Author's Note: Hiya, good peoples! I hope that everyone is doing well. I've told myself that I can't write anymore one-shots until I've updated some of my multi-chap fics. (Let's see if I hold myself to it.) So look out for an update for: Chemistry, Habits, Jailbirds, Organized Adventures, and Secrets. Also one for Sickness, Stupidity, and Sacrifice. I just didn't want to put it in the last sentence and have to use semi-colons instead of commas. I'm that lazy, guys.
Also, I noticed that I never really said how old Sherlock was when Elizabeth was born. In all of my fics so far, Elizabeth has been fifteen. I'm making Sherlock about twenty-four when she was a baby (that was a hint for a series of one-shots about Elizabeth's childhood: coming soon!). So he's about thirty-nine here then. But, of course, he never acts his age so it really doesn't matter. The relationship between Sherlock and Elizabeth is more of one of best friends than father-daughter, though of course the latter happens as well.
Without further ado...
Elizabeth got out of Mycroft's car. She waved as it pulled away, and then she walked up to 221B.
Sherlock was lying on the couch, obviously thinking. John glanced up at Elizabeth as she walked in.
"Your father made me text a murderer," John ranted. "And now we are all meeting him!"
"Ooh, cool," Elizabeth was ready for an adventure. She always was. And clearly this was a tricky one, as her father sported three nicotine patches on his arm. "Where are we meeting him?" John just shook his head and muttered something about child endangerment.
"We will stake-out in Angelo's," Sherlock informed her. "I had John text the street across from the restaurant."
"To a murderer!" John reminded them forcefully.
"Oh, let it go," Sherlock swept up and threw on his coat and scarf. Taking that as the cue to leave, Elizabeth and John grabbed their coats as well.
The walk to Angelo's was short. Upon entering the restaurant, Sherlock was reverently thanked by Angelo himself for the billionth time. The trio was escorted to their favorite table: the one with the unobstructed view of the street. It was perfect for stake-outs.
Angelo didn't even ask for their order. Five minutes into the stake-out a fettucine alfredo was set in front of John and Elizabeth was given three garlic knots. Thankfully, Angelo felt forever indebted to the Holmeses, meaning free food. Elizabeth had lost count of how many times they had had to race out before the check came.
"So, Elizabeth," John began, trying to start some conversation. Sherlock was busy staring out the window. "Any new boyfriends?" Though Sherlock seemed very focused on his deductions of the passerby, Elizabeth noticed his ears perk up a bit.
"It's complicated," Elizabeth said tersely. "What about you? Girlfriends? Or have you finally decided to please Mrs. Hudson by getting a boyfriend?"
"No, no new girlfriends," John chuckled. "And never will there ever be a boyfriend, no matter what Mrs. Hudson says. I wonder why she tries so hard to make me gay."
"Oh, I can answer that," Elizabeth said seriously. "She thinks that you and Dad are both lonely, and thus are made for each other."
"She does know that you exist, right?" John asked. "You are alive. Sherlock's daughter. I'm sure that required a woman."
"That's exactly what I said like four days ago," Elizabeth laughed. "But I still think that she wishes you would adopt me."
"If Sherlock and I got married, I would make him hyphenate our names," John joked hypothetically.
"Oh, but I want to change my name to Elizabeth Watson!" Elizabeth argued playfully. "It sounds so cool!"
"He's here," Sherlock's low observation snapped Elizabeth and John to attention. Both set down their forks and hurriedly slid on their jackets. Fortunately they did, because Sherlock leapt from the table with no warning.
Charging after her father, Elizabeth flew through the streets. She saw the taxi they were chasing ahead of them. Sherlock turned away down an alley and led her and John on a tricky, but swift, path. They clambered up fire escapes, leapt across rooftops, and twisted down flights of stairs.
Bursting onto the pavement, Sherlock rushed out into the street, forcing the taxi they were pursuing to hit him. It was only a glancing blow and Sherlock meant to do it, but Elizabeth flinched all the same.
Sherlock wrenched the door of the cab open, facing the man inside. He swore under his breath. Elizabeth and John quickly came to his side, peering in as well.
Elizabeth deduced the man inside rapidly. Damn. It was definitely not their guy. Clearly, this man had just come in from Heathrow.
Sherlock showed the flustered passenger Lestrade's police badge and welcomed him to London. As he waved the taxi on, Elizabeth nudged her father.
"Did you have to steal his badge again?"
"He was being annoying," Sherlock defended, sighing after the cab.
"So just a cab that happened to stop," John said solemnly.
Sherlock nodded, "Not the murderer."
"Dad," Elizabeth pointed down the street, where the taxi had stopped again. The passenger was gesturing their way, talking to a real policeman this time.
"Up for more?" Sherlock asked Elizabeth and John.
"Oh, yes," they said together.
Not sparing another glance at the policeman, they sped off down the street again.