"It's dull!"
The shrill sound of his voice snapped her from the book which she had been staring down at. She allowed her brow to furrow before she dropped her pen onto the paper she had been writing on. Taking a moment to think; she then looked up to see him pacing the length of the room.
"There's been nothing. Not one murder...not one corpse...nothing..."
"Normal people would consider that to be a good thing," she commented and leaned back in the wooden chair. She took another moment to look around the room, noting all of the cardboard boxes which sat on top of each other. Rolling her eyes, she realised that he had no intention to unpack.
"Normal people are boring," he complained again, flopping into the empty chair by the fireplace.
"Well...go out...do something...you don't need to sit here," she responded and began to write again. She copied the notes she had made in her previous lecture, doing her best to memorise them into her mind.
"Why are you trying to study?" he suddenly asked her, lacing his fingers together and resting them beneath his chin. "The first year of university doesn't count."
"Did you not study during the first year?" she wondered. "Besides, I'm struggling already...it's a bit crazy..."
"No," he replied and jumped up from the chair again, seemingly incapable of sitting still for more than one minute. "It's boring...dull..."
He stood still and looked to her over the table. "And how are you struggling?"
"Picked up on that, did you?" she checked; her tone one of sarcasm. She caught his calm and collected gaze before pushing her blonde hair over her shoulder and nodded, doing her best not to break down in front of him. He wouldn't know what to do. She could imagine him yelling at her and telling her to pull herself together.
"What are you struggling with?"
"Can you explain what a trust is to me?" she wondered. "Or what the point of equity is?"
"I could, as a matter of fact," he responded and bent by her side, his hands pushing at the paper she was reading. His brow furrowed and he shook his head. "So what's the issue? You have only been at university for two months. You can't be struggling already."
"You wouldn't understand," she complained and snatched the paper out of his hands, tossing it to the side before she scraped the chair back and turned around to glower at him. "You're a highly functioning sociopath, aren't you?"
"Well...yes..." he replied. "But there is no reason for you to be so rude, Elizabeth."
"I didn't mean to be," Elizabeth said back to him. "I didn't know how to tell you this...I knew you'd panic...or yell at me...you're Sherlock Holmes...you don't take news very well."
"What is it?" he wondered. "You want to drop out of university?"
Elizabeth profusely blinked and felt annoyance radiate through her as soon as she saw a smug smirk form on his arrogant face. She dropped her hands to her hips and cocked her head to the side.
"I've known since the second week you went. You've continuously phoned and complained of how none of your flatmates like you...also how you can't keep up with the lectures, despite the three A's you managed at A Level to get into University. You also hate studying law and that's apparent due to the miserable look on your face all the time. There are other smaller details, but I thought I'd leave them out."
She would have allowed her mouth to gape had she not spent the past eighteen years listening to her father and his historic rants. She had almost grown immune to his cockiness. Almost. She still managed to find room to snap at him occasionally.
"And you didn't feel like saying anything?"
"And confirm your self doubt?" Sherlock wondered. "I wanted you to stay at university for as long as possible. Of course, I knew this day would come. So, what? Do you want to drop out now? Do you want to quit? What do you intend to do now?"
"I had an interview today," Elizabeth admitted to him. "I snuck out this morning for it. I've been looking for jobs for a while now."
"And where is this job?"
"Angelo's restaurant," she muttered and another smirk formed on Sherlock's face.
"So it is a job in the restaurant of a man I once helped? Did you happen to mention I was your father?"
"He asked if we were related," Elizabeth defended herself and folded her arms across her chest. Glancing back to her father, she wondered what he was thinking of. She knew he would be annoyed that she was living back with him. She always had the feeling that he preferred to live alone.
"A job through pity," he nodded. "I suppose it is money. You'll need it to pay your student debt off."
"I guessed," she mumbled and slumped onto the sofa, pulling her knees to her chin and wrapping her arms around her thighs. "You're not mad though, are you?"
"Have I ever been mad with you?" he arched a brow in confusion.
"You've never been anything with me," she counteracted. "It's just...I'm miserable up in Newcastle...I thought I wanted to study law...I was wrong and I don't want to waste another three years doing it and getting further into debt."
"And do you want to waitress for the rest of your life?" Sherlock mumbled and picked up a sheet of paper she had been reading. His eyes scanned the words and he took it in with ease. Apparently his daughter had yet to inherit his intelligence.
"I don't know what I want to do for the rest of my life," Elizabeth replied. "I'll find out one day though, right? I mean...you technically don't have a job..."
"I do have a job."
"You made up a job."
"It is still a job."
"Whatever," she rolled her eyes, realising that there was no reason to argue with him. She would never win. "I'm going back up to pack my belongings when reading week finishes."
"I see," Sherlock replied and sat on the opposite end of the sofa to her. He took another quick glance at her, noting the relaxed expression on her face. She had been building herself up to this moment for quite some time, he could tell. He wondered if he should have pushed her sooner...whether he should have told her to do what she wanted. It wasn't his life. Yet, he couldn't help but not approach the subject. He thought university would be the best for her. He thought she could cope.
He often wondered if she really was his daughter.
"So...that's that?" Elizabeth checked. "You're not going to yell at me? Urge me not to leave? Tell me that I'm being stupid?"
"I'll let you tell yourself all of those things as you continue to doubt yourself."
"Thanks a lot," she mumbled. "I'm glad to see that you're concerned over me."
"Why do I need to be concerned?" Sherlock wondered from her. "You're doing what you want to do, aren't you? I'm supposed to be happy about that."
Elizabeth said nothing for a few moments, her father's eyes staring into hers. It was almost like the pair of them were trying to deduce something. What; Elizabeth had no idea. She didn't know much when it came to her father. He was ridiculously guarded and happy not to tell her how he felt.
Thankfully she heard her phone go off and Sherlock's lips rose again.
"Mycroft," he drawled. "No doubt he will have heard of your plan. I can only assume he will try to talk you out of it...he wouldn't want disgrace to the Holmes name."
Elizabeth dragged her BlackBerry out of her jeans pocket and sighed when she realised her father was right.
"Do you think I bring disgrace to the Holmes name?" she wondered. It wasn't like they were royals...well...Mycroft was highly regarded.
"No," Sherlock replied. "I can only assume that I've already brought disgrace to the family name so you have nothing to worry about."
"Thanks," Elizabeth mumbled pensively. She took a moment to lock her phone and rest it on the arm of the sofa. "He wants me to meet him in the cafe downstairs in half an hour."
"Interesting," Sherlock whispered. "He's found out our new address already."
Elizabeth shook her head and stood up. She reached for her jacket which sat on the back of the chair she had occupied whilst studying.
"Did you not tell him?"
"He's the British Government," Sherlock replied nonchalantly. "I knew that he would find out eventually...but to do it in one day is impressive."
"I guess," Elizabeth said. "I'll go down now. I need a change of scenery...and then I'll come back and unpack some things."
"We have a visitor coming this afternoon," Sherlock suddenly informed her and she arched her brows before shrugging her arms into her jacket.
"Who?"
"A potential flatmate," Sherlock said and he stood up, wandering around the living room before checking the clock on the mantelpiece. "I can hardly afford this place on my own and there is a spare room upstairs. Rent in London isn't cheap and I don't see you contributing any time soon."
Elizabeth shook her head and wondered if dropping out of university would be the best thing now that she knew her father intended to move someone into the flat.
"And who is he?"
"John Watson," Sherlock replied. "An army doctor. I met him yesterday."
Elizabeth coughed and spluttered for a moment. "You're moving a random stranger in?"
"I know enough about him from one meeting. Does it almost make you want to stay at university?"
Shaking her head, she grabbed her phone from the arm and took another glance back at her father, wondering what she should say to him. She sometimes struggled to believe him. He arched his brow and dropped his hands to his hips.
"Fine," Elizabeth said. "I'm going."
Sherlock stood still and watched his daughter leave the flat. He shook his head and looked at himself in the reflection. How had a silly mistake at university turned into Elizabeth Holmes? It was a question he often asked himself.
...
A/N: I just couldn't resist writing another fanfic. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter and do let me know what you think so far.