A young girl hopped out of a police car as a middle aged man got out of the car's front seat. The surprising heat of the sun felt alien to the girls pale skin, as it threatened to melt it away like the snow that matched its color. The girl's long, ragged black curls bounced playfully on her shoulders and back, sparkling in the sunlight as she followed the police officer/detective inspector up to the door of what she hoped would finally be her new home, her first real home. Slivery blue eyes scanned her new surroundings as the man knocked on the shamefully familiar warm black door, right under the numbers 221. With any luck, this meeting would be quick, and end with the girl getting a home.
"Hello? Oh, yes of course, come on in detective inspector," welcomed an older woman with short cut dirty blonde hair.
"Thank you, Ms. Hudson. SHERLOCK!" The man ran up the stairs, the girl tagging along behind. Just as the man reached for the doorknob, the door opened and a shorter, tan, rugged looking man with dark eyes and army-short dark-blonde hair stared back at the detective inspector.
"Sherlock, it's Lestrade," shouted the shorter man.
"I know John. Let him in," said a voice from inside the flat.
"You heard him," said the detective inspector.
"Right. Come on in," mumbled the shorter man, moving out of the door way so the detective inspector could come into the flat, the little girl following so closely, quickly, and quietly behind that nobody seemed to take any notice her as she hid behind Lestrade and tried to take in the very disorganized flat.
"What do you need Lestrade," muttered the voice from inside the flat, concentrating on a pipette filled with a suspiciously red liquid.
"Sherlock, I've come here to deliver something for you."
"Yes, the skin from the victims foot and fingerprints. Just hand them over. You're wasting my time and yours," the voice was now inspecting the red liquid though his microscope, not looking up, just holding his hand outstretched, long pale fingers expecting Lestrade to hand over the said objects.
"I already told you, Mycroft has declared the fingerprints classified and you'll have to ask Molly for the skin."
"I asked Molly and she said she would give them to you."
"Sherlock, I can't just give you classified information like that!
"You've given me classified information before."
"Sherlock, that was different. You know there's no way I can get those fingerprints as long as Mycroft has them secured."
"What about the skin?"
"Sherlock I was specifically told not… never mind, that's not important right now. That's not why I'm here."
"It isn't?"
"Sherlock, you're the most observant man I know. Just lift your head up and look around you! That's what you're always telling me to do! "
The man lifted his head and looked up, immediately noticing the little girl that had slipped both John and Ms. Hudson's notice.
"Who's she?"
"She's you're daughter, Sherlock."