It happened again. Sarah had been bouncing Rosie on one hip while stirring a pot of stew with her other hand. Rosie was playing with her hair and began to cheer excitedly when she noticed Sherlock arrive home from, well, wherever it is that he had disappeared to since yesterday evening. Sarah smiled in greeting to him and had to quickly readjust her hold on Rosie, who squirmed and reached out for her adoptive father. Sherlock smirked in response and walked over, holding out his hands to hold her.
"Hello there Rosie" he greeted her softly. "And how has your day been?" he began to question the infant who, in her own babble, was responding to his voice with enthusiasm. Sarah hid a smile and took the opportunity to finish off adding vegetables to the pot. She reduced the heat, covered with a lid and left it to simmer. Washing off her hands, she turned to find Rosie being thrust back into her arms and a grim expression creeping over Sherlock's face.
Sighing, Sarah took Rosie and watched Sherlock wander into the sitting room and throw himself onto the couch. A pungent smell alerted Sarah that Rosie was in need of a change, and so she quietly crept into the infant's room. With a fresh nappy in place, Rosie was content with lying on her play mat in the living room. Sherlock was now standing over by the window, staring into the nothingness of the dreary London street below.
"Do you want to talk about him?" Sarah asked sensitively, tiptoeing up behind him. Sherlock made a perplexed face, visible in the reflection of the window pane. "About John. You seem to mourn him most after you play with Rosie" she explained quietly. Sherlock said nothing, thinking over what she had said. Sarah decided to take this as an opportunity to squeeze his shoulder, hoping it would offer him some comfort. It didn't.
"I don't need to talk about it. I don't need a hug or anything of the sorts from you. John and Mary are dead and it was my fault. Nothing to discuss" he spat, turning on his heel to glare at her. Sarah bit the inside of her cheek, quieting the anger that flared in the pit of her stomach.
"Fine. Don't talk to me about it, but rant at me. The more you go into your bloody mind-palace, the more you're shutting yourself off from moving on and focusing on what is still here" she gritted, pointing at the young Watson member. "So at least have an open conversation with a real person who can help you to understand you emotions if you yourself don't quite get them", she began to retreat to the kitchen when she stopped just under the doorframe. Turning to glance over her shoulder, she found him staring after her with nostrils flaring angrily. "Oh, and give up the smokes before I report to your brother". The front door slammed shut very soon after.