A/N: I honestly have no idea if zoos in the UK include petting zoos with farm animals, and I'm too lazy to Google it so let's all just pretend they do.
Three French Hens
*Little Rosamund Watson stares down a beady eyed chicken, and the French Hen stares back just as intensely. *
Mary: Do you think she'll be okay?
Molly: Yes. Maybe. Probably.
Sherlock: There's a fence between them, and we're in a bloody petting zoo. The animals are mostly docile, she'll be fine.
*John grimaces and urges his daughter to move past the hens toward the goats.*
John: That's what you said about the alpaca, and it took me five minutes to get all the spit out of my eye.
Sherlock: Everyone else managed to move out of the way, I don't know why you didn't do the same. I would have thought your reflexes were faster than that.
*John glares but is distracted by his daughter, who has just discovered the rabbits. Mary dashes after her family, wanting a picture of Rosie cuddling the fluffy furball.*
Sherlock: Why did I agree to this?
Molly: Because it's Rosie's birthday and she wanted to go to the zoo, and you've never been able to deny her anything since she discovered what a sucker you are for a pair of baby blue eyes.
Sherlock: Brown.
Molly: Pardon?
Sherlock: It's not her eyes, it's the way she calls me 'Uncle Sherlock' and then wibbles her lip in that hopeful smile thing she does.
Molly: That's true, she's suckered me in with the 'Auntie Molly' bit a few times. But what did you mean 'brown', Rosie's clearly got blue eyes, Sherlock.
*Sherlock steps in front of Molly and blocks her path.*
Sherlock: She does. But yours are brown.
Molly: I-I don't, what?
Sherlock: Think about it, Molly. You'll figure it out.
*Sherlock catches up with the Watsons. Molly joins them soon after, and she can't stop smiling.*