Sherlock had to admit that boredom was an emotion which he had not felt in a while. He had done well to suppress it, but it seemed to have reared its ugly head once more. He lounged on the sofa, his hands folded on top of his stomach as he looked to the ceiling. An entire week had passed and his daughter had remained in the countryside, completely at bliss there.
He called her most nights, making sure that she was safe whilst he did his best to look for Moriarty. His entire homeless network had been alerted and Mycroft was also making plans, but nothing had happened. Nothing had happened and Sherlock was growing tired with it all.
He wanted something, no, he needed something to happen. He spent most his days on his laptop, doing his best to access his brother's files in order to find something worth knowing. So far nothing had come up which caught Sherlock's attention.
It wasn't until the gas explosion happened did Sherlock find himself face to face with his daughter again.
"Did you plan on telling me what had happened?"
Sherlock looked up from his seat, finishing his feeble attempt at retuning his violin. He moved his eyes upwards, the sight of his daughter lugging her case behind her one which drew him from the thoughts he found himself involved in.
"When did you come back?" Sherlock wondered, placing his violin on the table in front of him whilst Elizabeth dropped her case to the floor and moved over to her father.
"Half an hour ago. I caught the tube from King's Cross to Baker Street," Elizabeth said. "I saw what had happened on the news this morning. Grandma and Grandad were out at some golfing morning. I called them as soon as I caught the train to King's Cross. They were worried sick, and so was I."
"Well, I am perfectly fine," Sherlock promised his daughter, noting the stress which crossed her face. "In hindsight, I probably should have called you earlier to let you know."
"Perhaps," Elizabeth responded as dryly as her father. It was only then when she flung her arms around his neck and hugged him. Sherlock remained hesitant, patting her back a couple of times before he took another moment to pull back and tuck her hair behind her ears.
"I am still alive, Elizabeth," he assured his daughter. "No one can kill me that easily."
"They said it was a gas explosion," Elizabeth informed her father and noted that the windows had all been destroyed, only newspaper covering them now. The flat was still quite cold, but Elizabeth did her best to ignore that fact.
"Yes," Sherlock agreed with her. "It would appear so. Did it really make headlines?"
"The entire street was cordoned off," Elizabeth spoke. "Of course it made headlines."
"Hmm," Sherlock responded. "So are you back for good or is this just a passing visit?"
"Probably for good," Elizabeth said. "I know that you are still looking for Moriarty...but...in all honesty it has been difficult to be away from you. I know that you are a danger magnet, but I have no idea what is happening when I'm in the countryside and you're in London."
"You were concerned about me?" Sherlock checked with her, his brows furrowing and she groaned once.
"Why is that so difficult to believe?" she wondered from him. "I may not be your number one fan, but I am still worried. Have you found anything about Moriarty so far?"
"Nothing," Sherlock admitted. "I think he will strike soon. He is waiting for the right time...whenever that may be..."
"And this explosion had nothing to do with him?" Elizabeth checked and Sherlock looked at her cautiously.
She shook her head whilst he held his hands up in defence. "I said nothing," he responded to his daughter's hesitant stare. She took another moment to run her hand down the side of her face, slowly wondering when this would all stop, or whether it would stop at all. She only hoped so.
"But you think he did it?"
"I think it may not be coincidental," Sherlock carefully picked his words. "Do not go jumping to conclusions. I am still here and I will keep us safe."
"And what about John? Where is he?"
"He came back but then had to go to work. He is fine. No one was injured. I am simply thankful that you weren't here when it happened," Sherlock admitted to his daughter and a small smile spread on her features before he pointed at her. "And no, that is not me being soppy."
Elizabeth laughed lightly and Sherlock reached for the coat which hung over the chair opposite his. Sherlock shrugged into it as his mobile made a noise again.
"Where are you going?" Elizabeth wondered.
"Mycroft has been attempting to get hold of me all morning," Sherlock said. "I think it is something to do with some defence plans which have gone missing. I told him I am not interested, but he keeps on insisting that I take the case."
Sherlock finally folded his scarf around his neck before taking hold of Elizabeth by the elbow.
"Oh, am I coming with you?" she checked with him as Sherlock's fingers continued to hold her elbow through the leather jacket she wore over her simple red dress.
"Unless you wish to suffer Mycroft's questioning?" Sherlock asked and Elizabeth looked at her case and shook her head.
"I'll unpack later."
...
Sherlock sat across from Elizabeth in the coffee house in central London after catching the tube to Covent Garden. He didn't know why he felt the need to drag Elizabeth from Baker Street, but there was something inside of him which told him that it would be for the best.
Was this paternal instinct?
Sherlock didn't know. He just knew that he couldn't resist the grin on his face once he saw cream on the tip of her nose after she had taken a drink of her hot chocolate.
"What?" Elizabeth wondered, shifting on the seat she sat on. The booth was at the back of the shop and there were tourists everywhere. Some ordered drinks to go to continue with their shopping, whilst others sat down, tired after shopping and in need of a rest.
"You have cream on your nose," Sherlock informed her, handing her a handkerchief. She wiped it from her nose whilst her father drank some of his coffee.
"I think I am going back to work tonight," Elizabeth informed her father. "I need to earn the money and I may as well go back to work if I am staying in Baker Street again."
"Yes," Sherlock agreed lamely. "Your holiday didn't last too long."
"I bet you missed me anyway," Elizabeth said.
Sherlock kept quiet, finding himself unable to deny, yet unable to confirm her thoughts. She took another sip of her drink before looking out of the window at a group of tourists taking pictures together by the green area.
"Everyone seems so relaxed," Elizabeth finally spoke. "I don't truly know how that feels anymore."
"Have you ever known?"
"Before this happened I did," Elizabeth said. "Anyway, there is no point in dwelling on it. We need to do our best to find out who Moriarty is, don't we?"
"There is no we in this," Sherlock promised his daughter.
Sherlock saw his phone begin to ring again as it rested on the table next to his drink. Elizabeth rolled her eyes and saw that Mycroft was calling again. She snatched the phone from her father before he could reject the call.
"Elizabeth," Sherlock hissed as she pressed the phone to her ear.
"Hello, Uncle Mycroft," she spoke and Sherlock glowered at her, annoyance coursing through his veins as he did so. "Yes...no...we're at Covent Garden...yes, he's here."
She held the phone out to her father and Sherlock continued to glare, taking the call from his daughter. He slipped from the booth and Elizabeth laughed to herself, taking another sip of her drink.
"What do you want?" Sherlock snapped down the phone to his brother as he came to the door and pushed outside the cafe, trying to escape the giggling group of girls who were pushing through the crowds.
"I have been calling you all morning. I see Elizabeth saw the news and rushed home."
"Yes, she's a very considerate daughter," Sherlock said. "So, now I would like to go back to her if you don't mind."
"I have a case."
"I'm busy," Sherlock said. "I have someone to find."
"Yes, I know, but-"
"-No buts," Sherlock responded. "I am serious, Mycroft. I am too busy at this moment in time to do anything."
"So you go to Covent Garden instead of doing your job?"
"Goodbye, Mycroft," Sherlock hung up and dropped his phone back into his pocket before moving back into the coffee house.
He wandered back to their booth, only to find it empty with no cups on the table. Sherlock's brows furrowed before he looked around the other booths to no prevail. He took another moment to glance to the counter before worry took hold of him. He rushed from the coffee house and looked down the street, a sea of faces greeting him.
But none of them were his daughter.