Chapter 2: Year Three

"And then, um...well, the princess didn't like that one," Sophie said, turning another page in the book. "She liked the other one. Well, after she painted..." she paused in her 'reading' and glanced to her left-Watson, and then to her right-Holmes. "I don't know."

Watson chuckled and Holmes nodded. He pointed to one of the pages. It was one of Watson's medical guides. "Do tell me," he said. "I remember you mentioning a talking horse named Carlton-"

"No, Daddy." Sophie closed the book. "No more bedtime story."

"It was a beautiful story," Watson told her, leaning down to kiss her. "I can't wait to hear the rest tomorrow evening."

"No," Sophie said, shaking her head. "We're not reading that story tomorrow." She sat up and leaned over Watson to drop the book on the floor. "Tomorrow I want you to read me a story again."

She wriggled back in between them and sighed contently. "It's bedtime now," she said, her face serious.

"You certainly sound stern for somebody who is supposed to be sleeping in her own bed," Holmes informed her.

"You can't sleep with us forever," Watson added.

"Why?" Sophie turned her head slightly, raising her eyes to him.

"What will we do when you grow?" Watson explained. "There won't be room for the three of us."

Sophie pondered this. She smiled toothily and said, "Then Daddy will sleep in my bed and I'll stay here with Papa!" She hugged Watson, snuggling into his side.

Watson laughed and Holmes groaned good-naturedly. He sat up half-way, propped up on his side, and pulled Sophie away, towards him. "So fierce!" He growled, tickling her.

Sophie wriggled around, laughing, trying to pry his hands away. When he released her, she rolled over and leaned into his face, kissing him on the lips. "We can all sleep in my bed."

"No!" She whined as Watson cut up her breakfast. "I want to do it!"

"No, you'll hurt yourself," Watson said, quickly finishing the job. He scooted her chair closer to the table and put a napkin in the front of her dress. "Now hurry and eat. Mama's coming today."

"Mama!" She squealed, bouncing up and down on her stack of books. "Mama! Mama!"

" 'Mama' 'Mama'," Holmes mimicked in a high-pitched whisper across the table. In his normal voice he said, "You can't see Mama until you eat your breakfast."

Holmes and Watson were happy that Irene was still in Sophie's life, but it always made them a bit cranky when she came around. She would take Sophie to wherever she was currently residing and keep her anywhere from a few days to a a month. It was relaxing, in a way, and certainly nice to have their privacy, but they missed her just the same.

"When is Mama coming?" The three-year old asked, her mouth full.

Watson looked up from his coffee. "Not with your mouth full," he reminded her.

Sophie quickly swallowed and asked again, "When is Mama coming?"

"She should be arriving today," The doctor replied, reaching over to brush a few crumbs away from her lips. "You just have to be patient."

As if on cue, and to Sophie's delight, there was a knock at the door. Sophie dropped her toast on the floor as she climbed down from her chair, and briefly glanced at it before racing out of the dining room. Holmes followed her and opened the door just as the toddler started to do so herself. She still hadn't figured out the chain lock too hight for her to reach was always locked.

"My darling!" Irene laughed, just as Sophie flew into her arms. She scooped her up and smothered her with kisses. "Mama missed you so much."

She looked up and leaned forward, kissing Sherlock briefly. Watson entered the room and she did the same. She let Sophie dangle in her arms for a moment, and then set her down, taking her hand. "She's gotten so big. How long has it been?"

"Only two months," the doctor smiled.

Sophie tugged at her mother's hand. "Come and see what I did! Come and see, Mama!"

Irene allowed herself to be taken upstairs and Sophie held up a stack of scratch paper used for case notes, flipping them over to reveal crayon drawings. Irene knelt down, taking the stack from her. Sophie tugged at her dress, forcing her into a sitting position, and moved to her lap.

"This is Gladstone-" she pointed to a scribble. "And this is Daddy, and this is Papa, and this is Clarkey, and this is Lestrade, and this is Nanny, and this is Lucy, and this is Lisa, and this is you, and this is me, and this is the post man-"

"What are we doing in these pictures?" Irene asked softly, inhaling the scent of her curls.

"Um..." Sophie took one of the sheets from her. "In this one, Papa is putting a wrap on my arm because I fell outside." She turned her head, and held up her arm, pointing to an imaginary scar. "I was running and it was wet and I fell."

"Oh, no." Irene pouted, and kissed the 'abrasion'. "And this one?"

"This one is Daddy playing violin. He's playing the song that goes doo-dee-dee-doo-doo-dee-dee." she nodded her head as she explained.

"Pathetique," Holmes explained, clearing his throat. Irene and Watson stared at him. "Beethoven."

"Daddy and Papa are so good to you," Irene said, turning Sophie around to face her. "These are beautiful pictures."

"I know," the toddler replied casually. She fingered her mother's hair. Irene stood up, lifting the little girl with her.

The first few nights Sophie was away, Holmes and Watson enjoyed themselves, especially in bed, which they hardly had to themselves. It was said that children destroyed the flames of passion in a relationship, but Holmes and Watson knew better. They'd never been more in love, more connected, since she'd entered their lives.

"Love you," Watson panted in a whisper, trailing his lips along Holmes' face.

"Love you," Holmes murmured back, raising his head a little.

It was bliss-the much wanted, and needed sex. They couldn't get enough of each other, but even though the encounters were welcomed, they found the days growing longer without Sophie.

Two weeks. Two long weeks, and Sophie was back. Irene carried her inside the house when Holmes opened the door. It wasn't anything new. Irene always brought her back while she was sleeping. As sharp as the toddler was, she still didn't quite understand why her mother wasn't always there like her fathers. Holmes and Watson constantly offered their home to her, but she always declined.

"We had a good time," she said quietly, bouncing the little girl slightly as she shifted her weight.

Sophie stirred a little, whining, and Holmes took her. She immediately went right back to sleep. Irene followed him upstairs to the little girl's room-Watson's old room, and watched as he carefully placed her in the bed.

"Think she'll stay there?" She joked.

"I could put her in handcuffs and she'd still find her way next door," Holmes joked back, dryly. He covered her up and looked at Irene. "Where's-"

"In her bag." Irene opened the satchel with Sophie's things, retrieving the two dolls. She placed them on either side of the child.

"You know you're always welcome to stay with us," the detective said, looking at Sophie.

Irene shook her head. "I used to think it was a mistake, bringing her here, away from me..." she gingerly sat on the bed, and threaded her fingers through Sophie's. "It wasn't. It was the one choice I've ever made correctly."

To Be Continued....

Author's note: Okay, for those of you who don't have any experience with three-year olds, they never shut up. They talk, and talk, and talk, so I had a lot of fun with this chapter because Sophie is finally talking! Not just baby-talk like in SSL, but actual sentences.