Molly looked at her watch and frowned in annoyance.
"Where on earth is your father?" she asked of her peacefully slumbering seven-week-old daughter, Christina.
Sherlock had taken Victoria with him to Baker Street immediately after lunch, saying he only had one consultation at one o'clock. Molly had sent him off with a box of chocolates for Martha for Valentine's Day. Yet here it was, almost five-thirty, and he had not even texted her.
She needed to prepare the fettuccine Alfredo for dinner and had assumed Sherlock would have been home hours ago to watch Christina as she did so.
There was no question of them going out for a meal this year with Christina being so young, and Molly wanted to prepare a dish she knew Sherlock liked best from her cooking.
She decided to text Sherlock, see if he was on his way home. If he was not, she would have to carry the bouncer into the kitchen/dining area so she could keep an eye on Christina while she cooked.
Still feeling annoyed, she pulled out her phone.
Where are you, Sherlock? I thought you'd be home hours ago.
She thought to give him the benefit of the doubt and added, Did your consultation take longer than expected? Is there a problem with Martha?
She drummed her fingers on her knee as she waited for his response. At least it wasn't long in forthcoming.
Sorry, love, I got held up. Had to run a few errands. I should be home within the next half hour.
Fine.
She sent the text and reflected grumpily that she would have to move the bouncer after all. She preferred to eat a fairly early dinner and if she had to wait another half hour to even start preparing the meal, it would be seven by the time they ate. Besides, she was already hungry. Breast feeding really gave her an appetite.
"Please stay asleep," Molly entreated the baby as she carefully lifted the bouncer and walked with it to where she had a vantage point while she began chopping her vegetables for the Alfredo.
Fortunately, Christina remained sleeping - for now at least.
By the time Molly heard the front door open, she was in the middle of frying the bacon and sautéing the vegetables to which she would add her cream sauce and Parmesan cheese.
Sherlock walked into the kitchen, holding Victoria. "Smells delicious," he said. "Bacon is good with any meal."
He brought Victoria to Molly for a kiss and set her down, then walked over to kiss Christina on the forehead.
When he returned to Molly to give her a kiss, she turned her head aside so that his lips met her cheek instead.
He looked down at her. "Are you cross with me? Did I do something wrong?"
She didn't look at him, turning her attention back to the ingredients in the frying pan and stirring them. "You could've texted me earlier and let me know you were going to be late, but instead I had to ask you what was going on and you still didn't provide me with a satisfactory answer. What were these errands about?"
"I can't tell you that. It would spoil the surprise."
Her annoyance lifted somewhat, and she looked at him. "A surprise?"
He huffed out a breath. "Of course. It is Valentine's Day, after all."
"I thought perhaps you'd forgotten, seeing as you've left me alone all afternoon."
He rolled his eyes. "You gave me chocolates for Martha, remember? I could hardly forget. Look, I am going to put Victoria in her playpen and then I need to grab some stuff from the car. Don't look or it will spoil the surprise."
Now Molly felt intrigued. How could she be angry at Sherlock when he apparently had been planning a surprise for her? She smiled at him. "Okay. I'm too busy cooking our dinner to look, anyway."
"So now can I have a decent kiss from my wife?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
She put down the wooden spoon and turned to face him, pulling his head down to hers for a proper welcome home kiss. As she did so, she thought about her own special surprise she had planned for when they went to bed. She hoped Sherlock would appreciate it and that their daughters would cooperate by actually sleeping long enough for them to enjoy some alone time together. There had been far too little of that since Christina had been born.
"I'm sorry I was cross with you," Molly told Sherlock when their lips parted.
"And I'm sorry for not letting you know earlier that I would be home later than expected. I hope you will find the delay was worthwhile."
She smiled and pressed her lips against his briefly once more. "I'm sure I will."
She returned to cooking as Sherlock retrieved Victoria, who had been kneeling in front of Christina's bouncer and pushing it down in the way she had seen her parents do, to make it rock gently. Molly loved seeing the way Victoria had adjusted to having a sister around. After the initial jealousy in not being the centre of attention, she apparently now considered Christina a living doll that belonged to her as much as her parents.
Sherlock scooped up a protesting Victoria to put her in her playpen. Christina still slept, but Molly was fairly certain she would be awake soon and crying for her next feeding.
Molly listened as Sherlock opened the front door and went back outside, returning a couple minutes later. She heard him going up the stairs and back down again. She wondered what he had been doing upstairs.
As she added the grated Parmesan and cream to the vegetables, Molly could hear Sherlock murmuring to Victoria in the front room.
It was several minutes before he reappeared at the entrance to the kitchen.
"Right, Molly, please don't go into the front room or our bedroom until after dinner," he told her. "Now, is there anything I can do to help? Victoria has fallen asleep in the playpen."
"I guess you can set the table," Molly told him. She filled water from the sink into a saucepan and set it on the ceramic cooktop to boil, in preparation for adding the fettuccine pasta.
A wail came from the bouncer. Christina was awake. Molly was not surprised. She picked up the baby and told Sherlock, "When the water is boiling, can you add the pasta? It's next to the cooktop. And give the sauce a stir then replace the lid?"
Fortunately, Sherlock had helped her before, so she knew he could take care of these small details. It was just he task of cooking from scratch for which he was hopelessly ill-equipped.
"Of course. I'll take care of everything."
She was about to go to the front room and sit on the sofa to feed the baby when she remembered that Sherlock had instructed her to stay out of the room. "Oh, bother," she muttered.
"What's that?" Sherlock raised a brow as he placed the plates on the table.
"Well, you told me I can't go into the front room and I really need a cushion to put under my arm to support Christina." She rocked the crying baby, trying to soothe her.
"I'll get you a cushion. Be right back."
He returned a minute later with the promised cushion, and Molly settled herself into one of the spare chairs at the dining table to feed Christina. Almost like magic, the baby latched on and immediately began to suckle contentedly. She loved breast-feeding, had missed doing it once she had weaned Victoria. There was something extraordinarily wonderful in the way it created a bond between mother and child.
Sherlock stood for a few moments, mesmerised. He too enjoyed watching Molly feed the baby. He'd been just as fascinated by it when she had breast-fed Victoria.
"Are you going to finish setting the table? And the water is probably boiling by now," she said, when he showed no signs of moving.
He blinked. "Ah yes, of course."
Sherlock took care of the rest of the dinner preparations as Molly continued to feed Christina, then he went off to fetch their toddler so she could eat dinner as well.
By the time Sherlock had settled Victoria in her high chair and mixed the now cooked fettuccine with the sauce, Molly had finished feeding Christina.
Molly buckled the baby back into the often-used bouncer and cut up some of the fettuccine pasta and vegetables for Victoria so she could eat with her fingers. It was messy, but Victoria was not yet proficient in using a spoon by herself. Cognisant of that fact, Molly made sure there was a bib to protect Victoria's outfit.
After dinner, Sherlock proclaimed it was the best fettuccine he had ever had. This was amusing because he said it every time. He loaded the dishes into the dishwasher while Molly cleaned up Victoria's messy face and hands and offered her a cup of chocolate-flavoured milk with a straw.
By this time, Christina's "dinner" had passed through her body. "Sherlock, I need to use the changing station in the front room," Molly said.
"I'll change her," he offered, and Molly shrugged, handing the baby to him. A few minutes later, when he returned Christina to Molly, it was Victoria's turn to be changed. Sherlock did the honours here as well, always more agreeable when it came to changing the wet nappies. The changing station had been a Christmas gift from Sherlock's parents, and Molly was grateful to have it. They had not used one for Victoria; finding room at Baker Street would have been difficult, but now Molly didn't know how she had managed without one. It was so much more convenient to have a place where nappies and wipes were readily available, rather than always having to dig through the changing bag.
This time, when Sherlock returned with a freshly changed Victoria, she held a folded slip of paper in her hand.
"It's time for a little treasure hunt," he told Molly, then looked at Victoria. "Now give Mummy the paper."
Instead, she made a move to put it in her mouth and he sighed, taking it from her. "Not good at taking directions yet," he remarked, handing Moly the slip of paper himself.
A bubble of excitement spread through her. "Is this what contributed to your late arrival home today?"
His lips quirked. "Among other things."
Molly, cradling Christina in one arm, flicked open the paper and squinted at the scrawl. Actually, Sherlock had attempted to write legibly for once, so it wasn't too bad. The note read -
While we enjoy participating in this battle of wills,
More than half the time I emerge the victor still.
Molly smirked. "That doesn't even rhyme, and the metre is all off."
Sherlock pouted. "I never pretended to be a poet."
He looked so offended that Molly felt compelled to apologise. "I'm sorry honey, It's the thought that counts."
He grinned. "So, what do you think I'm talking about in the note?"
Molly rolled her eyes and began walking to the front room. "It's obviously the chess board. No need to rub it in that you win more than half the time."
Sherlock followed her, still holding Victoria. "Actually, it's a compliment to you that you even win at all. With other people I almost always emerge the victor."
Molly snorted at her husband's complete lack of modesty. But then, it was undoubtedly the truth.
Continuing to cradle the baby in her left arm, Molly plucked the note that was prominently sitting beneath the white queen. No wonder Sherlock had said the room was off-limits. Apparently hiding the notes in plain sight was easier.
She read the next note.
While our daughter enthusiastically bangs on this toy,
The sound that emerges does not bring my ears joy.
Molly laughed. "Well, at least this one rhymes." She knew exactly what the toy was. It was Victoria's xylophone that Sherlock had bought the previous year for her and had been complaining about ever since. On the occasions she played more than one note at once, it was almost always a discordant sound.
Molly peered into the playpen. Sure enough, she could see the end of a scrap of paper beneath the toy xylophone.
"Sherlock, I can't reach into the playpen with Christina, but I see the note beneath the xylophone."
"I have a solution." He hoisted Victoria into the playpen and picked up the note. Ironically, Victoria immediately headed for said toy and began enthusiastically pressing on one of the buttons that produced the sounds.
Sherlock winced, and Molly bit back an amused smile.
"Let's swap," he said, handing the note to Molly and taking the baby for himself.
Molly was distracted for a few seconds as he gazed lovingly at the baby. She was always amazed at the look of adoration that spread across his face when he gazed at his daughters. At times he looked like that at her as well, the most notable occasion being on their wedding day when she had walked towards him in the church.
He looked up and caught her gaze. "Are you going to read the note?"
Molly hastily unfolded the note.
The little game we played in a wooded glade,
Where our first precious angel was possibly made.
Molly smirked up at him, remembering clearly the lateral thinking games they had played in the wooded area close to the B&B in Stratford-upon-Avon where they had spent their honeymoon. There was no way to know exactly whether they had conceived in the outdoors. They had made love at least three times a day during their honeymoon, and only twice on each of the two occasions they had spent outside. But there was something to be said about communing with nature as they had done. Molly had felt almost as if she and Sherlock were like Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden before they sinned.
Molly knew that the next note had to be tucked into one of the two lateral thinking puzzle books she had given him for Christmas all those years earlier that he had kept and shown her on their honeymoon, to prove he had kept her present.
Molly walked over to the bookcase. She knew the puzzle books were on the shelf somewhere. They hadn't been used in months.
She ran her fingers along the various titles of books, Barbara Cartland novels, Agatha Christie mysteries, Enid Blyton children's books. Finally, her fingers alighted on the puzzle books, one of which was pulled out slightly.
She took it and opened it. No note. She turned to Sherlock, confused, and he smirked at her.
That reminded her there was a second book. Sherlock had obviously deliberately pulled out the first one a little to make her think it was the one. "Cheeky bugger," she told a grinning Sherlock and returned the book, selecting the other which indeed had a note inside.
She returned the second book neatly to the shelf and opened the note.
The film I watched on the moving day,
When to 221B, you came to stay.
For the first time, the answer didn't come immediately to Molly. What was it Sherlock had watched that day when she had been packing up to move to Baker Street?
She thought for a moment, then it came to her; it had been The Prince of Egypt.
Triumphantly, Molly crossed to the television stand and opened the cupboard in which most of their Blu-rays were stored alphabetically. She sought and found the film, extracting it from its place next to the dis, then opened it. Sure enough, there was another slip of paper inside.
Sherlock's voice came from behind her. "Remember, I said this was a short treasure hunt? This is the last clue. I didn't have time to do any more."
Molly took the paper and replaced the film, then turned around to look at her husband. "It has been perfectly lovely of you to do something like this."
She opened the final note and read it.
It's the place where our little one takes her rest,
Where we put her each night and hope for the best.
"It's the Moses basket."
Sherlock smiled. "Your treasure awaits, my lady."
"Should we go upstairs now?"
"Seeing as this has become a family affair," he nodded down at Christina whose little fist was curled around one of his fingers, "I suggest we bring Victoria as well."
Molly put the last note into her pocket where she had been collecting them; they would definitely be a keepsake for the future. Then she reached into the playpen for Victoria.
Victoria pouted at her, keeping a tight grip on the xylophone, the sounds of which had become a background hum as Molly played Sherlock's little game. "Play, Mummy."
Molly's eyes widened and a smile spread across her lips. This was the first time Victoria had said Mummy, rather than Mama. She had been encouraging her daughter to say Mummy for months, to no avail.
"You can play again in a little while. Daddy wants us to go upstairs."
Victoria considered her words, for all the world as if she had understood every one. Perhaps she had. Finally, she nodded, and Molly lifted her out of the playpen and settled her on her hip. She preceded Sherlock upstairs and stopped short at the entrance to the bedroom. She had a clear sight line to the Moses basket, and inside it was something enormous. It was a huge pink teddy bear.
She remembered mentioning to Sherlock a few months earlier that she still missed the teddy bear she had had as a child, Mr. Teddy, who had mysteriously disappeared when she had begun university. She suspected her mother had thrown the old, one-eyed monstrosity away, thinking she wouldn't want him anymore. She had given away most of Molly's other childhood toys she no longer played with. Molly had said nothing about it to her mother, but she had been very disappointed at the time; the teddy bear had been a gift from her parents for her second birthday and she had loved him dearly. As a little girl, she had taken him to bed with her each night. That was why his eye had eventually come off and been replaced with one her mother had made with black ink.
Sherlock had obviously taken this news to heart, and she couldn't believe it.
She walked towards the Moses basket.
Victoria pointed. "Bear, Mummy."
Victoria had her own special teddy bear she had received from Nanny Hooper for Christmas and which she slept with in her cot each night.
Sherlock walked to stand beside Molly. "Do you like it? I had it delivered to Baker Street, and I picked it up from Martha today. I had to sneak it into the car so Victoria wouldn't see it or she might have spoiled the surprise. I remember you telling me about how you missed the teddy bear of your youth."
Molly blinked back tears and looked at the man she adored.
"Sherlock, how is it you continue to do such amazing, thoughtful things for me?"
He smiled at her. "I believe that it's a husband's responsibility to take care of his wife, to make sure she always feels cherished and protected."
Molly's lips trembled as the tears spilled over. "If we were not both holding children right now, I'd kiss you."
Victoria reached a hand up to pat her cheek. "Mummy?"
Molly sniffed and wiped at her eyes with her free hand. "It's okay, sweet pea. Mummy is just very happy right now. Do you want to take a look at the bear Daddy bought for Mummy?"
Victoria nodded. "Bear!"
She set Victoria down and reached into the Moses basket to take the enormous bear. Even sitting in the basket, it was huge. Surely it was four feet tall?
As she did so, she wondered why Sherlock was smirking at her. Then, as she lifted out the bear so that Victoria could play with it, she saw there was something else nestled between its legs, and she smiled.
Author's Note: So, what else does Sherlock have in store for his wife? Any guesses? Did you enjoy the little treasure hunt?
Read A Honeymoon Journey to get more context for the lateral thinking puzzle clue.
I decided to take time out from my other WIP's again to do a Valentine story, primarily because I have done one for the past two years. I just can't seem to get enough of peeking into the lives of my characters. I hope you continue to enjoy these glimpses into their life together as a married couple with a family of their own.
Show me some love on this Valentine's Day with your follow/favourite/feedback.