Sherlock had bought a cake. He'd bought ice cream and several presents. He'd even gone and lit candles so the flat smelled less like chemicals and more like a place that people lived. John had come home early from work, arriving just five minutes after, finding Sherlock searching frantically around the flat, with his phone to his ear, things strewn carelessly across the place. "Sherlock!" John yelled. "What's going on?!"
"She's gone, John, Mrs. Hudson fell asleep while Issi was taking a nap and now she's gone. She didn't walk away, she's missing, so is her teddy, and the jar of money that was on the fridge."
"Oh." John's mind whirred. Who could've taken her? Who would want her? Moriarty, bent on revenge? "Who're you talking to about it?"
"My brother," said Sherlock, lifting up a sofa cushion. "You can tell someone's taken her, the money's gone, and they took the teddy. Mycroft, she hates the teddy. All she enjoys playing with are the blocks, my scarf and that damnable stuffed dog that her mother got her."
"Sherlock, I'm sure someone'll find her, we just have to be patient," said John, trying to be calm about the whole situation. Lestrade bounded in the flat, looking serious.
"What's going on?"
"As I wouldn't usually call you, it seems you deducted it was something important," said Sherlock, tossing his phone onto the sofa and nearly jumping across the room to the door, heading up the stairs. "Isabel is gone."
"We'll get her back, Sherlock, we can get-" Sherlock had breathed in deeply, then rushed down the stairs and out of the flat, into the unusually crowded Baker street.
Isabel saw Sherlock immediately, squirming in the strangers grip, whining. He had brought the strange brown bear with him, the one that constantly made fun of her Mummy dog, the teddy that she hated so much. She saw Sherlock look around, his gaze drifting a little to quickly over her and the stranger as they got farther and farther away. Saying 'Da' wouldn't do anything; it wouldn't be loud enough. So she screamed. Screamed and screamed bloody murder. His eyes snapped immediately to her. She reached, screaming. People began to notice the screaming child reaching for the man that looked so much like her and was running for her. "Da!" she screamed, pointing at Sherlock and looking at a staring woman. "My Da! Da!"
"Shush up," said the stranger, tightening his grip on Isabel's leg.
She only screamed louder.
Sherlock grabbed Isabel and pulled her out of the unsuspecting man's grip. As the stranger turned, Sherlock punched him square in the jaw, and he went down fast. Lestrade was there in mere seconds, handcuffing the stranger and relieving him of the teddy and the money. Isabel sobbed into Sherlock's neck with a tight grip on his shirt collar. Sherlock rocked her. "Shh, Issi, it's okay, Da's here." She continued to cry freely into his shirt, hanging tightly onto him. Lestrade stood up, handcuffs on the stranger.
"You're under arrest for kidnap and burglary."
"Tank you Strad," came a faint voice from Sherlock's collar. "Tank you Da." Sherlock walked swiftly back to 221b, removing Isabel's onesie when he got there, only to discover bruises forming on her legs from the man's fingers. He quickly put another onesie on her, a new one with an otter on the front. He handed her the Mummy dog and took her to his room where he curled up on the bed with his one year old. She fell asleep with her pink pacifier and her favourite fluffy yellow blanket, Sherlock asleep next to her at the same time, arms encircling her small body protectively.
He woke up around three in the afternoon. She was still snoozing. He called Lestrade. "I need to speak to that man."
"Well, okay, he's at the station."
"I'm coming in." He hung up the phone. "John, I'll be back later. Keep an eye on her, will you?" John nodded, looking up at Sherlock as he left.
He sat across the table from the man, who was handcuffed. "Why?" asked Sherlock, staring him down. The man was at least forty, and was currently unemployed. Sherlock knew who he was, too; Charles Allen, Katrina's older brother. One person who Sherlock had gotten into trouble.
"You know very well why," he growled.
"You were drug trafficking, it is not my fault that you were bad at hiding it. And what your mother did for your sister made you hate your sister, and that's hardly my fault either. So you kidnap your niece?"
"Only way to get back at you both."
"You do realise that your sister is dead?" That shut him up.
"You know she cut off all communications with me when she moved in with you, it hardly matters anyways." Sherlock sniffed.
"I'm done here," he said, standing up and leaving the room.
Isabel was awake when Sherlock got home again. John hadn't noticed, because she hadn't made any noise whatsoever. When Sherlock came into his room, he was greeted by an empty bed. "John?" called Sherlock, "Where is she?"
"I thought she was... Oh," said John, walking in and looking around. "I don't see her."
"Yes, that's the specific reason that I asked. She's got a birthday party soon, and I really hope that nobody's taken her again." He began lifting up blankets and inspecting underneath. There was a shuffling from under Sherlock's bed. He paused and lifted up his bedsheet, peaking underneath. She was there, playing in a box of new test tubes that Sherlock was saving. She looked up, startled. Then she giggled and crawled out, grabbing Sherlock's pant leg and pulling herself up. "Uppy," she said, looking at Sherlock. He lifted her up, taking a test tube out of her hand and tossing it onto his bed. She scowled at him unhappily, crossing her arms. "Mine," she said.
" No, not yours, mine." She scowled more as they walked into the living room.
Isabel sat in her high chair. Apparently, it was tradition for a baby to have her own cake on her first birthday. There was vanilla frosting smeared all over her face. Her mouth was full of the cake. Molly was laughing hysterically and Mrs. Hudson was snapping pictures. Lestrade walked in with a bag and was greeted quickly by Sherlock, who was stacking presents on the table. John was shaking his head and laughing, looking at Isabel who was staring at them all confusedly. She continued to eat the cake anyways. When she pushed it away, Sherlock wiped off her face and hands carefully, lifting her out and wiping off her stomach as well.
"Mm," she said, smiling. Mrs. Hudson got a picture of the two of them before Sherlock sat her in the chair with the Union Jack pillow and handed her things to open. It only took her moments to realise that there was treats inside the wrapped boxes and bags. The first one, from John, was a baby sized, pink version of his beige jumper which she frequently played in. She looked at it curiously before yelling, "Jah!", which is when John came over and put it on her. She smiled triumphantly, bouncing. Mrs. Hudson took a picture. Mycroft slipped in, unnoticed by all but Sherlock. The next one was a fuzzy toy kitten from Molly. Isabel looked at it, climbed down from the chair and ran off to Sherlock's room, where she was followed and seen climbing into her crib and putting it next to her Mummy dog. She was promptly carried back to the chair by a proud looking Molly. Lestrade got her a set of rattles, teething toys, and rubber ducks, which she squeaked with an amused expression on her face until someone took them. She scowled until her next present was placed in front of her. It was a small, old looking rocking horse from Mrs. Hudson, who said it was an I-saved-it-for-my-son-but-he-never-comes-by-so-here-you-have-a-baby kind of present. Isabel looked at it with fascination before the next present was given to her. It was a package that had arrived in the post yesterday, from Katrina's mother. There was a letter that had said, "Katrina said that 'duck' was Isabel's favourite word, so I've taken that advice." It was true, Isabel did love ducks, and her grandmother had gotten her a fairly large stuffed one, and upon seeing the large yellow thing, she shouted, "Duck!" very loudly and sat on it for the rest of the evening. Mrs. Hudson took a picture of this, too. The next was one that Mycroft had brought along, from his and Sherlock's mother. It was a stuffed elephant that made Sherlock stiffen up because that was his elephant, Joffrey. Isabel hugged it to her face, and smelled it, and then shouted "Da!" extremely loudly, which made everyone in the room laugh hysterically as they realised it had been Sherlock's elephant. Sherlock's face was extremely red when Mycroft handed her his present. It was a yellow raincoat with an open umbrella embroidered on the breast pocket. Sherlock personally thought this an especially strange gift but Isabel loved it and put it on wrong to prove it. The last gift was Sherlock's. It wasn't extremely extravagant, just some onesies, a blanket, a stuffed hippo named Fredrick that he'd stolen from Mycroft, and a hat. Isabel's face lit up when she saw the hat. It was a hat that looked like a duck. He'd found it while going through some things that Katrina had left, and decided that it was the perfect thing. The onesies had animals or flowers, and the blanket was fluffy and light blue. She curled up on the chair underneath all of her things and everyone slowly said their goodbyes and trickled out. "I'll clean up tomorrow," said John, heading up the stairs to his room. Sherlock nodded, picking up all the new things and relocating them into his bedroom. Isabel stayed curled up, sucking her thumb and blinking tiredly. She still had on the hat when everything else that she'd received had been put away.
"Did you know," said Sherlock, picking up Isabel, "that Mummy made that when she lived with me? That was her job; she made stuff for people." Isabel looked up at him with tired eyes.
"Mummy dog. Duck. Duck duck."
"What did Mycroft get you?"
"Coat."
"What else did you get?" asked Sherlock as he opened the door to his room.
"Jumper, kitty, duck, horsey, duck, elephant, coat, hippo, blankie, duck." She yawned. Sherlock changed her out of the arrangement of clothes she had on and into the otter onesie from earlier and put her in the crib. She curled up under her new blanket with her Mummy dog and the kitten, put her thumb in her mouth, and went to sleep. Sherlock, tired from the days activities, curled up under his blanket and did the same.
