AN: Brief future fic of a potentially OOC Sherlock, because he's not quite so sociopathic in the books as everyone seems to think him.
Sherlock Holmes had been accused, by one of his many psychiatrists, psychologists, counsellors and therapists, of being incapable of recognising beauty in any form. They'd despaired of him, despised him for picking out the flaws in every widely-accepted thing of beauty they'd shown him. Great works of art, stunning vistas, even remarkable, universally attractive women – none of it had garnered his interest on any level that may have been considered normal.
But even he could recognise the inherent beauty of this particular scene.
She was lovely. She stayed very quiet, watching him curiously with wide blue eyes, her fair hair soft and glowing slightly in the lamplight. She was smaller than he'd expected, although he shouldn't have been expecting her to be very big at all.
There was a very pretty softness about her, in her almost pearly skin and her rosy cheeks, and the automatic smile on her delicate features when he brushed the tips – just the tips – of his fingers through that soft, downy hair.
"She's something, isn't she?" John said from his place by the door, arms folded and the smallest of grins on his face.
Sherlock was dimly aware of John's shock at his words, at the surprise in his friend's eyes, but he found that he didn't really care. Instead, he was vaguely worried about something.
"You want me to be her godfather? Are you sure?"
John laughed quietly and came into the room to stand with Sherlock beside his daughter's crib.
"Yes, I do. There are some rules, though – like no using her to blag your way onto crime scenes. Or in experiments. In fact, for the next eighteen years, experiments outside a secure laboratory environment are banned. And as for keeping that skull…"
Mary stood outside the nursery, watching John and Sherlock hover at the crib. She'd always found the sight of the two together hilarious, if only because of how they dressed. Even here, having been invited to their home for dinner and to meet their newborn daughter, Sherlock was dressed in one of his exquisite suits and silk shirts – his ridiculously expensive Belstaff coat had been flung carelessly over the back of John's leather reading chair, along with that cashmere scarf – and he was ever-watchful… Although that might have been something to do with the mute adoration Mary had seen in his eyes as soon as he'd seen the baby.
John, meanwhile, was wearing his rattiest old jumper and a pair of trousers so worn they were practically see-through at the knees. His shoes alone would once have been enough to make Sherlock cringe, but now…
"What's her name?"
The low rumble of Sherlock's voice seemed to please the baby, because she gurgled brightly when he spoke. She only did that for people she liked.
"We're torn between Harriet and Simone."
John's sister, who'd killed herself with alcohol just six weeks before the baby was born, and Mary's own mother, who'd died in a hit-and-run just a year ago.
"Simone is better," Sherlock said, his voice still quiet and his fingertips still brushing through the baby's hair. "Calling her Harriet is just asking for her to be a tomboy."
Mary smiled – Sherlock knew how to get his way. Everyone knew that John had wanted either a boy to mould into a real little chap, to bring to rugby matches and to do manly things with, like DIY, or a girl who he could spoil rotten and treat like a princess. A tomboy simply wouldn't do.
Sherlock looked down at baby Simone Watson, as fascinated by her as she apparently was by him, and began cataloguing all the different childcare manuals he was going to have to buy if he was going to be a good godfather and not run the risk of disappointing John and earning Mary's ire. He'd never had anything to do with children before, but he was good at everything he put his mind to, wasn't he?
"Simone it is then," John said with a small laugh. Then his face was suddenly serious. "But I mean it about the experiments, Sherlock – if I find that you've put anything anywhere near her, I'll shoot you. And then I'll let Mary at you."