AN: So I wanted to write a fic with Sherlock and children. This was born! I couldn't figure out a title so my good friend The Moyashi Beansprout Midget helped with the 'Lucy and 'Lock-down' part and helped choose which title sounded the best out of three I came up with. This is only my second Sherlock fic! (First is titled Petrichor, check it out!) Please Review and let me know how I did! Enjoy!
First of all, it wasn't Sherlock's fault this time. Really it wasn't. It was the criminal's fault. He got himself cornered and stabbed DI Lestrade. Of course the DI had been rushed to the hospital, nothing too serious but serious enough to keep him overnight.
Now Sherlock and John were walking into Lestrade's daughter's school to get her.
"Lucy Lestrade." Sherlock said when they got to the desk. "Her father has been in an accident and is currently in the hospital."
The secretary seemed shocked but was abled to ask. "And you are?"
"Sherlock Holmes. I work with Lucy's father. I should be authorized to pick up Lucy."
She looked surprised. "Oh! Of course. I'll check authorized people and which class she's in and call the teacher to send her up." She started typing and Sherlock turned to John.
"Get a taxi. This won't take long." John nodded and wondered why they didn't just keep the one they came in.
The secretary picked up the phone and dialed the classroom's number.
"Hello, Mr. Miller. Can you send up Lucy Lestrade with her things. Alright, thank you." She hung up. "She'll be right up. You can wait outside the office for her."
Sherlock nodded and stepped outside. Lucy walked up with her backpack. She stopped in front of Sherlock and blinked up at him. She was eight with blonde hair and had her father's dark eyes.
"'Lock?" She had decided his name was too long and cut it in half. In Sherlock's opinion it was better than her call him Sher. He much prefers 'Lock if she insisted on butchering his name.
"Your father has been injured. Nothing criti-bad." He decided against the bigger and complicated words. He'd rather not explain himself.
She gasped and tears sprang to her eyes. "Daddy?" She squeaked out. Sherlock wondered briefly why John didn't do this. He could handle kids better.
Suddenly the lights flickered out and screams could be heard from various classrooms. Lucy jumped and ran to hid herself in Sherlock's coat. Sherlock, meanwhile, looked around. There was no obvious reasons for the lights to go out. He looked out the window and saw a van of a company he had never heard of. (And he knew a lot.) That sent alarms ringing in his head. He pulled his phone out but there was no signal. Growling he stuffed it into his pocket.
John looked at the school and saw Sherlock standing there...in the dark? He caught Sherlock's eye, the consulting detective tilted his head towards the van. John's eyebrows drew together. He saw Sherlock scowl and saw him motion above himself, bringing attention back to lack of lights.
Sherlock could practically see the lightbulb. He rolled his eyes then mimed phoning 999. John scowled and, if they could hear each other, would probably say something along the lines of, 'No, I was going to call for takeout! Of course I'm going to call 999!'. Sherlock shooed him away before glancing at the van. Men were jumping out the back now. There were seven of them, wait eight, the driver was joining them. He picked up Lucy into his arms and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck.
What could they possibly want from a school? Money? Unlikely. What else is at school? What? What? Note, downside of homeschooling.
Sherlock backed up and out of view of the window. Unfortunately he was cut off from the office.
Two at the main doors. What to do? Attack. No, not with Lucy. And it seems she's not letting go anytime soon. Hide. John has called for help and Mycroft will probably wonder why he can't track my phone. Help will be here soon.
With that Sherlock ran deeper into the school. A few minutes passed. The school had gone into lockdown. All classrooms were locked.
"Lucy. What's your room number? I need you to tell me." The teacher would recognize her voice and quite possibly mine.
"Mr. Miller." She sniffed. "Room 124." First floor then. They were currently on the second. Sherlock stopped when he heard the men walking. He pressed himself into an alcove with the water fountain and bathrooms. He could feel Lucy's rapid heartbeat and hot breath. He couldn't comfort her more though, they needed to stay quiet. He was immensely grateful she was stifling her crying. She had some sense. He moved on and dashed down the stairs. Sherlock quickly found room 124. He tapped on it quietly.
"Mr. Miller? It's Sherlock Holmes. I have Lucy Lestrade with me."
"Mr. Holmes? Lucy?" A voice whispered back.
"Mr. Miller!" She squeaked, albeit quietly.
"Yes. Let us in. No criminals are near." There was a soft click of the lock and the door was opened. They dodged inside. Mr. Miller had brown hair and hazel eyes and wore black glasses. He locked the door again and looked at Sherlock.
"What are you doing here Mr. Holmes?" Sherlock caught sight of the other children in the corner, away from the door and windows.
"I came to pick up Lucy, obviously." He snapped.
Before the teacher could reply an explosion rang out. The building shook and some students screamed again. A few scrambled under desks, the rest following soon after. Before Sherlock could move the lighting fixture came loose and hit him on the head. Luckily he was protecting Lucy's head so it skimmed off his hand. Unluckily it cause him to fall.
Outside...
John jumped at the explosion was triggered. He froze and stared at the smoking building.
"No." He whispered. "No, Sherlock!" A PC grabbed his arm to stop him from running in. He tried fighting but was stopped by the British Government himself.
"What happened?" Mycroft demanded.
"I don't know! Sherlock and I came here to pick up Greg's daughter but the lights went off and men with guns went in. Then this!" He waved his hand to the school before dropping it to his side.
Inside...
Debris was scattered on the ground. A waterline had fallen from the ceiling and was blocking the door from the outside. The water was slowly leaking into the classroom. Mr. Miller was trying to console the children while trying to find Sherlock. The teacher had stumbled away from the consulting detective and the dust in the air was not helping. He heard coughs from his students as he tried to find them all. Chunks of the ceiling tiles were strewn about. A bookshelf had fallen but was stopped in its descent by a desk. The white board had also fallen, it was leaning on the teacher's desk now. Debris from the second floor cut off access to the windows. Mr. Miller was able to find twenty one of his twenty three students. One, he remembered was sick that day and the other, Lucy, was in Sherlock's arms.
"Mr. Holmes?" A groan answered him.
"'Lock?" He heard Lucy ask.
He found both laying on the ground. Sherlock was on his right side. He was curled around Lucy's own small body. The teacher was alarmed at the blood around them. He ran forward and knelt down.
"Mr. Holmes?" Sherlock groaned again and blinked a few times to focus. His head hurt and his hand and...well a lot of things. Some debris was on top of him, the lighting fixture was resting next to him. He uncurled himself and released Lucy and rolled onto his back.
"I'm fine." He blinked sluggishly up at the ceiling. "Maybe. I may have a concussion." Lucy sat up and looked at Sherlock. She timidly poked his shoulder.
"I'm fine Lucy. Nothing serious." A second later Sherlock decided sitting up was a terrible idea as his stomach instantly let him know as nausea hit. He held it back and took a deep breath, which led to a coughing fit as there was still dust floating around. "Did you find everyone?" It took the teacher a second to realize Sherlock was talking to him.
"Oh, yes. There's only minor injuries. The worst being a trapped ankle." Just then there was a sharp cry from another room. Either the neighboring classroom or the one above them. Sherlock couldn't tell at the moment. "That's the special needs class. They're probably terrified, they're younger." And Sherlock was happy this man was keeping his cool. Sherlock finally turned his attention to the man. Even if he was slightly blurred and doubled he was still able to deduce him. He was married, quite happily for the past ten plus years. Mid to late thirties, had a dog and a baby at home. And by the way he was handling this, he had experience in pressing situations. Sherlock was too sluggish to try figure what exactly.
"-olmes?" Sherlock blinked hard and tried to focus on the man. "I'm going to try and stop the bleeding. Okay?" Bleeding? What bleeding? Well his head hurt. Sherlock winced and pulled his hand away after touching the wound on his head.
"Hmmm." Sherlock hummed. Miller took it as agreement and pushed his coat to the injured man's head. Sherlock sucked in a quick breath, the pain bringing him back. Sherlock grabbed his phone from his pocket and squinted at the screen. Still no signal. He was about to put it away when it rang. He didn't look at the caller ID, there was only one person who could get a call through.
"Mycrof'."
"Sherlock?" And the younger Holmes could see the frown. "Are you injured?" It's not like he actually needed to ask.
"Pr'bly. Yeah. Hit head. Stup'd light." He slurred.
"Sherlock? Where are you?" Mycroft asked.
"Win'mill."
"Windmill? What? Sherlock! Focus! Where are you?" And no way did Mycroft sound panicked.
At that point Mr. Miller took the phone. "Hello? I'm Anthony Miller. I'm the teacher."
"Miller, of course. What's your room number?" Miller blinked at the bluntness but answered anyway.
"One twenty four."
"What's wrong with my brother?" The nameless voice snapped.
"Uh, as far as I can tell a bleeding head wound, leading to a concussion and some broken fingers."
"Put Sherlock back on." Miller pressed the phone into the consulting detective's uninjured hand.
"It's your brother." He said when the concussed man just stared at it.
"No it's a phone. N't My'."
"Sherlock!" Mycroft yelled. Sherlock jumped before holding the phone to his ear.
"Yesss?" He slurred.
"Focus! Stay awake and alert."
Sherlock frowned before pulling the phone away and ending the call.
Outside...
"Sherlock? Sherlock!"
"What happened?" John asked anxiously.
"He hung up!" Mycroft growled. He shoved his phone into his pocket roughly.
John ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled heavily.
Inside...
Sherlock was frustrated. He couldn't think straight and every thought took him an inordinate amount of time to process. He wasn't really sure why he hung up on his brother anymore. It was probably a good reason. Looking around he saw the children huddled together. Most were crying one was still screaming which made Sherlock's head feel worse. The screaming from next door wasn't helping either. How to shut them up? Yelling wouldn't help and would probably hurt more. Is that a violin? Music! That could help.
And indeed a violin was in its case by the teacher's desk. According to Miller's fingers it wasn't his. Plus it was way too small. It probably belonged to one of the students. Sherlock was able to grab it and open the case. Miller was trying to console the screaming child and Lucy watched him curiously. She was the least injured, having been protected by Sherlock. He tightened the bow and brought the small violin up to his shoulder and started playing, being careful to hold the bow in a way that did not aggravate his broken index and middle finger. Slowly the children stopped crying and watched Sherlock. He was sitting crosslegged and with his back straight. The screaming from next door also stopped.
And thus two classrooms sat quietly in the middle of debris listening to a concussed man playing a tiny violin.
Outside a few hours later...
Parents of the still trapped students hovered around. Husbands with their wives in their arms. A few older siblings and a pair of grandparents. Three classrooms were still buried and they couldn't hear any of the children. Why were they being so quiet? They knew a pipe must've broke; water was leaking into the street now. They didn't know if a gas line had broke or not.
A shout pulled John and Mycroft's attention to a person wearing a neon vest. They waved over others and they started inspecting the pile of rubble.
"Is that...?" The worker trailed off.
"What the..." John started.
"Violin music." Mycroft stated bemused.
"Who would play music?" A nameless worker said.
"Isn't the music room near there?" Another said.
"No it's in the next hallway."
"Then who-"
"Do your jobs already!" Mycroft snapped at them. They scrambled to work after that.
Inside...
There was only music. He was only focusing on the strings. Coming up with what note should go next. He had long ago run out of other pieces, and his own precomposed ones. He replayed ones from near the beginning but threw in a few on the spot ones. Sherlock's head didn't hurt, his knuckles were nearly undisturbed as he pulled the bow across the strings. He wasn't in a buried classroom. He was dancing in his Palace. Suddenly there was a hand gripping his wrist.
"Sherlock." His named echoed through the corridors. Not stopping the music he listened closely.
"Sherlock!" A different, more panicky voice shouts.
"Come back Sherlock." The voice was firm. He should probably go back now.
Opening his eyes he was only mildly surprised to see Mycroft kneeling near him. John on his other side. Sherlock dropped his bow arm, his shoulders and arms sore from staying in the position too long.
"Come on. Let's get out of here." John said. Sherlock put the violin back in the case before he allowed John and Mycroft to help him up. The three were able to climb out of the rubble, the other two classes already out.
"Lucy!" They heard when they got out. Looking over they saw DI Lestrade, who should have been in the hospital.
"Daddy!" They embraced and the little girl was careful of her father's arm, which was in a sling. "I thought you weren't coming. 'Lock said so."
"You were in trouble princess." He check her for injury.
"I'm not hurt daddy, 'Lock protected me!" She beamed up at him.
Lestrade then looked up and towards Sherlock, who was leaning on John. From a distance Lestrade could see some blood on the consulting detective's head as well as torn up knuckles and possibly broken fingers. Something in the man's torso must have hurt from the way he was standing and curling an arm around it.
"And then he played music! And everyone got quiet! It was really pretty." Lestrade raised an eyebrow. He had heard rumors of violin music but it stopped by the time he got there.
"I'm going to go talk to him okay? Go find your teacher." She nodded and after a kiss on the forehead ran off.
The DI walked towards the back of the ambulance were Sherlock sat.
"Hello Gavin." Sherlock greeted before blinking sluggishly.
"Sherlock." John interrupted before he could respond. "What's his real name? This is important, we need to determine your mental state."
Sherlock stared at John for a few seconds. That worried John slightly before he answered.
"My mental state is just fine John. Now let Greg speak." John smiled and both men looked at Greg. Meanwhile the DI froze. Sherlock, not for as long as he has known him, call him by his real first name. Sherlock huffed, "Anytime Graham."
"Oh, um, yes. Thank you." Sherlock's face twisted into slight confusion. "For protecting my daughter."
"Yes from I was able to determine, that injury on his hand was caused by the lighting fixture while he was protecting her head." Mycroft said.
"Well, we need to get to the hospital to determine the extent of Sherlock's injuries. And you should be there too." John said as he helped an unsteady Sherlock up into the ambulance.
"I'll be there shortly." He agreed, then went back to his daughter. Other ambulance leaving with the more injured teachers and children.
A week later...
The school had been completely demolished and authorities had been trying to find a place to teach. There were few deaths and a memorial was going to be held. Six students and a teacher was killed when the explosion went off.
Sherlock turned out fine. It was a concussion, his knuckles were scratched, only two broken fingers and only some deep bruising on his torso from the debris that had landed on him.
Lestrade knocked on the door to 221B. Mrs. Hudson answered and directed him upstairs. When he entered the living room he saw that the lights were off and the curtains were closed. Sherlock was laying face down on the couch.
"Sherlock?" Said man groaned before launching a pillow at him. Surprisingly it hit the DI.
"Sherlock." John appeared from the kitchen. He had whispered Sherlock's name and thus, did not get hit by a pillow. "Don't hit Greg with pillows." John bent to pick up the pillow. He deposited it on Sherlock's back.
"Uh, why was I just hit with a pillow?" Just to be hit again. "Sherlock!" The other pillow Sherlock had followed.
"Be quiet. He's getting over his concussion. If you must talk then whisper. He has light and noise sensitivity. Common enough when recovering from concussions." John explained while he handed back the pillows. Sherlock mumbled into the third and last pillow he had. "You're welcome." John answered the unintelligible mumblings. The army doctor turned to Lestrade. "What can we do for you?"
"I just wanted to see how Sherlock's doing and to thank him again." This time he whispered.
Sherlock turned his head enough so the other two men would able to hear him. "I believe one thanks is sufficient enough."
"No amount of 'thank you's will be enough. You saved my daughter's life. The debris that hit your hand would've hit her." He waved at the bandages wrapped around Sherlock's hand.
"It wouldn't have killed her. Probably only a concussion." Sherlock argued.
"Yes, but what about the debris that landed on you? That bruised your ribs? It would have crushed her." Sherlock didn't say anything for a long moment.
"Anything else?" Sherlock asked.
"I guess not. Let me know when you can come back, alright? We need to figure out who attacked the school." And Greg left the two.
Another week later...
Sherlock was back on cases, annoying Anderson, insulting Scotland Yard and generally being a pain. Sherlock didn't say anything about the thank you cards he got from children and their parents but John knew they made him happy.
The case was solved easily (in Sherlock's opinion), it was the brother of a teacher. What had happened was the teacher refused to give his brother money (Ha! It was about money!) to pay off debts to...shady characters. The brother only wanted to scare the teacher but he was an idiot (everyone agreed) and made the explosions too big (obviously). The other seven were others who owed their own debts or was pulled in on a favor.
Two months later...
"Happy Birthday Lucy!" Everyone cheered. It was the little girls ninth birthday. Well, it was two weeks ago but some of her friends in other class were more seriously hurt. She was willing to put it off so that they could come too.
John and Sherlock came near the end when most of the kids had gone home already.
"Happy birthday!" John said as he crouched down to hug the birthday girl. He handed her the wrapped gift. She opened it quickly and smiled widely. In her arms were two stuffed animals. An otter and a hedgehog. She stared at them then stated, "Sher," As she pointed to the otter and, "Jo." When pointing to the hedgehog.
John laughed and just nodded.
"I have something for you." Sherlock said as he took John's place in front of the girl. He held out a flat, thin, square present. She took it carefully after setting the animals by her feet. (They were both leaning against her legs.) She unwrapped it to unveil a CD. She frowned, in confusion rather than disappointment. (She learned that 'Lock was good at giving gifts.)
"It has all the songs I played for you and your class when we were trapped. All of them." Her smile grew wider and she jumped forward quickly to hug the consulting detective. Sherlock was surprised but stayed upright. After a beat he wrapped his own arms around her.
"Thank you! Thank you so much uncle 'Lock!" Sherlock froze. She had never called him 'uncle' before. A slight smile appeared.
"You're welcome." She stepped back and picked up her new stuffed toys.
"Thank you John!" She hugged his legs before running off to play with the friends who haven't left yet.
Later that night...
Lestrade smiled as he was listening to his daughter tell him all about her birthday party and what John and uncle 'Lock gave her. He was stunned when that word came in front of Sherlock's shortened name. But smiled nonetheless.
He wished a happy birthday and bid her a goodnight. He went to bed thinking about that incident two and a half months earlier. If it wasn't for Sherlock, Lucy could be dead or severely injured. Thank you Sherlock, how could I ever repay you?
The next day at the crime scene he forgot all about that little sentiment when Sherlock made the witness cry.
"Not good?" Sherlock had asked his blogger.
"Bit not good."
AN: I really like that part in the episode (A Study in Pink?) where Sherlock asks John that. (Not good? Bit not good.) :D
I really didn't know what John would give Lucy and I remembered something about Sherlock and John being compared to an otter and hedgehog. I figured why not. So Sherlock says windmill because the teacher's name is Miller. His brain was making connections and he just blurted that one out. The stuufed animals' names come from half of Sherlock's and John's.
Please tell me if I made any mistakes with anything British (I'm American). I wasn't sure about what to call the police officer but in another fic I read they wrote PC (police constable?) So I wrote that. If anyone has a better name (or I got it wrong) let me know! :)
Even though this says complete. I am willing to continue it if some one has a really good idea that I like and can build on. Contact me through review, PM, or tumblr (dawnmoon76) and let me know if you have an idea!
~Dawnmoon