A/N: It's currently June 2013 in this story, for the curious. Over a year since the first one took place. The Sherlock Holmes series belongs to ACD. The programme Sherlock belongs to Gatiss and Moffat.
The Viewpoint of DI Greg Lestrade
There she is. My little girl. Though, she's not so little anymore. Eight whole years. Well, in four more days, anyway. On the 25th. She'll be thirteen. Wow. Just the thought that I'm going to be the father of a teenager...
I'm smiling at her. I probably look a lot different to her, too. Not as big compared to her as I used to be, though maybe a bit rounder round the middle... More grey, a bit wrinkled. But, it's still me. I hold out my arms a bit, letting her know it's okay. Even though, it really isn't.
"Dad!" she exclaims finally. She rushes to me and just tackle-hugs me. She's squeezing so hard. She doesn't want to let go. Frankly, neither do I. We just stand there in our embrace for a minute at least. She's shaking a bit. Sobbing into my shirt. It's taking all I can to make sure I don't start crying myself. Though, I know I'm watering up a bit. "I missed you. I missed you so, so, so, so, so much!" she says, a bit muffled by my shirt.
"I missed you too, cave girl," I reply, using her old nickname.
"'Cave girl'?" John questions. I laugh a bit at the look on his face.
"Her full name is Bethany Christine. Initials are 'B.C. Cave men lived in B.C., so I call her my little cave girl," I explain. John smiles warmly at that. Beth then lets go when I do. I hold her shoulders. "God, look at you! You've gotten so tall! Gonna have to start putting cinder blocks on your head or something."
"Daaad," she exasperates, complete with eye roll. How I missed that. We both giggle.
"Surprised to see you here, Lestrade," Sherlock says. I, of course, know what he means by that. I'm not supposed to be here. 'Least not while she is. And he knows that.
"I know. It's just... well, I ran into him today. He said she was kidnapped, and I was the one who did it," I reason.
"And if he, or anyone else but us, sees you with her he may try to prove that along with claiming John and I were aiding and abetting."
"Aiding and abetting?" Beth parrots. I sit her down on the sofa. I sit next to her.
"Look, Beth... I'm not supposed to be here. If anyone sees me here, I could get arrested."
"But you're a cop! You can't get arrested!" she protests. I put a finger to her lips to let me finish.
"Shh... You're right, I am a cop. Because of that, I'd be in even more trouble. See, your mum put a restraining order on me. I can't be near you or your brother." Beth looks upset. Rightly so.
"For how long?" she asks, her voice shaking a bit.
"For another three days. So, we're going to have to pretend this didn't happen. Okay?" I ask. She nods.
"So, why are you here, if you'd be breaking the order?"
"Well..." I start, rubbing the back of my head, "I saw your step dad earlier. He came into my office and told me that you'd gone missing. Though, he said the reason you had was because I took you."
"Wha? You'd never do that!"
"I know that, and you know that, but your step dad's... well, he doesn't like me. And, I can see you don't like him either, you little thief, you."
"Thief?" John intones. Beth gives me her old "I didn't do nothing" look. I reply with my "Oh, yes you did" look. Beth then slumps, takes off her backpack and opens it.
"I just took his travel stuff..." she says.
"And...?" I add, knowing there was more.
"...And £50 from Toby's billfold," she admits. Though, I'm surprised to hear her call him by name. "I've only got £23.44 left."
"What did you take those for?"
"I wanted to find you. I wanted to warn you that they're coming," she explains. They? "Mum and Toby. And Carter, too, 'course."
"They're all coming here?" Sherlock inquires. Beth nods. Sherlock starts pacing the room. "Now why would they come here?"
"I dunno. Toby said he needed work, so he transferred up here."
"Why are you calling your step dad Toby?" I ask.
"Cause I don't like him. He's not my dad. You are." I'd melt if I wasn't so concerned.
"Now, that... that's not nice."
"Dad, I'm twelve. Almost thirteen," she retorts.
"I know that. I've kept track," I assure her, tapping my forehead. "Still, that's not the best course of action. He's still your legal guardian."
"I don't want him to be though! I don't like him. He's mean." That catches my attention. And, John's from his face.
"What do you mean, 'mean'?" John asks.
"Well, he's always pickin' at me. Sayin' stuff like my hair is too brown, or I'm too tall, but in a mean way, not like you were doin' it a second ago. He doesn't like that I'm takin' track and field. Thinks I shouldn't be so athletic. Mum agrees. She thinks I'll end up looking all bulky," she complains.
"Now that's rubbish. You'll be strong, not bulky. And, you're not too tall. And your hair isn't 'too brown.' Believe me, I'd rather have my brown hair again." She giggles at that last part.
"Even so, as you said, they are her legal guardians. We really will be kidnapping if we don't give her back," Sherlock warns. I know. I know. So does Beth. And I don't want any of us to get into trouble. "Where are they staying?"
"In a hotel. At least Toby is," Beth answers. I give her a small look. "My step dad."
"Idea: Lestrade, you head out now before anything happens, John will call in and report that we found her, she'll be picked up by Gregson," Sherlock offers.
"That's a very sound plan, but..." I'm not sure how I'll end that sentence, but I just don't want Beth to feel uncomfortable. This is her first time back in London in eight whole years. And she tried coming here alone. Sherlock comes over to me, leaning into my ear.
"If anything happens, we'll protect her. From Gregson, if necessary," he whispers. That makes me feel a little better.
"Better head out, then. Don't worry, cave girl. I'll see you soon. Love you," I say, pecking Beth on the head.
"Love you too, dad." With that, and with a heavy heart, I regrettably walk back down the seventeen steps and head out.
The Viewpoint of Mr Sherlock Holmes
Once Lestrade leaves and he's out of sight, I signal for John to call in the report. I then sit with Beth on the sofa, since I can see that she's upset.
"It'll be alright. We know what we're doing. You'll just have to trust us, alright?" I say. Beth nods. I then ponder a moment. She's not all too happy anymore. She seems a little worse for wear. When John gets like that, he usually makes himself a cup of tea. So, I decide that as my next course of action.
"Yes, she came here. ...No, no, she's still here. Yes, she only arrived a few minutes ago. ...Looks alright. No bumps or bruises or anything. Don't think she's sick, either..." I hear John on the line with the police. He's doing rather well. He ends the call shortly thereafter. "Someone'll be round to pick you up soon," he says.
"Hopefully not before the tea's done," I add.
"Since when do you make tea?" John notes incredulously.
"Since I realised that Beth could probably use some. Perhaps some biscuits, as well?" I offer. John looks at me as if... well, if I weren't me. "John, this isn't the first time I've been genuinely accommodating," I tease.
"I know that..." he answers. Beth starts giggling again.
About fifteen minutes later, there's a squad car outside the door. Out pops the fairly familiar frame of Tobias Gregson. Even after all these years, I still remember him. He certainly hasn't aged that well. Clearly using fake hair colouring, still has that moustache/beard look. Sort of like how that... Oh, what's his name... Connery or what have you has it. I looked him up online not too long after I was... subjected to that Bond marathon. He's put on weight. Probably about... seventeen pounds since I last saw him.
He pounds on the door. I wave for John to answer since he was the one who placed the call. John walks down, and I listen by the sitting room door.
"Are you Doctor Watson?" Gregson asks. His voice has certainly gotten rougher. More like he's been gargling rocks. Or taking up smoking, either one.
"Yes."
"I'm Detective Inspector Tobias Gregson. I'm the girl's stepfather. Might I come in to fetch her?" He's putting on airs. Sounding more kindly. Fake kindly. He's not happy by this at all. Best keep a close watch of him.
"She's upstairs. If you'll follow me." I hear John and Gregson come up the steps. I put my hand up to instruct Beth to stay on the sofa. I see John's face first. It says it all: I don't like him. Nor trust him.
"There you are!" Gregson exclaims, putting on those false airs still. "Been looking all over for you. So glad you're alright. I-" He pauses as he notices I'm in the room. "Homes, was it?"
"Holmes. There's an 'L' in there," I correct. He never could say my name right. "Hello, Gregson."
"What brings you here?"
"I live here. This is mine and Doctor Watson's flat."
"Oh, of course. Well, thank you both for watching my stepdaughter. Come along, now, Beth. Let's go." Beth isn't moving. She's just staring at him. "Come on, Beth." She still sits. "Bethany Christine..." Gregson warns. Beth cringes, but stands her ground. Or, sits, rather. "Come on!"
"I don't wanna go back," she rebels.
"You're coming back whether you like it or not. Now come. On!" he bellows, taking her wrist.
"No!"
"Bethany, this is not the time nor the place to be getting smart with me. We're going." He then pulls her up from the sofa.
"That hurts! Let go!" Beth laments.
"I don't care, we're going," Gregson states. That's it. The moment I figured would come about. I step in front of the door. "Wh- What do you think you're doing?"
"Let her go. Let me see her wrist."
"What?"
"It's a fairly simple request. Her wrist," I repeat.
"Who do you think you are? A corrections officer? Come on, you can't tell me how to treat my kids."
"She's not your child. She's your stepchild. Remove your hand from her wrist. She has already ordered you to release her and yet you have not, I believe that counts as harassment. Which is, if I recall, a punishable offense. As done by a parental figure or legal guardian, that's grounds for investigation of a child abuse case, is it not, Detective Inspector?"
With that, he lets go. John takes a look. Gregson had clamped down on the same wrist that she wore her watch. John carefully removed the watch and examined her wrist. It was red, indented from the watch. On the inside of her wrist, it appeared as though the metal buckle had cut into her. Upon a second glance, I observe other such scars around the same area. This has happened before...
"Let me get you a plaster for that," John says, going for his first aid kit.
"That wasn't a very kind thing to do. I think that you're not suitable for her to stay with," I state. Gregson looks at me flabbergasted.
"What?" he says again.
"You've caught her wrist in your vice grip before. And, just as now, you've dug that metal buckle into her arm. I'd say that makes you an unsafe, daresay hazardous, person for her to be around. I should think that you ought to let her stay elsewhere."
"Elsewhere? Like where? Here?"
"No, we've no suitable room for her. But I'm sure there's others she could stay with. My girlfriend, for example, lives alone and in a very nice flat not too terribly far from here. She's a very trustworthy woman, as I could easily, and am currently, vouch for." While this probably isn't the best thing to do to one's significant other, sticking a child on them that isn't yours or theirs out of literally nowhere, she is the first person I would rather see Beth staying with since she can't stay here and can't be with Lestrade.
"...Let me phone my wife," he says after a sigh. "Hey, honey. Yeah, I found her. You remember that Homes fellow?" It's 'Holmes'. There's an L. "Yeah, that one. She went to his place trying to find- ...No, no, she didn't. I'm sure. Listen, honey..." He looks over his shoulder and proceeds to whisper into the phone. He then returns to his usual volume. "Yeah. Look, honey, I'm sorry. ...Right. Okay. Yeah. Sure, I'll see. Love you too. Bye now." He hangs up the phone. "She said Beth can stay with whoever it is."
And that was that. He left. Shows how much he cares. Also shows how much she cares for her own daughter. Yes, I've mistaken the love a mother has for her child, even if it never really lived, but still. In any case, I text Maria.
Hello, love, I type. She insists on pet names. Adds to the experience.
Would you mind having a house guest for at most three days?
SH x Again, the 'x' is another of her suggestions.
She replies not too long after.
Who is it?
Maria x
12 going on 13 year old girl. Lestrade's daughter. Needs somewhere to stay until restraining order's out.
SH x
It takes a good three minutes before she replies again. I hope this doesn't start a row of any sort.
I can't. I work late nights, you know that.
I can't watch a 12-yr-old for that long. Sorry, love.
Maria xx
Of course not. I'd ask Molly, but she's not talking to me for some reason. John thinks it might be jealousy. What could she possibly be jealous of? Either way, I can't think of any other women that I know she could stay with. Statistically, she'd be much more comfortable at her age staying with someone her own gender. So, Maria's out, Molly's out... No. No, I can't ask her. She'd never agree. Plus, I'm the one who'd be asking. She'd think I was delirious.
The Viewpoint of Sgt Sally Donovan
"Are you delirious?" I shout into the phone. That freak, trying to put me on babysitting duty? I mean, of course I'd be more than willing to help, since it's Lestrade's daughter and all. But him asking me? Really?
"No, I'm not. And I knew you'd say that. The point is, will you let her stay with you?" he asks, a bit annoyed. Like he has any right to be. Though, I am fairly free. No major cases riding up on me. Desk work's just about done. Got nothing else to do, really.
"Sure. Have someone bring her round to my place this evening. I'll have the place ready by then."
This'll be an interesting weekend.