"So, maybe we can start with the…salad?" John emptily suggested, perusing the menu (though not really interested in any of the offerings.) Mary just nodded with a forced smile which did not go unnoticed by her husband. "Or we could do the—"
"I have to call," Mary finally blurted, dropping her menu and reaching immediately for her purse.
"No! Mary, we agreed…" John quickly intercepted, though he didn't look any less stressed himself.
"My stomach is in knots, John. I just want to check in." Mary had her phone in hand now, but something kept her from dialing. Her frozen fingers hung apprehensively over the screen.
John continued to stare at her, growing antsier by the second. "Well, what are you waiting for? Call him."
"What? You just said—"
"I know what I said, but I can't take it anymore either," John responded with embarrassment. "Call him."
"No…" Mary quietly surrendered, returning the phone to her bag with a shine forming in her eye—which she promptly blinked away. "I trust Sherlock, and we promised we wouldn't phone him."
John sighed and leaned back in his chair. The lunch date had been his idea, and so far they were failing miserably at it. All either them could think about was their three-month-old baby, whom they had just left alone for the very first time. With Sherlock Holmes.
"We're going to have to get better at this," he said softly to the woman across from him. "With your leave almost up, we need to learn to be away from her."
"I know," Mary said, sadness still weighing on the words and on her face. "But it's so hard, isn't it?"
"Bloody awful," John grumbled, abandoning the tough soldier façade for his nervous new-daddy identity. The silence hung between them, making each feel even more ridiculous than they already did. They certainly never thought they'd be this way.
Mary shook her head and grabbed her phone a second time. "I'm texting him. Just a quick one…see how things are going."
John checked his watch. "We've only been gone fifteen minutes; he'll know we've been obsessing."
"He knew we'd be obsessing when you hooked up three baby monitors."
OOOOO
Sherlock had guessed the Watson's would make it ten minutes before he received a nervous text; so, needless to say, he was quite impressed when nearly fifteen had elapsed. "Well, Sophie, your parents are making brilliant strides, aren't they" he said to the baby who was sat in her bouncy seat on the floor next to him. Sherlock had repeatedly asked Mary what the child's seat was actually called, as he preferred not to have to say the words "bouncy seat" if he didn't have to, but unfortunately never got an answer.
Everything okay? He read. Frankly, he thought John would be the one to text first, though he guessed this text was John's idea—as he was undoubtedly the more protective parent.
He typed a reply right away, knowing his friends would probably be hovering over the phone until he reported back. Everything's fine. She's slept most of the time. Currently awake. No sign of distress.
"There," he said confidently to his godchild, feeling competent in his babysitting performance thus far. "Now we wait for the next one." John had first approached Sherlock last week about watching Sophie (at his and Mary's flat, for the lack of harmful chemicals, of course.) And over the past 7 days, the consulting detective had Youtubed everything he could in preparation for the responsibility. He had spent lots of time over the last three months watching the Watson's care for their daughter; taking note of the way they rocked her and burped her and set her down in her cot at night and the angle at which they held her bottles. He had held her plenty of times and she never seemed to mind too much. But this time was different, he was on his own, and he was going to get it right.
Not one minute after sending Mary the text, he noticed a growing discomfort come over Sophie's face, first contorting her brow, then her nose, then her tiny mouth, and then—yep, she was wailing. The crescendo was so constant, so furious that Sherlock should have been impressed by such a loud noise being emitted from such a tiny human. He sprung into action right away.
"Alright, no reason to get hysterical," he remarked, carefully lifting the girl from her seat and cradling her the way he had watched John do time after time. Sophie only grew louder, much to his dismay. "Fine, we'll try something else then. I see you have your father's dramatics…"
He gently shifted Sophie's position so that she was lying on her stomach along his forearm. It was one of the methods he had researched to stop an infant's crying. For a brief moment, he felt rather accomplished, hearing the cries die down. Until yet another wail rang out, even harder than the last. He couldn't understand why it wasn't working.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his phone light up with Mary's text displayed to him on the screen.
Thank you Sherlock, call if you need anything!
OOOOO
"I guess he's doing alright then," Mary told her husband, taking a sip from the glass the waiter had just refilled for her. She took a deep breath. "I'll try to calm down. We both should."
"I can't make that promise," John replied, sipping his own water.
"Well let's talk about something else then, shall we?"
John nodded without hesitation, ready for the conversation to move away from both their anxieties. "Yeah, good idea."
"Anything's fine, but no baby talk. That's the rule," Mary reiterated, as if to help her own mind stop thinking about her precious baby girl at home. "Why don't you tell me about the case you're working on?"
John nodded, recalling the details of his and Sherlock's most recent puzzle. "Sherlock says he's got it worked out. Apparently, the intern had been—"
"No, not that one" she interrupted with a knowing shake of her head. "The other one."
"The other one?"
Mary smirked and raised the glass to her lips. "The one Sherlock doesn't know about."
John contemplated playing dumb for a second, but knew he'd never get it by her. Besides, he could hardly contain his own keenness. "How did you know?"
"I occasionally read Sophie pages of your notepad when you're at the clinic," she answered, earning a look from her husband.
"Starting her a bit early, don't you think?"
"She loves them!"
Like a schoolboy caught doing graffiti on his desk, John instinctively began to explain. "Okay, I know what you're thinking, and—oi, stop that—" he remarked at Mary's humored, scolding look. "It was unintentional…at first. The client came in; Sherlock had run out and said he'd be back in five minutes. So…I listened."
"Without Sherlock," she taunted, finding it all very amusing.
"She told her story, I took some notes, and she left before Sherlock came back." Mary broke into a big smile, even letting a tiny giggle escape. John had to laugh too. "What?! So I want to solve one on my own."
"And how long have you been waiting for the opportunity?"
"I wasn't waiting." He smiled at her and took another sip of water from his own glass. It would have been wine, but since Mary couldn't drink he agreed he would abstain as well. "It just happened. Besides, it's nothing major; just a tiny theft in Marylebone."
"Well then, let's hear it," she commanded with a wave of her hand. She felt the knots in her stomach finally unwind watching John's apparent enthusiasm to tell her grow in the smile at his cheeks. "Give me the facts of the case. I promise not to tell Sherlock."
John was feeling more relaxed now as well, no longer worrying about Sherlock babysitting his daughter all by himself. "Alright, I will…"
OOOOO
Molly nearly missed the 'ping' in her pocket amongst the noise of the street, but, upon pulling out her phone, was incredibly thankful she hadn't. I'll be right there! she texted back in response to the urgent message.
"What took so long?" Sherlock asked abrasively, letting the pathologist into Mary and John's flat.
"You only texted me ten minutes ago…" Molly quietly retorted, unbuttoning her coat, not caring much about his rudeness as the sound of the Watson's baby's cries reverberated throughout the flat. "You're on baby duty, then?"
The consulting detective was already back at Sophie's bouncy seat trying to console the child. "She won't stop. Did you know babies were this annoying?"
She chuckled and suppressed a smirk at the sight of London's most notoriously cold-hearted, calculating, inhuman detective waving a tiny pink rattle in front of the baby. "Have you tried picking her up?"
"It works for five seconds, and then she goes back to wailing. She's makes no attempt to communicate what's so upsetting."
"She's a baby, Sherlock."
"Yes, but a smart one. She's remarkable at holding eye contact and has passed every cognitive test I've administered with flying colors. She's really quite exceptional in every way other than the incessant crying."
"You've been testing her…" Sherlock returned a questioning 'hm', which Molly immediately had to shake off. "Never mind." She actually regarded it as rather sweet that Sherlock had taken an interest in Sophie's mental faculties, and reasoned it was probably the least surprising thing about the scene before her. "May I?"
"Be my guest." Sherlock stepped away from his goddaughter and allowed Molly to cradle Sophie in her arms. "She prefers to be held to the left side…"
Molly carefully maneuvered the girl so that her preferences were met. She rocked her a bit, and cooed soft shushes. Little by little the wails died down and eventually the contorted look of discomfort left the baby's face. "Before she starts back up again, get one of her bottles. Now please, Sherlock." He hurriedly did as he was told, relieved to finally have silence, but slightly disgruntled that it took Molly to calm Sophie. When she successfully got the baby to take the bottle, he knew he could count on at least ten minutes of peace. "There we go," Molly said, smiling down at her. "I guess even Uncle Sherlock needs some help sometimes."
Sherlock sulked subtly and sniffed the air. "You're wearing a lavender scent. It's marketed for its calming effect and commonly used to aid sleep. Had you come from work, the smell of formaldehyde would have sent Sophie into even greater hysterics."
"It's a good job I didn't come from work then," Molly retorted, turning her attention back to John and Mary's baby. "Was this your idea?"
"What?"
"Sending the new parents out so you could watch Sophie?"
Sherlock put his hands in his pants pockets and moved toward the window. "Mary was getting anxious about going back to work soon; I figured they'd need the practice. It only took a couple of suggestive comments to John. He thinks it was his idea."
Molly smiled. "I think someone else wanted practice too."
"Huh?"
"Nothing… would you like her back?"
"Alright." Molly gently passed the baby girl to Sherlock and had to hide her surprise at how well he cradled her. Although it was clear he was taking his childcare duties very seriously by the concentrating look on his face, the fondness he had for Sophie was unmistakable. Molly could tell.
OOOOO
"Well no, that wouldn't work…" Mary said, sliding the paper closer to her. Their food had arrived, but they were far more invested in the diagram John had penciled onto the back of his napkin. "The burglar couldn't have come in that way…you said all the doors and windows were still locked in the morning?"
"Right, but there's no other option? It must have been through the skylight. That's the only thing they don't lock."
Mary just shook her head. "If you're breaking into a home, skylights are out of the question. Houses aren't built like commercial buildings. The roof is thin and less insulated than any other place in the house because they don't need to be. You wouldn't be able to make it all the way to a skylight and not have someone hear. If you're breaking into an office or a warehouse, fine, but not a house." Mary didn't notice the change in the way John had begun to stare at her; she just looked harder at the map her husband had scribbled for her. "However…"
He watched the thoughts form behind her eyes. "What?"
"If you're trying to steal something…" she pondered aloud, "…and breaking in is impossible…what's the only way around it?" She thought some more, and then looked up to find her husband staring intensely at her, hanging on her words. She felt a tiny blush color her cheeks, but regrouped quickly as she slid the drawing back to John. "You need a double agent."
John had seemingly lost his train of thought, not immediately responding to the statement. There was some embarrassment on his face when he shook away the fixed gaze and cleared his throat. "You're saying it's an inside job? The burglary?"
"Yeah, looks like. It's the most likely scenario."
"One of the kids, then? Maybe they stole the necklace and are afraid of getting in trouble—"
Mary was shaking her head again. "You said the client searched everywhere, the necklace isn't in the house anymore. It'd never stay hidden that long anyway. Someone else must have stolen the necklace, but with help from one of the kids." Mary was visibly putting her thinking cap back on over the silly little burglary. John, however, couldn't concentrate on that at all. He was far too distracted.
It was nearly ten months ago that his wife's secret past was revealed. Ten months, and roughly six of them he had been spent being angry with her for lying. The other four had been spent quietly coming to terms with an alarming realization about himself. One he struggled admitting even now. He liked it. He really liked it. Of course he had always been extremely attracted to Mary, but never more so than right now watching her bygone instincts come through.
Of course, John hadn't ever stopped loving her throughout the whole ordeal, that was without question; but in the last four months… knowing who she was at her core—a bubbly, loving woman, with the heart and skill set of an assassin—he couldn't take his eyes off her.
"Are you listening to me?" she asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. His dazed look told her he wasn't. "One of the kids must have left a window open and then locked it after the—"
"Would you like to leave?" he interrupted suddenly.
She was slightly taken aback by the urgency in his tone. "What? We haven't even touched our plates…"
John realized this now too and took out his wallet, dropping a few twenty pound notes on the table. "Would you like to leave?" he said again.
She felt an air of excitement begin to coalesce within her as well, but tried to remain sensible. "Where do you want to leave to?"
"Anywhere." His eyes looked at her in a way she had only glimpsed briefly here and there in recent months. She could see something building behind them. John had the most amazing way of conveying a crescendo of emotions behind an entirely still face. It was something she had always found incredibly hot.
Mary was more than ready to leave with him. Delicately pushing her plate away, she mustered the most polite voice she could. "Did Sherlock say Mrs. Hudson was out of town this week?"
OOOOO
The 221B door flew open, crashing into the wall behind it as Mary and John clumsily pulled each other into the empty flat, not breaking apart for a second. With hands tightly clasped around John's collar, Mary forcibly pushed him up against the doorframe, completely unable to hide her delight at the whole thing. For two profoundly exhausted new parents, the ferocity between them was as impressive as it was ardent.
With equally impassioned fervor, John pushed her through the doorway and slammed it behind them. It was hardly a second later she felt her legs hit the couch and her body collapse onto it under his. Mary felt John's smile on her lips, seeing he was also unable to hide his joy at the unexpected change of plans. Lunch would have been lovely, but amorously ripping his jacket off his shoulders as he got a hand around to her dress zipper was undoubtedly a more preferable choice. The audible desire in his breathing made Mary's hands work even faster to get his shirt off him. And naturally, not wanting to be outdone, her zeal only further motivated John.
This was not about soft caresses between lovers or appreciating the wondrous ways of each other's body or any other overdone, vomit-inducing, epithetic claptrap employed by romance novelists and consumed by horny housewives. Nor was this the naughty thrill of doing something in a space that was so undeniably dissociated of any activity of the sort.
This was John proving to his wife how much he accepted her secret past, in the most coherent way imaginable, and Mary whole-heartedly welcoming it.
OOOOO
It was nearly two-thirty when Sherlock heard the couple's footsteps scratch against their nauseatingly inviting doormat. He glanced down at Sophie who had been sleeping in his arms since Molly's departure twenty minutes ago, debating whether or not to wake her. The door opened before he could come to a decision.
"Where's my baby," Mary reflexively said, coming into the flat with an eager smile. She silently aww'd at her sleeping daughter in Sherlock's arms. "Hello angel," she whispered, kissing the infant's forehead and delicately smoothing the soft blonde hair.
John's wore the same insuppressible smile as he came over and joined them, looking lovingly at his child. "How was she?"
"Good, save for one excessively cathartic incident." He motioned with his eyes toward a notepad sitting on the table in front of him. "You'll find a rough report of the last two and a half hours there; when she ate, slept, eliminated, cried, and some brief notes regarding cognitive progress."
"Sherlock, we talked about it…" John reminded him, taking a seat on the coffee table. "You testing Sophie's cognition…"
"Relax, you've got nothing to worry about. She's clearly in at least the 90th percentile."
"Really?" John questioned, proudly.
Mary shook her head at the two and rubbed her thumb gently over Sophie's arms. "I'm going to get changed, unless you're desperate to give her up."
"By all means." That was as close as Sherlock would come to confessing he did not want to give up the baby just yet. Mary turned away and smiled at that all the way up the stairs. When she was out of the room, Sherlock turned to see John smiling fondly at his daughter. "So…" the smile left John's face, he knew that tone. "Would you prefer I stay while you and Mary order a takeaway?"
John threw a stern look back to his best friend. "We just came from lunch…"
Sherlock's knowing expression didn't change. "Oh please. Your clothing, face, and growling stomach are practically a timeline of your entire lunch-date—which clearly did not consist of lunch."
"Sherlock," John warned fruitlessly.
"I would ask though that you at least left 221B in more or less the same state it was in before you and your wife… popped in."
"Stop talking now."
Sherlock hid a tiny smirk at his friend's mild embarrassment, and returned his gaze to his goddaughter. He didn't often bother concealing his fondness for her, at least not in front of John and Mary, however he wasn't at all reserved about speaking his mind either. "She's quite boring when she's asleep…though much easier to handle."
"Mind if I have a turn?" John asked, desperately wanting to hold his little girl.
"Yeah, fine."
John rose from the coffee table and came over to the two of them, lifting Sophie out of Sherlock's arms and into his own. "Hello, darling." He sat down next to his friend and laid his daughter onto his chest, planting a soft kiss on her head. "Were you well-behaved for your uncle?"
"You can review that in my notes," Sherlock offered, not recognizing rhetorical statements per usual.
John chuckled lightly and shook his head. "Maybe in a little while."
"Speaking of notes," Sherlock moved on. "I took the liberty of glancing at some of yours."
John's eyelids dropped. "You took the liberty…"
"Yes, really I was interested to see what you had written about the intern business, it helps me to see the case through a normal mind's eye. You never know what you might find." John just rolled his eyes as his friend went on. "Couldn't help but notice you've apparently branched out into a solo career." The detective wasn't in the least offended, but he did appear smug—not that that was out of the ordinary.
"Yeah, is everyone going to tease me about this?"
"Only if you can't solve it. It's a rather rudimentary puzzler so I wouldn't expect that to be a problem."
John grumbled shaking his head. "No, you're not doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Pretending you've cracked it just by glancing at the notes."
Sherlock's brow momentarily wrinkled. "You can glean all sorts of things looking at the notes; I only regret not being able to confirm my solution."
"And what is your solution?"
Just then, Mary came down the stairs, and Sherlock's attention went to her instead. "Ah Mary, even better. I'm sure you've worked it out."
"Worked what out?" She inquired, rejoining the three of them.
"John's burglary case, the locked room mystery."
"You told him?" Mary asked her husband, pleasantly surprised.
"No, he snooped," John replied with annoyance.
"You must have a theory," Sherlock directed to Mary. "Clearly it wasn't an entrance through the skylight as John has presumed."
"Actually, I've been thinking it over…" She sat down across from her three favorite people and adjusted the newly donned yoga pants. "It couldn't have been the children. From what you told me, they all sleep on the second floor."
"Well, maybe the burglar can climb?" John suggested, making sure Sophie was still comfortable.
"What if the necklace was moved out of the house before the burglary took place?" Mary proposed with an interested smile.
Sherlock looked across at her with a pleased countenance. "Go on."
She took that as an affirming sign. "What if the necklace was put into the dustbin, by her husband? All he'd have to do then is take it, that night, outside with the rest of the bins and leave it for the burglar to pick up before the morning."
John's face was torn between feeling impressed that she had gotten it, annoyed that he had not, and still slightly confused as to the 'why' aspect. Sherlock was the first to commend her. "Brilliant job, Mary."
"Well, thank you," she beamed, happy to make the detective proud. She looked over at her contemplative husband. "Sorry darling, I know you wanted to solve it yourself…"
He shook his head in a casual surrender. "No, no, it's fine. Not even sure why I would have wanted to do that."
"Yes, I think we're all slightly fuzzy on that bit," Sherlock quipped. John could have been more irritated, but, truthfully, he had just come back from possibly the greatest 'lunch date' of his life and now had his beautiful baby daughter in his arms. There was just no getting him down at the moment. "So, Mary…John told me the restaurant was horrendous. It's a shame you didn't like the meal, you must be starving."
"Oh," Mary glanced at John with surprise whose expression didn't tell her much, but she knew enough not to question it. Besides, her starving stomach would thank her. "Yes, it was abysmal, actually. Certainly won't be wasting money there again."
"Sherlock, you probably haven't eaten either?" John suggested to his friend.
"No, I haven't," he obliged.
"Well then, why don't you stay," Mary invited, going to the kitchen for her phone. "I can order us something, our treat for you watching Sophie while we were out."
Sherlock smiled and gave a nod. "Yes, that'd be fine." John mouthed a 'thank you' to him, making sure Mary didn't notice.
"You didn't take her to any crime scenes, did you?" Mary jokingly asked as she waited for someone to pick up on the other line.
"No, I think it'd be best to hold off on that for another couple of months," he answered, looking over at Sophie who was still contently snoozing against her dad's chest. John's eyes had closed as well.
"Yeah, I think that'd be wise," the blonde agreed, just before her call was answered. "Yes, hello…"
"Sherlock," John said quietly.
"Hm?"
"If Mrs. Hudson asks why there is a tiny knick in the wallpaper going up the stairs…would you mind telling her it was some criminal coming to hurt you or something."
"Alright." He agreed without a problem, staring straight ahead. "And if Mary asks why there is a faint smell of lavender on Sophie's onesie…"
John emitted a tired chuckle and nodded. "Yeah, alright."
"I could have done it alone, you know."
"Of course you could have."
"Molly was complaining the other day she hadn't seen the baby lately…so, it was really more me doing her a favor."
"I'm sure it was." Now it was John's turns to be smug.
The detective rolled his eyes. "Just go back to staring at your baby."