Love confession

That day was quite quiet, which was truly exceptional for Baker Street 221B. That would be silence before the next storm? Perhaps!

The famous detective sat at the kitchen table and was fully embroiled in the experiment, as did Rosamund Mary Watson in her drawing. Only a sketch was on her paper, but it was already possible to guess who has her artwork to represent. Little Watson adored komix Dr. Strange and always arrogantly argued that the one who should take on the role of this hero is Sherlock. It didn't make sense. He isn't a doctor, he believes in the exact thing, he deals with crimes, doesn't save human lives, let alone the whole world. To save people, to do impossible things, to run for adventure, it was her father's work. If anyone in they neighborhood was like this hero, it was rather John Watson than Sherlock Holmes, thought Rosienin's the godfather. Still, in the picture, Dr. Strange resembled him and not John.

The blonde suddenly stopped drawing. She put the pencil on the table and turned her eyes on the man across from her. “Sherly,“ she addressed him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” detective muttered automatically.

“Why do you and my dad never kiss?” She asked and Sherlock surprised looked up from his microscope.

“Why should we?” he answered to her question.

“Well, because I heard that normal parents do so,” young Watson shrugged her shoulders.

“Normal, we aren't normal,” the detective reminded her.

“I know but…” Rosien's blue eyes began to water with tears, “… but that's not fair, it's not the answer to everything,” she started to get angry and inflated her already round childlike faces. Her godfather opened his mouth and then closed it like a fish out of water. He didn't have the slightest idea of how he could stop this storm of emotion.

“Yes, it isn't. Listen, I love your father, but...” he began, but then he noticed the shadow in the doorway. God, John! He heard it... hear his confession of love!