A/N: A new chapter! Yay! Sorry it's been so long coming. I'm actually cheating on other stories to get this in here, but I thought you might enjoy it. And sorry about the abrupt ending to the chapter. There is a method to my madness... Thanks again for being so patient and such faithful reader/reviewers! *MUAH* 3
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
"This place is crawling with children," Sherlock grumbled. The small community auditorium was hosting a multi-age spring recital for all the local dance schools. Consequently, the place was packed with children from ages three all the way up to seventeen. They were arranged in packs of giggly confusion, covered with glitter and sequins. Sherlock was melting down like a child at the thought of having to tolerate it, but Molly had been adamant he come.
"Of course it's crawling with children," Molly said through tightly clenched teeth. "It's a child's dance recital." She'd been arguing with him about it all day. Scarlett had been taking lessons for nearly two years, but this was the first recital she'd participated in. "Would you please behave?"
"I don't understand why I have to be here. I watch Scarlett dance at home all the time. I can't imagine this will be any different."
"Of course it's different! This is the first time she's danced in front of a group of people. She's very nervous and she needs us to be supportive."
"Why should she be nervous? She's an exceptional dancer. I'm sure she'll make the rest of these hobgoblins look like stumbling livestock tramping across the stage." At his words, a row of parents in front of them whipped around and glared.
"Sorry," Molly said with a sheepish smile. "Would you keep your voice down, please!" she hissed. She scanned through the messages on her phone. "I hope Mrs. Adams isn't having a hard time with Will and Finn," she sighed.
"All I'm saying is that Scarlett is beautiful and talented. She knows I think she's wonderful, so why do I have to sit in this crowd and be cramped and nudged." Just as he said this a little girl in a stiff tutu shoved past them, stepping on Sherlock's feet and poking him the eye with starched tulle. "See! Look, Lestrade has been blowing up my phone. I need to get to NSY."
"No you don't."
"I don't?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because Lestrade's right there." Molly stood up and whistled, waving her arms at a group of people at the back of the auditorium. John, Mary, Isabel, Jada, Gabriel, Lestrade, Mycroft, and Mrs. Hudson made their way down the aisle toward them.
"Oh good lord…" Sherlock sighed.
"I found them, Mum," Gabriel said as they arrived. "They were waiting outside for us."
"Why would you wait outside?" Sherlock sighed.
"We didn't know you were already inside," John said, stepping over him. "It's a good thing Gabriel came out to find us. This place is almost standing room only."
"I don't suppose they could go ahead and start this thing already," Sherlock said.
Before Molly could tell him once more to behave, her mobile buzzed. She heaved a sigh and picked it up to hear the twins crying simultaneously. "Hello? Diane?" She immediately stood up and began crawling over Sherlock and down the row to get out.
"Is everything okay?" Mary asked as she stumbled by.
Molly nodded and started up the aisle toward the lobby. Sherlock watched her and sighed heavily, sliding down in his seat.
It wasn't his fault, really. He couldn't take crowds. He'd never been able to take crowds. As a child, Sherlock would hide in public places to escape the noise of bustling crowds. They would find him curled up behind shelves or cowering in dressing rooms. His parents always thought he was just being difficult, but he didn't choose to be that way. Even now, he wished that he wasn't so put off by the constant drone of conversation or the flickering of the lights as they tested them before the recital began. And Molly wouldn't let him hide under the chairs, so he was coping as best he could.
"Where my mummy?" Sherlock sat up when he heard Scarlett's voice. She stood at the end of the row carrying her shoes, ballet slippers, and a pair of tights.
"She had to step out for a minute," John, who was sitting on the end, tried to explain. "What's the matter?"
"My tights all torn. And my teacher don't fix my hair right. I need my mummy."
"Well she isn't in here right now," John said.
"I'll come help you," Mary said.
"No!" Scarlett snapped. "I want my mummy to help me!" Scarlett was extremely nervous and like her father, when she was nervous she was peevish and rude.
"Mum's outside," Gabriel said. "Do you want me to help you?"
"No!"
Finally, Sherlock realized that the situation was only going to escalate if they kept offering suggestions. So he stood up and made his way down the row, stumbling over everyone's feet as he went. "Come on, Scarlett. I'll help you."
"No! I want my mummy to help me!"
"Well get used to disappointment," Sherlock replied as he steered her toward the backstage door.
"But Daddy…" she whined.
"Dry it up, Scarlett. There's no telling how long your mother will be tied up out there and you don't have time to wait for her."
"But nobody else's daddy is back here."
"Well… you'll be a trend setter."
Luckily they were able to find a small family loo where Scarlett might change. She pulled her dance bag off her shoulder and unzipped it. She began pulling out her dance costume and tossing it over her shoulder. "Mummy say I had to put my tights on first."
"Yes, then the costume," Sherlock said, holding up the glittery pink leotard. "Didn't you put your tights on at home?"
"Yes, but I had to go to the loo and when I pull them back on, they got ripped." She pulled her jeans off and sure enough, there was a big hole extending from her toe all the way to the knee.
"Where did you get the new tights?"
"Mummy put them in my bag."
Sherlock smiled. Clever Molly. She always thought of everything. "Do you have to go again before we start putting all this stuff on?"
"I good, Daddy."
"Don't you want to try?"
She shook her head vigorously, obviously annoyed at her father's disbelief. But Sherlock had been in this situation so many times with Scarlett. "I good!"
"Well you won't have a chance again. And if you rip your tights next time, that's it." This time she didn't answer, she just turned the 'Scarlett Face' on her father. The angry, redheaded terror face. "Fine, let's just do this."
Scarlett finished pulling the damaged tights off and threw them aside. He had to bite the inside of his cheek when she threw her teeshirt aside and he noticed that her underwear with the pink alligators was practically falling off. The child couldn't stand to have something tight against her skin, so she was always tugging at her underwear until it was barely hanging on to her tiny little girl hips. She sat down on the closed toilet lid and stuck her feet out straight to put on the pink tights. Sherlock knelt in front of her, trying to figure out the best way to go about this. He distinctly remembered dressing her when she was a toddler, but the tights were well… tight. He started to put them over her feet like trousers, but knew he was wrong when Scarlett heaved a sigh.
"You gotta scrunch them up," she said.
"Scrunch them up?"
"Mummy puts her hand in the foot first and stretches them out. Then she scrunches them up."
It was as if she were speaking an alien language. "I have no idea what you're on about," he said.
"Like this," she said, taking the torn tights and showing him what she meant. "You put it on your hand like a puppet. Then you scrunch them up so you can put them over my feet."
"Well if you know so much, why aren't you doing it yourself?"
"I'm just a little person. I need help." She grinned sheepishly and wiggled her feet at him.
To Sherlock's credit, he was able to follow her instructions and was able to get the tights past her ankles. "All right, stand up so I can get them the rest of the way." She obeyed and he finished pulling them up. He thought he was doing well and was about to congratulate himself when Scarlett whined.
"They not right, Daddy," she said. "They're twisted."
"What do you mean?"
In a very unladylike gesture, Scarlett began tugging and pulling at the tights. The seam wasn't aligned correctly and twisted around the top of her thigh. She was dancing around and really just making it worse. "Stop, Scarlett!" Sherlock said. "Stand still so I can help." As he gently tugged the stubborn fabric, he thought once again how his life was unrecognizable. Who would have thought that Sherlock Holmes, world-famous detective, would be spending his evenings putting tights on a six year old?
They finally managed to get the tights on after much struggle. Unfortunately, the tights were apparently for an Amazonian child, as they came all the way up to Scarlett's chest.
"These are too big," she complained.
"It doesn't matter," Sherlock sighed. "When you get your costume on, you won't even notice." He wished he could believe that. Scarlett had enough of her father in her to obsess over that little bit of extra fabric all night.
To Sherlock's great relief, the leotard went on much easier, as did the tiny ballet slippers. All that was left was her hair. Scarlett's hair was thick and curly and bright red. He wasn't sure how he was ever going to get it into a perfect ballerina bun like Molly did. For one thing, Scarlett was also extremely tenderheaded and would scream at even the thought of a hair tie. "You gotta put my hair up, Daddy."
"Scarlett, can't you just wear it down?"
"No! The teacher says we gotta wear it up."
He sighed. "Fine. Did your mother put something in your bag to help?"
Scarlett rummaged around in her dance bag again and produced a brush, a pink hair tie, and another strange looking instrument that he couldn't identify. "Here," she said, shoving the items into his hand.
"Uhm… what… I don't know what… hmm…"
Scarlett stared at her father like he was an adorable moron. "You gotta put my hair up like a horsey tail."
Sherlock used the brush to lightly gather her hair into a tail. Of course, his skittishness at trying not to pull only made her hair frizzy and she ended up with a matted mess at the back of her head. He growled low and tried to delicately untangle the mess without pulling the child's hair out.
"Oww, Daddy!" she shrieked.
"I know. But it's tangled up."
"Maybe you should get my mummy."
"No. I've got it," he said through clenched teeth.
After three more attempts, Scarlett took the brush away from him and began brushing through her hair. "I do it myself, Daddy." He started to protest, but to his surprise, she was very adept. She brushed her hair back into a smooth ponytail and then wrapped it around the other, unidentified object until she had a perfect ballerina bun on top of her head.
"Well, you certainly did do it yourself, Peaseblossom," he said with a smile. She really was a clever thing. For the first time, as he gazed down at his daughter, he could see her as the young woman she would eventually become. No longer was she his baby girl that was afraid of dark rooms and thunderstorms.
By the time he arrived back in the auditorium Molly had evidently averted the crisis at the Adams' and sat in her seat. He stumbled past the others, feeling his way down the aisle in the darkened theater. He left groans and squawks of pain in his wake as he stepped on feet and kicked shins in his haste to get to his seat. One twisted ankle led to him nearly sitting on John Watson's lap.
"Oy! I'm sitting here, Sherlock!"
"I know that, idiot!" he hissed. "I'm trying to get to my seat!"
"Would you two quit bickering? The show is about to start!" Mary scolded.
Sherlock tried to sit up and watch the other children dance while looking interested. He applauded at the right times and tried not to sigh with exasperation. Not even when the toddler dance students just stood there motionless for the entire four minutes of the song. Not even when the teenaged girl channeled her inner-pole dancer and writhed on the stage for eight minutes.
"Scarlett will never do that," he growled in Molly's ear while applauding for the girl.
Finally, it was Scarlett's turn to dance. Her class took the stage and there she was, right up front. "Well she's definitely Sherlock's child," he heard Mary whisper to John. "Front and center."
"Oooh… look at Scarlett's outfit!" Jada said, pointing her out to Isabel.
"I think I want to take dance lessons too!" Isabel replied.
As soon as Scarlett began to dance, it was clear that she had a natural talent that was well above her classmates. Though she didn't hear the music as well as the others, she could certainly feel it. She was graceful and deliberate with her movements, unlike the others who seemed to be focused on watching the teacher down front or each other. Scarlett danced with her eyes closed, but she knew each and every step. She never missed a beat or tripped over any of her classmates. Even when the little girl beside Scarlett, who was all knees and elbows, couldn't thwart her with her wild flailing.
Molly reached out and clasped Sherlock's hand, squeezing it tightly. He glanced over and saw that her cheeks were sparkling with tears. She made no move to wipe them away, just letting them roll down her face until they soaked into her blouse. Sherlock was puzzled. Was she happy or sad? Should he be concerned? Was there pain? She caught him staring at her and she smiled, leaning over to rest her head on his shoulder.
"Can you believe it, Sherlock?" she whispered. "That's our baby. Our little girl."
"Of course she is. Who else's child would she be?"
"She just looks so… so grown up." She sighed dreamily and squeezed his arm.
"No," he said.
"What?"
"No. I know what you're thinking and the answer is no."
Molly giggled. "What are you talking about?"
"I know that dreamy, doe-eyed look you get. A little bit happy, a little bit sad. You're about to say you want to have another baby."
"No I'm not!"
"Yes you are. And I'm saying 'no.' We've just gotten everyone able to use the toilet by themselves and sleeping all night. There's no going back now."
Before she could reply, the number was over and everyone stood to applaud. Scarlett stood there holding her graceful position and taking in the adoration. At the teacher's signal, the tiny ballerinas gave short little curtseys and ran off the stage as fast as their little slippered feet would carry them. All of them except Scarlett. She stood at center stage and bowed deeply at the waist, looking exhausted. It was very dramatic and only made the audience giggle and shower her with more thunderous applause.
"Whose child is that?" John grumbled from down the aisle.
When the recital was over, they made their way to the foot of the stage to fawn over Scarlett. She frightened them all taking a flying leap into Gabriel's arms. But he caught her like a pro and squeezed her affectionately before hoisting her up on his shoulders.
"You did a beautiful job, darling," Molly cooed.
"Thanks, Mummy!" she said. "I practice a lot."
"I know," Molly giggled. "And I'm so proud of you."
"Did I do good, Bre?" Scarlett asked, resting her chin on the top of Gabriel's head as they made their way up the aisle.
"You were the best in your class, Scarface."
OoOoOo
"God… you really are a genius…" Molly panted as she fell back against the pillows.
"I actually can't take credit for that," Sherlock replied, leaning over her to paw at the nightstand for cigarettes. "But thanks anyway."
"You learned it on YouTube didn't you?"
"No comment." He lit the cigarette and left it poised between his lips as he threw the covers back. He stumbled around in the dark looking for his pajama trousers. Gone were the days when they could have sex and then fall asleep naked. They had been burned too many times. Little people wanting glasses of water. Larger person getting up at three a.m. to talk to his girlfriend on his mobile in the loo. Even larger person banging on the door shouting about murder and mayhem and detectives that didn't answer their phones in the middle of the night.
Molly giggled, watching him bend over to fetch his trousers from under the dresser. "If only I had my mobile."
"Why is that?"
"I'd have a picture of your perfect ass as my lock screen." He danced playfully as he pulled the trousers on. "Oooh… I predict you'd have a wonderful career in stripping, Mr. Holmes."
He laughed and put on an air of superiority. "I beg your pardon. It's burlesque."
Molly giggled and put a hand over his mouth as he fell back into bed. "Shush you. You'll wake everyone."
"Darling, if you didn't wake everyone with your earlier performance, I hardly think my laughter will bother them."
Molly flushed bright red. "I was trying to be quiet…"
"As Gabriel would say, 'epic fail,' love."
He put the cigarette out and pulled the covers over them, preparing to go to sleep. Molly snuggled against his side. She was silent for several minutes and Sherlock thought she was asleep. He, of course, never slept, and would only keep this up until she was well asleep before getting up to work. He yawned. "If I don't fall asleep myself," he thought.
"I miss it sometimes, you know," Molly said, startling him.
"Miss what?"
"Remember when we used to have Naked Thursdays? Back before Scarlett was born?"
"Ah yes," Sherlock said. "No enquiries 'til 1. Come to think of it, that's probably how we got Scarlett."
She giggled. "Most likely."
"What made you think of that?"
"Well tonight, when we were at the recital and you were accusing me of wanting to have another baby. I just wanted you to know that… I do think about it sometimes, but I also miss our alone time."
"We have date nights…"
"Which are lovely. But we still have to come home to a house full of children. Our sexual encounters used to be these lazy marathons that lasted for hours. We'd make love, have tea or food, watch telly or work on your cases a while—then make love again. Most times we didn't even put our clothes on in between and we never bothered with darkness."
"You say this like Gabriel wasn't here."
"Well yes, but Gabriel was easy to avoid. He would go off to school or to play at Katie's. Now there's always at least one child here with us. And our children are very nosy."
"They get it honestly," Sherlock said with a nod. "So what are you saying? That you don't want to have more children?"
"That's part of what I'm saying, yes. At least not now. Of course… there aren't that many shopping days left 'til Christmas…"
"Oh please…"
"Anyway, I didn't want you to think that I don't miss that part of our lives. And that sexual connection we used to have."
"We don't now?"
"Well yes, of course we do. Obviously we do. We just don't get to indulge it as often as we once did. I mean, you still make me pant with lust with every glance." He narrowed his eyes, looking skeptical. "It's true. I still fantasize about you at least two or three times every day."
"Don't be silly, Molly…"
"It's true. I love you so much and sometimes I miss never having alone time with you." She leaned in and kissed the crest of his cheekbone. "Anyway, good night."
