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There was something both equal parts satisfying and terrifying about a truly perplexed Sherlock.
It wasn't often that many could pull such a reaction from the consulting detective, save for the few that baffled him with their "remarkable idiocy" and the like. But to well and truly stump the man, now that was a feat in itself, an honour given to a very select few who were just on the side of clever enough to hold his interest.
To confuse a mind like Sherlock's would have to take a special kind of cunning, so one would think.
This is why you found yourself just as puzzled as he, if not moreso, when you came upon the site before you.
Granted, Sherlock was still trying to get used to the idea of having a child around the flat, especially one that could form words and had a penchant for grabbing anything and everything in sight, no matter the importance to his next experiment. Coupled with the fact that he still hadn't come to terms with said child being his daughter....
"What are you doing?" you finally had the nerve to ask after a few minutes of watching the strange staring contest between father and daughter, one pair of ice-blue eyes narrowed in contemplation as the other pair of equally crystalline eyes gazed up, wide and unblinking. You wondered briefly how long they had been like this before you had taken your attention away from your lunch preparations.
"It keeps staring at me," Sherlock responded in kind, never removing his gaze from the two-year-old toddler.
"I can see that," you answered, arms crossing as you tried to figure out why this situation came across you as amusing. "And you're encouraging her by staring back."
Sherlock scrunch up his face in indignation at your words. This caused the toddler to give a small giggle and a few claps of her tiny hands, something of which seemed to annoy the detective. He acted somewhat put-off by his own offspring's mannerisms.
"It won't stop doing that. What does it want?"
"It has a name, Sherlock. Remember?"
"Anita, yes."
"Alessa," you corrected, watching as your little girl pulled her gaze from her father and placed it on you at the sound of her name, "and all she wants is your attention. She's absolutely smitten with you."
"But why?"
"I don't know," you answered honestly, smiling brightly as Alessa gave her own big grin. The little girl's attention was soon caught by Sherlock once more as he began spouting something along the lines of "ever-changing interest points" and "unnecessary infatuation. "
If you didn't know any better, you'd say Alessa liked Sherlock's voice. She became utterly captivated anytime he began speaking, almost the same way you were when he began spitting out deductions in rapid-fire succession. Like mother, like daughter.
"She's only two," you gave as an argument. "Her interests are constantly changing as her mind grows. If I were you, I'd be happy to be her center of attention before she moves on to something else more...captivating. You'll miss it, you know."
Sherlock remained silent despite his glare of disapproval. You rolled your eyes at his antics and made to pick Alessa up from her position sat before her father.
"Let's go to the kitchen while Daddy has a fit on the floor. Mummy made you sweet peas and chicken for lunch!"
"'ickin peas!" she shouted happily as you placed her in her high-chair with a small portion of appropriately cooled food ready for her to eat. She immediately began picking up the small, bright green vegetable spheres and pushing them into her little mouth, humming contentedly with her meal.
"You're such a good eater for Mummy! Now, if only I could get your father to eat like that."
It was a playful jab at Sherlock's inability to eat like a normal human being, one that he scowled at every time you made to say it. Whether it was the mention of actually eating something, even if he was on a case, or actually giving him the title of father, you hadn't quite figured it out yet. You had, however, caught the man snacking here and there after a bout of your insistence.
The flat stayed relatively silent for the duration of Alessa's lunch period, save for your small coos of encouragement as well as your daughter's own hums and babbles. You were well aware of Sherlock's stare on you the whole time. Each move you made to ensure Alessa had everything she needed, each time Alessa pressed a few pieces of chicken eagerly to your lips in her attempt to share, it was all caught by the detective's very curious and watchful eyes.
"How do you go about it?" Sherlock asked after lunch was finished and you were able to briefly clean up both Alessa and the mess she left behind.
"How do I go about...what?"
"All...this," Sherlock gestured with a wide sweep of his hand. You looked around momentarily before realizing what he meant.
"I suppose I do what most others do. Follow my instincts and trial-and-error. They have books and stuff, too, especially for first-time parents."
"Obviously," Sherlock tutted with a roll of his eyes. You had a feeling if things had been different, he would have been one to go straight for those kinds of books.
"I found one for during the pregnancy that was really helpful. Now, I just take it all in stride, I suppose. Besides, I didn't really have much of a choice, now did I?"
"You did."
You stopped in the middle of wiping down the high-chair to stare at Sherlock, finding his gaze unwavering and ready to gauge your reaction. Was he expecting any reaction in particular?
"Even if you had never jumped off that building, there wouldn't have been any other option. Alessa is my daughter, Sherlock, she was before she ever left my stomach. Being a mother is hard, but it's what I have to do to make sure she gets the best of everything in this world. She deserves at least that much from the broken mess I used to be."
Sherlock gave no immediate response to your explanation, though his eyes did wander to your toddler now placing her stuffed animals around her unsteady tower of blocks. When the blocks finally collapsed into a heaping pile, she fell with it, laughing gleefully before building the tower all over again.
"I'm no good with this sort of thing," Sherlock admitted, a quiet declaration that made you smile warmly.
"I know."
"Children aren't really my area."
"Neither were relationships, and somehow we came out just fine."
"I wouldn't say 'just fine.'"
You gave an amused huff. "Much better than the betting pool thought we'd be. Even after all this time, I never lost faith in you, in us."
"And now?"
You moved to sit beside the crouched detective on the floor, smiling gently. For all his bravado and arrogant ways, Sherlock could be quite the doubter. It surprised you how much he could second-guess himself on the most obvious things, especially when he was nothing short of confident in all that he did.
It was times like these that you wondered how you came to be part of the few people that were able to hold his attention long enough to be of his highest regard. It must have been a miracle, or you had been extremely lucky to ever cross paths with the likes of Sherlock Holmes and actually remain a permanent resident in his ever-changing mind.
"You're the detective. You tell me."
A smile came to his lips then, a small, careful smile that was more genuine than many he gave to the public. It warmed your heart in so many ways to see this man you cared for so dearly open up to you, little by little. Even after three years without him, it felt like nothing had changed as far as progress went.
"You'll be patient with me."
"As I always am," you promised, pressing a loving kiss to his cheek. He accepted the gesture with the slightest quirk to his lips.
Alessa chose this moment to be seen and heard, taking a block from her once more fallen tower and toddling over to you and Sherlock. She gave a beaming smile as she held out her tiny hand to her father, firmly holding tight to the wooden cube and waving it about as if she were filled with barely containable excitement.
"You, you!" she babbled, waiting for Sherlock to take the offered gift. When he hesitated, unsure of what course of action to take, you carefully took hold of his wrist and guided his hand outward, palm up, to receive the toy. Alessa then carefully brought the toy down until it touch his skin, letting go and giving a joyous squeal before running off to pick another block to gift away.
Alessa played this game until all her blocks were given to Sherlock. You watched in wonder as Sherlock began slowly responding to his daughter's delighted gurgles and one-word exclamations with overly-exaggerated smiles and small words of encouragement not unsimilar to the ones you used during lunch time. It wasn't much, but it was a start, and for the first time in almost three years, everything felt whole.