Sherlock rolled onto his side as he rested on the sofa the following morning. Elizabeth sat at the desk, waiting for time to pass slowly so that she could make her way to the train station. Her ticket was booked on the mid morning train to head to Newcastle, an expense she found that her uncle had paid for when she later checked her bank account. Mycroft had text her once again, promising her that someone would be waiting for her to bring her back home.
"When do you go to Newcastle?"
"My train leaves at eight forty five," Elizabeth said, still sat at the desk and checking her bank balance, running through everything she had bought in the past few weeks. "Mycroft said that he's sent a car to bring me back. I should be home by night time...besides...I promised Angelo that I'd go into work too."
"Excellent," Sherlock mumbled. "John should be here this afternoon."
"Why?"
"He's coming to have another look around the flat. He wants to make sure everything is in order. I don't know why, but I didn't question him. He seems the cautious type."
"Everyone is cautious in comparison to you, dad." Elizabeth responded. She leant back in her chair and turned her head to the side to look at her father. "And do you not intend to get dressed today? It is nine o'clock."
"Soon," Sherlock mumbled. "Nothing's happening, Elizabeth. Everything is dull. There has been nothing in weeks. Lestrade is working a case which he is out of his depth on."
"They why not help him?" Elizabeth wondered with confusion etched on her face. Sherlock shook his head at her and rolled his eyes, doing the best not to look too put out with her suggestion.
"I'm waiting for him to come to me. He will do eventually. I know it is only a matter of time."
"At least it will keep you busy."
Sherlock didn't want to comment on her unusually chirpy attitude that morning. Perhaps she was simply happy enough that she was now leaving university. She had done it for good instead of worrying about everything. He had spoken to her about things that would happen, and she seemed intent on turning her life around.
Sherlock had no doubt that she would manage to do that. She was half a Holmes and Sherlock was certain that she had inherited some of his stubbornness.
"Hm," he gave a non committal grunt to her statement. "You should get going. I assume you need to catch the tube to King's Cross?"
"You assume correctly," she nodded and stood up, grabbing her leather jacket from the back of the chair. She picked up her small brown bag and her BlackBerry before checking her hair in the mirror. Sherlock had to roll his eyes at her vanity.
"Right, I'm going to head off. Promise me that you will try not to get into too much trouble whilst I'm gone?"
"I can make no promise," Sherlock mumbled and rested on his back, his gaze set on the ceiling above him. Elizabeth remained silent and zipped her jacket up. "Text me when you arrive in Newcastle."
"Why?"
"So that I can know you're still alive, Elizabeth." He grumbled. "Grant me with some parenting skill."
She scoffed and shook her head, moving out of the flat and towards the steps; calling behind her as she went;
"Have a good day."
Sherlock's brow furrowed as he sat up and looked to the stairs she had just rushed down. He ran a hand through his hair as he thought about her previous comment. When had she ever wished him a good day? There was something odd with his daughter. She'd not been so happy in months. Sherlock muttered an incoherent sentence and moved to change from his pyjamas, ready for Lestrade's phone call.
...
"Sherlock has a new friend, does he not?"
Elizabeth jumped back as she slid into the back of the car. She looked across the seat to where her uncle sat. He was playing on his mobile phone, seemingly more interested in that than his niece. Elizabeth felt the car move as she dropped her bag into the footwell in front of her.
"I haven't met him," Elizabeth said. "I know that he is called John Watson and he was an army doctor, but that's it. Why do you ask? Why are you here anyway?"
"I had business up in Newcastle last night so I spent the evening in the city." Mycroft explained to her. "You should know that Sherlock doesn't have friends, Elizabeth. I'm intrigued as to who this man is."
"Hmm," Elizabeth agreed. "I don't know why he's moved in. Dad just said that he needed a flatmate to help pay for the rent. Baker Street isn't cheap to live in."
"No," Mycroft replied. "You've been with Sherlock since you were a young girl. Has he ever felt the need to have a friend?"
"Like I said," Elizabeth responded, "I don't know if he is his friend. I find it all a bit odd."
"Well, that's Sherlock in a nutshell, isn't it?" Mycroft spoke. "I'll have a word with John at some stage."
"No," Elizabeth replied. "You're not going to do that thing, are you? The thing where you send a black car to collect him and don't tell him where he's going."
"I like to keep an air of mystery," Mycroft said with a small smile. "You should know, Elizabeth."
"I've grown immune to it now," Elizabeth replied. "John will probably be worried sick if you do that to him. I think it's a bit harsh."
Mycroft smirked and shook his head at her, resuming to giving his mobile his full attention. Elizabeth sighed and dropped her chin into her hand, preparing for the long afternoon ride back to London and then the prospect of making it to work for eight o'clock that night.
...
221B was deserted when Elizabeth returned home. She dropped her keys onto the table and quickly changed into her tube skirt and white shirt, donning her leather jacket on top of her clothes. She pulled her hair into a ponytail as she grabbed her keys again and rushed out the house. She'd been amazed that they'd made it back to London in just over four hours. Mycroft's chauffer had dropped her case of in the living room, eyeing it with suspicion as she thanked him for returning her home.
Wandering through the streets, she wondered where her father had gotten to, longing for him to have found a case so that she didn't need to deal with his incessant complaints of being bored.
She managed to get to work with ten minutes to spare, smiling across to Angelo as she began waitressing straight away. She kept a notepad and pen in her pocket as she wandered from table to table taking orders for food, drink and anything else the customer might need. She looked down as she headed to table seven by the window, doing her best to find her pen in the depths of her skirt pocket.
"Elizabeth, look up when you're serving. It's rude not to."
Her eyes shot up as soon as she saw him sat there, his gaze set on the window and away from her. She rolled her own orbs and noted the small man who her father sat next to. He looked perplexed for a moment before his mouth gaped open and he came to realise who it was stood in front of him.
"So you must be Sherlock's daughter?" he checked and she nodded, offering him her hand.
"I have that pleasure," she spoke and Sherlock scoffed. "And you must be my dad's new recruit?"
"John. John Watson," John replied. "It's nice to finally meet you. Sherlock told me you're taking a gap year."
Sherlock's gaze flashed across to his daughter and a look of understanding crossed between them. "Something of the sort. Anyway, can I get you anything to drink?"
"I'm working," Sherlock mumbled.
"So you finally found a case?" Elizabeth replied. "Is it the one with Lestrade?"
"Three suicides that are actually murders," Sherlock replied, glancing down the street and doing his best to discover who would come for the phone he had in his pocket. "The killer has the latest victim's bag which has her phone. I've text him pretending to be her to lure him out."
"And you're meeting him here?" Elizabeth hissed.
Sherlock looked at her with disgrace for a moment and shook his head, turning back to the window. "I'm not that foolish, Elizabeth. He should be stopping outside somewhere. I don't know where, but I am intent on watching."
"And he's dragged you along on this?" Elizabeth checked with John who sheepishly shrugged at her.
"It's a bit of excitement," he informed her and she snorted in an unladylike manner. "Besides, I thought it would be good to get to know what it is Sherlock does."
"Well, this is it," Elizabeth drew her hand out towards her father whilst he remained in his own little world. "So can I get you a drink at all?"
"I'll have a lemonade," John said and Sherlock shook his head, waving his hand in a dismissive manner.
"I don't-"
"-You'll have a pint of water," Elizabeth interrupted him. "When was the last time you ate too?"
"I don't eat when I am working on cases," Sherlock grunted, finally looking to his daughter and glowering at her. "It wastes time."
"You'll eat something," Elizabeth challenged him and turned on her heel, walking away and leaving Sherlock to mimic her as she went.
John laughed once and then coughed; straightening out his face once Sherlock turned his glare onto him. John nodded and did his best to make his lips form a straight line.
"It's sweet," he replied with a solemn nod. "She clearly does care about you. She seems like a nice girl."
Sherlock kept quiet and arched a brow, watching Elizabeth as she chatted to the waiter behind the bar, patiently stood there and waiting for the drinks to come. She looked back to her father and her lips tugged upwards before she pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and went back to conversing with the waiter.
Perhaps she did care more than he thought.
...
A/N: So thank you Guest for being the only reviewer! I do hope people are enjoying it so far and if you've read then please review pretty please?