Thank you all so much for the response last chapter :) I am sorry - i've managed to comepletely confuse myself as to where i'm up to in reviews - being dreadfully hung over does not help! I will now go and try and work out where i'm up to!

27th January

He usually hated this position.

It was dull, nothing to look at, nothing to observe but the repetitive motion. It didn't mean it didn't feel good but it wasn't enough to push him over the edge.

John had taken it as a challenge.

"Still bored," John asked sweetly, trailing a finger down Sherlock's back in maddeningly ticklish strokes.

"John," He…whined.

Not begged. Whined.

The handcuffs that he'd encouraged John to liberate clacked on the rungs of the headboard.

"Mmm?" John asked in that all too pleasant manner as he continued to move in shallow thrusts that were going to drive Sherlock mad. He leaned over Sherlock, tracing the patters with his tongue and roaming his hand around to Sherlock's stomach as if he was about to-

And then just danced his hand back again.

"God-" Sherlock hissed.

"Shush," John hissed back.

"Then move!"

John pulled back, steadying both hands on Sherlock's hips in a rather contemplative manner, as if Sherlock was the fucking Rosetta stone.

"John," he…almost begged.

"I'm thinking," John said in a passable imitation of him.

"Don't strain yourself," Sherlock gasped, glaring up at the cuffs and debating whether it was worth just slipping free and flipping them over.

He could probably do it, but he had given his word he would let John try.

"If you could have me do anything what would it be?" John asked suddenly.

Sherlock glared at the pillow, "Moving!"

"Sherlock," John smoothed his hands down Sherlock's thighs. "Tell me. He said, starting to rock with a little more purpose.

"Gagged." Sherlock muttered, meeting the thrusts. "Unable to ask stupid questions."

John sighed and sped up a little and set the pace.

The desperation he had felt during John's little teasing session faded slowly into a pleasant ache and then just a minor flutter. The sensation was there but his mind was starting to wander away from what they were doing…

The thrusts met in time with the handcuffs to the point where Sherlock could calculate there was 1.5 second gap between.

Perhaps he should see if John could manage to return them, now that was a skill-

"I used to think about this," John said suddenly. "Before you knew. I'd watch you bend to grab something and wonder how you'd react if I came up behind you."

-that few… Sherlock blinked suddenly focussing on John's words.

John's hand traced a path along his spine. "If you'd be silent or loud. I could picture you as either. You were always going to be demanding, but I used to wonder if I could make you shiver and gasp without you intending to."

Sherlock caught his breath, his thoughts skidding away.

"You'd drive me insane. The more I thought about it the more I was convinced you'd look over at me and just know. You have no idea how hard it was, when you found out. When we were standing opposite each other, nearly kissing. It was either leave or bend you over the table."

The bloody cuffs wouldn't let him reach down.

"I could have. I was desperate enough. And then you'd stare at me, following my every move around the flat. Do you remember I used to sleep on the sofa?"

Sherlock nodded frantically.

"The blankets covering me? I'd picture you watching me-"

God almighty, the image screamed through his brain and he twisted his hands, frantic to undo them. And then John, wonderful John, finally wrapped his hand around him.

"Telling me how to do it, watching my every reaction-"

Why the hell hadn't he looked under the blankets?

"Would you enjoy just watching me? Or would you have to join in? Could you manage to keep your distance? Do you think I could tempt you?"

John's voice was at his ear and the thrusts were impossible to predict and time now.

"I bet you that without touching me, you could control when I came."

Sherlock lost his mind.

"You have a filthy mouth," Sherlock gasped as he lay boneless on the bed and John undid the cuffs. "Why did I never know this?"

"You never asked." John said sounding far too matter of fact about the issue. "You're really not a fan of that position?"

Sherlock cracked open an eye, "I'm a fan of your mind," he said after a moment. "I could cope."

John shook his head," It's fine. Just wanted to try it." He seemed to hesitate as he dropped down next to Sherlock. "What about the other way round?"

Sherlock sighed, "Marginally better, it might be fascinating to see what I could work out from just watching the arch of your back."

John smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Right."

Sensing that there was something…something about this, Sherlock gathered his will power and turned over to face John properly. "What is it?"

"Are you…" John seemed to struggle for the right way to phrase what was in his head. "Satisfied?"

"I'm ecstatic John," Sherlock muttered half into the pillow, "Where were you five minutes ago?"

John huffed, "I don't like this," he slumped down on the pillow.

Worry grabbed at Sherlock's chest. "What?" he asked sitting up a little.

"Being…" John glared at the ceiling, "The…inexperienced one."

He looked so pathetically sullen that Sherlock turned his head into the pillow to stomp down the strange laughter that was bubbling up inside. John seemed to sense his amusement and wrinkled his nose. "I just…the angles, I'm still working out-"

Sherlock turned further into the pillow.

"Fine," John actually folded his arms and glared at the ceiling.

"John," Sherlock removed himself from the pillow. "You are aware that whatever shortcomings occurred in that position had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me."

John looked at him, "That's-"

"And that whether you'd shagged your way through all the men in London it would still be the case." Sherlock added. "That's why we experiment. And you're hypothesising very well."

John glanced up at him. "I'm being a complete girl about this, aren't I?" he sighed.

"I'm led to believe the expression is cute."

John glared at him, "Sod off."

Sherlock sighed, taking pity on him "I enjoy games and tests" he offered after a moment. "I enjoy watching your reaction. I enjoy watching you, studying you. I need to see your face or something that will show me what you're thinking, what you're feeling. I did it with your hands once."

John turned to him finally, "Games?" he asked with some trepidation.

Sherlock swept a thumb over John's lips, "Could I make you orgasm just by telling you to? Just by watching?"

John looked thoughtful.

"How long could you hold back? How still could you keep? How quiet? What would I need to do to make you beg, scream…" Sherlock smirked, "I already have one permutation of that. And, of course, visa-versa."

"So that you keep your mind on what we're doing and don't get bored?" John asked suddenly.

Hearing it said that bluntly made Sherlock blink in surprise, but after a while he nodded. "Yes." He said; it was as good an explanation as any.

Shifting on the pillow, John tapped his fingers on the space between them, miles away again. Sherlock watched him warily, unsure what he thought about that. John didn't seem upset or hurt just…distant.

Suddenly John shook himself. "What's the time?" he asked, sitting up.

"Almost two."

John winced, "I should go to bed."

"Stay."

But, as usual John shook his head, "It's easier if I go upstairs now."

Sherlock snapped awake and stared up at John in confusion.

"What?"

"Tea," John put the mug of the side. "It's five past eight."

Sherlock glared at the mug and then at John, "Contrary to your belief, I do not sleep when you do." He hissed, pulling the covers over his head, "Go away."

"I need you to get up." John muttered after a moment. "Now."

Sherlock rolled away from his voice.

"Please."

He hated this relationship thing.

Dressed and not happy about it, Sherlock stormed into the kitchen. "What?"

John looked up from his cup of tea. "Sorry?"

Sherlock looked around the flat, searching for the problem.

Nothing.

"Why am I up?" he hissed.

John opened his mouth.

"Daddy? I can't find my toothbrush." Ava's voice echoed cheerfully from upstairs.

"Like hell she can't," John muttered and stood up, "Give me a second."

Sherlock stared as he disappeared out the door and then stalked over to his violin and started playing "I know a song that will get on your nerves-"

Ava was good for some things.

"Why are you in such a mood?" John muttered as he came back in carrying Ava ten minutes later.

Sherlock just kept playing.

"I asked you about this and you said it was fine."

Sherlock deliberately started to play off tune.

"Sherlock?" John snapped. "It's a teachers training day, I need you to look after Ava."

What?

Sherlock dropped the bow down from the strings and turned. "Training?" he asked glancing down at Ava briefly.

And sure enough her school uniform was no-where in sight.

"I told you last week," John huffed buttering the toast with far more force than was needed.

"Are they not trained in the first place?" Sherlock asked, the violin dropping from his neck and the bow lowering down to rest by his leg.

"It means we get a day off," Ava explained, as if he were a moron.

"They have to keep up to date. I go to medical conferences sometimes for the same reason." John looked annoyed, "It's one day Sherlock, less than that. I'll try to get out as soon as I can."

There had been some vague reference to it now that he thought about it. How was he meant to keep up with the day to day ins and outs of things.

Especially when John woke him up at the crack of dawn for something as ridiculous at this. As if Ava wouldn't have managed to entertain herself while he was asleep. John of all people should know that Sherlock didn't sleep through fires or accidents. They were far more interesting than sleeping. And Mrs Hudson…

…ah, Mrs Hudson was away for the next few days. She'd sent up a care package consisting of so much sugar that Sherlock had promptly hid it before John could launch into a lecture on the dangers of imbibing sweet things.

"You are aware that Mrs Hudson is away visiting her sister?" Sherlock asked keeping his tone light.

He snuck a glance at John who had paused in his organisation of the conserves lids. "Yes," John said after a moment.

It hurt to watch that pathetic lie spew from his lips. "That was pitiful," Sherlock commented as Ava looked vaguely unimpressed at her father's dishonesty.

John's shoulders sagged, "If you really don't want to do it Sherlock-"

"You don't want to spend the day with me?" Ava asked, her head twisting round to face Sherlock's and turning a dangerously wounded look upon him. Behind her John looked as if he were trying to work out what to do and seemed to be coming up with very few solutions.

They both looked so suddenly forlorn that he almost felt like squirming. "I...this surely cannot be your best solution."

John flinched and looked so utterly guilty that Sherlock wanted to take the words back. Confused at the reaction, Sherlock studied him-

Moriarty had made John leave Ava home alone.

John had alluded to it a few times, but had never seemed comfortable really admitting it, as if it made him a bad father.

It had just proved Sherlock had failed spectacularly.

John winced, seeing the dawning realisation, and shrugged as if to downplay the issue.

Sherlock glanced at Ava who was darting her gaze between them as if they were at a tennis match. John followed his gaze and looked away, pulling his phone out, missing Sherlock's small nod.

"John," Sherlock said as he pressed a button.

John looked up.

"Fine."

It was almost eleven o clock when Lestrade phoned.

Up until that point Ava had been a complete angel, which was rather unusual for her. It was as if she could sense his consternation and had decided to just sit and do quiet activities that required minimum supervision.

That was until she answered the phone, after he'd gone to the damned effort of turning his off and not stealing John's on his way out.

She was surprisingly quick when she wanted to be. No sooner had the phone rung than she had abandoned her pencils and dashed over, answering the phone in a manner he could only describe as proud.

The look she flashed at him as she said hello, indicated she was attempting to be helpful.

"Mr Holmes?" she asked a moment later, screwing up her nose at the unfamiliar name. Ava looked over at him curiously.

He shook his head, whatever it was could wait.

"No, Sherlock says he doesn't live here," Ava declared firmly, almost primly.

Sherlock couldn't help the groan that slid past his lips.

Knowing his luck today it was telesales. And he wouldn't even be able to rip into them unless he sent Ava upstairs.

Ava blinked at the receiver and turned to him, "The man said you have to stop playing silly beggers." She relayed, obviously not understanding the phrase.

Sherlock gestured with a sharp hand, "Lestrade?" he asked as he took the phone off of Ava.

"What kind of game are you playing? I've been trying to get hold of your for over an hour-"

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, cutting Lestrade off before he really got started. The man was getting so demanding.

"You asked me to do this, I swear Sherlock if you've already lost interest-"

"What is it?"

Lestrade sighed, "A murder. It looks like the M.O of that assassin…Doran?"

"Another one?" Doran was high up on Raymond Setter's little assassination firm. If they could pin something on him…

"Yeah," Lestrade seemed to have relented in his little assertive spell. "A lawyer, she was found strangled this morning."

"Where was it found...she found?" he asked, correcting himself in case Lestrade was still being sensitive

"I'll text it to you," Lestrade said, "You'll be here?"

"Ten minutes," he said hanging up the phone. Finally things seemed to be moving along well. Brilliantly well! He let out a chuckle of delight. If he could find some lead, like he had on the Sammonds case then he could potentially unravel two great knots within a month or two-

"Ten minutes what?" Ava asked, having stood quietly and patiently.

Ah.

He'd forgotten about that.

They arrived at the crime scene a little later than he had hoped. Getting Ava ready had taken more than ten minutes, but he'd remembered to bring her homework so that it would be an educational trip of sorts.

Not a pen though. He'd forgotten that.

The taxi pulled up by the field and the body was far enough away from the road that Lestrade didn't notice, surrounded by his underlings as they fluttered around the crime scene.

He pulled the police tape over his head and noted with some amusement that Ava barely needed to duck as she followed him wide eyed and then, spotting the huddle of police, started to wander in that direction.

"What are they doing?" she asked as he caught her hood to pull her away. It was irritating, her natural curiosity was to look but until he saw how gruesome the body was it wouldn't be a good idea.

And, thinking about it, John might not approve. It was probably one of those things he needed to ask John first.

Talking." Sherlock said. "This way." He led her over to the car that was parked on the field and would be easily seen from where the body was if he stood at the edge of the dip where the body was or poked his head up every so often.

He angled her so that he would be able to keep an eye on her as he talked to Lestrade. "Stay here," he told her firmly.

Ava just stared up at him, her chin buried in her striped scarf of all different shades of pink, the little bobbly hat that nodded when she turned her head to the group and she threw him a look of intense disappointment.

Though whether it was for being dragged out to the crime scene or the fact that she was being denied the most interesting part of a crime scene was anyone's guess.

He hated that he couldn't tell which it was.

What is your policy on Ava and dead bodies? SH

"You took your time," Lestrade huffed.

Sherlock ignored him and went to the body-

-ah, face smashed in to hide identity. Perhaps not the best start for Ava.

"I need your phone," Sherlock said noting the position.

Lestrade muttered furiously behind him, and Sherlock spun, reaching into Lestrade's coat pocket when he gathered with the majority of the mumblings that Lestrade was still in his sudden assertive phase.

Lestrade glared at him as Sherlock pulled out his phone, keys hidden from his sight underneath. "Do you want to be here?" Lestrade asked as Sherlock pocketed the keys before he noticed and unlocked the phone, "'Cause you're not acting like it!"

"I'm merely giving you all a head-start," Sherlock said, wandering away and back to Ava.

Never mind, not a good one to start on. SH

He locked Lestrade's phone, paused in what he was doing and then studied it as he walked to the car. Checking his name was in the call lists and that he wasn't listed as one of the more colourful ways Lestrade referred to him as, he glanced up at Ava who was looking utterly bored. Disliking the look, he moved her gently to the side as he opened the car.

"You have a key?" she asked, suddenly awed.

He pointed to the passenger seat and she scrambled in with far too much enthusiasm for someone getting into a police car, then looked at him eagerly.

Her face fell when he placed the homework book on her lap. Ava studied it for a moment and then looked up at him with such a pleading expression that Sherlock almost took it back.

John had warned him about that look!

"But I don't have a pen," she reminded him.

Avoiding her looking at her, Sherlock reached over to fumble with the glove compartment and retrieved a pen.

"Here," he said handing it over to her and starting to pull himself back out of the car.

"Who's Scott?" Ava asked curiously.

Freezing he looked down at her, confused by the question. "What?" he asked, trying to work out if she'd heard something while he'd been talking with Lestrade.

Ava held up the pen, twisting it until she showed him the pen's logo. Sherlock stared at it.

Scotland Yard.

"It says Scot Land's Yard," Ava explained.

"Scotland Yard," he corrected, almost amused at the idea.

"Are we in Scotland then?"

He could see her point he thought, even as he shook his head, "No," he replied, wincing at just leaving the explanation at that.

He needed to get back to Lestrade before the man came looking for him.

"Are we in a yard?"

"No-just do your homework," Sherlock could see Lestrade's annoyed stance from behind out of the corner of his eye in the mirror, "or at least make it look like you tried," he added when she sulked down at her homework book.

Ava gave him a look that meant he probably shouldn't have suggested that. He looked down at her, feeling strangely uncomfortable at the idea of leaving her almost out of his sight. It was foolish; an unnecessary nagging worry but it wouldn't leave.

"Here," he said, mind made up and crouching into the space left between the door and the car so that Lestrade wouldn't instantly see him. Digging the phone out of his coat pocket, he let her see what he was doing with the phone as he scrolled through the contacts list.

"Here," Sherlock showed her his name on the list. "If you need something text," he explained half expecting to instantly getting an empty text message the second he started to walk away, "if you see something...worrying then call. I'll just be over there," he pointed in the vague direction of the body.

"What are you going to do?" Ava asked peering between him, the phone and the police.

"Help them," Sherlock said, trying to work out if there was anything he'd forgotten. "You understand how to use the phone?"

"Can I answer it?" Ava asked, clearly still remembering the talk they'd had earlier on about answering the phone.

Sherlock stared down at her, picturing for a moment the confused faces of Lestrade's superiors when Ava Watson answered the phone, "Not unless it's me calling. Watch," he dug out his own phone and called. Seconds later the phone in Ava's hand lit up with the word Sherlock.

"That's the only time you answer it." Sherlock said firmly, ending the call, narrowing his eyes to assess whether she had understood.

Ava nodded. "Are we having lunch soon. All the hands are at the top," she said showing him her little watch with the fish that got lost on it and fixing him with a look that was so completely and utterly a replica of John's expression when the possibility of skipping a meal was mentioned that he just stared at her, stunned for a moment.

Ava kept staring back, clearly wanting an answer. "This won't take long," he assured her, "And if you're good you can choose what we eat."

"McDonald's," she told him, John's look falling off her face at the prospect of soggy fast food.

"Fine," he replied, almost sure he could manage the five minutes needed to queue up to order a takeaway happy meal.

Satisfied Ava settled into the seat, looking almost excited at the prospect of being shut in a car for half an hour.

Perhaps he had forgotten something, he thought as his feet seemed to refuse to move away. What was it…?

"Don't you need to go and help them?" Ave asked, as if he needed the reminder.

Sherlock nodded, the sooner he helped, the sooner they could leave. He stood suddenly, and a wave of…of something hit him as she followed his movements, chin tilting up to keep her undivided attention on him.

Her cheeks were rosy from the wind and he smoothed the back of his fingers over her soft skin there (to check she wasn't too cold) and then lifted the hand away, diverting to stroke her wind swept hair straight(to make her look presentable).

Annoyed at himself, for reasons that utterly confused him, and thereby annoyed him more, he shut the door, locked it and made his way over to the Inspector.

Do I even want to know? JW

Sherlock paused, still nagged by that strange feeling.

What had he forgotten?

Maybe he should put the window down a bit, wasn't that what people with pets did? And he was sure he'd heard someone say before that there wasn't a lot of difference between the two.

It sounded ridiculous to him but it also sounding like the kind of foolish nonsense that most people complained about.

Turning back he unlocked and opened the car, yanking the door open. Ava stared up at him curiously, the homework book surprisingly open on her lap.

She said nothing as he turned the key in the ignition and then pressed the button to slide the window down a little.

What if she were too cold?

"Comfortable?" he asked, knowing to well that if you suggested something to Ava she usually played up to it.

"Police cars are boring." She told him sullenly, pouting and glaring around her as if to blame the vehicle.

"It's dreadfully disappointing, isn't it," Sherlock agreed. "Remember to text if you have an issue." he added.

Then waited until Ava nodded and closed the door again, locking it.

It took barely three minutes to determine that the woman hadn't been killed by a hired assassin. It was however a passable copycat, which meant that she had been murdered by someone who had access to past case notes.

Not uninteresting, but not urgent either.

Lestrade seemed to think he'd lost his mind.

"You don't want this?" he asked as Sherlock finished barking his initial observations at the team.

Oh he did, but taking down Moriarty was far more important; he and John had enough to work on as it was.

Tedious, dull work that's only mystery was finding enough evidentiary proof to hold up in court.

"It depends how badly you mess it up," Sherlock replied, turning to return to the car.

"That's it?" Lestrade called after him, clearly following. Really the man had no sense of professionalism.

"What would you like?" Sherlock asked, stopping and turning back. "A map to guide you to an original thought?"

"Don't give me that!" Lestrade said frankly, ignoring the insult with ease, "A copycat murder of an assassin whose murders barely make the headlines, are certainly never linked and rarely consistently local? This is right up your street, if for no other reason than it gives you the chance to insult anyone who works in law, given your description of the murderer."

"I have other things that require my attention-"

"These aren't like your normal cases Sherlock where things happen quickly. Finding evidence can take months. Don't give me that bullshit."

"Do you not listen? I will consult on this later, but I have things to do."

"Then why are you walking away from the road-" Lestrade seemed to realise where they were heading. "Look, I don't know what you're about to do to the car-" The lack of footsteps behind Sherlock indicated he had stopped and had finally realised he was missing his keys.

There was a strangled noise and then frantic squelches as Lestrade strode to catch up, "For God's sakes Sherlock what have you done to the car?" He asked as Sherlock stopped at the door and opened it, "You can't go around interfering with police property Sherlock. We've had this discussion before_"

Lestrade's voce died away as Ava clambered out, her homework book closed suspiciously around Lestrade's phone. Sherlock could feel the bewildered look that Lestrade was giving them.

"What the..." Lestrade seemed to reconsider what he was about to say. "Why is there a child in the car? If this is part of the murder_"

How on earth that would work, Sherlock had no idea. It wasn't as if he made a habit of carting small children around that got hungry and needed attention.

"Mrs Hudson is away." Sherlock explained. "Did you finish your homework?" he asked, turning his attention to Ava, who seemed to ponder the question a moment.

"No," she replied honestly.

"Wait...what...how does that explain anything?" Lestrade demanded, cutting over their conversation.

Ah, so Lestrade hadn't met Ava then.

"She's John's daughter." Sherlock explained, "He is at work and the school is having some training day."

Ava peered up at them curiously, wincing as the wind picked up. Perhaps he should have insisted on an extra jumper-

"You brought a child to a crime scene?" Lestrade asked, his voice heavy with disbelief as he looked between them both.

It was hardly as if he'd marched her up to the body and highlighted the points of impact. He'd kept her in the car, far away from the gore and the idiots.

What was the man's problem?

"I cracked the window for her," he found himself saying.

That seemed to make Lestrade more incredulous, not less.

Ava stepped close to him, still gazing between himself and Lestrade, her little forehead creasing with worry.

"You promised McDonald's." She reminded him.

"I promised you food from McDonald's, I made no promise about eating at McDonald's," Sherlock muttered, Lestrade's stunned look riling him. "For God's sake Lestrade, as I seem to be more competent at this job than your entire squad, I think I can effectively keep a child occupied for a day."

Occupied isn't the issue." Lestrade shook his head, "Is John aware you have his daughter?"

"Of course he is." Sherlock snapped. "It could have hardly escaped his notice this morning when he walked out the door that he was leaving her under my watch."

Lestrade glanced down at Ava as if assessing damage and then up again, "Is he aware she's here?" Lestrade asked doubtfully, "At a murder scene?" His voice over emphasised the word murder, as if Sherlock might miss the word.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I'm not asking her to examine the body. And if you're so concerned about it then I suggest you stop repeating the word murder every other minute."

Lestrade shook his head, "You really are determined to push the limits of friendship with John aren't you?" he said with a small amount of disgust at Sherlock's apparent disregard of John.

It infuriated him.

As if John would let Sherlock get away with doing anything that would harm Ava. He'd said this morning that he trusted Sherlock, he'd not given Sherlock the list that he'd sat scribbing and then crossing out for thirteen minutes.

A small, tiny part of him twitched in fear though.

And how dare Lestrade imply-

"But Sherlock's Daddy's special friend." Ava's voice cut through the haze in Sherlock's head and he almost blinked at finding himself much closer to Lestrade than he'd realised. "That means they can put up with lots more from each other." Ava added, sounding as if she was repeating something.

Sherlock couldn't begin to unravel it, hidden clues and meanings lost by the fact that Ava could be paraphrasing and was unlikely to say it in exactly the same way John had.

Lestrade stared at Ava with something almost resembling worry. "There are limits_"

But Ava just shrugged, as if bored of the topic, "Usually Daddy just kisses Sherlock and then they make up." Ava said in a very matter of fact manner. "Daddy says it's the only way to get Sherlock to shut up."

Lestrade gasped and then seemed to attempt to cover it up. He looked as if he couldn't decide how to process that information. He looked to Sherlock for confirmation and Sherlock found himself sighing.

Well, he would have found out eventually. Perhaps it was better this way; it had seemed so unnecessarily dramatic to announce the change of his and John's relationship. There had been no way of doing it that hadn't sounded as if he needed Lestrade's dubious approval.

Ava, oblivious to any issue, just looked up at Sherlock in sudden panic, "Can I say shut-up if I'm repeating what someone else has said?" she asked, clearly attempting to wriggle out of trouble.

Lestrade still wasn't saying anything. He couldn't seem to get past the shock if Lestrade's body language was any indication.

"Inspector," Anderson's voice rang out as he approached from way up from the dip of the hill where Sherlock had disappeared earlier. "We've found something."

Lestrade was still staring slightly slack jawed at Sherlock, the words starting to sink in. His eyes skittered all over Sherlock as if seeking proof or a sudden difference-

"Is everything alright?" Donovan had made her way over too. "Sir?" she added, addressing Lestrade.

"Yes," Lestrade seemed to blink himself back to the moment at Donovan's voice. "Yes, what is it?" he asked, tearing his gaze from Sherlock but glancing back as if his eyes were magnetised.

It was unnerving and even Anderson had worked out something was amiss.

"We've found something," he said, shooting Sherlock a suspicious glare, before looking down at Ava.

"We had gathered that Anderson." Sherlock replied, hating the sudden attention for a moment. If John were here he'd have diffused this situation by now. "I assume asking for more detail would be pointless."

There was a sudden presence almost against his leg and he looked down to see Ava very close to him, watching with wide, scared ideas, her chin sunk down protectively into the scarf.

"You don't want to do that honey," Donovan said, bending over and using a coaxing tone, "Come away from him, he can be a bit of a psycho at times."

Psycho.

The word had been directed at him more times than he could care to keep count. Once it had amused him to record how many times he could make people say it in one dinner. More often than not the word blended into the background, a dull and unimaginative insult worthy of only a half-hearted correction that usually confused them.

But Ava looked surprised and around as if waiting for Donovan to be told off, her small mouth tightening in disapproval

"Donovan," Lestrade warned, turning his attention to her as well.

"What?" Donovan looked over at Lestrade, recognising the tone but not the circumstances.

"That's John Watson's daughter," Lestrade announced firmly and Sherlock could see dawning recognition in her eyes, "Sherlock's babysitting." Lestrade added, his tone sincere and calm.

But Donovan's mouth dropped and the idiot snorted in disbelief.

"What?" Donovan asked, as if Sherlock had just announced Anderson was an unparalleled genius.

Sherlock could feel his temper start to fray, suddenly very aware of the close attention Ava was paying to what they were saying.

God only knew what she was making of it.

"I'll text you if we find anything." Lestrade's voice was a welcome distraction, "We can wait until this evening when John's back. Take the girl home Sherlock," Lestrade said firmly, finally accepting Sherlock's earlier suggestion.

Walking away was not a natural instinct for him, far from it. He wanted to prod and poke at Lestrade, get reactions to determine what the man thought about this new relationship; not because the man would disapprove but because he always seemed wary for John even when they were flatmates. Donovan was just asking for it and Anderson was Anderson and Sherlock was struggling to remember if he'd insulted him more than the seven times he aimed for at every meeting.

Then Ava pressed herself into his leg, as if seeking protection or comfort.

The wind was making her shiver and a glance at her face showed she was utterly confused and starting to get upset by the atmosphere.

His hand reached out and he turned her by cupping the back of her head with a gentle movement. Donovan and Anderson seemed taken aback while Lestrade narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

He had more important things to do than deal with-

"Watson must be mad; if he leaves her with him too often she'll turn into some sort of mini freak."

Fury ripped through him, fierce and blinding and painfully twisted from the amount of reactions to that statement. The implication that John was a fool or an unfit father, the idea that he would allow what he could accept many saw as failings in him to affect Ava.

The idea that Ava could be viewed as an outcast because of him.

Donovan looked as if she wished she could swallow back her own tongue when he returned to her, stalking past Anderson, who had laughed, and avoiding Lestrade's eye, not wanting to see what thoughts might be in there.

He couldn't rant, he couldn't scream and humiliate her but he could make his feelings on the situation utterly clear.

"Repeat that," he snarled, his voice soft enough that Ava wouldn't pick it up from where she stood.

Donovan shook her head minutely and opened her mouth, a useless apology about to flitter out.

"If I ever hear a word against them cross your lips again I will have no hesitation in informing your fiancé of your shortcomings," he purposefully allowed his gaze to dart in Anderson's direction. "Past and present," he added with distaste. "And, if I were you, I would pray John doesn't find out what you said, especially as I no longer feel inclined to hold him back."

Anger and humiliated fury burned in her cheeks, until they were burned away from a look of startled shock that flared at the end of his hissed words.

And then there was guilt and…shame?

"You didn't care?" she asked with disbelief. "About my part in it all?"

"You give yourself far too much credit," he lashed out and turned on his heel almost catching Lestrade's fiercely stern look as the Inspector remained uncharacteristically silent while Sherlock snapped and snarled.

Ava was still staring at him, her eyes wide and lost. She looked so utterly alone against the empty field that he strode over, picking her up without the usual pause for the necessary calculation and assessment.

She wrapped her arms around his neck automatically, the way she did with John and snuggled her head into his shoulder, peering for a moment at the detectives before tucking her head into the crook of his neck and tightening her grip, as if he were the one that needed comfort.

He had no idea what to say to her. It worried him that any attempts at speech may end up as an unintentional interrogation as to what she made of it all.

It was disquieting how much he cared. Not since those first few months with John had he felt like this.

How had this happened? At least John was useful and had skills and application to Sherlock's work. John was a fully formed adult who was fascinating and complex.

No, the better question was how had she taken that rarely used organ that was almost entirely owned by John and wriggled out a space in it?

AN: I have no idea what people were expecting Sherlock to say to Donovan but, given that he barks out intimate details about her life left, right and centre there was very little left with to use!