astudyinholmes - - SHERLOCK
@mollv liked for a starter.
waking up brings instant pain, and he regrets passing out on Molly’s sofa. but it felt good to sleep, despite the ache in his bones. sleep had not been an easy thing for him as of late, what between adjusting to life as a single parent and getting used to the abrupt absence of his wife. but the woman at the mortuary, Molly Hooper, she’d turned out to be a big help.
with a groan, he sits up and a blanket falls off him. she must have covered him up, too. eyes scan the unfamiliar territory, searching for his infant-daughter. but neither she nor Molly are in sight, and he presumes the child is either asleep or in the care of the woman. recent weeks had proven Molly trustworthy, and he felt little concern for the first morning in quite some time.
checking his watch, he sees it’s early, and quietly wanders around to look for one of two thing, a) his daughter or b) a toilet. whichever comes first, he decides, staying quiet until he knows if he’s at risk of waking anyone. coming into the kitchen, he leans on the doorframe.
Sherlock must have been WELL AND TRULY spent of all energy if the wails of a child booming in the little apartment didn’t wake him up. But they did pull Molly out of her sleep. And so she found herself half running half tip-toeing to the guest room where the cot for Sherlock’s daughter was put, all thoughts of sleep going out through the window. It had to be some sort of motherly instinct, right? Even if she didn’t have children of her own, this had to be something developed over centuries of evolution, a trait she didn’t know she had until presented with a child.
It proved to be quite a task to figure out what Meridian wanted —— instincts or not, the universe didn’t provide her with VAST KNOWLEDGE of how to take care of babies —— but eventually the wails turned to displeased whining turned to silence interrupted here and there with soft chapping as the girl suckled on a bottle with warm baby formula.
Creak of leather sofa, an audible male groan and Molly’s whispering to the girl about her father being awake. Would her hands NOT be occupied, she would set out to brew some fresh coffee, alas that is not the case, and she remains standing where she stood, slowly swaying the little bundle in her arms.
jbbartram-illu
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