Author's Note: Hey, guys! Sorry for the hiatus. My parents put a lock in my laptop! So here I am, posting from my tablet. This is very difficult. Without further ado, here is the continuing saga of Elizabeth Holmes. More one-shots and maybe some chapter fics to come.
Thank you for reading!
"Boring," Sherlock moaned for the five hundredth time. "Tedious. Hateful. Mundane."
Sherlock followed his daughter through the doors of Tesco, purposefully dragging his feet.
"Stop it!" Elizabeth scolded, feeling very much like the parent in this situation. She was indignant, positive that she had not been this problematic when she was little. "You were the one that blew up John's jam. Just be happy that I came with you so that you don't have to come back later because you got the wrong kind."
"Why does it matter?" Sherlock grumbled, letting Elizabeth lead him to the jam. "Jam is jam."
"Tell John that and see how long it takes you to put yourself back together."
Sherlock scoffed and looked at the many jars of jam in the aisle. His head started to spin just from looking at the dozens of colorful labels.
"Alright. Well, you have fun," Elizabeth started to walk away.
"Wait, where are you going?" Sherlock whined. He gestured helplessly to the containers of gooey, fruity, breakfast spread.
"I have to pick up coffee," Elizabeth explained. "This is a test. I'll be back in like two minutes. Pick the one you think he uses, and I'll tell you if you're right."
"But..." Sherlock protested. Elizabeth just waved and walked out of the aisle.
Sherlock stared at the shelves, willing them to tell him which jam John liked best. For the life of him, he could not remember. After a few minutes, Sherlock was ready to just go and find Elizabeth and tell her that he gave up. But he steeled himself. He could do this.
No. No, he couldn't. This was too boring.
Sherlock walked out of the aisle in search of his daughter. He was prepared to beg on his knees for her to tell him the correct jam. Anything as long as he could get out of here.
He rounded the corner into the coffee aisle, fully expecting to see Elizabeth there. But she wasn't. Sherlock backtracked a few aisles, looking to the end of each. No luck.
After ten minutes, asking two moronic workers, and resisting the urge to yank his black curls from his head, Sherlock was at the end of his rope. He would have just texted her, if he hadn't blown up his phone along with John's jam.
Cursed jam. It was the reason he had had to come all the way here, stare at sickeningly bright jars, and then lose his teenage daughter.
Just as he was about to just scream Elizabeth's name, a shifty-looking idiot came slinking out of a room marked 'Employees Only'. A quick deduction caused Sherlock to shove the insect up the nearest wall.
"Where is the girl you've taken?" Sherlock snarled. Only the urgency of finding his daughter was keeping him from snapping this mongrel's neck there and then. "If you have done anything to my daughter, you will not see the sun rise tomorrow!"
The idiot stared at him blearily. Ugh, he was high. What a help.
"Pretty Girl got locked in the closet," he drawled. "Casey wanted to have a party."
"What closet?" Sherlock demanded, gripping the moron's collar tighter. The idiot pointed towards the back, his face splitting into a grim sneer. Sherlock threw him roughly to the ground and ran for the back.
He found the closet immediately.
"Elizabeth!" Sherlock called worriedly. He swore, if that idiot had done anything...
"Dad?" Elizabeth's voice was sweet singing to her father's ears.
"Oh, thank God!" Sherlock sighed in relief. Then he stared at the door determinedly, "Back up."
He heard shuffling as Elizabeth obeyed. Sherlock took a step back and then kicked the door in. It splintered quite satisfyingly.
Elizabeth practically ran out of the closet. "Took you long enough. Did you at least get the jam?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Excuse me if I decided to forgo the jam. I was a little preoccupied trying to locate my only child." Speaking of, where was that pothead?
"Don't, Dad" Elizabeth saw her father's expression. "That guy was higher than anything. Just leave it."
Luckily for the stoner, Sherlock's hate of Tesco, and now jam, was more than his need to kill the insect was. He stuck very close to Elizabeth as they purchased the coffee and jam. Boysenberry jam, apparently.
John was typing a blog entry when they got back. He looked up as they came in, his face brightening.
"Tea and toast with boysenberry jam coming right up!" Elizabeth said cheerily. John grinned at her.
While Elizabeth made the food, Sherlock lounged on the couch, thinking deeply.
"Sherlock?" John got his attention. "Are you alright? Usually you would be complaining about the idiocy of the employees at Tesco by now." Sherlock snarled at John's comment, confusing the doctor. "What? What happened?"
"Some idiot locked Elizabeth in a closet," Sherlock said tersely.
"Wait, what?" John snapped his laptop closed. He gazed at Sherlock worriedly. "Is she okay? Is she hurt?" John went to rise, intent on examining Elizabeth for himself.
"She's fine," Sherlock assured the soldier. John sat back down a little reluctantly. "I found her before he could do anything. He was quite high. I kicked the door in."
"Good, good." John sat straighter when Elizabeth brought the tea and toast in. Unable to fully ignore what he had learned, John asked, "Are you alright, Elizabeth? Did they grab you or anything?"
"No, I'm fine," Elizabeth locked eyes with John even as she lied convincingly. "Dad?" Elizabeth tried, gauging whether her father was listening.
When Sherlock didn't reply, John said, "Will you come upstairs with me for a second, Elizabeth? I want your opinion on a bowtie pattern."
Elizabeth smiled thankfully, "Oh, do we have a date?" She followed John into his room. When she crossed the threshold, she pulled up her sleeve.
There were finger-shaped marks around her left wrist. John instantly reverted to doctor mode.
"How much does it hurt?" John examined the bruised wrist. "Do you think it might be sprained?"
"I don't think so," Elizabeth shook her head. "I think it's just bruised, but I did want to be sure."
"Good, because if it was sprained it would have been a bit more difficult," John said, rifling through a drawer for some gauze. "I'll just wrap it up tightly. Don't use it too much for about two days or so. Wear long sleeves, and Sherlock probably won't notice."
"Thanks, John," Elizabeth said. "I know he's already beating himself up over this. I'm not seriously injured anyways."
"Don't worry, I won't tell him."
Trekking back downstairs, Elizabeth finished their charade by saying that, though she liked the striped bowtie, she thought John was more of an ascot man.
"Won't tell me what?" Sherlock's voice almost made Elizabeth and John jump.
"What do you mean?" Elizabeth asked. Her voice held the perfect amount of innocent curiosity.
"What won't you tell me?" Sherlock sat up stormily. "I heard you. What are you keeping from me?"
"Sherlock, calm down," John soothed. "It was just-"
"Wait..." Sherlock cut him off. He strode over to Elizabeth. Gently as could be, he took her arm and raised her sleeve, revealing the gauze-wrapped wrist.
"Sherlock-" John tried again.
"No!" Sherlock growled. "Why wouldn't you tell me that he'd hurt you?"
"It's not bad, Dad," Elizabeth assured him. "I just wanted you to let it go."
Sherlock gazed down at his daughter's injured wrist. He took a deep breath and pulled Elizabeth into his arms. "No matter how you think I might react, please don't keep things like this from me."
"I'm sorry," Elizabeth said sincerely. "I just don't want you to worry about me."
"I'll always worry about you."