A/N Not written for profit, no copyright infringement intended

In what seemed like only a short time, Sheri was turning one year old. She had recently started walking, after holding on to the coffee table for weeks. One evening as her two fathers sat watching the telly, she suddenly let go and toddled over to John, who beamed and exclaimed - "Sherlock! Are you getting this on video?" as his spouse replied in the affirmative, having pulled out his mobile with amazing quickness. She then delighted them both by turning and going back to her Papa, whilst John took the video of the return trip. They quickly spliced the two together and sent it to everyone. They had been waiting for this for weeks now.

She had been talking since she was 6 months old. Starting with "Dada" and "Papa", she rapidly progressed to naming most of her closest family and friends, although some were more clearly understood. Sherlock spent time each day with her picture books, teaching her the names of animals, objects, and the like. He had also been simultaneously teaching her French, which his mother had done for he and Mycroft since birth. John heartily approved, since the only other language he spoke was a bit of Pashto – not nearly as handy to know.

Sheri was curious and liked to explore whatever environment she occupied. Their daily outings to the park or museums were new opportunities, and she would have trotted off happily on her own, had not Sherlock and John kept a close eye on her. If they were going to be gone for longer than half an hour, they still took the pushchair along - but Sheri often protested when her freedom to run was taken away.

The first time Sherlock took Sheri along to a crime scene was a mixed blessing. John was at the clinic, and Sherlock knew everyone from the Met would be busy doing their assigned tasks, so he thought Sheri would provide some much-needed company, and someone to talk to and bounce ideas off. He seldom actually travelled to a scene, but this was a triple murder, and the Met were, of course, hopelessly out of their depth, so he went. Everyone there was staring, slack-jawed, at the sight of the detective wearing his daughter around his front in a sort of knapsack. He was swooping around and looking at the scene from all angles, as usual, when he suddenly realised that everyone had gone very quiet.

"What? Don't tell me you have never seen a baby before - even you, Anderson. John is at work and the people I usually have watch her are not at home, so here we are. Any questions? No? Then I shall recommence working if you don't mind, thank-you very much," Sherlock snapped, then finished as quickly as he could and left - and did not visit a scene again unless there were very unusual circumstances. After that, when he showed up with Sheri, no one said a word except to greet them both and talk with her - no baby talk, since her father's expression of horror stopped that after one try.

Sherlock would never have supposed he'd be content to be a stay-at-home father, yet he was. Oddly, the prospect of raising their daughter was challenge and reward all in one. He was kept busy thinking of new ways to engage Sheri in learning new things, and

loved seeing her eyes light up when she grasped a new concept, basic though it may be.

She already showed a love of acquiring knowledge, and this thrilled both Sherlock and John. They often sat at night in the lounge, speculating on which career she might choose, just for fun. John had worried at first that Sherlock would become bored with the routine of raising a child, but he had to admit his husband was the better for it. John soon realised that Sherlock's first love was now definitely teaching their daughter and raising her to be a well-rounded, intelligent person who loved to learn.

Sherlock's obvious delight in caring for Sheri and teaching her had made him a more relaxed and tolerant human, as their friends all realised and remarked upon. He was still the genius in whatever room he occupied, but there was something in him that seemed more settled, somehow content. He could still be as abrupt and his remarks as cutting when he was dealing with people he deemed inferior, but they were no longer everyone outside his immediate circle. John was very pleased he had only rarely to remind his love of a glaring social error.

Sheri loved to go to Molly and Greg's, as playing with Emily was one of her favourite pastimes. Molly was expecting again, a boy this time, and should deliver in about ten more weeks. She and Greg were completely besotted with each other, and Sherlock and John were happy for them. After this baby came, she would retire from Barts and concentrate on her family. She said she had waited long enough, and now she was ready.

Molly offered to watch Sheri if they ever needed to go to a crime scene, which Sherlock appreciated, but was oddly not so anxious to do as he once would have been. He was content to do as he had been, viewing it on the computer or from photos, with Greg bringing over the facts on the case to Baker Street.

Once Sheri was about two and a half, and growing like a weed - she would apparently inherit Sherlock's height, which was a good thing according to both her parents. Sherlock started teaching her about music - the notes, time signatures, etc. - all the basics. By the time she turned three, she started learning the violin. John was entranced at seeing her - still so tiny to him - with her little violin and bow, studying her Papa and trying to follow him as exactly as she could. Unsurprisingly, she was very good at it, and was soon playing extremely well for a child twice her age.

At three and a half, Sheri started ballet - and Sherlock was the worst stage father there ever was, driving some of the other parents round the twist with his micro-managing of the ballet school's recitals. But, he also provided snacks and offered to help with scenery and costumes, and whatever else he could, so earned back a few points by his volunteering. He was excellent at sweeping back Sheri's long curls into a bun, and taught the other parents the most efficient way to do it. This alone earned him back any status he had lost with them.

John had noticed that when Sheri was approaching four, Sherlock seemed to be more and more preoccupied with something. He didn't say anything to John, but was obviously thrashing something about in that great brain, until John just cornered him one night and asked him outright. Sherlock avoided looking into his face and tried to change the subject, but John was adamant that he would find out what was going on, that night. After nearly getting into one of the worst arguments they had had since their marriage, Sherlock finally relented. He sat up in bed, took a deep breath, blew it out, and started.

"All right, John, I'll tell you. Erm – I've been thinking..." Sherlock began.

"That much is painfully obvious, even to an idiot like me, love," John replied, smirking.

"Yes - well, yes. I've been thinking that there are those other two embryos up at Baskerville, just sitting there..."

At this, John suddenly caught on, and started smiling, his face lighting up with happiness and he realised what his sweetheart was hinting at. "Erm, yes, Sherlock? Is there something you wanted to ask me about those two embryos just 'sitting there'?" he said, pulling his husband over for a kiss.

"What do you think about calling Dr. Stapleton and trying for twins this time round?" Sherlock said softly, his head down, looking up at John through his lashes.

As he always did when faced with something both he and his husband really wanted anyway, John said "Yes."

Thanks to all who have followed along - I hope you enjoyed it!

~joan