"Hi Mum, hi Dad!" Ellie Watson called out in a rush as she hurried through the front room of 221A Baker Street to her bedroom. Not fast enough though.
"Hold it right there, young lady," Mary Watson ordered, using a tone of voice that John hadn't heard since he'd been a cadet in boot camp. He glanced up from his newspaper to see what had caused his wife to shout and nearly swore at the sight of his child.
"What happened?" John demanded, standing up from his chair and heading immediately to the cabinet in the kitchen where he kept his medic bag.
"What? You mean…oh well…I fell –"
"Eleanor Juliette Watson, don't you dare lie to your father and I. You've got a black eye for heaven's sake! What happened to you?" Mary asked, her anger proving a good mask for the worry she felt seeing her daughter hurt.
"I told you, I fell down," Ellie insisted, standing awkwardly as John approached her. Working quickly, John pressed an icepack to Ellie's bruised eye and began to check over her. He could tell by the way that she was standing that she was having some trouble breathing, and while the bruises covering her arms were disturbing, they were secondary to his fear that she had cracked her ribs.
"Does this hurt?" John asked, pressing lightly against her chest. Ellie took a deep breath in, but shook her head.
"Doesn't hurt. Just a little sore," she insisted.
"A little sore from when you fell?" Mary asked sarcastically.
"Yes," Ellie snapped.
"Don't talk to your mother in that tone Ellie," John warned as he wrapped his daughter's ribs carefully.
"Sorry Dad. But I fell," Ellie shot a pointed look at her mother who's anger and concern were starting to battle for supremacy.
"Tell us the truth Eleanor," John spoke softly, leaning back so that he could look his daughter in the eyes.
"I. Fell. Down," Ellie insisted coldly, not blinking as she matched her father stare for stare.
"That's it, I didn't want to have to do this. I'm going to get Sherlock," Mary snapped, storming out of the room
"Wait, what!" Ellie and John yelped, looking away from each other to watch Mary leave.
"I can't believe I have to ask a consulting detective for help in figuring out what's wrong with my own daughter, but if you're not going to be honest…" Mary grumbled as she exited the flat.
"I'm not lying! I did fall down!" Ellie shouted to her mother's back, but Mary was already down the stairs, slamming into 221B. Vaguely John and Ellie could hear Mary shouting at Sherlock to come upstairs. Eleanor glanced nervously at her father who only sighed and shook his head at his daughter.
"You do realize that saying you "tripped and fell down" is the oldest excuse in the book, right?"
"But Dad –"
"Ellie, you're smart. You get that from your mum and I. You could have come up with a better excuse than falling down for why you got into a fight. And don't try to tell me that you weren't in a fight, young lady. I've been in fights before and I know what the aftereffects look like. And it looks to me like you got in quite a few good hits. Did you remember to keep your thumb tucked in like I showed you?"
Ellie smiled at her father and nodded.
"Used a bit of sanshou too," she admitted.
"That's my girl," John winked at her.
"John Hamish Watson, don't you dare encourage her in that kind of behavior!" Mary Watson's voice echoed up the staircase and into the flat living room. Ellie and John shared looks of dumbstruck horror.
"Yeah, sometimes I forget your mum has ears like a bat," John muttered, mostly to himself.
"I heard that!" Mary snapped as she entered the room, dragging Sherlock in after her.
"Honestly Mary, why do you require me to look after Ellen? John is the doctor, not I…" Sherlock's voice trailed off as he fully looked at his goddaughter. He said not a word, staring at her, deducing everything. Ellen bit down on her lip, hard. As a little girl she had loved when Uncle Sherlock turned his razor sharp gaze on her, detailing her entire day and her thoughts without her having to say a single word. Now though, she stood in tense dread of the consequences of his deductions.
"Mary, I believe it would be prudent for you to go on a walk to cool your temper," Sherlock spoke carefully, his words painstakingly modulated.
"What?"
"Sherlock's right dear, you need to take a breather," John agreed, moving away from Ellie to place a hand on Mary's shoulder. Mary glared at the two men before taking another look at Eleanor. She took a deep breath and nodded once.
"Ten minutes. You have ten minutes before I am back in this room. I expect the full truth one way or the other. Do you both understand me?" Mary Watson looked back and forth between Sherlock and Ellie.
"Yes Mum."
"Of course," Sherlock sniffed. Mary sighed and walked out of the living room, John following close behind her, only pausing at the door to give some last moment instructions.
"Put some ice on your bruises and find someplace to sit down. I don't want you moving too much. If have problems breathing, call the hospital and we'll meet you there. You understand young lady?"
"Yes Dad," Ellie nodded solemnly.
"Good. I'll talk to your mother. Behave, the both of you," John ordered before following after Mary. Sherlock and Ellen were silent, listening to the elder Watsons walk down the stairs and exit 221. When they faintly heard the front door close, only then did Ellie release her held-in sigh. Sherlock swept another look over her and nodded once.
"Couch."
"Yes, Uncle Sherlock," Ellie sighed once more, moving into the living room and sitting down on the couch gingerly.
"Your ribs?"
"Really hurt," Ellie admitted. "Not enough for the hospital though. They just…hurt."
"Well I imagine they would considering your activities at school today. Correct me if I am wrong: you faced off against three older students: fourteen-year-olds, one girl and two boys. You successfully avoided being punished by your school for fighting due to the ending of break and the attention of the teachers failing to land on you four…wait, no five, fighters. There was another fighting with you, helping you. Interesting. Or at least attempting to help. She was rather useless in a fight, you may want to rethink your friendship.
"Regardless, you did quite well in your share of the fight. You bloodied two noses, almost broke the jaw of one with your elbow, and judging by the state of your jeans it is quite possible that those two boys will never reproduce. Good to see that you remembered some of my lessons on street-fighting. Your footwork could use some practice though. You truly did fall down, which is why you chose to use this line in evading your parents' questions so that you were not truly lying to them. Molly is trying to teach you ethics again, isn't she? You didn't regain your footing quickly enough, so while you were on the ground one of your assailants took the opportunity to kick you in the side, leading to the original injury to your ribs."
"Is that all?" Ellen asked dryly when Sherlock stopped for a breath at the end of his quickly delivered monologue.
"At one point you had your back to a brick wall, broke free, twisted one of their arms, was grabbed and slammed back against the wall, aggravating the injury to your ribs. It was at this point that the two boys held you against the wall and the girl blackened your eye, delivering another blow to your ribs. You fell once more due to inability to breathe and it was at this point that the previous girl jumped to your defense, only surviving for longer than ten seconds because the bell rang to return to class and the teachers began to look in your direction. Have I missed anything?"
"The fight started because they were making fun of her. She was new, had a birthmark on her face, they were being idiotic."
"Obviously," Sherlock muttered, interrupting. Ellen ignored him and continued talking as though he hadn't said a word.
"It was my…civic duty to voice my disagreement with them. End of story," Ellen glanced away. Sherlock regarded her closely for a moment before standing and walking into the small kitchen. He returned moments later with a fresh icepack.
"For your knuckles. Your father's predominate concern was the bruise on your face, but I know from experience that your hands will start aching soon, if they are not already," Sherlock explained at Ellen's questioning look.
Ellen nodded and settled the ice carefully on her bruised and battered hands, shivering a little at the soothing feeling of the cold. Sherlock sat back down next to her, studying her closely.
"We still have five more minutes until your mother returns. Now that we have ascertained that you were indeed in a fight, let us talk about the reason why you were in a fight."
"I told you already, I was standing up for the new girl," Ellen said quickly. Sherlock shook his head in disagreement.
"While it is just like you to be like your father, having to be the hero," Sherlock sighed impatiently. "That is not the end of the case. You would not resort to fighting unless you had no other option, especially against opponents who lack the training that you do. You are your parents' daughter through and through. You would not have started a fight unless they threw the first punch at you. Or they insulted someone you cared deeply about, more than a new classmate…a family member perhaps?"
"Uncle Sherlock," Ellen whined, her tone indicating her desire for her uncle to just drop it.
"Except that you have no younger siblings or cousins to defend. No, you only have your father, mother, your uncles, and I to offer up as potential targets. Am I wrong?"
Ellen was silent.
"What did they say?"
Ellen turned away, hissing as she pressed the ice harder against her injured hand.
"They cannot have said anything worse about me behind my back than a hundred idiots before them have said to my face. Or have plastered all over the news," Sherlock observed wryly.
"Not everything is about you, you know," Ellen muttered darkly.
"Ah, not me? They would not know about Mycroft, Lestrade is an unlikely target, so your parents then? Your father."
"Leave me alone."
"No. Tell me what they said."
"No," Ellen growled, glaring at Sherlock. Sherlock recalled to mind proper persuasion tactics and adopted a calmer, more understanding facial expression to mask the growing curiosity.
"Ellen, I can only help you if you tell me everything that happened," he said, feigning a patience that he had never possessed.
"But…I mean, it wasn't really that…that important," Ellen hedged.
"If it upset you enough to fight, then it is. Let me help you."
"You'll only get angry…"
"I promise to not do anything rash," Sherlock laid out this last bit of bait and closed his mouth, waiting, knowing that it wouldn't be long now.
"They…they…they said…"
Sherlock fought back the urge to fidget, impatient for Ellen to speak, but after twelve years of observation he knew that Ellen would tell him the truth if given the appropriate time.
"They said that…that Dad was a cripple. And that he was an idiot and your slave because he…he didn't care that…" Ellen began to speak faster, the words tumbling over each other as they fought to leave her mouth first.
"Yes?" Sherlock asked quietly.
"That you slept with Mum," Ellen whispered, face flaming with shame. "That I'm not a Watson. That that's why you and Uncle Mycroft are always hanging around doing stuff with me…and it's true, isn't it? I'm so much like you…it's not because I grew up with you two…or…or because I'm your niece, but because I…because I'm a Hol…because I'm not a…not a Watson," Ellen stopped, unable to speak anymore as she became overcome with sobs.
Sherlock sat in stupefied silence, for once in his life completely unsure of what to say.
"And…and that's not it!" Ellen gasped, hugging her arms to her side as tears flowed down her cheeks. "As if it wasn't enough that…that they said those things to me…but they had to remind me that I'm ruined."
"I beg your pardon?" Sherlock demanded, latching onto this new bit of information in a desperate bid to move past the awkward news that he was assumed to have had intercourse with Mary Watson.
"You heard me, 'ruined'," Ellen scoffed, some of her tears stopping as she became angry. She fixed a glare at Sherlock. "It's because of you. I go around…spouting these observations that you…you brainwashed me into noticing and look like a showoff! I fight like a bloody ninja, and you know who wants to date a ninja? Nobody! I take karate when every other girl is taking ballet! I play with intestines and explosions when everyone else is playing video games! And I know about who's in jail and why they're there instead of who's on Britain's Got Talent, or anything normal like that! I'm not normal! You! You and…and, and Uncle Myc and Uncle 'Strade and Aunt Molly and Mum and Dad! You all brainwashed me! You ruined me! I never stood a chance at being normal! You're the reason that all of those kids at school call me a show off, or a know-it-all or a…a…a f-freak," Ellen gasped, a fresh round of tears starting anew.
Sherlock stiffened at the word, his mind betraying him and recalling scene after scene from his youth when he was tormented by that loathsome word. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and reached out tentatively, wrapping his arms around Ellen as the young girl's entire body began to shake violently. He didn't say a word for a minute, only held her as she shook and cried, all of the pain in her young heart flowing out in hot tears. Only when her shaking began to subside and she caught her breath in short gasps did Sherlock dare to speak.
"I was not aware that you faced such hardships at school. I never observed…you never said a word about it," Sherlock said slowly, shame and embarrassment clear in his every word.
Ellen scoffed, although it lacked her usual amount of inner fire and determination.
"Yeah," she rolled her eyes sarcastically. "I tell you that I've got a few tormentors at school and the next thing I know Uncle Mycroft's giving me a bodyguard, Uncle Lestrade's got the entire police force waiting for me every day after school, and who knows what you'd come up with. Probably lock my teacher up somewhere and pretend to be the substitute," she muttered darkly, slurring her words and abandoning the proper English that Mycroft had taught her at the ripe young age of one and a half. "Fat lot of good that'll do me."
"Ellen."
"I'm not having tea with the Queen, Uncle Sherlock. I can talk however I want," Ellen snapped.
"I was not going to reprimand you on your poor language choices, although I certainly may later. What I was going to say is that you may trust me with your secrets. I will not tell anyone unless you bid me to do so. But in return, you must be completely honest with me. Are we in agreement?"
Ellen took a few shaky breaths and wiped away a stray tear, all while watching him closely.
"What's the catch? There's always a hidden loophole or something with your deals."
"Tell me the truth of your current and past encounters with these ruffians, and I will tell you the truth of your parentage," Sherlock bartered, ignoring her question.
Ellen gulped, her eyes widening comically.
"Just why exactly does my daughter need to be informed of her parentage?"
A/N Just wanted to say that there is a second part to this and that it will be up as soon as I'm done revising it. And once it is up expect some fluff to be happening. Frankly I'm getting tired of all the heaviness of the last few chapters. As always, reviews are happily welcomed and if you have an idea you would like to see happen PM me and I'll take it into consideration.