Their Little Girl

Sometime before dawn, Sherlock woke to hear the baby crying. He crawled out of bed, careful not to disturb Molly, and hurried into the nursery. Maddie's wails increased as he approached the crib and scooped their little girl out of her bed. "There, there now. Papa's here."

Maddie's little face rapidly changed from pink to fire-engine-red. Her hands waved back and forth around her face as if she were trying to pantomime her need for a bottle. Sherlock rocked their little girl back and forth in the circle of his arms. He hummed the chorus to "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" on his way into the kitchen to warm a bottle and hoped it would soothe Maddie.

Preparing bottles one-handed had been a bit of an adventure, especially during the first night Maddie had been home, when he was half asleep and grumpy as hell, but he thought he'd finally gotten the hang of it now, after three days of trial and error. The trick he'd found that worked for him was shifting Maddie onto his shoulder and freeing up his other hand for screwing on the nipple and testing the temperature of the formula.

Sherlock quickly put together the bottle and carried their little girl back into the nursery. Ever so gently, he settled in the rocking chair and shifted Maddie into the crook of his arm. He pressed the nipple against her mouth and watched in awe as she sucked it in and began drinking. Maddie stared up at him with heavy eyes as she siphoned formula from the bottle. The scent of baby powder and lotion swirled around her, making the entire room smell sweet. As she ate, Sherlock caressed the side of her soft little face and made silent promises to always be there for her when she needed him.

Maddie dozed off with the bottle in her mouth. Sherlock eased the nipple out and gently placed their little girl back in the crib, hoping she wouldn't stir. He resisted the urge to lean down and kiss her forehead, knowing it might wake her, and carried the dirty bottle into the kitchen.

Upon returning to the bedroom, Sherlock found Molly awake and lying on her back with her hands behind her head. The innocent pose would have worked better had Molly not been naked and glistened with moisture. Not that Sherlock was complaining. He crawled up the mattress and stretched out beside his wife. Leaning in close, he brushed his lips over Molly's. "Did I wake you?"

"No." Molly rolled into her side, facing Sherlock. "I just got hot while you were gone. There wasn't anyone in here to steal all the covers."

Sherlock wiggled out of his pajama pants and snuggled closer. "I don't hug the covers."

"Uh-huh." Molly kissed the tip of Sherlock's nose. "You don't snore either."

"That's right. I don't." Sherlock wrapped his arms around his wife's waist and ran his hand over her petite form.

"And" - Molly nuzzled Sherlock's throat – "you couldn't possibly have the energy to make love right now."

"Right." Sherlock arched his neck, giving Molly extra room to work. "Wait? What?"

Molly snickered and kissed the curve of Sherlock's neck. "I was wondering when you would catch on."

"Stop talking." Sherlock caught Molly's lips with his own and set about proving just how little sleep he needed in order to have sex with the woman he loved.

As twilight crept through the blinds, they made slow and gentle love, lingering over each other before they collapsed in a tangle of arms and legs and drifted off to sleep wrapped up in each other.