Life with Sherlock Holmes seldom turned out to be a walk in the park, but today, somewhat ironically, it was. The world's only consulting detective had been relegated to the position of babysitter, a position to which he didn't really object, since the baby in question was his own daughter, Maggie, and she was hardly a baby at all, being the ripe old age of five years. Maggie's mum, Sherlock's wife of these past almost eight years, Molly, had been unexpectedly called into work this Saturday morning to deal with a complicated autopsy of a murder victim to be performed at St. Bart's. Their elder child, seven year old Jack, had insisted on accompanying his mother, since he shared her fascination with death and his father's interest in crime. He had all the makings of a detective as talented as his father. Or a serial killer. Only time would tell, Sherlock thought with a smile.

Sherlock should, of course, have accompanied his wife to the morgue, but he had long since grown to trust her instincts. If there was anything over and above what she would put in her report, any little thing which he would find of interest, she would phone him immediately. So, Sherlock, in the absence of Mrs. Hudson, who was, once again, visiting her "sister" in Brighton, the detective had undertaken the rather pleasant detail of spending the morning with young Maggie.

"Daddy, why do squirrels hide food away? Don't they like to share?"

"Squirrels are notoriously selfish little gits, Maggie."

"But why can't they just eat what want, and leave the others there for other squirrels?"

Sherlock spoke patiently. "Because during the winter there won't be any nuts lying about, Maggie, so they try to collect as many as they can so they won't be hungry come Christmas."

"Can't they go to the shop, then, Daddy?"

"No, Maggie, they cannot."

"Why not, Daddy?"

"They have no money, luv!" The tall man glared down at the little girl with the dark curls, daring her to ask another question, which she seemed on the verge of doing as she opened her tiny mouth to speak. "And before you continue, they have no credit cards, either!" He looked at her in triumph.

"I was just going to say that, if they need nuts at Christmas, perhaps they should ask Santa!"

"Perhaps they should," he said as he swooped her up into his arms and spun her around. They hadn't walked much further when the little girl started to squirm in his arms. "Daddy, I have to wee!"

Despite the fact that the child was five years old, Sherlock Holmes had never before been faced with this dilemma. The park was not terribly far from Baker Street, however, so it shouldn't really be a problem. "Come on, then, Maggie, let's hurry home."

"I have to go now, Daddy! I can't wait!"

Sherlock sincerely hoped that this was a slight exaggeration, as he was holding her close to his beloved Belstaff. He quickly looked around, and found a public facility nearby. But what to do now. Maggie was a bit young to use the facilities by herself, but he was equally reticent about taking her into the men's room. His thoughts on the matter were interrupted by his daughter's urgent cry of, ""Daddy!"

Sherlock made a beeline for the facility, deciding that would post himself at the door, examining and deducing everyone who entered, while allowing his daughter to enter the ladies room on her own. He deposited his child on the path in front of the building, asking, "You know which one to use, of course? You do know the difference between boys and girls, right?"

"Of course, Daddy! Boys have peanuts!", she said as she danced, rather uncomfortably, in front of her father. He looked at her, puzzled for a second, but then spoke, "I believe you mean 'penis', Maggie."

"Oh!"

Sherlock took up his position, already studying everyone in the immediate vicinity, as Maggie ran behind his back, making a dash for the entrance.

It seemed, a few moments later, that it was taking his little girl an inordinate amount of time to, uh, take care of business, so to speak, and he was growing increasingly concerned. No one, had, in fact, entered the women's facility since he took up watch, but there could have been someone in there already, of course. But Maggie had been well educated on what to do in case of emergency. She was to land a well-placed blow, if possible, and scream as loudly as possible. And Sherlock had heard no screams as yet.

But it was only a moment later that the detective did hear a low groan, and a shrill scream, emanating from the men's side of the facility. A line of howling boys, all wearing matching jumpers, ran from the room as Sherlock frantically made his way in. There he found a man, bent over in pain, standing in front of his daughter, who had her jeans down around her ankles, and was struggling in his grasp. He was quickly on the man in question, his fist making contact with his nose. The stranger now couldn't decide which pain to deal with first, as the tears from his eyes mingled with the blood from his nose.

Sherlock grabbed his daughter, pulling up her trousers and running his hands up and down the length of her body, before noticing that he seemed more distressed than she. He looked at her questioningly, as the man groaned behind him. Just then, two of the formerly fleeing boys arrived back in the room, one clutching the man's legs and crying "Daddy!", while the other pointed out Sherlock to the constable he had in tow. This was beginning to look a bit not good, Sherlock thought.

Molly Holmes was just finishing up in the morgue, and preparing to leave when her mobile signalled an incoming call from Sherlock's number. This was a bit of a surprise as, even after all these years, her husband still preferred to text rather than talk. She was even more surprised when she heard her little girl's voice when she picked up.

"Maggie, luv, where's Daddy?"

""Daddy's 'rested," Maggie spoke calmly.

"Daddy took a nap. He's supposed to be watching you! I'll be home soon…"

"We're not at home, Mummy. I told you, Daddy got 'rested. The bloody copper took him away and…"

Maggie was interrupted as a male voice took over the conversation. "Mrs. Holmes, we have your husband at Paddington Green Police Station. Do you know where that is?"

"Do I ever! I shall be right there. Please take care of my daughter." And with that, she hung up abruptly.

When Molly Holmes arrived at the station shortly thereafter, it was to find her daughter in the company of two police officers, enjoying a chocolate ice cream cone. A man was sitting close by, holding a ice pack to his nose, accompanied by a small boy in a football jersey. Sherlock was nowhere in evidence, but she was assured that he would be joining them soon.

"Daddy's in a room somewhere fingerpainting!" Maggie piped in.

"I think she means 'fingerprints', said one of the officers with a chuckle, as he wiped chocolate from the child's chin. "And that's hardly necessary, anyway, since DI Lestrade has phoned in, and the victim has chosen not to press charges."

"What the bloody hell is going on!" Molly addressed the two officers, one of whom answered with a smile. "Maybe you should ask Maggie, here. Her version of events is very entertaining!"

Maggie, sensing that she had now taken center stage, cleared her throat and started telling her story.

"Daddy and I were in the park talking about squirrels, when I had to take a wee. Daddy let me go in by myself, 'cause I'm a big girl now. He asked if I knew which one to go to, and I said 'yes', and I looked at the pictures on the door. One side was for people in dresses. And one side was for people in trousers. But Daddy must have been confused, because he thought I was in the other one!" Maggie shook her head at her Daddy's sudden breach in intellectual capacity, and Molly did not like the direction i which this story was heading. Maggie continued. "There were only two boxes, and there was a old man in one, and a boy in the other. I know because I looked under the door! But there were these things hanging on the wall, and the other kids were using them. They were weeing like Jack does, but I can't do that because I don't have a peanut…" At this remark, both policemen chuckled. Maggie looked a bit offended, but continued bravely on. "So, I pulled down my jeans, and sat in one of the things. I had to go really, really, really bad! When I got off, this man came up to me and asked if I was alright, and if I needed any help. Then he put his hand on my shoulder, and I did what you and Daddy taught me…"

"And what was that, luv," Molly asked gently.

"I punched him right in the peanut as hard as I could! I didn't mean to make him cry! Honest! And I wanted to make it better, so I asked if he wanted me to …"

Molly could only imagine what she offered to do, given her motherly habit of kissing Maggie's booboos to make them better. "Then, he grabbed my arm, and said he was going to help me. Then Daddy came in and punched him in the nose!" Maggie finished her tale with a flourish, and returned her attention to the now dripping ice cream come.

Molly, meanwhile, was overcome with embarrassment as she approached the man with the ice pack still attached to his nose. "Mr. uh…"

"Murphy's the name," the stranger said in a surprisingly friendly manner, given the peculiar circumstances.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Murphy, for my husband's actions. I'm a doctor. Would you like me to look at your nose?"

"No need for apologies, missus. I have a girl of my own at home, and I'd a done the same thing, I reckon. I was just lookin' out for the little one, ya know?" The man smiled at her. "I like to think someone would take the same interest in 'er, if she looked like she was in trouble, ya know?"

"How's your nose?"

"Fine. Not broken, at least. I know how that feels from past experience! But I'll be on my way now that you're here. I said I wasn't pressing charges, but who knows what these coppers have left to do with your old man. Just thought I hang around until her mum arrived. Just in case." The man turned and called to his son, who was engaged in a lively conversation with Jack Holmes, comparing their prospective father's scars and war wounds. So far, it seemed to be a dead heat. Father and son took their leave, the boy home to a recount the story to his mum, his father off to regale his mates at the local about his encounter with the one and only Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock finally made his way from a back room, wiping ink from his fingers, and plastering a fake smile on his face. "So, Molly, has Maggie recounted our adventures to you? Squirrels and Santa Claus?"

"She seemed to have left out those details, but she did have some rather interesting things to recount about peanuts, and public loos!"

"I blame the entire situation on you, Dr. Holmes!"

Molly was curious to find out how this could be construed to be her fault, but was interrupted as her husband grabbed her arm, and his daughter's hand, and led them both through the doors of the police station and out onto the sidewalk. "But we need not go into that now, Molly. Just promise me, for the love of god, next time I take her out in public, by myself, make sure she wears a dress!"