Hello! As promised, here is a sequel to "God Save the Child." This one is going to be shorter, not a really mystery like it's predecessor, but more focused on Alice, Sherlock, & John. It also came out of the original idea for the last fic, which was *SPOILER ALERT* I wanted to write something in which Sherlock went into a coma. *END SPOILER ALERT*

Disclaimer: Mostly everything belongs to the beautiful BBC & the ever lovely Sir ACD. Some characters (most especially Alice), however, are original and drink their tea with me.

Happy reading and please review!

Chapter 1: Phelps

It was one of those quiet moments to begin with.

Alice was drawing still life at the coffee table: this particular moment a cracked, dying leaf, blown across our daughter's path on the way home from the park. It was October and a nip was in the air, a small chill in the wind that had wisped Alice's blonde hair about under the knitted pink hat. She had smiled and laughed when she'd found it, delighted with her new toy trembling in her hands.

I smiled at the memory.

John was reading the paper on the couch and drinking tea. His forehead creased slightly every once and a while as he read, his puddy skin folding. Trying to find harmless cases for me, I suspect. He was looking in the news section, but his eyes were focused not on the article about the USA needing to get their act together on environmental policy, but the smaller article under DI Dimmock's picture (he had taken my word as Gospel after all: of course he'd be a success and in the paper). He had a blanket pooled at his waist and covering his toes. His fluffed hair was sticking up. He looked altogether too cozy and in need of a good shag...or cuddle since Alice was here.

A cup of tea was steaming for me too, but the Strad was calling my name stronger. I wrung Vivaldi from the strings, gently biting down my lip in concentration at the fast notes like the leaves Alice had seen come down from trees in wind. Faster and faster. I felt my body sway back and forth with the time. Trying to force my thoughts into ardent motion.

What was the next step? Who should come next in the chain-the scarlet chain John liked to call it-the next person in the mob's beeline. Who? Who? Who? We were so close now. What were our leads-

A middle-aged, plump man outside on the street caught my eye. Anxious, kept hoping from foot to foot in front of the sandwich shop and peering up at our windows. Ah: a client.

I cut off the music abruptly. John looked up from his paper. Alice looked up from her drawing and came to the window. "We have a client, John. And it seems he works for Mycroft."

Alice leaned against me and I put a hand on her head. She had grown taller in the two years that had passed, but was still a bit small. Nine was a nice age. Though I suppose I would like her at any age. "Daddy, is he going to give you and Papa a case?"

"Yes, mon amie."

"He's awful nervous about it."

"He probably wants to keep whatever he's up to secret from your uncle," said John, stretching his back and getting off the couch. "Mycroft usually personally drops by when he wants us to do something for him."

I smiled. "Very good, John."

Alice was frowning at the man, who had finally gotten up enough courage to knock on our door. "Daddy, be careful."

"Hmmmm?" I was busy analyzing him. Alice went away to sit back at the coffee table, but didn't draw. She just waited impatiently for the door to open.

John went to get the door and few minutes later our client was in and I was sitting in my chair, already thinking.

The man was shaking quite a lot, his face pointed and pale with even paler blonde mustache and hair. It was thinning at the top despite his use of hair serum: the stench of it unquestionable. Nervous personality comes out when stressed but hidden usually: bit of a coward but an expert at faking confidence if he's in government. Tiny wounds on his fingers, slightly swollen: diabetic. Wearing a nice but not-so-expensive suit and an vote Labor Party pin so far so obvious: governmental official with a hint of frugality. A case, bulging with folders and papers. In government but not out in public much or elected: who'd wear such an audacious, cheap pin outside otherwise? It was calling for the attention he didn't receive elsewhere.

"Mr. Holmes, you must help me," he trembled. Ah: hint of non-English accent yet said trippingly on the tongue so work in the foreign office. Mycroft's little pet. Done something to displease big brother have we? Lost some important file most like. Or...no. See how his eyes were darting around the room, at the doorways, at the windows, and his hand clutched so tightly on his bag. About to be stolen.

"How can I be of service?" I asked politely. It was inconvenient to have a nervous client at the beginning: they wouldn't tell as much as coherently. His eyes flicked about nervously from Alice to John and back to me. "Ah. This is Dr. John Watson, my colleague and partner. This is Alice Devonfort."

"Your daughter?" He fidgeted. Alice cocked her head at him. Her eyes were all analysis, taking in all of him, everything she could see. I inwardly smirked: good girl. Outwardly, however, I did not move or even change facial expression. This information was irrelevant to this man.

"She is just visiting. She's the granddaughter of a friend of Mrs. Hudson, our landlady. A nine year old is mostly harmless, don't you think? But please state the facts of your case so we shall see how Dr. Watson and I can be of service. Do sit down." I tilted my head towards the couch.

As he flinched his way into a sitting position, I made brief eye contact with John who had been leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. There was a crinkle between his eyes. Worried. But he was making the tea anyway.

"I work in the Foriegn Office, you see. Just a secretary, I'm afraid. My name is Phelps: Percy Phelps, you see. And I was just contacted-" the man turned a violent shade of green. Watson had better hurry with that tea. "May I use your washroom, Mr. Holmes?"

Ugh. "Alice, please show Mr. Phelps to the washroom."

"Thank you, thank you," he spluttered before racing after the girl and slamming the door behind him.

"What was that all about?" John asked as he entered the room with another cup of heaven. "Where'd he go?"

I put my hand over my face in exasperation. "One of Mycroft's playthings is about to lose some important document and is all of a flutter about it." Even from underneath my hand, I could see John brighten: was he really that worried about the mob cases? Even after almost three years?

"I'm sure it'll be fine: don't pout, Sherlock."

"I'm not pouting. I simply wish this Percy Phelps was made of stronger stuff."

I could tell John rolled his eyes. He set the cup down on the coffee table, gently setting aside Alice's drawing and leaf. Then he was standing in front of me and pulling away my arm. The next thing I knew was the soft kiss on my lips tasting vaguely of mint. Mmmm...this could be very nice. John began to draw away but I followed him up, trying to let it last, the smoothness, the slightest zest, and encompassing warmth. John put his hands on the side of my face and forced the lips to unlock, but swiped a thumb against my cheek. "Not while Mr. Phelps is here. And Alice. Tell me your deductions instead. I know you have them."

Not as good, but I rattled them off anyway. Just as I was finishing Alice and Phelps returned and John was again on the other side of the room, leaning against the doorframe slightly and a pleasant smile on his face.

Phelps was no longer green, but still a rather pasty white and Alice's frown had deepened on her face. She sat on the floor beside my chair, resting her head against the armrest. "Now, Mr. Phelps, if you would be so kind."

"They're after me!" he burst out and started waving his arms hysterically, all eyes on him widened. "Some criminals! I'm got an important secret military treaty for NATO, you see. And I was encrypting it and printing it on the computer when everything crashed and the computer gave a warning from them. I'm to meet them at some warehouse-a warehouse!-and give a copy of it unless they'll kill me. And the next day I found this on my desk so they could prove they can. Nobody has been able to trace it or catch them. You've got to help me, Mr. Holmes. I can't go to my bosses or they'll fire me or kill me or something awful!"

"You have back-ups of the treaty I suppose?"

"Oh yes, but any copy of it will fetch a pretty penny if you find the right buyer. That's probably why they want the smelly thing for." He sniffled. "God be damned...I don't want to give away NATO's secrets! I looked to you because you seem to have discretion as opposed to the police who have a media field day with everything. And..." Phelps paused, licked his lips, and looked down at his lap before continuing. "I fear for my job, Mr. Holmes, if this sort of scandal and dealing is ever found out."

"I understand. And what did they leave on your desk?"

Phelps threw down a bit of paper with a drawing of snake on it in vibrant red ink.

"They gave you a doodle?" John asked incredulously, looking down at the paper on the table.

Phelps nodded. "I hate snakes. Everyone at the office knows it and would never play this sort of trick on me."

"Could be a sign from the mob boss him or herself," I commented. "Anyone marked with it is supposed to be killed very soon."

John frowned at it. "If they can hack into a computer to give you a message and sneak into your office to give you a red snake of all things, why didn't they just take the treaty already? Why deal face to face?"

"Who knows with these people?" said Phelps. "But you must help me! I don't want to die! Or lose my livelihood!"

This was truly suspicious unless... I would have to ask Mycroft about this man later. "When are you supposed to meet these people with the treaty in hand?"

"Tonight at midnight," he wailed.

This was almost insulting. "Then I suggest you keep your appointment."

"What?" He seemed aghast.

John mirrored his expression. "Sherlock, he can't-"

"Yes he can," I interrupted. "John and I will be there to help you. We will catch these people who are hounding you, Mr. Phelps. Please write down the address of the warehouse on this scratchpad, prepare a fake copy of the treaty, arrive at the rendezvous approximately fifteen minutes beforehand, and you needn't worry about a thing for the rest of the day."

"Sherlock, are you seriously-" John started.

"Yes, I am, John. Alice, what are you doing?"

Our daughter had stood and walked up and over the coffee table to stand in front of Phelps. Her eyes were wide, examining. She reached her hands out to either side of his head and Phelps flinched back. "What are you doing, little girl? Get away."

But Alice just clasped her hands to the sides of his head firmly, almost boxing his ears. She stared hard and wide into his eyes and his alarmed brown ones stared back at her, frightened, but allowing the touch. She smoothed out the wrinkles from his face with her fingers as if trying to figure out the boy he was. "You needn't be afraid," she told him. "You bring all your fears upon yourself." She suddenly released him, grabbed her sketch things, and ran upstairs.

Phelps looked a little stunned. I did not know the reasoning behind Alice's actions and remained quiet, trying to figure it out. John coughed into the silence. "Sorry, she, um, does that occasionally. Her mother is still teaching her about personal space."

Which one of us was her mother? I shook my head and ran a hand through my hair. You bring all your fears upon yourself. Had she...? She hadn't been gentle at all with him, not like she had with Mina before.

"I'll go see if she's alright," John said as he escaped up the stairs. I stood and made a motion to show Phelps out.

"You mustn't worry about tonight, Mr. Phelps," I assured him, guiding the bumbling man down the stairs to the front door. "Alice is going back to her house and Dr. Watson and I will be there to look after you." I opened the door for him and he bustled outside.

"Yes, yes, if you're sure."

"Quite certain."

"Until tonight then."

I just nodded in response and watched him waddle down the street. My eyes wandered as he disappeared around the corner and settled on a big fat crow sitting on a lampost across the street. It cawed once as the wind blew.

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