Sherlock Holmes- A Study in Blood

Chapter 6

"No one in this world can love a girl more than her father." ~Michael Ratnadeepak

"Yes!"

"No!"

"I insist."

"I can't..."

"But you must."

"Holmes!" Watson cried in frustration.

"Watson!" Holmes mimicked perfectly, much to his own amusement and Watson's annoyance.

The doctor sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose.  "It's not that I don't want her with me, Holmes.  In fact there is nothing I would like more.  But I just... I'm not ready for that yet."

"My dear Watson, you have been back to your usual, respectable, gentlemanly self for twelve days now," Holmes rationalized.  "I see no reason why your daughter should not be moved back into your own room."

Watson smirked, just a little.  "Have you grown tired of her already?"

"On the contrary, Mary is a most excellent companion.  However, that does not change the fact that she is your daughter, and as such should be residing in your room."

"I know," Watson nodded wearily as he sank down into his favorite chair while Holmes vanished momentarily into the closet.  God only knew why.  Watson chose to ignore it.  For the moment, at least.

"But you're afraid you'll make a mistake of monstrous proportions," Holmes guessed correctly from behind the closed closet door.  "You worry you might cause her physical or even more emotional harm than she has already endured at such a tender age."

Watson sighed again and put his head in his hands.  That was exactly what he was worried about.  He didn't trust himself anymore, and how could he?  He had practically run his practice into the ground.  He had gambled away nearly all his money.  He had put so much alcohol and various drugs into his system it was a wonder he did not kill himself.  Although, at the time, that had been what he wanted.  Day after day in that chair (the one he had seen Holmes set fire to after his recovery) he had wished for nothing more than to join Mary in the afterlife.  Luckily, Holmes had intervened at just the right time.  And though it still brought tears to Watson's eyes to think that his daughter had seen him at his very lowest, he was glad Holmes had brought her with him to the prison.  She was his daughter, his little Mary, his angel.  He was trying to be the father she deserved, but...

"Dear boy," Holmes said suddenly, having returned once more to place a comforting hand on Watson's shoulder, "I have been Mary's primary caregiver for approximately 52 days.  If I can manage without causing her irreversible damage for that long, I have no doubt that you can manage one night with the girl."

It was alright for Holmes not to have any doubts about Watson's parenting abilities.  Enough doubts plagued Watson's mind for the both of them.

*~*~*

It took Watson the better part of two hours to get Mary to go to sleep.  She was perfectly content in his arms as he walked the floor with her.  It was only when he tried to put her in her cradle or if he should try and sit down that she began to fuss.  Then, petrified she would begin crying, he'd jump up and begin the routine all over again.  He thought of asking Holmes how he had managed to quiet her at night, but he was afraid his friend would tell him of some elaborate new idea he had tested on Mary, and Watson honestly did not want to know.  Eventually, Watson was able to coax Mary into a deep enough sleep that he could set her down in her cradle without disturbing her.  Watson then very nearly collapsed into his own bed, the old wound on his leg aching from the days events.  He closed his eyes and waited for a peaceful sleep to claim him.

But Watson found it was not so easy to sleep with his daughter in the room.  It was not that she was fussy, quite the opposite in fact.  Mary slept contentedly while her father lay wide awake.  Every sound jerked him out of bed.  Each creak, tap, or rustle had to be thoroughly investigated, for in his weary mind and overactive imagination, each posed a very real and dangerous threat to his little girl. 

He lay in bed, heart pounding erratically as he felt himself slipping into the training he'd received as a soldier.  His eyes, well adjusted to the darkness, darted around the room restlessly, making mental note of his surroundings.  His ears picked up every sound in the house.  His muscles tensed, ready to spring into action should the worst occur.  What the worst was, he wasn't sure.  But he was ready for it, nonetheless. 

For seemingly endless hours, Watson lay wide awake.  He was almost glad when he heard Mary stir and fuss from within her cradle.  As soon as her cries reached his ears, Watson leapt out of bed and was leaning over her cradle in one swift move that would have been impressive had anyone been there to see it.  He took her up in his strong arms, wrapped her in the white blanket Mary had made, the sight of so many tears running down his daughter's cheeks paining him more than any wound ever had.  "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he whispered, kissing her head and wishing he could fight off whatever had her so upset.  He held her against his chest and murmured, "Please stop crying, my love. I'm here. Everything's alright." 

His voice and his comforting touch soon soothed her, but she was in no hurry to leave the comfort of her father's arms.  And truthfully, Watson was reluctant to put her down again.  The feeling of her small body snuggled against him and her heart beating in time with his own filled him with contentment.

Laying her in his own bed, she began to whimper, as if she was afraid he would disappear again.  Watson quickly lay down beside her and she quieted when she realized he was not indeed leaving her.  Watson smiled sadly and ran his finger along her soft cheek.  "I promise, I'll never leave you again," he whispered, placing his hand on her head and gently stroking the blonde curls that already resembled her mother's.  Blinking back the moisture burning his eyes, he said softly, "I love you, Mary."

"Sleep my baby, on my bosom, warm and cozy will it prove. Round thee Father's arms are folding, in my heart a father's everlasting love abides," Watson began humming a familiar lullaby, the one Mary had intended to sing their child.  Changing the word mother to father, Watson continued to sing, very badly in his opinion, but it soothed Mary incredibly, so he continued, "There shall no one come to harm thee, naught shall ever break thy rest. Sleep my darling babe in quiet, sleep on Father's gentle chest."

Soon both father and daughter were finally asleep.