"Father," the priest prayed, "we ask you to send your blessings on this water and sanctify it for our use this day." He swirled the holy water before him. "In Christ's name."
Marie smiled, though she kept prodding Sherlock surreptitiously as he texted throughout the ceremony.
John and Mary didn't notice, standing beside the priest as he asked: "Now, what name have you given your daughter?"
Mary exchanged smiles with John before she answered: "Rosamund Mary."
Marie's lips twitched in amusement, before she grimaced as Sherlock asked under his breath, finally looking up from his phone: "Rosamund?"
"It means 'Rose of the world'." Molly explained softly from Sherlock's other side. "Rosie for short."
"Hm." Sherlock hummed, his attention back on his phone, and Molly asked through grit teeth: "Didn't you get John's text?"
"No. I delete his texts." Sherlock mumbled as he typed away. "I delete any text that begins 'Hi'."
"No idea why some people think you're incapable of human emotion." Molly muttered, scowling, and Mrs. Hudson cleared her throat from beside them.
"Sorry." Molly muttered, and Marie prodded Sherlock one more time as Molly hissed at him: "Phone!"
Sherlock glanced at them, and then placed his hands behind his back. Marie sighed as she watched him type behind his back while the priest asked: "And now, godparents, are you ready to help the parents of this child in their duties as Christian parents?"
"We are." The three women replied, and Marie gave Sherlock a look.
Molly, however, nudged him sharply, causing Sherlock's finger to slip slightly on his phone and Marie hung her head as Siri stated: "Sorry, I didn't catch that. 'Please repeat the question."
John closed his eyes irritably while Mary narrowed her eyes, and Marie finally reached over and confiscated Sherlock's phone.
Sherlock sighed as he faced the wall, before he began in exasperation: "As ever, Watson, you see but do not observe."
He turned to John's armchair as he continued flatly: "To you, the world remains an impenetrable mystery, whereas, to me, it is an open book. Hard logic versus romantic whimsy - that is your choice. You fail to connect actions to their consequences. Now, for the last time."
He picked up the fallen object as he stated firmly: "If you want to keep the rattle, do not throw the rattle."
He held out the rattle in a sign of peace, offering it to the baby sitting in the infant's chair set up on John's armchair. Little Rosie took the rattle calmly, gurgling as she looked at the toy with her blue eyes; and Marie walked out of their room and into the living room just in time to see Rosie throw the rattle right into Sherlock's face.
The rattle hit Sherlock's nose, before falling to the ground with a small jangle and Marie laughed quietly so as not to wake John and Mary, fast asleep on the living room sofa, and Scottie sleeping in their room.
"Like that would work." Marie chuckled as she rocked her and Sherlock's own daughter in her arms, Sheryl yawning sleepily, and Sherlock scowled at her.
"It worked on Sheryl." He countered, and Marie pointed out: "Yes, but did it work on Scottie?"
"It almost worked." Sherlock protested, before he questioned: "And 'Scottie'?"
"Just be grateful I'm not calling you 'Sherly'." Marie answered with a shrug.
"That's it." Sherlock said determinedly. "I'm doing it."
"No, Sherlock." Marie said irritably as she picked up the crying baby. "You can't tape your child's mouth shut to stop her crying."
She turned to the child, soothing: "What's the matter, Chérie? Why are you crying?"
She then sniffed, while Sherlock complained: "I warned her I would do it if she wouldn't just take the dummy."
He wielded the round object around in his hand to emphasize his point as he groused: "I was about to start working on a case, when she started crying."
"Did you think to check her diaper?" Marie sighed as she wrinkled her nose, sniffing against Sheryl's bottom.
Sherlock blinked and then lit up in realization as he murmured: "Oh, so that's what the smell was."
"Sherlock!" Marie scolded, and he protested: "I can't think of everything."
"You can solve a murder that had Scotland Yard scratching their heads for weeks, without leaving the flat, and yet you couldn't deduce what the smell coming from your daughter's diaper was?" Marie asked, raising a brow.
"Well, how was I to know what was going through her tiny little brain." Sherlock sulked. "Murderers are so much easier to read and anticipate."
"I'm not sure if you just insulted our daughter, or murderers." Marie commented as she started to change Sheryl's diaper with an exasperated sigh – but there was something else in her tone that made Sherlock pause.
He sat for a moment, watching her carefully, as he'd done a few times the last few months. She ignored him, focusing on her task and knowing what was on his mind. It was something weighing on her own heart, and she knew he knew exactly what was wrong, but they never discussed it.
For while he'd improved significantly since he'd met her and John, Sherlock was still not the best at confronting emotional problems… least of all a woman's emotions. He knew that, and for once opted to keep his mouth shut rather than accidentally stick his foot into it. She knew what he was doing, but it didn't make things any easier on Marie's sometimes heavy heart.
After a moment, Sherlock offered: "I could look after the kids for the afternoon if you want to see Molly, or do groceries, or something?"
"Really?" Marie asked, slightly amused as she glanced at Sherlock, who nodded.
"Yeah, you could go outside, get some fresh air – though maybe not see Molly then." Sherlock said. "Not much fresh air in a mortuary."
"No, there isn't." Marie smiled.
Sherlock being cluelessly sweet was always one of his most awkward moments, looking almost like a lost child as he fiddled with things and avoided direct eye contact - very different from his calculating, almost cold persona when he was making deductions.
But Marie still loved that she could still bring out that softer, more human side to the man she loved, for while he and Mycroft may often consider it a weakness, she saw it as a sign that he cared and could be capable of human emotion.
That didn't mean she was above teasing him, though, and she asked amusedly: "You don't have a case you're working on?"
"Well, it can wait." Sherlock replied, and Marie smiled.
"It's all right, Sherlock, I'm fine." She reassured. "Go out and solve a case, I know you're itching to get some air. You've been cooped up for a while now… a while for you, at least."
"No, no, I can wait, you should go." Sherlock reassured, but Marie hinted: "I think it's almost time to feed Scottie anyway."
"Oh." Sherlock muttered, glancing at his watch to see Marie was right. It was almost eleven, and Scott Holmes was nothing but punctual about his meal. "Right."
"Go on." Marie encouraged. "I'm doing fine, promise."
Sherlock hesitated a moment longer, but gave in. Leaning forward, he kissed Marie, placed another kiss on his daughter's nose – for which he received a wrinkled nose and a happy gurgle – before he strode out the door, calling: "I shouldn't be long – the case is only a seven-and-a-half."
Marie rolled her eyes as he shut the door, when her phone alerted her to a text message. Fumbling for her while balancing Sheryl on her hip, Marie ended up juggling her phone a bit in her free hand to check the message. She grinned when she saw who it was from, and opened the text instantly.
'What is this? What am I supposed to do with this?' Mycroft had asked, in response to a picture Marie had sent him.
It was of Sherlock sleeping on the bed with a twin curled up on either side of him, the three having fallen asleep in that position after a long and tiring day. Marie had returned from grocery shopping the previous day to find them like that, three curly heads pressed close, and had - on impulse - taken the picture to show Mycroft.
'It's your brother, and your niece and nephew.' Marie texted back with a grin. 'And you do what you want with it.'
'… Delete it?' Mycroft returned, and Marie laughed.
Shaking her head, she was about to pocket the phone when it dinged again, and she checked the last message with a wide smile.
'Thank you.' Mycroft had said, and she could almost see the grudging look on his face as he typed the words.
'I knew it. The old softie.' Marie thought with a chuckle. Despite all his pretenses otherwise, Marie knew Mycroft did care for his family, and that now included the twins he was 'forced' to call niece and nephew.
'You're welcome.' Marie typed back lightly, before pocketing her phone and tickling Sheryl.
The baby gurgled happily, smiling her crinkly little smile and Marie smiled back as she walked towards their bedroom to put Sheryl down and pick Scottie up for his lunch.
"How're you doing?"
Marie sighed into her phone as she answered a little impatiently: "I'm fine, Mary. I just… get emotional sometimes."
"It's just," Mary argued, "you've been going through emotional swings – very rare for you -, and you said you were starting to feel guilt and anxiety about your past, and don't think I don't know about your insomnia."
Marie scowled, touching the dark circles under her eyes as she muttered: "Twins can be difficult."
"And I'm not saying they aren't." Mary reminded. "But I do worry that you're going through PPD, at least on some level. Sherlock noticed it instantly, too, and we're worried – it's been a few months now."
"I should've known he'd talk to you since he doesn't mention it to me." Marie growled, and she could almost see Mary shrugging her shoulders as she answered: "Of course he would. Like I said, he's worried."
"Clearly not enough to say it to my face." Marie snapped, and Mary pointed out: "There's that emotional swing again."
Marie sighed, rubbing her eyes, as Mary continued: "And he is worried, worried enough that he doesn't want to bring it up and stress you even further. He's basically getting counseling from me, he's been texting me so much."
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Marie muttered. "I know he's trying, it's just…"
"You don't want to admit you're being weak." Mary observed, and Marie scowled. "And don't give me that face."
Marie made another face Mary's comment – her friend knew her well.
"Look," Mary sighed, "is this about Scottie and Chérie, or about your past?"
"Both." Marie finally admitted softly. "I could control the hormones, I could control the anxiety, if I just didn't…"
She trailed off, exhaling sharply, before she asked randomly: "Do you ever think back to everything you've done, and wish now that you hadn't done most of it?"
"Yes." Mary answered briefly and flatly. "It was… fun, at the time, the adventures, the thrills, but… yes. I do look at Rosie now, and think back and… but it's in the past."
"What if it isn't?" Marie countered. "Moriarty's ghost is already back to haunt us, who's to say there isn't someone else? And if someone like Magnussen could exist…"
"That isn't the way to think." Mary warned. "You shouldn't think about it like that. Yes, there are horrors in your past that quite frankly have been erased – for now. But we can't live with the fear that our shadows will catch up to us. We can only go on, knowing we live in the now, and for the future."
"But, there are so many." Marie whispered as she stared down at her babies, sleeping side-by-side in their cot. "Jim had enemies, enemies that are by association my enemies, and now even his allies are my enemies. And let's not even start on Sherlock. I just," she sighed, "I just can't shake the feeling that karma always comes back to bite us."
"Maybe it will." Mary replied evenly. "But maybe, it won't. And think about it: isn't it better to cherish what we've been blessed to have, a loving husband and children to care and love, than to waste it watching for what may never come?"
"I suppose…" Marie sighed, and Mary's voice was kind as she said: "We've had rough times, but I truly do think we've achieved our peace – and quite frankly, I think we deserve it."
"Don't you know it." Marie chuckled half-heartedly, and Mary encouraged: "Just think about it, okay? I know you've been worrying about this since you found out you were pregnant – don't act surprised, I know you better than you think – and it's only gotten worse with the mild PPD. But hey, remember we're all here for you. Okay?"
"Okay." Marie smiled, actually feeling a little better. It would take time to get over her moodiness – because Marie did suspect Mary was right, damn her – but at least for now, her spirits did lift slightly. "Thanks, Mary."
"Any time." Mary answered warmly. "Give my love to Sherlock, and the twins."
"I will." Marie chuckled. "Give mine to John and Rosie."
"Will do." Mary answered, and the two women hung up their phones.
Marie sighed, but smiled a little as she looked at her babies lying in their cot… only to start abruptly as the front door slammed open and Sherlock shouted: "Marie!"
She glanced down, breathing out in relief to see the twins hadn't moved let alone woken up, before she hurried out into the living room.
"Sherlock, what on Earth are you-" Marie stopped speaking abruptly as she found herself suddenly face-to-face with an enormous bouquet of flowers.
"… Sherlock?" Marie asked, peering over the flowers and at her husband, who was holding the bouquet out to her face.
"Happy anniversary." He announced, and Marie pointed out flatly: "Our anniversary's not for another two weeks."
"No," Sherlock stated, "it's been five years and twenty-eight days since we first met."
Marie stared at him, and Sherlock added: "Or, if you prefer, it's been three years, five months and six days since we started dating."
Marie burst out laughing, making Sherlock frown slightly.
"What?" He asked, and Marie only clutched her stomach as she laughed harder.
"What? What is it?" Sherlock asked, bewildered, and Marie started to double over she was laughing so hard. "Marie, what was it? Was it something I said?"
"You, Sherlock Holmes," Marie declared between gasps as she brushed tears from her eyes, "are the best man I could ever have asked for."
"Thank you?" He replied, still frowning. "But then, why are you laughing so hard you started crying?"
"Oh, Sherlock." Marie smiled, finally calming down enough. "It's because you do things I never expect."
"Well, that's only fair since I can never read you." Sherlock grumbled and Marie smiled, taking the bouquet from him.
Setting it on the kitchen table, she leaned forward, wrapping her arms around Sherlock's neck. He raised an eyebrow at that, glancing at her arms and then back at her face as she pulled him close, pressing right against him. He blinked, before his hands moved to massage Marie's waist as she leant up close towards his face.
"And I laughed, Sherlock," Marie murmured as she stared up at him with bright green eyes, "because you made me smile."
"Good." He murmured back as Marie brushed her lips against his. "I wanted to make you smile."
"I love you." She replied, before kissing him.
He kissed her back instantly, pulling her closer as he bent his bent while his hand moved to tangle in her hair. She answered by burying her hands in his curly hair, tugging slightly and making him growl. She answered with a nip at his lips, and he retaliated by sliding his tongue into her mouth.
The kiss had just started to get passionate, both of them feeling their inner desires stirring, when one of the twins started to cry.
They broke apart instantly, still interlocked, and Marie opened her eyes regretfully to stare at Sherlock, both panting a little as they caught their breath back.
"That sounds like Scottie." Marie murmured, and Sherlock muttered, annoyed: "I'm definitely taping his mouth shut next time."
"You wouldn't dare." Marie chuckled, lifting up on her toes to press one more peck on Sherlock's lips before she turned and headed back towards their room.
"Coming, my precious." Marie called, while Sherlock pouted in the living room.
It didn't seem like Scottie was going back to his nap anytime soon, and Sherlock glanced down at his watch, and scowled. It was only two o'clock, which meant there was another three hours until John and Lestrade came by, the latter with some extraordinary case. It could have been the perfect time… but of course, his son had to butt in.
'Hm, I must watch out for him.' Sherlock sourly as he settled in his armchair and pressed his fingers together in his thinking pose. 'He's already trying to surpass his father.'
And it was in that position that first Lestrade found him, three hours later.
*A/N Chérie is French for 'darling' (pronounced sher-ee) and Marie uses it as an affectionate nickname for Sheryl.
