Chapter Twenty-Six: Thirty-Two Days Old

"Take off your shirt," John commanded.
"If you wanted to undress me John," Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "all you had to do was ask."
John rolled his eyes and responded, voice steady. "Shirt off and onto the table."
They were in John's office, a small plain room like most doctor surgeries that had a sturdy desk in front of the window, his desk chair pushed back from where he'd got up to collect the detective and his baby from the waiting area. Sherlock was stood beside the uncomfortable looking examination table and Maeve's pram left in the centre of the room with Maeve's inside, kicking and gurgling noisily.
Sherlock looked as though he was going to protest but started unbuttoning his shirt, scoffing playfully, "your bedside manner is atrocious."
"Maeve doesn't think so" John told him as he picked up the squirming baby from her pram and brought her close to his chest.
Sherlock watched them as he folded his shirt over the handle of the pram and hopped elegantly onto the examination table. He frowned at the blonde, "Maeve is hardly capable of expressing her opinion on the matter."
"She's smiling" John informed him, smugly. He turned his body to show Sherlock his daughter, smiling against his shoulder.
Sherlock's frown deepened, "that has little to do with your bedside manner and more the fact that you've showed her some attention."
"Poor thing" John cooed, "starved for attention from your genius father and his partner, what are we going to do?"
"Hilarious John" Sherlock announced though his tone suggested it was nothing of the sort. "She's twelve moths old, she has gas."
"Anyone would think you're in a hurry" Sherlock glared at him. John continued, thoughtfully "anyone would think that you had something better to do?"
"John" Sherlock broke through his lightheartedness, tone severe and grey eyes like a storm. He watched Maeve entertain herself with the collar of John's shirt and softened his tone slightly, going as far as feigning politeness, something that didn't come naturally to the consulting detective. "If you wouldn't mind removing my stitches, it would be much appreciated."
"That's better" John declared.
The doctor placed Maeve on the table beside Sherlock, ignoring the displeased grumble she released and focused on Sherlock. The consulting detective had already offered his hand to Maeve to pacify her and she was exploring his long fingers in her own small hands. John hunched over, level with Sherlock's torso and examined the area visually as he pulled on a pair of gloved. He peeled the bandage stuck over the wound, he had been checking it regularly and enforcing that Sherlock keep it clean with new bandages daily. The wound was clean, still an angry red and the stitches dark against his pale skin.
"This looks good" John said out loud, more out of habit than anything else. Sherlock understood wounds unlike his usual patients that he would have to keep informed on every detail.
"I do live with a doctor," Sherlock sighed, bored.
"He must be very good and have the patience of a saint." John continued playfully, completely in doctor mode as he ran his fingers gently over the area around the wound.
Sherlock smirked, "something like that."
"I'll just take these out then" John told him, he pulled over a small leather stool and a table lain with the required instruments,
"Finally" Sherlock breathed to himself, he smiled at Maeve as she continued to explore his much larger hands, unaware of exactly what was happening in the room.
"This will pinch" he told him.
Sherlock nodded, "not my first time."
"Not a virgin anymore" John joked.
"Hardly" Sherlock scoffed, he nodded his head towards Maeve. The evidence that he was not only not a virgin but a fully functioning human being, something that others had doubted for so long.
Josh started, delicately snipping the strong thread. "She might not be yours, for all I know you just picked her up and claimed she was yours."
"The evidence?" He asked, voice clipped as John pulled the stitched free one by one and placed them in a metal dish. Though, it was obvious he was not discouraging the useless banter.
"Fabricated." John's blue eye flicked up to Sherlock, "your bother does 'occupy a minor position in the british government' he would have helped you."
"You have the whole thing figured out," Sherlock nodded, continuing with the joke. John was attempting to distract him, how pedestrian, but better to go along with it than upset him.
"I don't know if I told your but my boyfriends a detective, I've picked up a thing or two."
"You have missed out one crucial detail though."
"What?" John fund shed the procedure and placed the instruments back on the table.
"The similarities between us." Sherlock said in his 'you can be completely dense sometimes' voice.
"Yes, I'm not sure that I can explain that one." The ex-army doctor admitted, "done."
Sherlock took his hand away from Maeve, she frowned at him, displeased by the action and he stopped her up, one hand cradling her head and the other under her body. He pulled her close so that she was looking over his shoulder, pressed into his bare chest. She burped loudly at the sudden movement.
"Lovely," Sherlock rolled his eyes before fixing his gaze on John, raising an eyebrow minutely in an 'I told you so' way,
John peeled off his gloves and placed them in the small tray along with the discarded stitches, he pushed the table away and wheeled his stool closer to the pair so that he was slotted between the lanky detectives legs. His blue eyes looking up at his partner and the baby that was seemingly attached to him most of the time, he asked "Want me to check her over?"
Sherlock gave a curt nod and craned his neck to look at her, Maeve was looking over his shoulder at the plain wall rather uninterested. He moved her away from his body so that she was no longer pressed against him but supported in his strong hands in the air. She blinked rapidly, sapphire eyes flicking around the room.
"Her eyes will start to settle soon," John remarked conversationally, he did not specialise in babies but had brushed up on the training he received at med school soon after the arrival of little Maeve. Though he hadn't crammed it all in the same night as discovering her like Sherlock.
Sherlock hummed thoughtfully, giving nothing away. John knew he would be thinking about this and anything to do with Maeve in great detail everyday.
"Do you think she'll have your eyes?" John asked conversationally. Sherlock had beautiful eyes, a deep and unnerving blue with green pools like a lagoon, shimmering different shades in the light and a ring of gold around the pupil, a singular dot of brown in the right eye.
"It is hereditary" Sherlock told him.
"Mycroft has it as well?" John asked.
"A milder form but yes," Sherlock answered, "we inherit it from my father."
"And she'll inherit it from you?"
"It is a possibility" Sherlock mused out loud.
John got to his feet, pushing the stool back and outstretched his arms, "may I?"
In response Sherlock held Maeve out further in offering to the doctor, John secured his grasp on her under her arm pits and brought her close to his body, repositioning her with little difficulty to be lain flat on her back on both of his arms, looking up at him. He told Sherlock, "I'm just going to weight her and then check her over."
Sherlock hopped off the table, retrieving his shirt and put it on. He began on the buttons as John weighed her, being sure to try and keep her occupied as he did so. Sherlock stepped over to join him the moment he was finishing on the last button, John announced "8lbs 7oz"
"That's normal?" Sherlock sounded a little unsure, a question instead of his usual confident statements.
"Perfect, it's a little under the usual but she was a lot smaller than the other babies I've encountered."
"6lbs 10oz" Sherlock reminded him.
"She's put on just under two pounds" John looked happy, "that's exactly what we're looking for at this stage of her development. 1-2lbs per month in the first six months."
Sherlock released the breath he hadn't known that he'd been holding, if John had heard he didn't let on. The ex-army doctor picked her up and placed her back on the examination table, he unbuttoned her baby grow and ran his hands over her pale flesh. "Skin looks good, no signs of bruising or underlying skin conditions, she's still retaining her pink colouring which is good, means the bloods pumping correctly."
"Bruises?" Sherlock asked, voice hoarse.
"With some conditions bruising is a tell-tale symptom" he informed him, looking up at the taller man for a brief second before continuing to look over Maeve, "I wasn't checking for signs of abuse."
"I know" Sherlock responded, tone clipped and eyes severe.
"I know you would never hurt her" John continued.
"John.."
"It's a routine part of the checkup."
"Stop, John" Sherlock spoke a little louder than necessary to get the blonde to stop taking " I believe the saying is...you're digging yourself a hole."
John managed a small smile in response as he got back to looking over the small infant.
"I'll check her eyes, ears and her heart for any abnormalities." John instructed him on the next steps he'd be taking. Sherlock gave a silent nod and John continued with the examination.
He picked up a small torch and shone it into Maeve's eyes, she widened her eyes in response and quickly shut them, moving her head to the side and away from the onslaught on light as he face scrunched up in displeasure.
Sherlock huffed a small laugh that sounded more like he was releasing a large breath in amusement.
"That's fine" John declared with a smile. He proceeded to check her ears, which were fine then retrieved his stethoscope, he warmed it in his hand before placing it on her bare chest, just above her tiny pink nipple. She reached for it and ended up grabbing John's hands and resting them there as he listened to her heartbeat for a moment. "Sounds good."
Sherlock silently reached for Maeve, removing her hand from John's so that he could move the stethoscope away and the detective could re-button her baby grow. She squirmed but let him with little trouble.
John had backed away from the table to allow Sherlock more access, he sat at his desk and tapped at the keyboard, inserting the relevant medical data for Sherlock and Maeve to update their files. He looked away from the screen for a moment, Sherlock was hunched over the table looking long and delicate. "Do you want me to book her in for her vaccinations?"
"Yes."
"July 1st?" John asked, eyes on the screen. "Eleven thirty-five?"
"Fine." Sherlock responded simply as he picked up Maeve, holding her for short moment and kissing the top of her head, before putting he into her pram. She protested but he ignored it, shushing her and putting the blanket on her, she kicked it in rebellion and he gave up, instead stroking the sides of her face in the hopes of soothing her.
"So..." John said, he finished typing and looked up at Sherlock who was stood looming over him with his hand inside the pram, "lunch?"

Lunch consisted of a sandwich from a cafe down the road, a tea for John and coffee for Sherlock. They strolled through the park with disposable cups in their hands, John a little out of pace and Sherlock with one trained hand on he handle of the pram, manoeuvring it through the people as they walked. There was very little peace in London, the city was packed full of life and bustling with all kinds of people that worked in the city or were just visiting as tourists. The capital was never a quiet place, except at night and in the mornings but it struck John as odd how well Sherlock had adapted to include a baby into his routine.
The consulting detective moved and acted with practised ease in every aspect of life, including with baby Maeve in toll, he was still capable of running around and weaving through the cIty. The inclusion of Maeve changed very little in terms for Sherlock, he'd adapted his routine to care more about another person though having a child was the easiest thing in the world. Sherlock and Maeve were inseparable.
Sherlock paused for a moment to dispose of his coffee and carried on walking, John watched his stretch towards the bin and toss the cup while keeping his hand firmly on the pram and eyes on Maeve at all times.
"You're thinking absurdly loud John" Sherlock declared, not looking up from Maeve as they continued to walk, finding a quiet part of the park that had fewer people rushing through it and the occasional person moving down the path or sitting on a bench with some lunch on their lap.
"Sorry" John apologised, though he wasn't sure why he had, should one apologise for thinking?
"Just say it," Sherlock snapped, "you want to say something, just say it."
"I just wanted to say that I'm proud of you," John informed him, nervously, like he wasn't sure of what he was saying anymore.
"Proud?" Sherlock repeated questioningly, he raised one dark eyebrow as his eyes flicked curiously over John, "I wasn't aware that one was susceptible to feelings of pride in relation to their partners."
John frowned, "it's normal to be proud of someone Sherlock, no matter if it's your child, sibling or partner."
Sherlock eyes narrowed in way that John knew meant 'fascinating', he often had this look when finding out new data. "So you're proud of me because of..." His eyes flicked to Maeve "how well I've adapted to having Maeve in my life."
John was always amazed by how Sherlock could practically read his mind, he corrected "I'm proud of the way you've adapted her into your lifestyle, you haven't changed because of her only extended the love you have to her."
"Right." Sherlock said, over pronouncing the 't' for emphasis. He was still unsure, as he often was with human nature.
"I love you."
Sherlock looked rather out of depth, like a deer caught in the headlights and mumbled, "yes, I share similar sentiments to you, John."
The blonde laughed and stopped walking, "you can't even say it back, you complete and utter cock."
Sherlock paused and swung the buggy round so that he could face John with Maeve resting beside him, snoring away. They had reached a quiet part of the park, nobody could overhear their conversation. He kept one hand on the buggy as he stopped in front of John with hardly any gap between them, he looked down at the ex-army doctor. His eyes were like a cloudy sky before a storm, silver and grey streaked blue. They were open and vulnerable, not a look one was used to seeing from Sherlock Holmes.
He spoke, keeping his voice low and gentle, "I do, that is I can say it."
John raised an eyebrow challengingly, he was more amused with the sudden turn around than annoyed, he knew exactly what he was getting himself into when he and Sherlock got together.
Sherlock cleared his throat. "I do love you John Watson."
"Yes." John urged gently.
"It is not a sentiment that I am used to expressing, I have never loved another like this, until you." Sherlock admitted, his cheeks turning a brilliant shade of light pink.
John didn't comment on it even if he wanted to instead he said, "never?"
Sherlock shook his head, embarrassed and look at the ground. "I thought that I loved someone before but now I know that that wasn't love."
"How?" John asked curiously.
"Because of you John." Sherlock told him, tone completely serious as he looked up and fixed the blonde with his stormy eyes.
"That may be the most romantic thing you've ever said to me" John affirmed
Sherlock stared at him for a moment, a small gurgling cough took his attention to Maeve and he announced. "She's just been sick."
Maeve was lain on her back, eyes opening prematurely and sick trailing down her mouth. The consulting detective reached into the pram and pulled Maeve into a sitting position and grabbed the muslin from beside her before pulling her out and towards him, using the muslin to shield himself from the mess.
"That's less romantic," John said with no real bite, instead he lent forward to check on Maeve, she coughed and he put his finger into her mouth to retrieve any of the sick still in her throat. When it was clear he removed his finger, now covered in milky baby sick, "lovely."
Sherlock retrieved a pack of wipes with one hand and offered them to John.
"It's perfectly normal for babies to be sick." John told him, fixing the dark haired man with a firm look that was also reassuring.
"I know," Sherlock snapped, "I have shirts that can attest to that."
"And that cardigan Mrs Hudson knitted" John added solemnly. Their landlady had knitted Maeve a light pink cardigan which she had worn only once (because of John's insistence) and thrown up on.
Sherlock smirked, he hated the cardigan, it was knitted and pink, he hated the colour pink, even in light shades. He said unconvincingly, "that was a shame."
John gave him a look that said 'you're older you should know better' as he wiped his finger clean and threw the dirtied wipe into the nearby bin, then he offered one to Sherlock. He accepted it and dabbed gently at Maeve's face until she was clean, leaving her mouth to last and taking his time to wipe at the small lips until he was satisfied.
"That's better," Sherlock said, voice soft as he talked to Maeve. She was fighting the urge to fall back asleep, rudely awoken by her own being sick.
"I should be getting back to work."
"Already?" Sherlock asked, it was still early and John had plenty of time.
John smirked and answered, "the quicker I finish, the quicker I can come home."
"Is that so?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the blonde, stormy eyes flicking to Maeve as she settled back down to sleep against his shoulder and then back at John, the blonde was still smiling smugly.
"Yes," John sighed, he lent forward and kissed the taller man quickly on the lips.
John moved backward but Sherlock followed eagerly and kissed him again, chastely. His lips lingering for a moment, he placed a kiss on the corner of John's mouth and revelled in the pleased sigh that escaped the blonde, he drew back and stood tall, satisfied.
"You're a bastard," John declared.
"No, my parents were married at the time of my conception." Sherlock responded, sure of himself.
John rolled his eyes and ran his hand over Maeve's head, he kissed the back of her head and backed away, calling out to Sherlock "I'll be home at five. Be good."
"Shouldn't you be saying that to her?" Sherlock asked curiously, gesturing to Maeve as the blonde backed away.
"You're more likely to get into trouble" John chuckled.
Sherlock watched John's retreating form for a moment before he sighed to himself and looked down at Maeve, he asked her "what are we going to do now?"
Maeve released a soft snore in answer.
"Sleep, good idea." Sherlock agreed.
His phone buzzed and he fished it effortlessly out of his pocket with only one hand, the phone blinked 'message from Molly Hooper'. He opened it and sighed, looking at Maeve sympathetically though she just continued to sleep.
"Change of plans, my little terror."

The body was that of a middle aged man, overweight and killed of a heart attack, sudden and out of the blue like most heart attacks but the position of the body had caused a suspicious death alert that had Molly investigating and now, Sherlock leant down over the body his eyes glittering in delight.
"She been good?" Molly asked conversationally.
Sherlock huffed a breath and glanced over to the pram by the doors, Maeve was sleeping soundly and completely unaware of the scene change. Molly Hooper was lingering between the body and the pram, trying to keep an eye on him while watching Maeve sleep. She was wearing a hideous oatmeal cardigan with flowers and cut off chinos, her dark blonde hair typed back in a plait that was hooked over one shoulder.
"Fine" Sherlock informed her, eyes flicking back to the body.
"And you've had your stitches out?" She continued.
"Earlier today, yes." His voice was clipped.
The mousy blonde smiled and stepped closer to the pram, peering it at Maeve with a expression of awe and amazement, Sherlock glanced up to watch her in interest. It was far more interesting than the body at least, Molly spoke aloud, "she really is something special."
Sherlock snapped off his gloves, something he only wore for the sake of Maeve and strode towards the pathologist and his daughter, he spoke with a serious tone, "you're broody."
"I'm not" she defended weakly, "it's just..."
Sherlock finished for her, "you're biologically wired to think about babies and seeing a baby brings out that response in you. Many women are attracted to men with babies because it makes them seem more accessible, it has happened to me since the arrival of Maeve and is considered a natural response."
"I don't want children, yet." Molly informed him, voice seeming quiet and unconvincing in comparison to his.
Sherlock frowned and he guessed, "have I said something to offend you?"
"No," the blonde managed a weak smile, "you're right, seeing her makes me wonder when I'll have children and I know that it's perfectly natural."
"Babies aren't easy" Sherlock informed her, trying to remedy the situation. "In Fact my life has become far more complicated since her arrival, she requires constant attention, none of which I could give her without the flexibility of my chosen profession."
"Yeah," Molly sighed, she looked down at Maeve and asked, "but isn't she worth it?"
Sherlock looked offended by the question, brow furrowing and nose wrinkling slightly in an undignified manner. He answered honestly, "yes, there is never a time when not having her seems an option anymore, there are things that I would have done differently but I would not change having her in my life, not for one moment."
Molly looked up at him and smiled, "and that Sherlock Holmes has turned you into a great man."
Sherlock returned the smile, "there's a fault in his pacemaker which brought on the heart attack, check with the manufacturers, there may be more like this."

When John stepped into the living room after work he wasn't sure what to expect, Sherlock sat upside down on the sofa or doing an expedient with Maeve, he was used to all sorts living sigh the consulting detective but what he didn't expect was Molly Hooper to be sitting on sofa unloading a cardboard tray of Chinese food onto the coffee table, which was clean.
"Hey Molly" he greeted with a friendly smile.
The mousy blonde looked up at him with a wide smile, that was a little nervous and twinkling eyes, she continued to take out the containers of Chinese food and place them on the table. "Sherlock invited me, I hope you don't mind."
"I don't mind at all," John assured her, shedding his cardigan so that he was left in only his jeans and a light checked shirt. He glanced around the quiet flat, and asked her "where is Sherlock?"
"Present" Sherlock called out from further in the flat like a child hearing their name in the register, he appeared around the corner with Maeve on his hip, supported by a long arm and holding onto his shirt. She was wearing a new baby grow that was pale yellow with small teddy bears. Her eyes fixed onto John and she opened her mouth widely in excitement.
"Hello sweetheart" John greeted her, voice soft and full of affection. He reached out and took her from the consulting detective, lifting her high above his head, she reached for him with small hands.
"Where is my greeting?" Sherlock asked.
John rolled his eyes and lent over to give Sherlock a chaste kiss, Maeve whined loudly in protest and he lowered her down to rest on his shoulder, her face in his neck. He looked at Sherlock, "You are a child."
"I brought Chinese food" Sherlock informed him swiftly changing the subject and taking a seat on the sofa, leaving a reasonable gap between him and Molly. He then repositioned Maeve's chair to be by his feet, "and invited Molly."
"I text him about a body and he ended up spending the afternoon," Molly informed him as she placed the last of the Chinese food on the table.
"I was in the mood for Chinese," Sherlock added nonchalant, crossing one leg over the other.
John bounced Maeve up and down gently and whispered to her, "did Daddy take you to the morgue to visit Molly?"
"She can sit in her chair John, while we eat." Sherlock told him, eyes flicking to the bouncy beige be chair they often sat Maeve in and then, back to the blonde. It wasn't a suggestion.
"She eaten?" John asked, crouching down and strapping Maeve into her chair.
"Yes" Sherlock nodded keeping his gaze on John, "she was sick all over herself afterwards."
"Then she'll be needing a bath tonight." John said in a matter of fact way. He sat down on the floor, on the opposite side of the table to Sherlock and Molly, and reached to grab a container of dumplings and chopsticks.
Sherlock hummed and retrieved a container of crispy shredded spicy beef, he opened it, grabbed a piece using his chopsticks with practised ease and popped it into his mouth. His eyes were back on Maeve, expression soft as he watched her intently.
"So, the body?" John asked.

"It's amazing," Molly whispered to John.
They were both sat on the sofa watching Sherlock, he was stood in the centre of the room holding Maeve close to his chest and bouncing her up and down in small reassuring movements as she dozed against his shoulder, so close to sleep.
"Yep," John agreed, popping the 'p'. "He really has got a knack for it."
"I can hear you," Sherlock informed them, arching an eyebrow at them in the mirror. His voice was low as not to disturb Maeve.
"Do you want me to take her to bed?" John asked.
Sherlock shook his head, "I'll take her once she's fully asleep."
John nodded in understanding.
Molly watched, completely in awe as Sherlock sat down in his armchair keeping Maeve close to his body. She barely cracked open an eyelid.

"When did we get this?" John asked, holding up a silver picture frame with a photograph of Maeve in it.

Sherlock looked up from where he was sat on the sofa, he was sat with one leg crossed elegantly over the other and a freshly cleaned Maeve on his lap wearing a dressing gown; one that John had gotten her, it was light pink with eyes and a fin to look like a shark. Sherlock had protested against it but she looked adorable wearing it. The consulting detective's eyes flicked to him but his attention remained on Maeve, holding the bottle in his hand firmly as she suckled from it enthusiastically.

"Mycroft sent it over" Sherlock replied, nonchalant.

"When did he take it?" John asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

The dark haired man sighed, "It was taken the night I spent in hospital."

"It's a very nice photograph," John observed.

He was right, the photograph was very nice and the first of its kind in the flat but Sherlock doubted it would be the last. It was black and white, Maeve lying on her back atop of a teal silk sheet. She was completely nude, with her knees bent and a foot covering her privates. Both of her hands were resting on her torso. Her dark hair was neat and long eyelashes resting against her rosy cheeks, pink lips pursed thoughtfully as though he was thinking hard in her sleep.

Sherlock nodded and turned his attention back to Maeve.

"What you did today, it was good." John put the frame back on the mantel.

"With Molly?" Sherlock asked, unsure.

"Yes, it was nice of you."