"Behave." I heard the whispered admonishment as I opened the door, and promptly pretended I had not. I nodded politely to the last two people I would ever want to find standing on my front steps.
"Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson." I greeted them. "Do come in." I led them inside, and pretended not to be aware of the scrutiny the detective was giving my home. There was something violating about having the man here in my home, the one place I had always considered safe from him and his infernal deductions.
I took their coats and hats, and Doctor Watson's medical bag. I found it odd that he would be carrying it, but now that I thought upon it I rarely saw him go out without it when he and Sherlock were on a case. They must have found one, then, between yesterday and now.
I led them to the sitting room and offered them a seat. "Dinner's just about ready." I informed the men.
The doctor smiled as he sat down, uneasy but nonetheless trying to reassure me. Sherlock, to my dismay, remained standing as he proceeded to analyze every minute portion of the room.
Doctor Watson cleared his throat, and Sherlock blinked, then sat down on the couch beside his companion. Apparently the doctor's warning to 'behave' had not gone completely to waste, though the night was still young.
From upstairs I heard a thump, then a wail, then the clattering of feet upon the stairs. I winced as my children burst into the room and plunged it into chaos.
"Da! I did nothing of the sort!" My oldest burst out in his defense before his red-faced and teary eyed sister could even accuse him. My youngest looked from one to the other, unaware of the reason behind the ruckus but determined to do her share to add to it.
"Did too!" His sister accused. "You did it, and it was mean! It was, Da! Really! You should beat him for it."
My son looked absolutely horrified as his younger sister joined in. "Beat Jackie! Beat Jackie!" He shot me a pleading glance.
"It was an accident. Really, Da!" Jackie protested.
I stifled a groan. Why did they always have to give some variation of their heathen children performance whenever company was here? They could be above reproach when they wanted to, but it seemed their greatest desire when company was involved was to scandalize said company. The last and only time the Superintendent had come for dinner he had announced that he would have thought that a man so diligent in upholding the law would do better than allow such absolute lawlessness in his own home.
I shot a glance in the direction of my guests; Sherlock looked absolutely appalled, but the doctor- the doctor was trying hard not to laugh as my older daughter tackled her brother and my younger daughter decided to add to the mess by wrapping herself around my leg as I moved to separate the two.
My face was burning as I finally gave up and resorted to desperate measures. "Front and center!" I bellowed, and my children froze, and pulled themselves into a straight line in front of me.
This seemed to amuse even Sherlock. I tried to ignore him as I glared down at my children. Jackie, my eldest, finally sank into a slouch. "It was my fault, Da. We were playing, and I got carried away, and I accidently broke Amy's doll."
Amy tearfully proffered the damaged doll, and I bit back a sigh. It was her favorite, and the one Lizzy's mother had given her. The glass doll looked very much like my oldest daughter, and the broken piece of arm was not something I could fix.
My daughter must have realized that, for suddenly tears filled her eyes and she held her arms out, wanting it back so she could say goodbye. I sighed and handed it back to her, and watched helplessly as she nodded and took herself off to cry quietly in the corner.
I turned to Jackie, who was looking quite ashamed of himself by this time, and merely fixed him with a glance. "I'm awful sorry, Da." He said earnestly. "I really didn't mean it. You know I didn't." He looked about ready to cry himself.
"You can go to your room until dinner." I informed him. "And no playing. You're in trouble."
"Yes, sir." He said, relieved not to have to witness any more of his sister's tears. He was up the stairs in less than a heartbeat, feeling, I was certain, absolutely miserable for his actions.
I reached down and pried Olivia, who had caught her siblings' somber mood and was now crying herself, from my leg. She flung her arms around my neck and buried her face in my chest.
I blanched as I caught sight of Sherlock's horrified expression, then looked for the doctor, certain he was just as appalled as the detective.
Doctor Watson was crouching next to Amy, gently asking her about the doll. She was mournfully explaining that her grandmother had given it to her, and that she had never had such a pretty dolly before, and that she knew Jackie hadn't meant to break it, but that it was still broken.
"May I see her?" He asked solemnly. My daughter looked up at him, confused.
"But she's broken. Her arm's broken." Amy explained.
"Well," the doctor replied softly, "I've fixed a lot of broken arms in my time, perhaps you will let me have a look."
Hesitantly, my daughter handed over both the doll and the arm. Doctor Watson took them both with as much care as he would extend a patient, and looked them over with the same careful scrutiny. Then he looked up.
"I may be able to help this young lady." He said to my daughter seriously. Then he looked up at me. "Would you be so kind as to fetch my bag from the hall?" He asked apologetically, and I realized that the position he was in could not have been all that comfortable with his leg.
I was back from the hall in an instant, and my daughter and I watched with equally bated breath as he rummaged through his bag. He set to work on the doll with all the professional deliberation he would have used on a patient, and within a short minute returned the doll to my child.
"Now, that arm will never be the same again." He warned her gently. "And the bandage will have to stay on it. But as long as you treat her carefully, she should be fine."
Amy looked from the bandaged arm up to Doctor Watson and back. "You really are a good doctor." She breathed, and I reddened.
So did the doctor. "Well, I do what I can." I told her. "Just be careful with that doll, she can't handle being treated roughly." My daughter nodded solemnly, thanked the doctor, and rushed into the kitchen to show her mother.
"Children coming your way, dear!" I called in warning before turning back to Doctor Watson. "Thank you." I said earnestly. "I don't know how-"
"It was nothing." The man waved me off, still flushed from my daughter's praise. "I didn't realize you had children, Lestrade."
"Three." I replied awkwardly. "You've just met them all. I don't know what gets into them when company comes, usually they're better behaved."
The doctor laughed. "Yes, well, I hear that's what children do best; embarrass their parents in front of company. Jackie, I believe, is the oldest?"
"He's seven." I confirmed. "Amy's four, and Olivia is two and a half."
"They're beautiful." He declared. "Very healthy, too."
"Thank you." I said uncomfortably. This evening was already going worse than I had imagined, and we hadn't even gotten to dinner yet.
With impeccable timing, my wife sent Amy back out to put away her doll and announce that dinner was ready. I smiled at her as she made sure to inform the doctor first.
"Go tell your brother, will you?" I asked. She nodded, holding no grudge, and skipped up the stairs, her doll carefully cradled in her arms.
My wife greeted us in the kitchen, and laughed as she caught sight of our youngest. "Here." She moved forward to take her, but our youngest would not be budged.
"She's asleep." I realized with dismay. There was no budging her once she was asleep; she had a grip that defied any and all attempts at loosening her. She was also, unfortunately, a sound sleeper.
With a sigh of resignation I introduced Sherlock and the doctor. "This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and Doctor John Watson. Gentlemen, my wife, Elisabeth." My wife curtsied, and the doctor took her hand and greeted her warmly.
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes does not belong to me.