, everything was good. And that was the exact thought Sherlock had on his mind as he said goodnight to his darling girl Victoria. The thought he had while walking back to his bedroom and falling onto the bed, not even bothering to change, for he was so exhausted. Yes, the comforting thought he had as he closed his eyes was that right now, everything was good. Oh how very wrong he was.
