Anonymous said: Our children are best friends au. Sherlolly. On ff.net here and AO3 here. Rated K. Enjoy!
“Lydia really loves playing with Simon.”
Sherlock Holmes, single father and unwilling playground chaperone for the day, glanced over at the woman who’d just spoken. A single parent as well, the husband unfaithful and tossed out for good a year ago. Medical professional, confident of her skills but socially awkward as evidenced by the fact that she had yet to look at him although he was the person she was speaking to. Also by the way her hands were nervously twisting the hem of her white cherry-patterned cardigan, which showed signs of having been previously abused in the exact same manner.
Lydia was the four-year-old currently helping his son (whose mother had left the two of them after deciding that marriage and parenting weren’t for her when Simon was almost a year old) get himself into the rocking-bee-on-a-spring ride. As soon as he was perched on the metal saddle, she clapped her hands and jumped up and down, encouraging him to rock back and forth and set the ride into motion.
Her mother started speaking again, the words coming out fast and nervous, probably due to his lack of a response to her initial overture. “She says he’s her best friend, that he’s very smart and once made an older boy cry when he was picking on her because of her lisp. She tells me something about him every day after school, it’s hard to get her to talk about anything else!” She gave a nervous laugh. “Every other word is ‘Simon says this’ and ‘Simon says that’. It’s like she’s playing the game constantly, I tease her about it and she just rolls her eyes and says ‘Mummy don’t make jokes’ and I…”
She ran out of breath as he turned to look at her, absently noting that it had taken far longer for that to happen than he’d calculated. She was blushing now, her cheeks pink. “I’m sorry, I tend to ramble. I’m Molly Hooper, by the way. Lydia’s mum.” She thrust her hand at him, then started to withdraw it almost immediately, as if she expected him to ignore it.
He reached out and took her hand firmly in his. “Sherlock Holmes, Simon’s dad, but you already know that. He talks about Lydia all the time, too, seems very fond of her – but has assured me he doesn’t want to marry her,” he added with a twinkle in his eye. “Apparently Lydia doesn’t like bees, which is a deal-breaker for him as he is currently determined to be an apiarist when he grows up.”
She scrunched up her nose, the pink receding a bit and some confidence showing itself. Interesting; most people became less confident around him the more he spoke, especially when it was about his son’s eclectic interests. Was Ms. Hooper about to express her distress over such an unusual career choice, as others had done, or was she merely going to offer her (incorrect) opinion about bees?
Neither, as it turned out, much to his surprise. “Lydia was stung a few weeks ago, so I can’t blame her for not liking bees. But I told her that bees are important to the ecosystem and that if she wasn’t trying to make it fly to a different flower – apparently they both wanted the same blossom – then it probably wouldn’t have stung her. Also, she’s already told me she marrying her paediatrician.” Her eyes twinkled and a small smile curved her lips and Sherlock found himself reevaluating his initial dismissal of her as too shy and mousy to be interesting. Glancing at her hands, he raised an eyebrow as he caught the tell-tale signs of a medical professional in the calluses and ridges. “What’s your specialty, Doctor Hooper?” he asked before he could stop himself.
“Pathology,” she replied. “I didn’t realize Lydia had told Simon that much about me.”
“I didn’t get that from Simon,” Sherlock corrected her. He nodded at her hands. “The story’s clear to the trained eye.”
“Impressive.” Molly grinned at him. “Now tell me what hospital I work at and I’ll owe you a dinner.” She turned a bit pink, as if embarrassed by her own audacity – was she flirting with him now? Hmm, interesting.
“Hardly a challenge; it can’t be St. Barts or I’d have run into you before now, and if it was a smaller hospital you wouldn’t have offered me the challenge, as you’re the type to believe that would be unfair on your part. So I’ll have to say…the Royal London, yes?”
“Yes,” she replied, sounding surprised. “How did you…”
“Simon and I live on Baker Street,” he interrupted her to say, quite to his own surprise. Was he inviting this woman over to his flat?
Apparently he was, as he reached for his mobile. “Your number’s on the class phone list for emergencies, before you ask. I’m messaging you with my contact information and the number of DI Lestrade at the Met so he can confirm that I’m not a serial killer.”
Molly blinked a few times, glancing down automatically as her mobile dinged from somewhere deep in the depths of the oversized handbag she had slung over one shoulder. “Um, Mr. Holmes, I wasn’t angling for…the Met? Scotland Yard?” she interrupted herself to exclaim. “So I guess it’s true, then? Lydia told me that Simon says you work with the police.”
“Consulting detective,” he replied absently, his eyes once again on his son and her daughter, who were now struggling with the swings. Anticipating a call for help, he began walking briskly toward them, calling over his shoulder, “We’re usually home on Sundays. Bring Lydia for dinner, my landlady will be thrilled. Martha Hudson, you can have her investigated as well, but I assure you, she’s the perfect surrogate grandmother. We’ll see you at three, yes?”
He grinned as he reached the children, helping first Lydia and then Simon onto the swings and giving them each a push to help them get started. Their little legs were pumping and they were laughing and singing some nonsense song. Molly had finally come out of her daze, blinking rapidly before moving over to join them. “Sunday at three,” she said, a small smile hovering about her lips.
He smiled back at her, a genuine smile. Getting to know Lydia’s mother, he predicted, was going to be quite the interesting experience.
