Sherlock's Second Vow [FINISHED]

Chapter 2: Sharks and Roses

2

Rosie twisted her fork around and around the box of Chinese takeout, watching her father out of the corner of her eye. He hadn't bothered to touch his food, and although he was talking to her, his eyes were on the mantle behind her.

"I know you love your Uncle Sherlock, he's my best friend too, but you can't just run away with him. I have to know where you are."

"Okayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy." Rosie rolled her eyes and flopped to the side in what she thought was a convincingly childish way, allowing her to catch a glimpse of the photographs on the mantle. He was always touchy about those. They were all of a woman: her mother.

But John still hadn't told Rosie anything about her. When directly asked, he changed the subject, and he always seemed to sense if she came at it sideways. After all, he was used to Uncle Sherlock.

She had looked a little too long at the woman in the wedding dress, and John had noticed, scooping her into his lap.

"Wouldn't you like to spend some time with your father instead? We could go to the zoo."

He always seemed to want to do normal family things with her. She had seen his blog and puzzled out most of the big words. Why didn't he take her on adventures like that? She was perfectly capable, perfectly smart. The least he could do was take her to the morgue, or allow Molly to babysit her there.

Rosie lay her head on her father's shoulder. "Daddy, did you know that putrescine and cadaverine are the chemicals that make dead bodies smell bad?"

He huffed a little. "Uhmm, no, I did not. So, how about the zoo?"

The worry lines in his forehead had hardly slackened since he'd picked her up at the morgue. He hadn't eaten either, which meant he was sad or worried. She could humor him. "How about the aquarium? We've never been there."

"The aquarium?"

"I love sharks," she said.

He winced at the mention. Was he scared of sharks?

"Maybe another time. Sorry, sweetheart. Anywhere else I can take you?"

He was looking at the mantle again.

It was always best to get information out of him when he was upset-- his guard was down. And yes, she felt bad, but he had stopped her from playing with Uncle Sherlock. And she was tired of messing around.

Rosie decided that right here, right now, she was going to finally find out about her mother.

"Did you know that there are more than 440 kinds? They don't kill people often, but I bet when they do it gets awfully messy. Have you ever done a case with sharks?"

He grimaced. Now he wasn't even trying to hide the fact he was staring into her mother's face.

"Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Is that Mommy in the pictures with you on the mantle?"

John buried his face in his hands. His elbow bumped her almost all the way out of his lap. "Dammit, Rosie. You're messing with me, aren't you."

"Daddy--"

"I'm sorry, of course you're not. You're too young. It's just all that time with... Call Uncle Sherlock for me, will you?"

"YAY!" she said. After all, she was only seven, and this was turning out much better than she had expected. And as for her father... he would recover.

"Rosamund Mary Watson, this is serious, okay? This is sad. It's not a playdate."

"Yay," she said solemnly. After all, how bad could it be? Maybe it was even exciting, like one of his and Uncle's cases. She couldn't help smiling.