Chapter Ten: Year Eleven

"Sophie?"

Watson knocked on her bedroom door before entering. She was sitting at her desk, working on some of her assignments. She turned her head to the open doorway.

"Supper time," Watson informed her. "Hurry and wash up."

"I'm not hungry," Sophie said, returning her attention to her math problems.

Furrowing his brows, the doctor moved over to the desk and rested his hand on her forehead. He then moved both of his hands to her ears. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes," she replied. "Why?"

"You didn't eat breakfast or lunch," Watson reminded her. "Not to mention you've been cooped up in here nearly the entire day." He stood back to look at her.

"I'm fine," Sophie told him. "I'm just not hungry."

Watson sighed, and raised his eyebrows. He shook his head and moved back towards the door. Turning back once more, he asked, "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." Sophie managed a small smile.

The following day was a reversed scenario. Sophie ate twice as much breakfast as she normally would, finishing off most of her fathers' as well.

"My goodness!" Mrs. Hudson placed a hand to her chest. "You must've been famished!"

Sophie took Holmes' glass of orange juice right out of his hand and gulped it down. She then reached across the table and took Watson's. "Well," she breathed, setting the glass down. "I didn't eat yesterday."

Watson smiled over his paper. "I'm relieved to see you're eating today."

"Is there anything else?" The girl asked hopefully.

"Here," Holmes said dryly, handing her a cloth napkin. "Dispose of that while you eat us out of house and home."

Normally, Sophie would have laughed or playfully slapped him, but she took her father by surprise. Her face fell, and her cheeks heated. She looked away, tears filling her eyes. Watson and Mrs. Hudson also took notice.

"Sophie?" The nanny asked, moving to her quickly."Dearest, what's wrong?"

"I don't eat us out of house and home," she squeaked, burying her face in her hands as she began to cry.

Holmes looked as confused and guilty as anything. "Sophie, I-I wasn't serious...really..." he looked at Watson hopefully. The doctor said nothing.

Sophie only continued to cry, and Holmes took her by the wrist and pulled her from her chair, bringing her closer to him. "I'm so...terribly sorry..." he said, still sounding slightly perplexed as he rubbed her back.

Sophie didn't eat anything at lunch time, but she seemed cheerful. At supper, she was dark and moody, and extra sensitive. Holmes and Watson took careful precaution not to crack any jokes, about anything. They watched as she chased her food around her plate with her fork, slumped down in her chair.

"Sophie, you love meat pie," Watson coaxed, taking a bite of his own food.

"I'm not hungry," she muttered. "And why is it so important to you anyway? Why are you so interested in my eating habits?"

Holmes and Watson exchanged perplexed, furrow-browed glances. Holmes cleared his throat and pointed his fork at her, "Because you're our girl and we care about you." He forgot the anti-joke agreement. "And you need a few double rations-you're skin and bones."

"Holmes!" Watson hissed and kicked him under the table.

Sophie scowled and threw her fork down. She stood up, slamming her chair into the table. "I am not skin and bones!" She tore at her hair, making a series of half sobs, half growls. Holmes and Watson sat frozen in place like squirrels.

"Sophie-" Watson stood up. "Darling, what's wrong?"

"Nothing!" Sophie burst into tears. She stared up at the ceiling, her bottom lip trembling. "Why are you both so mean to me?"

" 'Mean to...'?" Holmes stood up too. He moved over to her, and Watson followed. They both knelt down.

"Something is wrong," Watson told her, brushing some of her hair back. "You're not eating well, you're sleeping a lot later than normal, and you're always on edge."

"I'm not skin and bones," Sophie sniffed, frowning at Holmes.

The detective bowed his head, sighing, and looked back up. "I apologize." He kissed her. "Tell us what's wrong."

The girl hesitated. "I don't know..." she started crying again. "I don't know, Daddy."

"Are your friends behaving?" Watson quizzed. "Elizabeth? Daniel?"

Sophie nodded, still weeping into her hands. The doctor pressed on. "Are your studies becoming too difficult?"

"N-no," she said, wiping her eyes.

"Is it something we did?"

"No..." Sophie turned to the stairs. "I want to go to bed."

"Sophie-" Holmes began, but Watson shook his head. He kissed her. "Go on then."

Mrs. Hudson and Watson left nearly simultaneously the following morning. Mrs. Hudson was going to spend the weekend with an old friend and her daughter. Watson had been called for in the wee hours of the morning on an emergency . Unfortunately, Holmes was called on a case as well, and had nobody to watch Sophie. He pondered the thought, dressing quickly, and finally decided to take her with him. She was eleven, after all, and it would do her some good to see the world from a sleuthing light.

He opened her door, peeking in. She was still asleep. He hated to wake up, seeing as how the sun hadn't even risen yet. He moved closer to the bed and his face softened. She looked so peaceful, even when she was snoring faintly. He crouched down and gently shook her. "Sophie?" he whispered. "Sophie?"

She stirred and opened her eyes slightly. Her brows furrowed as she yawned. "What's the matter?"

"Papa had to leave to see a patient, and Clarkey just came by to tell me I'm needed at a crime scene," the detective replied. "Would you like to accompany me? Or would you be too scared staying here by yourself?"

Sophie sat up. "No, I want to go."

"Alright." Holmes stood up. "I'll wait for you to get dressed and washed up."

He didn't intend to wait that long, and Sophie was taking quite a long time. He continued to glance at his-well, Watson's-pocket watch. He knocked on Sophie's door. "Darling?"

He started to open it when he heard screams from downstairs. Quickly, he flew over the banister, stumbling as he landed on his feet. Sophie emerged from the water closet, her face riddled with fear and desperation. "Daddy! Daddy!"

"What's wrong?" He took her by the shoulders.

"I'm hurt!" She sobbed.

Holmes immediately began scanning her for injuries. "Where? What happened?"

"Or maybe I'm sick," she sniffled. "Something is wrong...!"

"Dearest, you have to tell me," Holmes said, sighing a little. He continued to look over her for abnormalities.

Sophie licked her lips and leaned into his ear. "There's blood in my underwear."

Holmes' eyes became the size of saucers and he froze. "In your underwear?"

"Yes!" Sophie pulled back. "Daddy, where's Papa? He's a doctor!" She winced slightly. "My stomach hurts too."

Holmes stood up straight, breathing heavily, his chest heaving. He placed a hand to his beating heart. "Don't panic," he said, swallowing hard. He patted her. "Don't panic."

Looking around, he took her hand and led her upstairs. He took her to his room and waded through the clutter to his bed, ripping the comforter off. He wrapped it around her like a cloak. Sophie looked at him questioningly. He patted her again. "Don't panic."

"Am I going to die?" Sophie sniffled, hugging the blanket around her.

"No." Holmes said, pacing the room. "No, Darling, you're not going to die."

Watson returned a little after nine, and the front door swung open before he knocked. Holmes stared at him, his eyes dark and solemn and wide, frightening almost, and he yanked the doctor inside. Watson didn't even have time to hang his hat and coat up. He was already being paraded up the stairs.

"Holmes!" He said, trying to stay on a single step, grabbing the banister. "What's wrong?"

Holmes tried to force him further. "Go."

When they went to their room, a bundle of sniffling blanket was balled up on the edge of the bed. Watson's brows furrowed. He looked at Holmes who nodded to it with his head.

"Sophie?" Watson said slowly, approaching the bundle. He sat down beside her, pulling back the comforter from her head. "Sophie...?"

"Did Daddy tell you?" She asked, her eyes glossy with tears.

"Tell me what, Love?" He brushed a falling tear away with his thumb.

"I'm bleeding," she said.

"Where?" He pulled back more of the blankets.

Holmes cleared his throat loudly, making all sorts of sounds in between. Watson wondered if they were supposed to be words. He turned back to Sophie. "Bleeding where?"

She got to her knees and whispered in his ear. Watson's eyes widened and his moustache twitched. Holmes nodded furiously, his eyes just as wide. Watson stood up, clearing his own throat. He wrapped Sophie back up in the blanket. "Alright then," he said quickly. "Let's get you to a hospital."

"Hospital?" Sophie asked.

"Hospital?" Holmes looked at him. "Why? I mean, is that where we should take her?"

"Yes!" Watson hissed. "And we must hurry." He prodded Sophie to the door.

"Why the hospital?" Holmes muttered through the corner of his mouth.

"Because I don't know what to do..." Watson said, gulping.

"You're a doctor."

"Don't patronize me, just....help me!"

They went outside and Holmes jumped around, trying to flail his arms for a carriage. He whistled and yelled, but not one stopped. Funny stares came their way, but Holmes and Watson ignored them. Sophie doubled over, clutching her abdomen, moaning slightly. Watson began to sweat, and ran a hand through his short hair under his hat. Holmes took note of this and picked up Sophie, hoisting her over his shoulder.

"Holmes?" Watson frowned.

"We'll just have to go on foot," Holmes said.

"Daddy, put me down."

"Stay calm, Dear." Holmes patted her.

"I-I don't think this is necessary," Watson said, his voice slightly higher than normal. He gritted his teeth, sweat pouring down his forehead. "Oh, lord! Where is Mrs. Hudson when you need her-"

"Get a hold of yourself!" Holmes slapped him.

"Thank you..." Watson breathed a sigh of relief, closing his eyes.

"How is she?" Holmes asked when a nurse emerged from the room, Sophie at her side.

"She's fine," the nurse said, smiling. She had one eyebrow slightly raised. "We had a little talk, and she said she is going to see her mother in a few days so I'm sure some more things can be explained..." she rubbed Sophie's hair affectionately. "I told her everything she needs to know and what she needs to do."

Watson looked at Sophie, and then back a the nurse. "And what should we do?"

The nurse smiled at Sophie and pointed to a bench. "Why don't you go wait right over there?"

Sophie did so, and the nurse motioned for Holmes and Watson to come closer. She said in a hushed voice, "Be very patient with her-she will be out of sorts, weepy, angry...give her lots of love, reassure her, compliment her..."

Holmes and Watson nodded. The nurse smiled a little. "And chocolate. Get her plenty of chocolate."

" 'Chocolate'?" Watson's brows furrowed.

"Maybe an aspirin a night, but definitely chocolate," the nurse said. She handed Watson a brown paper parcel. "These are for her. For her bleeding. They're already cut."

Sophie stayed in bed crying the remainder of the day. Watson and Holmes took turns checking in on her, and sure enough, she'd either be depressed or angry. She skipped dinner, but Holmes brought her dessert anyway-chocolate. He knocked on her door and opened it a crack. Sophie was lying in bed, hugging Lucy. She was still crying.

"Look what I've got." He waved the box.

Sophie glanced at him, and then stared back into space. She continued to whimper and wipe her eyes. Holmes sat on the edge of her bed, smoothing out her blanket.

"I hate this," she said.

"You'll get to see Mama soon," the detective said quietly. He wasn't sure if that was the hopeful response she wanted, but he didn't know what else to say.

"Hmm..." she replied flatly.

"You know," Holmes sighed. "I know I'm old and ugly, but I'm always here for you. Papa too."

Sophie turned to him, her brows furrowed. She smiled a little. "You're not old and ugly."

Holmes smiled too. "Old and ugly and tired and smelly-"

Sophie sat up, chuckling slightly. "Daddy, stop it."

Holmes stroked some of her hair. "But it's alright because I have a beautiful, smart, talented girl to make up for it." He opened the chocolate box. "Go on."

Sophie frowned skeptically at them. "Will you eat one too?"

It seemed like an odd request, but Holmes complied. Sophie took one and popped it into her mouth. She then settled for another. As she chewed, she leaned back on her palms. "It's not fair. It doesn't happen to boys."

"We have our fair share of... issues with growing up," the detective reassured her. "We go through strange vocal changes...we have...well, just issues..."

"I'm sorry I was so cross with you and Papa yesterday," Sophie said quietly, beginning to cry. "Daddy, I'm sorry."

Holmes pulled her against him, kissing her forehead. "Nothing to be sorry about..." he muttered through his kisses.

Watson entered the room and Holmes raised his eyes. Watson smiled a little, and moved to sit on the bed. Sophie pulled away from Holmes and hugged the doctor. He stroked her hair. "Daddy and I probably seemed like a regular pair of loons today, didn't we?"

"Yes..." Sophie giggled into his shirt.

In their own bed, later that night, Holmes and Watson stared up at the ceiling. For a few moments, neither of them said anything to each other.

"Where does the time go, Watson?" Holmes finally asked. "Seems like yesterday, she was toddling about, climbing on things, babbling in that little voice..."

" 'Lucy!' " They both said simultaneously in high-pitched voices. They chuckled.

"I know what mean," Watson said. "They really do grow up so fast." He was quiet for a moment. "What are we going to do when boys wish to start courting her?"

Holmes chuckled slownly, nodding his head. There was a devious glint in his eye. "You're funny, Doctor."

"Good night, Holmes."

"Good night, Watson."

To Be Continued....