The Luckiest

Clouds

Daisy, five
Grace, three
Theodore, one

"There, that one looks like–"

"A cloud."

"No, it looks like a horse. And that one there–"

"Ah yes, a cumulus cloud!"

"No," she huffs. "Wrong, detective. It looks like a guitar. I must say, you were so much better at this the last time we did it."

"You mean when I was a twelve year old boy?"

"You're being a spoilsport."

Sherlock smirks, tapping his fingers against this chest. "I'm simply being realistic."

"You're being unimaginative."

"Mrs. Holmes, I have a wide imagination, as you well know. But I feel no need to look for shapes in the clouds."

"Spoilsport."

Sherlock laughs, rolling onto his side. "I don't believe our sprog is listening much," he soothes the back of his finger down Theodore's cheek, admiring how utterly beautiful their combined genetics are once again, sleeping peacefully between them. He was right when he said all those years ago about making sure the gene pool is worth it. "So this game is no longer for their benefit."

Alice moves to mirror his position, twisting on the blanket, smiling softly. "Well, the other one was keen."

"The other one is too busy with the older one."

They both glance backwards to the large tree, where their two little girls are battling each other with wooden swords, their pirate hats far too big for their heads.

"I suppose coming back to this spot as often as we do loses its charm."

"No for me it doesn't," he says. "This is our spot. We were here more or less everyday for almost ten years. It's important."

Alice extends her arm above the infants head to slip her fingers into her husband's curls. The corner of his mouth flicks up as his eyes close. "I love you, William Holmes."

His smile widens. "I love you, too, Alice Holmes."

The baby between them makes a cooing sound, alerting the parents that nap time is apparently over and adding to the conversation. Sherlock sits himself up, scooping the boy into his arms. "What do you think, Teddy? Should we stay here all day?"

"Stop corrupting our child." Alice orders.

Sherlock doesn't pay any mind to her tone, instead beaming as he holds the baby up, smooshing their heads together so they're facing her. "Come now, Alice, how can you resist a face like this?"

Alice gives a sarcastic snort. "Which one?"

"Well, the sprog's, obviously," he replies. "We both know you're powerless to resist mine."

"While that may be true, we can't stay all day. We need head back," she tells him, not sounding keen on the idea herself, perfectly comfortable where they already are. "Our parents will send a search party."

"Hmm. With that kind of statement, are you sure it's not still 1995?"

"I'm quite sure. Up you get," she pushes herself to sit up off the grass. "John and Mary will be arriving soon."

Sherlock groans. "Bloody family barbecues."

Alice laughs, beckoning for Sherlock to hand their son over. If she's lucky Theodore will fall back asleep in the carrier on their walk back to her parents' house. She's had enough practice to know all the tricks of the trade, after all. "Come on, Ted. Tell Daddy it's time to face the music, we'll be back in London tomorrow."

"Yes, fine," he carefully places the boy against her chest while helping to clasp the buckles closed around him. Then he shifts on his knees, crouching down and beginning to pack away the picnic blanket. "Daisy! Gracie! We're going back to Nanny and Grandad's!"

The thumping and rustling of little feet rushing through grass is the only warning Sherlock gets before two small bodies bulldoze into him, landing with an 'oomf' on his back. He wraps his arms around them, digging his fingers into their ticklish spots, grinning when they roar with giggles.

"I'm getting too old for that, girls."

"Don't be silly, Daddy." Grace tells him.

"You're not that old, Daddy." Daisy adds.

"Not that old? Suppose that's some kind of compliment," he leaps up, hoisting a child under each arm. The girls squeal as Sherlock twists and turns with them held tightly against his torso. "What do you think, Mummy? Am I still in my prime?"

Alice takes in the sight, allowing it to wash through her and do funny things to the pattern her heart beats inside her chest. The sun shining on his face makes his eyes appear an almost translucent grey while highlighting his bone structure. He's got a few extra lines on his features now, a very slight hint of silver in his dark hair at his temples, and she just knows it won't spread very fast. He'll have his iconic silhouette for decades to come, if not forever. The years have been kind to him. He looks relatively unchanged, and those few differences work well on him.

"Certainly still in your prime," Alice tells him, brushing her hand over their son's hair. "You most definitely look good to me."

Sherlock smirks smugly, setting the girls back on their feet. "Glad to hear it."

She crinkles her nose at him fondly before turning her attention to her eldest two children. "C'mon girls, can't be late for Nathan's party."

"Can we stop at the shop for ice cream?" Daisy asks, taking her mother's hand.

Alice raises an eyebrow. "I think we can do that."

"What flavour?" Sherlock questions, hoisting Grace onto his shoulders after grabbing their picnic bag.

"Strawberry!" Grace exclaims.

"Good choice," Sherlock tickles his eldest daughter's chin. "Your turn, Daisy."

"Hmm," she considers her options. "Caramel. Like you."

"That is indeed my favourite."

"Daddy has a very sweet tooth," Alice says. "He used to eat cake out of the box when we were teenagers."

Sherlock leans in to press a kiss to his wife's cheek. "You used to love sharing a traybake."

"Sharing? What fantasy did you live through?"

He snorts. "You stole the dolly mixtures off the top."

Alice rolls her eyes. "Shut up."