Chapter 10
Rose giggles. Her big blue eyes peer up at her father, who has a fresh clump of mushed peas on his jumper. She kicks out her legs happily in her high-chair.
John Watson straightens up and sighs, resigned. Pivoting to face the sink, John warily eyes the pile of dishes and bottles spilling out onto the counter. Perhaps I can offer the nanny extra pay for tomorrow to run the dishwasher a few times. He rubs one tired shoulder, thinking as he reaches over with his other hand and grabs a clean rag. He wets it, then sets about dabbing off his daughter's dinner. Behind him, a spoon clatters on the floor noisily, followed by a shriek of delight. John grimaces. Fourth time she's thrown it tonight.
Suddenly, John catches movement in the reflection of the window just above the sink and whirls around, his mind already leaping to where the closest knife may be. His fighting stance immediately slumps.
"Great," John says tiredly. "Now there's two of you!'
Sherlock Holmes is standing behind his goddaughter, dangling a large stuffed hedgehog above her head. Rose is craning her head, grabbing for it eagerly. He wiggles it in front of her, then places it on the table out of her reach. She eyes it for a moment, then gives Sherlock the most pleading look an infant can muster.
"After dinner." he chides.
John clears his throat.
"It's already dark out, Sherlock. I need to put Rose to bed in a bit. What is it?"
Sherlock stiffens for a moment, then lets out a long breath. He steps forward and bends over, sweeping the spoon off of the tiles in one fluid moment. He rolls it around his hand with his fingers, then grips it and uses it to point at his best friend.
"I need that brain of yours, John." He says tersely.
John backs away and throws his hands in the air in refusal.
"No, no. We've been over this, Sherlock. I'm retired as your sidekick. No more heroics for me. I-"
"You need to save all of your energy for the heroics of fatherhood, yes, I've heard it all before, and I understand," He cuts him off. "Your safety and ability to raise Rose is what's important here. But, for tonight John I need your brain. No leaping across rooftops or cascading down waterfalls in South America this time."
John's eyebrows snap together. Sherlock is clearly agitated by something. Still, John can't help but be relieved that his friend is no longer attempting to recruit him for his cases.
He takes a seat in a chair by Rose and across from Sherlock, using the brief lull to settle in and resume feeding her, this time with a different spoon. Finally, he looks up at Sherlock.
"What is it, then? What could you possibly need me for? Military expertise? Medical advice?"
"No, nothing so simple." Sherlock says vaguely.
John is making faces at his daughter, spooning the remainder of the peas into her mouth. The wind whistles through the window, and a branch taps rhythmically on the glass.
"Oh?" John says, encouragingly. There is no response. He glances up to find Sherlock seemingly lost in thought. He exhales through his nose.
"I don't have all night, Sherlock. Just tell me what you need my brain for, will you? Tell me what the great Sherlock Holmes can't fathom on his own."
Sherlock snaps out of it. Funny how praise always seems to work, John ponders wryly. Finally his friend replies, with an air of frustration.
"People."