A/N: I've started learning directing for the stage; it is hell. on. wheels. In sort of a good way. My original script was Sherlock and The Baby, but I wasn't able to condense it to a version I liked :(
"You've obviously made a mistake!"
Sherlock stormed around the tiny office, his deep voice thundering with rage. Many people would have been at the very least unsettled by the tall, livid force pacing around, but the Detective Inspector behind the desk barely blinked. He'd seen enough of Sherlock's fits to think himself adept at handling them.
"Sorry, Sherlock," he said with a bit of a shrug. "It was his ex-wife."
"No, no!" Sherlock argued with a wave of his hand. "No, that can't—"
"Sherlock, the woman confessed, and we found both the knife and the arsenic in her home."
"It was planted! It has to have been!"
"Sherlock," Lestrade made his voice as firm as he could while still keeping his cool. The last thing he needed was to anger the consulting detective so much that he'd boycott the department for a month. Sherlock Holmes may have been the very definition of an arrogant pain in the arse, but damned if he wasn't good at what he did. "I'm sorry. She turned herself in late last night. I tried to call you then."
Sherlock clenched his teeth and looked out the window into the department. On the other side of the door, sitting at a desk with an officer, Raven chattered away and scribbled on a piece of paper. His eyes narrowed. It was her fault that he hadn't completed the case. That insufferable thing was causing too much distraction. If only he had been able to think!
Putting his hands on his hips, he took a deep breath. "Fine. The case in the papers last week about the bodies with the missing feet, what—"
"I'm not putting you on another case."
The look he received when the detective turned around was venomous. "What?"
"My team is working diligently and making quite a bit of progress," Lestrade explained, clasping his hands together. "Frankly, we don't n… require your help at this time."
"You can't expect me to believe that," Sherlock spat back. Lestrade's eyes momentarily flickered to the girl through the window. Sherlock's piercing eyes caught his gaze. Placing both hands on the desk, he leaned forward and glared into Lestrade's eyes. "You need me," he hissed.
"So does she," Lestrade responded calmly.
Neither moved, but kept their stares, daring the other to back down first. Finally, Sherlock snarled, whipped around and left the office, slamming the door behind him. The Detective Inspector watched as the dark haired man scooped up the toddler and carried her out under his arm. Though initially stunned, Raven grinned and waved at him through the glass as she was carried off.
Lestrade meekly waved back, and wondered if maybe taking away Sherlock's work wasn't the best idea.
John knew that look; scowl, narrowed eyes, and a bit of a determined fire burning in his expression. Sherlock was throwing a tantrum. The doctor could only watch his friend pace about, occasionally tearing his fingers through his thick curls.
"I'm taking her back to Mycroft," Sherlock finally declared.
John looked up from his place on the sofa where he cradled a sleeping Raven. "What?" He whispered, hoping Sherlock would get the message to keep his voice down.
"This is foolish! She is Mycroft's problem, not mine," Sherlock insisted at the same level he had been using. John gave him a hard look. "I have been distracted long enough," he whispered, grudgingly complying.
"You can't take her back, Sherlock," the blonde man replied calmly.
"Why not?"
"Mis'er Mycof' would win," Raven mumbled, stretching her arms out as she yawned. Turning over, she leaned into John and resumed looking as though she were asleep.
John looked down at her in surprise, and back up to Sherlock. The consulting detective looked genuinely perplexed for a brief moment. John shrugged. "Well… She's right."
"What am I supposed to do?" Sherlock asked helplessly. "I need my work!"
John didn't need to be told that twice. When Sherlock didn't have anything to do, he became dangerous. The doctor was sure that Mrs. Hudson wouldn't be pleased if she returned home to a fresh set of bullets in her upstairs walls. Would it even be limited to the upstairs?
"Why don't you do what Mycroft would least expect?" John asked after a moment. His friend raised an eyebrow and looked somewhat interested. "Why don't you live a… normal… life for a while?"
He had never seen Sherlock look so horrified. "A domestic life?" John nodded. "No, no, no! Absolutely not!"
"Mycroft knows you," John pressed. "He's probably sitting in his office, waiting for you to barge through his door and leave Raven on the desk. Would he expect you to settle down and look after her?" Sherlock was quiet, but the dark look on his face silently admitted that he knew the other man was right. "It lasted for what, two weeks last time? I'm sure you could manage for a bit."
Sherlock didn't answer, but raged internally. Domestic? Him? It sounded like a sick joke. He had never been a family sort of person, barely even having contact with his own. The last time he was around children, aside from Raven, was his school days, and he was still a boy himself. No, he needed mental stimulation, ongoing challenges to his intellect; this, this, was far below him.
John gently set Raven down on the cushions and rose to his feet. "Right, well I'll be off then. But do think it over, Sherlock. You want to beat that bastard, and we both know it."
He was almost out the door before Sherlock spoke. "John?" The doctor turned around to face his friend. Sherlock hesitated, and shifted agitatedly. "How?" He asked miserably before he had a chance to change his mind.