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Something wasn't...quite right in 221B. Everything was still, and it just wasn't quite right for the normally bustling flat.
What was going on, you wondered?
Ah...most of the day had gone so quickly, that was for sure. It all seemed a bit of a blur to you, with something about pale colored ribbons and test tubes?
Okay, start from the beginning; think hard, now....
From what you could remember of the day, John and Mary had come over sometime in the later morning hours, John to assist Sherlock with finishing up a case and Mary to keep you company for the day. It also gave the both of you a chance to go over some of their wedding plans, as you had sworn to help in any way you could.
Unfortunately, it had also been a day where Alessa was particularly restless. Your little one had captured Mary's attention for a good bit when she and John first arrived, but after he and Sherlock left, Alessa became bored with all the cooing and coddling and decided to get into anything and everything she could. So, while you and Mary caught up and went over the latest details of her big day, you attempted to sway little hands into keeping to their toys instead of Sherlock's vials and beakers, some still half-filled with God-knows-what, on the kitchen table.
Her attention was never on one thing for too long, and while you had grown used to her ever-changing interests, even prided yourself in knowing what she would go to next, today was a day you could barely keep up with her rapidly changing interests.
"My, she's getting so big and independent," you remember Mary saying as you swooped down to retrieve your terrorizing tyke from playing in the ashes that lingered in the fireplace. She had already found a way to sabotage her father's experiment by adding some of her applejuice to one of the test tubes while your back was turned, something of which you did not look forward to telling Sherlock when he returned. The last thing you needed then was black fingerprints everywhere else.
"She's usually not so rampant as she's been this afternoon. I don't know what's gotten into her today."
"Not to worry," she assured with a wave of her hand, attempting and succeeding for that moment in gaining Alessa's attention. "All little ones are rambunctious. I almost envy how well you're doing keeping up with both her and her father."
"Sometimes I can't tell which one's more of a child."
You both shared a laugh then and continued prattling after that, you jotting a list of things that needed to be purchased for the wedding and learning Mary's preferences while tittering about the flat in hopes of decreasing Alessa's destruction.
After lunch, you tried setting your daughter down for a nap, but after an hour by herself in her room upstairs with nothing but the sound of imaginative chatter floating through the cracked door, it was obvious Alessa was completely wound up for the day.
Mary made a suggestion then to go out for a bit, and at that moment, it sounded like a great idea. So you set about bundling up Alessa in warmer clothing in hopes that a little fresh air would do everyone a bit of good.
The plan was to walk about, possibly visit some shops for a few more ideas, but after the first stop at a little boutique that specialized in dresses and the like, it was clear that your little spitfire was not in the mood to be still for too long. She had you, Mary, and one of the employees chasing her around the shop, a trail of pink and blue ribbons flowing behind her in her triumph of eluding everyone. You couldn't apologize enough for the chaotic mess, though the employee found Alessa rather funny and quite adorable, which worked out in your favor.
The trip back to the flat was just as chaotic as the rest of the day had been, and for one, terrifying moment you thought you had lost your daughter in the crowded streets of London. Mary found her just as you began to panic, talking animatedly to a couple sat not but a few feet away. You swooped her up in a hurry and thanked the smiling couple for keeping her occupied, all the while kissing at her curly head and reprimanding her on disappearing like she had. You had even carried her back the rest of the way to 221B, in case she decided to make a break for it again.
It was safe to say you were more than happy to be back home where it was much easier for you to keep your eyes on Alessa. You remember putting her down in front of her pile of stuffed animals on the floor just in front of the sofa, Mary taking John's chair as you occupied yourself on the couch, legs up on the cushions and your back supported by the armrest.
Mary had made a comment, something about the adults getting tuckered out by a three-year-old tycoon, and you couldn't recall if you had answered or not. Actually, you couldn't recall much of anything after that, as you had promptly passed out.
You looked about you once more, noticing odd things that your hazy mind was still trying to process, such as the quiet of the flat, the darkened sky just outside the window, the absence of Alessa....
The...the absence of Alessa....
You sat up abruptly and looked around more closely, the haze of sleep lifting in your sudden jolt of realization. Alessa was nowhere to be seen; actually, no one was anywhere around, which should have made you panic even more. Instead, you were more curious than worried.
When you stood up and walked about the flat a moment, you realized why. Sherlock was home and most likely had been for a while; his coat was hanging at the door, as was his scarf, and the table in the kitchen had been cleaned up, save for a small collection of beakers and a Bunsen burner in the center. Alessa was most likely with him, but where had they run off to?
You checked in your room first only to find an empty bed. The next course of action was to check Alessa's room upstairs, and with a look at the time you were more confident you would find them both there.
The first sound you were aware of was your daughter's laughter as you ascended the steps, her light giggling filtering through the slightly cracked door. Sherlock's voice followed soon after, a steady stream of baritone-laced words, and you were somewhat surprised by the details of which he was giving. It almost sounded like he was telling a story, a bedtime story that sounded oddly familiar...
You pushed open the door quietly and leaned against its frame, content to watch as Sherlock made animated hand gestures along with his story. It was actually a retelling of one of his recent cases, something to do with flies and a decomposing body, and while it was all quite facinating, it was hardly the best story for a three-year-old ready for bed.
Alessa was entranced by her father's words, either way. The poor thing was wide-eyed and quiet as could be, sticking to each word as if Sherlock held the secrets to life itself. It was the same look she gave him nearly anytime he went on long spiels or began mass-deducing things. She loved her father's voice, so it was effortless to gain her attention anytime he wanted it.
If not for the few times her head would drift to the side before she righted herself once again, you would have never guessed she was completely exhausted.
Oh, how thrilled you were to know that!
"...so I was able to conclude the body had been in that room for nearly two weeks, given that temperature changes were only slight with its proper ventilation. The only suspect around during that time would have been Jeffrey Lamar."
"The teacher?" Alessa supplied, though the end of her question sounded like there was a W tacked on after the R. Sherlock seemed unphased by the mispronunciation, at least for the moment, and nodded.
"He was the only suspect within a close enough range to have dealt such extensive damage before stashing the body away. His ultimate mistake was dousing the body in bleach four days before it was found, as it killed a portion of the larvae and set the appropriate timeframe of which decomposition began."
Alessa gave a nod as if she understood, and something in you believed that some part of her young brain probably did.
"Well, that sounded like a wonderful story," you chimmed in, smiling as Alessa sat up straighter and gave a wide, tired grin.
"Mumma!"
You moved to her bedside and crouched on the side not occupied by her father, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple. You then cut your eyes to Sherlock, smiling despite your want to chastise his choice in story material.
"Was that seriously the first case you thought of as a bedtime story?"
"I had a list of options; this one was more...mild, as you would say, while still retaining an interesting plot base."
You shook your head at your significant other before Alessa took your attention, doing her best to explain parts of the story she had just been told. When she finally gave in to a big yawn she had been holding back, possibly for quite some time, you shushed her and gently pushed her back to rest against her pillow.
"You can tell me the rest tomorrow, sweetheart. Now, I think it's time for this overactive mind to rest for the night."
Alessa giggled as you bopped her forehead gently with a fingertip, and with another big yawn leaving her, she snuggled further into the comfort of her bed. You hummed lightly for a moment as you fully tucked her in, making sure to place her favorite stuffed lion next to her head.
"Love you, Mumma."
"Love you more, Lessy."
She turned her drooping eyes to Sherlock before they closed of their own accord.
"Love you, Papa."
Sherlock was at a loss of words at the sentiment. He chose to remain quiet in that moment and, instead, carefully ran the back of his fingers over a small, pudgy cheek. Alessa's lips twitched up slightly, though the lilt of a smile lasted only a moment before she slipped fully into slumber.
It was a moment that took your breath away, made your heart swell with how much love you felt for your small family, and if you hadn't taken that impromptu nap earlier, you feel that your emotional state would have crumbled until you were a happy, sobbing mess on the floor.
After ushering Sherlock out of the room and making sure Alessa's night light was on, you pulled the door closed and met with the consulting detective in the kitchen. He was busying himself with studying the few samples he had kept from his experiment, though you were able to recognize the signs of what he was really doing.
"Hey," you called out, though he remained busy with preparing some slide samples and fidgeting with his microscope of which seemed to appear out of thin air. You waited patiently as he continued the motions, though he wasn't fully committed to what he was examining at that moment.
"Mary informed me that you were not to be roused, so I took it upon myself to assure your nightly schedule for Alessa was kept to accordingly."
You weren't expecting any sort of explanation for anything, so you were surprised that he had thought he needed to.
"You did very good," you said, his gaze fleeting from his slides to glance at you. He looked as if he didn't quite believe you, so you elaborated a bit more.
"Thank you for taking over for the evening, really. Up there, that was as still as I've seen her all day. I've been chasing after her all afternoon, I hardly realized how exhausted I was."
"I've memorized the schedule; it's hardly worth praise."
He was back to studying his current slide, though he continued speaking.
"Dinner was relatively easy; she's quite fond of pasta-based meals, so I...improvised."
"You got takeaway, didn't you?"
"Then it was her bath," Sherlock continued as if you hadn't interrupted, "which proved more difficult as she was adamant on the blue bubble soap instead of the green; a ridiculous and unnecessary argument followed that turned in her favor. After that, it was a story before bed, as you always do."
"I actually switch every other night between stories and a song. Story night was last night."
"Singing was out of the question. Mainly because she found it funny when I tried."
You gave a small chuckle at the information.
"Well, in any case, she looked like she really enjoyed your tale. Granted, we'll need to have a talk about what subject matter is appropriate for her age. Last thing we want to deal with is a nightmare."
Sherlock gave a short hum at what you said, an acknowledgement of a conversation for another time. Afterwards, the flat fell into silence, with you watching Sherlock as he fiddled with dials and switched through multiple slides. You weren't sure how long you were both like that, left in limbo of things still needing to be said.
"Sherlock," you called quietly, but just like your first greeting, he ignored you in favor of the task at hand. You sighed and walked over to the detective, just now realizing how tense he was.
You gave a soft smile as you reached up, carefully threading your fingers through the thick mop of dark curls on Sherlock's head. The light action had the detective visibly shudder, and after a few more careful swipes, the tension in his shoulders had finally relented. He was no longer focused on the slides, no longer attempting to hide behind his experiment. He was allowing you to pick him apart in only the way you knew how.
You couldn't help but to lean down and place a gentle kiss to his lips as he looked up at you with unusually expressive eyes, allowing the touch to linger a moment before breaking apart. You were stopped from completely pulling away by Sherlock himself, who pulled you back into a much firmer kiss. It was an action of vulnerability, of not knowing how to process what he was feeling or how to express it properly. At that moment, he was grounding himself with you, and you were more than happy to be his anchor when he felt he would float away, lost in a sea of confusing, conflicting emotions he wasn't sure how to put together.
When he finally pulled away, his carefully constructed mask of indifference had returned, though his gaze still held a torrent of uncertainty.
"She knows," you said simply, and it was enough to put whatever termoil he was in to rest, at least for the time being. You hoped to put that unease to rest for good.
"You clever man, you. Of course she knows. She loves you so much already. You've both come a long way in the few months you've known each other, and for every day that passes, she'll love you even more."
"I can't...I don't know how to say it," Sherlock confessed quietly, if a bit frustrated with himself.
"You'll figure it out. Tonight was a good start, and it can only get better from here."
That seemed to be what he needed to hear, and with yet another, more chaste kiss, he was back to looking at his slides, this time much more focused and level-headed to take in the information presented to him.
You gave a contented smile as you moved to the fridge for a late dinner, intending to make a sandwhich to appease your grumbling stomach. To your surprise, there was a full takeaway box with your favorite inside. It was even placed on the top rack instead of the center, where a few bagged fingers and what looked like a human liver resided, meaning some thought had been put into making sure you wouldn't have to do any extra work for the rest of the night.
Yes, things could only get better from here.