A/N: This takes place in the same universe as my multi-fic How to Apologize to Molly. Disclaimer: I don't own anything Sherlock or The Secret Life of Bees. Thanks for reading!-thefaultoflegend

"'I hadn't been out to the hives before, so to start off she gave me a lesson in what she called 'bee yard etiquette'. She reminded me that the world was really one bee yard, and the same rules work fine in both places. Don't be afraid, as no life-loving bee wants to sting you. Still, don't be an idiot; wear long sleeves and pants. Don't swat. Don't even think about swatting. If you feel angry, whistle. Anger agitates while whistling melts a bee's temper. Act like you know what you're doing, even if you don't. Above all, send the bees love. Every little thing wants to be loved.'"

Sherlock Holmes sat in his favorite chair in his flat. It was the chair that he sat in while talking to clients, the one where he sat while John Watson became his best friend, the chair he curled up in when he was high, the chair where he did his best thinking, the chair he shot guns from, the chair where he and his girlfriend cuddled and talked after a long day. But right then, it was the chair he sat in when he read to his goddaughter, cradling her safely in one arm and holding the book up with another. The cover of the book read The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd. He refused to read her the idiotic cardboard books that John and Mary packed in her baby bag or even the fairytale books that Molly bought for her. He said she would benefit much more from the scientific and the practical applications that could be found in the many books on his own bookshelf. He was brought out of his reading then the little girl started cooing and wiggling in his arms.

"Yes. I thought this book would be about bees, too," he said to the baby. "The title is very misleading." He set the book down and snuggled his goddaughter closer to him. He wouldn't admit it to anyone but he secretly loved when he got alone time with her. She made the perfect companion. He could sit and talk for hours and as long as he fed and changed her occasionally, she wouldn't even mind listening to him. Sherlock also found that he loved to observe her. Tracking her growth became one his favorite new activities. He found that her physical growth was normal, but her gross motor skills were more advanced than the average infant, as well as her cognitive abilities. She was reaching for things far earlier than she should have been and her eyes were constantly locked on whoever was talking, her head swiveling around whenever she heard a new voice.

"So, Ava Liam, what can I teach you about today?" Sherlock could hardly wait for her to be able to converse with him. He already had a very long list of all the things he wanted to tell her. Ava became extremely squirmy in his arms, so he laid her down on his lap facing him, and grabbed her small feet, moving her legs around.

"I was just looking at a case the other day that involved a baby, you know. One older than you, but still a small person in every regard. She said her first word, Mama. Her father was a bit upset of course. Apparently parents care about those sorts of things, who gets named first. I recommend that your first word be Dada because your mother is emotionally stable enough to wait for you to get around with her. Your father on the other hand, well, this story isn't about him. This story is about two parents whose daughter said everything: cup, dog, blanket, nap, food, more, all the normal baby words, but she would never say Dada. Now, it is important to remember that the father in this case is a traveling business man who is never home for extended periods of time. He would spend maybe about a day a week with his family, and then be off. But he still couldn't understand why his daughter wasn't saying his name. It didn't have to do with anything medically related and the father originally called me about a break in that they had. Nothing was stolen, but someone had left behind a pair of socks. When I started asking about the baby, it was then that I found out about the talking problem. So what's going on? Any ideas, Ava? It's quite easy really."

The baby giggled as Sherlock tickled her stomach. Sherlock had never been affectionate, but with Ava it was a different story and the Watsons and Molly always caught him sneaking kisses to the child's forehead whenever he thought they weren't looking. Sherlock let Ava gurgle on some more before answering back. "Yes, quite right. The wife was cheating on the husband. The baby was calling the other man Dada. He spent more time with her than her actual father anyway. It only makes sense."

Just then the flat door opened and Molly Hooper walked in, arms loaded down with bags of take-away. She had just spent an exhausting day at work, doing two more than her regularly scheduled autopsies and Sherlock could tell as soon as she opened the door. "Rough day was it? Your hair is everywhere and your shoulders are more tense than I've seen them in weeks," he said as she set down the bags on the kitchen table.

"Yes. And I kindly asked you to clean up the kitchen so that we could have dinner with Mary and John tonight. And hello, Sherlock," she replied turning around now to give her consulting detective a smile.

"Hello, Molly Hooper," he said with a smile back. "But you will remember that I was babysitting today." He held up little Ava as proof and she let out a giggle in Molly's direction.

"And now I'm here which means I can babysit while you clean." Molly walked over and reached for the baby but Sherlock held her back.

"But I was just in the middle of a case description."

"And I just had a rough day at work as you so kindly pointed out. My turn," she replied and grabbed the baby out of his arms, cradling her against her chest. Sherlock stood up and let her have his chair so they could face each other and talk while he cleaned. He snuck a kiss to her forehead when he stood and she smiled back gratefully.

"How was your day with Ava?" she asked as he started covering his microscope and putting away his goggles and tools.

"It was good. We figured out four cases without leaving the flat. They were only fours, but still. Are you staying tonight?" It had been three months since they officially started dating, three months since Moriarty was no longer a problem and things couldn't have been any better. They were both happy. Molly was wary at first but Sherlock turned out to be an even better boyfriend than she had expected. In fact, lately he had been giving her heavy hints that he wanted to live together, although he never came right out and said it. At least not yet. She wondered if he ever would.

"I can't. I have to go home and feed Toby." She was now feeding Ava and watching her drift off to sleep. Molly could have fallen asleep herself.

"Blasted cat," murmured Sherlock which made Molly laugh. Toby was always the reason why Molly couldn't spend the night and Sherlock hated the animal for it.

"I was just here last night, Sherlock," she said. "And you spent most of the night sitting in your chair tucked away in your mind palace anyway so I don't see why it matters."

He gave her a strange look then, it was always the one he gave her when he didn't feel he was able to say something. He had gotten better at expressing emotion, especially with Molly and Ava, but he still struggled to use his words. He was much better at expressing himself through actions, kissing, hugging, holding, but only when they were behind closed doors. "It matters," he told her simply and got back to his cleaning.

He started to wipe the counters down when he heard Molly's soft voice, the one she used when she read to Ava. She was reading out of that fairytale book. Sherlock went in and motioned for her to stand up. He sat down and then carefully positioned Molly and Ava on his lap and waited for Molly to start reading again. He listened to her, being still and quiet for once. Reading with Molly and Ava was one of the only things that could get him to do it and he almost drifted off while sitting there, holding the both of them.

"You secretly love these stories," she whispered to him after Ava had fallen asleep and Molly laid her head on his shoulder.

"They're full of rubbish and nonsense," he replied, but rested his head on top of hers.

"Says the man who at one point wanted to become a pirate."

"You've been talking to Mycroft," he replied in disgust and she laughed lightly, careful not to wake Ava.

"It's okay, Sherlock Holmes. You don't have to lie to me." He could feel her growing heavier in his arm; she was beginning to fall asleep as well.

He smirked. "I like the stories." She smiled, too, leaning her head up to kiss his cheek and he turned to catch her lips in his.

"My prince," she remarked before laying her head back down on her boyfriend's shoulder and promptly dozing off.