Chapter Fifty-One: One Hundred and Thirty Days

It was fascinating how much Maeve had grown in the space of four months. One Hundred and Thirty days to be exact. She was bigger, a few sizes, her skin less red and pale, like his own. Her hair, once thin, was thicker and curling at the end, the longest strands reaching a centimetre and a half down her forehead, or would if the strands weren't curly. Her cheeks were round and rosy, and her eyes still a vivid blue, not yet settled into their natural colour, though he had no doubt they would match his own, it was obvious.

She was sat in the middle of the floor, on her colourful tummy time mat surrounded by small soft toys that were becoming a bit of a collection. She wore a pair of blue joggers and matching jumper with white hearts on them. Her hands were reaching out and running over each one intently, her eyes flicking up to Sherlock, and back to the toys, checking that he was watching her.

"Yes, daddy's watching you." He assured her, sat with his legs crossed in front of her, a notebook perched on one knee with a pen inside the pages. "Which toy do you want?"

Maeve gurgled in response.

"Use your words darling." He said with a raised eyebrow. It was too early for words, as John kept telling him, but there was no harm in encouraging her to speak.

Maeve babbled a string of 'd' and 'b' sounds and reached for the small snowy owl toy.

"Yes, I like that one too." He admitted, closing the notepad with one hand while reaching towards her with the other, running his fingers over her small hand and the toy in it. "It reminds me of your uncle," he frowned, "foolish, I know."

Maeve babbled in response. He nodded, accepting that as an agreement and threw the notebook back onto his chair. He drew his legs round underneath his body and sat on them, placing his hands on his knees. "Now, what shall we talk about today?" He asked.

Maeve looked up at him curiously, mouth open.

"Shall we talk about…Papa? Or Dickens? Or Bees? What do you think?" Maeve didn't answer. "Well, Papa's at work, no doubt curing the world of snotty noses and writing sick notes." He sniffed. "Bleak House is arguably the most profound of Dickens work and well, the bees must be saved at all costs, they are dreadfully interesting and incredibly intelligent. We would not be alive if not for the bees."

Maeve watched his with an expression of awe, mouth wide open and eyes fixed on him.

"Yes, it's all dreadfully interesting. Shall we go for a walk?" Maeve babbled. "Yes."

Sherlock plucked her up, his hands under her arms, and pulled her towards his chest. "Maybe Papa will get a coffee with us, yes? Would you like that?"

He picked up the small owl toy from the floor and handed it to her. She took it in both her hand and smoothed it against her face which she simultaneously dropped her head to rest on his shoulder. He walked to the bedroom and picked up the small white nike trainers, that John called stupid, and then back into the kitchen, pausing in the threshold. He sat her on the side, keeping his eyes on her as he put on her shoes, wrestling them onto her small feet. Jade jumped onto the side, meowing loudly, and rubbed herself against Maeve, who in response dropped her toy and clutched at her fur and dropped her head onto the cat. Maeve meowed loudly and continued to rub her face against Maeve's, purring as she did so.

When he was done he picked up Maeve and his coat, sending a slightly apologetic look to the cat, and pulled it on, shifting Maeve from one arm to the other. He left his scarf untied around his neck and plucked up the baby bag from the table as he left the room, walking down the stairs.

Mrs Hudson peaked out of her door as he stopped in the hallway. "Where are you off to?"

"A morning stroll," Sherlock answered with a small smile.

The pram was already set up in the corner. He placed the baby bag around the handle and Maeve in the seat which had been altered so that she was sat up with a bar across her, supporting her. Maeve's nose wrinkled as he strapped her in but he shushed her with a gentle tap to the nose. He put a blanket over her legs and handed her the small owl toy back. She smiled at it and held it close.

"It's a bit nippy outside," Mrs Hudson told him. "I'd wrap up."

Sherlock nodded.

"Will you be back soon?"

"Without a doubt, just getting some fresh air."

"Well, behave."

Sherlock frowned. "Me or her?"

"Both of you." She smirked and ducked back into her flat.

Sherlock sighed and gestured towards the door. "Shall we?"

Maeve gurgled in response.

Sherlock nodded


The doctor's surgery was, as predicted, full to the brim of people with kids with snotty noses and bloody knees. Sherlock sniffed. He was lent against the wall, one hand on the handle of the pram and the other on his phone, surfing through his emails. Maeve was almost asleep, her eyes drooping and lips parted, a thin line of drool running down her chin. His eyes flicked to her and then back to his phone.

"Can I help you?" The new receptionist asked, leaning over the desk.

Single. Young. Desperate.

Sherlock sniffed again. "Yes, Doctor Watson."

"He's with a patient now, I'll let him know you're here Mr …"

"Holmes." He supplied, flashing a fake smile.

"Mr Holmes, are you here for you or your daughter?" she asked, clearing her throat delicately.

"Daughter." He offered.

"Doctor Watson really is our best doctor." She beamed, sitting back in her chair.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and pushed himself off the wall, quickly pocketing his phone and rounding on the desk, placing his elbows on it. "Yes."

"Do you know him? Personally?"

"Yes." He answered, tilting his head to one side.

Late twenties. String of casual lovers. Cheating boyfriends. Dyed blonde hair. New Lipstick and blouse, trying to impress someone…not someone, John. Crush. Likes older men. Daddy issues. Pathetic.

"He's pretty busy but I think we can squeeze you in." she promised, smirking as she picked up the phone. "I'll call in, see if he can see you."

"Tell him his boyfriend and daughter are here." He suggested as he flashed her a smile. "It may speed up the process."

The reception startled and almost dropped the phone, jaw dropping. She cleared her throat and looked at the desk as she dialled trying and failing to look professional as her cheeks went red, after a moment she spoke, her voice far less confident than before. "Doctor Watson, there's a mister Holmes here to see you…yes, I'll send him right through."

Sherlock smirked and looked down at Maeve, she was still fighting off sleep, her eyes glassy and fixed on him. He ran a hand down her cheek and quickly wiped the trail of dribble from her chin, wiping it on the blanket as he pulled it higher onto her lap.

The receptionist cleared her throat and stood up, eyes flicking over Sherlock and the pram critically. "Room 2."

Sherlock said nothing. He pushed the pram with one hand through the doorway and into the corridor. He stopped outside the second door as it opened. A woman - clearly wanting sleeping pills to drown out the sound of her children and adulterous husband - stepped out, eyes raking over him and the pram before she walked past him. John was stood at the door, left hand on the doorknob, smiling. "What are you doing here?"

"Morning stroll," Sherlock offered.

Sherlock pushed the pram inside the room and turned to watch John close the door. "Yeah right, bored?"

"The receptionist has a crush on you," Sherlock ignored the question, "I set her straight."

"Right, should I be expecting tears?" John asked, shoulders sagging slightly.

Sherlock shrugged. "I merely informed her that I was your partner and Maeve your daughter."

"Yes, she's new," John nodded and peered into the pram at the almost sleeping Maeve. He smiled at her, crouching, and ran his hand over her head. "She never gave me a chance to tell her, too busy prattling on about herself."

"Well, she knows now." Sherlock picked an invisible piece of flint off his jacket.

"Don't get grumpy. People are allowed to have crushes on me."

"As long as they know you are mine," Sherlock mumbled more to himself than anything.

"You had a crush on me too, once upon a time." John reminded him, glancing up and smirking.

"I love you, there's a difference John."

"Yes," John agreed, standing up straight. "I love you too, you idiot."

Sherlock didn't' smile at that but he visibly relaxed, his shoulders lowering slightly.

John looked at him expectantly. "Are you going to kiss me or what?"

Sherlock smiled at that and lent down slightly, kissing him softly on the lips before pulling back, leaving a few millimetres between their lips.

"Good morning." John smiled, eyes lighting up. "I missed you."

"You've been gone three hours." Sherlock pointed out.

"You could have just said that you missed me to," John kissed him softly again, keeping it chaste.

John looked at John's lips and admitted, keeping his voice soft. "I missed you."

"What are you two going to do for the rest of the day then?"

"Solid foods."

John frowned and moved his head back slightly. He repeated, "Solid foods."

"Yes," Sherlock cleared his throat. "Maeve is able to support her own head, she often has the motion of chewing, and a growing appetite and significant weight gain within the past weeks."

"So, baby rice?"

Sherlock nodded. "It makes sense."

"Yes, a logical decision." John smiled. "So, you're going out to buy baby rice?"

"We came to see you," he clarified. "We'll pick up the baby rice on the way home. Coffee?"

"I need to get back to work," he ignored the way Sherlock pouted, "the quicker I get through my patients, the quicker I'll be home."


Sherlock offered the first spoonful to Maeve. She frowned in confusion, eyes flicking from the spoon to his face and then back to the spoon. The mixture was warm and gloopy, an off-white shade with a rather boring smell, the same as the powdered milk he brought for her. Maeve was sat in her highchair, a white round contraption that was top of the range and looked vaguely like a seat from an sci-fi movie made in the 80s.

"Why are we doing this?" Mycroft asked, his voice tinged with annoyance and vague boredom.

"Skype?" Sherlock sighed and looked down at the screen that was at the fair end of the table, pointed at him and Maeve, giving the government official a good view of them both from the laptop. He was sat at his desk, elbows on the desk and hands clasped together. He looked irritated.

"I do have…things to do."

"Countries to run." Sherlock said to Maeve.

"Sherlock." Mycroft sounded irritated.

"It's an important milestone." Sherlock sniffed and placed the spoon back into the small pale yellow, plastic bowl. The spoon was small, soft and made of a similar colour yellow plastic.

"Fine." Mycroft sighed and unclasped his hands, laying his hands on the desk. "But will she be eating in the foreseeable future, I do have a dinner meeting."

"Yes, she's just, it's new." Sherlock mumbled. He picked up the spoon again and scooped out some of the gloopy formula, wiping the back of the spoon on the edge of the bowl. He lent forward in his chair and offered her the spoon again. He asked, "For daddy?"

Maeve considered it and after a few moments opened her mouth a little. Sherlock pressed the spoon against her lips, softly, she opened them a tad wider and he pushed the spoon further into her mouth. He paused, letting her come closer to him, leaning her head forward. Her lips closed around the spoon and she frowned.

"Oh." Mycroft released involuntarily, leaning closer to the camera.

Maeve's eyes flicked up to Sherlock and then back to the spoon in her mouth, eyes crossing slightly. Her expression shifted slightly, still unsure. Sherlock pulled the spoon out, carefully, slowly, dipping it to ensure that she got all of the baby rice and held the spoon in the air while he watched her intently. Her mouth beginning the chewing motions, not that she really needed to chew it, and she looked vaguely pleased with herself.

"Yes," Sherlock muttered. His eyes flicking over her. "Is it nice?"

"Are you telling me you didn't taste it?" Mycroft asked, curiously.

"Of course I tasted it," Sherlock snapped in response, not taking his eyes off of Maeve. "What do you think?"

Maeve finished the chewing motion and swallowed. She considered it for a moment before opening her mouth again in a silent demand for more. Sherlock chuckled, a rich, deep sound that echoed while Mycroft snorted.

"Demanding little thing."

"Quite." Sherlock agreed.

"Wonder where she gets that from," Mycroft smirked through the camera.

Sherlock ignored the comment and scooped up another spoonful for her, offering it to her lips, she opened her mouth wider and accepted the spoon, pulling the gloopy mixture into her mouth again.

"This has been…enlightening." Mycroft admitted.

Sherlock's eyes flicked to the screen. "I'll send you the brand and recipe."

"See that you do," Mycroft said and with one last glance at his niece, he ended the skype call.

"Your papa is going to be so proud of you," Sherlock told Maeve as she swallowed her second mouthful of baby rice.