Mother Bird

Words Not Appropriate For Ice Cream World

Annie now took to sticking her face up against the window, smearing her nose against the glass in an effort to get a good look at the field they would be playing on. Sherlock sat for a little while in the front seat, waiting and staring into the glass while he listened to Annie struggle with the multitudes of seat belts that were strapped around her. He stared at his own reflection, mostly, and wondered just what was out there in the world for him any longer. Was there the prospect of marriage, like his daughter so dearly wanted? Or was he destined to be alone for the rest of eternity, falling in love with people and getting abandoned just as effectively as before? What of John Watson...what of the love that he had surely felt the night before, the love that he knew would never be displayed back to him? The love of a man who, for all he knew, was only ever attracted to him when he was drunk.
"Daddy come on, I see Hamish!" Annie whined, kicking her seat in frustration as she found that her little fingers were ineffective in freeing herself from the buckles. Sherlock heaved a sigh, though found that it was all he could do but stumble out of the car and get his daughter situated, allowing her to run down to the field with her bag in hand, kicking a little soccer ball in all sorts of wild directions as she went with high hopes and little chances of any success.
"You know, our children seem to be getting along very well." Mary Watson muttered to him as the children went through their usual warm ups. They were seated along the sidelines, divided by the half line from the parents of the opposing team, all who were wearing color coordinated purple shirts to show their enthusiasm. They were quite distasteful, though the very state of them showed that the team had money to spare. Hopefully their larger wallet didn't affect their playing skills, for their own little team was certainly doomed without any unfair advantages. If the opposing side had hired any skilled coaches then they were most certainly fated to a lopsided score.
"Oh yes, yes they seem to be friends." Sherlock agreed with a nod, watching as Annie and Hamish were pulling on each other's hair in their places in line. John had tried to set the group up with some dynamic stretches, though that had ended up with children kicking their legs up in all directions and getting fairly close to giving out a wide variety of bloody noses and other impact related injuries.
"They seem to be just two peas in a pod. They even look alike, really." Mary said with a regretful little sigh. For a moment the two were silent, Mary now mourning in her loss and Sherlock rather paralyzed with the notion that his scheme might be becoming more visible. But no, no he kept Annie's hair dyed black down to the roots. He was careful about that, surely! No one would know, no one could know. All was well. Upon learning the truth of the unfortunate Watsons he could only begin to sympathize for them, knowing in the end that he was the sole being responsible for their irreversible pain. Mary Watson, the angel sent to save him from the very man she had wed, a woman he had slashed open who repaid him only in kindness. A woman who certainly gave his little bird her best traits and qualities, along with the prospect of growing up to be just as beautiful and just as kind. They had a connection now, did they not? Just as Sherlock and John were bonded as one, Sherlock and Mary also had a sort of unseen link between them. She didn't know it yet, though the three of them were all tasked at one point to take care of the same child. The Watsons had planted the seed; it was merely Sherlock's job to grow the little sapling up into a magnificent tree.
"I'm sure that's just a coincidence. I feel like all children look alike, honestly. If you were to ask me to decipher any of them except my own daughter...well you'd find that I couldn't do it. All of them are too short and with too little defining characteristics." Sherlock admitted with something of a frown. Mary laughed, obviously finding Sherlock's quick defenses to be rather amusing.
"You know what, Sherlock; you've really developed throughout these past couple of weeks." Mary admitted with a smile.
"Why do you say that? Have some window to the soul, do you? You'll find mine is still a disaster, though perhaps with some Band-Aids stuck on." Sherlock grumbled with a shake of his head, feeling the utmost need to avoid all compliments. For whatever reason they made him feel quite unnerved, so much more so than could the worst of all insults. Perhaps it was difficult for him these days, after living in such a dark shadow, to be able to accept anything within himself that could be deemed positive. It was a bit frightening to be corrected in such a way, even if it was for the best.
"No I haven't got something like that I've just...well I've got intuition. And I feel like something about you has gotten much softer. Perhaps some walls were torn down; perhaps we've domesticated you to an extent." Mary decided at last.
"Softer?" Sherlock chuckled. "Well, say what you will about your intuition. Though I'm sure if you asked your husband he would be just as appalled with me these days as he was in the past. Oh, perhaps even more so."
"John's a difficult man to please, don't waste your efforts trying for his affection." Mary warned.
"Affection? Well honestly the thought never crossed my mind. I only ever wanted to be within a ten foot radius of him and not fear for my life." Sherlock said with a little chuckle. Mary nodded a bit regretfully, as if she was in no position to refute anything of the sort. She seemed to understand that her husband was a complicated creature, so changeable and distasteful that he could be described as hostile on even his best days.
"I don't think John has any intentions of killing you." Mary assured, though her voice did not speak with the utmost confidence.
"What are his intentions, do you know?" Sherlock wondered, thinking back to last night and letting his eyes drift over to the man where he ran about the field, now coordinating the children to line up on the line and be inspected by the referee. He watched that hand, that hand as it waved around and pointed...that hand which had been upon his very lips not hours before. Oh there were moments when he felt that he was positively entitled to John Watson, moments when he felt that their lives had been entangled ever since they had both been thrown onto this unforgiving earth. Moments when he held that man within his own grasp, when he stared into his drunken hazel eyes and saw the diminishing anger, when he saw the human who was suffering within a core of tenacity and seething aggression. Oh just as Rosie Watson once had been, well John was the possession of someone else. The possession of Mary Watson, just until Sherlock decided that he wasn't. Just as he had snatched their baby from Mary's hands, so too could he snatch her husband into his own bed...
"John's intentions are just to raise Hamish as best he can and to survive the process. I feel as though that's every parent's goal, in the end." Mary admitted with something of a small stutter, as she of course remembered her own grievous history of raising and maintaining children.
"And his intentions with me?" Sherlock wondered, having intended for such an answer from the beginning. Mary allowed herself to chuckle, pausing to drink from a large mug of tea before continuing on with her well thought out answer.
"His intentions with you, Sherlock, are just about the same as his intentions with any other poor soul on this earth. Coexist, to the best of his abilities." Mary assured with a sigh.
"Coexist? Well I suppose that's better than...well than the alternatives." Sherlock admitted, though he was surely expecting something more. Of course going through John Watson's wife was probably a pretty faulty way to get relationship information, especially since she would be the last one he told if he felt himself falling in love. But was there love on his side, could there ever be? Or was he too stubborn to even acknowledge his heart, if he even had one at all? The game persisted on without any interesting conversation to report. In fact all talking seemed to cease just as soon as the game began, as it seemed to be a fairly even match in the end. Despite the opposing team's look of money and power they proved to be just as pitiful, and the match ended up being played mostly between about five children on the whole field. Everyone else was terribly distracted, and that worked to the advantage of those who were trying to sneak the ball through the scarce defensive line. Annie had even managed to score a goal, the very first goal of her soccer career. It was something of a boring thing to watch for anyone who was not emotionally attached, as the girl had merely kicked the ball as hard as she could from somewhere near the half yard line. Miraculously the ball managed to sail much quicker than any of the opposing team's reaction times, and so by pure chance it managed to direct itself towards the goal and slip through the distracted goalie's legs. This was something of a life changing event for Sherlock, and while the rest of the crowd took to merely clapping their hands the man jumped to his feet, bouncing around with just as much enthusiasm as was his daughter. It was an accomplishment for them both, as Annie had made herself a valuable part of the team and Sherlock had managed to raise his little daughter into a champion. Perhaps the parents would see him as less of a failure now that his very own child had managed to make such a marvelous kick into the opposing goal. The spectacular showing deserved a reward of course, and just as Sherlock settled down into his chair he thought of any local ice cream places that might prove to be an exciting treat. Perhaps such positive reinforcement would encourage Annie to stick with the sport and become some sort of world class champion. With the final whistle came the relocation of Sherlock's attention span, as the game had rather stagnated since Annie's triumphant goal. The ball kept getting kicked wildly, as the children were all trying to mimic her lucky goal and make their own shots from their own half of the field. The majority of the game was therefore filled with various helpful children chasing the ball as it rolled out of bounds, and then a continuation of the game composed entirely of kicking and crying and whistle blowing. Eventually the referee just called it quits, pitying all members involved in this everlasting game of kick across. Thankfully their own team had won, with a score of one to zero, and that score alone gave both Annie and Sherlock something of a superiority complex. Surely none of the other parents on the line could say that their child had scored, making Sherlock into quite the superhero in his own mind. And so he relaxed, waiting for his daughter to come to him in her own triumphant return. Meanwhile Mary had entertained some other parents to the left of her, leaving Sherlock to lounge quite like a monarch in his borrowed lawn chair, staring over at where John was giving high fives and apple slices to each member of his triumphant team.
"Daddy, daddy I scored!" Annie exclaimed as she went running over from the other side of the field, waving around her apples and demonstrating a great toothy grin of pride. Sherlock rose to receive her, picking the girl up in his arms and giving her a couple of swings of encouragement.
"My little champion!" he exclaimed in delight. "I'm so proud of you!"
"Coach John said it was the longest goal he's ever seen!" she added excitedly as she was set to the ground, fixing her hair where it fell in strands about her face.
"I'm sure it was." Sherlock agreed with a little chuckle, as he was still marveling about the fact that a child who didn't understand the concept of aim could manage to score a goal from the halfway point on the field.
"Hamish said he's going to get ice cream after this, oh can we please go along?" Annie wondered anxiously, pulling on her father's hand as his gaze strayed over to where John was standing, speaking to his own son with words unheard. Sherlock's heart leapt at the idea, though at the same time there was a corresponding feeling of utmost dread. For a moment he wondered whether or not it was worth it to speak to John so closely again, this time with Mary at his side. Was there anything left to say between them, now that Sherlock's intentions were made clear? Then again, where there was interaction there was always hope. Perhaps Annie's contribution to the team had put John in a cheerful mood, a happy enough mannerism to at least accept Sherlock's presence.
"I don't see why not. So long as the Watsons will have us." Sherlock agreed with a little chuckle, noticing at that time a great squeal of delight from his daughter and a look of utmost hesitation on the face of poor Mary Watson, the woman who seemed to get caught up in these feuds without any hint of consent.