Thanks so much for the reviews/follows/favorites and things! They're much appreciated. Thanks to coloradoandcolorado1 for suggesting/requesting the topic for this chapter. Hopefully I've done it justice.
Much love to my beta There's A Time Lord In Lima as well.
Ducks in a Row
Twenty four weeks old
"Are you sure you have to go? She's still not feeling better you know, I think it's best if we're both here today." Molly glances to her right, seeing Sherlock standing in the doorway to her bedroom and leaning casually against the door frame while he watches her run the brush through her hair. He's got his arms folded across his chest and he's fixing her with a pleading look.
"You know I have to," she says pointedly, "the two of you will be fine. Just keep an eye on her fever alright?"
She stops beside him and offers a peck on the lips. He exhales sharply but accepts the kiss before he follows her to the living room, bending down to pluck Annabelle up from her playpen and rests her on his hip. The baby sniffles and Molly internally feels guilty for having to leave her.
"When will you return?" Sherlock asks, like he's conducting an interrogation and not speaking to his girlfriend. Even now the term girlfriend feels strange as it rolls of his tongue but he smiles internally and her cheeks flush when she hears it.
Through a sigh she says, "I'll be home by six, so please try and stay out of trouble until then and don't hesitate to call John if you need anything; I really need to get some work done today." She offers them both another kiss and waves from the front door before she disappears and Sherlock looks down at Annabelle and cocks an eyebrow.
"Well young lady, what do you suppose we do first?" She coos in response but is almost immediately interrupted by a fit of coughing that has her chubby cheeks turning red with the force. Patting her back he walks to the kitchen and pulls a bottle from the fridge, putting in the microwave and leaning against the counter as he waits.
While he waits for the bottle Annabelle continues to cough and fuss, becoming a wriggling mass in his arms. He exhales sharply, wishing there was something he could do for her. He contemplates calling John for a moment but he knows the doctor will only tell him exactly what Molly already has and the thought annoys him as he takes the bottle and the baby to the couch.
Normally, they have no problems when it comes to Annabelle and meal time, but now Sherlock was lucky just to get a few mouthfuls of formula into her before she began struggling against him. Finally fed up with not knowing what to do, he grabs his cellphone and calls John anyways.
The other man picks up on the second ring.
"Yes Sherlock?"
Sherlock frowns, "Well don't sound so happy to hear from me John." The doctor sighs and Sherlock can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose.
"I'm awfully busy today Sherlock; what can I help you with? Is Annabelle still sick?"
"Yes, she won't eat. There's got to be something I can do for her?"
"There's not much," he answers, "she's much too young for cold medicine but you can try taking her in the bathroom and turning the shower on. The steam will help clear her up a bit."
"That's all?" Sherlock scoffs. On the other end John huffs, obviously annoyed at the doubt in his friends voice.
"I'm afraid that's all I can suggest right now Sherlock. Now I have to get back to work. Call me later if you want."
After the line goes dead Sherlock sets the bottle down, irritated and upset, and carries Annabelle to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and turning on the tap, letting steam fill the small bathroom like John said.
They stay in there for a while and try to soothe the coughing and for a while it seems to work. The baby calms down enough that Sherlock is able to change her and put on some clean pajamas before they settle back in the bedroom, Annabelle on Sherlock's chest as he reads a book aloud to her.
In no time the sound of his voice is enough to lull her to sleep and he sets the book aside, savoring the moment and the time he gets to spend with his daughter. He makes a mental note to thank John for the suggestion later and flips the lamp on the bedside table off, snuggling with Annabelle and succumbing to his exhaustion that can only come with being a parent.
Of course this time he doesn't mind.
…
The first thing Molly notices when she comes home is how quiet it is.
She wonders if it's a bad sign, because normally when she comes home after a long day the logic in everyone else's mind in to create seemingly as much noise as possible. So after taking a breath for courage she starts down the hallway, making her first stop in the nursery but finding it empty and dark.
She bites her lip in curiosity and heads to the bedroom, noticing the door is closed and when she pushes it open she sees father and daughter asleep on the bed with a discarded story book beside them. She smiles, moving quietly to lift the baby off Sherlock's chest and feeling her tiny face.
"Well it looks like your fever's gone down a bit little one," she whispers softly as she carries the sleeping infant to her room, tucking her into the crib and covering her with her blanket. Satisfied that Annabelle is content for now she pads back to the bedroom, stripping off her coat and tossing it aside.
Carefully she crawls on the bed and lies beside Sherlock, feeling him stir besides her best efforts. He blinks sleepily at her and smiles before it melts off his face and he notices something is missing. Giggling at his face Molly leans forward and pulls him towards her, kissing his lips.
"She's in bed, out like a light." She kisses him again and he pushes her back, rolling on top of her and listening to her breathing.
"I guess I just have that effect," he laughs, kissing her collar bone tenderly. She sighs happily beneath him and runs her hand through his hair, cupping his face.
"Will you stay again tonight?" she asks. Lately it's been harder watching him go back to Baker Street and even though his stays at her flat have been more and more frequent she feels like she doesn't see enough of him.
Looking up at him with wide eyes she sees the smile take over his face as he brushes back her hair. "It's a little late to get rid of me now don't you think?"
She answers him with a kiss, melting into his warmth like putty in his hands. The power he holds over her is something she'll never understand but as she succumbs to him and the feel of his hands she's almost sure she doesn't mind.
*sigh* if only Benedict Cumberbatch would read me a story, then I could die happy.