"One day, a long time ago, the bee in the box came to live at the brownstone. He was a beautiful bee and quite rare, and he was given all he could want to sustain him. Confined in his box of wood and glass, he was very safe but he was also very alone. And even a solitary bee needs a friend.

This made us sad. So a section of hive was segregated and the bee in the box was set in it - free to go if he pleased. But the most curious thing happened: he stayed! The solitary bee stayed. And he made a friend!

And then, even though it was highly improbable but not truly impossible something even more wonderful happened. The bee in the box and his friend had offspring. Out of their friendship something beautiful and totally new was created. And do you know what that was?"

"Me!"

"No! Silly. You came much later. It was a new species of bee. And guess who daddy named the bee after?"

"You! Yoo-glass-Eeee-ah Watson Eeee ah!" She pronounced the words as of she were reciting a magic spell.

"That's right. And the honey that our bees produce... is ... the ... sweetest ... Ever!" Joan tickled her little one producing a cascade of giggles.

"Alright, what goes on here. No giggling; it's bed time." Sherlock stood at the bedroom's door and cast his most imperious scowl at the duo. The child beamed a happy grin in return.

He walked to the bed, "Time to sleep. Mum and I have to go off to work."

"Murder?" The child asked with delighted glee.

"Don't know yet. Mustn't make assumptions without data, hmm?" He turned to Watson. "Ms. Hudson is downstairs. So if you'd like to get ready, I'll make sure this one here goes to sleep."

As Joan descended the stairs, she heard the wild giggles of their daughter and Sherlock's playful attempts to shush her.