Chapter One: Child's Play

"Well, that case was absolutely ridiculous," said Sherlock Holmes as he and John left the police station, opening their umbrellas as they walked out the door. "I swear, LeStrade and his team of idiots are getting stupider by the day. That was child's play. Anyone could've figured it out."

"Apparently, not the police," said John. "And, call me an idiot, but I didn't get it right away either."

"You're not an idiot," said Sherlock. "You're quite smart for the most part, but you always see the wrong things. If you paid attention to what actually mattered, you'd be brilliant. Taxi!" He stuck out his hand, and a cab rolled up. "221B Baker Street."

As they rode home, the storm grew worse, and Sherlock decided to ramble a bit. "You see, John," he said. "LeStrade and company go about it all wrong. They don't really care if they've got the real murderer. They just want to look like they're doing something, like they're worth something. So they look for fingerprints, look for the obvious evidence, and if they can't find anything obvious, they call it a suicide and are done with it. No killer is stupid, John. They won't leave obvious evidence, and if they do, it's a plant. You have to look at the motives. Who would benefit from a person's death, why would they benefit? Who has the potential of benefitting from a death? Who seems obvious, who seems like a good scapegoat? You have to look at what makes sense and what doesn't. You have to think."

"And LeStrade doesn't think?"

"Have you met him?" They laughed heartily.

The cab pulled up to 221B Baker Street, and the doctor and detective exited the car. But as they did, John noticed something.

"Is that a kid out there?" He pointed to a small figure across the street, sitting on a doorstep.

"What?"

"Sherlock, look, there's a kid out there."

Sherlock turned around, and saw the small figure.

"That's a kid," he said. "A girl, five or six years old. She's—" Sherlock turned to see that John wasn't standing beside him anymore. He was darting across the street towards the little girl.

John approached the figure, and just as Sherlock had said, it was a little girl, with long, messy, reddish-brown hair and bright blue eyes. She was wearing a torn, filthy cotton dress and no shoes, no raincoat, no anything to keep her warm. Her lips were blue, and she was shivering. John knew with one glance that she was close to hypothermic.

"You need to get inside," he said. "Come on." He reached out his hand to the little girl, but she didn't take it. "Come on, I won't hurt you. I'm John. You need to get inside, or else you'll freeze."

The girl shook her head. "I can't," she said.

"I'm sure your mum won't mind; she'd want you to be inside. I'll phone her from inside, okay?"

"I don't have a mum, or a dad, or an anyone."

"So you're all alone out here?"

"Yes, and I'm fine."

"You aren't fine; you're borderline hypothermic. Trust me. I'm a doctor. I know."

"I can't go with you," she said.

"Why not?"

She tried to stand up, but then cried out in pain. "My leg… I can't walk." And she collapsed.

Luckily, John caught her in time. Scooping her up, he walked across the street and into the house.

"Sherlock! Clear a table for me, right now!" he called as he walked in the door.

"What?"

"Clear a table. Now."

"Who's that?"

"Table. Now."

Sherlock cleared a table, and John laid the little girl down on it. "She's hurt, and hypothermic," said the doctor. "Here, take this—" he pulled off her dress, and chucked it at Sherlock "—and throw it out, and then ask Mrs. Hudson if she has any old clothes that'll fit a little girl."

Sherlock, to John's surprise, actually listened to his instructions.

When Sherlock returned, he found the little girl sleeping on the couch, John monitoring her heart rate and body temperature.

"Did you fix her injuries?" Sherlock asked as he walked towards the doctor.

"It was child's play," he said, grinning. "Literally."

The two laughed. "Well, I brought clothes, and Mrs. Hudson is already sewing more. She should be down in a few hours, anyway."

Just then, the child began to stir.

Hey everyone! Here's a new Sherlock fic. It'll be Johnlock, I promise. Eventually.

Thanks to livvykitty, who has offered to betaread this story!

Love always,

Kathryn Willa