A/U: So here is my first one: a Childlock AU, short and sweet and hopefully something to make your day a little brighter.

Scraped Knees and Honey Bees

When Daddy took her to the park to play, Molly Hooper always went to the swings first. It was by far her favorite thing about the playground. When she had been smaller, Mummy and Daddy would push her in a steady rhythm. Now, at the age of six-years-old, Molly was big enough to swing all by herself.

Looking at Daddy, sitting on a nearby park bench with a book open on his lap, she was very glad of that fact. Daddy was always so delighted and happy when Molly learned something new, whether it be at school or at home. Since Mummy had passed away two months ago, he'd been so sad. Oh, he tried not to let it show in front of Molly, but she noticed. So Molly was resolved to do everything in her power to help Daddy not feel so sad, and learning how to do things all by herself had produced spectacular results thus far!

Gripping the chains of the swing, Molly leaned back as far as she could so she could look at the sky. There were no clouds – very unusual for England in any month, even June – so she watched the flock of sparrows gracefully travel from one tree to another from her fascinating upside-down perspective. Giggling, she sat right back up, enjoying the rushing feeling in her head. Once her head was clear – and having gotten her breath back from her last round of swinging – Molly prepared herself by backing up and gripping the chains again.

But then, just as she lifted her feet and began to propel forward, a stronger and harder force slammed against her left shoulder as it rushed past her. It surprised her so much that she let go of the chains. As she fell forward to the grass, all Molly could see as to the reason she was falling off the swing was a mop of black curls rushing away and all she could hear was a more distant voice yelling, "William, you bring that back right now!"

Then, with a pained "oompf!" poor Molly fell to the ground. Her hands managed to block her face from the grass, but she felt the horrible sensation of the flesh on her right knees scraping against the grass and dirt. "Owwwww!" she groaned to herself, curling onto her side as her hands went to her right knee.

Then, she felt footsteps hurrying towards her, and soon heard Daddy's worried voice: "Molly! Tell where it hurts!"

In the next moment, Daddy was crouching beside her and gently helping her to sit up. Molly instantly felt bad; not because her right knee stung, but because her Daddy was worried and scared. Because of her. She was supposed to be trying to cheer him up, not making him even sadder!

So, in response to Daddy, Molly stuttered: "I-I'm okay, Daddy. I-It doesn't h-hurt at all."

But even as she spoke, her hands didn't leave her knee and hot tears poured down her cheeks from the pain.

Daddy, thankfully, didn't believe a word she said. He scooped her right up off the ground and carried her back to the park bench that he had been sitting on. Settling her on his lap once he was sitting down again, Daddy pulled his black bag closer to him on the bench. Daddy was a doctor, and took his bag everywhere with him. Molly couldn't deny that she was glad of that right now, since her right knee was still stinging really badly, but she still felt horrible for doing something that made her father sad.

Daddy gently tried to pry Molly's tiny hands away from her knee. "Let me see, honey-bee," he coaxed, using his pet name for her.

Molly withdrew her hands in defeat and winced at the sight. Her right knee was indeed scraped, the flesh a bright raw red with droplets of blood seeping out, as well as stained by grass and dirt. Molly looked away and clenched her hands, which thankfully hadn't been scraped in the tumble.

"It looks worse than it is," said Daddy calmly. "We'll just clean it up, put a bandage on it, and you should be feeling much better."

Molly nodded, still not looking Daddy in the eye. She focused her gaze on a line of ants marching parallel to the bench as she listened to her father search through his bag for what he needed.

"I'm going to clean your knee and the scrape now," Daddy said, his arm wrapping around her shoulder. "This is going to sting a little, honey-bee."

Molly nodded and shut her eyes to prepare herself. She bit her lip when she felt the forewarned sting on her knee as her father swabbed it clean; she was determined not to let herself cry anymore about this.

However, when the stinging was over and she opened her eyes again, she saw Daddy's green eyes still looking at her with worry. This caused her floodgates to open again. "I'm sorry, Daddy," she said, fresh tears filling her eyes. "I'm sorry I fell off the swing."

"Honey-bee!" he exclaimed softly, playfully tugging one of her brown braids. "It wasn't your fault! Why on Earth would I be angry about this?"

The six-year-old looked down at her clenched hands. "I don't want to make you sadder," she said as quietly as she could.

But Daddy heard her, and his arm around her tightened while his other hand came up to wipe away her tears. "Oh, Molly Alice Hooper…I really miss Mummy, too, and we always will. We'll always be sad that she's gone. And yes, it hurts me when you get hurt, but you could never make me sad! You are the joy of my life, honey-bee, and nothing will ever change that! Accidents happen, and mistakes get made. Don't ever feel like you must be perfect to make me happy. Having you as my daughter makes me happy every day. Okay, honey-bee?"

A very sweet relief filled the six-year-old girl's mind and heart upon hearing her Daddy's loving words. Molly nodded and rested her head on his shoulder, and her Daddy kissed her nose.

"Now," he said, after a snuggle. "Does your knee still sting?"

"Not as bad as before," said Molly, which was the truth.

"Then let's put a bandage on it, and we'll get some ice cream on the way home. How does that sound?"

Molly smiled and nodded eagerly. "Can I get cookie-dough?"

"Only if I can get strawberry!"

They laughed, and Daddy pulled a bandage out of his medical bag. It had a bumble-bee pattern on it, and it was the right size to cover Molly's scrape.

"Excuse us."

Both Molly and her Daddy turned their heads to see who was addressing them. It turned out to be a tall, lanky, thirteen-year-old boy with ginger hair and a sour expression on his face. He was holding the wrist of a smaller boy who seemed to be Molly's age; he had dark curls and a pout on his face.

The taller boy spoke again now that he had their attention. "My name is Mycroft Holmes." He raised the smaller boy's wrist and hand distastefully. "This is my little brother, William."

"Hello, you two," said Molly's Daddy. "I'm Joseph Hooper, and this is my daughter, Molly."

Molly, who was shy around everybody, especially boys, blushed and gave a little wave as a greeting.

"I've told you I prefer Sherlock," grumbled the smaller boy, glaring at his big brother.

"When you knock a girl to the ground while in the process of thievery, you're William," said Mycroft Holmes. "You're just lucky it's not Willie."

William (or Sherlock) looked at the ground, guilt mixing into his pout.

Mycroft turned his attention back to Molly and her Daddy. "A pleasure, Mr. and Miss Hooper. Though I wish that this could be under better circumstances. My darling brother, whom I've been tasked with chaperoning at the park today, decided to amuse himself by snatching the book I was reading from my hands and leading me on a wild goose chase. In the process, he collided with Miss Molly, causing her to fall off the swing and onto the ground." His eyes lowered to Molly's bandaged knee, and he scowled down at his brother. "What do you have to say for hurting Miss Hooper, William?"

The boy William lifted his eyes and looked at Molly. He was no longer pouting; he looked embarrassed and quite contrite. "I'm sorry," he nearly mumbled, but everyone caught every word. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

While he looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but here, the boy William seemed truly sincere in his apology. Though only six-years-old, Molly knew what the truth was and what a lie was. This was not a lie.

"Okay," she said quietly, nodding her head. "Thank you."

William nodded as well, his gaze falling to her bandaged knee. Once his eyes discerned the pattern on the bandage, the blue-green orbs lit up and met her doe-brown ones again.

"You like honey-bees, too?"

And Molly smiled.