Hello! :) Today is Father's Day, so yeah, thought I'd write something based on this day. I've nothing much to say right now, but I just hope you enjoy reading this :) Happy Father's Day to all fathers out there! :DDD

Disclaimer: I own nought.

"Are you sure you're not making anything for your father?"

Putting down the thick encyclopaedia, Sherlock stared at Molly seated opposite him at his table, his face stoic.

"…I take that as a 'no', then…?"


"Okay then…" Looking around the classroom, filled with loud noise and the chattering of her classmates, Molly tried to find a conversation topic to engage Sherlock in; she would not want him to just sit around a corner not doing anything (besides reading that huge book, of course).

"Umm, I think I'll try making a rose," was what she blurted out in the end.

Sherlock looked up from his book again, giving her a withered look this time. She, however, turned the idea over in her mind and decided that it would make a nice present for her father after all. "No, really – I think I'll try making a rose!"

"And you're confident that your art and craft skills, minimal as they already are, would aid you in this goal of yours?" he mockingly questioned.

"Why else, then, do we have the internet if it's not for researching for ways to make paper roses?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and went back to the encyclopaedia. "As the phrase goes: whatever floats your boat," he muttered sarcastically to himself.

"I heard that!"

A few minutes passed, with Molly sticking out her tongue while she did her folding, unfortunately getting stuck in more than one step as she went. Sensing her distress after her managing to reach step 11, Sherlock debated on helping her out, finally giving in when she cried out 'Oh my God!' for the fourth time.

"Be gentle," he chided as he took over her work thus far. "At this point in time, I myself am beginning to pity the rose that seemed it would never be."

Huffing out indignantly, Molly soon watched enraptured as his skillful violinist hands worked its magic on folding the piece of crumpled red paper into a beautiful paper rose. "Oh my God," she said for the fifth time when he was finished, this time in awe.

Proudly holding his head a little higher, he carefully handed his handiwork over to her; she sat back looking at it, her attention never shifting from the rose in her hands.

After she had not said anything for a few seconds, Sherlock was about to go back to his book when Molly spoke up timidly, "Are you sure you're not making anything for your father?"

"Oh for goodness' sake, Molly," he answered exasperatedly, "didn't I say-"

"Really? You don't want to even write anything on that card?" she continued, pointing a finger at the blank piece of folded card on the desk right in front of him.

"I have nothing to write about."

"A simple 'Happy Father's Day' would do, wouldn't it?"

"We don't celebrate it."

At that revelation, Molly stared at the lanky teen. Although it was noisy in the classroom they were in, the abrupt silence between them seemed more deafening.

"You could draw a heart," she suggested, breaking the trance they were in.

"Why would I do that?" he instantly replied.

"Because it won't hurt to show your heart once in a while."

Sherlock turned away from her then, not attempting to talk to her for the duration of the time that she was around him. Molly knew how Sherlock detested 'feelings' and 'sentiment' with a vengeance, but from the countless of times she had witnessed him being genuinely caring – in his own way - towards the little friends that he had (helping Greg out of a rut many a time) and to Mycroft (hiding his older brother's secret stash of sweets when the teen found out he had gained an amazing 3 pounds in a mere week and a half), she figured he was not all that isolated from feelings after all.

When Sarah had called out to Molly asking her for some help a moment later and the latter had made her way over to her friend, Sherlock stared at the plain paper in front of him. He took a quick look to where Molly was seated and, ensuring she would not pass by his table any time soon, nicked a pencil from John's pencil case on the blond's desk situated directly behind him.


The eldest Holmes of the household, at that time reading the newspaper, glanced up from its words, looking to his right where the voice originated.

"Yes, Sherlock."


Frowning a little when the teen dropped a white A5-sized piece of card on his lap, Mr Holmes put away the papers as his keen eyes looked over the card. "This is something," he remarked, raising an eyebrow at his son.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. "I believe cards are meant to be read."

Sighing internally at his son's snarky reply, Mr Holmes picked the card up and opened it, immediately spotting a drawing of a human heart on its left side. Since he was busy perusing the drawing, he did not notice the boy fidgeting ever so slightly on his feet.

"It seems the left ventricle is drawn a little out of proportion," he commented. Sherlock, eyes widened, leaned in to take a look himself, and berated himself in his mind on it not being perfect. His father, having seen his son's displeased expression, fought to keep a small smile at bay. Mr Holmes then turned his attention back to the card and read what was handwritten on its right side.

Happy Father's Day - SH

Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, he looked to his son for an explanation. Sherlock, in turn, turned his head away as he gave the reason. It did not go unnoticed to the elder Holmes that his voice was softer than usual. "We had 2 free periods in school earlier just now, so Mrs Hudson gave us cards to write things on it, and asked us what topic we could write about; one of my classmates - John, actually - suggested to write cards to our fathers, since it was almost Father's Day."

"And the heart? What made you want to draw a heart?"

"Another one of my classmates kept on asking me about it, and she suggested that I draw a heart."

"'She', is it? Must be your girlfriend Molly then."

Sherlock turned to his father to glare at him for a while before looking away again. "A friend who happens to be a female," he corrected through clenched teeth.

Chuckling softly, Mr Holmes looked at the card once more. "Why a heart, though?"

"She mentioned I could show my heart a little more."

That statement made the older Holmes contemplative. An off-hand question from Sherlock a minute later brought him out from his trance.

"I have no memory of us celebrating Father's Day ever since Mycroft turned fourteen. Why?"

His father took a moment to think through the question. "Because it's meaningless," he finally replied. "I see no reason for us to celebrate such a minuscule occasion, as we see each other everyday; I don't believe it could change the dynamics between us, could it?"

"Maybe it could."

Looking at his son's earnest face after that whispered reply, Mr Holmes soften his own. Deciding that it was his cue to leave, Sherlock nodded to his father and made his way out of the study room. As his hand touched the doorknob, a soft voice behind him said, "Thank you."

Looking over his shoulder, Sherlock Holmes stared at his father's sitting form; although his head was bowed down, the teen saw a hint of a gentle smile on his father's lips as the latter continued to look at the card in his hands. The youngest Holmes unconsciously allowed a corner of his lips to lift up a little at the sight.

"Happy Father's Day, Dad."