Chapter 1: Meet the Holmes.

A/n: Hello everyone! I have been wanting to do a story like this for a while now and after weeks of intense planning, I have finally decided to write it. I haven't seen a lot of stories like this out there so I would say that this is pretty fresh. However, I was inspired by the fanfiction The Family Businessby DemolitionLover.14so go check that out if you're so inclined. It's pretty amazing.

Thanks and Happy reading J

TheCurlyGal6218

"How fresh?" Sherlock asked the meek pathologist. He stood upon a black bag, the expressionless face of the middle aged man before him. Dead.

"Just in." she replied in her usually sweet tone. "Sixty-seven, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice." She smiled sadly at the corpse.

Sherlock's cold demeanor never faltered. He zipped the bag back up and smiled curtly at Molly.

"We'll start with the riding crop."

The body of the man was removed from the bag and placed on the cold, metal table. The brunette woman handed him his tool wordlessly before scuttling away to watch from the other room. The curly haired detective smiled at the body. To someone who didn't know him it would've been unnerving. To someone who did, it would be normal.

"Showtime."

He proceeded to beat the lifeless man with the crop, much to Molly's dismay. She watched with half admiration, half disgust from the observation room. After several minutes of uncomfortable staring, the only sound being that of the riding crop against the man's skin, she approached Sherlock. "So, bad day was it?" Sherlock ignored her meager attempt at a joke and instead kept his sight trained on the body.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me."

He began scribbling on a sheet of paper. Molly stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do.

"How's Elise?" she settled on asking.

He was quiet for a moment, a small smile tugging at his lips at the mention of his daughter. Although he would never admit it, he was secretly happy when she was brought up in conversation. Especially when she was at someplace as dull as school.

"She's fine." He replied, masking his joy.

"Still with her nose in the books?"

He nodded again. Sort of busy Molly…

"Listen." She said.

Here we go.

"I was wondering if maybe later when you're finished…" Sherlock looked up briefly from his work before his eyes went down again. He frowned and took a double take.

Lipstick… that wasn't there before. Interesting.

"Are you wearing lipstick? You went wearing lipstick before." She stared at her shoes before timidly looking up. She was reminiscent of prey being cornered by a savage predator.

He noticed her demeanor become wary.

"I, erg, I refreshed it a bit."

She smiled at him, but he turned back to his notebook after a beat, oblivious at her attempt to be flirty.

"Sorry you were saying?"

She swallowed nervously. "I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee."

Sherlock put his notebook away and looked at her impassively. "Black, two sugars. I'll be upstairs." He walked away from the crestfallen pathologist.

"…okay."

Sherlock squeezed a pipette of liquid onto a petri dish, watching his work intently. He liked running experiments. Well… he liked investigating more, but this was the next best thing. When cases where slow and boredom threatened to drive him to the brink of insanity, a good experiment would keep it all at bay. For a while at least.

His work was interrupted by the sound of a text alert. With an irritated sigh, Sherlock took out his phone and clicked the message icon. 1 new message.

Call me xx – EH

I prefer to text – SH

This is important -EH

Are you in physical danger? – SH

No – EH

Is it dire enough where I have to leave work? –SH

No…- EH

Is the apocalypse upon us? - SH

NO- EH

Then we are texting. What's the issue? - SH

I was just reminding you that I have to stay after school for half an hour. – EH

Why? – SH

I promised Mrs. Jennings I would help her in the library. – EH

Fine. Take a cab to Baker Street when you're through. – SH

K. Love you. – EH

Sherlock was about to respond when suddenly his phone lost signal. He cursed in irritation.

He put the device back in his pocket just as a knock sounded at the door.

Mike Stamford came waddling in, and short man with blonde hair limping in behind him. He looked around the room, taking in his surroundings.

"Bit different from my day."

Sherlock deduced him in record time. Hmm… veteran.

Mike chuckled. "You've no idea."

Sherlock sat down in his chair. "Mike can I borrow your Phone? Mine doesn't have signal."

"What's wrong with the landline?"

"I prefer to text."

Mike raised his eyebrows and patted himself down in search of his mobile.

"Nope. Sorry, it's in my coat."

Sherlock rolled his eyes inwardly.

To his surprise, the blonde man reached into his back pocket and pulled out his own phone.

"Um, here." He said as he handed Sherlock the device. "Use mine."

"Oh. Thank you." Sherlock said thankfully. He walked up to him to take the phone.

"Here's an old friend of mine. John Watson."

Sherlock began typing a text to his daughter.

Message Sent

Likewise-SH

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John frowned and looked to Mike for help. The other man simply smiled knowingly and gestured to the detective.

"Sorry?"

"Which was it- Afghanistan or Iraq?"

Sherlock looked at John before turning back to the screen.

The veteran hesitated. "Afghanistan… How did you –"

"Ah Molly, Coffee. Thanks."

He gave John back his property and retrieved his mug from Molly.

He frowned as he noticed her mouth.

"What happened to the lipstick?"

Molly shuffled her feet awkwardly. "It wasn't working for me."

"Really?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth is too small now."

The pathologist's cheeks turned an astounding piece of crimson. "Okay…" she scurried away, glad to be rid of the embarrassing conversation.

"How do you feel about the violin?"

It took John a moment to realize the dark haired man was talking to him.

"I'm sorry? What?"

Sherlock was typed on a laptop as he spoke. "I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. My daughter has a moderate anxiety disorder and is extremely possessive of her book collection." He looked up. "Would that bother you? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other."

John had not the slightest idea how to respond.

"We also have a Guinea Pig."

The following day

John limped his way down the street towards 221B. The London morning was cold, but tolerable thanks to his thick jumper. His cane clacked against the pavement, earning the sideways glances of his fellow commuters. He sighed. By now he should be used to the lingering stares. That wasn't the case.

Just as he was approaching the black door, a Taxi pulled up on the curb. Sherlock Holmes bustled out of the cab and paid his fare.

John limped over to greet him. "Ah, Mr. Holmes."

"Sherlock, please."

The two men shook hands.

John looked up at the apartment. It was rather nice. Better than he was expecting.

"Well this is a prime spot, must be expensive."

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, gave me a special deal. Owes me a favor. Her husband was sentenced to death in Florida a few years back. I was able to help out."

John nodded his understanding. "You stopped her husband being executed?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Oh no. I ensured it."

John cocked his head to the side. He was about to ask more questions but Sherlock left his side and rapped the brass knocker on the door.

An old woman opened the door and instantly brightened when her eyes set on Sherlock.

"Sherlock, hello." The woman said fondly.

The pair embraced and then the detective introduced John.

"Mrs. Hudson allow me to introduce Dr. John Watson." He gestured to his fair haired companion.

"Hello." She smiled at him and shook his hand.

"How do you do?"

"Come on in." she smiled at the boys warmly.

"Thank you."

The trio entered the building. Mrs. Hudson closed the door behind them. Sherlock jogged up the stairs, pausing at the first landing so that the older man could catch up. When they reached the top of the stairs, Sherlock opened the door to the flat and swanned inside. John followed and surveyed the place in which he would be living.

The first thing he noticed was the mess.

The space was cluttered with boxes, stacks of disheveled paper, books, and other rubbish. Other than that, it was very nice. Homey even. The wallpaper was a bit dated, but John didn't care. Overall, it was very classy.

"Well this could be very nice. Very nice indeed."

Sherlock nodded in agreement. "Yes, my thoughts exactly. So I went ahead and moved in."

"- Just as soon as we get the rubbish cleared out."

The two men stared at each other. John looked at his shoes in embarrassment.

"So, this is all…"

He was cut off by the sound of running footsteps and a frantic voice.

"Daddy!"

A young girl with wild curly hair suddenly burst into the room. In her hand, she brandished a hardback book like a weapon, eyes alight with fear.

"I can't find Catching Fire. I know I packed it but I can't find it anywhere."

The army doctor gaped at her in surprise. Sherlock had told him he had a daughter but he wasn't expecting this. The resemblance between the two was uncanny. She had inherited her father's height and lanky frame, the same blue-green eyes on equally pale faces. The only physical difference between the two was gender and age.

A bloody child is taller than me.

"Check the box on the table."

"I already did."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Then check again."

The girl huffed and stalked off to find the missing book. A moment later she returned, a sheepish grin on her face.

"Found it." She waved said book as evidence. "Thanks."

She turned away from her dad to face the other man, noticing him for the first time.

"Who are you?" she asked in confusion.

John cleared his throat. "John Watson. I'll be sharing the flat with you and Sherlock."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Elise." She held out her hand and john shook it. "I guess you already know who I am." She smiled at John. He could already tell he was going to like her. After all, she didn't seem like a bad kid.

"Pleasure." John said with a grin.

She smiled again and flopped on the couch with her book, staring intently at the page.

"Well I suppose I can clean some of this up." Sherlock said, moving a couple odds and ends around. He halfheartedly dumped something on the fireplace mantel and pushed a box out of the way.

"Don't strain yourself father dear." Elise quipped sarcastically.

He ignored his daughter and continued the tedious task.

John strolled up to the mantle and poked at his findings with his cane.

"That's a skull." He said incredulously.

"Friend of mine, well when I say friend."

Elise snorted from her place on the couch.

Mrs. Hudson trotted into the room, picking up a cup and saucer as she went.

"Well what do you think Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."

"Of course we'll be needing two." His eyebrows knitted together.

"Oh don't worry dear, all sorts around here. Mrs. Turner next door has got married ones."

John looked at Sherlock for help but was awarded none as the other man was completely tuned out. Despite his clear discomfort, the younger Holmes seemed to be quite amused. She hid her laughter behind the book cover.

"Oh Sherlock! The mess you made." The old woman tutted. She went into the kitchen and closed the door. Soon, the sound of clattering dishes was heard along with the steady stream of running water.

John walked to one of the two armchairs. He fluffed a pillow and placed on the seat. Satisfied, he eased himself on the seat. He watched the Holmes family continue their tasks; one absorbed in her reading, the other attempting to clean up his mess. He didn't know what to make of them. The detective, while brilliant as he was, could be a bit abrasive. He thought about the deductions the tall man had made about him. Afghanistan or Iraq? Impressive. But how?

Then there was Elise, the avid reader with an anxiety disorder. To the untrained eye, she would seem the normal 13 year old. She smiled easily and if she was anything like her dad, intelligent. All she seemed to want to do was keep herself in the book. However, John was a Doctor. He knew the signs. It didn't go unnoticed that as she clasped her novel with one hand, she picked at the skin of her fingers on the other. She didn't even blink. It was all involuntary, as if she had been doing it for quite some time. He also saw how every few pages she would check her surroundings, eyes discreetly taking in detail.

Odd indeed.

He turned his thoughts away from the strange girl to the detective across the room.

"I searched you up on the internet last night." He said.

The detective continued working as he responded. "Oh? Find anything interesting?"

"Just your website. The Science of Deduction."

Sherlock smirked proudly. "What did you think?"

John looked at him incredulously.

The smile quickly vanished from the consulting detective's face.

"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb."

He sighed and looked up from his task. "Yes and I can read your military career by your face and leg and your brother's drinking habits by your mobile phone."

"It's true. He can." Elise piped up.

"How?"

The two didn't answer, simply exchanging a knowing glance before carrying on what they were doing.

Mrs. Hudson came in from the kitchen, a squeaking sound following her in her wake.

"Elise dear, do feed that poor animal. He's whining up a storm."

The curly haired teen sighed and put down her book. "Ugh, Gizmo."

John looked up in confusion. "Who's that then?"

"Our Guinea Pig." She explained.

She walked out of the room, muttering something about cucumbers.

Sherlock looked up once she had gone. "Her guinea pig. I simply bought it."

John chuckled.

Mrs. Hudson entered the room once more. "What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same."

A commotion outside sent him to his feet, walking briskly towards the window. He narrowed his eyes as he studied the scene. Police cars.

"Four. There's been a fourth."

He watched as Lestrade clambered out of the vehicle, the sirens bathing his face in their glow. The DI was frowning as he looked up at the building.

"And somethings different this time."

Elise dashed back upstairs after retrieving a cucumber from Mrs. Hudson's fridge. She was sure she wouldn't mind. After all, she did it all the time when she came over for tea. Besides, it was the only food that would shut Gizmo up and Mrs. Hudson hated the awful crying sound the guinea pig made when hungry. Timothy Hay would work much better, but they were out. This would have to suffice.

As she began deseeding the green vegetable, (Seeds were toxic to the small rodent) the door slammed closed downstairs.

Who could that be? She heard a gruff male voice speaking from the living room.

Lestrade. No way am I missing this.

Elise scooped Gizmo out of his cage and began feeding him as she returned to where the small group was gathered.

"Who's on forensics?" her father asked the DI.

"Anderson."

"Ew." She said with a grimace, making her presence known. "Hello, Lestrade."

He scrubbed a hand down his face. "And mini- Sherlock emerges." Elise scowled at him. He ignored her sour look and gave her a smile to show that he was kidding.

"And to think I was actually happy to see you." She adjusted her pet in her arms. "Daddy doesn't like Anderson."

"He doesn't work with me." He said in agreement.

Lestrade scoffed. "Well he's not your assistant."

"I need an assistant."

"I'll help." Elise offered hopefully.

Sherlock nodded his consent and Elise beamed. As she got older, he allowed her to come on even more cases with him.

The DI nodded exasperatedly. Normally children wouldn't be allowed at a crime scene, but this was a rare exception. Sherlock was training Elise to become a detective like him and he claimed she needed to start young. Just like her father, she loved the thrill of an investigation. She was quite good at it too. She had assisted her father on cases since she was eight years old.

"So you'll come?"

"Not in a police car. We'll be right behind."

"Thank you." Lestrade exited the flat and made his way outside.

He looked across the room at Elise who held a similar gleam in her eye.

"Brilliant!" Sherlock exclaimed as Elise laughed and hurried to put her Guinea pig back.

"We've got a crime scene!" she shouted from the other room.

"Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas."

His daughter hurried back into the room, hopping as she zipped up a pair of brown combat boots and tugged on a matching jacket.

Sherlock quickly dressed in his own coat and scarf.

"Mrs. Hudson I'll be late. Might need some food."

"Something for Gizmo to if you don't mind. I was only able to give him a bit of cucumber." Elise chimed in.

"I'm your landlady dear. Not a housekeeper."

"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea and make yourself at home. Don't wait up."

He grabbed something from the kitchen table and then dashed out the door, Elise following.

A/n: First chapter done! Yay or nay? Leave me a review on the way out so that I can see what you lovely readers think. We'll have a lot more Elise in the next installment so I hope you'll enjoy that. I'll get the next chapter up as soon as I finish it. Thanks for reading!