Greer's Plan

Genre: Family, humour

Pairings: Greg and Molly, John and Alex, Sherlock and Sally, all background

Main characters: Greer, Greg, Sherlock, John

Greer Sherla Lestrade may only have been a tender five years old, but even she knew how to plan a surprise.

Having wrapped not only her daddy around her little finger, but every other adult at 221 Baker Street around her little fingers as well, Greer knew that any ideas she might have would be, at least, heard out.

She didn't know anything about cooking, or baking, or music, but her limited experience with those things taught her all she really needed to know.

Greer knew that her daddy cooked and when he did, she loved what he made for her and Mummy and her brothers. Mummy was also a wonderful cook, but there was something about the way Daddy made her favourites that just made everything taste a bit better.

Greer also knew Uncle John upstairs didn't cook, but he baked. Greer loved his biscuits, and he'd even made her a cake for her fifth birthday. It was carrot cake, her very favourite, with cream cheese frosting. Mummy loved it too and had even convinced herself that because it had carrots in it, it was healthier than say, chocolate cake, or gingerbread cake.

Daddy didn't agree, necessarily. Then again, Daddy was in agreement with Uncle Sherl that actually, gingerbread was best, and ginger was good for you too. Auntie Sally seemed to prefer gingerbread as well, though she was hard done by to find herself a share of it between her boss and her husband, if she didn't catch it coming right out of John's oven.

Greer knew that Uncle Sherl didn't cook OR bake, but he sure played pretty music on his violin. She knew that sometimes he played things that others had written. But sometimes, Uncle Sherlock played songs he had made up himself.

She especially loved it when Uncle Sherl played with Daddy and Uncle John, but for this time, she wanted only Uncle Sherl. She had OTHER plans for Daddy and Uncle John.

Greer had an idea or three, so she decided that now was the time to make it all happen.

"Uncle Sherl," Greer said, in her sweet little voice. "Could you make a pretty song for Daddy?"

Sherlock gazed down at his "niece", and smiled. "A pretty song? Why ever for, my Sherla Girl?"

"Well," Greer said, crawling into his lap and taking on a very, very serious tone, "Daddy's birthday is coming. Birthdays are supposed to be a special day every year, aren't they? Like Christmas, or MY birthday?"

Sherlock smiled. "Yes, in fact. You are a very, very clever girl my Sherla. Your father's birthday is indeed coming up, although I believe it's still a month or two away yet."

"So then… would you make a pretty song for him? For a gift?"

Sherlock tightened his arms around the five year old girl, "I'll see what I can come up with," he promised solemnly. Greer giggled with delight and satisfaction as Uncle Sherl pressed a kiss to her dark hair.

Greer stood quietly in the doorway of 221A.

"Uncle John?" she finally said, trying to suppress a giggle of excitement.

"Greer!" Uncle John declared, taking the few strides to the doorway and sweeping her up into a bear hug.

"What can I do for you little lass?" John sighed and smiled as Greer snuzzled her face into his neck and wrapped her arms around him.

"Would you make a cake?"

John furrowed his brows briefly as he smiled in curiosity. "Whatever for, Lass?"

"Uncle Sherl," Greer said sweetly. "Birthday surprises are so NICE, don't you think?"

"Well, yes," Uncle John agreed, "but it isn't Uncle Sherlock's birthday, is it?"

"Nooooo…" Greer conceded, bringing her hand around to bashfully play with her long braid. "But it wouldn't be a SURPRISE if it were on his REAL birthday, would it?"

John blinked. She had a point, this clever little daughter of Molly and Greg's. Sherlock generally avoided any acknowledgement of his birthday and tried to ignore the entire day if he could possibly get away with it. So to spring a surprise on him to celebrate it when the calendar was nowhere near it did actually seem like… well, not a bad idea.

"Well then, I suppose I could manage a cake. What did you have in mind, little lass?"

Greer didn't hesitate for a moment.

"Gingerbread!" she said happily, as she settled her head back down onto his shoulder.

"Daddy, could you make something very special for dinner someday soon?"

Greg didn't need to be asked twice.

He had found himself embracing the satisfaction of cooking for his family, in fact, for everyone at 221.

Indeed, he had found to his surprise that by common consent, he wasn't half bad at it, either.

"What did you have in mind, Little Love?" he asked, lifting her up with a mild token protest of how big she was getting.

"Roast chicken dinner, Daddy," she said dreamily, as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "You make the best roast chicken, and the best stuffing too!"

"Well then," he said, shifting her around to his chest so he could look her in the eyes. "I suppose I could manage that. So when were you thinking of this?"

"Hmmmm," Greer said thoughtfully, as she considered what Uncle Sherl had told her about when he'd have his special song finished, "I was thinking… just in time for Uncle John's birthday!"

Greg nodded slowly, thoroughly confused as to where his small daughter was going with this.

"Sweetie, you know Uncle John's birthday isn't for another three months, yeah?"

"Well, yes, daddy, but by then it wouldn't be a SURPRISE, would it?"

"No, I suppose it wouldn't," Greg admitted. "How about Sunday, then?"

Greer thought again about that. "Hmmmm," she said softly. "How about the Sunday after. There's no football game on the telly then, is there? But there is one THIS Sunday."

Greg laughed at this. What a clever, thoughtful girl he had. "Right, then. Sunday after this next. So what else would you like me to make besides the chicken, Little Love?"

Greer pondered a few moments. Uncle Sherl loved Daddy's roasted potatoes, while Uncle John was especially fond of the way Greg prepared the steamed vegetables.

"Just chicken dinner, Daddy," she said with finality. "The way you ALWAYS make it. With roasted potatoes and steamed vegetables."

"What, no dessert?" he asked, playfully. Greer may love his chicken dinner, but when it came down to it, she was really no different than anyone else – dessert was her favourite part of any meal.

"Nope," she said with finality. "No dessert."

Greg found himself slightly confused at this, but then again, his daughter did have a mind of her own – a trait she shared with both him and Molly. He never bothered to try to figure out what she was thinking, or why, at any given time. To attempt to do so would be akin to attempting to explain why grass was green, and not pink.

"Done deal then," he said, kissing her forehead.

When the music had been written, and the gingerbread cake had cooled and had been presented with a jar of lemon sauce, and the roast chicken had been carved, Greer Lestrade sat at her place around her family's table. Surrounding her was nearly everyone she loved – but most importantly, Uncle John and Uncle Sherl and their families.

Her parents sat on either side of her, while her brothers flanked Rosie Watson. Michael and Grace sat randomly amongst everyone else, finding themselves choosing with logic that was a mystery to everyone but themselves - much like their father's own sense of logic at times.

"So," Greg said, as he passed around the dish of potatoes. "It's not John's birthday, nor is it Sherlock's. It's not my birthday either. Far be it for me to question the wisdom of my daughter, but I think there's an explanation due," he said, as he raised his eyebrows and looked at Greer expectantly.

Greer wasn't ruffled in the least.

"I wanted you and Uncle John and Uncle Sherl to get together and give each other what you make best," Greer said. It made perfect sense to her, even if she was confusing a seasoned veteran Detective Inspector of Scotland Yard, a talented and dedicated medical doctor, and a passionately brilliant consulting detective.

"That's a very kind thought, Sherla," Sherlock said gently, "but I'm afraid you've lost us my dear girl."

Sherlock glanced at John, who merely raised an eyebrow, indicating he had no idea either. The two men trained an eye on Greg, expecting that he of all people should be able to decipher his own child's intentions. Greg was at a loss though, and simply sighed softly and shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

"Uncle Sherl, you and Daddy and Uncle John are the very BEST of friends, and sometimes friends need to give each other a gift, so they don't forget how much they mean to each other."

Greg nodded as comprehension snapped together. John smiled to himself and looked up, glancing at his two best friends. Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he suddenly understood.

"Of course," Sherlock said. "Absolutely BRILLIANT. I knew my niece took after me."

"YOUR niece," John said. "She's MY niece, thank you kindly. AND, she's smart as a whip if I do say so."

"Well she may be your niece, but it's not YOUR eyes she looks at you with, I reckon," Greg said, smugly. "I'm no forensics scientist but I'd say that means she takes after her old man."

"And yet, she is still so very clever in spite of that," Sherlock cracked. He grimaced and coughed as Molly kicked him under the table.

"WISE, I meant. She's so very wise, thanks to that. Yes, that's what I meant." Sherlock grinned as he cocked an eyebrow at Molly.

Greer watched the three men with fascinated eyes, filled with delight and adoration - and indeed a bit of cleverness, smarts, and innocent childhood wisdom.

She may have only been a tender five years old, but she still loved it when a plan came together.