"Sherlock!" Rosie flew off the back of the chair and thankfully Sherlock was quick enough to catch her in midair.
"I told you not to tackle him! He's still not well!" I scolded her.
"I lost a tooth!" she showed him her missing incisor and ignored me like always.
"That's nice," he said, flatly.
"What's a matter?" she asked, analysing him.
"Give him some space," I told her.
"You look flopsy…"
Sherlock looked like he was on the verge of tears. I took Rosie from him and allowed him to adjust to his surroundings.
"Go play," I told Rosie and she obeyed for once.
Sherlock sunk into his chair. His face was pale, his hands shaking. He looked as if the world had taken its toll on him.
"What can I do?" I asked him.
He shook his head. It pained me to see him feeling like this.
Sherlock was quiet and reserved for several days. It felt like a funeral procession in the home. Even the hounds were gloomy.
Rosie brought Sherlock an imaginary cuppa and he drank it without complaint. He even let her place a tiara on his head and clip on earrings. Under normal circumstances, I would have watched her doll him up with lipstick but I thought it was in ill taste.
"Rosie, quit torturing your poor uncle."
"But he's so so pretty!" She said placing the palms of her hands on his cheeks and patting his cheekbones.
"Yes, he looks quite lovely."
"I have to find him a dress for the ball!" Rosie scampered out of the room to search her through her wardrobe.
"Would you prefer some real tea?" I offered.
"I don't mind. It's 0 calories," he said, sipping the empty cup.
I laughed; it felt good to laugh.
"Oh, what are we going to do?" I sighed, rubbing my face with my hands. "We moved out here because of that twisted man and we've gone and found another!"
"I don't believe I can face Gregson…"
"We could move… far away from the pair of them. Forget everything and everyone! Just the two of us, and Rosie of course," I could even picture a bigger home with room to grow. Carefree and away from the hustle and bustle. We'd have no connections; nothing to tie us down. We could live undercover… like Mary…
"We mustn't hide from our problems," Sherlock said, bursting my bubble.
"Fine, I'll start with killing Lestrade. Do what you will with Gregson."
"I'll handle Lestrade. You and I will work on Gregson together. Deal?"
"Don't fall for his charm and good looks. Lestrade is bad news! Keep your relationship professional!"
"I will," he lied.
"I mean it. I know his sort."
"I have no intentions of being involved with Lestrade in that way."