Take This Hand, We Can Do It.

Authors Note: Wow guys, its only chapter seven and you've already given me over 100 reviews. I feel so honoured to have you all as readers! Last night, I was going to write up another chapter but I decided instead I'd write out this whole story – the plan – and after an hour I finished it and my, I'm so pleased with what I've done! It's going to be twenty-five chapters that is including an epilogue. I'm not going to fool you all like I did during 'Give His Heart a Break.' I was considering it but I thought, fuck no! So anyways, this story is going to be new for me as it involves something I don't know much about. Lucky for me, I have two people I can turn to about it. ;) However, here's chapter seven; I hope you like it!
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock in anyway.


Chapter Seven: Trinkets and Toes.

The morning after Molly and Sherlock had laid Mary and John to rest everything went back to normal.

Neither Molly nor Sherlock spoke of any of the happenings from the night before.

The sweet kiss shared between them was left as a secret to the night, not that either minded.

Molly thought a conversation about it would be awkward.

Sherlock, quite frankly, didn't care for the kiss.

It had been a moment he knew Mary and John would have shared before sleep.

That was all.

He felt nothing for Molly.

A conversation about the kiss between them would suggest otherwise, he didn't want to rekindle the feelings Molly had for him.

He may have not liked Toby but he sure as hell would rather her with him than chasing after himself, a man who would never put himself in such a situation.

Currently, the pair were going through Mary and John's things.

Every now and then Molly would stop and show Sherlock a physical memory she had found – often in the form of a photograph, a card, a note, and the occasional trinket.

Sherlock cared not.

He simply wished Molly would stop.

It left him feeling awkward.

He had no reply for Molly other than something rude.

He knew that his rudeness upset Molly and if he were honest, he hated to upset Molly.

It would just be for the better if she didn't keep trying to show him the things she found.

He told her that which resulted in Molly's eyes glossing over and her leaving the room.

He sighed.

Emotions.

They were complicated and useless.

"Molly," he called, following her out in to the hall, leaving Elizabeth in her playpen in the living room.

He found Molly sitting on the stairs.

Her lip was trembling as she forced back the tears waiting to fall.

He sighed, once again.

"What did I say?"

He honestly didn't get how he had offended her with what he had said – he was just stating a fact.

He sat down next to her on the stairs when she didn't reply.

He felt like a clown.

There was barely any space between them.

He liked Molly.

She was one of the good people in the world.

She was one of the only ones who could even somewhat be considered a friend in his life.

However, that didn't mean he appreciated being this close to her.

He did like his personal space.

"What are you going to do when Elizabeth wants you to share with her some memories of her parents? Tell her no simply because it makes you feel awkward? You can't do that, Sherlock. Just because you don't like the situation doesn't mean it can just be stopped." Molly whispered, a few tears slipping from her eyes and hitting her hands.

"I know I wasn't as close to them as you, Sherlock, but they were still my friends and as much as you hate the world of emotions – I-I'm feeling a lot of them right now and this is one of the only ways I know of coping with them. I just wish you could understand that and even if it's a fake reaction… just react as if you feel!"

Sherlock frowned down at his pathologist.

"I feel."

Molly looked up at him.

"I know you feel, Sherlock," she whispered before looking back at her hands, "I just mean–I–that you'd feel something towards the memories I'm finding. I know they mean something to you, I just wish you'd let me see what they mean to you."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Molly–"

She cut him off by standing up and shaking her head.

"Don't worry. It's not important. Come on, let's check on Elizabeth; you cannot leave her alone you know. Social services would take her off you for the amount of time you've left her alone if they found out." She teased and walked back in to the living room to coo at the little baby and check on her.

Sherlock watched her leave, her words still resounding in his head.

He didn't hear anything she spoke off about Elizabeth but he soon got up and followed her in to the living room to check on the little girl who was now in his care.

"Molly…" He called out, a nervous hilt to his tone.

The brunette rounded the corner from the kitchen and looked at him.

"Yes?"

"Elizabeth smells awful."

Sherlock frowned down at the little baby who was smiling up at him.

"Check her nappy." The brunette rolled her eyes and turned back around, going in to the Watson's kitchen.

Sherlock glared at Molly before bending down to pick Elizabeth up.

He hadn't done this before.

What on earth was he supposed to do?

He'd never seen this done before.

He'd always refused to watch Mary, John or Harley.

When Molly had insisted that she would teach him how to do so he had simply narrowed his eyes on to her, and in a dangerous voice growled at her that if she even so much as started to change Elizabeth in front of him, he would personally murder her cat.

Molly had gasped but took his threat as a real one and after changing Elizabeth's nappy she left 221b and proceeded to ignore Sherlock for the next three days.

She'd come home from work one day to find him sitting on her sofa, waiting for her.

It wasn't exactly her fault she forgave him – he practically forced her in to it.

But now, Molly was in the kitchen and refused to help him.

He glared down at Elizabeth who simply continued to smile up at him and make those goddamn annoying baby cooing sounds.

"It can't be too hard, Elizabeth. Even morons can change a baby's nappy and believe me when I say I am no moron." He smiled at the little girl before he pulled up the dress Molly had clothed her in this morning and quickly deduced how to undo the nappy.

When he was successful, his eyebrows shot up at what he found.

"Molly," he called the worry evident in his voice.

Molly came rushing in.

She'd only ever heard his voice sound desperate like this once before and that was when he had come to her for help in faking his death.

"What on earth's the matter, Sherlock?" She gasped.

"Is Elizabeth OK?" She rushed to his side, her eyes running over the baby's form trying to discover the problem.

"Molly, there's just nothing."

Molly's eyebrows knitted together.

"I don't follow…"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked up at her.

"Molly, her nappy is empty."

Molly's eyes widened at what Sherlock had just said.

Was he serious?

"That's exactly my thoughts, Molly."

She highly doubted he was thinking along the same lines as her.

"Oh dear God, Sherlock… there's nothing wrong with her nappy being empty."

"But the smell…" He frowned.

For a genius, he was certainly oblivious at times.

Molly laughed.

Sherlock glared at her.

He found nothing amusing about their current situation.

He was just about to tell Molly that before she spoke, explaining.

"Sherlock, she was probably just passing wind."

Oh.

He hadn't thought of that.

Why on earth had he not thought of that?

Why did he simply come to the conclusion that something was wrong?

Thinking about it now, he had no idea.

There was certainly nothing for him to deduce a problem from.

Molly sat down beside him and did Elizabeth's nappy up and pulled her dress down, she then settled her on to the floor where she began to progress from her sniper's crawl in to an almost proper crawl across the carpet to one of her toys.

Molly smiled as she watched Sherlock.

She couldn't help but wonder if John had moments like this.

He must have.

It was incredibly sweet watching one process through Sherlock.

"Don't worry, Sherlock. It happens to all fathers."

"I'm not her father." He snapped.

His eyes landed on Molly and he glared.

She gulped and looked away, feeling ashamed.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"How else could you have meant it, Molly?"

Before she had a chance to answer, Sherlock spoke again.

"We should get back to work. Lots to sort out still." He murmured and stood from his seat.

Molly nodded her head in agreement but didn't dare move, she just watched him.

He'd been like this all day.

Hot and cold.

It hurt.

It was worse than normal.

She figured it was to do with his grieving the loss of John but still… it hurt.

She held back the tears that wanted to fall.

She stood up and got back to work.


An hour later, Sherlock spoke again.

He'd found a trinket of John's and proceeded to tell her how it had come about.

It was from one of their cases.

It was a funny story really.

A funny memory really.

She assumed that was Sherlock's way of saying sorry to her right now.

She smiled at him and laughed when it was necessary; her way of showing him she accepted his apology.


Another hour passed and the two decided to call it quits for the day.

Elizabeth was getting tired and Molly was getting hungry.

Sherlock had sorted most of the financial parts out and Molly had sorted at least half of their belongings out.

Molly had gotten Elizabeth ready and back in to her pram, she followed Sherlock out of the house and watched him lock up.

She pushed the pram down the path and then paused as they came out of the gate.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Forget something?"

She hadn't.

He knew that.

He also knew why she'd paused.

He just didn't want to register it.

He knew not why.

"Sherlock… I-I… it's just… I-uh… God, this is hard," she whispered that part mostly to herself, "I have to go home."

She looked down at Elizabeth who was already asleep in her pram before looking back up at Sherlock.

"I can't keep making my neighbour check on Toby and I have a boyfriend… it's not really right for me to be practically living with you. I'll be here if you need me – I'm a text away. But you need to get in to a routine with Elizabeth and you need to learn to cope on your own… I'm not helping you move on."

Sherlock glared at her.

He saw nothing wrong with their routine.

He also didn't like the fact this was to do with Toby.

Why couldn't he understand that this was how Molly was living right now?

He continued to glare at her, letting no emotion slip over his cold face.

"Mrs Hudson will be back in a couple of days and you'll have a woman on hand to help you take care of Elizabeth, if you need it. But I need to get back to my life, Sherlock… it's been a week. I need to go back to work; Bart's will only give me so much leeway."

Sherlock nodded his head, curtly.

Molly sighed.

She hadn't expected this kind of reaction.

She thought he'd be glad to get rid of her by now.

"So, I'll check in on you tomorrow, OK?"

Sherlock didn't even give her a nod this time.

She moved forward, about to give him a hug, but she paused and reached out a hand and awkwardly patted his shoulder.

They stood like that for a few moments before Molly pulled back and bent down and pecked Elizabeth's head.

Sherlock's chest tightened at the scene before his eyes.

He didn't know why.

He didn't particularly fancy analysing it right now either.

He watched as Molly walked in the opposite direction of the way he'd be taking Elizabeth in a few moments.

He sighed and once she'd turned the corner, he turned around himself.

He began to walk.

His mind slowly becoming crowded with his thoughts.

He then realised.

He turned back around.

Elizabeth's pram was still sat outside the Watson's house, the baby peacefully sleeping.

His eyes widened a fraction.

Shit.

How on earth was he going to be her guardian?

He wasn't cut out for this.

There was no structure to this.

Every great crime had a structure, parenting didn't.

Every child would be different and taking care of them wouldn't be the same as taking care of another.

He couldn't do this.

He sighed and went back and quickly grabbed a hold of her pram and pushed her along the street until a taxi came in sight and he hailed it down.

After a slight struggle on working out how to get the pram in to the cab – the driver explained how to.

Sherlock begrudgingly thanked him and then climbed in himself and ordered the driver to take him to "221 Baker Street."


Sherlock and Elizabeth soon reached Baker Street and he paid the cabbie and with some difficulty he removed the pram from the back of the taxi.

He pulled the pram up the steps of 221 and then dropped the pram off in the hallway, pulling Elizabeth from it and with the baby bag and baby, he ran up the stairs and to 221b.

He placed Elizabeth on the floor of the flat, dropped her baby bag to the sofa and sat down with a sigh.

He didn't want to dwell on all the thoughts he was having right now.

It involved analysing emotions he just didn't want to face and so instead, he went to the fridge and pulled out a jar of toes.

It was time he had a look at the experiment he had started two weeks ago.

Removing the toes from the jar he got all the equipment he needed and got to work.

He was so absorbed in what he was doing, he barely noticed another person in the flat with him and Elizabeth.

He finally looked up after the tenth time the woman had cleared her throat.

He frowned but didn't stand up.

He spoke nothing, waiting for her to start.

"Your front door was open as was your flats door." She stated.

He still made no comment; his eyes however did fall to Elizabeth in her arms.

He suddenly felt rather angry at the sight.

He began to take the woman in: black suit, clearly not tailored for her – she probably brought it from M a pair of dress trousers, blazer with a white blouse; well-worn as was the woman's face: dark circles caressed the skin under her eyes, an indication that she worked late and had many sleepless nights, most likely because of her job. From the stain located just beneath the collar of her blouse – a small stripe of red felt tip – she worked with children. A job that is made up of long hours and sleepless nights and revolves around children points to her being a social worker. Judging from the keys visible in her hands – two key rings featuring a cat and dog – she has no children of her own and is recently divorced due to the shading of the skin on her ring finger.

Final conclusion: she's mine and Elizabeth's social worker.

Sherlock automatically stood up and plastered on a smile and held his hand out.

"Hello, I'm Sherlock Holmes! Thank-you so much for letting me know about those blasted doors! They always seem to be coming open – a problem my landlady needs to get sorted." He tutted and rolled his eyes up to the sky. "I've told her about it but she just doesn't seem to do anything about them."

Mrs Hudson would have probably clipped him on the back of the head if she had heard him right now.

The woman in front of him just stared, giving him a 'do-you-honestly-expect-me-to-believe-this-crap' face.

Sherlock continued to smile sweetly at her; he really thought she'd by in to his act.

"This little one was about to make her way down the stairs."

Sherlock's heart dropped.

"You really best get that door fixed." The social worker glared and handed Elizabeth over to Sherlock.

"Oh my, I took my eye off her for just one second."

The social worker's eyes slipped down to the toes Sherlock had been experimenting on; she just about stopped herself from throwing up.

"I'm sure you did."

"Can I help you?" He asked, his voice dripping with a velvety honey as he smiled warmly at her.

"Yes, you can. First off all drop the act, Mr Holmes. I may not be as clever as the worlds… what is it now? The world's one and only consulting detective?" Sherlock gave a curt nod.

"But I am no idiot, Mr Holmes. I know when someone's trying to deceive me and right now, you are. So kindly stop. Second of all, you can show me around your home and finally, pop the kettle on."

Sherlock's face fell instantly and he moved to put Elizabeth in the playpen Molly had set up in the living room.

He did not like this woman at all.

Begrudgingly, he did as she asked him.

The kettle was currently boiling as he was walking her around the flat while she made notes.

He answered her questions when she asked but other than that he remained silent.

When the kettle boiled, he wandered off, not bothering to ask her how she liked her tea – he simply prepared it.

She soon entered the kitchen again after taking a look at what room Elizabeth was staying in.

She accepted the tea he offered and took a seat in the living room, not trusting the surface off the kitchen table – it was full of God knows what.

She took a sip of her drink before placing it on the coffee table and looking towards Sherlock.

"As I am sure you deduced I am your case worker," she smiled in a teasing manner at Sherlock – he didn't respond to her obvious hint at knowing about his work, "my names Jenny, Jenny Smith." She smiled and extended her hand to Sherlock.

He didn't move to take it.

She withdrew her hand and made no comment on it.

She looked down at her notes and sighed not knowing where to begin.

"I'll be honest with you, Mr Holmes; your case isn't an important case. Elizabeth is in no danger from staying with you as you aren't going to intentionally hurt her. However, if you do not sort some things out then it is inevitable that Elizabeth will end up hurt."

Sherlock glared at Jenny.

Jenny ignored him and continued on.

"From the information I have about you, you are decent enough to take care of Elizabeth and her parents left her in your care which suggests they had some trust in you with her. In a situation like this we prefer to not make it any worse on the child, her world is already changed so drastically and we'd rather not have to take her away from someone she does know and throw her in to a world that isn't of the happiest variety."

Sherlock was beginning to switch off.

"For now, Mr Holmes, I am only here to check on the environment Elizabeth is living in. Right now, I'm red flagging this. This is absolutely disgusting. A child should not be brought up in such an environment – there's a damn toe on your kitchen table!" Jenny exclaimed.

Sherlock smirked.

"I understand that this is a difficult time for you right now," Sherlock scoffed – Jenny ignored him, "and so I will let this go, but I expect the next time I visit – in about a week – this flat is Elizabeth friendly."

Jenny stood up and looked down at Sherlock.

"Mr Holmes, I'm going to be frank with you: I don't understand what John and Mary Watson were thinking intrusting their daughter with you. I don't quite honestly believe you've got it in you to look after her but like anyone we'll give you a chance. Don't let us and Elizabeth down."

She finished off her tea and made her way to the door.

"Remember I'll be back in a week's time and when I come back I'll be interviewing you."

She was standing in the doorway, looking at him.

"Get the door fixed." She stated, closing it on the way out.

They both knew there was nothing wrong with the door.

They also both knew the deeper meaning to 'get the door fixed.'

Sherlock sighed and looked at Elizabeth and then to his toe sitting on the kitchen table.

His decision was made.


Authors Note: There it is! Damn, this chapter was barely planned in my little book and it's nearly four thousand words. God knows what the chapters that have a lot of detail in my book are going to turn out like. I'm excited. I had fun writing this tonight. I wrote it a lot earlier than I thought I would after last night. I may be able to get started on the next chapter tomorrow but I'm not sure yet. If it's not tomorrow I seriously do not know when I'll be able to work on this story as I'm fully loaded with Sixthform work now and that loads only going to be getting heavier! Last few months, I can do this! I hope. :|

Let me know what you thought of this chapter.

Thanks for reading!

Petal.