Chapter 2

Though slightly reluctant, Greg dropped by Baker Street for an update on the case. He was not the least bit surprised to see Sherlock acting his usual self; direct, flippant and slightly brooding. The man sat perched atop a wooden stall at the kitchen table when he had entered, eyes seemingly glued to his microscope. Sherlock merely hummed in acknowledgment, refusing to tear his attention from his task.

"Look, I'm sorry about Sherlock. I've tried to get him to apologise, but you know how he is," John said quietly, appearing behind the DI. After yesterday's little run in, John had attempted to ease some semblance of remorse from the detective, though it seemed that his efforts had been in vain.

"Yeah, I do," Lestrade sighed, "but you don't need to apologise for him."

John offered a tight smile in return, choosing to say no more on the subject. "Would you like some tea?" He gestured to his flatmate, "He's been sat staring at that thing for hours and I doubt he'll offer an explanation anytime soon."

"Yeah, go on then. Why not?"

As John set about making the tea, Sherlock's entire form stiffened - back pulled taught, his neck straightening, ears perked and his interest piqued. Faint, hesitant footsteps could be heard ascending the stairs. Well, heard by him anyway. With a quick glance out of the corner of his eye, the other two men seemed to be oblivious.

Once again craning his neck to peer into his microscope as though he hadn't moved at all, he spoke, "For a man who claims that his daughter is incapable of being left alone, Lestrade, you do seem very lax when it comes to remembering where you last left her."

Greg's tired gaze followed the length of Sherlock's outstretched arm to see his daughter hovering in the doorway of 221B. His eyes widened, having forgotten that he had left Ellie in the car outside, only intending to pop in on the consulting duo in pursuit of any developments. The forces from higher up were breathing down his neck for answers. He hadn't thought that he would end up needing to wait. Which, in hindsight, was rather foolish, he thought.

Scrambling out of his chair, Lestrade shot over to his daughter and firmly clasped her shoulders. "I am so sorry, Ellie." Guilt gripped him. He dipped his head, ashamed.

Looking at her father, Ellie simply smiled, moving her hands and gesturing. It's all right you weren't gone long.

I know, but that isn't the point, Greg replied discreetly.

Ellie titled her head slightly, furrowing her brow before shaking her head. Don't worry.

As Greg opened his mouth and raised his hands to argue, his phone rang. "Detective Inspector Lestrade," he answered.

Ellie stepped around her dad, into the flat, as he turned his back. Glancing about the room, her eyes landed on one particular wall riddled with what looked like bullet holes and littered with newspapers and post-its.

"Shit!" Lestrade exclaimed, hanging up before dashing out, once again too engrossed to remember his daughter.

Ellie continued surveying the busy wall, not having noticed or heard her father's departure.

~ O ~

When John stepped out of the kitchen, tea tray in hand, he found the girl from the crime scene stood staring at the wall in place of her father. Greg was nowhere in sight. Setting the tray down, he glanced round at his flatmate. "Sherlock, where's Greg?"

"Who?" Sherlock's gaze refused to waver from his task.

John sighed. "Lestrade, Sherlock. Greg Lestrade. Where is he? And why is his daughter stood staring at the wall?"

"Oh he received a call, most likely from his superior judging by the colourful language. Probably something about the break-in case. He left straight away."

"Ok, but that doesn't explain why his daughter is still in our sitting room."

Sherlock finally tore his gaze from his microscope to look at John. He furrowed his brow before slipping off his stool and stepping into the living room. "Ah."

"Yes."

"It seems that Lestrade has, once again, forgotten his daughter."

"What do you mean "again"?"

"That's not relevant. Now get rid of her." Sherlock turned to return to his experiment but was stopped by John's grip on his arm.

"How is that not relevant?" John shook his head. "Never mind. Sherlock, I'm not "getting rid" of her and you're certainly not leaving me to deal with this."

Sherlock huffed petulantly. John half expected to see him stomp his foot and run to his room like a naughty schoolboy. But, to his surprise, Sherlock remained.

"Right, well, I suppose that tea would be a start." John stepped around his flatmate to pick up the tea tray.

"Yes, very good. I'll just be in there." Sherlock gestured to the kitchen.

"No, Sherlock."

He sighed. "Fine, then. What do you want me to do?"

John pressed the rim of the tray into Sherlock's stomach. "How about you offer her the tea seeing as you didn't exactly make a good first impression while shouting in her face."

Gripping the tray far more firmly than was needed, Sherlock approached the girl as John returned to the kitchen. He cleared his throat before shaking his head, remembering that she couldn't hear him. He carefully reached out a hand and gently tapped her on the shoulder.

The girl, who seemed to have been in a world of her own (much like him at times), visibly jumped, a sharp gasp passing her lips. She swiftly spun around, her eyes immediately springing up to meet his gaze. Noticing his close proximity, she took a small step back.

Seeing her anxiety, Sherlock simply raised the tea tray in a silent question.

If the girl noticed the gesture, she chose to ignore it as she continued to merely stare up at him.

Quickly growing frustrated by her unresponsive expression, Sherlock decided on a different approach. He set the tray aside on the coffee table. Would you like tea? he signed. There, couldn't be more simple for her, he thought.

The girl blinked, blushed and finally cast her eyes downwards. She shook her head, declining his offer.

Not having planned this far, Sherlock glanced about the room thinking of what to do next. He held out his arm, gesturing to John's chair.

Yet, again, the girl hesitated.

Sherlock was sure that she would be glad of a seat but he couldn't understand her uncertainty. That was, until he saw her glancing towards the kitchen. She knew it was John's chair. His interest in the girl piqued. How had she known? He supposed that John was a fairly obvious character.

He gestured to the sofa instead.

She accepted, perching right on the edge.

As an idea popped into his head, Sherlock picked up a pen and a small pad of paper Mrs. Hudson had left for John to make a shopping list. He set them down on the table in front of her before taking a seat in his own chair.

She glanced between the table and him.

Your name? he asked, gesturing to the pad and pen.

Eyeing him for a moment longer, she carefully picked up the elegant ballpoint and began to scrawl. When she finished, she lifted the pad for him to see.

Eleanor, was all it said.

Wow, I am so sorry for the wait but for some reason I hit a bit of a wall. This chapter is just the slightest bit shorter than the first (which was, granted, relatively short too), but I'll probably add some more on tomorrow when I've had some proper sleep. I know that this chapter is pretty Sherlock and John heavy but there will be more interaction with Ellie in upcoming chapters.

I actually really began writing this chapter properly on New Year's Day before the Sherlock special aired and I had already written Sherlock finding Ellie in the flat and the sign language which was rather spooky when I saw those aspects in the episode. But it was so brilliant! I've seen it twice so far (I'm sure I'll be watching it at least a few more times) and it really inspired me to push on with this story, so here you are.

Also, thank you to my three reviewers! It really means a lot to me to receive feedback on my work. I hope that this chapter flows as easily. I was quite conscious about that. Anyway, this author's note has suddenly got really long so I'll let you guys get on with your lives now. Thanks for reading and Happy New Year (2016)!