"Can you watch Rosie tonight?"
Sherlock shook his head, abruptly exiting his mind palace.
"I'm sorry, what?"
John rolled his head to the side and closed his eyes. His jaw set, and his fists working in his self soothing manner.
"Rosie. I need you to watch Rosie. Lord knows it's not the best decision I've ever made, but I need this."
Sherlock furrowed his brows together, "What happened to Molly? Mrs. Hudson? Geoff?"
John took a deep breath and stood erect again. "Busy at work. At her sisters. And Greg is with his Mrs. tonight."
Sherlock cocked his head in his standard mocking way, "Fairly sure he wouldn't mind the distraction away from his adulterous wife. I will accept the excuses of the others. But what do you want me to do with her?"
John chewed his lip a little and looked over at his daughter in her highchair.
He thought the options over again. He could take Rosie with him, after all, he was just going to visit his sister for the evening. What promised to be a very confrontational evening. He could bring her, but he didn't want her to hear him yelling like he would inevitably be doing when Harry was involved. It would get Rosie all worked up, then he would have a screaming baby added to the row and the whole thing would turn awful real fast.
John broke his musings with a nod to himself and turned back to Sherlock.
"I really need this, Sherlock. I can't take her with me, and I can't leave her with anyone else."
Sherlock smoothly stood from his lounge on the couch and grabbed his violin, plucking his strings and tuning it.
"I hope she doesn't mind the violin. I plan on playing for hours on end."
With a side smirk he brought his violin under his chin. John chuckled as the first familiar notes began to sound and moved to give Rosie a chunk of banana from her tray and put her favorite plush toy within her reach. He gave her one lingering kiss on the forehead and went to grab his coat, hesitating a moment at the door.
Sherlock continued his playing steadily and Rosie gummed her banana contentedly, so sighing and letting it be what it had to be, John turned out the door, closing it behind him.
Sherlock played until he could hear the sound of the front door closing and could spy John jump into a taxi and be driven away.
Slowing the strokes of his bow across the strings Sherlock swooped over to observe Rosie as she ate.
Rosie cooed and gurgled around her banana. She noticed Sherlock and he found himself highly amused at her smile. Rosie smiled and laughed at him all the more as he picked up her plushie and pretended to walk it across her tray to her. Her laughter was loud and infectious, and soon Sherlock felt a smile on his face that he hadn't remembered putting there.
Very rarely did one ever simply grace his face. Most often he had to read the situation and decide to allow the movement of his lips upward. And of those times, most every event was because he needed something. A clue, a lead, answers.
But here he found one had grown on his face unbidden. How had this happened? His transport rarely betrayed him like this. He kept it tightly and carefully under control. What had this little being done to cause it to rebel so easily?
Sherlock turned his searching gaze onto the unaware child. Rosie continued to coo and chew on her plush puppy's paw.
He needed to figure this out.
Turning abruptly from her, he raised the violin to his chin from where it had been held dormant in his hand.
Her laugh.
He started with a few scattered higher notes. They jumped around just as her laugh did. They dipped down every now and then to a lower note just as her laugh would. Sherlock felt his bow bounce around across his strings and it caused his lips to twitch.
He was getting there.
Unconsciously he began to string the bouncing notes together to form a melody. His smile returned full force when he heard the giggles of the small girl across the room.
She was enjoying this too.
Enjoying. What was she feeling? What is this emotion.
Laughter, smiling, giggling, enjoyment, joy.
This is joy.
Sherlock's smile stilled a moment and his alert eyes flickered all around the tiny child. Searching out everything in her that defined this new feeling.
Pink cheeks, upturned lips, her arms waving with her enthusiasm, her whole body shaking with her mirth.
What was he feeling?
A lightness, as if the cares had no weight at this time. He could be in the moment, he could just take in and enjoy the now without having to bank away his observations. He felt more carefree in this emotion. This glee. It enrapt his attention and calmed the buzzing of his mind. All that mattered was that tiny human, and all he wanted to do was make her laugh.
Joy.
Sherlock lowered his violin to his seat gently. Trying to refrain from secluding himself away in his mind palace right now and staying in it until his new emotion was fully cataloged and stored away, he sat in John's seat and reached for the plushie again.
He had to get her to laugh.
Sherlock smiled and made voices along with the actions he manipulated the stuffed puppy to do. Rosie laughed and laughed far past the capacity for laughter that Sherlock had hypothesized to be possible for such a small being.
Before too long it seemed, John came through the door.
"Oi, what's all this going on? Who said you could have this much fun without me?"
He hung his coat on the hook and came with ease over to his gurgling daughter.
"Come here girl."
John carefully pulled her up out of the chair and held her on his hip, bouncing around gently.
Tight creases in corner of eyes, tension in shoulders, tightness in back, hands pink and puffy, hair disheveled slightly.
"How is Harry?"
John halted a moment in surprise, then turned a glare on him even as he continued to bounce Rosie around on his hip.
"Who said anything about Harry? How do you always know these things? Is there nothing I can keep from you?"
The words could have been hurtful, but Sherlock heard the veiled awe in John's tone as he spoke them.
He smiled knowingly and perhaps a bit smugly and stood from John's seat.
"Of course not."
John turned back to smile at Rosie and swing her around back and forth on his hip quickly so that she clung to his jumper as she giggled madly.
"Then you already know how she is then."
Sherlock nodded solemnly.
"I love it when she's like this. I could just bottle it all up and keep it on a shelf for all those times she's being a right pain."
Sherlock had to let a small smile graze his features. He knew what he meant. He had felt it too.
"Well," John stopped his swinging and turned from facing his daughter, "I think it's time I start to settle this one down for bed before it gets too late and we're really in trouble."
He reached for the plush toy where it had been discarded on the highchair. Sherlock, being closer and more agile, nicked it up first.
Playing with it for the enjoyment of the little girl, he made noises and sounds as he approached her in John's arms. Once again bubbling with laughter, Rosie reached for her plushie as soon as it was close enough for her grasp.
John chuckled at his daughter and the antics she had gotten the great mad man detective to do.
"Now then we will wish you Goodnight. Thank you again, Sherlock. I shouldn't have underestimated you as I did. You did well with her. She seems to be all in one piece and very happy to boot. You'll have to play for her every night now, I hope you are aware of this."
Sherlock chuckled openly at that.
"If I must. Goodnight John. Goodnight Rosie. Until tomorrow then."
Sherlock gave Rosie one last pat on the back and a nod to John. Then he watched the two people he cared about most in this world go up the stairs to their shared room.
Finitely.
Quickly, Sherlock swept to his room, not wanting to be bothered if John had to come down for something in the common space.
He closed the door and laid himself down on his bed and assumed his thinking position.
Hands met under his chin in an assumed prayer, he entered his mind palace.
Joy.
He knew what it looked like on the outside, he knew what it felt like on the inside. Truly, his research was almost complete. Now he had to simply reach into his memory and attach moments with this feeling. Then he could stash it away, filed nicely into a room with the rest of the emotions he understood and could call upon when needed.
A moment. When was there joy?
The chase through London, on his first night with John. Every sign was there to point to joy. Lips upturned in smiles, laughter and giggles, and in that moment, all that had mattered to him was healing his doctor. Showing him that he didn't need that cane. And getting him to smile again. Joy.
The bombing case. When he had been able to successfully disarm the bomb, and simultaneously coax John into forgiving him for his slight misstep with the way he returned from the fall. Smiles, chuckles, flushed cheeks, arms moving about, chest shaking with his laughter. And all that mattered was John. Getting his soldier to heal. To be able to forgive him. To be able to move on together. Against the rest of the world.
Joy.
There weren't too many moments to stash away now. Just the two he had remembered and now his discovery of the emotion with Rosie.
But as Sherlock tucked all of these away neatly, he recognized joy for the power it had.
In those moments, only one thing had his focus. Only one thing mattered. His mind so in tune with just one goal. And the elation that came from accomplishing it. That shear relief and euphoria of the moment he met that goal. It was addicting. To finitely relieve his straining mind if only for a second. A second of peace, of joy.
Blinking back into the world again slowly Sherlock had one thought on his mind.
He must seek out more joy.
A/N: Please read and review! I have anend game for this story in two or three more chapters. Please let me know of any emotions I could cover before I get to them and I would gladly try to work them in there if I can.
Thank you!!