*Here is a spin-off based on an Instagram post that joked "imagine Sherlock with a teenage daughter," and proceeded to predict how Sherlock, John, and Mycroft would deal with Rosie having a boyfriend. I decided Rosie Watson was the ideal character for this sketch or bit…Oh, and I should probably mention that I do not own Sherlock BBC.
It was a bright summer morning when John had woken around nine to find Rosie gone and Sherlock at the table in his housecoat, analyzing a suspicious substance John daren't ask about.
"Morning, John." Sherlock's eyes remained glued to the microscope.
"Yeah. Hey, erm, where's Rosie?"
"It's Saturday. She rushed out in the morning a little before I awoke."
"Where?"
"Her friends?"
Soon enough Mycroft had come over to get Sherlock to look into a matter of the utmost importance and urgency. Sherlock claimed he was too busy with his experiments, which left Mycroft sitting in John's armchair. John was at his desk typing up the recent case. Edmund Roberts died in his burning farm house, leaving Lestrade to find a burnt body and scorched house that stunk of bad eggs. Essentially, Sherlock solved the case after ten minutes on the scene, clever as ever. According to Sherlock, Peter Roberts wanted to sell his father's failing farm, but his father wouldn't agree, so Peter knocked him out and lit the house with fertilizer, which contained sulphur and produced the 'bad eggs' smell. "It's textbook, Greg," Sherlock said. It took two weeks for the smell to get out of John's and Sherlock's hair and clothes, making a pouting Sherlock, a peeved John, and a patient Rosie. 'The Putrid Problem' was the working title John was going with, and he decided to write it up that morning because the smell had dissipated by then and enabled him to focus and relax. He was definitely going to take a look at Mycroft's file, but this had to be finished.
It was half past ten when a cab was heard pulling up, and Sherlock spun about dramatically in his red house coat to look out the window. Rosie got out with a boy her age who paid the cabbie.
It was easy for Sherlock to size him up. John saw as much from his seat at the desk. No later the downstairs door clicked open, and the stairs sounded with two pairs of paced out footfalls. Rosie showed up at the front door with the visitor, looking to John.
"Dad, this is- "
"A boy who was clearly hoping to shag you tonight, judging by the tin of mints and pack of condoms in his pocket. Next!" Sherlock flopped onto his armchair with his violin.
"Papa! He's my boyfriend."
"Change the subject. Now." Mycroft stood up, appalled, and went over to the kitchen for tea.
John sighed. "All right. Bring him in." John snapped his laptop shut and took a sip out of his coffee.
Rosie beckoned the boy to come inside, and a lean teenager in jeans and a band t-shirt of the Beatles stepped into the center of the flat.
"Right." John looked the epitome of disapproval, but he was willing to see what the boy had to say.
"Dr. Watson, I'd like to date your daughter."
"Yeah, and shag her, according to Sherlock."
Sherlock half-suppressed a laugh.
"What's your name?"
"Royce Griffin."
"Royce Griffin, why should I let you date my daughter?"
"I like her?"
"Okay, why? And do you know anything about her?"
"Erm, she's beautiful, we like the same bands, I guess she's smart…"
"John." Mycroft nudged the sandy-haired soldier aside. "That chance you think you may have just seen, you were mistaken. If you ever come here again in this room, in this area or near Miss Watson, I guarantee you, on behalf of John, Sherlock, and myself that you will find yourself in hospital with broken ribs, a fractured skull, and a suspected punctured lung."
"I-"
"Don't reply. Just look frightened and scuttle." The piercing gaze Mycroft gave topped it off, and no human being ever ran out of the flat as quickly as Mr. Royce Griffin.
"Uncle Mycroft!" Rosie said.
"Mr. Griffin was using you to get off with dinner and a show. He's hardly material for a long-term relationship. I suggest you be more wary of the boys you choose, Rosamund, or there will be more boyfriends to scare off in the future."
Rosie groaned and pounded swiftly upstairs to her room.
"Thanks, Mycroft," John said. "I think." John opened his laptop, looking at the stairs.
"She'll be fine, John," Sherlock said gently.
"I guess."
"Good job." Sherlock smirked at Mycroft as he plucked the strings of his violin.
"Does this mean you'll be taking the case?" Mycroft turned towards Sherlock, swinging his umbrella.
"Nope." Sherlock whipped his bow towards Mycroft, making it look as if they were fencing.
"All right, then." Mycroft raised his eyebrows and nodded to John, leaving the file on the desk before descending the stairs.