This Is Real

Chapter Twenty

Lifting the spluttering infant up carefully, Evelyn turns to her husband. "Can you take her?" she asks, and immediately he nods, arms outstretched and ready. Evelyn passes Eloise to him, and he holds her against his chest, tucking her underneath the folds of his coat. He whispers quiet soothing words, and soon she starts to settle.

"What a lovely baby," Evelyn looks towards the sound of the voice and sees an elderly lady, large handbag swinging from the crook of her elbow. "She's beautiful." The lady coos.

"Oh, thank you." Eve says. She offers a brief smile, hoping that the exchange won't last. Sherlock is not built for these situations, she can't be sure how volatile he might become when his patience thins. She doesn't need the woman to suffer a cardiac arrest induced by rudeness.

The lady smiles. "How old is she?"

"Uh, four weeks almost." She said, forcing another smile.

"Twenty five days." Sherlock corrects.

Evelyn's smile is real this time.

"Lovely at this age. Make sure you take it all in, the time flies by," the old woman said. Evelyn could have sworn she heard Sherlock's eyes roll. "What's her name?"

"Eloise." Eve replies, and she can feel Sherlock's stare on the back of her neck, urging her to get them out of this obviously terrible situation.

"Oh she is just absolutely darling, isn't she? Very small for a month old!"

"Yes. Twenty five days." Sherlock replies, the words clipped and barely masking his impatience.

Perhaps she gets the hint, because she straightens up, and turns back to Eve. "I'll let you get on," she said. "She's really a very lovely baby. A lovely baby for lovely parents!" She beams, and then, to said parents' relief, totters off.

"I hate when that happens," he says, and he looks over his shoulder, checking the woman is actually walking in a direction away from them. "Why does that always happen?"

"Because we have a small baby? Old people seem to enjoy being in the presence of littluns, makes them have a sense of the future or some other inane reason," she pulls a muslin cloth from the bag hooked onto the pram handle. "Never worse than on the bus or the tube, can't escape in that situation. Matty glared daggers the whole journey at an old couple last month."

Sherlock smirked. "Good lad, that's my boy."

Evelyn laughed quietly, shaking her head. "They mean well, but admittedly this particular occasion was frustrating, kept asking invasive questions."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked, frowning.

"It was nothing, but I was very visibly pregnant, and they kept talking to Matthew like I wasn't there, then telling me 'you ought to be careful with that wriggler around your bump, dear'. I just kinda smiled awkwardly and we eventually got off," she sat down on the bench and held her arms open for Sherlock to hand Eloise over. He dropped in next to her once the transaction was complete, his eyebrows still drawn together. "If I remember correctly they gave me a lecture about how 'Daddy should be around to help at this stage of your pregnancy', and admittedly that pissed me off. Almost snapped to ask if they really thought me so incapable to watch my own toddler."

Sherlock's lips quirked up for a fleeting second. "Hm. Should have."

"Not worth it," she unzipped the side of her jumper and settled Eloise at her chest, dropping her head back when she latched. "God, I'm tired."

Sherlock brushed some hair from her face, smoothing her cheek with the back of his fingers. "Should have skipped the walk today."

"No, it makes me feel normal, getting out the house."