"But people themselves alter so much, that there is something new to be observed in them forever."
Xxx
John sat in the corner of the dimly lit booth, taking another gulp from his pint, enjoying the endless Beatles songs playing from the speakers of the pub. He checked his mobile yet again, making sure that Mrs. Hudson had no updates on Rosie, before glancing over the menu, unsure of his pick for lunch.
Across from him, Molly and George sat huddled in the booth, sharing a menu. Molly glanced over at John and grinned.
"Don't worry about Rosie! She's in great hands. And she's such an easy baby to take care of," Molly announced, taking a sip from her own pint, "Half the time I got her I just flip on Peppa and call it a day!"
John chuckled and shut his menu. "She sure loves that blasted pig. But no. I wasn't worried about Rosie. I was…" He shook his head and stopped himself, unsure what can of worms he was at risk of opening.
He noticed the fall in Molly's features and took another generous sip of beer, wondering if she shared the same worries he had over Sherlock. As she opened her mouth to prompt John further, George shut the menu between the two of them and grinned.
"Well, I reckon we'll just have fish and chips." George turned his gaze towards John. "I know you're excited to get to Anfield. I arranged to tour the locker room and facilities before the match. Might even run into James Milner."
The name had John's mouth falling open. "Milner?" He squeaked out, "You'd get us to meet Milner?"
"Maybe even stand on the pitch," George added with a grin.
John let out a nervous laugh and took another gulp of beer, wondering how he had gotten so lucky. George went into his story of studying abroad in Germany and meeting Klopp at a sports club, all while Molly looked between the two men, tuning out the conversation.
She held her pint glass in both hands, her gaze shifting between John's completely entranced smile, and George's composed storytelling. As she fiddled with her jacket zipper, she wondered how she had ended up on a weekend getaway to Liverpool.
Not exactly the glorious green landscape of Scotland she envisioned when they discussed getting away for the weekend. But it was alright. She was getting the opportunity to meet some of George's friends and see his old stomping grounds, all the while bringing John along for the boys' precious football match. Not to mention, she was away from London where she could forget whatever transpired during her most recent row with Sherlock.
He kissed me.
She took a deep breath and another sip of her beer.
Stop thinking about it. It doesn't matter.
She looked back over at John, fixated on how…bizarre this was. Here she was, sitting at a pub in the center of Liverpool, listening to her boyfriend and John discuss football. In fact, she frequently dreamed of this scenario in the past. Maybe not in a pub. Maybe not in Liverpool. But always John sitting across from her, his gentle smile etching her on, as she sat side by side with the man she loved.
That's because Bingley always brought out the best in Darcy.
Her gaze shifted over to George, who now was using his mobile to show photos of his trips to football stadiums across the world to John.
But Darcy isn't here. You made your decision.
Molly shook her thoughts away and leaned into George, admiring his photo of Madrid, laughing along with the two men.
Xxx
Back in London, Mrs. Hudson marched up the stairs towards unit 221b, Rosie strapped to her chest, a bag of toys strapped to her back, and a tray filled with fresh tea and biscuits in her hands. She was always delighted to watch the child, although after learning about John's plans, she found herself in a moral dilemma.
Here she was, torn between watching her lovely nephew enjoy the blossoming of love, and her dearest Sherlock falling into a pit of nothingness. She wanted the best for each of the boys, but part of her wondered if Sherlock would be able to bounce back from this as he did with everything else, especially so soon after Mary's death.
After Mary's loss, she had received an ominous ring from an unknown number, which upon answering turned out to be the equally rude and arrogant Mycroft Holmes, instructing her to watch out for Sherlock. To follow his movements, to fill his fridge, to clean his home, and to be there if the detective ever needed her.
She understood Mycroft reaching out. Sherlock had been descending towards death, his soul but a piece of what it once was. For that reason, she was unsurprised when she got another ring earlier in the week.
A glance at her mobile confirmed her suspicions. Why did the Holmes boys make everything so bloody difficult? She brought the device to her ear and rubbed her other temple, preparing herself for what would likely be a painful conversation.
"Ah, Martha. I hope you're having a pleasant week," the baritone voice spilled out from the other line, shrouded in haughtiness.
Mrs. Hudson practically fumed, quickly moving to sit at her kitchen table. "Out with it Mycroft. What do you want with me now? Sherlock's not using."
"I know he isn't. That's not why I'm calling you."
"Really now? So this doesn't have to do with Sherlock?"
The man on the other line just laughed, his calm chuckle putting Mrs. Hudson's nerves on edge. "Of course it has to do with Sherlock. Doesn't everything?"
"Then what about him?"
"It has come to my attention that your nephew has entered a relationship with Dr. Molly Hooper, Sherlock's companion at St. Bart's."
"Well, sure, I believe so! I went furniture shopping with George and Molly. They make a lovely pairing. He is—"
Mycroft cut her off, continuing his verbose babbling. "It has also come to my attention to my baby brother has developed feelings for Dr. Hooper."
Mrs. Hudson practically gasped. "Sherlock? Being interested in Molly? Oh, don't be silly Mycroft!"
"Oh, I assure you that I am not being 'silly'. We have a situation on our hands."
That had Mrs. Hudson laughing. "A situation? My God, Mycroft. You act as if the state is in danger if Sherlock gets a tad jealous."
Silence followed, before Mycroft added softly, "This is Sherlock we're talking about."
Mrs. Hudson sighed and continued to rub her temple. "Is there a reason you rang?"
"I need you to watch out for him. Take care of him. Treat him like a loose cannon. He is a ticking time bomb."
"That's not a very nice way to refer to your brother, Mycroft."
"Perhaps. But you know how Sherlock is. I am preparing for the worst."
"And the worst would be?"
"Sherlock having his heart broken. We have no precedent. I'm… concerned about his response."
Mrs. Hudson frowned and tapped her fingers against her kitchen counter, thinking about her lovely Sherlock upstairs. The same Sherlock who continuously protected her, and treated her with (mostly) kindness.
"Alright Mycroft. For Sherlock. I'll be there for him."
"Lovely. He will likely be in a piss mood this weekend. Dr. Watson is joining Dr. Hooper and your nephew in Liverpool. I'm aware you will have Rosamund Watson. Keep him company."
With that, Mycroft ended the call, before Mrs. Hudson could even question his knowledge of John's or her own weekend plans.
Mrs. Hudson paused in front of the door and glanced down at Rosie, who happily attempted to chew on the hand of a plastic doll that she grasped in her chubby fist. She sighed.
"Very well. Help me cheer him up, will you?" She asked the blonde child.
Rosie squealed and blew a bubble of spit before continuing her chewing. Mrs. Hudson laughed and entered the flat, looking around to find the sitting room and kitchen empty. She set the tray and baby bag down before bringing her hands to her hips.
"Now, where is he? Sherlock!" She bellowed, wondering if the detective had slipped out without her knowledge.
Before she could give it any more thought, the curly-haired man stumbled in, wearing clothes that he had clearly slept in from the previous day. He took one look at Mrs. Hudson, then the child, before scowling and collapsing onto the sofa.
"Leave the tea and biscuits. Then you may go."
Mrs. Hudson scoffed and unbuckled Rosie from her chest, setting the baby on the ground. Rosie sat up and began to play with the copper-haired doll in her hands. Sherlock glanced over at the child before stubbornly directing his attention elsewhere.
"Now, that is no way to treat a lady and a child! What are the magic words, Sherlock?"
The detective growled and sat up. "Thank you," he managed out, his eyes both annoyed yet sad.
Upon noticing his appearance, Mrs. Hudson sighed and dropped to John's usual chair. She looked at Rosie before back at Sherlock, her smile soft.
"Why don't you play with Rosie for a bit? I could run out, grab some lunch. Maybe make you a lemon drizzle cake?"
Sherlock crossed his arms and focused on the ceiling. "I'm not hungry," he spat out, before a loud stomach rumble filled the room.
Rosie squealed and clapped. Sherlock sighed.
"Very well," he mumbled, continuing to practice his disinterest.
Mrs. Hudson rose back to her feet and gave him a sad smile. "Have some fun with Rosie. She just ate. There are some extra nappies in the bag on the table. Now, if she starts crying, it's probably from her gums. She's—"
"Teething," Sherlock interrupted, before also rising to his feet.
Mrs. Hudson smiled and nodded. "Splendid. I'll be back shortly. Cheers!"
With that, the older woman disappeared, leaving Sherlock to stand over the small child, staring at the ground like a menacing villain in a Disney film. He crossed his arms and glared at the baby, who met his gaze with a squealing shriek and clapping hands.
"Don't look so happy," he spat out, his eyes locked on her blue orbs and rosy cheeks, "You're the child of a traitor."
Rosie squealed and crawled over to his bare feet, hitting the top of his foot with her doll. "Dada!" she declared happily, seemingly unimpacted by his previous statement.
"Figures you'd be loyal." Sherlock sighed and leaned down, quickly drawing the child into his arms. Rosie put her cheek against the wrinkled material of his purple top, her blue eyes sparkling in the lights of his sitting room. Her rosy face expanded in a contagious smile, forcing even Sherlock to break his icy exterior for a moment.
"Blasted. Of all the people to show up, it had to be you," he shook his head, but couldn't bear to frown at the baby, or tear his eyes away from her glowing presence.
Rosie let out a delighted squeal and pointed to the floral baby bag sitting on his table. Sherlock walked over and grabbed the bag, before dropping to the floor, setting Rosie between his legs. Rosie immediately rose to her chubby legs and dove into the bag, coming out with a stuffed dog. She grinned.
"Ock!" She squealed, hugging the plush animal to her tiny body. Sherlock swallowed, his eyes locked on her form.
"Are you saying my name?" He asked hesitantly.
"Ock!" She squealed again, holding up the dog and smiling knowingly at Sherlock.
Sherlock could feel his heart warming, and immediately pulled the child back into his arms. He pressed a kiss to her head and shut his eyes, promising himself that he wouldn't acknowledge the few tears that were escaping.
"I'm so sorry," he managed out, his grip steady on her tiny body, "so sorry for taking away the most important person in your life."
Rosie just wiggled out of his grip and gave the detective another bright smile. She placed her tiny, chubby hands on his cheeks, and gave him yet another earth-shattering grin.
"Ock!" She repeated, before shuffling back into the open baby bag.
Sherlock just watched the child, all his horrible feelings dissolving away at the sight of her cheerful presence and undeniable adorableness. He watched her struggle to keep her balance as she shuffled in the bag. A few moments passed before she dropped to her bottom, holding two new dolls. Specifically, a Kristoff and Prince Hans to join her Anna doll (although it wasn't as if Sherlock recognized the Disney characters).
She grinned knowingly at Sherlock and handed him the Kristoff doll, her chubby fists now wrapped around the legs of her Anna and Hans doll. She began to babble nonsense, having the dolls move up and down. Sherlock looked down at the doll in his own hands and then over to Rosie.
"No. Rosie, if you expect me to play, we must have a storyline to follow. Otherwise, this just gets boring."
Rosie squealed and tried to put the head of the Hans doll in her mouth. Sherlock sighed and pushed the toy back to the ground, his eyes shifting to the wet doll.
"Well, he certainly looks like a smarmy git," he announced, his eyes locked on the doll. He looked back at the blonde Kristoff doll in his hands, and then back at the Anna doll that Rosie was currently covering in saliva.
"Very well. You will play Molly. I will play myself. Together, we will antagonize George. Understood?"
Rosie squealed and blew a spit bubble. Sherlock took that as agreement.
Xxx
After a long, wet match, the trio headed over to the home of one of George's friends. John was wrapped in a new red and white scarf, a glowing smile on his face. George was equally as pleased with his afternoon, and only grew happier the minute he entered the familiar friend's home, immediately being greeted by five of his best mates.
Brief introductions were given, followed by standard small talk, before George became engrossed with describing his new life in London to his friends. Molly sat to the side, sipping a cup of tea, smiling softly as she watched her boyfriend. John sat beside her, his scarf still on, even after all their outwear had been discarded.
"Thanks for letting me tag along. I hope I didn't ruin your romantic weekend," he laughed, gazing back down at his scarf with a grin.
Molly shook her head and gave him a weak smile. "Oh, no worries. When George brought up a weekend trip I was hoping we'd go somewhere new. Romantic even. I wasn't expecting Liverpool," she added quietly.
John just nodded, his eyes shuffling between Molly and the group of excited men that were catching up around the telly, engrossed in a different football match.
"Things going well?"
"Oh. Of course. We get along so well."
The pair sat in silence, both avoiding the elephant in the room. Molly continued to watch George chat with his mates, and John continued to admire his souvenir. Finally, he redirected his gaze to Molly.
"I know he kissed you," was all John said, his voice quiet.
At the sentence, Molly tensed, immediately drawing her gaze to her lap. She began to play with the hem of her top.
"I rather not discuss this."
"You and him both. I reckon you two have a lot to talk about."
Molly shook her head, her eyes going back to George across the room. "There is nothing to talk about. This is Sherlock. It's not like he fancies me or anything. This is his way of manipulating me."
John couldn't help but frown. While he planned on defending his mate, even after their row, he couldn't fault Molly's thought process. Especially considering Sherlock's normal behavior. He sighed before responding.
"What if he does fancy you?"
Molly whipped her head towards John. "Don't say that," she croaked out.
"I just mean… Sherlock has been rather off lately. Anything is possible."
Molly swallowed and shook her head. "No. It doesn't matter. I promised myself that I would get over him. I'm not Elizabeth Bennet."
John gave her a look of confusion. "Elizabeth Bennet?"
Molly frowned and looked away. "It doesn't matter. None of this matters. Sherlock is my friend and nothing more. He will only ever be my friend. He has gone many years making that explicitly clear."
"Stranger things have happened," John mumbled, suddenly feeling sorry for his friend.
Molly shut her eyes and squeezed her hands on her thighs.
I'm aware. He kissed me.
Xxx
"I deal with maths for a living! I enjoy overcompensating for my below-average sized appendage by spending lots of money!" Sherlock waved the Hans doll in front of Rosie before looking over to the other hand.
"I'm the best detective in the world. I put criminals in jail," he announced, in a deeper voice.
Rosie made a few babbling noises and waved her Anna doll, grinning at Sherlock in the process.
"Why yes Molly," he announced, bringing his Kristoff doll towards Rosie, "I am extremely handsome. You are very lucky to have me in your life."
Rosie squealed again and hit her doll to Sherlock's, causing their faces to press together. Sherlock swallowed, enamored with the art imitating life.
Mrs. Hudson entered the flat with arms full of groceries. She took one glance at Sherlock and Rosie on the ground and grinned.
"Oh, how lovely! You're planning dolls with her! Oh, I should take a photo!"
"Mrs. Hudson. Please. These are not dolls. We are not playing. We are performing an intricately crafted representation of my life at the present. This is art."
Mrs. Hudson just grinned. "Yes, dear. Now, would you prefer lemon drizzle or Victoria sponge?"
Sherlock pouted and crossed his arms. He dwelled on the question for a moment.
"May I have both?"
"No."
"Lemon drizzle it is."
Rosie squealed in agreement and threw up her hands.
Sherlock considered doing the same.
NOTE:
Thanks for reading! First, I apologize if any of my mentions of the sport were off-while I am very knowledgeable about American sports, I cannot say the same for British football culture. In addition, Rosie has dolls from the film "Frozen", although arguably (or at least at first glance), Sherlock is probably much more of a Hans and George is much more of a Kristoff. But again, that's not skin deep ; )
I'm so happy everyone has enjoyed this story! I started thinking it would be about 10 chapters long, but if I had to guess, we're looking at another 8 to 10 chapters to go from here. Thanks for reading and if I get some awesome feedback, I may be inclined to post another chapter quite soon. Thanks again! :)