perception of the mind (sh adaptation)

Forty Nine • The Tea Party

"Ense petit placidam sub libertate quietem."

(She seeks with the sword a quiet peace under liberty.)

▪︎▪︎▪︎

A/N: There is a trigger warning in this chapter for detailed violence. These scenes remain throughout the entire chapter.

《▪︎▪︎▪︎》

"Bibbidi bobbidi.."

"Boo!" Fedora shrieked.

Ophelia laughed and pushed the hair out of the baby's face. "Are you going to be the next fairy godmother?"

"Yeah," she replied plainly, babbling away at the TV with a fist wedged in her mouth.

"I look forward to that."

She watched the one-year-old grab a plastic teacup and plonk it down in front of her. Then she took one for herself.

"Thank you, mon amour," she lifted the cup and took a pretend sip. "Oh that's just marvellous. I can never get my tea to taste this good. Why's that?"

The baby babbled.

"Hm." Ophelia began to smile. "Can you say mon amour? Fedora is my love, she's mon amour."

"Non a noor."

"We'll work on it."

She lifted Fedora onto her lap with a grin. "We've got all the time in the world to improve, haven't we? Your daddy's so silly, he thinks you should know the periodic table by now."

"Mm, mama," she groaned, leaning forward into Ophelia's arms.

"What's wrong, what happened?"

"Dane dit."

"Change the movie? But you love Cinderella!"

"No."

"You only like the fairy godmother?"

"Yeah," she groaned.

"D'accord," she said plainly, reaching for the remote. "What else would you like to watch?" she asked quietly.

Fedora's shrieks and giggles had woken up her father - so he quietly got up and stood by the door to watch their interaction. Morning light slipped in through the curtains and pooled around the mother and daughter as they sat on the carpet in front of the TV. There were toys, bowls and bottles all around them, and as Sherlock saw Fedora chewing on a piece of fruit in her mother's arms in the middle of the remnants of their faux tea party, he knew that they were all he ever really needed. Not another intriguing case, hit, or mystery could ever compare anymore.

Mycroft was right; he was getting soft. And he blamed it entirely on Ophelia.

She noticed his presence by the door and smiled, noticing that he was fully dressed. "Going somewhere?"

"The station. I was called last night, but happened to be.." he breathed in calmly. "Otherwise occupied."

She smirked. "You've finally got your priorities set, Holmes. Well done."

"It's taken me long enough." He noticed Fedora getting grumpy, crawling away before getting distracted by the bright TV again. "I can take her with me, if you like. Shouldn't be long."

"Tu as toujours des ennuis."
(You always get into trouble.)

"No I don't," he paused. "Not this time.."