I Had No Idea You Spoke Infant

I Had No Idea You Spoke Infant

Holmes recognized that he made it a habit of going to the ring after a fight with John. No matter how much it wasn’t his fault, Holmes still felt guilty. He would always make John’s usual bets, hoping that the sudden increase of money would help the doctor get over his anger. Holmes realized that his guilt was erroneous. Why should he feel guilty, or even apologize, when he had done nothing wrong?

But John’s face…

The expression of hurt and pain that flashed across those handsome features killed Holmes every time his perfect memory brought it to the forefront of his mind. Holmes knew, at some point, an apology was necessary, if only to appease John.

John.

The doctor hadn’t been ‘dear old Watson’ in Holmes’ mind for a long, long while. Holmes had figured out, very quickly, that he loved his partner. Words couldn’t describe how hurt Holmes was when he found out about Mary. Mary, who was so perfect and blonde-haired and blue-eyed and everything Holmes was not. Although Holmes and Mary never truly got along, they agreed on one thing: making John happy. Mary did it much better than Holmes, who only served to annoy the man, but the doctor was happy. Mary’s subsequent death during childbirth was almost as sad as her arrival into John’s life in the first place. Holmes hadn’t gotten along with her, but she made John happy. Her death hurt John and John’s pain hurt Holmes.

Somehow, this time, the pain that flashed across John’s face didn’t make Holmes want to fight. The detective didn’t go the ring. He didn’t place any bets. He watched the doctor storm out of the house, calmly considering how best to fix it. He considered continuing his experiments on Gladstone, but John would only complain and yell at him later. Holmes got up and walked into the nursery, where little baby Mary slept. Holmes knew that the only reason John hadn’t spiraled into a deep depression was sleeping in the crib. The girl, named after her mother, looked so much like her father that Holmes would stare into her grey-blue eyes, looking for answers to help him figure John out.

Mary abruptly woke up, crying.

Unconsciously, Holmes picked up the baby gently and rocked her, trying to sooth her. Mrs. Hudson, who had become a nanny for little Mary, hurried into the room and froze. Holmes let the infant grab his fingers and gum on them. He smiled at the baby, who had calmed down and was trying to teeth on his fingers and glanced over at Mrs. Hudson.

“She needs a bottle.” He said, quietly. It bothered John to all ends that Holmes knew exactly what the baby wanted by the way she cried. Mrs. Hudson, a mother, was one thing, but Holmes, who avoided children on principle, was another thing entirely.

“I’ll warm it up.” Mrs. Hudson disappeared. Mary teethed on Holmes’ fingers for another few minutes before shoving them away and crying hysterically. Holmes rocked her, shushing her gently. He paid far more attention to the baby than John suspected and had learned, through Mrs. Hudson’s actions, how to calm the baby. Plus, he read books on rearing children. Granted, many of them had very ridiculous and false notions of child psychology as well as the idea of –

“Here.” Mrs. Hudson reappeared and handed him a bottle and a towel. Holmes draped the towel on his shoulder and helped Mary find the nipple to the bottle. Holmes looked up again and Mrs. Hudson had disappeared. He sat down in the rocking chair, rocking gently as Mary ate her fill. When she finished, he put her against his shoulder and rubbed her back soothingly. Unfortunately, she spat up all over the part of his shoulder that was not covered by the towel. Holmes sighed and put Mary back in her crib before taking his shirt off. He eyed her dirty clothes and decided that she would be more comfortable without them. Gingerly, he helped her out of her clothes and gave up on the idea of putting her in clean ones. Holmes left the bottle and the dirty clothes in the nursery and took Mary downstairs into the sitting room.

“Well, at least you’re not mad at me.” Holmes said to the baby. She gurgled her baby giggle in response. Holmes smiled and sat down on the floor with her. They played a game of peek-a-boo for a long while before Mrs. Hudson walked in with the newspaper.

“Newspaper, Mr. Holmes.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.” Holmes picked up the paper and Mary grabbed at it eagerly. “You want to read the paper?” He eyed the baby. “I didn’t think you cared for politics, Miss Watson.” Mary gurgled again and Holmes handed over one page with a shrug. Mary squealed happily and crinkled up the paper. A couple of times she tried to put it in her mouth, but Holmes kept her from doing so. He knew ink was not good for anybody, especially a baby. At one point, Holmes had to take the piece of paper away from her.

“Ah!” Mary whined. She had started saying “da” in reference to John whenever John was present, much to the doctor’s delight, but “ah” was by far her favorite word. She liked “na” very much as well.

“No eating.” Holmes said, knowing full well the baby would do what she wanted. Mary grabbed at the paper, tearing it with a loud ripping sound. Mary started giggling hysterically, falling from her sitting position. Holmes felt a grin pull at his lips and eyed her carefully. He helped her sit up and held another piece of paper out. Mary grabbed at it, ripping the page again. Immediately, she burst out laughing, making Holmes actually grin.

---

Watson was so frustrated with Sherlock, he couldn’t even think straight. He stormed out of the house, trying to work past his emotions and get to the root of the problem. Watson knew that if he worked everything out in his head, in his own time, he would be much better off and more resilient to Sherlock’s attempts to annoy him. Watson walked to the park nearby and strolled around, deep in his thoughts. He knew Sherlock would be headed to the ring any moment, placing bets for Watson and fighting people to his heart’s content. Watson didn’t like it because Sherlock always ended up injured.

But Sherlock’s attitude…

It killed Watson inside, knowing that Sherlock didn’t care about his person in the least. He had already faked his own death beautifully, causing no end of problems within Scotland Yard. Sherlock didn’t realize how important he was to Watson. And there was the answer. The real crux of the problem was that Sherlock was totally and completely clueless.

Sherlock.

The good doctor couldn’t think of the detective as platonically as he used to. Mary’s death had hurt, deeply, but his healthy young daughter had helped that scar mend. But Sherlock’s refusal to take care of himself was hurting Watson more and more until Watson had figured it out. He loved Sherlock. After everything they had gone through and all the injuries and murder attempts they had survived and all the criminals they had thrown behind bars, Watson knew that Sherlock wasn’t just his friend. Sherlock was everything to him.

He knew that Mary and Sherlock had never gotten along, but they both tried their hardest to keep John happy. Mary was kind and loving and provided Watson with the stability of a family and home. Sherlock was logical and absurd and gave Watson all the intellectual stimulation he craved. They both fulfilled Watson’s needs, and baby Mary took on the mantle of being family for Watson when her mother died. Watson knew that all he needed in his life was his precious little girl and Sherlock.

He had been trying for months to get Sherlock to notice his feelings. The detective was observant to a fault, and yet he couldn’t notice Watson’s attempts at letting his feelings known. Watson was so angry with Sherlock for not noticing the one thing he should and then holding no regard for his own safety. Sherlock was always impulsive and childlike in his attention, yet, with all his intelligence and logic, he couldn’t understand how fundamentally important he was to Watson. Sherlock’s faked death killed Watson inside.

Watson decided he should just tell Sherlock explicitly. It was possible that the detective wouldn’t make fun of him about it. Watson had no doubt in his mind he was important to Sherlock, but that didn’t mean the feelings were mutual. Maybe Sherlock would still let Watson stay even knowing about the love Watson held for the detective.

Mind made up, Watson walked back to Baker Street, screwing up his courage to face Sherlock. He had moved back in with Sherlock after Mary died. He couldn’t afford the house by himself and Mrs. Hudson was more than willing to help him care for his little girl. Watson decided to visit Mary first. His baby would help him solidify his decision to tell Sherlock. He walked in the house and hung up his coat and hat. Mrs. Hudson hurried into the hall, a finger pressed to her lips. Watson frowned and she beckoned him inside.

“Mr. Holmes and Mary are napping in the sitting room.” She whispered.

“What?” Watson tried to make sense of what he just heard.

“Mr. Holmes fed Mary just after you left and they were playing for a long while until they both fell asleep on the couch.” Mrs. Hudson said.

“Really?” Watson blinked.

“Don’t wake Mary. And don’t startle Mr. Holmes into waking her.” Mrs. Hudson ordered quietly, giving Watson a glare. Watson nodded obediently and walked silently into the sitting room. He froze in the doorway and took in the scene.

There were torn bits of newspaper all over the room, like someone had ripped it to shreds. The paper was everywhere except on the couch. A shirtless Sherlock was sprawled on his back on the couch with little Mary, dressed only in her diaper, sleeping on his chest. She was curled up over his heart and his hands held her in place gently. It was the most bizarre and adorable thing Watson had ever seen. Gingerly, Watson stepped through the room, trying to avoid crinkling the paper loudly. Sherlock’s eyes snapped open and his dazed brown eyes bore into Watson, making his heart stop.

“Ah, John.” Sherlock rubbed Mary’s back gently and slowly sat up, still cradling her. “You’ve returned. How was your walk through the park?”

“I…” John couldn’t focus on anything besides the image of a shirtless Sherlock holding his precious girl like she was his own. He sat down next to Sherlock on the couch. “What?”

“Mary was hungry, so I fed her. Mrs. Hudson was not prompt enough for her. Then, she didn’t want to go back to sleep, so I entertained her until she fell asleep.” Sherlock said, in his matter-of-fact tone.

“You could have given her to Mrs. Hudson.” John suggested.

“Nonsense. Shifting an infant around while she is sleeping is counterproductive as the heartbeat is what lulls infants to comfort. Removing the heartbeat prevents truly restful sleep.” Sherlock said. Mary yawned and squirmed in Sherlock’s arms until her beautiful blue-grey eyes opened and focused on John.

“Da!” She squealed happily and held out her chubby arms. Sherlock dutifully handed the baby over and John cradled her, unable to stop the silly grin that covered his features every time he held her. When he looked up from his daughter, he saw a similarly dorky grin on Sherlock’s face that disappeared almost instantly.

“You care about her.” John said. Sherlock blinked.

“Pardon?”

“You care about Mary. That’s why you took care of her this afternoon. That’s why you have that ridiculous smile on your face.” John said.

“Don’t be ridiculous, John.” Sherlock sniffed in his impetuous and haughty tone.

“You’re the one refusing to admit that you played with my daughter for fun because you thought it was adorable.” John shrugged. Mary spotted Sherlock again and held out her chubby arms.

“Ba!” She demanded. John and Sherlock stared at her. She turned back to John. “Da!” She ordered. “Ba!”

“I think you’re ‘ba’.” John said.

“Absurd.” Sherlock said, though his heart bubbled with happiness.

“Ba!” Mary whined, squirming in John’s grasp. John handed the baby over and she squealed happily. Sherlock avoided the smug, knowing look from John. “Na ah ah na.” Mary said, matter-of-factly.

“I see.” Sherlock said seriously. “I never considered that possibility, Miss Watson.”

“Na na, Ba!” Mary gurgled. “Da! Da!”

“Of course, miss.” Sherlock handed the girl back. “She would like to speak with you, John.”

“Hello, darling.” John smiled at his daughter.

“Da, na ah, Ba, na ah ah ah.” Mary said.

“Mary, be nice to Sherlock.” John said, solemnly. “He doesn’t mean everything he says.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

“Na na, Ba.” Mary replied.

“Well, it’s not his fault he won’t admit he loves you.” John nuzzled his daughter’s cheek affectionately.

“Ba!” Mary looked at Sherlock, accusingly.

“I had no idea you spoke infant.” Sherlock glowered at the doctor. John laughed.

“She doesn’t like it when you lie to yourself.” John was grinning.

“Well, then, I’ll have to stop doing that.” Sherlock said, looking into Mary’s eyes. “I solemnly swear, Miss Watson, I will refrain from lying to myself anymore.” Sherlock looked up at John, who was startled by Sherlock’s abrupt sincerity. “John…”

“You’ve been calling me that since I got back.” John said, shifting Mary in his arms.

“Of course.” Sherlock said. “I’m not going to lie to myself anymore. That being said, I have to be completely honest with myself, and by extension, you.”

“Sherlock…” John was suddenly very nervous. Sherlock leaned forward and kissed the doctor deeply and desperately. John gasped as Sherlock pulled back, a slight flush on his cheeks.

“I love you, John Watson.” Sherlock said. “I love everything about you. I adore Mary and her laugh and it’s completely irrational and ridiculous, but I don’t care anymore. Based on your dilated pupils and shortness of breath, you likely were aroused by the kiss, which I considered but didn’t think was statistically probable–” John kissed Sherlock.

“Shut up.” John murmured against Sherlock’s lips.

“Is that the good doctor’s orders?” Sherlock mumbled back.

“Yes.” Mercifully, Sherlock shut up and accepted the kiss gratefully.

“Ba! Da! Ah ah na ah!” Mary whined from between their chests. They had both unconsciously kept enough space between themselves for the infant to fit comfortably and they both looked down at her. She sneezed and stared at them.

“What is it, sweetheart?” John asked the baby. She whined wordlessly for a moment before bursting into tears.

“What did you do to her?” Mrs. Hudson burst into the room.

“Nothing, Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock said. “She needs to be changed.”

“I’ll take care of that, thank you.” The woman snatched the infant from John and cradled her gently, cooing softly to the wailing baby as she walked upstairs to Mary’s room.

“I don’t think she likes that you took over her job.” John said.

“Ridiculous.” Sherlock replied. “She was grateful earlier when I took care of Mary. Her pupils were dilated and she entered the room far too quickly for someone who wasn’t waiting at the door. Mrs. Hudson was likely eavesdropping and decided to take Mary off of our hands to give us some privacy.”

“Sherlock, we’re not having sex with the baby in the house.” John said, knowing where the detective was headed.

“Why not? This way, we are far more likely to hear her if she starts crying and we’re closer to her so we can get to her quickly.” Sherlock reasoned.

“No.”

“What? Why?”

“No.”

“I think you’re being entirely unreasonable, John.”

“I don’t think it’s an unreasonable expectation to keep my innocent child away from that nonsense.” John frowned at Sherlock, who looked entirely too much like a kicked puppy for John’s taste.

“So, when would you expect us to be able to have sex with Mary in the house?” Sherlock asked. “Because she’s not going out socializing on her own for quite a while.”

“Sherlock…” John sighed, looking at the detective with a frown.

“You want me to be chaste until she’s married, don’t you?” Sherlock sighed.

“You’ve been plenty chaste up until now.” John pointed out.

“False, but that is inconsequential.” Sherlock waved it away. John gave Sherlock a look and the detective sighed. “I was testing out some theories; it was nothing. The point is: I never believed I would ever want someone enough to be faithful to them and now that it’s happened, I don’t know how I will survive without sex.”

“You just want to experience sex with another man because you’ve never done that before.”

“That is entirely beside the point.”

---

I’m actually rather proud of the dialogue in this thing. Writing for Sherlock Holmes is always a bit daunting, but this was a fun little thing I wrote in the middle of class (don’t do that if you value your grades) and I thought you lovely folks might enjoy it!

Reviewers get brownies!

Thanks, my lovelies!

~LP