11.
You're not even aware you're such a funny pair
- Best Friends, The Fox and The Hound.
Elspeth loved the weekends.
She liked school a lot, even if she did sometimes get in trouble for talking too much or making a bit of a mess when they were painting, but at weekends she got to spend time with Sherlock and that was the best thing ever.
Elspeth was still in her pyjamas, munching jammy toast in front of the TV, when the phone rang.
"Can I answer it?" Elspeth asked eagerly. She wasn't allowed to answer the phone or open the door unless Sherlock said she could.
"No," he said. Her face dropped. "Eat your breakfast."
Grumbling that all her other friends got to answer the phones at their homes, Elspeth went back to eating her toast, pulling the crusts off and licking the jam from her fingers. She always got in a mess when she ate jammy toast. The TV cut to the adverts and Elspeth crinkled her nose up, looking towards Sherlock when he paced past her with the phone in his hand, frowning. He didn't look very happy.
"You're certain it's . . ." Sherlock's voice trailed off when he realised Elspeth was watching him. He turned his back on her and murmured a word she couldn't hear. "What's the address?" he asked. "I'll be there as soon as I can."
Sherlock put the phone down, then turned to Elspeth and frowned at her. She frowned back.
"It's rude to stare," Elspeth told him. She'd learned that at school.
Turning around, Sherlock snatched the phone up again and dialled a different number. Elspeth thought that was even ruder. She didn't say so.
"Dammit, Mycroft," Sherlock muttered.
"I thought that was a bad word. You're not supposed to use bad words because they sound nasty and people won't like you and then you won't have any friends."
Sherlock stared at Elspeth. "Where did you learn that?" he asked finally.
"School."
"Oh." Sherlock briefly wondered what sort of lessons that school was teaching his daughter. "Go brush your teeth. We're going out."
When DI Greg Lestrade first met Sherlock Holmes, the younger man had been high as a kite.
It had been disastrous, really. Sherlock's pupils were huge, his eyes were bloodshot and everything he said was accompanied with a wide goofy grin. Since then, Sherlock started turning up at Scotland Yard and at crime scenes over the years. Lestrade thought that nothing about Sherlock Holmes would surprise him. He was very wrong.
"I'll be there as soon as I can," Sherlock had said when Lestrade spoke to him earlier. They were still waiting.
The scene was a suicide, possible murder, and though he hated to admit it, Lestrade reckoned Sherlock would be really helpful. The police were more than capable of solving it alone – they'd been doing it for years, obviously – but sometimes having Sherlock there provided more insight to the case.
"Freak not here yet?" Sally asked, her lips titled into a smirk.
"Give him time," Lestrade snapped back irritably.
"No need," Anderson said, taking off his gloves and glaring over Lestrade's shoulder. He didn't like Sherlock either.
"Finally," Lestrade called, turning around and striding to the tape that cut the crime scene off from the general public. He stopped when he saw the small girl sitting on Sherlock's shoulders. Her eyes were wide as she looked around with obvious interest, and for a brief moment, Lestrade thought that Sherlock may have kidnapped her.
He shook his head. Sherlock never expressed an interest or any sentiment for children; why would he willingly take one off the streets?
"I got here as fast as I could," Sherlock said, ignoring Lestrade's incredulous stare. "I'll need to look around."
"Who is she?" Lestrade asked.
"My daughter." Sherlock reached up and removed the girl from his shoulders, lowering her to the ground. He glanced at her irritably when she wrapped her arms around his leg and buried her face into his trousers, clinging to him like a spider monkey. "Who's on forensics?"
"Er –" Lestrade stared at Sherlock. "Anderson . . . she's your daughter?"
"Yes, Lestrade, my daughter. Elspeth, say hello to Lestrade."
Elspeth peeked up at Lestrade and waved, looking so shy that he felt obliged to wave back. She was cute.
"You never said you had a daughter," Lestrade said to Sherlock.
"You never asked," Sherlock retorted impatiently.
Lestrade snorted. "Why did you bring her to a crime scene?"
"Because I didn't have time to find a competent babysitter and Mycroft wasn't answering his phone," Sherlock said irritably. "I have her book so she can sit in one of the cars."
Elspeth frowned with disappointment at the mention of a car. She'd wanted to explore the crime scene with Sherlock.
"You can't just leave her unattended in a police car."
"Then have one of your officers watch her."
"They're not here to be your babysitters, Sherlock, they're here to do their job," Lestrade said with a hint of impatience in his voice, crossing his arms. He was careful not to raise his voice, aware that Elspeth's eyes were on him.
"And I am here to do mine," Sherlock hissed back. He pressed his lips together, glanced down at Elspeth, and took a moment to calm himself. "I didn't know what else to do."
Lestrade felt a pang of sympathy then. Being a father wasn't easy. He looked down at Elspeth and smiled at her when she stared up at him.
"Alright," Lestrade said, defeated. "She can sit in my car."
It was almost comical, seeing Sherlock stride down the road in his usual long legged way with a small girl scampering by his side and clinging to his hand.
Standing to the side, Lestrade watched Sherlock lift Elspeth into the backseat of the car and open her Powerpuff Girls rucksack for her, taking out a book with a brightly coloured cover. Sherlock crouched next to Elspeth, talking in a low tone so Lestrade couldn't hear, and smiled at her when she looked up at him uncertainly. Lestrade could only stare in shock. Sherlock did not smile at people, especially not lovingly, and it was gone the moment he stood up again.
"Lead the way," Sherlock said.
Lestrade waited until they were out of earshot before blurting out, "Since when did you have a daughter?"
"Since she was born," Sherlock replied, his tone implying it was obvious. Lestrade frowned at him.
"You know what I mean."
Sighing, Sherlock relayed the same information to Lestrade as he had Mycroft – Catherine had been in rehab, and was now in Italy with her current boyfriend, and Sherlock had been made aware that his daughter was in a children's care home. Lestrade listened in disbelief.
"Now," Sherlock said when he was finished. "Where's the body?"
The suicide was a murder, and Sherlock managed to insult Anderson a grand total of five times – a record – and tend to Elspeth when she got a paper cut.
The three of them were presently sitting in Lestrade's office, the two men watching Elspeth as she sat on the floor and scribbled all over the scrap paper Lestrade had given her to draw on.
"She's cute," Lestrade told Sherlock with a smile. "Really cute, which is weird considering she's yours." Sherlock glowered back at him. "But Elspeth?"
Sherlock looked affronted. "What's wrong with Elspeth?"
"I don't know, it's a bit . . . long, isn't it?" Lestrade frowned, leaning back in his seat. "I mean, imagine the poor kids at school trying to pronounce that."
"What do you suggest? A nickname?" Sherlock sneered.
"Yeah, why not? Not Beth," Lestrade added quickly. Beth wouldn't suit her. "What about . . . El . . . Elsie?" Sherlock's nose scrunched up, not bothering to hide his contempt. "El – El – Ellie! What about Ellie?"
Sherlock's discontent faded. Ellie wasn't that bad, he supposed.
"Ellie," he called. Elspeth looked up immediately. "Don't worry, go back to your drawing."
Elspeth frowned back, obviously unimpressed and looking just like Sherlock did when Anderson said something stupid. Lestrade grinned.
"How old is she?"
"Four."
"Wow," Lestrade said, at a loss for words. He grinned from ear to ear. "Four. How are you liking fatherhood then?" He never would've thought of Sherlock as someone's father. The idea was so bizarre to him that he wanted to know everything.
"It's fine," Sherlock said with a small smile.
Elspeth scrambled to her feet, dashing across the room and tugging on Lestrade's sleeve.
"Yes?" he asked pleasantly. "What can I do for you?"
Grinning, Elspeth held up the piece of paper she'd been drawing on and Lestrade accepted it; she'd drawn a police car, the block of flats they'd been at and a stick figure with a lot of grey hair.
"That's you," she explained, pointing at the stick figure.
"Wow, this is amazing," Lestrade said, beaming down at her. "Can I keep it?"
Her thumb in her mouth, Elspeth nodded shyly and beamed back at him. She turned her wide grin towards Sherlock, whose lips twitched into a small smile in response, before scuttling back to him.
Lestrade watched in amazement as Sherlock pulled Elspeth onto his lap, holding her there like it was the most natural thing in the world. Elspeth turned and rested her head against Sherlock's chest, Sherlock automatically brushing her hair behind her ear.
"I'm tired," Elspeth complained.
"We'll go home soon," Sherlock promised. Elspeth buried her face in his shirt.
"Did you catch the bad guy today?" she asked, fidgeting on Sherlock's lap and swinging her legs until he told her to stop. "I told Jessica and Tommy about how you catch the bad people and put them in prison and they thought it was really cool." Elspeth turned to Lestrade. "Daddy's better than the police because he actually finds them."
Lestrade knew that she parroting Sherlock, glaring at the detective across the desk. Sherlock smirked.
"You shouldn't tell her things like that," Lestrade grumbled. "It makes us look bad."
"She's four. No one believes her when she tells people that."
"No one believes me when I tell them you go to Scotland," Elspeth said to Sherlock, lifting her head. "Are we in Scotland now?"
"Scotland Yard," Sherlock corrected. "We're at Scotland Yard."
"So we're not in Scotland?" Elspeth asked suspiciously after a few seconds of staring up at Sherlock. He shook his head. "So why is it called Scotland Yard? It's not even a yard!"
Sherlock raised his eyebrows, giving Lestrade an expectant look. Elspeth copied him.
Taken aback for a second, Lestrade gawped at the pair of them, unable to get over how alike they looked.
"It's . . . uh, it's called Scotland Yard – uh," Lestrade stammered uncertainly. "It's called Scotland Yard because –" he let out a breath of relief when the office door opened and Sally Donovan stuck her head in, her eyes narrowing when she saw Sherlock sitting there with Elspeth on his lap. "Sally. Can I help you?"
"Why is he still here?"
"Unlike you, Donovan, I'm doing your job," Sherlock said without looking at her. His arms tightened around Elspeth.
"Whatever, Freak."
"Donovan," Lestrade snapped. It was only then Sally noticed the small girl on Sherlock's lap, her lips twisting into a frown. Elspeth gazed back at her with a strange expression, like there was something she couldn't quite work out about the older woman, and Sally felt a little uncomfortable. "Is this urgent, Donovan?" Lestrade asked, catching her attention.
"No," Sally said. "It can wait."
She closed the door behind her and Sherlock was unusually quiet, cradling Elspeth against his chest while she stared at the spot Sally had been standing in. Elspeth had got in trouble at school for calling Alex a stupid head and Sherlock told her that she wasn't allowed to call people names because it wasn't nice, so why had that woman called Sherlock a name? Freak wasn't very nice.
Elspeth shifted on Sherlock's lap, craning her neck back to look at him.
"Don't be sad," she said to him.
Sherlock forced himself to smile back, pushing Elspeth's hair behind her ear. "I'm not sad."
"Yes you are. It made me sad when Alex was mean to me and she was being mean to you so you're sad." Elspeth frowned. "Don't be sad. She's just a big meanie."
"Maybe you should take Ellie home," Lestrade suggested quietly. Sherlock nodded.
"Can you keep an eye on her for a minute?" Sherlock asked. "There's something I need to do." He didn't give Lestrade the chance to reply before he lifted Elspeth from his lap and put her down on the floor, striding out of the office.
Elspeth looked up at Lestrade. He stared back at her.
"Have you ever caught a criminal?"
"Loads," Lestrade said. Elspeth gawped at him and wandered round to his side of the desk, leaning on his chair as she stood on her tiptoes.
"How many?"
"So many I've lost count."
"Oh. Do you have any games on your computer?"
Elspeth was easy to entertain; Lestrade lifted her onto his lap and showed her how his computer worked, answering the questions she had about his job the best that he could. He drew the line at letting her answer the phone though.
"What do you want to be when you grow up?" Lestrade asked Elspeth. That was always a good question for small children.
"Dunno. Not a police officer. Police officers are boring." All they seemed to do was stand around in silly white suits that looked like toilet paper or sit in their offices. "I want to be . . . a . . ." Elspeth's voice trailed off thoughtfully and she leaned back against Lestrade's chest. "I want to be a detective like my Dad," she finally decided. "So I can work with you and the other police officers."
"Great," Lestrade said, the sarcasm lost on Elspeth. The last thing he needed was another Holmes lurking about.
"I want to be a detective because you don't have to take a test to be one. You have to take tests for lots of jobs and I don't like tests," Elspeth said, huffing. "We have tests at school. I don't like them."
Lestrade smiled, trying not to laugh at her melancholy attitude. "What's your favourite subject at school?"
"Art," Elspeth said straight away.
"Why don't you be an artist when you're older?" Lestrade suggested. "You can draw and paint all day, then."
Elspeth perked up at that, grinning. "Oh, that sounds like a good idea."
Laughing, Lestrade decided that he wouldn't mind if Sherlock brought Elspeth along to Scotland Yard again. She was a sweet girl, and he'd forgotten how amusing small children could be. She reminded him a lot of Sherlock.
"Do you like living with Sher – your dad?"
"Yeah, he's the best Dad ever." Elspeth paused for a second before adding, "Why is that lady mean to him?"
Lestrade sighed, wondering how he was going to explain this to her. "Sally and your dad don't like each other very much," he began carefully. "And sometimes when adults don't like each other, they aren't very nice, and they know they shouldn't do it but they do."
"Well that's just silly."
Sherlock strode into the office at that point, saving Lestrade from having to respond to Elspeth's declaration.
"Come on, Ellie, time to go home," Sherlock announced.
"Oh, but I'm having fun now," Elspeth complained. Sherlock gave her a stern look.
"You can come back any time you like," Lestrade promised her, cheering Elspeth up. "Thank you very much for my lovely drawing, I'll put it in a special place."
Elspeth said goodbye to Lestrade, hooking her arms around his neck and hugging him for a few seconds before sliding off his lap, darting across the room to take Sherlock's hand.
"Bye!" Elspeth called when she left the office, turning to wave at him. Lestrade waved back.
Sherlock Holmes – a father. Lestrade couldn't comprehend it properly, leaning back in his seat and shaking his head. If he hadn't seen Elspeth with his own eyes, Lestrade wouldn't have believed it.
Thank you WerewolfHybrid31, Capricornwholovesbooks, bellechat, insert-calling-here, EICochrane, Adrillian1497, tardislover1, Dreamer558750 and The-Hogwarts-Phone-Box for reviewing!
Sorry for the delay; I've had so so many deadlines, which sucks majorly. Hopefully the wait was worth it though!
