"Sherlock Holmes, you are the stupidest, most insane person I have ever met!" John huffed as he and Elizabeth half-carried a limping detective.

"I do believe you have made that comment before, John." Sherlock retorted with a pained gasp.

Sherlock, John, and Elizabeth had been chasing Jonas McDowell, who had murdered three women. The chase had led them up to the rooftops of London. Elizabeth had been very thankful that she had inherited Sherlock's speed, allowing her to easily keep up with her father and even outrun John at times. McDowell had taken a flying leap across a gap, rolling to a stand. Obviously thinking that his pursuers wouldn't dare to follow, he turned with a smirk.

Never underestimate Sherlock Holmes. Or his companions, for that matter.

Sherlock, John, and Elizabeth all leapt across the gap. John, using his army training, and Elizabeth, from experience at the skate park, rolled to their feet smoothly. Sherlock, completely intent on taking of running as soon as his feet touched the roof, landed on his feet. His right ankle buckled from the impact, and he stumbled to the ground. Elizabeth spared a glance behind her before leaping onto McDowell, who had stood there staring like an idiot. John handcuffed him with cuffs Sherlock had lifted from Lestrade, and he called the DI in on his mobile.

Elizabeth went to check on her father, who was standing stubbornly. He refused to accept help to walk, but after a few minutes, he allowed Elizabeth to support him. Leaving McDowell for Lestrade, Elizabeth and John managed to get Sherlock down the fire escape.

Now they were making their way slowly back to the flat. John was sure that the ankle was only twisted. So all he worried about was how he would convince Sherlock do stay still for a few hours.

"I can walk!" Sherlock insisted for the hundredth time. But Elizabeth and John didn't let go. Really, Sherlock made no move to get away, not that they would have let him.

"Almost there," Elizabeth said as they turned the corner onto Baker Street. "And then stairs."

John and Sherlock groaned. No one was looking forward to that.

It took them an entire seven minutes to get him up the one flight of stairs. They finally lowered Sherlock onto the couch, everyone breathing hard. Elizabeth pulled his coat and scarf off of him, and John fetched paracetamol.

Sherlock was quiet for ten minutes before he declared that he was bored.

"Go to your Mind Palace," John suggested, intent in his newspaper.

"I did that this morning," Sherlock drawled. "I'm bored."

"We know," Elizabeth said.

"Well, do something about it!" Sherlock snapped.

"You deal with him," John stood. "I'm going to bed." John left for his room, leaving Elizabeth with her bored father.

"Elizabeth, I'm bored!"

"I know, Dad. Don't worry you can get up in a few hours."

"I can't sit around here until five AM," Sherlock whined.

"You are perfectly able to," Elizabeth countered.

Sherlock brooded for about twenty minutes, allowing Elizabeth to read a couple of chapters of Crime and Punishment. She wished that she could go to bed, but she knew she had to stay down here or else Sherlock could set the flat on fire.

"Elizabeth."

"Yes, Dad?"

"Will you get me the fingers from the microwave?"

"Look at you, asking politely," Elizabeth observed. "But, no. You know John's rule. No body parts anywhere but the kitchen."

"Please, Elizabeth," Sherlock pleaded.

Elizabeth said nothing.

"I thought I taught you to be obedient," Sherlock huffed.

"You know that I am obedient, and that you're just saying that because you're bored. And technically, I am being obedient. I'm just obeying John at the moment, not you."

"Is this how you all feel?" Sherlock mused. "Useless, helpless, dull. You must feel like this all the time. I can't do this. I can feel my brain cells dying!"

"It's just a few hours!" Elizabeth said, exasperated. She was tired, she wasn't in the mood for her father's attitude. "You know, sometimes you act like a child. I have to play the adult instead. That's not exactly how it's supposed to work."

"You play 'adult' better than I do. Even though I technically am one," Sherlock pointed out.

"That's what everyone says," Elizabeth muttered, not actually meaning for Sherlock to hear.

"Who says that?"

"Oh, I don't know. John, Lestrade, Mycroft..." Elizabeth rattled off the names.

"What do they know?"

Knowing it was meant to be rhetorical, Elizabeth answered, "Well, John knows a lot about healing people. Lestrade knows about the bureaucracy of New Scotland Yard. Mycroft is pretty much the British Government, so he knows everything." Sherlock just glared at his daughter.

Elizabeth smiled innocently back and returned to her book.

"Why don't you just go to bed?" Sherlock asked after twenty minutes of silence. "You're obviously tired."

"Yes, I am," Elizabeth admitted. "But you will obviously disregard the suggestion to stay still the moment I leave."

"How are you going to stay up until five AM?" Sherlock scoffed. "You've been up since two this morning."

"Two yesterday morning actually," Elizabeth corrected. "It's 12:34."

"You can't stay awake for over 24 hours!"

"Can to," Elizabeth argued. "I have six times before."

"When?" Sherlock furrowed his brow.

"That's for me to know," Elizabeth answered cryptically. In fact, each time had been on a case. But she hoped to give him something to occupy his time for a while.

It worked. He was silent for an hour.

"Morrison case, Two-Face case, Jenkins case, Louisa case, Waterfall case, and Odette case."

"What?" Elizabeth forced herself to stay awake.

"The six times you've stayed up more than 24 hours," Sherlock explained.

"Correct."

"Obviously."

"How do you manage to stay up for astonishing periods for time without getting tired?" Elizabeth asked. "I wish I had inherited your ability to stay awake."

Instead of answering her question, Sherlock asked one of his own, "Do you wish you had inherited my mind?"

Elizabeth thought about that, "I am content with the amount of it I did inherit. I got some of your skills, but not all of them. I don't have a Mind Palace. I can't delete things. But I have some deduction talents. Maybe not as much as you'd like me to have, though."

"If I had wanted you to be exactly like me, I'd have trained you as a consulting detective from birth." Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

"Why didn't you?"

"I wanted you to have a choice," Sherlock said slowly. "I didn't want my life to be forced upon you. Also it was much too dangerous for you to solve cases with me when you were that young. Now, however, you can choose to accompany me in dangerous situations. I always tell you the truth, because I want you to be able to make fully-informed decisions. I am happy with whatever you choose to do with your life. Yes, it would be fantastic if you would follow in my footsteps. You certainly have a bend for solving crimes. But I wouldn't make you become like me."

"See you can be an adult," Elizabeth attempted to lighten the conversation a bit.

"I promise to try never to do it again."

Two hours later, Elizabeth was still managing to stay awake. But just barely.

"I've only got about an hour left," Sherlock said. "I will promise to stay here if you would just go to bed."

"I don't believe you," Elizabeth shook her head stubbornly.

Sherlock sighed, "So stubborn. I like to think that you get that from me."

"Oh, I'm sure I do," Elizabeth agreed. "Being stubborn is definitely something we're both good at."

Sherlock nodded. Elizabeth opened her laptop and read John's latest blog post.

"Do you like John's blog?" Sherlock asked after she closed the laptop.

"I think he's a good writer, and he writes the cases up accurately."

"Yes, but what do you think about how he protrays you?"

Elizabeth replied, "I mean, I suppose it seems like me."

"It isn't a very accurate description my opinion."

"Oh? And why is that?" Elizabeth thought John's protrayal of her was just fine. Flattering, even.

"He doesn't give you enough credit. And he hardly ever writes up the cases he isn't apart of. He doesn't mention the countless cases you and I work without him."

"Well, you can't expect him to write about something he doesn't even know happened!" Elizabeth defended John. "We've usually investigated three cases by the time he gets home every day."

Sherlock shrugged, conceding to her logic.

Ten minutes later, Elizabeth was staring at the clock, willing it to go faster.

Finally it ticked five AM.

Sherlock bounded off the couch and darted into the kitchen, pulling his fingers from the microwave.

Elizabeth raced to her room and collapsed onto her bed, falling asleep almost instantly.