Cold Case

Alice liked the days best when Sherlock decided he wanted to go into the Yard and take a look through the unsolved case files. There she was completely free to throw out her opinions and get them listened to without hearing one of the actual detectives scoff. Mr. Greg, as she had taken to calling the Detective Inspector, appreciated the help in live cases, but had taken her aside to explain that he couldn't register a nine-year-old as a consultant. Personally, Alice thought that was ridiculous. If she was cleverer than their detectives, why couldn't she be a consultan?. She didn't complain, in case, he changed his mind.

She grinned, following her father through the Yard. It was Mr. Greg's day off, so they had to be extra-careful not to upset anyone. Alice had zipped her lips before leaving the flat. She couldn't blurt out anything stupid, which was really hard.

"Can we get take-out?" she asked, knowing that Sherlock had the same resolve that she did when it came to overly greasy food—exactly none.

"On the way back to the flat," he assured her.

"What're you doing here?" said a sharp voice.

Alice didn't recognize either the woman who had spoken or the man that was standing beside her, but she could hardly mistake the tone. Alice made a snap decision.

"Daaaaaady," she said, mimicking the tone that she'd heard her cousins adopt when they wanted something. "When're we going to go? I'm booooored."

Sherlock didn't miss a beat in hefting her into his arms. Both the woman and the man's jaws dropped. Alice hid her self-satisfied smirk in the collar of her father's coat.

"Just a little longer, sweetheart," he said, easily slipping into the persona that she'd provided for her, though he still looked as if the word 'sweetheart' physically pained him to say.

"You…" said the woman, gaping.

"Father," said the man, eye twitching.

"Alice, meet Seargant Donovan and…Anderson."

Now even more pleased with herself now that she had a face to match with the 'Anderson' Sherlock was always going on about, and for having pulled one over on him, Alice grinned.

"I'm helping Daddy with the cold cases," she announced, even going so far as to make her voice higher.

Donovan's eyes narrowed.

"Who's letting civilians near the cold cases?"

"Lestrade. And I'm hardly a civilian—I'm practically on police payroll."

The two actual Scotland Yard employees skidded past them almost at a run, unable to form coherent responses.

As soon as they rounded the corner, Alice burst out laughing and to her surprise, so did Sherlock.

"That'll keep them busy for a week," he said.

"Are we going to keep it up?" Alice asked.

She wouldn't mind the acting practice, and besides, it would be worth it to see that expression on their faces all the time.

"Absolutely. Now, cold cases."

~o0o~

No matter how many cups of coffee she downed, Sally Donovan could hardly keep her eyes open. She'd been working a case with Greg last night, chasing a pair of criminals all over London, but they hadn't managed to catch them.

"Coffee?" asked Philip, handing her a fresh cup.

He knew exactly how she took it—two sugars and more cream than strictly necessary. Sally thanked him, and dumped tossed away her empty cup in a nearby trash can.

"Late night?"

"Bloody crooks can't take a night off," she said, taking a grateful sip of the coffee.

Philip chuckled.

"You'd think they'd want to rest."

The two fell into step beside each other. Philip ranted about the football match she'd missed and how poorly it was played. Happy she didn't have to think of anything to say while running on empty, she let Philip keep talking until she spotted him.

Sally had first met Sherlock Holmes four years ago as a half high moron in a bar fight she'd been called in as a constable to break up. He'd spent a night or two in a cell until the drugs had run their course, but he still harbored an unwarranted grudge.

Two years ago, she'd run into him again, but this time as Greg's consultant on an unsolvable case. She'd been disturbed by his almost childlike glee when faced with the dead man and his callous regard to the poor man's family. She'd been more than disturbed that Greg had hired such a man.

There had never been any doubt in her mind that one day, they would follow a trail, and that trail would lead directly to Sherlock Holmes.

"What're you doing here?" she asked scathingly.

Honestly, the man spent more time in the police station than half the new recruits did.

Her dislike immediately changed to shock as the girl he was with called him 'Daddy.' The Freak had a kid? She and Philip exchanged mildly horrified expressions.

It wasn't entirely impossible. She definitely had his hair, and the intensity in her eyes were the same even with the high voice and the sweet expression. Still, Sally had a very difficult time believing something like that.

Together, she and Philip booked it out of the hallway as fast as they could. Sally nearly knocked him over in shoving him aside to unlock her office.

"He's a father," choked Philip as soon as they reached the relative safety it provided. "He had—what—a wife? Girlfriend? Date? Ever?"

And yet, she was still single.

"Apparently," was all she could get out.

Both of them shuddered. Sally dropped into her chair and attempted to get some work done, but her mind was on the poor, probably maladjusted little girl who was the offspring of the strangest man she'd ever had the misfortune of meeting. Philip sat opposite of her, not trying to make conversation, but obviously mulling over the same thing.

"I mean," he said, about a half hour later. "What person in their right mind would let him within twenty feet of a child?"

Sally shrugged.

"Someone dead."

Neither one would ever guess how closely to the truth they'd strayed.