Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or this universe
A:
"I'm home!" Rosie called, walking up toward her flat. She pulled her yellow raincoat off, hanging it next to a certain detective's trench coat.
"Rosie! So glad you're here! John went to the store and I need someone to help me pull the toenails off of Ms. Smith." Sherlock smiled, poking his head out from behind a door frame, his dark hair framing his angular face and manic eyes. She sighed.
"Sorry, I'm expecting someone."
"Good! They can pull her fingernails!" Sherlock bustled around the flat, gathering various papers from around the living room.
"Sherlock. It's my boyfriend." He stopped.
"I wasn't aware you had one." He said, furrowing his eyebrows.
"Well, yeah, you wouldn't be. I was careful not to mention him."
"Oh no, I noticed…. That stuff." He gestured in her general direction.
"What?"
"Your makeup, heavier than usual, also, low cut shirts, hair slightly curled. Don't think I didn't notice the smudged lipstick, young lady, staying approximately 27 minutes longer at school than you usually do, jumping to your phone when it so much as buzzes, taking an alternate route home and dog hair, a large dog by the looks of it, on your clothing even though we are not currently in possession of a canine." He ticked them off on his fingers. "I just thought girls were more your area of expertise."
"No." She said bluntly.
"Okay. He can still pull her fingernails." He walked over and dragged over the client chair towards his and John's armchairs.
"No."
"Yep."
"No. Absolutely not."
"Yep."
"Sherlock! You'll scare him off!" She threw her hands in the air.
"Good." He smiled.
"Scare who off?" John stepped in through the door, arms full of groceries.
"My boyfriend! He's putting out the client chair!" She complained. John blinked and set the groceries down.
"I thought you liked girls." She threw her hands up, running them through her short blonde hair that reminded John so much of his late wife's.
"No! I don't!" She cried. John made a noncommittal hum and walked over to the food fridge.
"Sherlock!" He sighed. "There's a head in the food fridge."
"The body fridge was full, can you help me pull off Ms. Smith's nails?" Sherlock bustled around the living room, grabbing various knick-knacks and setting them elsewhere. He picked up his violin at one point, before putting it down and grabbing a day old cup of tea off the coffee table, knocking it all back in one large gulp. John ignored him and turned to his daughter.
"When is this so-called boyfriend coming over?" John asked.
"10 minutes."
John's eyes widened. "Sherlock! Find the gun!"
"Dad! What about the client chair?" Rosie whined.
"That stays." John caught the gun hurtling toward his face.
"But-"
"No buts! Sherlock, get yours over here, we have a boyfriend to intimidate!" Sherlock complied, his navy blue housecoat fluttering around him.
"Ms. Hudson!" Sherlock yelled. "We have a boyfriend situation!"
"Oh Rosie." Ms. Hudson climbed up the stairs, cupping Rosie's cheek lovingly. "Don't let them scare you, they won't hurt him."
"No promises!" Sherlock yelled. "Biscuits!"
"I'm not your housekeeper!" She bustled off toward the kitchen. Rosie watched her with a certain fondness reserved for the woman who practically raised her. When John and Sherlock were off chasing a criminal through the streets of London, Ms. Hudson would put Roise to bed. Or when Sherlock was hanging around Greg, trying to get a case out of him, Ms. Hudson would make Rosie dinner. She was the closest thing Rosie had to a mother. Suddenly, Rosie's phone vibrated with a text.
rosie theres a line.
they're clients, skip the line, come up the stairs. She responded quickly, her fingernails tapping the cracked screen in a rapid staccato.
"He's on his way, John!" Sherlock called from over Rosie's shoulder. She screeched and dropped her phone, the screen slamming into the hard floor.
"Rosie?" A deep voice called from downstairs. Rosie swallowed, picked up her phone and called out.
"Up here, Adrian!" Slowly someone began to ascend the staircase. Sherlock ducked into the room next to Rosie, grabbing Ms. Smith.
"Rose, what'sOHMYGOD!" Adrian shrieked.
"Hello!" Sherlock called, waving the corpse's arm as he dragged it across the floor toward the living room, dropping her unceremoniously on the couch.
"That was incredibly disrespectful." John murmured to him.
"She's dead, what does it matter?" Sherlock shrugged, sitting down in his chair.
Adrian stepped into the light and Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Blond hair, Pale skin, Eastern European, judging by the accent, Russian? No, Swiss. designer shirt, new sneakers, 5-600 dollars. Wastes his money on clothes and expensive cologne, one brother, one dog-a German Shepard, both parents in the picture, upper-middle class family, takes the bus to school and bought a new pair of shoes today. He sat back, satisfied with his deductions.
"Please, take a seat." Sherlock gestured to the client chair with his revolver. Adrian swallowed and gingerly took a seat on the edge of the chair. Rosie flushed red with embarrassment, biting her nails.
"So, um, what do you-" He fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt.
"Do you know who we are?" John asked. Adrian nodded.
"Good. Then you know what we're capable of." Sherlock fixed his intense stare on the teenager sitting in the chair in front of him.
"Please list the attributes which you think Rosie would find appealing about you." He spun the gun around his finger nonchalantly.
"Uh-"
"If you say your shoes I will shoot you in the head." Sherlock interrupted.
"Personality..?"
"You're not displaying a lot of that right now, so lets try for something else, hm?" John scribbled something down on his notepad.
"Uh…." He looked at Rosie for help. She mouthed "Humor"
"Shoes?" He offered. Sherlock bolted up and shot the yellow smiley face on the wall behind Adrian, all whilst maintaining eye contact with the youth.
"I don't think you understand who you're dealing with. Your girlfriend's dad served in the military, his dead wife was a mercenary, his landlady ran a drug cartel-"
"I was just typing!" Ms. Hudson reminded from the kitchen.
"And I'm a high-functioning sociopath whose brother practically runs the British government and sister is the smartest person on the planet! Now please, tell me more about your shoes." Sherlock spat. Adrian shoved the chair backwards, his prized shoes squeaking on the floor as he fled the flat.
"Adrian, wait!" Rosie ran after him. Sherlock sat back down, smiling like the cat that ate the canary.
"Too much?" he asked, cocking his head at John.
"Nah." John smiled. They could hear muffled sobs coming from downstairs and both men quickly rose to investigate.
"Adrian please!"
"No way Rose, your two dads are creepy as all get out, and besides, you're not nearly pretty enough to feature on my Snapchat story." Adrian stepped outside, slamming the door behind him. Rosie dissolved into muffled tears, sliding down the door. John balled his hands into fists. He muttered something about not being gay and turned toward Sherlock.
"Shall we?" John asked. Sherlock smiled. It was a dark, bitter smile.
"The game is on."