NOTES:

The character in here is female and around Sherlock's age, a little younger, maybe two-three years. She is American. ENJOY.

When sunlight finally started to slip through the curtains, I raised my head from Sherlock's chest and looked up at him through my sleep-clouded eyes. He looked somehow vulnerable when he was asleep, as if all the mystery and emotionlessness surrounding him had slipped away to reveal a little boy in the body of a man. His face was smooth and lax, and his body lay draped across the bed, with one arm around me. Seeing him asleep brought out a protective, mother-like side in me. It made me see how delicate he was. Not in the traditional sense, for I can tell you first hand that Sherlock Holmes is anything but delicate, but in the emotional sense.

I lifted my hand from where it had rested on his heart, and brought it up to hover near his face. I hesitated, not wanting to wake him from his peaceful state, but then started to trace his bottom lip. I ran the tip of my finger over the bottom, then top, and idly moved to his cheekbones. You really could cut yourself on those things, I thought to myself. Sherlock shifted, mumbling something unintelligible as I continued my exploration of his face. As I worked my way slowly down the side of his head to his neck and collarbone, he opened his eyes lazily.

"I would ask why you woke me at such an hour as this." he murmured.

"Well, I saw a speck of dust on your face and simply wished to get rid of it for you." I answered with a smirk.

"Is it gone now?"

"I should hope not."

He laughed, his deep baritone reverberating through my ears. "Stubborn little thing, is it?"

"Mmm-hm"

He gasped, then chuckled as my finger dove to the waist of his boxers, drawing a path downwards.

"Isn't it a bit early for that, dear?"

"Never."

I pushed myself up and swung my leg over his torso, straddling him. I looked down at him, sleepy and awake at the same time, and laughed.

"What?"

"You look cute in the mornings is all."

He smiled, gazing up at me, and I was happy to see love in his eyes. He pulled me down a pressed his lips to mine, wrapping his arms around my waist. We were interrupted, however, by the ring of a cell phone somewhere across the room. I groaned when I realized it was Sherlock's.

"Lestrade?" I asked.

"Probably. Someone went and got murdered again, I would suspect. Would you mind getting that for me?"

"That would involve effort, husband dear."

"Is that a no?"

"It's a you-damn-well-better-appreciate-me, that's what it is."

"Oh, I do."

"Suuuuuuure."

The cellphone had gone silent, but it would ring again in a couple of seconds, so I pushed down on Sherlock's chest and hoisted myself off him. I could feel his eyes on me while I strode across the room to his jacket, making sure to sway my hips a little. I fished around in the pocket and eventually found his phone, but when I turned to walk back to the bed, Sherlock was standing behind me.

I smiled at him "Couldn't stand to be away from me for a couple of seconds?"

"I just realized that I did not want to wait for you to walk all the way back to the bed. After all, that would be wasting time, and since I will no doubt be called off somewhere to explain perfectly obvious evidence to the imbeciles who 'investigate' crimes, time is of the essence."

By "time", he had picked me up and sat me on the desk and by "evidence, he was kissing my throat and neck feverishly.

I giggled. "I thought you said it was too early."

"Did I? I don't recall."

The second interruption came in the form of a wailing infant by the name of Damien Holmes.

"Seems we are prevented any intimacy this morning, wife of mine."

I slid off the desk slowly and snagged my robe off the nearby dresser, and after pulling Sherlock in for one last grinning kiss, went off to tend to our son. I walked into his room to find him sitting in his crib with a pillow on his head. "Silly goose." , I said, after pulling the pillow off him. I picked him up and held him against my chest as until his crying stopped, patting him on the back. I could hear Sherlock talking to Lestrade and getting dressed in our bedroom, and I curled up in the black leather armchair in Damien's room, rocking my baby in my arms as he sniffled. Sherlock came to the door after a few minutes and stared at me, the look in his eyes saying everything.

"It's alright, Sher, I'm used to it."

"It doesn't feel right leaving both of you alone. It's only been four weeks since you came home."

I cocked my eyebrow. "Sherlock Holmes, I can handle myself and our son fine, thank you. Go and solve murders."

He walked over to me and knelt by the arm of the chair. "I'll be home before you know it." he whispered to Damien.

I cuffed him over the ear. "Go!"

He smiled.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

If I get enough fandom interest, this could become a full-blown fic, prequel and post.

REVIEWS AND IT MIGHT HAPPEN.

Also, if there is any interest for just one-shots, message me! I LIVE TO SERVE MY READERS.

love,

lorelei