Author's Note:* sigh* A very short chapter. I really have lost the will to write this god awful fic ^ ^" So i'm just adding new chapters for all of your sakes. Whether or not I keep writing this or not is up to you all. I'm much more inclined to simply drop it and write a more interesting one. Please, let me know what you all want.
"Yes"
"No"
"I am the adult here."
"Adult? Man-child."
"Shut up, John." Sherlock growled offendedly, glaring at his friend, who was currently doubled over with laughter.
Armelia slouched in Sherlock's comfy chair, twisting a lock of her hair through her fingers and musing over her next concoction with the hemlock she'd found the evening before. The Consulting Detective reclined on the couch opposite her, glaring and muttering. Trying to get his way, and failing. It was not something he was used to.
"You know," Armelia hummed in her little sing-song voice, " considering that Ms. H-...Molly, is my legal guardian, the decision is entirely up to her." she pointed out nonchalantly. "And I am sure if I told her I didn't want to be home schooled by a private tutor, she would take my side over yours."
"I don't see why you're so adverse to the idea anyways." Sherlock pouted. "Public school is a just a bother. They stuff your head full of useless rubbish. At least with a tutor you could learn something useful."
Armelia let out a long sigh. It wasn't like she wanted to go to the public school. In fact, if she never went back it would be too soon. But life with her mother had taught her simplicity, and the decadence of a private tutor was a bit too much for her. She was too used to poverty to be comfortable with the eccentricities of her father and uncle, yet.
Sherlock, instead of going on a child-punching spree of paternal instinct, had called Mycroft immediately after they'd gotten Armelia back to Molly's flat, and started discussing setting up a private tutor for the youngest Holmes. The violence towards the slightly twisted and assuredly cold-hearted little girl's person was obviously only going to escalate if she stayed in public school. It was better, in Sherlock's opinion, to simply remove her from the situation, rather than let it flare up his infernal instincts every other day. If that kept happening, he would inevitably punch some children. And that was a major no-no.
But for some damnable reason, she was being obstinate about it all. She refused, and it baffled him. Molly, he was sure, would be easy to win over to the idea. He'd though Armelia would be indifferent. John was certainly in favor of a tutor. And Mycroft would do it just to get Sherlock to leave him alone. But she just kept refusing! Well, if she was going to be like that...
"How about I make you a deal?" he baited. Armelia grew silent, ceasing the song she'd been singing quietly to herself halfway and turning her emerald gaze on him inquisitively. Ah, but no. He didn't intend on giving her enough room to deduce his idea and read into it too much.
"You take your lessons from a private tutor, and you can help me on some of my cases. That should be loads more interesting and educational than learning elementary biology in the pathetic levels of public school."
Author's note: *sigh* A very short chapter. Really, I have lost all will to write this god awful story ^ ^" and so I'm just spouting out more chapters for all of your sakes. If I keep writing or not is up to you all. I'm more inclined to write a new fic that interests me more.
Despite her attempts to remain expressionless, Armelia's eyes widened. Did he just offer to allow her to solve cases with him? Him? Sherlock Holmes? Her famous, genius father? It was a dream come true. In fat, a bit too good to be true. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why? Why are you so adamant? Why do you even care?"
Sherlock's silver-blue eyes slid over to meet her's, and searched. Most children would just take his offer at face value, chalking it up as natural "from father to child". But not this little girl. Armelia was like him: cold, calculating, analytical. She saw meaning and messages in everything. And since Sherlock had never been able to look at himself this way when he was a child himself, he was almost staggered to find how pitiable a state it was. This little girl would never be able to hide behind the security of innocent naivety like all other children could. To his surprise, a small pang of guilt and sympathy pinched at his heart. He mentally shook himself off. No. No room for sentimental nonsense like that.
"Curiosity, and convenience. You are easier to keep an eye on here. Have you wander about out of sight just causes trouble." he offered casually.
A small light of irritation burned in her green eyes for a second, before she frowned and said, "You aren't my legal guardian. It isn't your responsibility to keep an eye on me."
Sherlock huffed. "Semantics." he muttered under his breath. "You're still -" he began, but cut himself off with a slightly startled expression.
Armelia watched him, calculating. She wouldn't think too much into that unfinished sentence. She didn't want to know. "Deal." she said quietly, going back to her quiet singing and twirling her hair.
John watched them both. Molly would be glad to have Armelia privately school, if it avoided sending her back to the cruel treatments of her schoolmates. Armelia would thrive if she got to put her mind to use on cases. But what was going on with Sherlock. He was confused, that much was obvious. Which was what was so odd. Sherlock didn't get confused. Ever. He was Sherlock, for crying out loud! Just what was this tiny little girl shaking up in the foundation of 221B? Because, for once, John was actually in the loop. All three in the room knew what Sherlock had stopped saying:
You are still my daughter."