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#sherlock has a daughter
bcimbatmandude · 4 years ago
More Human Than Meets the Eye-The Blind Banker, Part Two
A/N: here’s the next chapter! Part three will be out tomorrow. Thanks for reading guys!
Previously- The army doctor looked cross to his flat mate and tutted pointedly. Sherlock shook his head innocently. John turned and left the room, shouting a goodbye to Adaline before trotting down the stairs. Sherlock looked over and smiled proudly at his daughter who grinned back widely. "Sooo, can I touch it?"
"Sherlock, my laptop is password protected! How in the world did you.." "Oh please, John," Sherlock interrupted, scoffing. "It was elementary. Dare I say, second grade level work." (A/N: I have NO idea how the schools in the UK operate; not going to pretend that I do.) He then turned to his daughter who was sitting in her father's chair, making a point to look away from John. She began "whistling" but failed terribly. John continued looking at her with one raised eyebrow, and finally, she couldn't take it anymore.
"I'm sorry, Mr. John!" she cried. "I didn't want to do it! He bribed me!" Adaline pointed to her father, giving the man a fierce glare. "Traitor," he muttered, and she shrugged. Sherlock sighed. "Oh well, can't be helped. It wasn't exactly Fort Knox level of protection was it?"
John looked back and forth from father to daughter, utterly lost for words. "Right. Thank you both."
He walked over and slammed the computer's lid down. Sherlock managed to pull his fingers out of the way just in time. John took the laptop across the room and put it down on the floor beside his armchair as he sat down. Sherlock clasped his hands in the prayer position in front of his mouth as he propped his elbows on the table, looking thoughtful. John picked up a small pile of letters from the table beside his chair and frowned.
"What's wrong, Mr. John?" Adaline questioned, noticing his change in expression. John glanced up towards the girl. "Hm? Oh nothing." He paused and Adaline continued looking at him, waiting patiently. "Just..need to get a job," he finished.
"That sounds horrible," Adaline commented. At the same time as his daughter, Sherlock stated, "Oh dull." John glanced at the two, looking back at his letters for a moment. He looked back up then, and Adaline noted that he almost seemed..uncomfortable when he spoke his next sentence. "Listen, um…if you'd be able to lend me some…"
As he spoke, he realized that Sherlock was in no way paying attention to his roommate's voice. "Sherlock? Are you even listening?"
"I need to go to the bank," the curly haired man stated suddenly, and Adaline watched as her father got up from his seat at the table and headed over to the door. He grabbed his coat from the hook behind the door, quickly shrugging it on. "Adaline," he beckoned, grabbing his daughter's coat, and the girl mindfully rose from her father's chair, sliding her arms into the coat when Sherlock held it open for her.
Sherlock opened the door and the two made a move to walk down the stairs, but not before Adaline turned around to look back at John. "Mr. John?" she questioned. "Aren't you coming?" Not needing any more encouragement, John got up from his spot in the armchair, grabbed his own coat, and accompanied his new flat mates to the bank.
The trio arrived at the bank; John couldn't help but gaze around at the impressive bank foyer. Adaline gasped excitedly when she saw the escalator; she ran ahead of John and her father, jumping on to the "ride." Meanwhile, Sherlock and John calmly approached the electronic stairs, Sherlock making a point to observe as many details he could about his surrounding environment.
Sherlock walked over to the front desk, stating his name to the receptionist who nodded and began to show them to a room. She stopped though when she spotted the adorable blonde, curly haired child standing close to her father's leg. "Oh my goodness!" she gasped, and John watched, amused, as the young woman walked up to the child and kneeled down to her level. Adaline smiled politely but was obviously uncomfortable with the attention being shown to her. John couldn't really blame her for feeling that way, especially when the woman began petting the small girl's head, running her fingers throughout her curls.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. This happened almost every time they went out in public…
"Your hair is just precious! You are just the cutest little thing I've ever seen! Like a doll," the woman cooed. Suddenly, the receptionist's hand was coming towards her face and Adaline gasped, making a move to step away from the silly woman. She hated getting her cheeks pinched!
Before she could move though, Sherlock stepped in, finally deciding to take pity on his daughter. He hurriedly reached out and caught the woman's wrist in a gentle but firm grasp. "I'm sorry, we're kind of in a hurry," he told her, and the receptionist look at him with an affronted look. "Could you stop fawning over my daughter long enough to show us to a room?"
The woman, feeling her cheeks heat up with embarrassment, quickly snatched her hand away from the daunting man in front of her. She stood up from her position and readjusted her outfit before clearing her throat and gesturing the three of them forwards. "It's that way." "Thank you," Sherlock nodded politely and made his way towards the room, Adaline trailing behind him.
John looked at the obviously very flustered woman, feeling a bit sorry for her now. He threw her a kind smile which she half-heartedly returned, and then proceeded to walk towards the meeting room. When he walked in he saw a man in a business suit shaking hands with Sherlock.
"Sherlock Holmes," the man greeted, Sherlock's hand clasped in between both of his own.
"Sebastian," Sherlock returned shortly.
"Howdy, buddy. How long's it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?" Sherlock looked at Sebastian with marginally disguised dislike. Sebastian glanced down for a second, and then did a double take, as though he had just noticed the tiny human standing next to Sherlock.
"Who's this then?" he said loudly, and for the second time that day, Adaline forced a very fake, polite smile onto her face. "This is my…" Sherlock started, but before he could finish Sebastian interrupted. "Don't tell me. She's your niece."
"…daughter." the detective concluded. Sebastian threw a surprised look at Sherlock. "Daughter?" he repeated, clear disbelief in his voice. "Who would've thought that Sherlock Holmes was capable of being a father?" Adaline looked up towards the men, and for a split second, she saw something flash over her father's face at Sebastian's words.
Concern filled her and she opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly, the man's face was in front of her own. "What's your name love?" Her dislike for the business man only grew when she recognized the tone his voice had adapted upon addressing her. Adaline liked to refer to this voice as the "dummy voice." Well, she'd solve this problem right away.
"Is that a new watch?" she asked simply. "What?" he countered, looking taken aback. His breath blew into her face and she grimaced. "Your breath stinks," she said bluntly, and the man's eyes widened in surprise now. He quickly stood back up, taking a step away from the girl. Sherlock didn't even bother holding in his snort of amusement. John however, looked down at the girl disapprovingly, even though he too wanted to laugh. Adaline had never sounded more like her father than she did in that moment.
Sebastian turned to John, but not before sending a glare down at the small human who was now smiling at him innocently. "John Watson," John offered, take a step forward to shake the man's hand. "He's a friend," Sherlock provided. "Friend?" Sebastian repeated, one eyebrow rising up.
"Collea…" John started, and then made the mistake of glancing down at Adaline, who was peering up at him trustingly with her wide, green eyes. John made a split decision then. "Friend," John said firmly, looking back at Sebastian. "I'm a friend."
Both of Sebastian's eyebrows rose then, and he looked to Sherlock as if to say, Is this a joke? John knew at that moment that he had made the right move switching his answers, for he very much disliked this man. Sherlock threw him a grateful look and Adaline beamed up at him, and he felt warmth build up in his chest.
"Well," Sebastian said, clearing his throat. "D'ya need anything? Coffee, water? Juice for the tiny tot?" "We're fine," Sherlock said, putting a hand on his daughter's shoulder. He knew that the man was trying to rile her up, and as funny as it would be for a child to put such a pompous idiot in his place, it would also be rude, and as a father he shouldn't encourage rudeness. Sebastian nodded, throwing himself into his chair and gestured that they all sit down as well. As there were only two seats, Adaline sat in her father's lap, playing with hand when he wrapped it around her stomach.
"So, you're doing well," Sherlock started casually. "You've been abroad a lot." "Well, some," Sebastian admitted. "Flying all the way round the world twice in a month?" John frowned in confusion at Sherlock's words, and Sebastian laughed loudly and pointed at Sherlock.
"Right. You're doing that thing." He looked at John. "This guy here had a trick he used to do."
"It's not a trick," Sherlock said quietly, and Adaline glared fiercely at Sebastian. "We were at uni together. He could look at you and tell you your whole life story."
"Yes, I've seen him do it," John said, face blank.
"Put the wind up everybody. We hated him." Sherlock turned his head away then and looked down. Adaline looked at her father worriedly. The ignorant man continued, "You'd come down to breakfast in the Formal Hall and this freak would know you'd been shagging the previous night."
That was it. Adaline couldn't take it anymore. "Don't call my dad a freak!" she shouted, and Sebastian whipped his head towards her. "He's not a freak and it's not a trick! It's called a deduction you idi-" At that moment, Sherlock's hand closed around her mouth, ending her rant towards the now speechless man. "Calm down," Sherlock whispered to his daughter, tightening his arm around her waist. She looked up at him angrily but nodded, and Sherlock released her, adjusting her in his lap once more.
"I simply observed," Sherlock now addressed Sebastian. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm sure you called me here for more than just a chat." Sebastian looked at Adaline for a bit longer and then met eyes with the detective. "Like father like daughter…" he mumbled, and John fidgeted a bit, trying to fight off the urge to follow Adaline's lead and shut the man down.
"Yes," Sebastian confirmed. "I do have something interesting for you. We've had a break-in." He got up then and walked across the trading floor towards another door, the trio following. "Sir William's office-the bank's former chairman. The room's been left here like a sort of memorial. Someone broke in late last night."
"What did they steal?" John questioned. "Nothing," the man said. "Just left a little message." He held his security card against the reader by the door in order to unlock it, and walked inside. Hanging on the plain white wall behind a large desk was a framed painted portrait of a man in a suit. Adaline presumed this was the late Sir William that Sebastian spoke of. On the wall to the left of the portrait someone had sprayed what looked like a graffiti 'tag' in yellow paint. The tag looked vaguely like a number 8 but with the top of the number left open, and above it was an almost horizontal straight line. Across the eyes of the portrait itself was another almost horizontal straight line that had been sprayed.
Sebastian led the way towards the desk and stepped aside to allow Sherlock a clear view of the wall. John moved to stand on the other side of Sebastian, and Adaline took her spot beside John. The business man looked at Sherlock expectantly while the detective starred at the graffiti in fixed concentration.
"Sixty seconds apart," Sebastian told them after they were back in his office looking at the security footage of the office from the previous night. The man flicked back and forth between the still photograph which was taken at 23:34:01. The photograph showed the paint on the wall and on the portrait, and then showed where a minute earlier -23:33:01 – the wall and portrait were still clean.
"So someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around, then left within a minute."
"How many ways into the office?" Sherlock asked.
"Well, that's where this gets really interesting."
The trio walked with Sebastian back to the reception area and were now studying a computer screen which showed the layout of the trading floor and its surrounding offices. Each indicated door had a light against it showing its security status.
"Every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here. Every walk-in cupboard, every toilet." "That door didn't open last night," Sherlock stated.
"There's a hole in our security. Find it and we'll pay you-five figures. The business man reached into his inside breast pocket then, pulling out a cheque. "This is an advance. Tell me how he got in, there's a bigger one on its way."
"I don't need an incentive, Sebastian," Sherlock scoffed, walking away. Adaline, on the other hand, snatched the money away from the business man, who looked at her with surprise but then rolled his eyes and followed Sherlock.
Adaline then turned to John. "Here ya go, Mr. John." She placed the cheque in his hand and smiled at John, who looked down at the child with wide eyes. "Ada, what.." "You said you needed a job," she answered simply, shrugging. "Your card didn't take at the store so you probably don't have a lot of money right now. This might help."
"Ada, I…" John started. "Thank you," he ended, and smiled at the sweet little girl. "You're welcome!" she chirped, and grabbed his hand, leading the two of them towards Sherlock and Sebastian.
A/N: Ahhhhhhh! Adaline and John's relationship is just so adorable. Sorry if I'm doting on it too much, but I just can't get enough of it. Anyways, thank you again so much for reading!
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a-different-equation · 4 months ago
It’s The Old Guard all over again: Is The Irregulars perfect? No, it’s not. What is it with this black-or-white attitude these days?
You can get a NO HOMO, desperately unspoken, subtext/meta/conspiracy, baiting etc. in numerous ways. You can get your flirting with the homoerotic and bromance and whatsoever. And obviously, you can get your white straight middle aged men seeking adventures (and ship/fandom fix it).
Fandom fixes it all, and it does it splendidly.
But in The Irregulars you don’t have to search for subtext or speculate if Watson is gay: he is a canon gay black man who loves Sherlock Holmes— and he says so several times too.
Is this John Watson a saint? Nope. Does Sherlock Holmes knows about his feelings? Yes, and the irrregulars by Bea probably too. He doesn’t mock him, Sherlock says to him, “I see you.”
Equals “I see you” “I love you”??? No. Does Sherlock has a (“dead”) fiancée and a daughter? Yes. Is he currently “dead”. Yes.
Do I a) really have to explain Reichenbach as a cliffhanger, and b) what a reverse is, aka the title and its intro, aka the premise of The series, and c) that this is season 1 and it’s already renewed for a second by Netflix, and d) fandom always says that bisexuality exists — why could not be Sherlock Holmes be the one this time?
Because John Watson is always a white man, unless he isn’t.
Watch another TV series that has a black John Watson who is openly in love with Sherlock Holmes — oh, there’s only The Irregulars.
It’s a start, literally, first season. And even if it’s not canon Johnlock in the end — it’s more than any other adaption before in terms of representation.
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bcimbatmandude · 4 years ago
More Human Than Meets the Eye-The Blind Banker, Part One
Previously: "He could be the making of my brother – or make him worse than ever. Either way, we'd better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade Three Active. Don't want to take any chances with my niece in the mist of things." Anthea looked up from her phone.
"Sorry sir, whose status?"
"Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson."
Almost empty.
Might as well be empty.
"Everything is empty!" the 7 year old curly haired child groaned out. Adaline crossed her arms grumpily across her chest and looked around the small kitchen of the flat in frustration. She woke up that morning, tummy grumbling, and trotted her way into the kitchen in pursuit of breakfast. She soon became very distraught however upon discovering that there was absolutely nothing in the kitchen to snack on. Nothing!
Green eyes peered around the small space carefully, searching for something…anything that would take away the angry growls her stomach was sending off…..
Adaline's face lit up when she spotted her favorite cereal sitting on top of the refrigerator; it was just begging to be eaten. Excitement filled her and she quickly walked over to the dining table and grabbed a stool. Dragging it over to the fridge, she carefully climbed her way to the top, tiny arms immediately reaching towards her prize. The little girl snagged the cereal box, a giant grin stretched across her face.
The smile quickly fell though and was replaced with a pitiful looking pout when she discovered that there was absolutely not one bit of cereal left within the box. Adaline turned the cereal box upside down, shaking it as though more cereal would magically appear. She sighed though when only a few remaining crumbs fell out and hit the floor beneath her.
"Bullocks…" she murmured, scowling.
"Adaline!" a voice barked out, and she gasped in surprise, hand loosening on the arm of the stool where she was holding herself up. The little girl swayed back and forth dangerously, trying in vain to regain her balance. She reached her hand out, but instead of grabbing the arm of the chair as she intended to do, she had already fallen too far and was only able to touch it with her fingertips. The child closed her eyes and braced herself for the crash against the floor when suddenly, strong arms surrounded her.
"Adaline what on Earth are you doing?" John questioned, looking at the child he was holding with wide eyes. "Do you want a concussion? The bruise on your forehead hasn't even faded away completely yet, and you're trying to give yourself another one?" Adaline looked down at the floor bashfully, cheeks flushed at John's reprimanding tone. "I was just looking for something to eat," she explained quietly, looking back up at the man with large, pouting eyes.
John's face softened and he sighed, gently placing the girl safely on the floor. "You could've asked someone taller to help you look." "I thought everyone was still asleep!"
"Adaline, I've told you countless times not to climb on top of chairs," a deep voice injected. Both John and Adaline turned around to see Sherlock coming into the living room, still in his night clothes.
"But dad…" She began, giving him a pleading look.
"Go and get dressed then," he waved her off. "Okay!" the child answered, bounding past John into her bedroom. John watched her go and turned to his roommate. "Where's she going?" he asked curiously. "The store, obviously," the detective answered in a bored voice. "But how did you…"
Sherlock just looked at him. John sighed. "Never mind; I'll go with her. I need to pick up some things anyway." "Oh good," Sherlock answered, plopping down onto the couch. "Pick up some tea as well."
"It wouldn't kill you to say please," John mumbled, placing the chair back at the table and going to his own room to get dressed for the day.
Half an hour later, army doctor and detective's daughter entered the supermarket. Adaline immediately grasped onto John's hand tightly, veering the both of them to the left side of the store. "Ice cream is this way, Mr. John!" John rolled his eyes, but smiled, allowing the small girl to lead him throughout the shop.
Meanwhile, back at the flat, while John and Adaline were finishing up their shopping for the day, Sherlock was in the middle of fighting off an invader. The man's face and head were almost completely shrouded in a variety of scarves, and he was wielding a deadly curved sword. The attacker slashed at him and Sherlock narrowly avoided getting cut, dancing and ducking away from the man.
Back at the supermarket, John was having his own fierce battle. "Unexpected item in bagging area. Please try again," the automated voice said again. John scoffed, and Adaline sheepishly looked back at the people in line behind them, giving them an apologetic smile.
The attacker had Sherlock backed up against the sofa; the detective had nowhere to run. The man took a swing at him, but right before it nicked Sherlock's face, the detective ducked under the sword, and dropped onto the couch into a sitting position. The man lifted the sword above his head with both hands. Sherlock kicks out his legs which connected roughly with the man's chest, shoving him backwards. As the man stumbles back across the room, Sherlock got to his feet and took an all-important moment to straighten his jacket before charging across the room towards the man.
John held a head of lettuce in a plastic bag, slowly moving it across the scanner, trying desperately to get it to register with the system.
"Mr. John, maybe I should try…" Adaline suggested hesitantly. Mr. John seemed pretty agitated right now, and she didn't really want to push him..but the line behind them was steadily getting longer. "No, thank you dear," he answered, biting his lip in concentration. "I think I've got it."
"Item not scanned. Please try again."
John groaned and straightened from his slightly crouched position. "D'ya think you could keep your voice down?!" he demanded of the machine, and Adaline looked at him with exasperation.
In the flat, the attacker had his sword held horizontally in both hands and was pushing Sherlock backwards into the kitchen. With a tight grip on the man's wrists, Sherlock fell back onto the kitchen table and the man followed him down, trying to press the edge of the blade into Sherlock's throat. Grimacing with the effort, Sherlock pushed the man's right wrist upwards to keep the blade from cutting him. The point of the sword began to dig into the table to Sherlock's right. Sherlock raised his left leg and kneed the man in the side several times and, as this began to weaken the man's grip. Sherlock forced himself upwards again, and the sword tip gouged a long slash across the top of the table.
John had finally managed to get all of his items scanned, with Adaline's help of course. He had grudgingly agreed to let the girl assist him. She tried not to smile too widely when she got everything scanned with the first swipe. John inserted his card into the chip and pin machine. "Card not authorized! Please use an alternative method of payment!"
"Yes! Alright, I've got it!" "Card not authorized! Please use an alternative method of payment!" John checked his back pocket, knowing he had no other forms of money. "Got nothing," he confirmed.
John pointed at the machine, grabbed Adaline's hand, and said, "Right. Keep it, keep that." The man behind them looked on in surprise. John began walking away angrily, leaving all of his groceries. Adaline turned back around and waved at the line of people that had built up behind them. "Bye!" she said cheerily, and several of them chuckled and waved back to the child, making the girl beam.
In the flat, Sherlock was on his feet again and the fight had moved back into the living room. The attacker took another swing at Sherlock who ducked underneath the sword and then quickly straightened up, pointing directly over the man's shoulder.
The man had already half turned in that direction with the swing of his sword and was also perhaps momentarily distracted by their reflections in the mirror over the fireplace behind him. Sherlock took advantage and swung a powerful uppercut to the man's chin, and the man dropped unconscious into Sherlock's armchair. Sherlock straightened up and immediately checked his reflection in the mirror, straightening his jacket and cuffs and then dusting himself down. He looked down at the man with disdain, indignant. "You scuffed my clothes," he sniffed.
Sometime later,  John and Adaline arrived back at the flat. Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, calmly reading one of the books he'd read a hundred times already. There was no sign of the attacker around the flat. John stopped as soon as he walked into the flat. He felt as though something had happened in his absence, but looking to Sherlock who was obviously making an effort not to look at him, he merely sighed and shook his head, deciding to let the matter go.
"You took your time," the detective commented, not looking up from his book. "Yeah, I didn't get the groceries."
This made Sherlock look up. "What? Why?" Adaline giggled and Sherlock looked over at his daughter. "The shopping machines disagreed with him." The man raised an eyebrow at his daughter curiously and she giggled again. "I had a row in the shop..with a chip and pin machine."
Sherlock lowered his book now, looking at his roommate disbelievingly. "You…had a row with a machine?" "Sort of. It sat there, and I shouted abuse." Adaline lost it then, and began full out laughing, falling backward onto the couch and holding her stomach. John looked over at her and couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction. "Yes yes, Adaline. It was very funny." He looked over at Sherlock then. "Have you got any cash?"
Sherlock decided to actually be an adult for once. His child was already laughing at the poor man, and it just wouldn't be proper for both of them to laugh, so held back his own amused reaction, and nodded towards the kitchen. "Take my card."
John walked towards the kitchen where Sherlock's wallet was lying on the table, but before he got there he turned back to his flat mate. "You could go yourself, ya know. You've been sitting there all morning. You've not even moved since we've left."
"I wouldn't say that, Mr. John," Adaline began, and peered towards her father with a knowing look. "I'd say he's gotten a bit of exercise in this morning." The child glanced down towards the bottom of Sherlock's chair, and the man looked down himself, only to realize that the attacker's sword was basically in plain view. How John hadn't noticed it yet was beyond his imaginings. He quickly slammed a foot down onto the end of the sword and slid his foot and the weapon further back under the chair. He then threw his daughter a warning look, and she smiled, miming zipping her lips closed.
He raised an elegant eyebrow at her and she rolled her eyes, pretending to lock up her lips and throw away the key. (A/N: I hope you guys can envision this action, and know what gesture I'm talking about.) Sherlock nodded, content with her vow to secrecy.
"What about the case you were offered?" John continued, completely ignorant to what was going on behind him. "The Jaria diamond?"
"I sent them a message," Sherlock answered firmly, his mind flashing back to the uppercut he had thrown the man which ended the fight.
John finally found a card he could use. He made to head out the door, but paused when he noticed something was…off with the table. He bent over to look more closely at the new long narrow gouge in the top of the table. He sighed and ran his finger along the cut, rubbing at it.
John sighed exasperatedly. "Ugh, Holmes."
The army doctor looked across to his flatmate and he tuttted pointedly. Sherlock shook his head innocently. John turned and leaves the room, shouting a goodbye to Adaline, before trotting down the stairs. Sherlock looked over and smirked proudly at his daughter, who grinned back widely. "Soooo, can I touch it?"
A/N: I know..You really don't need to tell me. This is absolutely awful and pathetic and how dare I give you all such a short chapter when I've made you wait so late. BUT, do not fear! I'm almost done with another one and will have it up soon! I just wanted to give you all some hope. I'm not going to abandon this story. Just takes me a bit to get chapters out sometimes...
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Mycroft: Ok, Sherlock, listen, John has a new life, he doesn't live in Baker Street anymore, he has a wife and a daughter, get over it-
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generallynerdy · 2 years ago
Smoke Part 2 (Sherlock X Reader)
Part 1
Summary: Now that Sherlock is back, things are much better, especially in (Y/N) and her father's home. Though both still struggle to give up their smoking habits, a certain detective and his partner have been an excellent help. A mere few months after his return, Sherlock has a private talk with Greg about his daughter and their respective places in her life, more accurately how Sherlock wants to change them.
Requested by Anon: Hey I would love if you did a part two for smoke with Sherlock.  I find your writing great and I'd appreciate it.  💕💕        
Requested by EchoesOfOmens (AO3): OMG I think we need a part 2, this is great
Key: (Y/N) - your name
Warnings: cursing maybe, smoking, mentions of addiction, Sherlock is probably OOC cuz I haven’t watched the show in ages (i’ll rewatch before my next request with him, don’t worry)
Word Count: 738
Note: i never intended to do a second part to this, seeing as it was pretty close ended but then this just randomly came to me??? And I had to write it??? I dunno i have no control over my writing impulses it’s a gift and a curse
    “They really did need you, (Y/N)-”
    “Alright, alright!” She huffed playfully as Sherlock practically shoved her out the door, “I’m going!”
    “Ah-” He stopped her on the way out, suddenly slipping his hand into her coat pocket and pulling out a familiar pack of cigarettes. He gave her a knowing, disappointed look as he held them up.
    “I wasn’t going to smoke them, honest!” (Y/N) whined.
    Sherlock merely rolled his eyes, “You’re a terrible liar.” Before his girlfriend could protest, he leaned down and pecked her cheek gently before sending her on her way.
    Dying left Sherlock a changed man, for better or for worse. It had definitely affected his and (Y/N)’s relationship. He was more open, more loving to her, even in front of other people. He even did his best to help her with her smoking issue, as she had always helped him through his addiction. The man said it was the least he could do -- but he was quickly corrected.
    Sherlock remained at the Lestrade apartment when (Y/N) left, claiming he needed to speak to her father about a case. He did need to speak to Greg, that was true, but it wasn’t about a case. It was more of a personal matter, actually.
    “What can I do you for?” Greg asked, still chugging down his second cup of the morning.
It wasn’t his day off, but he didn’t have to come in early at least. With his luck, he was sure that Sherlock actually needed him for a case. Surprisingly, though, the great detective had something completely different in mind.
“Look, Lestrade-” Sherlock cleared his throat as he sat down at the dining room table across from Greg. “-Greg”
For maybe once in his life, he was visibly nervous. This was what tipped off Greg that the detective meant business- and not the regular business. Of course, his use of Lestrade’s first name also helped that, but Sherlock had gotten better about showing that he really did remember it.
“We’ve known each other for a long time- solved murders, which was mostly me, caught criminals, also me-” Sherlock couldn’t help himself, “And I have been in relations with your daughter for almost as long. Logically speaking, most couples after about 2-5 years, well they, uh, they-”
Lestrade nearly choked on his coffee, “Sherlock, are you asking to marry (Y/N)?”
“I’ve,” Sherlock took a deep breath, “I’ve been considering doing just that, yes.”
There was a heavy moment of silence as if neither man could believe the words that just poured out of Sherlock’s mouth.
“I need a cig,” Greg went to grab one, but Sherlock stopped him.
He shook his head, “Those things’ll kill you.”
While perhaps meaningless to most, those words from Sherlock were so much more. They showed Greg that he cared for (Y/N), he cared for Greg, both for (Y/N)’s sake and just on his own. Sherlock really did care about the Lestrade family and he really did love (Y/N), even if it was hard for him to show it sometimes.
“Considering how many times the two of us have been put into deadly situations,” Sherlock rattled off before softening, “I thought it best to think about getting, er, engaged sooner than later- especially if there may not be a later.”
“(Y/N) loves you, you know that?” Greg said quietly, amazed with the changes in the world lately. “I’ve never seen her like that- the way she is with you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, no- it’s a good thing. It really is,” the police chief hummed, “If you want to marry my daughter, Sherlock, then you’re damn well better off asking her. It isn’t my choice. If it was, though, I’d give you a wholehearted yes.”
At this, Sherlock grinned, unable to contain himself. “Thank you.”
“If you hurt her though-”
“You’ll hang me by my toes,” Sherlock started for the door, “And leave me for the birds. I know. You warned me when we started dating.”
As Sherlock practically sprinted out the door in his excitement, Greg couldn’t help but sigh. His girl was all grown up. She’d been through so much and here she was about to go off and get married. It was at that realisation that Greg Lestrade went to light a cigarette, but decided against it and took a swig of his coffee instead.
Note: if anyone wants part 3 i have ideas and they may include ring shopping with John
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bcimbatmandude · 4 years ago
More Human Than Meets the Eye- A Study in Pink, Part Five
A/N: Hello again! so sorry this took so long. In apology, I wrote out an especially long chapter. This will end episode one and the following chapter will send us in to episode two! Again, thank you s much for reading, and please enjoy!
Previously- "Good idea." Sherlock made his way to the door. "Where are you going?" John called to him, puzzled as to why he was leaving at such a crucial time. "Fresh air. Just popping outside for a moment. Won't be long."
"You sure you're alright?"
"I'm fine," Sherlock ended, and hurried down the stairs.
Sherlock came to an abrupt stop at the bottom of the staircase. The front door was wide open and he studied the man standing next to the taxi from inside of the flat. He slowly made his way outside, making sure to grab his coat beforehand. He shrugged his arms into his jacket, and shut the front door behind him with a soft click.
"Taxi for Sherlock 'olmes," the older man spoke. Sherlock quickly glanced down at the man's name tag which was embroidered on to his cardigan.
"Jeff is it?" the detective asked casually. "I didn't order a taxi." "Doesn't mean you don't need one."
"You're the cabbie," Sherlock stated confidently. "The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street. It was you, not your passenger." Jeff shook his head and tutted. "See? No one ever thinks about the cabbie. It's like your invisible. Just the back of an 'ead." The man adapted a sinister smile as he spoke. "Proper advantage for a serial killer."
Sherlock took a few steps towards the driver. "Is this a confession?" He glanced up towards the window of the flat. "Oh yeah," Jeff nodded. "An' I'll tell you what else: if you call the coppers now, I won't run. I'll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise." Jeff continued smiling and Sherlock scoffed.
"Cause you're not gonna do that."
"Am I not?" Sherlock questioned, lips forming into an interested smirk.
"No," Jeff confirmed. "I didn't kill those four people, Mr. 'olmes. I spoke to 'em, and they killed themselves. An' if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing…" Jeff leaned close to Sherlock, making sure to make eye contact with the curly haired man. His voice dropped to a whisper. "…I will never tell you what I told them."
The man didn't break eye contact after he spoke his last statement, and Sherlock made no move to interrupt it. Sherlock merely stared at the man, gathering more clues by the minute. Finally, Jeff straightened and began walking around to the front of the cab.
"No one else will die though," Sherlock said slowly, watching the man's movements. "And I believe they call that a result." The cabbie stopped then and turned towards Sherlock.
"You won't ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?"
Just then, a dull thump was heard from inside the cab. "Dad?" a muffled voice cried out, and Sherlock's head snapped towards the voice's direction. Jeff took a step towards Sherlock and chuckled darkly. He sang out, "Did I forget to tell you about your daughter? My mistake. I'm absent minded sometimes ya see."
Sherlock continued staring at the cab, his face now conveying the fear he was feeling at hearing his daughter's voice. Another thump occurred and Sherlock's face slowly morphed from anxiousness into anger. He turned to stare at the stupid man that had dared to take his child from him. "My daughter," he seethed, eyes dark, "has nothing to do with this."
"But Mr. 'olmes," the cabbie started, voice innocent. "Haven't you ever heard of leverage?"
Adaline heard her father speaking from inside of the cab. Granted, it was a bit muffled, but she knew her father's baritone voice better than anyone. "Daddy?" she called out again, hoping that he could hear her. She wanted out of this stupid taxi. She wanted to go home and cuddle with her dad and her stuffed cat. She banged her hands against the window in frustration and yelped when a sharp pain shot through her at the action. Her eyes teared up from sadness and pain, and she squeezed herself tighter into the corner of the car.
Sherlock heard his daughter call out for him again, his heart clenching at the fear in her voice. He heard a sharp yelp of…pain? Was she hurt?! Sherlock swung back around to look at Jeff. "If you harmed my child in any way.." he threatened, and the man unconcernedly waved him off.
"No, no, the little dear's fine, just fine. We had a little…disagreement about things, but we figured everything out pretty quickly." He smiled wider, yellow teeth showcasing themselves against cracked lips. Dark fury surged through Sherlock at the man's words, and he took an involuntary step forward.
"I should just kill you right here and now," Sherlock spoke, his voice coming out as a growl, and for a split second, the older man's face showed panic before it smoothed out again, and a non-caring smirk was plastered on to his face. "You could," he shrugged defiantly. "But you won't."
"For a dead man walking you're awfully confident," Sherlock commented. "You seem to truly believe you know me." "I know men like you," Jeff answered seriously. "You won't kill me."
Sherlock stopped moving towards the cabbie and looked back at the car. "What would you have me do?" he asked lowly. "Let me take you for a ride," the man offered, relaxing slightly now that Sherlock had calmed down a bit. "So you can kill my daughter and I?" Sherlock snorted in disbelief.
"It's like I told the kid. I don't wanna kill you, Mr. 'olmes. I just wanna talk to ya. You're gonna kill yerself." Without another word, Jeff turned his back on the detective and headed to the driver's side of the car. He opened the door and placed himself behind the wheel.
Sherlock hesitated for half of a second before hurriedly making his way to the car and opening the door, climbing in beside his daughter. "Daddy?" he heard a small voice say as he shut the door. He turned to face the voice, and his breath caught in his chest.
The seven year old had curled her small body in to herself as tightly as she could. Her legs were up to her chest, her feet on the seat as she hugged herself into the corner of the backseat. Her eyes were puffy and red from where she'd been crying, and there were left over droplets on her pale cheeks. He saw a giant bruise on her forehead, and it was bleeding slightly. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palm. He scooted himself closer to her to examine her forehead, feeling a small amount of relief when he saw that it was only scraped.
He noted how gingerly she was holding her hands and he very gently took them into his larger ones, shushing her quietly when she hissed and whimpered. They were scraped raw and seeping blood in a few places. The detective instantly knew what had happened to cause the injuries, eyes glancing down towards the little girl's equally damaged knees and the holes that were torn into her pajama bottoms. His mind flashed back to the man's bleeding hand, and another growl built up inside his chest. He resisted the urge to make the noise however, knowing that it would only increase his daughter's fear. Instead, he pulled the child close to him, tucking her under his arm. He began running his hands through her curls, hoping that the familiar action would soothe her somewhat.
Adaline curled in to her father's body as much as she was able to. She soaked up his warmth, pressing her face against his chest and listening to his steady heartbeat. She took a deep breath, trying to breathe the fear away. The little girl felt her father's large hands running through her hair, gently combing through any tangles that had formed, and she felt herself begin to relax. Her dad was here which meant everything was gonna be okay now. She was safe.
"Is dragging little girls into your car a normal part of your murder routine, or is this a special incident?" Sherlock sneered. The man's eyes glanced at the father and daughter from his rear view mirror, studying them for a second, and then looking back towards the road. Sherlock thought he saw a hint of guilt flash through for a second, but it was gone too quickly for him to be sure.
"I was warned about you," the older man began, choosing to ignore the detective's last question. "I recognized you, soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock 'olmes! I've been on yer website, too. Brilliant stuff! Loved it!"
"Who warned you about me?" Sherlock asked simply, getting annoyed with the man's yammering.
"Oh," Jeff started, "just someone out there who's noticed you." "Who?" Sherlock asked, leaning forward a bit in his seat. His green eyes located a photo of a young boy and girl that was attached to the dash of the car. He leaned back in his seat again, but not before looking closely at the side of Jeff's neck. "Who would notice me?" he asked again, sitting all the way back once more.
Adaline studied her dad's face from underneath his arm. It was showing a slight amount of satisfaction. Barely noticeable if you didn't know him well enough. He was connecting clues.
Jeff's eyes once again looked into the rear view mirror, brown eyes meeting green. "You're too modest, Mr. 'olmes." "I'm really not," Sherlock replied drily, and Adaline smiled a bit. Sherlock noticed the brief change of emotion come over her face and shot her a quick grin. "You've got yourself a fan," the cabbie continued.
"Tell me more," Sherlock requested nonchalantly. Jeff chuckled to himself then. "That's all you're gonna know," he paused dramatically. "…in this lifetime."
Back at the flat, Lestrade and his crew were preparing to leave the flat. "John?" Mrs. Hudson questioned, poking her head in the door. "Where did Adaline get to?" John looked around the flat, just now realizing that the small girl hadn't been seen in a little while. "I don't know, Mrs. Hudson," he answered, eyebrows creased. "I think she said she was going to see to the cab. Maybe she went back to her room." Mrs. Hudson shrugged, accepting this answer, and went back to her own living space.
"Why did he do that?" Lestrade asked John suddenly, and the army doctor turned towards the Inspector. "Sorry?" John questioned. "Why did he have to leave?" Lestrade clarified as he slid into his coat.
"You know Sherlock better than I do," John shrugged. "I've known him for five years, and no, I don't," Lestrade countered.
"So why do you put up with him?" John questioned, crossing his arms against his chest. Lestrade sighed. "Because I'm desperate, that's why." The Inspector walked towards the door, but before he reached it, he stopped and looked back towards the doctor. "And because Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think one day, if we're very, very lucky, he might even be a good one." John stared as the man turned and walked out the door, his mind going over Lestrade's words.
Some distance away a cab was coming to a stop in front of two identical buildings which were sitting side by side. Jeff turned off the vehicle engine, getting out of the car. He walked to Sherlock's door and opened it. "Where are we?" Sherlock inquired, making no move to get out of the vehicle. He continued to hold Adaline who was trying to catch a glimpse of where they were without bringing attention to herself. "Don't play dumb, Mr. 'olmes," Jeff scolded. "You know every street in London. You know exactly where we are."
"Roland-Kerr Further Education college," Sherlock stated. "Why here?"
"It's open," a tiny voice answered, and both men looked down. Sherlock frowned at his daughter disapprovingly and tried in vain to tuck her farther into him. "Very good little miss!" the man praised, and Adaline grimaced. She regretted speaking up now. "One thing about bein a cabbie," the man explained, unaware of Adaline's plight, "you always know a nice, quiet spot for a murder. I'm honestly surprised more of us don't branch out."
"And you just walk your victims in?" Sherlock asked incredulously, eyebrows raised towards the man. "How?"
In answer, Jeff reached into his back pocket, pulling out a shiny black gun. Adaline's eyes grew wide when the man pointed the gun at her father's face, and she whimpered. "Dad.." she whispered, frightened for him. Sherlock hugged her tightly, but made no move to intercept the man. Instead of tensing up at the sight of the weapon, Sherlock's body remained quite relaxed. He was almost..bored? Her father rolled his eyes at the gunman, and Adaline held her breath.
"Oh, dull," Sherlock sighed, turning his head away. "Don't worry," Jeff assured him. "It gets better." "You can't make people take their own lives at gunpoint."
Jeff grinned. "I don't. It's much better than that." He lowered the gun and Adaline relaxed, taking a small breath of relief. "Don't need this with you, cause you'll follow me."
Back at 221B, John was alone in the flat, preparing to go home. He walked towards the door and stopped suddenly, clenching his fists. The man realized that he hadn't grabbed his walking cane and looked around the room before spotting it sitting on a stack of papers next to the dining room table. He limped over to collect it, grumbling to himself.
John clasped the cane tightly in his hand and began to make his way back to the door. Suddenly, behind him, the computer began beeping repeatedly. John turned back to the device and walked to the table, propping his cane up against it. The doctor picked up the computer, looking closely at the screen, which has pinpointed the location of Jennifer Wilson's phone. John felt a surge of energy rush through him and he quickly turned towards the door, taking the computer with him as he hurried down the stairs, once again forgetting to grab his cane.
Back at Roland-Kerr College, Sherlock was grimacing exasperatedly to himself. He watched the cabbie walk towards the building for a moment before looking down at his daughter.
"Are you okay?" he asked, tipping her head up towards him. He studied her face closely and Adaline felt the confidence that she'd been trying to build up during the car ride waver. "I want to go home," she said simply. Sherlock nodded and kissed her forehead, making sure not to touch her bruise. "I know," he nodded. "And we will. This won't take much longer."
The two of them climbed out of the car and began to follow the man inside the building. "Dad," the little girl called suddenly, and Sherlock looked back towards her curiously. "What about his gun?" she asked him worriedly. He stopped then and turned towards her fully, leaning down close to her ear. "It's not real," he whispered. He leaned back up and winked at her, causing a happy smile to spread across her face in relief. Sherlock grabbed his daughter's hand tightly within his own, walking the two of them into the building.
Father and daughter followed Jeff through the corridors of the college building. He stopped in front of one of the classrooms, opening the door and gesturing for Sherlock and Adaline to head in. Sherlock studied the man closely, but dutifully walked inside the room, making sure to place his daughter on the other side of him as they passed Jeff. The cabbie released the door, causing it to swing closed, and a bang echoed throughout the room, causing Adaline to jump in surprise.
Sherlock hugged her to him. "It's alright," he whispered. "Be brave, Adaline." Adaline took a deep breath and visibly straightened, stepping away from her father a bit but making sure to retain possession of his hand. Jeff turned on the lights and Sherlock looked around the classroom, taking note of the long wooden tables and plastic chairs. "Shall we talk?" Jeff asked politely, gesturing to one of the tables.
Sherlock and Adaline walked over to the tables as requested. Instead of plopping down in one of the chairs like Adaline did, Sherlock took a seat and flipped it around, only then sitting down. He sighed dramatically and began taking off his gloves, stuffing them into one of his coat pockets.
"Bit risky, wasn't it?" her father began. "Taking me away under the eye of about half a dozen police men. They're not that stupid, as hard as that is for me to admit. And Mrs. Hudson will of course remember you."
"You call that a risk?" Jeff scoffed, and reached into his pocket to pull out a small bottle. "This…is a risk." The bottle held a single large capsule of..something, and Adaline frowned, puzzled. Sherlock was also studying the glass bottle, but his face remained neutral.
"Ooh, I like this bit," Jeff stated, and Adaline looked up at the man, alarm going through her when she noticed that he was smiling gleefully. He continued, "'Cause you don't get it yet, do yer? But you're about to. I just have to do this."
And with that, Jeff reached into his other pocket, pulling out an identical glass bottle, which also contained a single large capsule inside. He put the two side by side. "You weren't expecting that, were you?" he gloated, looking excitedly at Sherlock. The older man leaned forward. "Ooh, you're gonna love this."
"Love what?" Sherlock asked, his voice snapping. Jeff now leaned back in his chair lazily. "Sherlock 'olmes. Look at you! 'ere in the flesh." He paused now. "And his daughter of course," he gestured with his chin toward Adaline. "That website of yours: your fan told me about it."
"My fan?" Sherlock repeated, voice tight.
"You are brilliant. You are. A proper genius," the man gushed. " 'The Science of Deduction.' Now that is proper thinking. Between us three sitting 'ere, why can't people think?" Jeff looked down at his lap and sighed angrily. "Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just think?"
Jeff looked back up, meeting Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock looked back at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed in thought. He made a realization and they widened. The detective spoke to the cabbie then. "Oh I see," he began, voice dripping in sarcasm. "You're a proper genius, too."
"Don't look it, do I?" Jeff scoffed. "Funny little man drivin' a cab. But you'll know better in a minute. Chances are it'll be the last thing you ever know." Sherlock held the man's gaze for a second or two, green eyes dropping back down to study the two bottles.
"Okay, two bottles. Explain."
"It's simple," Jeff shrugged. "There's a good bottle and a bad bottle. You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle.." Adaline sucked in a breath and Jeff looked at her, eyes glinting. "I think little miss here gets the gist of it." Sherlock glanced over at his daughter for a second before quickly shifting back towards Jeff. "Both bottles are of course identical," Sherlock spoke, partly to himself.
"In every way," the cabbie confirmed. "And you of course know which is which." "Course I know," the man said, rolling his eyes.
"But I don't."
"Wouldn't be a game if you knew. You're the one who chooses."
"Why should I? I've got nothing to go on. What's in it for me?"
Jeff leaned forward, and his face grew darker, more sinister. "I 'aven't told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one – and then, together, we take our medicine." Sherlock's face lit up in excitement, and he started to grin. Now he was interested.
"I'm sure you've also realized, Mr. 'olmes, that upon choosing the wrong bottle, you die, therefore leaving your daughter fatherless." Sherlock's smile dropped abruptly and he looked to his daughter, who was staring at the ground.
Adaline was absolutely terrified. Her father was actually going to play along with this man and his game? What about her? What if he lost? Did he not even care how his actions could affect her? Sherlock continued studying Adaline. He wanted her to look up at him so he could reassure her secretly, but she continued staring at the floor. He bit his lip and looked back towards the driver. "I won't lose," the detective said confidently. "If you don't cheat, that is."
The cabbie scoffed and almost looked offended at the dark haired man's words. "I don't cheat. It's your choice. I'll take whatever pill you don't." Sherlock looked down at the bottles, beginning to properly concentrate now. "This is what you did to others," he commented absently. "You gave them a choice."
"And now I'm givin you one." Sherlock looked up at the older man who licked his lips in anticipation. "Take your time," he instructed. "Get yourself together. I want your best game."
"It's not a game. It's chance." "I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, Mr 'olmes, it's chess. It's a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this ... this ... is the move."
Jeff slid the left handed bottle across the table to Sherlock. He licked his top lip and pulled his hand back towards him. "Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one."
Meanwhile, Dr. Watson was sitting in the back of a taxi, talking animatedly to Lestrade over the phone. "No, Detective Inspector Lestrade. I need to speak to him. It's important. It's an emergency!" He leaned forward then, studying the outside scenery. "Er, left here, please," he instructed the driver. "Left here."
"You ready yet, Mr. 'olmes?" Jeff asked, meeting Sherlock's eyes. "Ready to play?"
"Play what? It's a fifty-fifty chance."
"You're not playin' the numbers," the man announced, "you're playin' me. Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double-bluff? Or a triple-bluff?" "Still just chance," Sherlock repeated, shrugging.
"Four people in a row?" the man rolled his eyes. "It's not just chance." Adaline shook her head at the events happening in front of her. This was insane. She couldn't believe her father was going along with this.
"Luck," Sherlock stated stubbornly. "It's genius," Jeff persisted. "I know 'ow people think." Sherlock rolled his eyes but the man continued. "I can see it all. It's like a map inside my 'ead. Everyone's so stupid." Sherlock sighed, exasperated. "Even you," Jeff taunted, and Sherlock's gaze sharpened. "Or maybe God just loves me."
"Doubt it," Adaline whispered under her breath. She heard her father snort and despite the situation, had to fight off the urge to smile. Sherlock straightened up and leaned forward towards the man. "Either way," he started, clasping his hands on the table in front of him. "You're absolutely wasted as a cabbie."
The detective gazed at the man in front of him intently. "Why would you risk your life just to kill four strangers?" Jeff ignored his question and gestured down to the bottles. "Time to play." Sherlock folded his hands under his chin in his favorite prayer position. "Oh I am playing. This is my turn." He stopped then and looked down to his daughter who was staring at him questioningly. "Adaline?" he gestured simply, and she gulped, then nodded determinedly.
"You have shaving cream behind your left ear," she started, voice quiet but strong. "Nobody has pointed it out to you, which usually means that you live alone since there's no one to tell you about it." Jeff tried not to fidget under the child's gaze. She continued. "Your clothes are clean but they're old. Maybe about three years? That means that you care enough to keep up appearances but you aren't planning ahead for life."
"What's the point in all this?" the older man stuttered, trying to remain confident. Sherlock's spoke then, taking over for his daughter. "I noticed in the cab that there was a picture of a pair of children on the car's dash. The children's mother had been cut out, indicating that she's still alive. If she was dead, she wouldn't be cut out. The photograph is old but the frame is new. You think of your children but you don't get to see them."
Jeff's brown eyes slid away from Sherlock, and Adaline's eyes widened when the man's eyes showed pain. "Estranged father then. Your wife took the kids, but you still love them, and it still hurts." Sherlock paused then. "Adaline was spot on with your clothing. You're not taking proper care of yourself. And here you are on a kamikaze murdering spree. What's that about?"
At this point, Jeff had gained control of himself again. He gazed back at Sherlock with a neutral expression on his face. Sherlock studied the man for a few moments before his eyes widened. "Of course," he breathed out. "Three years ago—is that when they told you?" "Told me what?" Jeff snapped.
"You truly are a dead man walking," Sherlock said softly. Adaline snapped her eyes up to the cabbie. He suddenly didn't look quite so deranged anymore to the small girl, instead adopting almost a frail look. Adaline suddenly felt sorry for the man. "Aneurism," Jeff confirmed, tapping the side of his head. "Right in 'ere. Any breath could be my last."
"So because you're dying," Adaline spoke, not feeling nearly as afraid of the man as she did before, "you murdered four people?" Jeff frowned at the child. "I've outlived four people. That's the most fun you can 'ave with an aneurism."
Sherlock adopted a thoughtful look now. "No, no, that's not all." Jeff looked at him curiously.
"You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about your children."
Jeff sighed and looked away. "You are good, aren't you?"
"But how?"
"When I die," the man explained, "they won't get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs." "Or serial killing," Sherlock said drily.
"You'd be surprised."
Sherlock leaned forward then. "Surprise me."
"I 'ave a sponsor," Jeff told the curly haired man. "You have a what?" "For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer than you think."
"Someone is willing to sponsor a serial killer?" Adaline asked, voice disbelieving. "Who'd be a fan of Sherlock Holmes?" Jeff countered. Sherlock and Jeff silently stared at each other for a moment. "You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there like you, except you're just a man…and they're so much more than that."
Sherlock's nose twitched in distaste at the man's words. "What do you mean more than a man? An organization? What?" "There's a name no-one says, an' I'm not gonna say it either." Jeff gestured down to the bottles on the table. "Now, enough chatter. Time to choose."
"What if I don't choose either? I could just walk out of here."
Jeff sighed, taking the gun out again. "You can take the fifty-fifty chance," he started, and suddenly, moved the gun to point towards Adaline, "or I'll shoot your pretty little girl here in the head." Sherlock's eyes hardened and darkened towards the man. He knew the gun was fake, but the very idea of what he was suggesting was enough to piss Sherlock off.
Sherlock reached out, grabbing the gun and pointing it towards him. "I'd rather you not point that at my daughter thank you," he said dangerously. "I'll take the gun."
"Are you sure?"
"You don't want to phone a friend?"
"Dad…" Adaline objected, now beginning to feel unsure. Sherlock merely glanced at his daughter, quieting her with a look. "The. Gun."
Jeff's mouth tightened, and he slowly squeezed the trigger. Not being able to watch, Adaline closed her eyes tightly, turning her head away. She bit her lip, waiting to hear the loud bang and the sound of her father's body hitting the floor…
A small flame burst out at the end of the muzzle. Sherlock smiled smugly at Jeff. "I know a real gun when I see one." Calmly, Jeff lifted the gun and released the trigger. The flame went out. "None of the others did."
"Clearly," Sherlock remarked. "Well, this has been very interesting," Sherlock declared, and reached down to take his daughter's hand in his own. "I look forward to the court case." Sherlock and Adaline stood up, Sherlock tugging his daughter towards the door. Jeff put the fake gun on the desk and turned to look at the pair. "Just before you go," he said, voice light. "Did you figure it out?"
Sherlock stopped right abruptly, right before he got to the door. Adaline grabbed the back of her father's jacket, gripping it tightly. "…which ones the good bottle?" Jeff continued. "Of course," Sherlock sniffed. "Child's play."
"Well," Jeff grinned, "which one, then?" Sherlock opened the door a little, but showed no signs of exiting the room. Adaline glanced back towards the man and out into the hallway of the building. She bit her lip and tried to tug her father towards the doorway. "Which one would you 'ave picked, just so I know whether I could've beaten you?"
Sherlock's face hardened, and he looked towards his daughter. Adaline stared up at him with pleading, scared eyes, and he broke. Sherlock turned back to look at the man, sighing with regret. "I'm afraid I can't take that risk." Jeff's eyes widened, obviously surprised.
"The great Sherlock 'olmes? Turning down a game," he scoffed. "Perhaps you're not as great as I thought." Sherlock said nothing, only continued peering at the older man.
"I bet you get bored, don't you? I know you do. A man like you…" Jeff looked at Adaline then. "You're not exactly father material are you? How could you be? Fathers have to be boring. Have to be responsible. Too normal," he sneered out the word. "You're Sherlock 'olmes. You're anything but normal."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed towards the man, and he took a step closer to him, releasing Adaline's hand in the process. "You're too clever to be normal." Jeff held up a bottle. "But what's the point of being clever if you can't prove it?" Adaline watched her father walk back over to the man and pick up one of the bottles. Her breath caught in her throat and she start fiddling with her fingers nervously.
Sherlock took out the capsule and held it up to the light as he examined it. "Still the addict," Jeff whispered. Slowly, Sherlock lowered the pill, holding it at eye level as he gazed at it. "You'd do anything..anything at all…"
Adaline watched as her father almost became hypnotized by the man's words. She slowly walked towards him, heart now beating wildly in her chest. "Dad…" she began slowly. "Don't listen to him." Sherlock heard his daughter's voice, but he couldn't comprehend what she was saying. Her voice almost sounded muffled. His hands began to tremble with excitement as he held the pill closer to his mouth. "….to stop being bored," Jeff finished.
Sherlock slowly began to move the pill closer to his mouth. "Dad, stop," Adaline cried, rushing over to her father. "What are you doing?!"
Jeff matched Sherlock's movement with his own, reaching up to put his own pill close to his mouth. "Innit good?" Each man's hand moved closer to their mouths, and Sherlock had almost touched the pill to his lips.
"Daddy, STOP!" Suddenly, Sherlock's back slammed painfully into the cold floor. His ears were ringing from a loud noise and he shook his head, dazed. What had happened? That noise…that sounded like a…
He gasped. "Adaline!" Sherlock shot up from the ground, looking around the room frantically. "Adaline where are you?" That was a gun…someone had shot a gun. Where was Adaline? What if she…
"Dad.." he heard a small voice say, interrupting his spiraling thoughts. He was instantly on his feet, heading towards the voice.
Adaline was kneeling on the ground next to Jeff. A bullet had impacted his chest and he was steadily bleeding out on to the concrete floor. Sherlock hurried next to Adaline, gently pulling her away from the man. "Daddy?" she questioned, looking at him with wide eyes. "Go stand over there," he gestured towards the door. It was a testament to her shock that she did so without question.
Sherlock went and hurried to the window, studying the bullet hole in the glass. He looked at where the bullet had to have come from, but the window of the opposite room was open and there was no one in sight.
Sherlock heard Jeff let out a heavy breath, and cough wetly. He straightened up from his crouch near the window and walked over to the desk, snatching up one of the pills lying on it. The detective walked over to Jeff, brandishing the pill in front of him. A large pool of blood was growing underneath the dying man, staining the floor.
"Was I right?" Sherlock asked the man who was staring up at him in shock. "I was, wasn't I? Did I get it right?" Jeff didn't reply. Sherlock hurled the pill across the room angrily. "Okay, tell me this. Your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me—my 'fan.' I want a name."
"No," Jeff refused weakly. "You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you," Sherlock countered. "A name." Jeff shook his head, and grimacing angrily, Sherlock lifted his foot and placed it on Jeff's shoulder. Jeff gasped in pain. "A name," Sherlock threatened.
Jeff cried out, and Sherlock grit his teeth. "Now." The detective's face was intent and almost manic looking; he leaned more of his weight onto Jeff's shoulder. Jeff cried out in pain again. "The NAME!"
"Daddy stop!" he heard right before a small body slammed into his. He looked down towards his daughter who was staring up at him fearfully. "Daddy you're hurting him," she whimpered, looking at the dying man. "Adaline not now," he said ferociously, pushing the little girl towards the door again. The man was quickly fading away. He was losing time! Sherlock stomped one last time on Jeff's shoulder. "SAY IT!"
"MORIARTY!" The man gasped one last time in agony before his eyes closed and his head rolled to the side. Adaline gasped and Sherlock looked towards her, watching as she slowly walked away from him, shaking her head. "Adaline…" he started. "No!" she shouted, and ran out of the room.
Adaline ran and ran till she finally made it outside. She wasn't watching where she was going, and the tears pouring out of her eyes were blinding her as well. Suddenly, she ran into something hard, her small body slamming into the ground. She whimpered painfully at the sharp sting her poor hands gave off. "Adaline?" she heard a hesitant voice say. She looked up and gasped. "Mr. John!" she shouted, jumping up and almost tackling the unsuspecting man.
John gasped when the small girl rammed herself into him, her arms squeezing around him as tightly as she was able. He was shocked! What was she doing here? He quickly got a hold on himself and hugged her back, his own arms wrapping around her securely. "There there," he soothed, rubbing her back. "It's alright love."
He hugged her for a bit longer before gently grasping her shoulders, pulling her away from him so he could get a good look at her. "Ada what happened?" he questioned, looking increasingly concerned as he studied her small body. "Why are you here?" The little girl looked rather rough. Her forehead had stopped bleeding, allowing the large bruise to stand out. Her kitten pajamas were torn and John saw that her hands and knees were scraped. She was wincing every now and then as well, and the doctor in him reacted towards the child's pain instantly.
The child opened and closed her mouth despairingly, not knowing how to answer the man. John noticed her struggling, and the urge to comfort her washed over him. "C'mon," he said, making a move to lift her up. "Let's fix you up."
"John," he heard a deep voice say, and looked up to see Sherlock walking towards him. The curly haired man was looking at his daughter, his face showing…regret? John was puzzled. He looked to Adaline and then back to Sherlock, eyebrow raised, but the man only shook his head.
Later on, Sherlock and Adaline sat in the back of an ambulance. A paramedic had come and placed an orange blanket over the both of him. Sherlock had scoffed and immediately tried to shrug his off while Adaline snuggled in to hers, quite content with the warmth. John himself had treated Adaline's injuries, putting Neosporin on her scrapes and checking over her bruise. "No sign of a concussion," he murmured as he studied her. "But you will be quite colorful for the next week or so," he finished, looking at the blonde headed girl apologetically. Adaline smiled at the kind doctor. "Thank you, Mr. John." John smiled back at the sweet child and wrapped the cover tighter around her tiny form. Sherlock watched the two of them, green eyes steady on his daughter.
Lestrade walked over to the three of them. "Why have I got this?" Sherlock asked the Inspector, making him roll his eyes. "They keep putting this blanket on me."
"Yes, it's for shock," Lestrade answered the man. He turned towards the little girl. "How are you Ada?" he questioned her concernedly. When he found out that she had been involved in the cabbie's final act, so to speak, he'd felt quite scared for her. He cared quite a lot for the little girl. "I'm fine, Uncle Greg," she answered quietly, smiling at him halfheartedly, and he frowned. Lestrade shrugged off his concern for the moment, telling himself she was just exhausted by the day's events.
Adaline stared off into the distance, her father and Uncle Greg's voice fading away. She couldn't stop thinking of what her dad had done to the cabbie earlier. Her father had hurt that man. Yes, he was a bad man, but did that matter? She had never seen her dad look like that. He was so kind to her. He never even raised his voice at her..only when she was being very stubborn, and even then….She shook her head firmly. No, she thought. That man wasn't her father. She didn't know who that was. Her daddy would never do something like that.
She soon became aware of the fact that someone was talking to her. "…Adaline," a voice said distantly. "Adaline!" Finally, she looked up and saw the man of her thoughts staring at her in concern. "Did you say something daddy?" she asked.
Sherlock's eyebrows creased. "It's time to go home," he said to her. "C'mon. Up you go." Sherlock helped his daughter hop down from the ambulance, grabbing her hand tightly within his own, and the two of them walked over to where John was waiting on the other side of the police tape.
"Um, Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything, the two pills," the doctor started. "Been a dreadful business, hasn't it? Dreadful." Sherlock merely stared at the man thoughtfully for a moment.
"Good shot," he told him quietly, and Adaline quickly looked up to Mr. John, mind whirling. Mr. John had shot the man? John looked startled, eyes widening at Sherlock, before he looked around at the scenery innocently. "Yes. Yes, must've been, through that window."
"Well, you'd know."
"Need to get the powder burns off your fingers," Sherlock continued. "I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case." John cleared his throat and looked around nervously. "You all right?" Sherlock questioned him. "Yes, course I'm all right."
"Well, you have just killed a man," Sherlock replied bluntly. John looked quickly down at Adaline and back to Sherlock. "Yes, well.." he trailed off, clearly uncomfortable.
"He wasn't a nice man, though," Adaline put in suddenly, and Sherlock and John both looked down at her, surprised.
"No," Sherlock answered his daughter slowly. "No he wasn't, was he?"
"And frankly," John continued, "a bloody awful cabbie." "That's true," Sherlock nodded. "He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took to get us here!" John giggled and Sherlock smiled. "Stop! Stop, we can't giggle, it's a crime scene. Stop it!"
"You're the one who shot him. Don't blame me." "Keep your voice down!" John whispered as they passed Sergeant Donovan. "Sorry—it's just um..nerves, I think."
John asked Sherlock if he was actually going to take the pill, and Adaline bit her lip. She knew the answer to that. "Course I wasn't," Sherlock answered, and Adaline's head shot up to her father in disbelief. Why was he lying to Mr. John? "Biding my time. Knew you'd turn up."
"No you didn't," John denied. "It's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove your clever." "Why would I do that?"
"Because you're an idiot." Adaline giggled and Sherlock shot a playful glare towards her. "Yes well.." Sherlock cleared his throat. "Anyone up for dinner?"
"I'm starving."
"Can we go eat egg rolls dad?" Sherlock tightened his hand around his daughter's. "Of course! That does sound good. There's a Chinese restaurant that stays open till 2. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle." Adaline mouthed her father's last sentence to herself mockingly, and John, seeing the action, chuckled warmly at the child's antics. Adaline's face dropped to the ground, cheeks warming when she realized she'd been caught. She glanced up at John shyly and he winked at her, making a large smile stretch across her face.
Just then, a few yards ahead of the three, a black car pulled up, a tall man climbing out. John stopped and smacked Sherlock on the chest, pointing towards the man who was now walking towards them. "Sherlock. That's him. That's the man I was telling you about."
Sherlock and Adaline looked forwards. "I know exactly who that is." Adaline looked in the direction that John was pointing and gasped excitedly. "Uncle My!" she yelled, and ran towards the man, shocking John. Sherlock merely sighed though and walked up to the pair, stopping in front of them angrily.
Mycroft watched his small niece bound up to him and kneeled down, catching her in his arms. He lifted her up, frowning instantly when he saw her bruise. "What in the world happened to you poppet?" he questioned the girl. "I'm fine, Uncle My," she answered him confidently, arms wrapping around his neck gently. "Daddy took care of it."
"In fact I did," Sherlock's voice rang out, and Mycroft moved his head to look at his little brother. "Another case cracked then, Sherlock?" he began, peering at him. "How very public spirited ... though that's never really your motivation, is it?" "What are you doing here?" Sherlock bit out.
"As always, I'm concerned about you and my only niece. And apparently, I have good reason to be," he finished, eyes becoming sharper as he glanced from Adaline back to Sherlock. Sherlock's own eyes darkened and he straightened, looking at his brother sternly. "Yes, I've heard about your concern."
"Always so aggressive," Mycroft tutted. Adaline shifted a bit and he gently placed her down beside her father. "Did it never occur to you Sherlock, that you and I belong on the same side?" Adaline rolled her eyes at the two men, very much used to this routine. "Oddly enough," Sherlock pondered sarcastically, "No!"
"We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer ... and you know how it always upset Mummy."
John had had enough at this point. "Okay hold on, hold on. Mummy? Who's mummy?" "This is Uncle My, Mr. John," Adaline answered the man, looking up at him with wide green eyes.
"Putting on weight again?" Sherlock continued to taunt.
"Losing it in fact."
"He's your brother?" John cut in again, mind still struggling to comprehend. "Do keep up, John," Sherlock scolded condescendingly. "Of course he's my brother."
"So, he's not…" "Not what?" Both brothers looked at John, and the man shrugged embarrassingly. "I dunno—criminal mastermind?" Sherlock snorted and looked at Mycroft disparagingly. "Close enough." Mycroft scoffed. "For goodness' sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government."
"You are the British government, Uncle My," Adaline answered, and Mycroft looked down to his niece. "Hardly, my dear." Sherlock sighed, clearly being finished with this conversation. "Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic. Come along, Adaline."
Adaline gave her uncle one last hug, kissing the man's cheek when he bent down to meet her. "Talk to you later, Uncle My." Mycroft smiled warmly at his niece and watched her hurry after her father.
John stayed behind to talk to Mycroft for a bit longer before running to catch up to Sherlock and Adaline. "So," he started, "dim sum?" "Mmm, I can always predict the fortune cookies," Sherlock responded.
"No you can't!" John scoffed. "He can!" Adaline threw in. "Almost every time anyway.." she trailed off. "What are you so happy about anyway?" John asked the detective. Sherlock adapted a bright smile. "Moriarty," he said simply.
"What's Moriarty?" John asked, puzzled.
"I've absolutely no idea," the man answered back cheerfully, and began gently swinging his and his daughter's arms back and forth, listening to her giggle happily.
Back at the car, Mycroft watched as his brother and niece walked along with the army doctor, John Watson. "Sir, shall we go?" his assistant, Anthea asked him. "Interesting, that soldier fellow," Mycroft said quietly. Anthea looked briefly towards the three, eyes resting on the little girl now skipping next to her father. The woman turned her attention back to her Blackberry.
"He could be the making of my brother – or make him worse than ever. Either way, we'd better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade Three Active. Don't want to take any chances with my niece in the mist of things." Anthea looked up from her phone.
"Sorry sir, whose status?"
"Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson."
A/N: Oh. My. Goodness. This one was long.  At least it was for me. I'm actually pretty worried about this chapter. I hope it came across okay. Tell me what you guys think of Mycroft. I didn't want to change his personality that much, but I did want him to come across as a caring uncle. I also changed cannon just a little bit with the pill scene. I hope you guys liked it. Thank you all so much for reading. Until next time!
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