His New Skull
Molly came to the door without Rosie this time, poking first her head around the doorframe before smiling sadly and stepping out when she saw it was him.
"Hey, Sherlock." she said, her voice as soft as always and levelled with that sympathy he was seeing everywhere.
"Molly." he nodded, a conscious effort to be just as he always was.
They looked at each other for a moment before Molly sighed and looked down at her hands, wringing them together as though she were feeling uncomfortable. It was an personal tick that Sherlock had not seen her perform in well over a year. It didn't take him to work out what was causing it.
"Is she well?" he asked, his voice sounding unlike him to his own ears.
Molly's mouth smiled sweetly.
"She's well." she nodded. "John too."
Sherlock lowered his head, a short shake to one side.
"No, he isn't."
Molly bit her lip, looking towards the door of her flat.
"No, he isn't." she repeated softly. "He hasn't come to see her since Tuesday."
Sherlock blinked at her, her voice telling him that that was a significant fact.
"And today is…?"
Molly looked around at him, looking sad but not surprised.
"Friday."
"Ah." Sherlock said, a slow nod.
Molly shifted uncomfortably, Sherlock could see her fingers twitching as though she were preventing herself from rubbing her arms.
You're not allowed in.
You know you're not.
He doesn't want me to let you in.
Sherlock tried not to read what she was saying to him, but it wasn't something he could switch off. It never had been. He swallowed, looking at the door and wondering how he was supposed to stop the unwelcome, constant ache in his chest.
"She's sleeping." Molly said quietly, without looking at him, "In the sitting room. Through the Hall on the left, by the kitchen."
Sherlock said nothing, and Molly seemed to brace herself for something, taking a deep, steady breath.
"Oh dear." she said, sounding very bland all of a sudden, "It was lovely seeing you, Sherlock, but I think I hear the phone."
Her eyes shot up, for the length of a heartbeat, to meet his before lowering to her feet once more.
"Take care." she added.
She let the moment hang between them before she turned and walked back into her flat, the door ajar behind her. H heard her tread upon the stairs.
Sherlock followed, barely able to keep himself in the slow pace he normally occupied. Molly's hallway was cosy and warm, photographs adorning the walls, photographs of her family, of Greg and John and Sherlock. Of Mary and Rosie. Sherlock didn't look at them. He found the sitting room where Molly said it would be.
And in the corner by the window, collecting the faint sunshine, was a familiar wooden cot. Sherlock strode over to touch the edge, fingers curling between the smooth painted bars as his gaze fell upon the occupant within.
Rosie was fast asleep, sunshine a buttery yellow on the pale pink of her cheek. Sherlock looked at her, an action he had found himself doing often since her birth, watching the gentle rise of her chest as she breathed, the fluttering of her eyelids as she traversed REM sleep. She had on a sleep suit Sherlock had never seen, an apple shade that he knew someone sentimental would say brightened the blue of her eyes. She had Mary's eyes, sharp and focused, as far as babies went. Her nose ended in John's gentle curve, her lips a bow Sherlock had seen on Harry's mouth. Her cheeks were her own, round and plump. At her side her fingers twitched, rubbing against the gentle velour of her stuffed rabbit.
"Hello Rosie." he murmured, making an automatic effort to soften the natural rumble of his voice. Molly had yet to come back downstairs. "I've missed you."
"It's like talking to an unenlightening bag of flesh and smells." Sherlock grumbled, eying a newborn Rosie in her moses basket as he dropped into his armchair.
"You used to talk to a skull." John answered without looking up from the sheaf of papers in his lap, "She's at least a step up from that."
Sherlock huffed, throwing his arms unnecessarily over the sides of his seat and letting his head fall backwards so that he could see the ceiling. their current case made little sense, puzzle pieces that didn't fit quite right scattered in each of their case files. The seams were wonky, and Sherlock knew there was a pattern he was't seeing yet, needing one more piece uncovered before he could find the thread to sew it together. It had been a week of this, and Sherlock only had so much patience.
"The skull was helpful in apprehending criminals." he muttered. "She's no help at all."
John only made that amused sound of his, glancing over at his partner from under his brow.
"She is only weeks old, Sherlock. Give her time to collect dust, yeah?"
Sherlock frowned at him, opening his mouth to point out that living creatures by definition don't lay still long enough to collect any significant amount of dust, before the quirk of John's lips told him not to. He groaned instead and blew hair from his eyes, staring at a familiar old stain in the corner of the ceiling.
"She needs intensive training." he pointed out some time later, finally looking over at his flatmate.
John was no longer in his new chair, and nor was Rosie in her basket. For a heartbeat, Sherlock Holmes felt a shiver of something perhaps comparable to alarm, before he heard Mary's low voice in the kitchen. When he got up under the pretence of making tea he found them at the table, Mary with a wakened baby in her arms, bottle propped against her lips as she tried to coax the babe into drinking it.
Her hair hadn't been brushed, her make-up under her eyes hiding dark circles betrayed by smudges near her nose. The shirt she was wearing was crooked at the collar and her cardigan pockets were full of buttons and thread, tissues and papers. Mary was tired. Not a surprise, considering the odd hours that her child deigned to keep.
She looked up as Sherlock walked in.
"Ahh. Come back again, have you?" she smiled, raising one eyebrow in her expertly curious manner.
"Hm." Sherlock hummed, his eye drawn to the tiny but growing form in her arms.
"She won't take it." Mary sighed, sounding vaguely amused. "She's as stubborn as her dad."
"As stubborn as you."
Mary chuckled and flashed him a grin.
"God help us." she said, and Sherlock laughed as he took the seat across from her.
He watched for several moments, listening in faint bemusement as she talked at length to the child, of the woman who was in front of her in the queue at the shop, of the dog she saw crossing the road on the way home. Sherlock knew the baby, however bright, was unable to comprehend any of what she was being informed, and so concluded that the action was as pointless as he had proclaimed to John whenever ago they had spoken in the living room.
"John said you're looking for a replacement skull." Mary said, suddenly talking to Sherlock once more, "He not working out for you?"
"We were discussing training Rosalund for the position." He smiled at Mary when she looked his way, "Perhaps she'll outshine him."
"You want to train her to be a skull." Mary repeated, muffling a laugh so as not to jostle her cargo.
"John suggested I talk through theories with her. I'm of the opinion that she won't be any help."
Mary smiled again, working the teat of the bottle across Rosie's bottom lip hopefully.
"You shouldn't knock it till you've tried it," he teased, "You must have tried the skull for the first time, once."
"Hm." Sherlock said again.
They sat in a companionable quiet for a few moments, Mary's soft sighing and Rosie's mumbling baby sounds comfortable in the kitchen air.
"Here." she said suddenly, getting up and stretching carefully before walking around to his side, "You try."
Sherlock shook his head but wasn't quite feast enough, Mary pressing the bundle into his hands almost commandingly.
"Mary, I-"
"Please, Sherlock. I'd like to be able to use the bathroom without company, hm?"
Sherlock frowned, fumbling as his hands adjusted, clumsy and unused to the uneven weight and squishiness of the child.
"Mary-"
"Half an hour, Sherlock, that's all I ask." she smiled, eyebrows high and eyes pleading, "I really need a bath."
Sherlock swallowed further argument, gazing down at the swaddled child reluctantly.
"If I must."
Rosie blinked colourful periwinkle eyes at him and said nothing.
"You're a godsend, Sherlock." Mary answered him, pressing a kiss to the curl of his fringe and setting the bottle on the table before moving eagerly towards the door."
She paused on the threshold, turning back to look at them fondly.
"Don't worry too much if she won't drink anything. Fussiest kid I've ever met."
Sherlock snorted, meeting her eye wryly. In return she only smiled brightly, her eyes glittering in amusement.
"You should try your theories out on her." she advised, turning away towards the bathroom, "You might be surprised."
She needn't know that he had indeed, in the end, waiting until he heard the bathroom door lock click, the turning of the tap making the boiler purr. He picked up the bottle, holding it at an angle as he had seen Mary do. The baby blinked up at him, a soft breathy sound escaping her small mouth.
"Well, Rosie. Let's see if you're as helpful as your parents."
Thirty seconds later he had her suckling on her dinner and gazing up at him, enraptured as he began to sort the clues into a sensible order out loud, explaining references and filling in necessary background.