Chapter 7
Irene waited in the parlor, Sophie playing on the floor beside her. The little girl was dressed and ready to go, her lady hat continueously falling over her eyes. She lifted it up and her eyes lit up as she watched her daddy descend the stairs. She met him on the second-to-bottom step, raising her arms. He picked her up.
Irene lingered by the front door hesitantly. She tucked some fly-away curls behind her ear and made eye-contact with an imaginary fourth person.
"Lucy." Sophie shoved the smelly doll in Holmes face.
Holmes kissed Lucy. He then moved it aside so he could kiss Sophie. She looked at him, her smile frozen, but something else behind it. Her eye shifted, studying him intently, and she leaned forward and kissed him back, her little lips gracing his. She then buried her face in his neck and hummed softly. Her fingers brushed the back of his head. He heard her whispering, and he closed his eyes.
"Daddy," she whispered over and over.
"Thank you for taking care of her," Irene said softly, finally looking their way. "It means a lot to me."
"But not to me." He set Sophie down, putting his guard up once more.
"I never meant it that way," Irene said. "That's not fair, Sherlock."
The detective let out a little huff of breath, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Tell me what is fair, Irene. Really, I'd like to know." He looked away, and then back at her. "The fact that you're taking my child away from me? The fact that I'll probably never see her again?"
"I wouldn't do that to you," The woman said.
"Again." His smile was icy. Shaking his head, he muttered, "Get over yourself, Irene." and turned heel.
"Sherlock-" Irene caught him by the arm. "I really am sorry."
She didn't wait for a response, and released him, turning to Sophie. "Let's go, Dear." She picked her up, kissing her cheek. "You have Lucy? Lisa?"
Sophie nodded, and peered over her mother's shoulders to look at her father. Meanwhile, Watson entered the room, lurking in the background. Everyone was quiet. Irene sighed heavily, and opened the front door. Over her shoulder, she said, "Thank you again."
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"Well, I hope your satisfied," Watson said, after the front door closed. He sighed, picking up his paper on the side table. He headed for the stairs, but paused, turning his head. Squinting skeptically, and moving slowly, he moved around Holmes to face him.
Tears were streaming down the detective's face. Watson closed his eyes, breathing through his nose. He looked at the front door, tapping his rolled paper against his thigh.
"Holmes," he said quietly. "It's not too late."
Holmes, still staring at the door, wiped a hand across his face. He didn't respond.
"Do you want to know why you're the world's most brilliant man?" The doctor asked. "It's not because you put your mind to things, but because you don't when it comes to personal matters. You ignore all logic and do what your heart tells you. You always have." His voice lowered. "At my wedding, when the preacher said 'speak now or forever hold your piece', in front of a hundred people, you raced up to the alter and told me that you loved me."
Holmes wiped his eyes again, looking down at the floor. He looked back at the door, and opened it, stepping out. Without the closing the door behind him, he tore down the street, rounding the corner. Watson followed him, stopping at the street corner, resting his hands on his thighs to catch his breath. When he looked up, he was smiling.
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The detective ran, mentally following the carriage Irene had climbed into-with his precious Sophie. It only took a few blocks to catch up to it, and stopping abruptly, panting, he shook his head. Swallowing, he skidded in front of the horses, frightening them into a frenzy, causing one of them to raise and thrash angrily at him with its front hooves.
The coach climbed out, trying to settle the horses and curse Holmes at the same time. The detective stood up, ignoring him, and made his way to the door of the carriage. Irene had already opened it. She looked shocked.
"What are you doing?" She asked.
Holmes looked past her, and Sophie looked back at him. Her face was red, and tear-stained. She wept, climbing into his arms, and he held her tightly, burying his face in her hair. The coach continued to scream at him, and Irene continued to question him, demanding answers. People on the street stared shamelessly at him. Watson finally caught up, and watched him. Holmes ignored them all, and smiled, tears rolling down his face again. He kissed Sophie.
Irene softened, her expression slowly changing from shock and worry to relief and understanding. Watson pulled the driver aside, trying to settle him down. As he paraded him a good few feet away, he kept Holmes in the corner of his eye.
"Daddy," Sophie sniffled, her bottom lip trembling. "Daddy..." she began to cry again.
Holmes knelt down, picking up Lucy who'd fallen on the ground. He pressed the doll's face to hers. "Lucy," he said.
Sophie smiled, and Holmes wiped her nose with his hand. She fingered the doll, brushing her hands over every part of its worn dimension.
The driver had settled down by this point, and Watson paid him for his troubles. He would order Irene a new cab. He walked over to the group, and Sophie turned to him, smiling again. "Papa."
Irene squinted slightly, looking between Holmes and Watson. She stared up at the dark sky. When she looked back at them, she was crying too. Watson took Sophie from Holmes, and she fingered his moustache, which had begun to grow back over the past few days. Again, nobody spoke.
To Be Continued....
