John had been attempting to do a crossword, but he had given up a while ago. Apparently, it was much more entertaining to watch Sherlock and Elizabeth fight over what they thought the answer was.
"War and Peace author, seven letters." John supplied.
"Tolstoy, duh." Elizabeth said, not looking up from Paradise Lost. She was stretched out on the carpet in her pajamas.
"Alright, thank you." John penciled in the answer. "Um, okay. Jumpman rapper, five letters. What does that even mean?"
"Drake." Sherlock answered.
"Who?" John asked, scrunching his brow.
Elizabeth was astounded, "How did you know that?"
"Please, you sang Hotline Bling for three weeks." Sherlock glanced down at his daughter, who reddened slightly.
"Alright then." John continued. "Poe poem, five letters."
"Raven." Sherlock said.
"No, Bells. Bells is five letters. Raven isn't technically correct. It's The Raven." Elizabeth argued. Both Holmeses looked to John to settle the arguement.
"Elizabeth's right, Sherlock." The detective sighed. "The 'e' from Drake lines up with the 'e' in Bells." Elizabeth grinned smugly. Sherlock reached down and stole her bookmark, hiding it between the couch cushions. Elizabeth rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at her father.
"Children, let's play nice." John scolded. "Next clue. Sci-fi doctor, three letters."
"Who." Father and daughter said at the same time.
"Elizabeth watches that infernal television show all the time." Sherlock complained.
"Hey!" John protested. "I like Doctor Who."
Sherlock huffed in annoyance when Elizabeth gave John a fist-bump.
"Meyer's vampire family, seven letters."
Neither of them had an answer for that. Luckily Mrs. Hudson did.
"Oh, that's the Cullens." She said as she passed through to her flat. "They glitter in the sun." With that, she disappeared just as quick as she'd come.
"She got it right." John said after triple-checking the answer.
"But that doesn't make sense!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Vampires don't glitter in the sun. They burn up and turn into a pile of ash."
"It's a fantasy romance novel, Dad." Elizabeth explained. "It's about a human girl who falls in love with a vampire. Mrs. Hudson made me watch one of the movies, but I'm pretty sure I fell asleep."
"Pop sensation Taylor, five letters."
No one had a clue. They were just about to yell down to Mrs. Hudson when Sherlock's mobile buzzed. When he didn't get it, Elizabeth retreived it from his dressing gown pocket. She opened the new message.
The answer is Swift. -MH
"Mycroft says the answer is Swift." Elizabeth put the phone back in her father's pocket.
"I would rather not be constantly reminded that he can hear everything we're saying." John mused as he wrote in the answer. "And he can always see us for that matter."
"It's really intrusive." Elizabeth agreed. "Do you think he'd stop watching if I decided to always walk around naked?"
Sherlock's phone buzzed again, and this time he did check it.
"Mycroft would like me to inform you that he is not always the one that is monitoring us. And he invites you to do as you choose, if you wish to end up as some pervert's screensaver." Elizabeth looked a little terrified at that thought. Sherlock was texting furiously.
A couple of seconds later, Elizabeth's own phone buzzed. It was on the table next to Sherlock's head. She reached her arm out and wiggled her fingers. Sherlock sighed and grabbed her phone, dropping it into her hand. She looked at the text.
I am terribly sorry for my comments. I was informed that I would be brutally murdered if I allowed that to happen. If you did so choose, the visual would be cut immediately.- MH
Elizabeth glanced at Sherlock, who was smirking.
"Hamlet's lost love, seven letters."
"Ophelia." Elizabeth said wistfully. "That's my favorite Shakespeare play. Last year, an actor who played Hamlet on stage actually looked a lot like you, Dad."
"He did, Sherlock." John nodded. "I saw a poster for it. In the picture, he was holding up a skull. Sounds like something you would do."
Sherlock just rolled his eyes.
"Number of thoracic vertebrae, six letters." John smiled. "Well, that's an easy one."
"Twelve." Elizabeth said. John looked at her, surprised. "What?"
"How many cervical vertebrae?" John asked.
"Seven." Elizabeth answered. "And before you ask, there are five lumbar vertebrae."
"Where did you learn that?" John was impressed.
"I asked Molly to give me an introduction in Forensic Anthropology a few years ago." Elizabeth shrugged.
"She can name all 206 bones." Sherlock bragged.
"We all can." Elizabeth shifted the attention off of herself, slightly uncomfortable being in the spotlight. "What's the next one?"
"Synonym for criminal, five letters."
"Distraction." Sherlock said.
"That is not even close to five letters." Elizabeth pointed out.
"Interesting, engaging, fun..." Sherlock continued to list words.
"Felon." Elizabeth said, smacking her father's side with her book.
"Laurie's medical drama, seven letters."
"Oooh, House M.D." Elizabeth piped up. She was really on a roll. "I love that show! Actually the whole thing with House and Wilson really seems like you two. They even live at a 221B as well."
"I could never be a doctor." Sherlock made a sour face.
"Why not?" Elizabeth asked seriously. "There's always a patient to see. There are always illnesses to treat. If you got into something like oncology or neurology, you'd never be bored."
"Too many emotions flying around." Sherlock's frown deepened. "They wouldn't let me do experiments on the patients."
"Because it's unethical, Sherlock." John cut in. "You can't cut up live people just to see how much pain they can handle until it kills them."
"That was a dark example." Elizabeth muttered, her blue eyes widening minutely.
"That, Elizabeth, is your father's sick, twisted mind." John glared at Sherlock. Obviously, the detective had tried to do that very thing before, and John had gotten mad at him for it.
"Well, at least his mind is brilliant too." Sherlock smiled at his daughter's compliment. "Because there is no way he can misunderstand me when I say that if he ever tries to do that to somebody, I will have him arrested. And Lestrade would do it, you know he would." Sherlock's grin faded. John laughed at his horrified expression.
Two hours, thirty clues, and fourteen Red Herrings later, John was at the last clue.
"Alright, last one." John said a little tiredly. It was almost two in the morning. "Hurts' angellic single, five letters."
"Elizabeth knows." Sherlock had closed his eyes. "She loves that duo."
John looked to Elizabeth and smiled. She was curled up against the front of the couch, fast asleep.
"Sherlock, she fell asleep." It didn't look very comfortable, sleeping on the floor. "Should we wake her up?"
"Leave her, I know the answer anyways." Sherlock said, eyes still closed. "It's Wings. That's her favorite song."
"Well, then it's finally finished." John put down his pencil and stood, stretching. His back cracked several times after having been in the same position for hours. As he went to leave, he looked down at Elizabeth again. "Sherlock, that can't be comfortable. Maybe you should carry her upstairs."
"Why should I do it?" Sherlock opened his eyes and glanced at John.
"I can't because she's the same height as me. Imagine what that would look like."
Obviously Sherlock had conjured up that image, because he cracked a wry smile.
"Exactly." John said, leaving the room. Sherlock heard his door shut.
Sherlock gazed down at his daughter, who hadn't stirred at all during their exchange. The floor did look awfully uncomfortable. And it couldn't be that clean, Mrs. Hudson hadn't done any hoovering since last Thursday.
With a small smile, the detective stood and swung his daughter into his arms.