She arrived at Baker Street at precisely 10:00 on Friday morning. Mrs. Hudson had opened the door to Sherlock's flat and the little girl slowly, almost cautiously, stepped into the small living room. Sherlock was in the kitchen doing one of his many "experiments," which apparently this time included burning human hair and allowing the smoke to fill the entirety of the flat. Mrs. Hudson made her way carefully to the window and opened it, allowing the room to ventilate before sighing.
"Sherlock, you have a guest," she called to him, and the little girl looked around silently for a moment before gripping the small plush puppy in her arms a little bit tighter.
"Not now, I'm busy!" he said, and the sound of something exploding brought Mrs. Hudson's attention fully to the kitchen. She looked down to the girl and smiled a little bit to let her know there was – mostly – nothing unusual about this commotion.
"I'll go and fetch him for you, dear, you just… stay put. I don't quite know what's running around this place anymore," she said sweetly, then she looked up and pursed her lips into a hard line as she walked briskly into the kitchen area. The girl nodded slightly and shuffled her feet, staring at the room. She noted the skull on the mantle, and the Cluedo board pinned to the wall next to it. A yellow smiley face peered out at her with bullet holes lining its eyes, mouth and nose. Her gaze shifted to the large bookcases and she stopped for a moment to admire it. Almost all of them were for research, or were very educational. Except for a few. She saw 'The Hobbit,' 'Treasure Island,' and 'The Little Prince' sitting on the bottom shelf, among others that she enjoyed equally as much as the others. She slowly made her way across the room to investigate what other books were on the shelf. It was a good five minutes before she heard any noises from the kitchen that seemed to signify someone would come out, and she was already twenty pages in to 'The Hobbit' when she heard Mrs. Hudson say something in a raised voice. She quickly replaced the book into its place and scrambled back to her suitcase before a tall man walked out of the kitchen. He had curly black hair that seemed to bounce slightly when he took a step. His cheekbones were very prominent, but they seemed to fit the form of the rest of him. He was thin, though she could tell from the fit of his dress-shirt and pants that there was an underlying muscle that would probably surprise some people. He stopped a moment and looked around.
"Mrs. Hudson, I don't see anyone," he grumbled, and Mrs. Hudson sighed, obviously put-out by Sherlock, and pointed downwards towards her. His gaze finally found hers, and she was shocked to see his eyes. A startling sort of blue-green. He looked at her for two minutes and then stiffened, standing straight and looking at Mrs. Hudson.
"I don't work with children," he said simply and then turned back to the girl, "I'm sorry if you got lost in the tube. I'm sure your parents are looking for you right now. There's nothing I can do for you. Now if you'll excuse me," he made to go back to the kitchen..
"Sherlock, she's not here to get help on a case," Mrs. Hudson said, holding out a hand to stop him from leaving. He looked at her quite stubbornly as he looked over the arm.
"Mrs. Hudson, I am on the verge of a breakthrough on a case that has been cold for two years. I've got no time for signing autographs or taking photos or anything of the sort," he growled. The girl looked at him again. Late thirties, maybe close to forty. Flat-mate, judging from the clashing items in the room. The flat-mate was either on his way of moving out or he had already been moved out. There were boxes sitting in the room, some empty and other only half-empty. She also guessed that he was leaving because of an upcoming marriage. The smell of perfume in the room was not disguised by the chemical smells, and they were all coming from one specific set of items - none of which were outside of the boxes. Often does experiments involving chemicals, due to the smell on the clothing and the books recently pulled from the bookshelf. Not romantically involved. The smell of perfume was coming from an unwashed jumper that was clearly not his size. Musician, most likely a string instrument judging by the small calluses on the tips of his right thumb and forefinger and the small slightly rough patch under his chin. Tension at home, recent worry lines, still struggles to accept human contact because of the flinching caused by Mrs. Hudson extending her arm. She took another quick look around the room. The man had been gone for a while. Dust had collected on some of the items in the home that should have been regularly used, and the flat-mate had not wanted to touch them. Maybe out of sentiment, which mean there had been some sort of important, probably emotional event causing him to leave. Easily bored. Why else would he be working on two year old cases?
"She isn't here for your picture, either, Sherlock. She told me she has a letter for you that she had to deliver in person," Mrs. Hudson said finally, and Sherlock exhaled a frustrated sigh before turning to the girl again.
"Where is this letter?" he asked, the frustration in his voice making her hesitate in getting the letter. She reached into her backpack and pulled out the letter from her mother. Sherlock looked at it for a few seconds before taking it from her grasp. Mrs. Hudson urged her to take a seat as he read it, and she sat herself in the small armchair by the fireplace. Sherlock paced the room while reading, and then he stopped abruptly. His whole structure seemed to fall and he twitched his hand out to grab the wall for support, but thought better of it so he seemed as though he still had his composure. He continued reading as the girl sat nervously, awaiting what he had to say. He had to swallow before speaking, and he looked at her with a sort of fear and shock in his eyes.
"Mrs. Hudson, I believe… I believe that I can handle this from here. You can go back downstairs," he said, a slight shake in his otherwise deep baritone voice. She looked at the girl and Sherlock before the girl nodded her small head in assurance. She walked out of the flat and shut the door behind her. Sherlock just stood and looked at the girl, obviously making his deductions. Almost six, piano player, singer, reader - above average reading level, possibly autistic, drawer, painter, social anxiety, bullied by other students, not very social, but she had smile lines, so she had obviously been laughing with someone. Beginning violinist, and OCD. Then he took a look at her physical aspects. Curly dark brown hair, thin, nearly ice-blue eyes that slanted green in certain light, very aware of her surroundings, small body build, small somewhat upturned nose, straight-backed.
"Matilda. That's… that's your name, is it?" he asked, looking at the letter for confirmation.
"Yes. Matilda Violet Hooper," she said, quietly, trying to look anywhere but his eyes. Sherlock turned to her, about to say something as the door opened again, this time with John entering.
"Mary's out with friends, I figured I'd drop some of these by, I know how you don't keep up with your refrigerator stocks. Oh, Mrs. Hudson was mumbling about some kind of explosions in the kitchen - oh, hello," he stopped his sentence when he saw the girl on the chair, "am I… Interrupting? Is there a case being discussed?" John asked, setting the groceries down on the floor quietly. Sherlock shook his head and took a deep breath.
"No, John. You aren't interrupting, and it's not a case," he said, and looked back to the girl - Matilda - with a sad intrigue. "Did your mother tell you what was in that letter?" he asked her, and she shook her head once. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to make the world sit still and stop spinning. John looked around at the both of them with slight confusion.
"Sherlock, what's going on?" he asked, knowing that Sherlock didn't usually go out of his way to converse with children. Sherlock turned to Matilda and handed her the letter.
"John, this is Matilda Hooper, and according to this letter from the recently late Molly Hooper, this is my daughter."