Author's Note:

Apologies for the delay in updating. I hope this longer than normal chapter makes up for it. Thanks for your patience!


Chapter 103 — No Need for Stimulants Now

Sherlock gave Rose's hand a comforting squeeze as they walked along, and she tilted her face towards the weak sun, attempting to bathe it in an autumnal glow.

"So, who am I walking with," she said eventually. "Scott Williams or Sherlock Holmes?"

"This is London. It's my turf."

Not Mr Williams then. Did he only exist in Edinburgh?

Rose scolded herself for not enjoying the moment. But the future stretched before them, as cloudy and uncertain as Edinburgh's weather. Would they return there? She still had her studies to continue. Motherhood hadn't erased her desires career-wise, but they had definitely taken a back seat in her mind. The thought of leaving Grace in care with anybody at this tender age, well any age, really, horrified her. Perhaps when she's twenty-one, Rose thought, chuckling to herself.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"Nothing," Rose said, smiling sheepishly. "Just thinking about the future."

Sherlock was silent for a moment, before he said, "I don't want you to worry about anything."

"That's a tough request."

"No. Really. I've organised everything."

Rose stopped along the pathway, dropping Sherlock's hand.

"What do you mean?"

"In the event of my death."

Rose's skin prickled and a wave of dread rippled through her.

"W-what?"

"It's fine, Rose. Just a precaution. I've set up a trust fund in Scott Williams's name, but if I die before he does, there are several processes set in pla—"

"Stop, Sherlock!" Rose exclaimed, aghast.

"Why, what's wrong?"

Rose shook her head lightly, then proceeded to walk along the path once more. Sherlock fell into step beside her, now pushing the pram with both hands.

"What's wrong?" he asked again.

"I don't want to know," she said, her face feeling flushed.

Sherlock held out an arm to prevent Rose from walking on.

When she stopped and reluctantly turned to him, he said, "It's just a practicality. I want you to feel safe if I—"

"Don't say it!"

"Say what?"

"Just… stop it." There was an enormous pressure on her tear ducts again. What the hell was wrong with her? She gazed along the path. Their destination, the Italian Water Gardens, was just ahead. "It's because of Mary," she said, finally.

"What about her?"

"She made plans before she died, and then she…"

"One doesn't necessarily infer the other."

"I just don't want you to talk about it, okay? You've made plans, and that's… that's fine. You don't have to tell me about them, though. I don't want to know, Sherlock."

Rose knew she was being entirely unreasonable. So she was impractical about death. She had her reasons.

After they'd walked along in silence for a minute or so, Sherlock let out a long "Oh."

"What?" Rose asked.

"It was you."

"It was me, what?"

"Mary asked you to give me that DVD. There were no post marks on it, so it was hand delivered then. You were looking after Rosie while she recorded it. That's how you knew she'd made plans."

Rose remained silent. It didn't seem necessary to confirm or deny Sherlock's deduction. He knew he was right. Should she even mention she still had a DVD to send to John? How was she going to know the ideal time to send it to him? And what was the message Mary had made for Sherlock?

"What was—" she began, but at that moment, Grace stirred again. They stopped while Sherlock retrieved the precious bundle from the pram.

"You're determined to be front and centre," he said, bringing Grace up to his shoulder. "We're going to have to work on your timing, though, aren't we?"

Grace continued to protest, so Rose glanced about them before finally settling on a park bench overlooking the closest of the four ponds that made up the water gardens.

"Over there," she instructed Sherlock.

Once parked in front of the bench, Sherlock set about discreetly and deftly changing Grace's nappy in the pram. Once clean and marginally happier, she settled into Rose's arms ready for her afternoon feed.

"I'll…just…" Sherlock said, looking about them, "go and find someone who can make you a cup of tea."

Rose's heart swelled. He was so thoughtful without thinking twice about it! Was he really the same man who had threatened to expose her to the nation's media outlets just under two weeks ago?

Sherlock didn't have to search too far, Rose realised, looking in the direction he'd taken. She removed her sunglasses as the sky became more overcast. The café at the end of the gardens sold a variety of beverages. She'd been here a few times now—just the other day after meeting with her mothers' group at the nearby playground, and even before that, in summer, with Bob and Justine. They'd walked here quite a bit both before and while Sherlock was in Morocco. Heavily pregnant and tired, she'd sat at the bench across the pond, finding it hard to imagine she'd have a baby in her arms some day.

Sherlock returned just as Rose was holding Grace over her shoulder and gently encouraging her to burp. He held two takeaway cups, one with a tea bag dangling from it. His was coffee, Rose surmised.

"They didn't have your special tea," he said, handing Rose the cup with the tea bag. "So I asked for a cup of boiled water." He took a seat next to Rose and added, "And now we all have something to drink." He finished with a chuckle before taking a sip of his coffee.

"Then why does this one have a tea bag in it?" Rose asked. "This is the one I drink," she added, reading lemon and ginger on the label.

"Oh, because I brought one from home," he replied with a casual air.

"You brought a tea bag from home?"

"Yes. Just in case."

Her eyes stung yet again and she hurriedly blinked tears away.

"Thank you," she said quietly. She dropped her head, and felt Grace's soft hair against her cheek. Feeling a sudden heady rush of love for him, she said, "Sherlock."

"Mm?" He turned his head in her direction a little, but his gaze was still focussed across the pond.

Rose planted a quick kiss on his cheek and said, "You're wonderful."

"I know," he replied. "But don't do that again. We are in a public place, Rose."

"Oh, stop it. Nobody knows who you are."

Depositing his coffee cup onto the bench beside him, he then turned to look at her. As he drew away his sunglasses, Rose could now see his eyes focussed on hers and full of purpose. Rose held her breath as Sherlock narrowed the gap between them. His lips barely touched hers at first, before he pressed them together. She could taste the coffee on his breath, and his moustache tickled her. After he drew back, he studied her for a second, a hint of a smile on his lips, before he winked and slipped his sunglasses back on.

Rose's heart restarted as Sherlock leant back into the seat and silently took another sip of coffee. After all this time, he still had that effect on her.

"I don't know what you're doing to me," he said at last. "I'm barely a shadow of my former self."

"Don't be so dramatic," Rose said, smoothing a hand over Grace's back. Still feeling the remains of a warm glow inside, she thought, You're dad's a romantic. To Sherlock, she said, "Why don't you look around and deduce a few people? That'll make you feel like your old self."

"Yes, well, I need to reassert who I am," he said, placing his coffee on the seat next to him. "Hand me the baby so I can feel invincible again."

Sherlock rose from the park bench and reached for Grace. Once her daughter was safely in Sherlock's arms, Rose put away the scarf she used to help with breastfeeding and straightened out the blanket in the pram. Sherlock took his seat once more, babe in arms, and scanned the other park visitors in the near vicinity. Rose leant back just as Sherlock was looking across her towards another bench seat.

"Last night was poker night," he stated simply.

"What?" said Rose. "That's pretty specific."

She looked in the direction Sherlock had glanced before making his deduction.

A woman sat on the next park bench, her neck resting on the back of it, her long dark hair cascading about her shoulders, and her face turned upwards in the direction of the sun, although it was still behind a thick blanket of clouds. She looked like she was fast asleep. In one limp hand was the end of a leash. The other end was fastened to the collar of a small dog, who was occasionally yapping at visitors walking along on the other side of the pond.

"Hey," Rose said, her insides twisting. "Isn't that—"

"Tonya Small," Sherlock finished for her, gently patting his daughter's back. "Yes, it is."

Tonya looked quite poorly, Rose thought. But as Sherlock stated, if last night had been poker night, she would definitely look the worse for wear. Rose had accompanied Tonya on many walks through Kensington Gardens with her puppies, but the morning after a poker night usually resulted in Tonya falling asleep on a park bench with Dorangel and Armin—the unfortunate miniature Schnauzers named after infamous cannibals—twining their leashes around one another.

"Hang on… where's Armin?"

"Dunno," Sherlock replied.

"Should we go over and say hello?"

"I'd rather finish my coffee."

Rose sipped her tea, occasionally looking towards Tonya. Dorangel had finally stopped barking and sat at Tonya's feet, gazing longingly across the gardens.

"You don't want to talk to her, do you?" Rose asked Sherlock.

"Mm," he said, staring fixedly ahead. "I deduced much too late that she was deliberately trying to break us up."

Sherlock's comment gave Rose pause. She had also come to the same conclusion last year with all the advice Tonya had been giving her. Just what had The Clarence House Cannibal been saying to Sherlock?

"She's asleep," Sherlock added.

"That's normal for the day after a poker night."

"I'm talking about Grace."

Rose turned back to Sherlock who was pulling the pram closer.

"Oh."

"It's up to you which direction we walk," he told her as he gently lowered Grace into the pram.

Rose sighed. It was clear which direction Sherlock wanted to take. But when Rose stood up, Dorangel began to bark, the Schnauzer intent on gaining the small family's attention. Sherlock tutted and scoffed under his breath as Grace's brow furrowed. He rocked the pram back and forth a little which probably delayed the inevitable for only a few seconds.

"Dorangel!" yelled a now awake Tonya Small. "Sorry, darlings!" she called out to Rose and Sherlock. "He loves new faces." Bending toward her puppy, Ms Small quietly admonished him.

"Let's go," Sherlock said in a low voice to Rose, pointing the pram in the other direction.

"Sherlock!" Rose replied in a harsh whisper. "We can't walk the other way now!"

"I don't think she recognised us. I'm pretty sure we can get away with it."

"No!"

Tonya had risen from the park bench, but had stooped to unwind her puppy's leash from the bench leg as Rose took to the path in her direction. Sherlock tutted and pushed the pram behind her.

As Ms Small straightened up, Dorangel now cradled in her arms, Rose forced a smile to her face.

"He won't bother—" began Tonya. "Oh!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up. "My darling Rosebud!" She moved to awkwardly embrace Rose with one arm. "Why on earth…? I didn't recognise you," Tonya spluttered, pulling back to examine Rose, her attention divided between her former neighbour and the contents of the pram that had pulled up alongside.

Sherlock busied himself bending over the pram giving cursory pats on the blanket covering Grace in an effort to sooth her.

"This… this is Grace," Rose said, her chest tightening. "She's almost a week old."

"Oh!"

It was an exhale of barely disguised horror on Tonya's part, Rose was sure of it. Sherlock straightened up, now holding Grace. Tonya quickly rearranged her features and held out her hand.

"Tonya Small," she said to Sherlock, immediately ingratiating him with a silky smile.

Behind Sherlock's shades, his expression was immovable.

"I believe we've already met," he said, in his customary smooth baritone.

Tonya took a sharp intake of breath, her hand immediately going to her chest as if to steady her heart.

"Mr Holmes! You're unrecognisable!"

"That would be the point of the disguise."

"We…" Rose stammered, looking from one to the other, "we don't want anyone to know… obviously."

"Yes, of course," Tonya replied. She recovered quickly, then added with a majestic sweep of her hand, "So, nothing changes."

"Evidently, not," Sherlock replied.

"So how are you?" Rose asked, rushing to neutralise the charged atmosphere. "Dorangel's so much bigger now. But where's Armin?"

"Accident," Tonya replied, hugging her remaining baby. "He got away from me. Tried to cross Bayswater Road by himself. It was awful, darling."

"Oh, Tonya. I'm so sorry."

"Thank you. It was six months ago and I've barely recovered. Mr Macready sorted everything for me." Rose nodded vaguely, having no idea who Mr Macready was. Probably another neighbour. "Well, I won't keep you," Tonya added, eyeing Grace with suspicion. "I'm sure you have a lot of… baby things you must be getting on with."

Tonya gave Rose air kisses and demanded the younger woman visit her some day so "just the two of them" could catch up. She called Sherlock "Mr Holmes" by way of a farewell.

Sherlock, in the same vein, replied with, "Ms Small."

As they continued to head west through the park, with Sherlock patting Grace over his shoulder and Rose pushing the pram once more, the Consulting Detective remarked, "She hates babies."

"No, she was just in shock."

"Mmm, no. Hates them. Can't stand them. The human kind, anyway."

Rose's insides were roiling. It had been an unexpected encounter.

"Do you think she'll tell anyone about us?" she asked.

"Definitely not. She's still fond of you, and besides, she has too many dark secrets of her own. She won't want that kind of attention."

At the first light sprinkles of rain, the new family turned for Bayswater Road. The regular hum of traffic and her father's rhythmic pats soon had the baby girl asleep in no time at all as they headed for home.


Sherlock planted a soft kiss on Rose's forehead. A smile grew on his face as he watched her eyelids flutter open.

"We fell asleep," he said, a rough edge to his voice. "That wasn't meant to happen."

Rose stretched and yawned, before rolling over to glance at the clock.

"God, how long were we out for?" she asked.

"Almost three hours."

She rolled back, shuffling into Sherlock. The warmth of her skin upon his was instantly arousing.

"Sorry," she murmured.

"We obviously needed it," he said.

Lost in their own thoughts earlier, both had lapsed into silence until sleep took hold. Sherlock had been speculating on the woman who had posed as Faith Smith and the notepaper he had found earlier that morning, proving she was real, while Rose had pondered out loud if and when she'd return to Edinburgh.

Banding his arms around her, Sherlock added, "But we still have an hour or so. What can we get up to in that time?" He took the opportunity to press upon Rose his desires in case she needed prompting.

"I'm pretty sure we only need fifteen minutes anyway," Rose replied, a hint of a smile in her voice. She kissed the underside of his freshly shaven jawline and Sherlock was thankful they were on the same page.

As Rose's lips trailed over his face, Sherlock chuckled in his sinfully low register.

It was quite generous of Justine to insist on giving the couple some time alone with each other by taking Grace to the Wilson's flat next door. They'd had a fortnight of juggling sleep times, conducting half conversations, and Sherlock disappearing for hours at a time on half-baked cases. Just this morning he had a married couple visit him, where the husband believed his wife was channelling Satan! Time wasters! He had Rose to worry about ever since they had a near scare when they thought she was getting mastitis. Her efforts to express milk so Sherlock and the Wilsons could share in the feeding took a bit of effort to coordinate and her breasts were not so cooperative at first.

They had taken family walks through Hyde Park on a few more occasions, morning or evening, carefully avoiding any place Rose said Tonya liked to walk. But private alone time between Rose and Sherlock never lasted long.

They lay on their sides in bed, fingers tracking light paths, lips whispering and teasing, taking their time to provoke arousal in one another.

Other romantic efforts in the last week or two had been conducted in stolen moments, rushed or aborted, each time wondering if Grace's unpredictable sleep patterns would disrupt their cuddle time together. This was the first opportunity they had to actually engage in penetrative sex. Sherlock liked to keep the things they did neatly catalogued—oral sex, mutual masturbation, the lone orgasm gifted by one or the other late at night in front of the telly—but it was that act that was sorely missing from their repertoire of late.

After they shed the last of their clothing—the underwear they'd fallen asleep in—and their antics became quite heated, Rose gently reminded Sherlock about their need to take precautions. He scoffed and rolled from Rose. With a petulant frown, he looked to the ceiling then laced his fingers together across his bare chest. She'd already heard his opinion on the matter. Quite a lengthy one it was, too.

"Fine."

With a chuckle that told him Rose was playing along, she drew open the bedside table drawer.

"Do you want to know…?" she asked.

"No. Let me work it out. We can at least make a game out of it."

"You think we've used enough that you can now tell one from the other?"

Sherlock knew incredulity in Rose's tone when he heard it.

"I've catalogued two hundred and forty-three types of tobacco ash, written quite a comprehensive blog on the identification of perfumes, and outlined the relative tensile strengths of different natural fibres. And you think I'm incapable of—"

"Yes, I get the picture."

While Rose fiddled with taking the plastic wrapper off the box of condoms she'd purchased a few days ago, Sherlock roamed his Mind Palace, quietly dipping in and out of snippets from the past, specifically their condom experiences together during their service provider-client arrangement and the undefined relationship they had in those early days after his return from the dead.

The tearing away of plastic became more exasperated, so he remarked, "Are you all right?"

"Fucker," Rose muttered under her breath and Sherlock knew she was referring to the box and not him. At least he hoped that was the case.

"Yes, I know," she said, eventually replying to him as she shoved the drawer shut. "Not very professional of me. Don't feel as though you have to leave a tip."

Sherlock gave a low-throated chuckle at her quip. Even now, with their seedy past firmly behind them, this was a history they shared. The sordid details still included happy times, didn't they? The excitement of discovery, the odd dance they choreographed around one another, which included, but was not limited to, sexual encounters. Why wouldn't he play along?

"Oh, I'm tipping you for your conversation," Sherlock replied.

Rose loomed over him, a smile playing on her lips.

"In that case, no kissing," she whispered, "and no questions of a personal nature."

"Where's the fun in that?"

Rose maintained eye contact as one hand cruised lazily from Sherlock's chest to his torso. His skin prickled in anticipation in stark contrast to that very first time. As her fingers encircled him, he emitted a low, satisfied moan of approval and his eyes were reduced to slits.

Rose straddled him, but continued in her task with slow, confident strokes.

With a huge amount of effort to resist lying back and enjoying the moment, he said, "Permission to ask a personal question."

One eyebrow shot up and a smile teased Rose's lips. She probably thought he was going to act like his old self.

But he locked his eyes on hers and asked, "Do you love me?"

Her faux-professional demeanour faltered. Clearly she wasn't expecting that! As her eyes moistened, Rose dipped her head and pressed her lips to Sherlock's by way of a response. So much for the no kissing stipulation! As he returned the gesture, he felt the hunger in her kiss and the promise of more to come.

Rose eased back, slipping the condom on to him with well-practised dexterity causing Sherlock to start. When did she…? Where did she…? He hadn't even noticed Rose removing the condom from its wrapper. Clearly she still possessed the skills to shock and delight him.

When she took him into her, another involuntary moan escaped his lips.

He knew the thrill of her touch, her scent, the way her body moved above his—familiar but capable of introducing something different. This time she was in command, leading him slowly and patiently through layer upon layer of exquisite sensations.

Sherlock wasted no time in turning the tables. He pleasured Rose with everything he had at his disposal, gift-wrapped or not. His explorations began with painstaking attention to detail. Rose's soft sighs of delight were something to cherish until her own efforts caused his entire body to throb with delicious anticipation. Primitive desires took over. Twin hearts pounded hard and fast against each other as Sherlock drove her with tireless energy. Rose matched his pace. Breathless, her body shuddered and strained as he pushed her to the brink. As she clung to him, his own senses were tangled until his body responded with a hard, fast orgasm.

They rolled from one another, chests heaving, skin flushed and faces aglow. He'd almost forgotten how energetic and enthusiastic their love-making could be when they had the time to luxuriate in one another.

Rose reached out and curled her fingers around his.

"Let's do that again," she said, puffing lightly.

Sherlock rumbled a closed-mouth laugh and turned to her. Cupping her face, he pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

Easing back, he said, "Polyisoprene, extra thin, ultra-sensitive."

Her brow wrinkled in confusion at first, before a smile broke out on her face.

"Oh, so close," she said. "But I think it's ultra-thin, extra sensitive. And silky smooth."

Sherlock rolled away from Rose, and sat up, swinging his legs from the bed. Pulling open the bedside table drawer, he tutted as he checked the box. "Silky smooth," he read. "There's always something!"

Rose chuckled behind him, before she too left the bed.

"You are amazing, though," she said, making for the ensuite bathroom.

"I know."

"I'm going to have a quick shower," Rose said, pausing in the doorway. "Why don't you text Justine and let her know we're awake now."

"Why? We've got almost an hour left."

"There's no point stretching out our time together if Grace's awake and moody. Besides, I've already got what I wanted from you."

Rose disappeared into the bathroom with a light laugh.

"No, you didn't," Sherlock murmured as he grabbed a handful of tissues. "Because if you did, you'd know about it. I'm pretty potent."

"What was that?" she called out.

"Nothing."

Sherlock cleaned himself up, just like in the good old days. If they hadn't used a condom, Rose would get pregnant, obviously. Breastfeeding or not. He had a high sperm count, of this he was sure. The quality and vitality of his semen were far superior than the average man. He would only have to wink at Rose, and she'd ovulate. They'd have an entire brood in no time! Grace would have many siblings.

Sherlock paused in retrieving his pyjama bottoms. What was he thinking? Did he really believe that? His heart caught in his throat. Of course he did, he decided, as a warmth spread through him. He was a father! And a damn good one at that. So first things first. Time to get his daughter back.

He pulled on his pyjama bottoms, thinking he'd feel strange texting their nanny when he was naked.

Having pressed Send on his message to Justine, he rose from the bed, phone in hand, thinking about ordering Chinese for dinner. A smile grew on his face as he thought of Grace and holding her in one arm while he attempted to eat with the other as he had done the other night, waving away Justine and her well- meaning protests. It wasn't his duty to share in the responsibilities of looking after his daughter. It was a privilege.

But his phone immediately began ringing and vibrating in his hand before he could check the online menu of his favourite Chinese restaurant. He glanced at the screen, his thumb hovering over it, expecting to see Justine's caller ID. Surprisingly, it said Molly Hooper.

Sherlock suddenly felt very self-conscious, as if Molly would immediately detect he'd been having sex with somebody who wasn't her. He cleared his throat and shook loose those nonsense thoughts. It must be important if Molly was phoning him.

"Molly," he said smoothly. "To what do I owe the ple—"

"Is John with you?" Molly asked.

He detected a sense of urgency in her voice.

"No, I'm… Well, I'm not at home." Or on a case for that matter. Sherlock turned this way and that, looking for his t-shirt. Perhaps he should cover up fully. "What's wrong?"

"S-sorry. It's just that I… I'm at John's, with Rosie. And he should be home by now. I thought maybe…"

She trailed off as Sherlock checked his watch on the bedside table.

"It's only four," he said. "Doesn't he normally finish at five?"

"No, he…" A familiar squawk interrupted her. "Sorry. I'm holding Rosie."

"Is she okay?"

"She's fine. It's just that he's late. He said he'd be home by two."

"Do you want me to come around and take over?"

"No, Sherlock. I'm fine with Rosie. I don't have anywhere I need—"

"Are you talking to me?" Rose called out from the bathroom.

Sherlock made a weak attempt at covering up the microphone on his phone and replied, "I'm on the phone."

"Oh… God, sorry," Molly said. Dammit. She'd heard Rose! "I didn't mean to—"

"I'll come over."

"No. It's fine."

There was silence while Sherlock's mind tried to kick into gear. John's not home, but why was he supposed to be home at 2pm instead of five?

"Did you ring the surgery?" he asked.

"Yes, they said he left at twelve. As far as they know, he's having the afternoon off, but he told me he was going to see his therapist—he had a twelve-thirty appointment—and then he'd come home after that.

"Therapist," Sherlock said on an exhale. He tried to conjure up the therapist he'd encountered while he was as high as a kite. He didn't remember deducing whether or not she was any good. "Look, Molly. I'll ring Mrs Hudson and see if John's upstairs. Maybe he—"

"No, I'll ring her."

Sherlock exhaled deeply.

"Right, okay," he said, bowing his head and rubbing his fingers between his brows. "Let me know if he's not there and I'll check his last known whereabouts."

"If you're sure. I don't want to interrupt you or any—"

"You're not interrupting me."

Sherlock clenched his jaw, immediately regretting his sharp tone.

"Okay," Molly said. "I'll talk to you later."

"I'm sure he's fine."

When Sherlock heard no response from Molly, he checked his screen. She'd ended the call.

By the time Rose re-entered the bedroom, Sherlock was already dressed, save for buttoning up his cuffs. Molly had texted him that John wasn't at 221B, so he'd replied to her that he'd visit the therapist's house and track John from there.

He didn't fail to notice Rose's face fall when she laid eyes on his attire.

"Where are you…?" she began.

"I won't be long," he replied. "Molly said John's gone AWOL. Probably nothing." He tried to keep his tone light, but something niggled at him. This wasn't the first time John Watson had gone missing.

Rose remained silent as she started dressing and Sherlock drew on his jacket. He knew what that silence meant. He was dressed as Sherlock Holmes and not Scott Williams, which indicated he wasn't suitably attired for a stroll through the park incognito, nor lolling about on the sofa with a baby in his arms.

As Rose started combing her wet hair, he said, "I can pick up some Chinese takeaway for dinner if you like?"

"Just buy whatever you want," Rose said, with a half smile. She crossed the room and gave his arm a light rub as she passed him. "I can't eat just anything these days, remember. I'll be fine making myself a salad."

Sherlock followed Rose out onto the landing.

"Are you sure you're okay with me ducking out for a few minutes?" he asked.

She turned to face him, and he was relieved to see her expression softening.

"Of course I am."

"I don't like leaving you alone."

As he spoke, the front door clicked shut, and the unmistakeable sound of his daughter protesting filled the foyer.

"We'll have none of that," they heard Justine say as her voice drifted up the stairwell. "Mummy and Daddy would love to see your gummy smile."

The corners of Rose's mouth curved upwards as she met Sherlock's gaze.

"I'm not alone," she said.

Returning her smile, he then pressed a kiss to Rose's lips.

"I won't be long. I bet he's fallen asleep on the bus. Probably making his way back from Elephant and Castle as we speak."

Rose nodded distractedly.

"You can tell him, you know," she said.

"Tell him what?"

"About us."

"Oh. You're okay with everything now?"

"Well, your bruises are healed, and your eye's okay. Maybe my initial anger has disappeared as well. I might forgive him eventually."

Sherlock felt excitement bubble inside him. Tell John? He'd kept this secret from his best friend for so long he hadn't actually planned how he would go about revealing it.

"Hello?" Justine's voice floated upwards once more.

"Coming," Rose replied. She turned to Sherlock before they descended.

"I don't want you to feel guilty about leaving me to work on cases or spend time with your friends," she told him. "Of course I'll miss you. I love spending time alone with you and as a family. But we both do need time to do our own things. That's just as important. Okay?"

She reached for Sherlock and planted a kiss on his lips.

Rose preceded Sherlock downstairs but stood aside to let him take Grace from Justine. As Justine summarised their daughter's sleep and feed times, Sherlock only had eyes and ears for Grace.

"Yes, I know," he said. "But I'm unable to facilitate your meal requirements right now. Mummy's got a fresh serve coming right up, so she'll feed you while I go and find Uncle John. Probably got himself lost or kidnapped again."

"What?" asked Rose.

"Just kidding," Sherlock said, with a swift smile.

He blew a raspberry kiss on each of Grace's cheeks, then once more gave Rose a goodbye kiss.

Upon leaving St George's Fields, he reflected on the fact that his life couldn't be more perfect.


Author's Note:

That's the end of The Lying Detective! I hope you enjoyed it.