The Rooftop Mystery

They'd fallen into an odd routine over the past week and a half. Alice was mostly quiet, but she helped Sherlock with his less complicated experiments, and she simply observed the more complicated ones. She wasn't annoying, and the questions she did ask were useful ones.

It had taken him a long time to get used to the idea of having her around full time. Sherlock hadn't been lying when he had said that Maria was a good woman. She'd been one of the few people in his youth he'd been able to stand. It had just been unfortunate that she'd been wrapped up in a nasty string of murders—her brother had been the killer. Alice had the same inquisitive nature that had marginally endeared him to her mother, but unlike Maria, she had the brains to put it together. Reluctantly, he accepted that she would be a permanent fixture in his life. It could have been worse.

"Don't get it on your skin," he cautioned as Alice stumbled carrying a nearly full test tube.

He pointedly ignored John's smug expression at the concern. Before Alice could do anything with the test tube, his phone went off. He checked it, and all but leapt out of his chair.

"Lestrade has a case!"

It had been nearly a fortnight since the DI's last call, and he'd been longing for a new adrenaline rush ever since the second the last case had ended.

"You can't bring a nine-year-old to a crime scene!" John protested, tugging his coat over his shoulders.

"Why not?"

"Sherlock, she's just a kid, she can't see whatever it is that Lestrade needs you to see."

"Please?" Alice said, batting her eyelashes.

With the puppy-dog expressions from both father and daughter assaulting him, John relented.

"If it's dangerous, I'll take her home," he said.

"No you won't," chirped Alice, earning her an approving look from her father.

Sherlock resolutely pretended not to notice that Alice had flipped up her coat collar, and begrudgingly accepted her hand. It wouldn't do to have her run off and get hit by a car. Child Services was not an organization he wanted to deal with. He noticed John smirking, and aimed a kick at him, but Alice tugged him down the steps before he could manage it.

One cab ride later, and they found themselves standing outside 16 Triton Street, identifiable by the yellow crime scene tape stretched across the grisly scene. Despite John's halfhearted objections, Sherlock secured Alice's hand in his own and towed her through the crowd of shocked onlookers. He ducked under the tape and joined Lestrade.

"You called?" he asked, dropping Alice's hand.

"It looks like a suici—Sherlock, why've you got a kid?"

"My daughter. Why did you need me here if you're so sure it's a suicide?"

Lestrade could not have looked more surprised if he'd said Alice was the crown princess of Norway. Still hung up on the 'daughter' point, he stared at Sherlock, switched his gaze to Alice, and then back again.

"You've got—"

"Yes."

Lestrade cleared his throat. Sherlock could see his curiosity and his need to do his job battle for attention on his face before his work got the best of him and he decided not to ask.

"I'm not sure it is. He's on his back. Who jumps off a roof backwards? Besides, there's no note."

Sherlock, Alice following along like a strange mismatched shadow, pushed his way through the forensics crew. Rather than put his skills to the test or go up to the roof, he turned to Alice.

"What happened?" he asked her, curious to see what she would make of it.

"He jumped," Alice said.

"No," Sherlock said, doing his best not to sound condescending but failing miserably. "That's a preconceived notion based on your expectation, Lestrade's comment and by simply looking. Tell me about the victim."

Alice knelt down next to the body and looked over it.

"Wife, happily married, two kids, daughters. Twins."

"Good," he said. "Now, how did you get it?"

Alice's brow furrowed and she sat back on her heels, chewing on her lip.

"I don't know.'

"It's a process," he explained. "Your brain just happens to put information together faster than the average person's does. But there are steps, and if you can't show the steps, they won't believe you. Or, they'll accuse you."

Alice narrowed her eyes at the offending corpse. A minute went by, then two.

~o0o~

How had she known it? Rewinding her brain was not a simple task. She made her deductions and moved on, always! It was more impressive to her mother when she figured something out without knowing how. Feeling Sherlock's gaze on the back of her neck, Alice closed her eyes and thought. How did she know he was married? A ring, that made sense. She'd noticed his ring. But how did she know he was happy? The ring was carefully cared for. Kids, how had she gotten that? Her eyes flew to the tattoo on his left arm. It was fairly new, and there were two names: Annamarie and Kate. Undeniably women's names, and if they weren't his wife and mother, then they had to be children. Inked on at the same time.

"Not twins. Not enough information. The wedding ring's clean, two girl's names on his arm, could be kids."

"Very good," he said.

Alice saw the Detective Inspector's—Lestrade, had Sherlock said?—mouth drop open as the three of them entered the building and made their way to the roof.

"A full forensics team has already been up here," Sherlock said. "They've gathered obvious evidence. You need to notice small things."

The roof was empty, with no obvious signs of a struggle. Alice strayed close to the edge and looked down. The heights didn't bother her.

"It's like Detective Inspector Lestrade said," she said quietly. "Why would anyone jump backwards?"

She scanned the scene. The man's half eaten lunch lay on the ledge, and there were a few scuff marks on the edge of the roof.

"Why only eat half the lunch?" Alice asked.

A ghost of a smile (if it could be called that) crossed Sherlock's face.

"He didn't jump. He fell. Look at the scuff marks. They're the same color as the dirt on his shoes. He must have backed up, then lost his balance and plunged over the edge."

Alice beamed. It had taken her longer than it usually did, but now there was a method to her madness. It wasn't just ESP or something equally stupid. It was an answer based on real facts and real evidence.

"That should be it, Lestrade," her father said.

The Detective Inspector just stared for a very long time. Alice gave him a little wave before they headed back downstairs to bundle into a cab.

She was going to be a consulting detective.