Chapter fifty: One Hundred and Fifteen Days Old
A heat wave had hit London. A sweltering heat that offered no heat had descended, with hot sticky days that lasted well into the evenings, and no cool air for relief. A small desk fan rotated, spreading slightly cooler, stagnant air around the stuffy room and the windows were open as wide as possible. The curtains were drawn, leaving a small gap for light to travel into the room and in a desperate attempt to keep the room as cool as possible. And John, John Watson was in trouble.
The ex-army doctor was pacing the room in a feeble attempt to calm down a screaming Maeve Holmes. His leg hurt, and with every other step, he limped slightly. His thin white cotton t-shirt was sticking to his clammy skin and Maeve was grasping at the fabric as though she were holding on for dear life. She was red-faced, her skin blotchy from her cheeks to her stomach, and clammy. She wore only a nappy, her skin was hot to touch and she was crying into his ear. Her head resting on his shoulder, tears streaming down her face and wetting his top.
"Come on angel," he tried, cooing as he ran one hand down her sticky back. "Stop crying, for Papa."
Maeve hiccupped but didn't stop crying.
"You'll make yourself sick and then you won't be happy." He tried to reason. It always worked when Sherlock did that, or it usually did, it didn't stop her from being awake all night crying, though. "Please, please stop crying."
Mrs Hudson bounced up the stairs and into the flat looking disturbed. "Is there anything I can do?"
"I don't think so," He admitted, stopping on the spot and bouncing instead, rubbing his hand across her back in circles.
"What's wrong with her?" She asked.
"We think she's teething." Mrs Hudson nodded. "I'm sorry about the noise."
Mrs Hudson waved her hand, "I'm used to worse from you two."
John snorted at that and admitted. "I don't know what to do."
"Has she eaten?"
"She wouldn't eat it, she's too hot." John lamented.
Mrs Hudson looked lost.
"I'm going to put her in the bath, cool her down a bit, could you make me a bottle?" Mrs Hudson nodded eagerly. "Not too hot."
"Where did Sherlock go?"
"I don't know. He said he needed to get something and rushed out." John admitted, stepping into the kitchen with Mrs Hudson a step behind him.
"That man." She scolded.
John sat on the toilet, lid down, wearing only a pair of loose tartan boxers (which he usually reserved for sleeping) with Maeve sat on his lap, wearing nothing. He jiggled his good leg up and down, rocking her slightly as he watched the bath fill. There were bubbles, not a large amount and the sweet scent of her bubble bath filled the room.
"Going to have a bath with your Papa?" He asked, craning his neck to look at her.
Her blue eyes flicked up to him and she whined.
"Yes, I know sweetheart." He cooed.
John sighed and stood up, bringing Maeve with him with one arm wrapped across her torso. She hiccupped and glanced around in confusion, her cries stopped for a second. She looked up at John, eyes wet and face covered in tears, dribble and snot, then looked back down at the bath. She hiccupped and started sobbing.
"Ok, that's better than crying at least." John said aloud, more to himself than anybody else.
He stepped into the bath, careful that he didn't slip and then sat down, submerging the lower half of his body in the lukewarm water. He carefully dipped Maeve into the water and settled her to sit on his lap, using his chest as a support so that she was sat up, her hands immediately went to the water and for the first time she was silent.
"Yes, that's better. A nice cool bath." He ran his hand down her arm. She immediately grabbed his hand and craned her neck awkwardly to look at him.
They stayed like that for five minutes, enjoying the muffled silence of the bathroom, one hand linked and the other, holding her stomach to keep her upright while she played with the sponge with her free hand, fingers squeezing the pink sponge, as she watched, fascinated. Maeve was not crying anymore but every so often she released a soft whine or whimper in pain.
"Your daddy will be home soon," he told her, keeping his voice soft.
Maeve gurgled.
"Aww, so you are listening to me." He said, raising his eyebrow and leaning forward slightly to get a better look at your face. "I'm sure he's gone to get you something to make you feel better."
A soft tap on the door followed by the door opening a crack disturbed the silence. Maeve paid it no attention. John looked up and a voice said, "I've put the bottle on the side."
"Thank you Mrs. Hudson." John called back.
"I'll be downstairs."
The door closed again.
"Let's wash your face." John suggested and he took the other sponge, a yellow one that was floating around in the cool water, squeezed it, and dabbed at her messy face. Maeve jerked in surprised and pulled her face back, away from the sponge. John followed her and struggled to clean her face, she growled in warning and he dropped the sponge back into the water, "done, see that wasn't so bad, was it?"
Maeve sneezed and looked affronted. He turned her around so that she was facing him, straddling one of his legs while he held her with two hands on her stomach.
"You are a drama queen, aren't you?" He asked, sighed and dropping his back. "Just like your daddy."
Maeve whined.
John levelled her with a look. "Your teeth hurt?"
She whined again.
"Yes," he nodded and sat up straight, Maeve looked confused now that she was confronted with her papa's torso but she quickly grabbed at the skin. "Let's get you some lunch."
After a few more minutes of splashing and enjoying the cold water. John stepped out of the bath and placed Maeve on the waiting towel, he wrapped her loosely so that she would get too hot and slipped off his wet boxers, replacing them with a towel. Then, he picked up Maeve in her towel and placed her against his chest.
There was a bump in the kitchen.
"I think Daddy's back."
Maeve grumbled against his chest.
He ran his hand down her towel covered back. "Yes, I know."
"Sherlock," He called out, opening the door and stepping out into the hot hallway. He craned his neck to look into the kitchen. Sherlock's jacket was thrown carelessly onto the table and there were carrier bags littering the surface. He sighed and walked towards the kitchen.
Sherlock looked up as they stepped around the corner. He was stood on the opposite side of the table, hands on his hips and shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. His white shirt was moist with sweat on his back and armpits, the fabric sticking to his lithe body. His hair was damp with perspiration and the curls sticking to the wet skin of his forehead.
"Where the hell have you been?" John asked, keeping his voice low as not to upset Maeve.
"I needed things," he gestured wildly. His eyes narrowed. "She's stopped crying."
"Not for long, she hasn't eaten since this morning."
Sherlock frowned but nodded and picked up the bottle that Mrs Hudson had left.
"I'll just put a nappy on her." John forced a smile. He went into the bedroom, put some cream and a nappy on her but left her undressed, it was too warm for clothes. He quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a pyjama top before walking back into the kitchen.
Sherlock handed him the bottle and John took it as he passed, and sat himself down in his chair. He shuffled Maeve so that she was resting in one arm and offered her the bottle. She hesitated but accepted it and started drinking. "So, where have you been?"
Sherlock cleared his throat and stepped around into the longue. "I got some supplies to help with the teething. Was she…how has she been?"
"Screaming."
"I shouldn't have left."
"You should have told me where you were going." John corrected.
Sherlock frowned. "I told you…."
"Talking to me while I'm asleep doesn't count."
"You weren't asleep…maybe you…were you in the room?" Sherlock said, confused, brows furrowing.
"Right, well, you left me with her when she was inconsolable." John looked down at the baby in his arms and popped the bottle out of her mouth, to slow her down slightly. "She's barely eaten, she was screaming."
"She's not crying now. You calmed her."
"Yes but that's not the bloody point." John offered the bottle back to Maeve, she eagerly accepted. "You can't just go off on your own, what if something had happened? You have her" he nodded to the infant "to think of now."
"I ju- I wanted to help her." Sherlock cleared his throat and looked at the floor.
"Yes, but next time, a 'John I'm going to the shops' wouldn't go amiss."
"Sorry," Sherlock shuffled his feet slightly. "That was…wrong of me, I will endeavour to do better."
"Right, what did you get?" John said, satisfied.
Sherlock looked up at the bags on the table. "Numbing gel, teething pads and rings. Ice."
"And you think it's going to help?"
"Well, it stands to reason that something will." Sherlock sniffed.
"Well, the cold bath did it momentarily but I'm not sure how much longer she'll be…happy for." John sighed and pulled the empty bottle away from Maeve. He wiped her lips with the pad of his finger.
"Right," Sherlock nodded towards her. "May I?"
John put the bottle down and picked Maeve up, offering her to the consulting detective. Sherlock took her and pulled her against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. He started rubbing her back in practiced circular motions. He titled his head and kissed behind her ear. "She's hot."
"There's a heatwave."
Sherlock glared at him.
"Don't get moody with me because you're hot."
"I'm not moody."
"Well, irritated or whatever. It's hot, we're all hot." John dropped his head back.
"I just-" Sherlock started as Mrs Hudson ascended the stairs with a 'yoo-hoo boys'.
Sherlock turned to face their landlady. She levelled him with a look and put her hands on her hips. "You. Leaving John like that."
"I went for supplies." Sherlock muttered.
"Maeve was beside herself."
Sherlock closed his eyes and continued to rub his daughter's back. "John has been in far worse situations, he is fully equipped to deal with an upset infant."
John couldn't help but smile at that.
"Yes, but you shouldn't have left him." Mrs Hudson scolded, hitting his arm as she stepped into the room and walked into the kitchen. She immediately started packing away the shopping that Sherlock had brought.
"The teething rings need to go in the fridge," Sherlock called to her, stepping closer to the kitchen and craning his neck to watch her. "Put the pink one in a bowl of ice."
Maeve burped on his shoulder and he patted her back lightly before continuing the rubbing motion.
"Is your brother visiting?" She asked.
"Later." Sherlock muttered and pulled Maeve away from his chest, he twisted her around and held her in a seated position, one arm across her torso and the other underneath her bum, her back pressed against his stomach. He held her for a moment in front of the small desk fan. Maeve's nose scrunched and she blinked, the breeze catching her eyelashes. She whined but he kept her there.
"Hot and teething, what are we going to do with you?" Mrs Hudson asked as she stepped into the room, placing the bowl of ice on the small table beside John.
"One problem at a time, keep her cool." Sherlock responded, pulling her away from the fan and sitting himself down in his chair. "Then deal with the teething issue." He gesture towards the bowl.
John picked it up and lent forward. Sherlock stuck one hand in the bowl, submerging his fingers in the ice for a few moment before pulling them out. He shook his hand slightly and then offered it to Maeve, pressing his forefinger against the seal of her lips. She hesitated but opened her mouth and he probed her gums, running the pad of his fingers over them. He announced after a few seconds. "There aren't any teeth cutting through the gums."
"No?" John perked up. "It is a little early for teeth."
Sherlock hummed. Maeve gurgled around his finger. He pulled his finger out of her mouth and plucked the pink teething ring out from the ice, wiping one end on his shirt, before offering it to her. She eyed it suspiciously. Sherlock sighed and placed it to her lips, she opened her mouth slightly.
"You need to open your mouth a little wider," John told her with a grin.
Maeve's eyes flicked to him and then back to the pink teething ring that was resting at her lips. Her eyes crossed. John snorted. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Open your mouth for daddy, yes."
Maeve opened her mouth and Sherlock pushed the teething ring into her mouth. She grabbed at his hand and started chewing on the cold ring, her expression a mixture of emotions before settling on 'this is probably ok.' Her eyes flicked to John in a 'look Papa' way.
"Yeah, that's better." John put the bowl of ice back on the table and sat back in his chair, relieved. "Hopefully she'll have a sleep soon."
"That's better." Sherlock hummed in agreement and kissed the top of her head. His eyes flicked to John. "Your leg hurts."
"Yes, the heat." John nodded, tapping his thigh. "And stress."
Sherlock hummed. "You should lay down."
"It's a sauna in there."
"I'll get the fan out."
"Later." John promised.
Sherlock nodded and kissed the top of Maeves head again.
Maeve slept for an hour. A beautiful undisturbed hour and woke up with a red face, drool running down her chin and tears in her eyes. Sherlock picked her up just as she started crying and placed her against his chest, rocking his body side to side. "Shhhh." He hushed as he walked into the living room.
"Want to try the gel?" John asked, looking up from his laptop.
"Yes," Sherlock nodded.
John plucked one of three gels from the table and extended his hand to Sherlock. The consulting detective eyed him pointedly. John cleared his throat, "well…"
"You need to taste it." Sherlock explained as though it were the simplest thing in the world. He pulled Maeve away from his shoulder and shifted her so that her back was pressed against his chest, supported by his arm across her torso. She blinked tiredly at John.
"Why?" John frowned.
Sherlock blinked a few times, staring at John as he did so and when it became obvious that John was clueless, he scoffed. "If you don't like the taste, I'm hardly going to put it in my daughter's mouth."
"So I'm your guinea pig," John said more to himself, pulling his hand back and unscrewing the cap of the teething gel. "Charming."
"Better not to upset her further."
John nodded in agreement, dabbed some of the clear gel onto his finger and put it in his mouth. He licked away the gel and pulled out his wet finger. "What flavour is it supposed to be?"
"Banana." Sherlock enunciated, eyeing the blonde dubiously.
"It tastes sort-of banana-ry," John told him. "Just artificial."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly but held his finger out. John squeezed a pea sized amount of the gel onto his forefinger and watched as Sherlock rubbed the gel over Maeve's gums as she frowned, her nose crinkled up and mouth trying, and failing because of the finger in her mouth, to draw into a thin line.
"She doesn't look impressed." John observed.
Sherlock glared at him and withdrew his finger. He craned his neck to watch her expression. Maeve opened and closed her mouth a few times, her frown deepening before whining loudly. She licked her lips. He put the finger in his own mouth and licked it clean, brow furrowing slightly at the taste.
"She seems ok," John screwed the cap back on the tube and put it on the table. "Is she hot?"
Sherlock used the back of his free hand to check her temperature, pressing it gently against her forehead. "A little clammy." He announced and walked over to the desk fan. He sat on the edge of the coffee table, moving Maeve onto his lap and waited until the fan blew cold air over them. Maeve jerked and looked up at him, gurgling. "Shhh." He hushed gently.
Maeve craned her neck to look up at her daddy and gurgled. Then she looked back at the fan.
"Yes, it's a fan." He told her. Maeve looked at it thoughtfully.
Maeve gurgled again.
John smiled from the doorway. "Someone's feeling better."
Sherlock hummed. "Eliminate the pain, eliminate the problem."
"Yes," John nodded. "It is that simple with babies."
"It's only temporary," Sherlock looked over his shoulder at the blonde.
"Yes, but a temporary solution is still a solution."
Sherlock frowned in disbelief. It sounded ridiculous but there was some logic to it. "But the solution will run out and we'll be left with a screaming baby."
"Yes, well," John cleared his throat. "It's all part of being a parent."
Mycroft paused in the threshold, halted by the sight of the flat in complete disarray, more so than usual. The chairs had been pushed to the fireplace and the coffee table moved onto the sofa. A blanket was on the floor with a mountain of pillows. John was in his chair, watching his boyfriend and daughter with a fond expression. Sherlock was lain on his back, his shirt open, pale chest glistening. Maeve was beside him on her front wearing only a nappy, her eyes fixed on her daddy, hands fisted in his shirt. She was gurgling enthusiastically, dribble running down her face.
"Has the heat gone to your head?" He asked in a bored tone. He held a small white gift bag in his left hand.
"Has it gone to yours?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows and craned his neck to look at his elder brother.
"This is my usual hour," Mycroft sniffed and stepped into the flat. He placed the bag on his brother's chest.
Sherlock frowned and held the bag steady. He nodded towards Maeve. "Your niece."
Mycroft rolled his eyes and crouched down, he plucked Maeve up and held her for a moment at arm's length. Her eyes scanned over his body and settled on his face, lips pulling back into a gummy smile. "Hello darling." He greeted, pulling her closer to his body.
"She's teething so I'd watch your jacket." John warned.
Mycroft looked at his shoulder and assured him, standing up. "It's not a problem."
"A little bit of dribble never hurt anybody," Sherlock muttered more to himself than anything.
"Are you going to open it?" John asked gesturing towards the white gift bag.
Sherlock sat up and reached inside the bag. He pulled out a small pink jewellery bag and untied it, inside there was a small necklace and bracelet made of small amber stones. "Baltic amber."
John frowned. "Teething necklace, I always get parents asking about them but I don't know much about how they work."
"In theory," Sherlock announced, running his fingers over the amber beads. "The baby wears the necklace and their body heat triggers the release of oils that contains succinic acid, and when the oil is absorbed, it has an analgesic effect on swollen and sore gums. Though there is no medical proof." He said, shooting Mycroft a surprised look.
"Worth a try, brother mine." Mycroft managed a tight smile at that.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow but shrugged. He sprung to his feet in a moment and held out the necklace. Maeve eyed him suspiciously. Sherlock gave her a stern 'do as you're told' look and fastened the necklace around her neck. It was tight, not tight enough that she would choke herself with it, but tight enough that she wouldn't catch it on anything, hanging about an inch or so under her chin. She tried and failed to look at the necklace. Sherlock took pity on her and showed her the bracelet. Her eyes widened curiously and she reached out for the bracelet, small fingers catching the small beads. She looked up at Sherlock, as though for permission, he smiled and she continued to finger the bracelet, eyes flicking back to watch.
"You look awful," Mycroft said after a moment. An observation. Not a criticism.
Sherlock's expression dropped briefly before he sighed. "Yes, well, babies, brother mine."
Mycroft recognised the imitation and smiled at him. He kissed the top of Maeve's head, lips lingering on the spot. Sherlock pried the bracelet away from her, kissing her fingers as apology and fastened the bracelet around her wrist, Maeve looked at it, frowning before smiling up at him.
Sherlock smiled back at her.
"Yes, all happy now," John said. Maeve gurgled and dropped her head onto Mycroft's shoulder. He ran a hand over her head, through her hair and she moved her head into the motion. John snorted. "She's like a cat. Speaking of which, where is the cat?"
"Maeve's room, it's the coolest in the house." Sherlock answered, stepping away from his brother and sitting on the coffee table, dropping his head into his hands. He scrubbed his hands over his face and ran them through his hair, pushing the curls out of his face, they sprang up at awkward angels.
"I suggest you get some sleep while you can," Mycroft told them. John frowned and Sherlock looked up at him. "You are better with sleep. Rest, I'll take care of her."
"And what are you going to do?" John asked, surprised.
"I'm sure we'll find something to do." Mycroft said, watching Maeve.
Maeve was absorbed in her bee toy, running her small fingers over the soft yellow and black fabric, her eyes flicking from the bee to her uncle as she babbled loudly. Mycroft hummed in acknowledgement and continued to bounce the chair with his sock covered foot as he read through the file on the desk. He looked up for a moment and then down at her, his mouth pulling into a thin smile, and went back to work. Anthea peaked up from her laptop, brown eyes flicking from her boss to the baby in her bouncy chair.
Anthea cleared her throat, "she's getting bigger."
Mycroft hummed again. "Yes."
"And her hair longer." She rested her chin on her hand and watched Maeve. "It's getting curlier."
Mycroft nodded, not looking up from his work. Anthea sighed. Mycroft frowned but did not look up from his work, "What is it, my dear?"
"It's just, I don't know how you focus on work when she's around."
"You were doing work not a moment ago." He pointed out, smiling. He looked up.
Anthea rolled her eyes. "Doesn't she make you…broody?"
"I have far too many people to worry about already." Mycroft sighed, closed the file and looked down at Maeve. She looked up at him, flashing him a half smile. He couldn't help but smile in response.
"So, no babies in your future?" Anthea quipped.
"One." He nodded at Maeve.
"Yes, well," Anthea shrugged, "there are worse choices."
Maeve kicked her legs excitedly and babbled. Mycroft raised an eyebrow at her, "yes."
Maeve babbled again, this time louder.
"You are being disruptive," Mycroft sighed.
"Better than crying," Anthea plucked up the teething ring and offered it to her.
Maeve eyed it curiously before accepting it, taking it from her and putting it in her mouth. She chewed on it, eyes flicking up to Mycroft and Anthea as though to check that they were watching.
"Yes, we can see you." He assured her.
"She is quite convincing." Anthea said, clapping her hands together.
"Are you broody?" Mycroft asked, curious and uncomfortable.
"She makes me broody," She argued, frowning at the table. "It's her rosy cheeks and little hands."
"Yes, she's adorable, we are well aware." Sherlock yawned as he entered the room, his eyes flicking over Anthea and Sherlock in a matter of seconds before landing on the back of the bouncy chair. He wore a pair of thin pyjamas, the top inside out and his hair was damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead.
Mycroft reached inside his waistcoat pocket and glanced at his pocket watch. He frowned. "Two hours, I expected you to sleep longer brother mine."
"Dull." Sherlock yawned again, smothering it against the back of his hand. He stepped towards Maeve and placed his head in her view, she looked up and smiled around her teething ring. "Yes, hello."
Maeve gurgled.
He unstrapped her from the chair and picked her up, twisting her mid-air so that she was facing the right way and placed her on his side, legs either side of his torso, her head at the same height as his. She dropped the teething ring and reached out, grabbing his hair in her fists and pulling his face impossibly close to hers.
"Yes, hello darling." He said, gently prying her hands out of his hair and kissed each one.
Maeve gurgled loudly. Sherlock rolled his eyes and twisted on the spot. Maeve shrieked in delight.
Anthea packed away her laptop away and rose to her feet. "I'll return to the office."
Mycroft smiled at her and nodded. "And what, pray tell, are your plans for the rest of the day, brother mine?"
Sherlock shrugged. "No doubt we will be staying in, in a bid to avoid the bustle of London and this heat."
"Yes, it is rather hot. Have you thought about putting clothes on her?" He asked, gesturing towards his niece with a raised eyebrow.
Anthea smiled to herself, waved to Maeve and then ducked out of the room.
"Too hot for clothes," Sherlock sniffed.
Mycroft frowned, looking appalled. "Too much information."
"Yes, well, we are in the midst of a heatwave."
"I'd noticed," Mycroft quipped.
Sherlock shrugged one shoulder and sat on the arm of John's chair. Maeve shifted against him but remained calm. She sighed against him. "I'm sure you are eager to return to your air conditioned home."
"Quite," Mycroft inhaled deeply and ran his thumb and forefinger over his hot brow. "But work calls."
"Doesn't it always," Sherlock smirked.
"I suppose, I'll leave you to it."
"You don't want to spend any more time with your niece?"
"I want nothing more, but, duty calls," Mycroft sighed and rose to his feet. He looked at Maeve and lowered his voice, "a little bad weather and the country ceases to run smoothly."
"Does it ever?" Sherlock asked.
Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Quite."
"Feel better?" Sherlock asked as John emerged from the shower. He had a towel around his hips, on his shoulders and nothing else.
"Hmmm, yes, much." He managed a smile.
"You're not limping," he deduced.
"No, it feels better."
Sherlock nodded. "Good."
"She's calmer." John nodded towards Maeve.
"Yes," Sherlock ran his hand down her back. She was wearing only a thin white bodysuit with no arms or legs.
"Do you want me to put her to bed?"
"I thought I'd keep her up longer," Sherlock said absentmindedly, "ensure she sleep through the night."
John nodded. "Good idea, dinner?"
"There's some take out in the fridge."
"You ordered take out?"
"Hmmm" Sherlock hummed in response.
"And what are you going to do for the rest of the day?"
Sherlock shrugged and kissed the top of Maeve's head.
