Two Months Later
"And you're absolutely sure no one approached the victim?"
Lestrade leaned forward. "Yes, Sherlock. Look, I'm on my lunch break; let's talk of something that's not related to deductive work."
"That's impossible for Sherlock," John put in snarkily.
"Is not."
"Is too," John said without thinking. They had met the Detective Inspector for lunch.
"Boys," said Lestrade, "I deal with Anderson already-"
"Sorry," John apologized. Sherlock looked unrepentant.
"Sherlock, how's Lissie faring?" Lestrade attempted to change the subject.
Lissie was attending an elite boarding school three hours out of London. In addition to ordinary electives and lessons, students could participate in a variety of outdoor sports like shooting, running, archery, and more. A huge library contained rare books. Many weathy Brits And foreign ambassadors sent their daughters there. At least twelve of the students were distantly in line to the throne.
"She likes her school - apparently she's popular there. She texted a picture of her cast- here, see. Absolutely covered in signatures."
"I know they put the cast on after surgery and setting. Does she get it off soon?"
"Two more weeks."
John watched Sherlock as he talked, and he saw the way his eyes lit and shone with- was it pride? Love? It was strange to think of Sherlock as a father and yet it suited him.
The only things to put a damper on the situation was the press and Moriarty.
They could only hope the press would not discover Lissie. Ever since Sherlock had seemingly resurrected,tabloids had a field day with Shelock stories.
Moriarty - well, that was another situation. Mycroft did not know where Moriarty was or how he had managed to escape the roundup of his henchmen. Both brothers and Scotland Yard were keeping a wary eye out...
But Sherlock knew Moriarty would return. He would discover Sherlock had lied on the last few digits of the formula and he would be angry.
All along he'd wanted the formula. He would not give up now, not so easily.
Lissie sighed and adjusted her sights. Normally she enjoyed the outdoor courses her boarding school offered, but today she could not concentrate. Tomorrow she would go to Sherlock's flat and spend the weekend.
It would be the first time she had seen him since leaving for school nearly a month ago, and she worried that she would be in the way.
Perhaps he would have cases to solve and not want her along. Maybe what had happened in that dungeon was traumatic bonding and they would never replicate it.
So when she arrived at 221B and rang the bell, she was a little nervous.
Ms. Hudson greeted her warmly. "Lissie,love! Come in, Sherlock's just gone out to see about a case, he'll be back..."
She felt foreign in the apartment. Wandering to the couch, she flipped through channels until she found Keeping Up Appearances, which was good for mindless watching.
"Oh, that's an old show," Sherlock said when he came in sometime later. "I watched it as a lad. Hyacinth and the rest?"
"Yeah," she said, giving him a little hug.
The phone rang and he answered it. "Yes. Yes. I'll be right there."
"Ms. Hudson," he called. "We're going out. There's been a murder."
"We? Don't drag the child along to a homicide investigation, Sherlock."
Lissie gave Ms. Hudson a peck on the cheek. "Don't worry about me, Ms. Hudson."
She grabbed her messenger bag and followed Sherlock. She was thrilled he had extended the olive branch and determined not to spoil it.
They met John at the station and walked. No questions were asked when Lissie followed Sherlock under the police tape and past the guards.
A man was lying in a pool of blood in his den. Sherlock immediately motioned for her and John to step back. He knelt by the body, eyes searching.
"Gunshot wound and blunt trauma..." He was muttering to himself when Sgt. Donovan waltzed up.
"No kids at crime scenes."
There was no answer, and she peered at Lissie as if she weren't there. "Who's the kid, anyway?"
Lissie pulled a notebook from her satchel. "Skull fragmentation, you said, Mr. Holmes?"
John played along. "Ah, this is Sherlock' s apprentice of sorts."
Sgt. Donovan looked distrustfully at Lissie.
"Um, yes, good observation," Sherlock said. He paced about. Finally he stuck his head up the fireplace and pulled out a gun. It had been duct taped to the chimney wall.
"Now, here we have our weapon."
Lissie recognized it. "A Beretta," she said. Sgt. Donovan made a huffy sound but she looked convinced as she walked away.
"Pretty good," John said admiringly. Lissie shrugged. "I read a lot. If I could just hit the targets, I'd like shooting better."
"Do you like school?"
"Yes! The athletics and outdoor stuff are more of a challenge for me, and I like that. School itself is pretty easy, excepting math-"
"Do you two mind," Sherlock said crossly. They fell silent.
Sherlock began pacing around the body again, murmuring to himself. Then he clapped his hands.
"The British Museum!"
"Sorry, what?" John asked.
"Don't you see? The killer works at the British Museum. Ohh, this is so simple! He's right handed, stylish (but a bit old school- classic. A Beretta user would be.) Tall, with short black hair...Middle aged...panicked after whacking the man, hadn't planned on shooting him so soon..."
John and Lissie exchanged slightly astonished, slightly beamused glances. They trotted after Sherlock, who hailed a taxi.