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“Now, you be good for your uncle,” the blond haired man admonished the small girl. She was barely older than 7, but had a solemn face and big blue eyes. This little girl was also blonde like both her parents, but unlike her father the golden locks fell in gentle curls around her innocent face. The girl’s father looked at his best friend, the man who he had just referred to as a brother; he pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at the tall dark haired man. “I can’t believe I have to say this, but NO!, No crime scenes, No murder and definitely no cases! We will only be gone for a little while. For that time just refrain from being… you… okay?” the blonde woman standing in the door frame bit back a smile as the dark haired man rolled his eyes in bored acquiescence. The concerned father‘s eyes were now darting between his daughter and Sherlock Holmes, wincing, “Maybe not, Mary, we don’t have to go today we can wait till Mrs. Hudson is free…”
This time Mary smiled and chuckled, “John, it will be fine, Lucy will be fine, Sherlock will be fine.” She reassured him with a smile, “I trust no one more, aside from you darling.” With that she knelt in front of the child, “Lucy here is your sandwich and snack, I love you, if you need something else ask Sherlock for it, and don’t open the fridge.” With a smile at Sherlock she picked up her bag and pulled John from the room, after a brief cacophony on the stair and mumbled reassurances they heard the door shut and the house fell silent.
The detective coughed dryly, awkwardly, and leveled his gaze and the small human standing next to him. The girl was obviously sizing him up. Her childish innocence untempered by shy curiosity, she was unabashedly staring at the lanky detective.
“You’re funny,” She observed. The man’s eyebrows creased and he regarded the child with an air of puzzlement, “you don’t seem to be laughing.” For most adults Lucy would have laughed, but she knew this adult wouldn’t joke like that so she explained. “You pretend like you don’t care, but you do. You care more than anyone. Daddy doesn’t see it but Mommy does.”
“Do I now?” the consulting detective responded in a bored unbelieving tone.
“Yes,” Lucy continued narrowing her eyes, much like her father, “I can tell, you are scared, like you don’t want to make a mistake.” In response to his amused expression and slight smile, the child finished with a smile, “You don’t talk first.”
Sherlock Holmes turned briskly and walked towards the kitchen, “would you like some biscuits or sweets, you don’t want that boring old sandwich.” Hiding his smile, he quickly made tea and found a new package of crème filled biscuits. Addressing the girl he extended the invitation, “How about a game? I can teach you my favorite one.” He brought the tea tray to the sitting room. “I learned it when I was your age, my brother Mycroft taught me. It’s called deductions” The little girl had climbed into her father’s chair and was now sitting facing Sherlock, solemn, ready for the challenge.