Later that day
Sherlock opened the refrigerator and dug past the experiments to pull out a carton of what he'd thought was milk. It was cream, and he stared at it hopelessly.
How was he supposed to prepare a real meal? Ms. Hudson had left, and he was alone with Lissie. They'd returned from their walk rather late, and now it was time for supper.
Again he searched the kitchen and took inventory of his food supply. Noodles, parmesan cheese, cream, flour and sugar, potato crisps, parsley, peas, crackers, salad dressing and a bag of carrots. There were also plenty of condiments- too bad mayonnaise, ketchup, mustard, and pepper weren't exactly meals.
He began to peel carrots with a vengeance. Could carrots and Ranch count as a meal?
Lissie wandered in. "What are you making?"
A trifle exasperated, he told her, "Well, carrots, and..."
"Do you want me to cook something? I like cooking. Our chef taught me a lot of tricks."
"Have at it. Good luck," he said, pointing at his ingredients.
"Let's see...Oh, I can make something with the cream, noodles, and cheese. Ooh, parsley too! You have everything for fettucine Alfredo."
Within minutes she had prepared two large plates of pasta in a creamy white sauce.
He tasted it suspiciously. Surprised, he managed, "Why, this tastes like the Italian restaurant's, but better!"
She was pleased. "It's fun to cook for you."
After dinner, he told her he needed to work on a case for John's friend.
"Oh, I'll read my new books. May I sit here, though? I'll be very quiet, won't bother you a bit."She turned a hopeful face to him.
"Why?"
"Well, now that I'm finally here with you, I want to make the most of every second." Her tone was light, but her eyes were worlds of their own.
They both sat down. From time to time he looked up from his work at her. When she read, her hair fell down over her face in brown waves, and her eyes widened or darkened as she reacted to story events.
For an hour, until nine, they each worked at their projects. Presently he heard her get up and run water for a shower.
She reappeared a little later. "Goodnight, Sherlock..."
He adjusted his microscope. "Hmm? Oh, good night."
She left a little disappointedly, and he felt she had wanted something. He racked his brain. Hadn't his mother always 'tucked him in'? And when he was a little older, she'd sit on the edge of his bed and talk to him.
Well, he'd go in and tell Lissie goodnight in a minute.
When he finished his work nearly an hour later, he found her already asleep. Well, it had been a long day.
The covers had slipped off the bed. Almost timidly, he tucked the blankets back around her. Quietly, so as not to wake her up, he switched the lamp off.
Tall but thin for her age, she looked rather small and forlorn in the semi-darkness. He touched her hand gently and returned to his work.
"I don't understand why you want us to do all this."
Moriarty frowned at the speaker, his hitman, then turned to his group of assembled 'professional criminals'.
"Do I pay you to ask questions?"
"No," they managed nervously.
He laughed. "That's what I thought. Now, the girl looks like this, for those of you who haven't seen the videos. Her name is Felicity."
Sherlock awoke with a start. He must have fallen asleep at his work, again. Shifting and stretching from his cramped position, he realized it was early morning. Rays of light were filtered through the dusty blinds, creating patterns on the wallpaper.
He saw his violin, looking forgotten. He picked it up tenderly and began to play, softly. There was something about early mornings that made him want to play music.
He played high and low, putting his feelings and problems and emotions into the music, eyes closed. When he stopped and opened his eyes, Lissie was standing there, in her plaid pajama bottoms and faded blue tank top.
She applauded, and he gave a little bow.
"I hope I didn't wake you up," he told her.
"Oh, no. I'm an early riser."
John looked across the pews and nudged Mary. "Look!"
A slow smile spread across her face. "Well, should we say hello, then?"
"It might embarrass him."
Sherlock, looking uncomfortable, was standing beside Ms. Hudson and a girl who had to be Lissie.
"She looks like him," Mary whispered.
"Well, she is his daughter."
Mary made a face at John and turned back to her spying. "Oh, she seems sweet. I'm happy for Sherlock. I can't believe he never told us anything about being married."
"Sh, the vicar' s starting."
The music began, but Mary was already planning excuses to work her way across church come greeting time.
Should I continue this? Is anyone enjoying it or reading it? Are there any characters you'd like to see?