The child was scowling again.

It wasn't a surprise, really. Armelia was at that age, after all, that school was just a regular thing. Her mother had not been particularly wealthy, so up until recent events, Armelia had gone to public school like any other girl her age. Granted, she had skipped a grade...or two. Had her mother not died so unexpectedly, Armelia would have been entering the sixth grade at the beginning of the last school year. But that didn't happen. It just didn't.

Sherlock thought it was unnecessary, of course. Why stuff the girl's head with the useless, common prattle that the common wealth wasted their brains on? She was brilliant, and her mind need only be filled with what would be useful to her. John insisted. Molly submitted, absolutely in no position to homeschool her. Armelia just blinked up at them all, and sipped her tea. School hardly mattered to her. There was nothing there they would teach her that she would care to know, or didn't already. It was just something to pass the time. A distraction between the mixing of this poison and the extracting of that one, to her.

The uniform of her new junior-high school, however, did not please her.

"I loathe the color red." she scowled, tugging at the pleated skirt with a glare she hoped would burn a hole through the offensive material. She turned a piteous, pleading gaze toward her guardian. "This is an affront to females everywhere. How could they make wearing such an ugly thing compulsory?"

Molly laughed sympathetically and pat Armelia's hair, which was left hanging in long, natural raven waves down her back. "Well, at least your jacket it nearly long enough to cover it, hm? It's a bit big on you isn't it? But I suppose it would be, since you are so young to be in secondary school."

Sherlock made an amused noise from his place lounging on the couch. They'd gone to 221B because Moly insisted the boys see Armelia in her new school uniform. John lightly smacked Sherlock's shoulder with the newspaper he had rolled in his hand, and grinned at the child.

"It's not so bad!" he lied, spinning her around. She glared up at him, snatching her hand away when her little "twirl" was done.

She looked to her father, who seemed to be deliberately avoiding looking at her. But, just for a second, his eyes slid over and met her's with a distinct gleam of amusement. He was enjoying this. Damn him.

….

She hated it. She. Hated. It. Armelia's first day at London City School for Girls was an utter train wreck. Her time at the orphanage should have really been a red flag, though. Moreover, the fact that she was Sherlock's daughter really ought to have rung some warning bells. After all, children were more inclined to follow through with the impulse to punch someone in the face than adults were. Which is just what happened.

It had been a simple thing, to be honest. Some prat girl and her loyal lapdogs had started making snide remarks about Armelia's stature, clearly unaware that the child genius was almost two full years younger than all of them. The trouble- that is, the violence- started when she opened her mouth to retort. She gave them a tongue lashing with words far to complex for them to understand, and slapped on a casual, superior smirk. Sherlock would have been proud. But, well...they took exception to that. By the time Molly had arrived at the school, Armelia was sitting in the main office, nursing a bloody lip and bruised cheek. Much to the young girl's surprise, her guardian started raising hell. She fluttered and fretted over Armelia for a good five minutes, all the while being assured by the child that she was fine. Then, she turned on the staff, demanding that the girls that had done this be punished to the upmost severity. How could they attack a child that was so clearly younger than them? Would the school tolerate such behavior? She even resorted to threatening them with the Holmes name, and all the intimidating fame that came with it. Once that was done, she called John, just to let him know what had happened.

Turns out, that was not such a good idea. It took Sherlock half a minute (he had been working on some thumbs at the time) to deduce that something had gone wrong with the youngest Holmes. He watched John's expression go from concerned to livid as Molly talked to him over the phone. So, he, being the entitled man-child he was, promptly went over and snatched the phone from his flatmate.

"Repeat all that." he told Molly without skipping a beat.

"Sherlock, I was talking to her." John chided in the background as Molly stuttered in surprise. "Obviously." Sherlock mumbled distractedly in response, paying no attention to he clearly still concerned doctor.

Molly didn't have to get through all the details for Sherlock to get the gist of what happened. Worry bubbled up in John as he watched his best friend's eyes go cold and hard as steel while she talked. After a barely audible "Wait there" was said, Sherlock hung up the phone and threw on his jacket. Her didn't even bother to put on proper clothes, so his nice coat hung over plain pajama pants and a crumpled gray T-shirt. John just followed. He may need to intervene, so Sherlock didn't end up assaulting any students. He had, after all, put a man through the window for so much as touching . Who knows how far he'd go for someone having beaten up his young daughter? He'd broken Mycroft's nose for so much as frightening her!

When the two men reached the school, Sherlock left John to pay their cab fare without so much as glancing back. John scowled and pulled out the necessary bills, thanking the cab driver, and rushed after him. They both pointedly ignored the inquisitive stares they got as they entered the school, and bee-lined for the office.

When they made it, Molly gave them a flustered greeting, still visually upset by the situation, and Armelia pinned them with a bored gaze. John tutted and went to kneel before the small girl, inspecting her wounds like any good doctor and assuring her that it should heal soon, but to keep icing it. Sherlock, who seemed to have been immediately drained of his furious fervor, kept his distance.

"You're all right?" he asked, trying to remain reserved but obviously more concerned than he was letting on. Had he been anyone but himself, he could be practically shaking with the effort put in to keep himself rushing to and fretting over the little girl.

Armelia tilted her head to the side, wincing a little but not so much as shifting expression. "I'm fine." She told him. Then, "...this will hurt more tomorrow." was added, with a tone of either rue or irritation. Still, her expression did not change.

Sherlock's jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. Without warning, he turned on the nearest office worker and demanded "Where are they? The ones that did this, where are they now?"

The poor staff member flinched away from him, intimidated. "They've been sent home, for the day, sir. Until their punishments had been decided upon. They will likely be suspended."

The consulting detective growled. "That's not good enough." John rested a hand on his shoulder, trying to placate him. At the very least, reel in his evident bloodlust (which was entirely inappropriate in a school).

"It is what is to be expected of this sort of thing." Armelia pointed out uninterestedly, staring at a bit of blood she'd wiped from her split lip. Molly pet her hair, trying to comfort the girl or herself. It wasn't really clear. Though she surely knew that the child needed not comforting right now. This was not a new situation for her. He shouldn't make such a big deal out of it, considering he'd seen the minimal traces of the last bruise she'd had, on her cheek, the day they'd met. From the boy who'd punched her at the orphanage. Fretting like this was something she was only used to her mother doing for her.

Sherlock pursed his lips together, looked to John, then to Molly, and seemed to consider for a moment. Then, as if commenting on the weather, he said "We're leaving." Then, for one of the only times ever, John watched as Sherlock waited for Armelia and Molly to head to the exit before him. He waited, so he wouldn't have to turn his back. This way, he could keep the injured, painfully fragile child in sight.

…...

Author's note: HA! Long chapter to make up for the wait! At least, fairly long. Oh...Sherlock wants to punch children in the face. That is a major no-no. So, how do you all think he'll resolve this little issue? Keep in mind, as this goes on, that Sherlock is running -this- race totally on instinct, and Armelia, though a genius, is still a child. A creative child that lost her mother and craves the love and pride of her father. Please FAVORITE, FOLLOW, AND REVIEW! :D