The Holmes Called A [Sherlaide III]

Lulling [A]

Two Weeks Later

"Okay, it's alright, dearie. Mummy's here, Mira..," I say in my most soothing voice, hurrying over to the cot and lifting her into my arms, "I know, it's time for your feed."

She cries louder in response and I continue to rock her and croon softly as I carry her to the kitchen to get the newly prepped bottle from the counter and begin her afternoon feeding. In seconds, she calms right down and contents herself with sucking down the milk. I'm so glad she's starting to regulate to the routines we've put into place. But she is already showing how particular she is- not unlike her father. The thought, accompanying my already present smile from watching Mirabella, makes me grin. Sherlock will be giddy to come home and have cuddle time with her. Especially since he's been at the Yard all afternoon) figuring out a plan of action for the Media Crisis on our hands.

After moving into the living room and sitting down on the futon next to Teddy I refocus on my baby girl. I stroke her tiny curls of dark hair, carefully smoothing them out. Whereas Sherlock's curls are stubbornly wild, most of the family thinks Mirabella's will be wavier and more light like mine. Which, hopefully, would mean less drama down the line with doing her hair. Curls can be the devil to deal with, I muse to myself.

It certainly is entertaining when Sherlock is having a bad hair day. He's sacrificed quite a few combs to experiments on those occasions out of frustration. The thought and subsequent images make me laugh aloud, immediately catching Mirabella's attention. Her simultaneously curious and disturbed face makes me chuckle more and I smile warmly as I adjust the bottle for her, "You definitely get that look from your father, Mirabella."

"Well she is a Holmes, Lovey. It is hereditary."

I look up to find Sherlock leaning on the door jam, "How long have you been standing there, Darling?"

"Long enough to hear you giggling at my expense, most likely," He answers while walking over and perching beside us, "It has been a while since I've heard genuine laughter from you, Angel."

We share a kiss and he continues; "It is wonderful to hear you laugh, Adelaide. I've missed it."

I meet his gaze and feel a pang through my heart, unable to ignore my husband's overwhelming exhaustion despite the evident joy in his eyes. But I know neither of us want to ruin the mood by breaching the issue now, so I inhale and respond jokingly, "How could I not laugh when the image I have in my mind is of you cursing every hair implement in existence while trying to manage those curls of yours?"

He snorts in response and slips his arm around me, "Then I am glad to have been the reason you laughed. No matter how humiliating it is when I must do battle with my own hair."

We laugh and are interrupted by Mirabella, who's finished her milk and is ready to be burped and put down for her nap. I insist on taking the bottle and cleaning it so I can enjoy watching Sherlock and Mirabella together. It really is sweet watching them. He all but melts when he's holding and interacting with her, and more than anything I want them to bond well so Sherlock doesn't drive himself insane agonizing over whether he's going ever going to be a truly good father to her.

As I'm putting the bottle away and rummaging around, thinking about what to throw together for dinner, I hear Sherlock get up and walk out of the living room. I turn around in time to see him walking towards the bedroom, speaking softly and rocking her gently. He sees me and a tinge of pink appears in his cheeks for a second before he smiles, "I'm going to get her to bed now, Lovey. Come with?"

"Of course." I follow him in so we can change Mirabella and dress her in a sleeper onesie. Naturally we are as careful as possible so we don't upset our baby girl. Nevertheless, she still gets fussy about it being bedtime, but a violin lullaby and rocking session is all it takes before she calms down and drifts into dreamland. Sherlock and I stay with her for a few minutes before heading back into the kitchen to eat.

As he often does, Sherlock walks up behind me while I'm cooking a couple chicken breasts in the skillet and snakes his arms around me. When he leans his cheek against mine and sighs I know he is mulling over something, so I hum; "What is it, Darling? Did something come up while you were at the Yard?"

He tightens his hold on me, "Just Donovan again. She was being her usual cynical  self today."

"Are you sure it isn't anything else, Sherlock?"

He presses a long kiss to my jaw before whispering, "I can't discuss the rest with you, Adelaide. Not yet."

I sigh, tilting my head to peck a kiss on his nose, "Sherlock, I need to know. It's neither healthy nor fair that you are keeping everything about what happened to yourself."

"I know. Just, not right yet, Love."

"Sherlock, please. I have waited for over two weeks now. It is grating on my nerves to not know the whole of it- especially what all I put you through."

He does not respond, so I take a breath and finish up with the chicken so we can eat and then get to bed. Even though I know he has not been sleeping so that he can make make sure neither me nor Mirabella have complications overnight.

He makes general conversation over dinner and skillfully evades any further inquiry from me. I finally relent, unwilling to pressure him too much before he's ready to open up. As far as he's come, he still has difficulty processing his more poignant emotions.

Unable to do much else about the elephant in the room, I decide to leave the matter until another day and just enjoy some snuggle time with Sherlock- not minding as he begins a speech about how he can determine whether a blood sample had been previously frozen for storage. By the time he gets to the chemical agents he uses to identify conditions in blood cells, his soothing tone and warmth have lulled me to sleep.

Hey, everyone!! Sorry I made you wait so long but I hope you all enjoyed it!! 😘💕