Chapter 4

Sherlock awoke when a small girl climbed up and wriggled into bed with him. And poked him in the chest.

'Sherlock, it's morning time!'

'Are you sure?' he asked, refusing to open his eyes. 'Because it doesn't feel like it is.'

'I'm very sure. And Daddy said I could come downstairs to you and that you would make me breakfast.'

'Did he indeed?'

'Yes, and he said I could have ice-cream.'

He opened an eye now, to peer at her.

'Rosie? Is it possible that you're not being entirely truthful?'

She played with her feet.

'He definitely said I could have ice-cream,' she assured him.

'This morning?' He gave in and sat up.

'Maybe it was on a different morning.'

'For breakfast?'

'Maybe for a different meal.'

'Right. So, on account of the fact that you've been allowed ice-cream at some point in the past, that means that you're always allowed ice cream again?'

'Yes.'

'Hm. While I can see your logic, let me ask you this; has Daddy ever said no, you cannot have ice-cream?'

There was a pointed silence.

'Because,' Sherlock went on, 'if we follow that same logic, we can state that if Daddy has ever said no to ice-cream, then it must mean it's always no to ice-cream.'

Rosie continued to play with her feet.

'Fortunately,' Sherlock said, 'I don't actually have any ice-cream, so I will make you cereal and toast. And I won't mention the ice-cream conversation to Daddy. Come on – get up now.'

He gently pushed her out of bed and followed her to the kitchen. He started the coffee before attending to her. By the time John got downstairs, she'd had a cup of milk, had eaten three Weetabix, and was now merrily working her way through toast with honey. The ferocity of her appetite was such that even Sherlock got hungry, so he made toast with jam, which Rosie instantly wanted, so they swapped a few slices around.

'Are we all right in here?' John asked, tousling Rosie's golden hair. His had got caught in it, stuck with either honey or jam.

'We're sharing breakfast,' Sherlock said. 'There is none left for lazy people who don't get up with their own children.'

'There's no lie-in for people who tell me read every document on a memory stick while they sit there motionless in an armchair.' John put his own bread in the toaster and poured a coffee.

'I was thinking,' Sherlock said.

'I'm sure you were.'

'Did the invisible man come back?' Rosie asked. 'The one with the yucky plant?'

'Not yet,' Sherlock said. 'We're still working on it.'

'Rosie petal,' John said, 'Sherlock and I need to go out a bit this morning.'

'Can I come?' she instantly asked.

'Not this time.' Her bottom lip was instantly thrust out. 'Mrs Hudson says you can stay here with her, and we won't be very long, and when we're back, I'll take you to the park.'

'Hyde Park or Regent's Park?' she asked.

'We'll see.'

'Does that mean Regent's Park?' she asked. 'Or might it mean Hyde Park? With the boats?'

Sherlock did enjoy watching Rosie negotiate with someone over something. Particularly with John, given that most other people just gave in to her demands. John had once explained that Rosie was better than other children, because she didn't whine or sulk or throw a tantrum when told no. She just gave reasoned arguments designed to sway someone to her way of thinking. Which was clearly a sign of her maturity and confidence and wasn't because she was a pain in the bum. This was followed, a mere thirty minutes later, by her throwing herself to the ground and beating her fists on the kitchen floor when told that she couldn't have another biscuit. Sherlock enjoyed watching that too. Today, however, the discussion was calm.

'I was only thinking of Regent's Park,' John said.

'So you were thinking of Regent's Park, with the zoo?'

'Not the zoo. We could take a football though.'

'We could,' she agreed. 'But we could take a football to Hyde Park too. With the boats.'

Sherlock hid his face behind his coffee.

'Right then,' John said. 'We will think about that when we're back. We won't be long though.'

'Is it too early to get people up at…' Sherlock turned around to see the clock, 'seven-thirty on a Saturday? It certainly feels too early for me to get up.'

'I have to bathe the beast anyhow,' John said. 'We'll aim for nine or so.'

Rosie was washed, dressed in suitable clothes, and had her hair tied and pinned into two neat little bunches, all the while telling the world at large how dreadful and terrible John was as a parent for causing this sudden attack of cleanliness. They were just starting to make themselves ready for their own outing when Lestrade came in.

'Oh, morning all,' he said. 'I was only expecting Sherlock.'

Rosie had scrambled up anyhow. 'Is there chocolate?' she asked.

'It's a bit early in the day for chocolate, don't you think?' he said.

'No. It's a good time.'

He smiled at John. 'I'm not saying I have got a chocolate bar, but if I was to have one, it would be a very small one.'

'You can have a very small bar of chocolate,' John said. 'But that is your only sweet for the whole of the day.'

'Yes,' she agreed. 'I'll tell Mrs Hudson.'

'No. I will tell Mrs Hudson,' John replied. 'But you can have Uncle Greg's chocolate now.'

It was produced and approved of. Greg beamed at the 'Uncle' moniker, which always pleased John and annoyed the jealousy-box of Sherlock.

'I actually came about work. Have you started looking at the files from the computer?'

'No, because John had an early night,' Sherlock snapped.

'I worked until one. Is there anything specific you were after?'

'Did you get to the will?' Lestrade asked.

'I don't remember a will. Wouldn't it be with is solicitor?'

'Yes, there is certainly a formal agreed one there. There is, however, another one on the computer. I brought you a copy.'

He handed John a printed sheet. Before he even started reading it, it was obvious something was off with it. Sherlock sat beside him to look. Whoever was responsible for creating the document had made parts of it at several different times, possibly on different computers. The central section was clearly copied and pasted from somewhere else, a website looked most likely, and the formatting wasn't uniform throughout.

'Looks official, doesn't it?' Sherlock said.

'Yep,' Lestrade agreed. 'There's no question in anyone's mind that he was leaving his business along with his entire fortune to Jackson Davis.'

'Right,' John said. 'Poor kid.'

'He's beside himself,' Lestrade said. 'He admits that he knew about it, and that he thought it was a joke, and it was only after the man died that he started to panic about it. It would seem that he'd hoped we wouldn't ever know about it, and he bawled when he found out we had it.'

'But he knows now that the whole thing is boll...' John looked across the room to Rosie, whom he'd temporarily forgotten was there. '...some,' he finished with.

'We've tried to explain that it's all bollsome,' Lestrade said. 'He's relieved to know he's not a murder suspect on account of being the sole heir to this chaps business, so he's calmer now. Unfortunately, there is a further complication.'

He handed Sherlock another piece of paper. This one was a bank statement, and the noticeable transactions were too and from an account in the name of Jackson Davis.

'OK,' John said.

Sherlock looked up. 'I think we really need to go and talk to the boy's family now,' he said. 'Greg, could you watch Rosie for a couple of hours?'

'What?' He said. 'I mean, probably, if you're desperate, but...'

'He's messing with your head,' John told him. 'She'll be downstairs, and you'll be safely at work.'

'Good then.'

'We'll see you later. Come on, Rosie Petal,' he said. 'Let's get you settled somewhere.'