Chapter Twenty-Nine: Forty-Two Days Old
Sherlock huffed a breath and watched as the hairs on his daughter's head stirred minutely, he craned his neck and placed his lips atop of her head, pouting against her scalp.
"Are you still sulking?" John asked, appearing with the baby bag in tow.
"No," he mumbled against his daughter's head.
"You are," the army doctor seemed far too amused.
"Am not." Sherlock insisted refusing to move his lips, instead he focused completely on Maeve; awake and content in his arms. He was sat on his armchair, one leg crossed over the other with Maeve resting in his arms while John was faffing around, getting everything ready for their Sunday visit to his parents while he offered no help.
"It doesn't mean anything," John went on, stepping further into the living room, and closer to his partner and his young 'prodigy'; as Sherlock had started to refer to her, he saw Sherlock's grip on her shift but not tighten as he spoke, "so she smiled at Mycroft first."
"She did not smile at Mycroft first!" Sherlock growled, head snapping to look at the ex-army doctor with grey stormy eyes, the kind he got when he was angry. "She has been smiling for half of her life."
"But never in response to another person smiling."
Sherlock picked up a soft toy from the floor and threw it at him, the blonde dodged it with a grin, he sighed dramatically "I knew giving you that book would be a mistake."
"I am a doctor, Sherlock, I do know about babies." John raised an eyebrow at him.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and moved his head back to its original position, nose resting on her head and lips against the soft skin of her forehead, he spoke under his breath to Maeve, "he knows more now he's read the book."
"Did you say something?" John asked with a pointed look in his direction as he reached down to pick up the toy.
"She's smiled in response to my smiling." He argued, sounding much like a child on the last leg of his argument.
"But she smiled to Mycroft first." John smirked and walked out of the room.
"Piss off!" Sherlock shouted after him.
Maeve growled against his chest and he sighed in satisfaction, moving his free hand to cup the back of her head as he placed a kiss in her hairline. "This is all your fault, they're never going to let this go. Ever."
Maeve sneezed, face scrunching up.
"Bless you."
The cab pulled away from the curb, travelling at a relaxed pace down the street and into the London traffic. John watched the city pass through the window while Sherlock was lent over the carseat between them, angling his long body round the seat, his arm resting on the side closest to John and face directly in front of Maeve; instead of his usual pristine posture. He was alternating between his usual face of indifference and smiling at Maeve, changing every six seconds and observing his daughter's reactions.
"What are you doing?" John asked, raising a curious eyebrow at the dark haired man in the window.
"Nothing," Sherlock dismissed, his face settling on a small but visible smile as he kept his eyes on his daughter.
"Stop it," John turned in his seat to fix his partner with a firm look, "she smiled at Mycroft first but, she smiled at you not an hour later."
"Thirty-eight minutes." He mumbled under his breath.
"You have nothing to prove."
"Ilikeitwhenshesmiles" Sherlock blurted inaudibly.
John's eyes widened as Sherlock cleared his throat, he asked, "What was that?"
Sherlock sighed, acting as though the question had put him out somehow and repeated, slower and surer, "I like it when she smiles."
"Yes." John urged gently.
"I like it when she smiles at me," Sherlock admitted sounding embarrassed, his cheeks turning a delicious shade of pink, "at something that I've done, at my smiling at her."
"No reason to be embarrassed." John announced, soft smirk forming on his thin lips.
"I'm not embarrassed."
"No, you're annoyed because she smiled at Mycroft first" he broke into laughter.
"Shut up John." Sherlock demanded and sat back in his chair, keeping his arm firmly around the carseat and eyes on Maeve, she looked up at him with sleepy eyes.
"Sorry." He managed between his laughing.
"No you're not," the consulting detective stated and then addressed Maeve, "you're Papa is a very mean man."
"Sherlock," his mother greeted the moment she opened the door with a broad smile, she immediately stepped out of the way to allow Sherlock access into the house.
He stepped in, one long elegant stride with the carseat held high in front of his torso and John a couple of steps behind him, legs and strides shorter than the taller man, carrying the baby bag on his shoulder. He smiled at Violet and placed the bag on the ground while he took off his coat, and Sherlock went straight into the house not bothering to take off his own coat.
"Sherlock," his mother repeated, now in annoyance.
The consulting detective did not respond, he walked straight into the dining room where his father was setting the table and took his seat on the edge of the table, beside it sat a large beanbag with straps for Maeve to rest in wile they ate. He placed the carseat on the table and went about unstrapping Maeve.
"Sherlock" His father sighed, pausing in his action of placing the forks onto the table.
"Is that the only noun available to those in this house?" He asked curiously, scooping Maeve up from the carseat and pausing for a moment with her just resting in his arms, still sound asleep.
"No," his father responded, "just the one used most frequently."
"Don't tell Mycroft, he'll get jealous." Sherlock muttered and placed the sleeping baby in her seat.
Siger choked back a laugh, "that's not exactly how I've heard it."
Sherlock stood back up and raised his eyebrows at his father in both curiousness and a mock disappointment. His voice was clipped, "he told you."
"Of course he told us," Violet announced as she walked into the room with John, a smile peeking from her lips. John was doing little to contain his enjoyment of the situation.
"I was urging her to smile" Sherlock insisted, "She was unfortunately with Mycroft at the moment she decided to follow through on our practice."
"Sherlock," his mother scolded, placing her hands on her hips and raising her eyebrows at him expectantly, "you're just jealous that she smiled at your brother first, there's hardly need."
"Am not," Sherlock mumbled and plopped himself into his chair dramatically.
"You were always the same; even as a boy." She went on, reminiscently.
"Violet." Siger pleaded, he continued to lay the table with a glance at his wife.
"Yes mother, do shut up." Sherlock agreed with a fake smile in her direction.
John frowned at him and pulled out his own chair, the one beside his partner. "Don't be so rude."
"Rude," Sherlock sputtered, "I am not rude, she just refuses to shut up."
"She's your mother." John reminded him.
Sherlock frowned, as if he needed reminding that this woman was his mother, he'd grown up with her. He spun in his chair to face John and bent over slightly to look directly into his blue eyes, "I know she's my mother. Why do you insist on reminding me?"
John sighed, "I'm not reminding you that she'd your mother."
"He's means respect, Sherlock." Mycroft informed him as he and Greg walked into the room, side by side.
Mycroft wearing a navy blue suit with light pinstripes, a pale blue shirt and darker tie. His auburn hair brushed back neatly and pale skin shimmering in the light through the windows. Greg was dressed down, wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a short sleeved top, no jacket. He has a large grin plastered on his face.
"Respect?" Sherlock repeated with distaste, question lingering in the air.
"Respect your elders," Greg added, pursing his lips as he took the seat opposite John.
"What for?" Sherlock asked, nonchalant, shrugging his shoulders.
John rolled his eyes and pushed at Sherlock's shoulder until he turned back in his seat, facing the empty seat that Mycroft would occupy. Though, at this moment the elder Holmes sibling was busying himself with pouring a brandy at the drinks table with their father, he looked up and asked, "Gregory?"
Greg nodded in answer.
Siger looked over at John, "John, care for a brandy?"
"No, thank you." He answered with a smile.
"You can drink" Sherlock told him in a slightly hushed tone.
"I know." John dismissed.
"We have matters to discuss," Violet announced, taking her seat at the head of the table and clasping her hands in front of her.
Mycroft took an annoyed breath and took his seat, placing two glasses on the table in front of him and Greg while Siger sat opposite his wife with his own brandy.
She continued, "The christening."
Greg's eyes widened in shock and Mycroft choked on his drink, coughing as he placed the glass back on the table a little too heavily and fought to control his outburst. "What?" He wheezed when it had died down somewhat and Greg ran a hand over his back.
"It may have escaped your attentions mother, but neither of us are religious." Sherlock announced, voice controlled and not giving anything away.
"You're atheists?" Greg hazarded a guess.
"There is no way to commit yourself to something unknown," Mycroft answered, voice lower than usual but returning to its usual coolness.
"There is no way to prove or disprove the existence of a god, whether it is Catholic, Roman, Pagan..." Sherlock continued for his brother.
"Agnostic." The elder added.
"You were both christened," Siger said simply, giving both of his sons a knowing look.
"And look how that turned out," Mycroft said under his breath.
Sherlock smirked, "we were raised Anglican but it hardly lasted long."
"But it makes sense," his mother ignored her sons, "you were both christened."
"We hardly need to thank god for the gift of Maeve." Mycroft voiced with a small tight smile.
"God had nothing to do with it," John added, both Greg and Sherlock laughed.
Violet looked appalled, "All the more reason to have her christened, this isn't about you or your views, it's about hers, to give her a sense of belonging and faith."
"If I agree, will you guarantee that I will not have to attend a single church service?" Sherlock spoke up, turning to face his mother and narrowing his eyes at her critically.
The room was silent for a moment, a stunned silence fell over the occupants of the room and the only sound was that of Maeve snoring softly in her comfortable chair. Violet opened her mouth but didn't speak, she resembled a fish for a moment with her mouth agape, and she managed after a moment, "Yes."
Sherlock nodded and turned his attention to Maeve.
"You'll have to meet the vicar and attend the christening, of course but I'll arrange everything."
"And Mycroft will oversee." Sherlock told her as he reached down to wipe some drool from his daughter's face.
"Of course," Mycroft managed a small smile.
"Why would Mycroft oversee?" Greg asked.
"Because he knows what I want." Sherlock replied, casual, as he crossed one leg over the other and wiped the drool from his finger on a napkin.
Mycroft stood up from the table to retrieve another brandy, John and his father had cleared the table and were taking things into the kitchen to help his mother. Sherlock stood up, straightening out his suit jacket and went to leave the room.
"Aren't you taking her with you?" Greg asked, craning his neck to get a better view over the table at Maeve sleeping in her chair.
"To the bathroom?" Sherlock returned, shooting Greg a look that said 'are you an idiot' and promptly left the room.
"I'll take that as a no," Greg mumbled to himself, pushing out his chair and rising to his feet. He walked around the table, dropped into a crouch beside Maeve and gingerly reached out to touch the tinted pink cheek as she snored softly, mouth parted. He addressed her, "come to your uncle Greg."
The grey haired man unstrapped her from the chair and scooped her up, choosing the position that Sherlock often favoured, arranging her on his chest so that her breath touched his neck. He watched her in fascination, glancing at an amused looking Mycroft, "she could sleep for England."
"She is much like her father in that regard," Mycroft placed the tumbler on the table and stepped elegantly over to his partner. He took a moment to appreciate the pair of them before edging closer, wrapping his arm around Greg's waist.
"When he sleeps," Greg added, raising his eyebrow.
"I sleep regularly," Sherlock interrupted, re-buttoning his shirt sleeves as he strode back into the room, his eyes flicking over the pair in distaste before settling on Maeve and softening; he added, sounding put out, "John insists."
"Did you want her back?" Greg asked.
Sherlock shook his head and took a step back, "No, it's fine. I need to check my emails."
They watched him leave. Greg looked up at Mycroft, "Do you ever think about kids?"
Mycroft eyes widened in shock and he unhooked his arm from Greg's waist so that he could stand directly in front of his partner, grey eyes meeting brown. He took a moment before broaching the subject, "I thought that we'd already covered this topic."
"No, I mean, yes, we have, we have had this conversation, I just thought," He shrugged, "I dunno..."
"Gregory," Mycroft voice was collecting but his eyes betrayed him, he looked panicked "I thought I'd made this clear, I have no desire for children."
"Yes, we have, I'm not saying that we should have children, or that I even want them, I have children, beautiful children." Greg told him, "I was just wondering if it was something that you'd thought about."
"I do not see myself with children, you and your children are more than enough for me" Mycroft clarified, "I am happy with the life we have."
"Me too," Greg said decidedly, reaching up and placing a kiss on his partners cheek.
Mycroft nodded.
The older man then looked down at Maeve and nodded towards her, Mycroft followed his gaze, he added, "doesn't she make you all broody though?"
"That's not the word I would use."
Greg raised an eyebrow in curiosity, "How does she make you feel then?"
Mycroft narrowed his eyes at Greg critically and sighed, he admitted, "Sentimental, happy, scared, tired, proud and old."
Greg snorted at the last one, "sounds about right."
"Have you stopped being sentimental?" Sherlock asked, not bothering to look up from his phone at his brother and partner entered the room, baby Maeve still in the grey haired man arms.
"For now," Mycroft responded with a tight smile.
"Here's your daddy," Greg told the still sleeping infant as he crossed the room; stopping on the sofa in front of him and lent over, peeling the baby from his body.
Sherlock immediately pocketed his phone and reached up to intercept Maeve as Greg offered her to him. Her face scrunched up in displeasure as she was handed over and moved in her father's large hands to face him, her eyes creaked open.
"Shhh" Sherlock hushed her, placing her on his chest, "Daddy's here."
Sherlock ran a hand down Maeve's back, touch ghosting over her body and the soft clothes that she wore, she squirmed against his chest. He looked down at her with a fond smile as she blinked up at him, still groggy from sleep.
"Can we go now?" Sherlock turned his head to look at John.
The blonde paused in his action, tea cup hovering near his mouth and blue eyes staring suspiciously at dark haired man. He placed the cup back in the saucer, "you want to leave?"
"We've been here for hours," Sherlock groaned like an oversized child.
"You make it sound like we're keeping you prisoner." Violet said, feigning offence.
Siger looked up from the page of his newspaper for a moment, eyes flicking from his wife to his youngest son and granddaughter; then back down the paper. Mycroft paid them little attention, his focus completely on his newspaper and Greg looked up from his phone.
"You are free to leave at any time," Siger told him.
"We're having a pleasant afternoon, do you really have to go?" Violet asked, desperate.
"No, of course not." John answered with a friendly smile.
Sherlock shot him an annoyed look.
"I should be returning to work soon," Mycroft announced, still not bothering to look up from his paper.
"Me too," Greg added with a smile that almost completely hid his lips.
"I thought you were off today Gregory." Siger remarked.
"I am" he nodded, "but we're working on a couple of active cases, nothing high-profile and I thought I'd pick up the case files."
"I can have a car take you to the office," Mycroft offered, he looked up from his newspaper and smiled at his partner, announcing "Anthea will be here any moment."
"Still going by Anthea?" John asked.
Mycroft hummed in confirmation, "She seems to favour that name at this particular moment in time."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and focused his attention on Maeve, she was resting contently on his chest with her head turned to the side towards the other occupants of the room. Her blue eyes bright and searching over the room is slow but steady movements as she blinked, eyelashes fluttering against her pink tinged cheeks.
John edged forward in his seat, "she seems happy."
Sherlock smirked and stroked down her back again, she wriggled under his hand and lifted her head as he stroked over the soft hairs like a cat following the hand of its owner. "She is content."
"And you?" John asked.
"Fine." Sherlock dismissed.
"You can leave if you want," Violet conceded.
"No, it's fine. I'll just suffer through this mind numbing boredom." Sherlock flashed a large grin.
John rolled his eyes, "do you have to be so dramatic?"
"Always," Sherlock responded, elongating the vowel sound and hissing the s.
"Shut up and pay your daughter some attention," John commanded.
Greg snorted and Mycroft glanced over at his brother and niece.
Sherlock voiced, "She has my full attention."
"And you have ours," Siger told him.
"You always do," Violet added in a soft tone.
Sherlock ignored them in favour of repositioning Maeve, he hooked his hands underneath her arms and pulled her gently further up his chest, stopping when her face was tucked underneath his chin. He craned his neck back to rest his lips upon her forehead, kissing the warm skin and leaving them there.
"She's an angel, isn't she?" Violet beamed, clapping her hands in front of her in excitement.
"A little terror" Sherlock mumbled under his breath, speaking against his daughter's smooth skin.
"What?" Siger asked, unsure, eyes narrowing and leaning forward.
"Little terror." John repeated for him, "It's a nickname."
Siger nodded, "I believe I've heard it before."
"She's hardly a terror," his mother argued.
"She is Sherlock's daughter," Mycroft reminded her.
"Can we go now?" Sherlock repeated his earlier question.
There was a shared groan and Violet stood up, "yes, just go, anything to stop your moaning."
Sherlock smiled triumphantly.
"Thank you Mummy." He looked up at her as she crossed the room, stopped beside his face and bent down to kiss him on the forehead. Then, she proceeded to kiss Maeve on the cheek.
"Go on, Mycroft can take you home."
"What are you doing?" John asked.
Sherlock looked up. The consulting detective was crouched on the floor in nothing but a pair of black silk boxers, eye level with his daughter, she was lain on her stomach across the bed. He narrowed his eyes and then focused again on Maeve, she was looking at him from her position on the bed.
"Just watch," Sherlock commanded, tone soft.
"Watch what?"
Maeve wriggled for a moment before moving her hands into a sturdier position beneath her chest and pushing her upper body up and resting on her hands for a moment, flashing a gummy smile at Sherlock as she did so. Sherlock was beaming at her, a genuine smile of triumph, excitement and pride.
John was speechless, looking between the two for a moment. "Did she…"
Maeve dropped back down onto the bed and gurgled loudly.
"She held herself up with her arms for the first time," Sherlock finished John's train of thought.
"Wow." John managed. He slowly lowered himself down onto the bed, sitting on the opposite side to Maeve and his partner.
Sherlock looked over his daughter's head at John for a moment. He said nothing, only smiled.
"She is amazing." John managed, still in awe.
"She'd getting strong," Sherlock told him.
"How did you know that she was going to do that?" The blonde asked, he moved onto his knees and then dropped onto his stomach beside Maeve.
"I observed," Sherlock told him, "she's been shifting during tummy time, positioning her arms in a similar manner, testing the waters, so to speak."
"And the books?"
"They said it would be happening in the next couple of weeks."
John watched Maeve as she kicked her legs and shifted on the bed; he offered her his hand and she accepted, grasping him by a single finger.
Sherlock lent forward and kissed his daughters forehead, "I love you, sweetheart.
