Sorry it took this long to update. Work and such. I hope you all like this one. It was a pain in the arse to write :/ …. :D Review and Rate if you want me to write more PRETTY PLEASE!
p.s.- I'm going to do a Labyrinth fic while writing this, so if you like Labyrinth you may find that I am a much better writer when it comes to fantasy XP Thanks!
…...
John thought Sherlock would have been ecstatic to hear from Lestrade. A "different kind of case" sounded, to him, to be a rather exciting description. Apparently, though, Sherlock was seeing something he wasn't about this. As usual.
As soon as John had hung-up with the Scotland Yarder and told Sherlock of their next case, the Consulting Detective's expression had turned steely, his lips pressed in a thin line and his brow furrowed, and he had picked up his violin and gone into one of those...moods. Even now, as they rode to the children shelter in silence, he seemed lost in his thoughts. It almost worried John but, well, that was Sherlock after all.
When they arrived, Sherlock moved mutely to meet Lestrade at the front doors, leaving the doctor to pay the cab fee. John could see the two detectives discussing something, Lestrade with a grin and Sherlock with frustration. Once he had made it over to them, he only heard the last of the conversation.
" I'm not saying anything like that. Just trust me for a second." Lestrade urged his "friend". Sherlock looked impatient and put-out. John rolled his eyes with a sigh and grabbed the taller man's arm. Sherlock looked down at him with a scowl, which he returned with a knowing glance.
He nodded toward Lestrade. "Lead the way."
The inspector lead them to a nurses office at the far end of the building. The three grown men looked quiet the sight, having to force their way through the mob of loud children that ran about the shelter. Lestrade left the two out in the hallway as he went in to fetch the nurse, his niece, Malinda. The young woman had a nasty purple bruise over her left eye, which she had obviously tried covering with makeup, only to make it look worse.
"What happened to you?" Lestrade blurted, frowning at the bruise.
"She (I) was punched." Sherlock and Malinda said at the same time. Malinda looked at the man and gave a little laugh, and he rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, I guess Armelia said something to one of the boys, and it started a fight. I got hit in the crossfire when I came to pull him off of her. She got it worse, of course." she explained, wincing at the last part as if sympathizing with the child's pain.
"Who is..?" John began, only to be interrupted. By Lestrade. "Armelia is the one you are here to see." he said with a mischievous grin. "And if you thought Sherlock was hard to handle, you have no idea."
The mentioned detectives head snapped up in alertness, and he raised a brow inquisitively. Malinda beckoned the men to follow as she lead them to the kid's room. When they reached the door marked with the swirly purple name painted on it, the nurse paused right before knocking.
From the other side of the door, a light, airy voice could be heard singing, the sound like a silver bell. The song was soft and sad, and sounded pleading, like a prayer.
"On a small little shore, where the giant big waves roll
I walk there alone, my feet cold and sore
There's a secret I know, from a long, long time
About this sea of woes
Write your wish on paper and fold it in half
In a little bottle it goes
Give it to the sea, and someday you see
Your dreams bloom like a rose
Float away with the sea, glass bottle full of dreams
In the dark of the night bring a faint white gleam
On the brink of the sky, along with the waves
Silently fading away
You were always there for me, no matter how absent my pleas
You've given me your all, but I didn't see
I was spoilot, I was never glad, never happy with what I had
I wonder if you've ever gotten mad
Now I am alone, with no one left to hold
Far away from the world I once knew
You're not here with me, so I'll leave it to the sea
To tell you how much I miss you
Float away with the sea, tears full of regret
Looking down I only see my own silhouette
Why do we only realize our sins, when everything's come to an end?
Float away with the sea, glass bottle full of dreams
In the dark of the night bring a faint white gleam
On the brink of the sky, along with the waves
Silently fading away
Float away with the sea, tears full of regret
Looking down I only see my own silhouette
And if somehow we can be reborn again
Let us live together once more, until the very end
Malinda's eyes grew wide and she stood frozen, her hand still raised to knock but not doing so. The voice had been quiet, and they wouldn't have heard it if they hadn't been listening. But they had been, and they did. For the whole five months that Armelia had been at the shelter, the nurse had never once seen her express any real emotion.
Lestrade put his hand on his stunned niece's shoulder and reached past her to knock. A startled gasp was heard, followed by several crashing sounds, before the eleven-year-old genius girl burst from the room. She tripped in her hurry, and tumbled right into Sherlock's grasp. The raven haired man just barely caught the equally raven haired child before she fell. Her coal black curls were tied back with a delicate silver ribbon and she was wearing the same plain black spaghetti-strapped dress as the day before, minus the poison stained apron.
She quickly righted herself and stared up at the man, her eyes darting all over, inspecting him. She then turned her gaze to John, and did the same to him. Giving Malinda and Lestrade a quick nod of acknowledgement, she snapped her attention back to Sherlock.
" Holmes, my name is Armelia. Did you or did you not have a sexual experience with a woman named Christine Daae* when you were between the ages of seventeen and nineteen?" she asked, getting right to the point.
The consulting Detective's eyes widened and his lips parted slightly, as if finally realizing something that had been evading him. He looked down on the girl, who looked so very much like him, and considered her. She was just like him, but he could sense that they were almost opposites. He the left-brained detective, and she the obviously right-brained, alternative genius. A miniature Sherlock Holmes, with the innocence of a child and the creativity of a...female.
As the man before her, her possible father, examined her, she was also doing the same. He fit. They were simply too similar, physically and intellectually, to not be related. However, there were things about him that made Armelia's stomach churn with disgust. He was arrogant to an extreme, saw himself as the god of his own universe, and yet needed the reassurance of his blonde friend to with himself as a human, not a freak. He was a frickin' enigma, and it infuriated and intrigued the child, all at the same time.
Finally, he spoke. "Yes, I did."
…...
Author's Note: so...cliffy! :D Armelia has finally met her father, and it's Sherlock Holmes! Good for her. But...that part was obvious, huh? The real question now is what does it mean? Can Sherlock be the father Armelia needs? And how will John take this situation?
Anyways, I'll update soon. Please Review and rate :3
* yes, I used the name from Phantom of the Opera, because it's a pretty name and I want Armelia to love to sing. Secretly...so Chritine Daae it is. It'll only show up once, so no biggie!
