Just a fluffy one-shot starring the Holmes and Watson children. To Booworm45669, who asked for a Sherlolly daughter getting married, it will probably be a continuation of sorts to this little drabble. I thought you all could use a little fluff after the previous chapter. ;)
Sherlock was examining evidence slides with his compound microscope when the door to the flat burst open. He looked up to see Henry Watson supporting his teenage daughter. Lily's mascara was running down her face, her normally immaculate hair tangled and messy.
Sherlock jumped up to help the younger man lead her to the sofa before sitting down beside her and scrutinizing her closely. He was relieved to discover that her physical injuries were minor, consisting of only a few scratches on one of her arms. She laid her head on his shoulder and breathed slowly in and out, calming herself down.
Once assured that she was fine, Sherlock rose and turned his attention to the young man standing awkwardly by the door, focusing intensely on the trembling girl. "What happened?" Sherlock asked the younger Watson, a duplicate of his father at that age.
He twisted his hands nervously for a moment before beginning. "I was walking home from school when I heard a shout. I twisted around and saw an older boy trying to grab Lily's bag. I rushed over to help as fast as I could. Just as I reached them, he ripped the bag away from her, and she fell to the ground. That's when she hurt her arm, I think. I wanted to run after him, but when I saw Lily lying helpless on the pavement below me, I decided to bring her home safely instead. I'm sorry I couldn't catch the boy who did this, Mr. Holmes."
The boy glanced down at his shoes sheepishly, frightened of his father's best friend. While his marriage and subsequent fatherhood had softened his coldness greatly, Sherlock was still known for his unwarranted anger at times.
Sherlock eyed the boy carefully, deducing him. The manner in which he had held Lily indicated that Henry's feelings towards his daughter were more than mere friendship. The boy seemed absolutely miserable, as if by failing to apprehend Lily's attacker, he was no better than the man who had hurt her.
Sherlock took pity on him and walked over, resting his hand on the boy's bicep. "I have told you before. Call me Sherlock. And you have no need to be sorry, Henry. Thank you for keeping my daughter safe. I doubt I will ever be able to repay you." He offered his free hand to the boy, who graciously shook it. A rustling from behind him reminded them both of Lily's presence, and they turned simultaneously to look at her.
"Thank you," she mumbled, gazing adoringly at the blonde boy. They smiled shyly at each other for a moment, until Henry noticed the time.
"I really should be getting home. I'm really glad you're okay, Lily." He left the flat quickly, giving Lily a grin and a final wave before he departed.
One year later, Sherlock would think back on that moment as he watched his baby girl beaming happily at Henry as he escorted her to prom. He did not think anybody was worthy of his daughter, but Henry Watson certainly came close.
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