Becuase hey, if I can’t sleep, at least I can write!
“Sherlock, you’re my baby bear.”
Molly Hooper was drunk off her arse, but Sherlock responded to her as if she was as sober as he was. “Molly, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She gazed up at him through eyes gone even bigger and browner than usual, absolutely shining with sincerity as she laid a hand on his arm and leaned forward…and continued leaning forward until he reached out with an alarmed exprssion on his face and helped her into a (relatively) upright position. “My baby bear,” she repeated, very slowly. “You know? Like inna fairly tale? Goldi Hawn anna three bears.” She raised her hand and held up four fingers, frowned, then grinned as she reached out with her other hand and tugged the pinky finger down. “Mamma bear, papa bear, baby bear. You’re my baby bear, dontcha see?”
Sherlock couldn’t help grinning back at her in spite of his continued bemusement. They were at John and Mary’s anniversary party and Molly had polished off half a bottle of rather nice red all by herself, which was why he was sitting with her in the Watson’s spare bedroom, trying to coax her into bed so she could sleep it off. “Nope, sorry, still don’t see,” he admitted as he worked her shoes off her feet.
She was propped up against the headboard, still waving three fingers in front of his face. “You’re not Tom an’ you’re not Jim,” she declared.
He pulled a face. “No, definitely not,” he agreed. “Not drunk, either, which is more than I can say for you, Doctor Hooper.”
She giggled. “I like it when you call me that, ‘Doctor Hooper’, makes me sound perfreshinal…perfeshinal…like I know my job reeeaaaallly good!”
“You do know your job really good,” he replied as he slid her feet beneath the sheet and duvet. “Really well,” he corrected himself with a shake of the head.
“Yesh,” she agreed solmenly, finally lowering her hand to her lap. “Buuttt I alsho know my fairly tales. An’ you’re still my baby bear. Not Tom, he was too nice.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not Jim, cause he was too dang’rush. But youuuu…” she sing-songed the last word, “you are jusht right, Sherlock Scoot Willem Hol-mes.”
He winced as she mangled his name - especially since she decided to pronounce the silent ‘l’ in his last name - but at least now he understood what she was trying to say. “You’re saying I’m in the Goldilocks zone,” he said with a nod as he tucked the covers up around her waist and helped her lie down. He’d already managed to get some paracetamol tablets and a glass of water into her, and hoped it would be enough to keep the raging hangover she was bound to experience to a manageable level.
“Yesh,” Molly replied sleepily as she turned onto her side. “Zactly it. My baby bear.”
He sighed and shook his head as her eyes drooped shut. He waited until he heard a soft snore from her lips, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight, Goldilocks.”
The next morning when Molly woke up, she was pathetically pleased to find a full glass of water and some paracetamol waiting for her on the unfamiliar nightstand. “Oh God I need to stay away from the red,” she mumbled as she swallowed the pills and gulped down about half of the water. Only when she went to replace it on the nightstand - must be at John and Mary’s, she deduced - did she notice the folded piece of paper lying there.
Leaning back against the pillows, she opened it.
Dearest Molly, she read. In case you’ve blacked out on our conversation last night, I have decided that you are my baby bear as well. When you’re feeling up to it, send me a text and I’ll take you back to your flat so we can talk about this change in our relationship. Love, Sherlock XXX
She read it over three times before finally fumbling for her mobile and dialing Sherlock’s number. He answered on the first ring. “Yes I mean it,” he said before she could do more than open her mouth. “Since we’re in each other’s Goldilocks zone, there’s no point in dithering over it a minute longer than we have to. I’ll be there in about an hour to pick you up, plenty of time for you to have a cup of coffee and make yourself as presentable as you think necessary, although of course I can promise you I’ll think you look wondeful no matter what. Bye!”
With a click he was gone and Molly wasted no time in rolling out of bed, despite her massive headache.
As Sherlock had said, there was no point in dithering when they were finally on the same page.
“Daddy…?” Rubbing her eyes tiredly, Cecilia walked over to his desk and tugged on his arm.
A yawn had just escaped him when she happened to come into his office. “What is it, sweetheart?” He smiled down at her.
“I’m…(Yawns)…sleepy.” She said, reaching up for him to hold her, seeing as though the child felt too drowsy to stand up any longer. “Will you take me upstairs?”
“I have a better idea.” Ravus, without hesitation, stood up and gathered her into his arms. “Why don’t we both take a nap together on the sofa? My eyes are dreary too.”
“Okay.” The exhausted little girl laid her head down on his shoulder as he carried her to the living room.
Once beside the couch he carefully sat down, positioned himself so he could lay down and stretched out, then had Cecilia curl up next to him. “I’m not squishing you am I?” He asked, making sure she had enough room.
“No I’m…(Yawns again)…I’m okay.” She was in a cozy spot between her daddy and the back of the couch. It was where she liked to be the most because she could snuggle up as much as she wanted. Plus, he felt like a big bear he was so warm and, it always made her drift off to sleep in no time.
When she was nestled comfortably beside him and finally closed her eyes, he gave a kind/sleepy smile down to his daughter, kissing the top of her head, then wrapping his good arm around her. He never let her sleep on the side where his prosthetic was. He feared of it hurting her. With one final yawn, Ravus laid his head back, let his other hand rest on his chest, and was sound asleep within seconds.
Lunafreya had arrived back to the manor after being among their people since dawn - healing those who needed it and just simply making kind visits to the ones who truly had no one else in their lives bring a smile onto their face. When she entered the foyer, out of the corner of her eye she spotted the two sleepy heads on the sofa. Tip toeing over, it was such an adorable sight as it made her beam. “Aww.” She said softly, so not to wake them up. Quietly, Luna found a blanket and draped it over Ravus and her niece so they wouldn’t get cold, then just as easily as she had come in, the young Oracle left them to rest peacefully. Although, she did snap a cute photo of them on her phone before she disappeared from the room. The moment was simply too sweet to resist.
[Taken From Instagram. Story Credits Go To:]
Papa Bear to Baby Bear: What’s the matter with you? Baby Bear (pointing to a constellation of stars): I can’t get enough of those. Papa Bear: Whataya mean? Baby Bear: They’re driving me crazy!
What’s so funny about this? When I was a kid there was no such thing as OCD, or obsessive compulsive disorder. Well, OK, maybe there was but it sure wasn’t called OCD. First of all, the obsession and compulsion weren’t even linked. Mostly people with the one condition or the other were just called nuts or crazy. I realize this is not a very enlightened comment, but what I’m mostly complaining about here is that there seems to be so many new “disorders” like OCD or Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD), that somehow create a distance between us and the so-called sick person. I sense that we really don’t know much more about these conditions than we did in the past and have just come to rely on more and more drugs to mask and suppress symptoms rather than looking for real cures. OK, I’ll get off my soap box, or speaker’s platform and concentrate on the joke. We have here a young bear who appears to be obsessed with stars. He admits he cannot get enough of them, but of course stars being what they are, that is, incredibly distant suns and not jewels in the sky, the young bear will never actually own or possess any of them. That knowledge hasn’t stopped his cravings, apparently. Here’s where the word play comes in. There is a common collocation or word combination that means “extremely crazy.” That combination is “stark raving mad.” It means being insane to the point of running around, screaming at everything. But if we connect the final K of stark to the next word, “raving,” then we get “craving” (spelled with a C instead of K). So we get “star-craving”, someone desperate for stars, rather than stark raving. Maddening isn’t it. And THAT’s what’s so funny!
This joke came from a post by Analytical Grammar on facebook.com
The day wraps up with a trip down memory lane for the Fazband before Mike gets his lil boy back. Seems like there are common threads between the fathers past and present, but in the end there’s just warmth and happiness for a proud daddy.