It was needless to say that Sherlock Holmes was not big on children. There had never been a need to deal with them, save for solving the occasional- and quite dull- kidnapping. He never did understand how parents could cry so much after knowing their children were safe and sound. It really was rather annoying. And, on the day that Mrs. Mary Watson delivered her and John's baby girl, Sherlock had the same blank and slightly unnerved feeling he always got. But this time was different. Through all his studies, for some reason the newborn human was not a consistent subject matter. He found himself marveling at how small a person could be. The next observation was just how ugly the little creature was. A squashed, red face and veiny little limbs, it almost appeared extra terrestrial. Yet, John and Mary had the look all the parents had. Like it was the most beautiful, precious treasure in all the mysteries of the world. He really couldn't understand it. He watched, still dumbstruck, as John sniffed and wiped his eyes, pressing a loving kiss to his wife's temple. Said woman, looking exhausted and sweaty, but shining with an unearthly glow, turned her eyes from the pink bundle to him.
"Sherlock," She said in a soft, almost reverent voice, "Get over here."
Sherlock swallowed, an odd reaction because he most certainly was not in any way afraid or nervous. He debated for a moment and then stiffly made his way over to the bed. Mary gestured with her head for him to sit on the bedside chair. He did so and instantly tensed as she shifted, grunting softly with effort, and held out the small mass to him.
"Hold her, Sherlock."
Immediately, he thought of about fourteen different ways to refuse and about one hundred and one explanations as to why. But for some reason, his mouth was not opening and saying them. The next thing he knew, John was leaning over his shoulder, forming his awkward and inexperienced arms into a stiff cradle. As he was pleading for his mouth to open, Mary carefully placed the baby into his arms. His eyes focused on the tiny face and he waited for the deductions to begin, but none came. Besides making obvious physical conclusions, such as John's nose and Mary's ears, his brain was... silent. There was nothing to deduce, this baby was as pure as anything in the world could be. And, for the first time in his life, Sherlock understood-if only minutely- why parents cried so hard and so much. He became aware that his lungs had begun to burn, he'd held his breath since Mary called him over. He let out a shaky breath through his nose. His breath must have alerted the child and it's tiny mouth opened, it's already squashed face tightened even more and a soft, muffled cry came out of the creature. Sherlock instantly panicked.
"What's wrong? What did I do-John. John why is it doing that-?" Mary and John, however, just chuckled warmly. Sherlock did not for the life of him understand what was so funny. He angrily told them so and Mary rolled her eyes.
"Oh, quit being such a drama queen, Sherlock. Here," She placed her hands under his arm and another under the baby's bottom and moved them up and down in a slow, steady motion. Sherlock watched, reluctantly impressed as the slow up and down movement calmed the baby back down. He didn't notice when Mary removed her hands and his arms continued the motions, eventually rocking the baby to sleep. He looked up at John, whose steady hand was lightly squeezing his shoulder, in amazement and then to Mary, whose smile rivaled the brightness of the sun.
"See?" She said happily, "You're a natural."
He turned back to the little face and had to blink. No longer did it look like a squishy alien, but a beautiful, pure little girl. And he was reminded of his promise on their wedding night. How much he'd meant it, how full his heart had been. It was the same feeling now. He carefully passed his index finger across the soft cheek and reaffirmed his only and last vow to himself, the universe or whatever was listening. He would never, ever, let this little girl down and would always be there for her.