Crime Scene at Baker Street (Part One)
Prompt: Sherlock and his daughter Sheridan are left completely alone at Baker Street. Without any supervision.
What's the worst that can happen?
"Sherlock! Sheridan!" John called out once he finally managed to open the front door while still carrying his luggage. "I'm home! Hello?"
No answer.
Well, what did you expect, John? That Sheridan and Sherlock would come racing down the stairs to greet you? John reflected humorously.
Well, Sheridan might, but Sherlock would prefer that you come up the stair to greet him, and then listen politely as he bemoans the stupidity of the criminal underworld and just how bored he has been.
And then he will ask for you to go out and buy the milk!
Despite his outward nonchalance, John was secretly uneasy, although he could not fathom why.
Ok, maybe he could. Sherlock was actually left without supervision for several days, and he spent the last few nights worrying what he would do.
For the last week, John had been at a medical conference in Bristol, while Mary was visiting her family in Sussex.
And every day, he expected that someone would call to tell him that the two geniuses had (A) blown up the flat, (B) caused havoc at a crime scene, (C) engaged in plots to drive Mycroft to the point of insanity, or (D) a combination of the aforementioned scenarios.
But surprisingly, no one had called.
Not even Mrs. Hudson.
Although that wasn't surprising, considering she was absent from the flat as well.
John chuckled to himself as he recalled the events two weeks ago, when Mrs. Hudson (their landlady but not housekeeper) announced that she was going to see her sister, thus leaving the flat empty but for Sherlock and Sheridan. She ignored Sherlock's stare and Sheridan's giggles, as well as John's smirk when she made her announcement.
It was already a poorly concealed "secret" that Mrs. Hudson had garnered the attention of one of the new neighbors, a widower by the name of Franklin Smithson. He lavished quite a bit of affection on Mrs. Hudson, which eventually got him "kidnapped" by a certain British government official.
For once in his life, Sherlock wholeheartedly applauded Mycroft's actions.
Yet despite the fact that Smithson had already endured the usual terrors that most people who lived anywhere near the vicinity of 221B Baker Street usually suffered (loud violin music at three in the morning, a certain lanky consulting detective coming in and out of the flat carrying body parts, etc.), he still stayed around. Further, he endured the overprotectiveness of Mrs. Hudson's "boys" as well as a government-sanctioned kidnapping with remarkable patience and good humor.
So it seemed as though Mr. Smithson was here to stay.
At least until Sherlock and Mycroft devised some sort of way to get rid of him without Ms. Hudson knowing.
Personally, John admired the man's courage. It wasn't many people who were able to stand up to the combined horror of the Holmes brothers and have actually lived to tell the tale.
It therefore came as no surprise to anyone that the same day that Mrs. Hudson left to "visit her sister," Mr. Smithson was leaving as well to go on a trip to Paris.
His mistake, as Sherlock pointed out, was that he was carrying passports for two.
Sheridan, whom Sherlock had spoiled completely and who couldn't resist some playful teasing of her own, politely asked if Mrs. Hudson could bring her back something from the gift shop at the Musée du Louvre, much to Mrs. Hudson's sputtering denials.
But it wasn't Mrs. Hudson's actual destination that weighed heavily at the back of John's mind throughout the conference.
Rather, it was the fact that the flat on Baker Street was empty but for Sherlock and his young daughter, Sheridan.
John was obviously reluctant to leave them alone (Sherlock's notoriety notwithstanding). And he made it clear on no-uncertain terms the day he left.
"Sherlock, who's going to make you eat?! And what if you blow up the flat?!"
Sherlock had rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Honestly, John! I survived many years without you! Do you really think I am incapable of surviving two weeks? I'll do some cases, Sheridan will go to school, and on occasion we will engage in suitable father-daughter activities. We'll be fine!"
"You do realize, of course, that suitable father-daughter activities include walks in the park and playing board games, not trips to the morgue and stake-outs?" John muttered, staring at Sherlock warningly.
Sherlock smirked. "Give me a mediocre of credit, John! I know what I am doing!"
John had his doubts, but he brushed them off regardless. Just before he left, however, he called Mycroft and asked him to set up surveillance at the flat, just in case.
That particular conversation did not end well.
At the suggestion that he put Sherlock under a "discrete" twenty-four hour watch, Mycroft merely raised his eyebrows in mild surprise, as though John was asking for permission to use Buckingham Palace for a stag party.
"I would be happy to, John. However, that may prove much more difficult that you would imagine."
"Oh?" John asked, his blue eyes narrowing in confusion. "You have certainly never worried about violating our privacy before."
Mycroft chuckled benignly. "You have forgotten Sherlock's new weapon against my attempts to watch over him, John. Believe me, my niece is very resourceful."
John shook his head as he realized that Mycroft was right.
Of course. How could he forget?
After all, Sheridan was a world-class hacker, even at the tender age of eight. And like her mother before her, she had no qualms about turning off the CCTV systems whenever it suited her.
"Do not be so alarmed, John." Mycroft comforted him. "Sherlock has proven to my satisfaction that he can take care of himself for a few weeks. If he was on his own, I would shudder at the possibilities. However, he has become quite responsible as to the welfare of his daughter."
John had to admit that was true. Before Sherlock came back from his hiatus, no one would have thought him capable of keeping a gold fish alive for a week, much less caring for and raising a child.
However, Sherlock had proven, much to everyone's surprise, that he was a very capable father and role model to his young daughter, Sheridan.
Of course, Sheridan was a bit of a surprise to everyone. She was the result of a one-night encounter between Sherlock and a runaway living on the streets named Danielle Morray, who also happened to be the sister of James Moriarty.
John was still trying to wrap his head around that revelation.
Who would have thought that long before the two mad geniuses spared off, one of them would actually be having a relationship with the other one's sister?
It was just too bizarre to even try to figure out.
Still, it wasn't as though Danielle Morray was like Moriarty, in looks or in personality. Years before John had even met Sherlock, Danielle had fled from her brother and chose to hide in London. For security purposes, she hacked into the CCTV system and turned off all surveillance to keep herself from being found.
One night, she had met Sherlock, and for several months the two outcasts lived on the streets, each one fascinated by the other's skills.
The fascination eventually turned into respect, and something akin to friendship, although Sherlock would never admit it.
However, whatever relationship that Sherlock and Danielle were meant to have was interrupted by the arrival of Moriarty's men, who had finally tracked Danielle to London.
Regardless of the fact that Sherlock was unsure as to the extent of his "feelings" towards Danielle, it was enough for him to actually convinced Mycroft to send Danielle overseas in an attempt to flee her brother's wrath.
Little did either of them know it at the time, but the one night that Sherlock and Danielle spent together actually resulted in Danielle becoming pregnant.
The irony that Moriarty and Sherlock were technically related (by virtue of Sheridan being Sherlock's daughter as well as Moriarty's niece) was not lost to John, but he wisely chose not to comment on it.
But Sheridan was a surprise to Sherlock as well, as he was completely unaware of her existence. It wasn't until just after the incident at St. Bart's hospital, when Sherlock was going after Moriarty's web, that he received a letter from Danielle, who had tragically met her end after a long battle with cancer.
Upon her death, she had left Sherlock with control of her own little empire, considerable financial resources, and a network that was dedicated to ending the threat that was Moriarty.
She had also left him with a seven-year old girl with no one else to care for her.
So when Sheridan had eventually shown up on Baker Street some time later and revealed who she was, it was enough to cause quite the sensation at the Yard. All the more so because she was healthy and reasonably well-adjusted, despite the odd "Holmes" habits she had picked up over time.
And after she revealed to anyone within earshot how good her "dad" was to her?
Well, let's just say that Sherlock's reputation as a high-functioning sociopath was forever shattered.
Still, the idea of two Holmes alone in Baker Street was enough to keep John up at night, and he was glad that he was able to leave the medical conference several days earlier than he anticipated.
The sight of Baker Street, still in one piece, was enough to temporarily assuage John's fears the minute he saw it come to view. With no evidence of property damage, crime scene tape, obnoxious odors, and anything that seemed suspicious, it looked as though his anxiety was unfounded.
As it was the weekend, he knew Sheridan was not in school, so he was not overly alarmed when neither of them rushed down to greet him.
At least, not really.
Perhaps Sherlock took Sheridan to Hyde Park so she could practice on her inherited "induction" abilities that seemed to run in the Holmes family. Or perhaps they went to visit Lestrade and the Yarders.
Still, it wouldn't hurt to go upstairs to check.
"Sherlock?" John called out while he knocked on the door of 221 B. "Sheridan? Are you two in? I got back early, and I thought you two may want to order out. Maybe at Angelo's."
No answer. The silence hung heavy in the air, almost oppressive.
"Sherlock? Sheridan?" John called again.
Still no answer.
Frowning, John reached for the handle, inwardly berating himself for his actions. After all the time he spent berating Sherlock for his lack of boundaries, and yet here he was, about to break into Sherlock's flat.
The doorknob turned easily, and the door clicked open.
And John stepped inside.
The first thing he saw was color.
No! Not colors, but one color!
Crimson.
As in blood red.
And it was all over the main sitting room.
John stood there, gaping, as he took in the scene in front of him. Everything was streaked or stained with blood.
The carpet, the drapes (conveniently pulled together), the four different wallpapers, and even the mantel piece, where the two skulls (one belonging to Sherlock, and the other belonging to Sheridan), were grinning back at him from underneath a film of drying blood.
"SHERLOCK! SHERIDAN!"
Gasping, John raced into the flat, nearly tripping on a pipe that was left on the floor for some obscure reason. He ran into Sherlock's bedroom, finding it to be in pristine condition, without any trace of blood or violence. He then ran up to Sheridan's bedroom and found it in a similar state.
The bathroom, on the other hand, showed evidence of a possible cleanup.
In one corner of the room, in a clothes hamper, were several damp towels, streaked in red. Several clothes were in there as well, including Sherlock's favorite purple shirt, which was literally encrusted in blood to the fact that it was stiff. The shower had been used recently, as evidenced by the water still dripping from the faucet.
But by far the most disturbing thing he saw was the presence of a chainsaw, wiped clean, sitting unobtusely beside the clothes hamper.
John had seen enough.
Rushing from the room, he raced downstairs to grab his mobile to contact the Met.
Author's note: Wow! I started off with a bang, didn't I?
Sorry about the choppiness of the chapter. I know most of it was flashbacks and stuff, and I hope I did ok on it.
So, what happened to Sheridan and Sherlock? Are they still alive? And what happened!?
John Watson-"Peaceful Defender, are you trying to kill me!?"
Peaceful Defender (rolling her eyes in dismay)-"I post one lousy chapter and already you are complaining!? What do you expect, John? A chapter with you relaxing on a beach somewhere?"
Mary Watson-"That would be nice, actually."
Peaceful Defender-"Well, I hate to break it to you, but the readers want a little drama! And the fact that Sherlock and Sheridan are missing...
John Watson-"Missing!? There is blood all over the flat! And weapons! I have seen battle zones less chaotic than that! So where is Sherlock and Sheri!?"
John Watson-"Peaceful Defender, somehow I seriously doubt that these lovely readers want to read about how you killed off Sherlock and his daughter in the first chapter!"
Peaceful Defender-"Calm down! Maybe I will have you rescue them. Or maybe not. It depends on my muse. And whether I get reviews or not."
Mary Watson-"Already begging for reviews, aren't we?"
Peaceful Defender (smirking)-"Why not? Besides, I want to see if any of the readers can guess what happened to Sheridan and Sherlock."