You guys are honestly amazing; I'm so appreciative of all your reviews and kind words. Thanks once again! And much love to my beta as well. This is short again but the next chapter is going to be Christmas and that one will definitely be longer. And if you have any ideas leave 'em in a review or pm me! Enjoy!
Ducks in a Row
Thirty four weeks old
When the weather becomes cloudy and filled with rain, Annabelle and Sherlock spend their days inside while Molly and John are at work. He finds it hard to be bored now that his daughter is desperate to move around, constantly crawling around and keeping him on his toes.
After she awakes from her nap he pads into the nursery, looking into her crib and seeing her big eyes watching him as she kicked her chubby little legs. She always had so much energy after she woke. He reaches his hand inside and smoothes her curls back before he hoists her onto his hip.
Sherlock takes her into the living room and sets her down in the middle of the floor, offering her an array of her toys that seem to take up most of the space in the house. Every nook and cranny seems to be occupied by some form of stuffed animal or book or puzzle. It makes walking the halls at night a dangerous situation. When she takes an interest in a few colored blocks he hands her he puts his hands on his hips, watching her closely for a few moments.
"Well young lady, you keep yourself busy here while I go find something for dinner." He decides that since Molly had been called in at a ridiculous hour this morning for a rushed report on a high profile body that it was only fair he cooked dinner. He considers the microwave and anything that comes out of a box cooking.
He makes sure Annabelle is completely immersed in the pile of toys she has before he turns on his heels and heads to the kitchen. He opens the fridge, feeling his lips turn downwards as he stares at the complete lack of anything. He makes a note to go to the grocery tomorrow.
He sighs and turns to the cabinets, finding a box of spaghetti noodles and a jar of tomato sauce. He figures it will have to do. He puts a pot of water on the stove and dumps the can into a sauce pan, moving back to the living room to check on Annabelle.
Sherlock turns the corner and stops dead when he sees the empty rug and the abandoned toys sitting where he had left them but there was definitely no baby. He swallows thickly and walks into the room completely, making sure to check behind the couch and even in the toy bin. Nothing.
"Annabelle?" he calls her name, praying he sees her crawling to him but the room is still empty except for him and the rest of the house is silent. When he glances at the clock he feels the impending doom set in when he realizes Molly will be home very, very soon. Even though he tells himself there's no need to panic, he feels his steady frame of mind slip away.
All of the windows are sealed shut and he had taken the precaution of locking the front door behind Molly when she left this morning, so there was no way anyone had gotten in or out. In that moment he even contemplates calling the police, or even his brother.
In his sudden state of desperation he does the only thing that makes sense to him right now, dropping down onto all fours and crawling around the room, calling her name. He finds the living room is completely empty, so he makes his way down the hallway, stopping at the bathroom and her nursery; going through the hamper and the dressers but both rooms are empty.
Molly's flat is fairly small so he knows there are only so many places he can look, and as he crawls out of the bathroom he knows he's running out of options. Scrambling as fast as he can he goes to the bedroom, looking in the closet and finding nothing; but as he crawls over to the bed and lifts the edge of the blankets, his lips curling into an amused smile.
He's so distracted in fact that he doesn't even hear the key turn in the lock or the sound of the footsteps coming down the hallway behind him. Sherlock does however freeze when he hears the sound of a throat being cleared and he slowly turns his head, looking up at Molly. She looks more concerned for his mental state than anything else.
"I'm only going to ask once," she says, massaging her temples. "What on earth are you doing on the floor like that?" Sherlock smiles widely and ushers her to join him, lifting up the sheets again as she peers beneath.
When Molly gets down before him she peers beneath the bed at whatever Sherlock was distracted by and she feels her heart melt at the sight of her daughter curled up with one of Sherlock's shirts, fast asleep.
"What on Earth is she doing under there?" she asks, reaching out and pulling the infant towards her. She stirs momentarily but when she recognizes her mother she snuggles against her chest and her green eyes close once more.
"I was making dinner," he shrugs before his eyes widen and his hands fly up into the air. He rushes out of the room, leaving Molly confused and slightly bewildered.
She shakes off Sherlock's general weirdness and carries Annabelle to the nursery, tucking her into her bed and kissing her before she turns out the light. When she's just a few feet from the kitchen she sees a cloud of smoke filtering out and she internally groans.
Peeking around the corner she watches Sherlock wave a dish cloth in the air in an attempt to clear out some of the smoke, a burnt pot of tomato sauce sitting on the stove. Trying her best to hide her laughter she turns off the burners and shoves Sherlock into the living room.
With her hands on her hips she surveys the damage and bites her lip. She had no energy to deal with this today. Reaching out for the nearest takeout menu she picks up her phone and vows that Sherlock is getting cooking lessons for Christmas.