Jo had been pulled out of bed at four in the morning in order to go to a crime scene. She didn't mind too much, though, even if she did complain. The case itself was interesting, if relatively simple in the end, and they had it wrapped up by lunch time. Jo had had to take down the murderer with a rugby tackle, which, while rather impressive, had hurt her wrist. She was just deciding that all she needed was a couple of paracetamol and to put off the blog post for a few days when Sherlock and Lestrade came walking towards her. The two men seemed to be having a serious conversation; Sherlock was actually listening, his head tilted towards Lestrade in concentration. As they got closer to Jo Lestrade handed Sherlock a piece of paper, which the detective pocketed, and then squeezed his shoulder before breaking off to go to his own car; he gave Jo a friendly wave, which she returned even though she was confused by the interaction.
"You have the rest of the day off, correct?" Sherlock asked as they walked towards the road to find a cab.
She nodded. "Yeah, I'm not scheduled at all this week. You tend to interrupt me more around the full moon, so it's not worth the trouble." He sniffed at that but didn't deny it.
"I need to go shopping," he said tonelessly.
Jo frowned. "Shopping? Why?"
"James' birthday party is tomorrow and I need to get him a gift," he answered. "You're invited as well, obviously. I thought that if you helped me pick something out then we can put both of our names on the card."
"And who is James?" She asked, her frown deepening.
Sherlock narrowly avoided rolling his eyes. "James Lestrade. Lestrade's middle child. He's turning nine next week."
"Okay," she said slowly. "Why are we invited to his birthday party?"
"Because I'm always invited to family gatherings and Lestrade thought it would be polite to invite you as well," he answered with a sigh, giving her a look that clearly said that this was her last question. She just sighed and decided to just go with it; she was sure that someone would tell her what was going on eventually.
Jo quickly decided that taking Sherlock to a toy store was a Very Bad Idea. He was easily distracted and kept finding things that he wanted to buy for himself to see if he could weaponize them. Finally, after about an hour and a half, Jo got them to leave with only a chemistry set and a box of Lego's for James. She also stopped and got wrapping paper and a funny card, both of which Sherlock had deemed unnecessary. Jo almost felt bad for Lestrade, especially when she saw the look of unholy glee Sherlock had in his eyes when they bought the Chemistry set, but she was fairly certain that a nine year-old would love it.
When they got home Sherlock left the present wrapping process to Jo and went to work on something in the kitchen. Jo had to go on a search for usable scissors and by the time she found a pair, Sherlock had to go take a shower after spilling something (Jo was determinedly not asking what) on his shirt. She had just finished wrapping the gifts when the door to the flat opened with a bang.
"God I hate that bitch!" Yelled a small, blond teenager as she stalked into the sitting room. She froze when she saw Jo. "You're not Sherlock. Where's Sherlock?"
Jo carefully stood up, not sure if she should be on her guard or not. "He's taking a shower; he should be out soon. Who are you?"
"Sophie," she answered. When Jo still looked confused she clarified. "Sophie Lestrade." Jo nodded and was about to ask if she could help her when Sherlock came sauntering in. He was wearing his traditional suit trousers and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up; his feet were bare and his hair was still damp and even curlier than usual. Jo had to remind herself not to stare.
"I thought I heard you come in Sophie," he said with a smirk. "Although you should probably watch your language."
Sophie rolled her eyes. "You're one to talk. And the circumstances warrant cursing."
"What circumstances?" He asked, raising one eyebrow.
She huffed, rolling her eyes. "My father is married to an evil witch."
Sherlock sighed. "Soph, we've talked about this. Just because you don't like Alice doesn't mean that you can be awful about it; you're hurting your father more than you're hurting her." Sophie lowered her eyes and looked almost ashamed; after a few moments Sherlock smiled comfortingly. "So, what did she do this time?"
Her eyes lit up as she started into her rant. "It's James' birthday party. She's throwing a fit because we're having it tomorrow instead of next week. Apparently she has a hair appointment and doesn't want to reschedule it. She's even more upset because Da told her that it has to be tomorrow because James wants you to be there and his actual birthday is on the full moon. She said that it was unsafe for a lycan to be around kids. They fought and she said awful, awful things…" She trailed off, looking like she was on the verge of tears. Sherlock, much to Jo's surprise, reached out and pulled her into a hug.
"Hey, it's okay," he murmured soothingly. "People say lots of things; you just have to ignore them. It's okay."
She shook her head. "But she said…"
"It doesn't matter," he interrupted. "I'm not going anywhere; you know that right?" Sophie nodded as she pulled out of the hug. Sherlock smiled at her. "Does your father know where you are?" She shook her head sheepishly and he sighed. "Don't worry about it; I'll take care of it, as usual. You go see if there's anything you want to eat in the kitchen."
She beamed at him, smacking a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you!" She skipped happily into the kitchen. Sherlock was smiling fondly to himself as he began looking around for his phone.
"You threw it into the hallway earlier," Jo told him, feeling slightly off kilter after seeing a side of her flatmate that she had never suspected existed. He nodded at her in thanks before padding quietly out of the room. Not knowing else to do Jo started tidying up. There was obviously something she had missed about her flatmate and she wasn't quite sure how this knew information fit into what she knew about him. She jumped a few minutes later when she heard his voice behind her.
"You don't mind if Sophie spends the night, do you?" His voice was quiet and he sounded somewhere between worried and pleading. Even if she had had some objection to Sophie being there (which she honestly didn't) Jo knew that there was only one answer she should possibly give.
She shook her head, turning to face her friend. "No, I don't mind."
Sherlock practically beamed at her. "Good! We'll go for pizza tonight; it's tradition."
"Tradition?" She asked with a slight frown. "How often does she stay over?"
He shrugged. "Usually once a month or so. Lestrade and I decided that it would be best to give you time to get used to me before we sprung angry teenagers and hyperactive children on you." He paused for a moment, frowning in the direction of the kitchen, before lowering his voice even more and continuing. "Lestrade married Alice about two years ago, and she and Sophie and never got along; it seems to be getting worse though: Lestrade seems to think that she's just at that age, but I'm not so sure." He paused again, as if deciding whether or not she should be trusted with what he was going to say next. "She's a very tough girl, and it would take a lot to make her upset enough to run off without telling her Da first. I haven't seen her this distraught in years." He seemed to shake himself out of whatever dark thoughts he was in and smiled brilliantly at his friend. "She really is brilliant, though, and she won't put up with nonsense from anyone. I think you're really going to like her."
Jo couldn't help but smile. "I think I probably will." She couldn't imagine not liking someone who could get her flatmate to look so happy over something that didn't involve crime.
That evening Sherlock, Jo, and Sophie took a cab down to a pizza parlor that Sherlock and Sophie seemed very familiar with. It wasn't too far away and Jo was mostly sure that they had taken a cab strictly because Sophie didn't get to take them at home and, at fifteen when the world seemed hatefully dull, it was one of the few things that seemed to hold much interest. Still, Jo couldn't quite justify another cab, so they walked back to Baker Street. It was a nice evening and they took their time. Sherlock walked in the middle, regaling them with stories of some of his more hilarious cases.
That night Sophie offered to take the couch. Sherlock declined, saying that he wasn't planning on sleeping that night anyway. She had had a tiring day and went to bed reasonably early. Jo was in the sitting room, reading, when Sherlock came in and sat next to her on the sofa, folding his legs underneath him. He looked exhausted and Jo recognized his body language as him wanting to talk. She set aside her book and turned to face him.
"I met Lestrade five years ago," he began quietly. "I still don't know why he didn't just go home and do his best to forget about me; God knows he had enough problems of his own without taking care of a junkie. I was as high as I could be, well on my way to an overdose, and got caught up in a mess with the owners of this club I went to. I deduced that they were running a jewelry theft and smuggling ring. I was young and stupid and thought that I could handle it on my own, but it didn't end so well. Lestrade was still working his way up the ranks and he was walking by and saw them beating me in an alleyway. He managed to keep them from killing me, and I managed to convince him that I knew what I was talking about, even if I was shaking like a leaf. He brought down the ring and ended up with a promotion. I never expected to see him again, but the very next week he came looking for me. I was living on the streets, I mean I'd get a room for the night if I had pick pocked enough that day, but it wasn't much better. I was trying to get clean by then, I wasn't entirely willing to kill myself just to spite my family, but I wasn't really good at clean back then and I was too stubborn to ask for help.
"Lestrade picked me up out of the gutter, quite literally, and fed me dinner. We talked, I still don't have any idea why I decided to trust him, but I told him everything. He took me to a rehab center and helped me get settled. When I got out a month later he was there to pick me up. He told me that as long as I stayed clean, there was an extra room in his house and I could help out on some of his cases under the table.
"His wife had been dead for less than a year; they were barely staying afloat. Greg was trying to juggle his job and his family, and it really shouldn't have worked, but it really did. And I was part of it. I lived there for two and a half years, and then went to dinner every Sunday for another six months. And then he married Alice. She doesn't like me much, never has. I still go over about once a month, usually when Alice goes to visit her parents. Sophie never really liked Alice, and after the first year Alice just gave up trying to get along with her. And so Soph comes here to escape when it gets too bad."
"You don't like Alice either, do you?" She asked with a small smile.
He shrugged. "I don't like the way she treats Lestrade. She's cheating and we all know it, but he doesn't know what to do about it. He wants to make it work so that he doesn't have to put his kids through a messy divorce." He shrugged again and stared off into space.
Jo nudged his leg with her toes, grinning. "You know, I never figured you for the family type. You're full of surprises, Sherlock Holmes."
"That's the idea," he answered with another shrug.
She gave him a level look before poking him again. "You're exhausted Sherlock; you need to sleep tonight."
"I know," he answered quietly. "I'll sleep on the couch; it'll be fine."
She sighed. "You're always in a bad mood after you sleep on the couch; you know it hurts your back."
"Well what else am I supposed to do?" He asked, beginning to get agitated. "I couldn't let Sophie sleep on the couch."
"There is another bed here," she answered after a moment or two of hesitation.
Sherlock frowned at his flatmate. "What do you mean?"
Jo rolled her eyes. "I mean, that you could share mine. It's plenty big enough." She stood up and looked expectantly at her friend, who just shook his head.
"I don't want to intrude," he protested, looking almost meek.
She rolled her eyes again. "It's not intruding if I invite you. Just don't steal the blankets." She turned and started walking upstairs without waiting for a response. Sherlock internally debated following her for almost a full minute before heading upstairs himself; it was, after all, only logical.