Chubby hands grasped Mycroft's lean fingers, and ten wriggling, tiny toes stepped onto the toes of his polished shoes.

"And…One…two…three, one…two…three, one…two…three, that is very good,"

A pair of large, dark eyes peeked up at him from watching their feet, and a mostly toothless grin appeared on the shining face. He released one of Charlotte's hands to brush the wispy curls from her face.

"Your mummy needs to trim your hair," he said. Charlotte merely hummed an answer, looking back at their feet. Still standing on his shoes, she bent her legs, then straightened, indicating she wanted to move again.

It wasn't really dancing, not proper dancing, but then one can't expect a baby who's just learned to walk to know how to waltz.

Mycroft liked babies. He loved Rosie Watson with a ferocity he did not expect, and when his niece came along, he was taken aback by the familiar waves of familial protectiveness that came about only for those he especially loved.

Sherlock had at last come to his senses and married Molly Hooper. When Charlotte was placed into his arms for the first time, Mycroft wept. A tiny, lovely baby to protect and cherish, one hopefully without sorrow for many years to come. A playmate for Rosie, and…perhaps one day be a cousin, should the happy day ever come for Mycroft and his own fiancée. So many possibilities!

Charlotte loved her Uncle Mycroft. Indeed he was her favorite outside of her parents of course. She loved John and Mary too, naturally, and Mrs. Hudson. But there was a particularly happy smile she only had for her Uncle.

"More!" Charlotte insisted, when Mycroft stopped dancing with her.

"Oh very well," he relented, smiling. "Go on now, a nice big twirl, there, that's lovely your majesty."

On the television, the latest Cinderella film was playing, and it was Charlotte's favorite part: the ball. Now that she had mastered walking, she was very happily twirling along with the music when Mycroft set her on his shoes and had begun dancing with her.

Now, up and down the empty living room. Charlotte had been content at first to twirl and make the big skirt of her Cinderella costume fan out, (she'd run and insisted on wearing it as soon as Mycroft suggested a film after luncheon). Now she was just as happy to stand on the toes of his shoes and watch him move them around the floor, even if it was slower.

These were fleeting moments. Charlotte wouldn't be this small forever, she'd outgrow the princess dresses and standing on her loved ones' shoes. She's be too big to carry, and then she'd be off to primary. She'd find boys her age to dance with in time. But that was not for a good while yet. There would be time enough for growing up. For now, Mycroft was perfectly content to savor this lovely memory of his niece standing on his shoes, dancing around his flat.