Since Sherlock was "busy" - John knew that as the unused forensic-assistant, it was his job to hunt for food.

And hunt was definitely the correct way to put it. There were various things he had to plunge through to find anything edible - and he had to perform this hunt every day. Fortunately, Sherlock had cleaned up his "science experiments" yesterday and had left the dinner table to be used for dinner. This meant there was a lack of Bunsen burners and microscopes and all sorts of scientific apparatus containing green, morbid sludge.

That did not mean however that there was any leftover food.

Without even pulling at a cupboard door, John knew that there was not going to be food anywhere. There never was for some odd, complex reason. Somehow, whenever he popped down to the shops and brought home a bag full of groceries - they would vanish entirely in a few days. He was fine with this, really. But what annoyed him was that he never quite knew where they went.

He had a hunch that half of the food went into Sherlock's "experiments" and the rest somehow fitted into the detective's bony frame.

Either way, John never asked. After all, who knew what Sherlock did to grapes? Or rather, who would want to know?

"No!" John almost bit his lip as he stumbled forwards; preventing Grace from pulling at the fridge door, "Don't look in there."

The young girl arched a brow, "Why?"

Because there might be a sodding human body part in there.

"It's broken." John lied, swallowing wearily, "Plus, we don't keep food in there."

"Oh," a breath slipped from Grace's lips as she skipped over to where he stood - purchasing the lie with a rather unconvinced grimace, "That's odd."

"Yes." John quickly began to pull at the various cupboard doors, revealing dusty shelves and the occasional quaint looking oatmeal box. He scratched his head and then rubbed his eyes.

"Anything?" Grace asked him sweetly as she fiddled with the microwave. The doctor shook his head thoughtfully, trying his best to garner his "adventurer" side. The scavenger inside of him. Of course after he realized that there was no physical way he could work with any of the things they had - John knew his adventurer side had all but vanished.

As if things could not get worse, he became aware of a slight 'hmming' noise.

"Mr. John?"

"Yes, Grace?"

"Are those... fingers in the jar?"

She was gesturing towards the lone bottle inside the microwave. John's eyes enlarged to the point of mortification. He gazed down at her and chuckled ruefully,

"Of course not," He gushed heavily, snapping the microwave door shut, "They're just - er... pickled gherkins." Genius idea.

Grace pressed her lips cleverly together as she tried to see through his lie, "They didn't look like gherkins."

John was running out of words to keep him afloat. Luckily, Sherlock appeared (in impeccable timing) by the doorway. The man's eyes lit up (expecting to be salvaged from the sinking boat he manned) but the flame soon died as Sherlock gestured towards the kettle on the worktop with his head,

"Just coffee for me, thank you."

"Sherlock..." John tried to detain his temper as his face reddened, "Please tell me you kept some food somewhere."

The detective arched a confused brow, "Of course not, John. Where would I keep it?"

Just because John expected that answer did not mean that he was going to discontinue shoving the question.

"So you used everything?" He squeaked, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Not everything." Sherlock rolled his eyes and then diverted it back onto the doctor's face, "John - are you displeased with me?" The question was put forward so flippantly that John almost blew his casket.

Luckily, he managed to repress the rage with the breathing techniques Mycroft had been teaching him.

"Yes," John managed glancing at Grace who was musing fluidly at the "pickled gherkins" inside the microwave, "Because now - our visitor has no food." Sherlock - who looked as if he had just seen the little girl for the first time again pressed his lips together.

"Go get some, then." The detective retorted impatiently.

"I always get some."

"Then this should be effortless," Sherlock swept back into the living room, "There is no use in whimpering, John."

John gasped, aghast, "I am not whimpering!" Of course just by saying that seemed to pose a slight "whimper." Great. Taking another few, soothing breaths, the doctor returned to the girl who was still grinning as she had been moments ago.

Clearly, she had mastered the art of "killing one with kindness."

John knew that as the hunter - he would have to be the one to gather food.

Even if it meant lunging through the aisles of Tesco Express and making war with the self-checkouts.

Grace was not quite sure why she was not allowed to come with Mr. John to Tesco's.

She had explained it to him (quite dutifully) that she had been to a supermarket before. However, she noticed that Mr John seemed awfully raspy and breathless and so decided that quizzing him further would be bad for his health. Maybe he had ass-mar! Like Lance.

Ew. Lance. The thought of her mother's "boyfriend" - or "boy toy" as her dad calls him (although she was not sure what this meant exactly) - made her feel slightly queasy. Mr John was nothing like him! Although she barely knew Mr John - he was already a gazillion times more fun than Loony Lance.

She called him Loony because he liked all these odd healthy gloop that her daddy said resembled vomit.

Her Mummy for some unexplainable reason pretended like she liked it (although Grace had seen her throw most bottles into the toilet). Either way, this was a much more fun place than Lance's house and her normal baby-sitter's. Her normal baby sitter being Mrs Kempshall.

Mrs Kempshall was so boring. All she ever talked about was gardening and dogs. And she always forgot what day it was even when Grace had reminded her about fifteen times! As far as she was concerned, Grace was totally recommending Mr John to all her friends at primary.

"So, yes. You should be fine here... I'm going to be about ten or fifteen..." Mr John was by the door now, hesitantly putting on his scarf, "Anything in particular you want me to get?"

"Not fussy." Grace grinned. After growing up with her Mummy and Daddy's cooking - she had moulded a pretty strong digestive system.

"Great. You'll be fine as long as you stay here, okay?" He grinned at her before glancing at Mr Sherlock. The smile seemed to fade.

Grace watched the two of them and giggled a little. She had not told them this but she had heard of them before. A lot of times before. It was normally when her Daddy was on the phone. Sometimes, she would see him grumbling on the phone and then when he would hang up he would do his "ugh my life face" (Mummy labelled this for her) and say,

BeepBeep (Grace had built up a good immunity against swear words) ... Sherlock.

Of course, it wasn't Daddy who did this normally. When Grace was left alone in her father's office, it was normally Auntie Sally who said Mr. Sherlock's name a lot. Except of course she didn't just say beep.

She said BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPP BEEEPPP FREAK BEEEP SHERLOCK BEEEEP. And then her Daddy would roll his eyes (accompanied with his "ugh my life face") and they would skip off to save London!

Grace wasn't sure if this was the Mr Sherlock they talked about. But it must be! Because there couldn't be that many Mr Sherlock's!

"Sherlock," Mr John was huffing, "I'm going now. Remember what you said, okay?"

"Yes, John." Mr Sherlock was reading his papers again - Grace noticed they seemed to have a million of them around, "I'll remember."

Mr John had made Mr Sherlock promise he would take care of her. Grace didn't mind. She wasn't sure what sort of trouble she could possibly get herself into in a flat. She was a good girl! That was why she always got five stars for her behaviour.

Duh.

"Bye Mr John!" Grace waved, as he smiled at her once more, "I'll sit here and be good."

"Please." He nodded, seemingly assured and then turned to his flat mate again, "You as well, Sherlock."

The small girl giggled playfully and crossed her legs as Mr. John disappeared.

There was a brief silence before Mr Sherlock seemed to jump off his couch and dash straight to his phone. Furrowing her brow a little as she watched him, the curly haired girl became aware of something very important.

"Mr Sherlock!" She cried out gleefully.

He ignored her for a moment.

"Mr Sherlock!" Grace repeated, innocently. Another second passed before grey eyes lifted up and narrowed at her,

"Yes?" He probed, expression aloof.

Grace was oblivious to it as she bounced up and down on the couch, pointing a finger at his phone.

"You have a Blackberry too!" She beamed, completely ecstatic at the revelation.

Mr Sherlock seemed to be a bit confused (Grace decided old people must be less perceptive now that they were old) and the little girl found herself rolling her eyes. He didn't seem to happy with that either.

"Good observation." Mr Sherlock commented before returning to his typing.

Grace scowled, catching his attention again, "Nooooo," The little girl uttered, exasperated, "You have a Blackberry... so I can use your charger to charge mine!" Her hand quickly produced her poor, dead phone in one hand.

And then Mr Sherlock seemed to stare, blankly.

The little girl decided that he must be like Loony Lance. He must not like people touching his things! Well, that was silly because Grace had elocution lessons from her Nana (grandmother) and she was not clumsy at all. She promised she wouldn't break it!

"Please, Mr Sherlock?" She urged with a wide smile.

"If you are willing to find it." He replied.

"Yay!" Grace cheered, elated, "I've found it!"

His lifeless eyes widened at her excitement and he gave her a look of disbelief,

"What?"

"It's behind you." Grace said with a sunny smile across her lips, "By that desk."

Eyeing him as he turned to the charger which lay on the wooden desk as she had said, Grace could not help but blush with pleasure as he turned his eyes back to her with a look of approval.

"Very good observation," He said with a nod, taking the electric charger and throwing it at her gently, "Help yourself."

Grace grinned and took it, deciding that Mr Sherlock was definitely not a "beep" like they said.

Humming 'We're off to Meet the Wizard' at a gentle volume, Grace waited patiently as her phone charged. Mr Sherlock seemed terribly busy and being exposed to such sights - she knew it was best to be quiet. She had been left in her Daddy's office before and she knew how important it was to be nice and calm sometimes! Even when it was so tempting to be loud.

As she was doing this however, she noticed that Mr Sherlock was not on the couch reading anymore. In fact, he was up and - putting on his coat! Was he going somewhere? Face forming a slightly perplexed look, the girl paused her hums and puffed out her cheeks.

It wasn't long before he turned his eyes to her in attention.

"So," Mr Sherlock told her with a narrowed look, "Are you going to be fine staying here by yourself?"

A slightly mortified look formed on Grace's face as she shook her head. "Absolutely not!" She gasped out loud, "Where are you going? Am I not allowed to go?" The idea that she was going to be left alone was soon diminished when Mr Sherlock handed her jacket over,

"It's quite chilly." He said simply, buttoning his own up.

Grace followed suit and quirked her head, "But, Mr Sherlock..." She trailed in question as she adjusted her coat.

"Yes."

"Mr John said not to go anywhere." Grace remembered being anchored to the flat as part of the treaty of her staying behind.

Mr Sherlock seemed to smile, giving her a soft wink, "John is rather boring sometimes," He remarked innocently, "Plus, he told you to stay here. If that is what you would prefer... I won't argue."

The young girl's eyes widened again, huffing as she buttoned up her jacket, "Absolutely not!"

"Good." Mr Sherlock nodded, waddling towards the door, "We won't be long."

"Should we leave a note or something?"

"Boring." Mr Sherlock dismissed.

Grace discerned quite comfortably that Mr Sherlock loved saying "boring" a lot. Perhaps that was his favourite word! Like she loved the word - float. "Are you sure?" She toddled after him obediently, "He might worry."

But Mr Sherlock did not hear her. He was already down the staircase! Following after him, head bobbing up and down in concentration, the little girl scratched her hair pensively.

"Please can we leave a note?"

"No time." Mr Sherlock grumbled as he slipped into his shoes.

"Can you at least text him?"

A little annoyed looking, Mr Sherlock turned to his phone and moved his thumbs.

"Done." He lied. Grace - being an avid texter - noticed the ploy instantly.

"Liar!" She accused, "If you don't text, I won't go!"

Mr Sherlock seemed to ogle her with such curiosity that it made the little girl's eyebrows knit together.

"Fine, don't go." He told her with a sniff of condescension as he made for the door. Grace huffed back with equal self-righteousness and positioned herself on the bottom step. She watched as he opened the door and turned back.

He was smiling. "You can change your mind." Mr Sherlock tutted.

Grace shook her head resolutely, crossing her arms to highlight the image. She then heard the door produce a loud thud as it closed.

Sitting in silence for a few moments, Grace tapped her foot rhythmically on the carpet below. She knew this game very well - her parents did this all the time. It only took a few brief seconds and then -

The door opened.

"John. Popped out. Don't worry."

A screen containing those exact words was then displayed in front of her. "Happy?" Mr Sherlock exhaled as she propped up, smiling again. Grace sauntered off towards the door, her coat swishing behind her. She was very happy indeed! Now Mr. John doesn't have to get mad.

She knew he would text; the 'i won't go' ploy worked every single time.

John was sure he had never had a grocery shop finished so quickly. Normally, he grew busy deciding which brand of toilet roll/washing powder to buy so time was wasted on mundane areas. This time his strategy was very simple:

Grab and buy.

And if he had to say so himself - the strategy worked. Well, he hadn't bought too many things - just a frozen pizza that they could pop in the oven. A tub of ice cream. Strawberry pencils? (those were accidental... they fell in) - microwave popcorn (he always bought this as watching Sherlock's face as the popping noise began was priceless) - a pack of apples and strawberries. A pack of dark chocolate. Bag of Doritos.

He even got a DVD from the "Summer Disney Sale."

Reaching the top of the steps, John had to smile about his efforts. Because he did pretty damn well. Opening the door, he found himself flexing his arms as he waddled into the kitchen with a rueful grin. Beginning to unload the various groceries, it only took John two more seconds of oblivious unpacking to realize that he was alone.

Alone.

They were gone.

Panic. The panic button inside of him did not just vibrate. It exploded. "GRACE!" He burst into the living room, "SHERLOCK?" There was only papers. Papers and - damn. Sherlock's coat was missing. That meant they had most definitely gone.

Damn it. He was gone twenty or so minutes. And now they were just - gone.

Even though he specifically asked - ugh. John moaned out loud as he slapped his forehead. Someone hated him up there. Really. Somewhere in the clouds - there was some bastard who wanted to make the simple periods of his overcomplicated life... hellish.

Checking his phone, there was one message sent about fifteen minutes ago:

From: [10:59] Sherlock H.

John. Popped out. Don't worry. - SH.

Don't worry?

John wasn't sure what he should do now. After sending an array of texts stained with abuse and colourful language - the doctor plopped down on the couch and took a long, gritty breath.

He closed his eyes. In his head, Sherlock was being perfectly behaved and Grace and him were perfectly safe. After all - Sherlock could just be -

Christ. Who the hell was he kidding?

Best just prepare himself for another court case.

A/N: Written this in my holiday. Thanks for the response as usual! I do love you all who review and alert/favourite. More fluffyshtuff/crimeywimey stuff later. Thanks so, so much. Hope you enjoyed this as I certainly enjoyed writing it.