As the time for their retirement came ever closer, the "Baker Street Boys," as folks had sometimes called them, began to relax. They had done it: raised a daughter they hadn't expected into a kind, intelligent person. Now they just had to help her through one more year of university and then they'd be free to pack up and move to their cottage in Sussex Downs.
221B was quiet without Rosie. Even when Sherlock played the violin, the flat seemed thick with emptiness. Her room was rarely disturbed and there wasn't much in it anymore, just a bed and a small chest of drawers with a few boxes of things she had left behind. As such, Sherlock almost felt like he was trespassing when he went in there to do some cleaning in preparation for her homecoming. The place had accumulated enough dust to be a health hazard, John's knees weren't what they used to be, and Mrs. Hudson was no longer with them, a fact that still made Sherlock quiver like a lost puppy. So it was up to him to get the place cleaned.
He hated doing things like this. It was well worth doing for people he loved of course, but it was dull and dredged up sentimental memories. Rosie had left her dress for the school dance hanging in her closet, the puberty book they had bought her on the shelf. And—oh, this was something, her old mini toilet from when she was still in nappies. Sherlock had no idea it was even still in the flat, and here it resided far back in a corner of the closet.
He smiled. There had been challenges in raising a girl, that was for sure. Even John, brilliant doctor and former ladies' man that he was, had been stumped at times. But somehow they'd made it through potty training, periods, and everything in between. And now that Rosie was 21 and long finished with puberty, they wouldn't have to worry about clearing any more anatomical hurdles.
Sherlock really did hate being wrong.
"I went for my physical while I was at Uni and the nurse said I have to start seeing a gynecologist soon," Rosie said when John asked. Ever the doctor, he was always making them go for checkups and asking how it went.
"And you're not happy about this?" Sherlock adjusted his glasses so he could see her face better. His aging transport made deducing difficult.
Rosie hugged a sofa cushion to her chest. "No. They're probably going to do a pap test."
"They should, it's important," John said. Sherlock and Rosie shared an eye roll.
"Dad, do you know what happened to my roommate when she went for hers? He didn't believe her when she told him she was a virgin, and when he did the pap test, he broke her hymen! She was bleeding when she came home and cried all night."
Sherlock sat up and hunched forward, eyes locked on Rosie and hands folding under his chin. "You didn't go to this gynecologist, right?"
"Hell no, 'course not. But I'm still afraid of another doctor doing the same thing." Her shaky voice stirred something primal in Sherlock's stomach. "I know one thing, I'm only going to a woman doctor."
"Excuse me," Sherlock said, and got to his feet. A certain British government's retirement point had arrived long ago, but the man had yet to meet it, which in this case should prove quite fortunate.
Need a favor. – SH
I am not bailing you and John out of prison again. – M
No need. All I ask is that you locate the best and most gentle female gynecologist in London. Preferably one with a history of compassion for patients. – SH
For Watson, I presume? – M
Obviously. – SH
I'll see what I can do. – M
Rosie's quietness filled the cab. Maybe it was because she was jammed in the middle seat between Sherlock and John, but the former thought she was keeping her legs unusually close together. That morning even John had noticed that she was wearing tight trousers instead of the loose, flowey, and sometimes baggy things she normally preferred.
"It'll be all right," Sherlock whispered, hoping the cabbie couldn't hear them. "I've researched her history. She won't hurt you."
"No she won't," John added. "Or she'll have us to answer to."
Rosie smiled but her shoulders didn't relax. Traffic was getting heavy, and John was glancing nervously at the meter. When they were a block away, he insisted the cabbie stop there and the three of them got out and walked the rest of the way.
Central London Obstetrics & Gynecology. The building was smaller than it had looked online, but Sherlock could see that it had been well kept up. Inside it was busy, full of women, many of them pregnant and toting small children. One was carrying triplets, another twins for the second time, that one over there was trying to get pregnant and failing, and the woman in the corner had become pregnant by accident but was refusing abortion for religious reasons—
"Sherlock?" Oh, right. Now wasn't the time to be deducing. He refocused on Rosie.
"Were you and Dad planning to come in with me?" She sat down and Sherlock joined her while John handled the paperwork—he always filled it out for them because he knew what all the medical jargon meant.
Sherlock shrugged. "I suppose if you want us to, we can. But if not we can wait out here."
Rosie half smiled. "Well I do, it's just…you know, I'm 21 now, and I'm going to be somewhat on display…"
"Right, I know," Sherlock patted her hand. He certainly wouldn't want his parents to go into a doctor's office with him either, especially if his unmentionables would be in full view. Hell, he didn't like to go to a doctor's office period, unless that doctor happened to be a hot army veteran from Afghanistan named John Watson, who was rejoining them now.
"I must have put 'virgin' on that sheet ten different times in ten different ways," he said. "And I made a note for them to use the smallest speculum they have."
"Thank you," Rosie said, and Sherlock's heart lightened at the change in her face. His research had indicated that Pap tests went much better when the woman was relaxed; tensing up would only make it worse. He didn't blame her though; he and John had struggled similarly when they'd had to have prostate exams for the first time. Even the ever-vigilant medical man Dr. Watson himself had to be dragged out of the flat for that one.
"Rosamund?" The door opened and the nurse stuck her head out. Rosie jumped, and as she reached for her bag to go inside and her hand curled around her stomach, Sherlock found himself standing up and walking over. He was pleased but not surprised when John followed suit.
The nurse hugged the clipboard and looked up at them with a slightly nervous grin. "Can I help you?"
"Yes, Rosamund is our daughter," John said. "We were wondering if we could possibly speak to Dr. Misty for a moment before she goes in?"
The nurse relaxed and nodded. "Wait here, I'll see if she has a minute." She disappeared into a side office just as Rosie came up behind them.
"What are you doing?"
Sherlock ushered her inside. "Just wait for the doctor in the office over there, love." Rosie obeyed, knowing by now not to question Sherlock's confusing instructions. She had learned from an early age that there was always a method to his madness.
John closed the door behind them and they stepped forward as the nurse emerged from the side office with Dr. Misty behind her. She had a warm, matronly face and what Sherlock could tell were experienced hands.
As usual, John tried to be diplomatic. "Hi, sorry to take up your time, we'll only be a minute. We're Rosie—Rosamund's—parents, and well, she's our only child and—"
"And she's a virgin and she's nervous. This is her first visit to an OB-GYN, so we want to ask that you be as gentle with her as you possibly can and use the smallest speculum you've got for the Pap test," Sherlock said, ignoring John's closed eyes and the little "Okay" that slipped out of his mouth. Well, we were going to be standing here all day with you doing the talking.
"Of course," Dr. Misty said. "I've had many patients who didn't become sexually active until their 30's or even later, and they've all been okay. What we do is take it slowly and pull out and go back in if necessary."
Sherlock felt relieved already, and slightly amused at how her last statement could be interpreted. At least she believed that Rosie was a virgin. "Thank you."
"Sure thing. Would you like to be in the room with us?"
"Oh no, that's okay," John said. "We'll just wait out here. Thanks."
"No problem. She's lucky to have dads like you." Dr. Misty winked at them as she joined Rosie in the office and closed the door. Sherlock and John shared assured smiles.
Just when they thought they'd go mad if one more child screamed or ran around their chairs, the door opened and Rosie came out. Sherlock and John stood up so fast that the magazines they'd been pretending to read fell to the floor.
"How did it go?" they asked in unison.
Rosie approached them before dropping her voice to a whisper. "Not too bad. It definitely hurt at first, but she was really careful and it was over quickly." Sherlock leaned down, but didn't see any tears gathering in her eyes.
"Feel better?" John asked, clapping her on the shoulder while they made their way to the door.
"Lots," Rosie said. "Especially since I won't have to go back for three years!"
Sherlock chuckled. He hoped that gender biology wouldn't rear its ugly head again until then. It clearly didn't go away with age.
