Disclaimer: No, I have not gotten sudden custody of Sherlock Holmes.
Chapter Eleven
"When's my mommy comin' back?" Paris asked from the backseat as they were driving to McDonald's.
"That's a very good question, Paris," Sian said. "And it's a question that I do not know the answer to." After a small stretch of silence, Sian asked, "Why? Do you miss her?"
"No, not really," Paris replied. "I have more fun with you, Aunt Sian." Sian gave Holmes a knowing look.
"Thank you, honey. I have fun when you come over, too." They soon pulled up to a building. The first thing that Holmes noticed about the place was the large, golden "M" sign that hovered above the roof. The second thing was that it appeared to be extremely crowded, judging by the number of cars surrounding the establishment. Holmes took this to be encouraging. Surely, if such a place was so popular, it must have good food.
But Holmes was let down when they actually entered the place. The air smelled foul, the floors looked a little less than clean, and there were screaming children and shouting parents everywhere.
Holmes followed behind as Sian and the girls stood at the end of the line. Why, he had never stood in line for food in his entire life! Truly, this seemed to be more like a soup kitchen then anything!
"What kind of restaurant is this?" Holmes muttered into Sian's ear. Sian looked up and him and smirked.
"It's called 'fast food.' Cheap, convenient, and best of all, the girls love it."
"Ah." Holmes still wasn't impressed.
The line was very long, and after about two minutes of waiting, Paris and London lost their patience, and dashed off to admire the toys they might get inside their Happy Meal.
"Be careful, girls," Sian called after them. In front of them in line, a little old woman turned around and smiled.
"Such a lovely family," she said kindly. "You two have such adorable daughters."
"Oh, they're not—Oof!" Holmes began, just as Sian elbowed him in the stomach and said sweetly, "Thank you." The women turned around to order her food.
Holmes gave Sian a quizzical glance as he was rubbing his injured stomach. "What?" she asked.
"First of all, you have extremely pointy elbows." Sian laughed and patted his stomach.
"Better?" she asked jokingly.
"Hardly. And second of all, they're not our daughters. Why didn't you say so?"
"Oh, lighten up, Sherlock," Sian said. "She meant it as a compliment. Besides, saying 'thank you' was a whole lot shorter than saying 'oh, no, they're not our daughters; they're my nieces. And we're not married; we're not even dating, in fact. He's just a friend.' " Sian ticked off each word with a finger as she spoke. "Look," she said. "That was 23 words. I saved myself from saying 21 of them simply by saying 'thank you.' "
"Hmmm," was all Holmes said in response.
After Sian ordered their food, she carried the tray as the girls led the way to the tables in the indoor Play Place.
The girls quickly gobbled down their chicken McNuggets and fries, left their shoes under the table, and ran off to jump in the ball pit.
"And people enjoy this place because…?" Holmes asked.
"You're a stick in the mud," Sian informed him through her mouthful of Big Mac. "It's a fun place. What could be better than this greasy food with all its artery-clogging goodness? And we mustn't forget the Play Place," Sian added, waving, fry in hand, at the monstrous multi-colored structure towering above them.
"Well, you must really love your nieces if you'd suffer through this for them," Holmes noted. "This room smells like… what is that?"
"Plastic. I know. It's heinous. But they like it in here; closer to the jungle gym thinger, so whatever."
Sian looked off into space, absently drumming her fingers against the table. Holmes, before he knew what he was doing, put his hand on top of hers.
"Sian," he said. "You obviously love those girls tremendously. You are a great aunt."
Sian smiled slightly. "You really think so?"
"Yes," Holmes assured her. "And don't let your sister make you think otherwise."
Sian's smile grew. "Thanks, Sherlock."
---
Chelsea still wasn't back by seven, and by eight, Paris and London, who had both had very long days, fell asleep on the couch.
"I wish I had their pajamas with me," Sian mused as she scooped London into her arms. "Sherlock, would you mind grabbing Paris for me?" Holmes obliged. "I guess we can just lay them in my bed until Chelse gets here," Sian decided. Holmes shook his head.
"No," he argued. "When they stayed here before I was ever in the picture, they must have stayed in my room. Therefore, that is where they will go now."
"Don't worry about it. My room will be fine."
"No, I insist."
"Ugh!" Sian stalked into her own bedroom, certain that Holmes would follow. She tucked London in, and was surprised to see that Holmes was not behind her. She peeked into his room, and was touched to see him tucking Paris into his own bed.
Sian had been planning on teasing him and calling him a jerk for not following her instructions, but somehow, that tender tableau changed her mind.
They both returned to the living room and collapsed on the couch.
"So," Sian said.
"So," Holmes agreed.
"Wanna play Barbies?" Sian asked. "I'll even let you be Princess Genevieve." Holmes laughed.
"No, I think I'll pass on the pleasure."
They both must have dozed off on the sofa, because at quarter till twelve, Sian and Holmes were startled out of their sleep by a pounding on the door.
"It's Chelsea," Sian said through a yawn. Holmes nodded, and retreated into the kitchen. He had no desire to see Sian's Gorgon of a sister anyway.
The two sisters were surprisingly silent, Holmes noted, although the tension in the room was so thick, one could practically cut it with a knife. Holmes flinched slightly, unconsciously stroking the fine scar on his finger. It'd heal eventually.
Soon enough, Sian retrieved Holmes from the kitchen.
"All clear," she greeted.
"That's a relief," Holmes said.
"I think I'm heading to bed. And I intend to sleep long into the morning. Mind if we skip breakfast and go straight to lunch tomorrow?"
Holmes shook his head. "Not at all. A little extra sleep sounds good right about now."
"Well, in that case, good-night, Sherlock."
"Good-night, Sian."