Sugar and Spice.
Authors Note: I do not own Sherlock, the characters or the show. Lucy, Claire and Ms. Shannon are mine however. Cheers!
Chapter One.
John sighed, for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour. "I just don't see what the problem was this time Sherlock" John asked, rubbing his hands over his face.
"They weren't right." Sherlock stated bluntly. "They need to be right." He added firmly, starting to make his way down the sidewalk.
"What was wrong with Kayla? She was lovely?" John asked, falling in step beside him.
"She was scared of me." Sherlock muttered.
Giving another sigh, John shook his head. "She wasn't scared exactly… She was intimidated."
"Then she wasn't right for us. Honestly John, I thought you'd see that."
"Okay, what about Molly?"
"Boring."
"Samantha?"
"Too quiet."
"Peter?"
"Too loud."
"Jack?"
"Smelled funny."
John threw his hands up in the air. "Fine. Forget it, I give up. I don't want a child anymore." Clenching his hands, he stopped, closing eyes and breathing deeply.
John and Sherlock had been married two and a half years now; three years after John had opened the front door to 221B Baker St and had seen the supposed dead Sherlock standing there. After much yelling, and one punch to the face made by John, they had settled back into their routine of crime scenes and lounging around the flat. However, one night after John had been thoroughly beaten by the suspect, Sherlock had thrown himself at John, kissing him as if he was dehydrated and John was a large glass of water. After working through the shock of Lestraud, Donovan, and to be perfectly honest, John himself, Sherlock had explained that his feelings for John had, changed per say, and was no longer content being just friends. John had said nothing, blinking rapidly before leaving. Sherlock made his case four more times, each time John telling Sherlock "I am not gay!" before deciding maybe he was, and giving in. The rest, they say is history. Sort of. Anyways, back to the story.
Even though John had never said anything, he had wanted children, but had resigned himself to never having them. So when Sherlock had brought the topic up last year, John had been both amazed and shocked. But they had gone ahead and filled out the paperwork, and after being approved, most likely because of some unknown help from Mycroft, were beginning the tedious task (tedious because of Sherlock's pickiness) of finding a child.
Sherlock paused, feeling frustrated and upset. "Listen John, I'm sorry. I just don't want to pick the first child we meet, I want a child that I can connect with, that can handle the life we lead. It's not necessarily an easy life, and I know it's not like they will be following us to crime scenes," he added hastily at John's glare, "but they need to understand what we do." Sherlock finished, hesitantly placing a hand on his husbands shoulder.
John softened, leaning into the touch. "I'm sorry too, I'm just so impatient. I want it to all happen right away." Scrubbing his hands across his face, he looked up at Sherlock's face. "I want our family to be complete, give an unwanted child a home."
Sherlock gave a small smile. "My love, wanting to help the world." He teased gently, taking John's hand in his own. "Let's go home, we'll try again tomorrow."
Sherlock entered the apartment before John, flopping on the couch. John rolled his eyes, closing the door behind him, and then making his way into the room, taking a seat in his chair. "So tomorrow…" John started, interrupted by the buzzing of his phone. Pulling it out of his pocket, he pressed it to his ear, ignoring Sherlock's look of curiosity.
"Hello? Yes… No… Really? Ok, yes, tomorrow, 5'oclock… We'll be there… No, thank you… Yes, yes… Oh… Two of the… Well we'll have to take it into consideration… Alright, we'll see you then. Ok, bye… Bye."
John hung up his phone, shoving it back into his pocket. Turning to Sherlock, he started. "That was Ms. Shannon, from the group home downtown. She thinks she may have found a perfect match for us."
"Please explain to me again what happened Lucy." Ms. Shannon asked, pressing her fingers to her temples, looking at the two girls sitting across the desk from her.
Lucy crossed her arms across her chest. "They were stupid." She spat, eyes narrowed. Lucy hated living with the Compton's; they were stupid and mean, taking foster children in only to get the money from the government that you receive when you take in foster children. Unconsciously, Lucy rubbed the side of her arm, where Mrs. Compton had grabbed her hard enough to bruise.
Ms. Shannon, Amelia, sighed. "You have been in 8 foster homes this year alone Lucy. They can't all be that bad. You need to think of Claire," she said pointedly, looking at the smaller girl sitting beside her older sister. "She needs some stability, and getting yourself kicked out of foster home after foster home isn't helping that."
Lucy glared, her hackles rising. "Why can't she just stay with me? I'm almost 16! I have been looking after her all our lives, even before our parents died!" Lucy was yelling now, standing out her chair, face red. "They never cared about us, I have been responsible for her since I was 7. I can get a job next month; just let me be her guardian!" Lucy was shaking now, tears in her eyes, but too proud to let them fall.
Claire looked up at her sister, eyes wide. Reaching out, she grabbed her sister's hand. She didn't like when Lucy got so upset, didn't like Lucy worrying about her so much. "It's okay Lucy." She said in a small voice, tugging on her hand to get her to sit back down.
Amelia watched as the tension drained out of Lucy when Claire had grabbed her hand. The sisters really had such a deep connection. Clair was 8 now, and had always been completely dependant on her older sister. Their parents hadn't been exactly stellar, ignoring them for days on end, leaving for the weekend without notice often, leaving a 9-year-old Lucy to take care of her 2-year-old sister. When Lucy was 12 and Claire was 5, they had been out at a party and driven drunk home. They never made it home, ending up in a head on collision with a pole. Mrs. Greenfield had died on the scene, Mr. Greenfield in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. The girls had no other living relatives, ending up here instead, waiting to be adopted. But it was tough when they didn't want to be separated, actually refusing to be separated. Amelia was doing her best, but was on her last nerve.
Amelia stared at the two girls, so different yet so the same. Clair was small for her age, long curly dark hair, constantly in snarls down her back. She hated having her hair brushed, only allowing Lucy to do it. Her eyes were a soft brown, always taking in what was around her, hating to see people upset, always trying her best to help. She was always trying to help animals, once taking in a bird with a broken wing, hiding it in a shoebox in her room until it was better. When it rains, she picks worms off the sidewalk so they don't get stepped on, placing them gently in the grass. The world would hurt her; someone so kind and gentle always was, without people to protect them. Right now, that person was Lucy, but Claire wanted, not needed a family, stability to help her become all she could be.
Lucy was all prickles and sharp corners. She was tough and mean, expecting the worst from the world, which was all she had gotten to date. Her hair was normally the same colour as Claire's, but right now it was shorn close to her head, sticking up in all directions, and dyed bright red. Her eyes were a piercing blue, taking in only the worst in people, quick to glare and dismiss, cold with anyone but Claire. With Claire, Lucy was a different person. Soft-spoken and gentle, kind and tender. Claire was Lucy's world, that much was obvious, and she'd give her life to protect her.
Looking at the two lost girls in front of her, her heart broke a little. Folding her hand together, she exhaled slowly. "I have a couple coming tomorrow to meet you. I called them earlier, and I think they might be what you two need."
Lucy rolled her eyes, keeping her hand gripped to her sisters. "Another foster home. Awesome. We'll be back within the month anyways, so what's the point?"
Amelia's lips tugged upwards. "No, not a foster home Lucy, adoption." She was very pleased with the shocked look on Lucy's face and the glow of hope on Claire's. Maybe this would work out. No one had ever looked at adopting the two girls.