Mouth of Babes (Sherlock)
Mar. 12th, 2011 05:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morganstuartTitle: Mouth of Babes
(1st in the Sofie Series)
Author: Morgan Stuart
Fandom: Sherlock
Disclaimer: This universe does not belong to me; I'm just an appreciative visitor. I make no profit from this fan work.
Description: Several weeks after the explosion at the pool, Lestrade visits the recuperating Sherlock and John at 221B Baker Street. He brings case files and food... and a visitor in tow.
Historian's Note: This takes place after (and refers to) the Sherlock episode "The Great Game."
"That should be Lestrade," John said.
Sherlock continued to glare at his laptop, his fingers a blur above the keys, his body splayed out across the sofa in the awkward lines dictated by his recent injuries.
"Lestrade," John repeated. "With the files." He drew in a deep breath and released it. "The files for those cases."
Perhaps a lightning bolt of interest flashed across Sherlock's gaunt face for an instant. John wanted to believe he had seen it, but he couldn't be sure. With a death grip on his cane, the doctor began the painstaking process of levering himself to his feet. He felt every pull of the still-healing burns across his arm and shoulder and back, every complaint of re-knitting muscles and bones.
He grunted like a man twice his age, but he was on his feet and square-shouldered by the time the detective inspector had climbed the stairs and reached the doorway to the flat.
Lestrade carried a thick stack of hard-copy files tucked under one arm, and in the other he cradled a bag that smelled of curry takeaway.
"Hello, John, Sherlock. Thought you two might fancy some lunch." The older man paused at the threshold. Since the aftermath of that night at the pool, he had become a regular fixture at 221B Baker Street, unobtrusive and steadfast in his support of the recovering men. There was little need for him to wait for an invitation to enter.
"Sounds great, thanks." John said, gesturing toward the bag. "Come on in."
"I, um..." Lestrade's features showed uncertainty, shifting the familiar lines and hollows that work and weariness had drawn on his face. "I'm not alone." He darted a quick look at the furiously typing Sherlock, and then returned his attention to John. His gruff voice softened as he said, "I'd like you to meet my daughter, Sofie. Come on, Sweetheart."
From behind him appeared a little brunette girl, as delicate and grave and finely drawn as a porcelain doll. Enormous brown eyes blinked up at John.
"They're trying something new in her class, 'Take Your Daughter To Work Day.'" Lestrade offered. Then, hurriedly, "She won't be any bother."
"No, no," John said, hiding his surprise as best he could. "It's fine. I mean, it's really good to meet you, Sofie." He leaned forward, closing the distance between their heights. "I'm John."
She glowed with a smile in answer to his, and she stepped forward readily to grasp his square hand in her slender one. "Hi, John."
"This is Sherlock," John waved toward his flatmate, who nodded once sharply without looking up from his screen. "He's not at his most talkative at the moment," John added. "Don't take it personally."
"Okay. Hi, Sherlock." She seemed unperturbed at the lack of reply.
"Right," Lestrade said, releasing the word as a sigh. "Let me get this all sorted. I won’t be long, Sofie."
With a nod she stepped out of his way, drifting across the room to stand a discreet distance before Sherlock. Every line in her small body radiated alert interest.
John followed Lestrade into the kitchen.
"I cleared off the table, so you can stack the files there." Dropping his voice, he said, "I owe you one for these. It's worse, the last couple of days. Sherlock's not exactly cut out for a quiet convalescence."
Lestrade began to organize the files into stacks. "It's a favor to us, as well. None of these is up to his usual standard of excitement, but God knows I'd welcome the chance to get his thoughts on them. How about you? How are you managing?"
"Fine, thanks." At Lestrade's doubting look, he had the urge to shrug, but he caught himself in time before his body could protest. "As well as can be expected. No one heals overnight. I know that." He nodded toward the other room. "She's very sweet."
Lestrade's expression turned wistful. "She lives with her grandmother now, has ever since..." John's gaze fell on the man's wedding ring. The doctor had pieced together enough of Lestrade's history to know he had been widowed several years earlier, but the loss remained like an open wound, aching and vulnerable to the slightest touch.
"I should be grateful that she's only on the other side of London, and not the whole country. I see her every chance I get. It's not enough, though. I have to wait until I can... well.” He gestured vaguely toward his temple. “Don't want to take my work with me, you know? She deserves better."
“Speaking of deserving better,” John tried for a wry grin, hoping to take the sting from his words, “no offense, but you look like you underslept a little.”
Grimacing, Lestrade ran a hand through his silvering hair, leaving strands standing out in all directions. "She had her heart set on this. I spent half the night doing paperwork, so I could take some personal time off today. Wanted to give her a quick tour 'round the office, but get her away before new reports came in of some bloody crime scene. Can you imagine?"
They both shuddered in unison and glanced back into the main room. Sherlock frowned at his computer, still stabbing at the keys, while Sofie looked on from a polite distance, utterly silent.
“I really know how to show a girl a good time, yeah?” Lestrade said, shaking his head. His scowl erupted into a yawn.
Fondness and sympathy warred in John’s chest. “Quick coffee before you go?”
“That’d be great, thanks.”
“I’ve got it, then,” John said and hobbled toward the cupboards. Since the explosion, John often had found himself grateful for Lestrade’s company. The man helped in a number of quiet ways, but he also seemed to grasp how much John needed to do some things for himself, even if accomplishing a task took twice as long as it would with assistance.
Lestrade turned back to the stacks on the table.
"He's brooding," John said. "The files will help. He needs a distraction."
"Moriarty," Lestrade breathed.
"Every moment of every day. Like he's here in the room with us," John agreed. A sudden thought struck him like a blow. “Is it safe to have her here?”
“John, this flat is probably the safest place in all London. Whatever the Yard hasn’t thought of, you can be sure Sherlock’s brother has.” Despite his words, he frowned. “I think we can assume Moriarty’s been watching everyone who's associated with Sherlock in any way. If so, he already knows about her.” His eyes fell. “At any rate, I’ve doubled the security at her grandmother’s.”
John nodded grimly, feeling faintly sick as he measured out the coffee.
A strong hand squeezed John's good shoulder, and then Lestrade moved toward the far cupboards. "I can get this ready, if you want to eat now."
"Sure, thanks."
"She got your genes, you know," John said after a beat, almost without thinking. He felt rather than saw Lestrade's questioning expression. "She's going to be a knockout."
"That's all her mother. You should've seen her," Lestrade said, and his words sounded as if they came from half a world away. Despite the naked longing in Lestrade’s voice, the doctor couldn't help but smile to himself. Rumour had it that Lestrade was clueless about his own appeal, and everything the man said seemed to confirm this as fact.
As John reached for a mug, he heard the sound of voices. Balancing with a hand on his cane, he willed himself to be as noiseless and inconspicuous as possible, unrepentant in his eavesdropping.
"... and so that's why you're wearing pyjamas in the daytime. Because you were hurt," came the little girl's voice.
"Obviously." That was Sherlock at his most scathing.
Sofie's voice returned, dogged. "But you're getting better?"
A snort. "So I'm told."
"Was John hurt, too?"
After a pause, "Yes." Softer, "Worse than I."
"And is he getting better?"
A heartbeat, and then another. "He says he is."
John dared to back away from the coffee pot until he could make out the reflections of Sherlock and Sofie on the door of the microwave oven.
"How did you get hurt?"
An impatient, familiar huff of air. "It's complicated." After several seconds, another huff followed. "There was a criminal mastermind. With explosives. Their detonation collapsed the building on us."
The child's eyes narrowed. "The building blew up? With you and John inside?"
"Isn't that what I just said? Try to keep up."
After a moment, her words came in a low whisper. "That must've been scary."
"Well, yes." Long fingers slowed their dance on the keyboard. "It was."
John watched as she gazed at Sherlock with her wide, somber eyes.
"It was dark, and I couldn't see," Sherlock added in a subdued tone. "I couldn't move." Quieter still, "I couldn't find John."
"I think I would've cried," Sofie said.
A haughty sniff. "Yes, I think you would have done."
She remained undeterred. "I'm glad you're safe now. You seem nice."
"No," Sherlock answered, acid in his voice. "No, I don't."
She giggled.
Sherlock blinked, as if focusing his attention on her for the first time. John wanted to fold her into his arms and hug her senseless. The beautiful child actually had giggled at Sherlock, drawn him out of himself. It was the loveliest sound John had heard in ages.
"Fine. Your curly hair is very pretty, anyway," Sofie said, and she folded her arms across her chest, suddenly a miniature portrait of her father. John bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud.
Pale grey eyes pinned her in place, and then Sherlock straightened a bit, almost preening. "Do you think so?"
She answered with a vigorous nod of her head.
For a heartbeat they appeared to share a grin, almost as secret and fleeting as a thought.
Lestrade drew up at John's side, stacking the plates and silverware on the cabinet. With a finger to his lips, John retreated several steps, pulling them both back from the doorway, deeper into the kitchen. The rich aroma of coffee filled the room.
"He's said more in the last three minutes than he has in the last three days," John whispered. He leaned forward slightly, shameless to overhear the conversation, and beside him, Lestrade followed suit.
After several seconds had passed, Sherlock sighed. "What is it now?"
"How did you and John get out? After the building fell on you?" she asked. "You said you couldn't move."
The response sounded more measured this time, almost patient, at least for Sherlock. "Your father saved us. The emergency teams told him that no one could have survived the explosion, but he refused to believe them. He went into the wreckage himself to be sure. He found us in time. The others... wouldn't have."
"Oh!" Sofie's delight was clear. "I should've known that. Gran told me that's what he does: he saves people."
"Well... yes. It is."
A rustling sound followed, and John realized that Sofie was climbing up onto the sofa to sit beside his flatmate.
"He has... that is..." The words came haltingly, grudgingly, with effort. "Your father's done it five times now, if I remember correctly. Six, if you count the incident in the sewers. Which I don't."
"Hmm?"
"Saved me."
Beside John, Lestrade shifted his weight.
"Oh. He told me that you're very clever, and you always give him good ideas." A muted whimper followed a loud gasp. "And he told me not to tell you he said that."
"He's correct. I am, and I do," Sherlock replied, matter-of-factly. Then, "And I won't let on that you told."
"Thanks." The sound of typing resumed. "So you save people, too. By helping him." Just as quickly, silence fell.
"I solve mysteries. Your father saves people. There's a difference."
"Oh."
"And, like you, he asks a lot of questions. But to your credit and his, you both actually listen to the answers. That's more than I can say for most."
"Um, okay."
Once more, the sound of Sherlock’s typing began. "I have to give a report to the class about going to work with Daddy." The keystrokes halted. "He told me not to interrupt you. But I am, aren't I?"
"Yes, you are."
John scrubbed his hand across his face.
"I'm sorry."
"Your assignment is dull. Your classmates no doubt will say their parents are hardworking and dedicated, that they do important things and make the world a better place. But your classmates will be wrong. Most people accomplish nothing. Most people live lives of quiet desperation, breed more to do the same, and then die. Most people are" – Sherlock paused dramatically – "boring."
Lestrade groaned.
"At least when you say those things about your father,” Sherlock continued, “you'll be correct."
John ducked his head and closed his eyes, savoring the unexpected moment.
Then, feeling lighter than he had in weeks, the doctor moved to pour Lestrade’s coffee, pretending to ignore the detective inspector as the older man stared at the floor, blinking suspiciously bright eyes.
“If your daughter’s ever looking for babysitting work,” John said at last, as he pressed the mug into Lestrade’s hands, “please give her my number. She’s obviously good with Sherlock, and God knows he needs a minder.”
Lestrade raised the mug in a mock toast, grinning. He looked at least a decade younger than when he'd arrived.
By the time John and Lestrade had curry-laden plates ready for the sitting room, Sofie was tucked between the consulting detective and the arm of the sofa as if this were her customary perch. Both she and Sherlock were leaning forward, peering with absorbed attention at his laptop.
“... but what if it fell from a third floor window?” Sherlock asked, pointing an elegant finger at the screen.
“Well, it wouldn’t bounce. It would” – Sofie gestured animatedly with her hands as she searched for the proper word – “splat, really. Quite a lot.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Sherlock agreed.
“God help us,” Lestrade murmured to John.
Sherlock aimed a scornful look at John and Lestrade both. “About time, you two. I want tea, and Sofie wants cocoa.”
THE END
Sequel: Read the sequel story here: "Facing Forward."
Notes:
1. The mention of Lestrade going "into the wreckage himself" after the explosion is a reference to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
prettybirdy979's lovely work "Mobile Phones, Rubble and Shock."
2. The mention of Lestrade saving Sherlock other times in the past is a reference to this wonderful story.
Vital Stats: Originally written in March 2011.
Originally written for this prompt onsherlockbbc_fic.
(1st in the Sofie Series)
Author: Morgan Stuart
Fandom: Sherlock
Disclaimer: This universe does not belong to me; I'm just an appreciative visitor. I make no profit from this fan work.
Description: Several weeks after the explosion at the pool, Lestrade visits the recuperating Sherlock and John at 221B Baker Street. He brings case files and food... and a visitor in tow.
Historian's Note: This takes place after (and refers to) the Sherlock episode "The Great Game."
"That should be Lestrade," John said.
Sherlock continued to glare at his laptop, his fingers a blur above the keys, his body splayed out across the sofa in the awkward lines dictated by his recent injuries.
"Lestrade," John repeated. "With the files." He drew in a deep breath and released it. "The files for those cases."
Perhaps a lightning bolt of interest flashed across Sherlock's gaunt face for an instant. John wanted to believe he had seen it, but he couldn't be sure. With a death grip on his cane, the doctor began the painstaking process of levering himself to his feet. He felt every pull of the still-healing burns across his arm and shoulder and back, every complaint of re-knitting muscles and bones.
He grunted like a man twice his age, but he was on his feet and square-shouldered by the time the detective inspector had climbed the stairs and reached the doorway to the flat.
Lestrade carried a thick stack of hard-copy files tucked under one arm, and in the other he cradled a bag that smelled of curry takeaway.
"Hello, John, Sherlock. Thought you two might fancy some lunch." The older man paused at the threshold. Since the aftermath of that night at the pool, he had become a regular fixture at 221B Baker Street, unobtrusive and steadfast in his support of the recovering men. There was little need for him to wait for an invitation to enter.
"Sounds great, thanks." John said, gesturing toward the bag. "Come on in."
"I, um..." Lestrade's features showed uncertainty, shifting the familiar lines and hollows that work and weariness had drawn on his face. "I'm not alone." He darted a quick look at the furiously typing Sherlock, and then returned his attention to John. His gruff voice softened as he said, "I'd like you to meet my daughter, Sofie. Come on, Sweetheart."
From behind him appeared a little brunette girl, as delicate and grave and finely drawn as a porcelain doll. Enormous brown eyes blinked up at John.
"They're trying something new in her class, 'Take Your Daughter To Work Day.'" Lestrade offered. Then, hurriedly, "She won't be any bother."
"No, no," John said, hiding his surprise as best he could. "It's fine. I mean, it's really good to meet you, Sofie." He leaned forward, closing the distance between their heights. "I'm John."
She glowed with a smile in answer to his, and she stepped forward readily to grasp his square hand in her slender one. "Hi, John."
"This is Sherlock," John waved toward his flatmate, who nodded once sharply without looking up from his screen. "He's not at his most talkative at the moment," John added. "Don't take it personally."
"Okay. Hi, Sherlock." She seemed unperturbed at the lack of reply.
"Right," Lestrade said, releasing the word as a sigh. "Let me get this all sorted. I won’t be long, Sofie."
With a nod she stepped out of his way, drifting across the room to stand a discreet distance before Sherlock. Every line in her small body radiated alert interest.
John followed Lestrade into the kitchen.
"I cleared off the table, so you can stack the files there." Dropping his voice, he said, "I owe you one for these. It's worse, the last couple of days. Sherlock's not exactly cut out for a quiet convalescence."
Lestrade began to organize the files into stacks. "It's a favor to us, as well. None of these is up to his usual standard of excitement, but God knows I'd welcome the chance to get his thoughts on them. How about you? How are you managing?"
"Fine, thanks." At Lestrade's doubting look, he had the urge to shrug, but he caught himself in time before his body could protest. "As well as can be expected. No one heals overnight. I know that." He nodded toward the other room. "She's very sweet."
Lestrade's expression turned wistful. "She lives with her grandmother now, has ever since..." John's gaze fell on the man's wedding ring. The doctor had pieced together enough of Lestrade's history to know he had been widowed several years earlier, but the loss remained like an open wound, aching and vulnerable to the slightest touch.
"I should be grateful that she's only on the other side of London, and not the whole country. I see her every chance I get. It's not enough, though. I have to wait until I can... well.” He gestured vaguely toward his temple. “Don't want to take my work with me, you know? She deserves better."
“Speaking of deserving better,” John tried for a wry grin, hoping to take the sting from his words, “no offense, but you look like you underslept a little.”
Grimacing, Lestrade ran a hand through his silvering hair, leaving strands standing out in all directions. "She had her heart set on this. I spent half the night doing paperwork, so I could take some personal time off today. Wanted to give her a quick tour 'round the office, but get her away before new reports came in of some bloody crime scene. Can you imagine?"
They both shuddered in unison and glanced back into the main room. Sherlock frowned at his computer, still stabbing at the keys, while Sofie looked on from a polite distance, utterly silent.
“I really know how to show a girl a good time, yeah?” Lestrade said, shaking his head. His scowl erupted into a yawn.
Fondness and sympathy warred in John’s chest. “Quick coffee before you go?”
“That’d be great, thanks.”
“I’ve got it, then,” John said and hobbled toward the cupboards. Since the explosion, John often had found himself grateful for Lestrade’s company. The man helped in a number of quiet ways, but he also seemed to grasp how much John needed to do some things for himself, even if accomplishing a task took twice as long as it would with assistance.
Lestrade turned back to the stacks on the table.
"He's brooding," John said. "The files will help. He needs a distraction."
"Moriarty," Lestrade breathed.
"Every moment of every day. Like he's here in the room with us," John agreed. A sudden thought struck him like a blow. “Is it safe to have her here?”
“John, this flat is probably the safest place in all London. Whatever the Yard hasn’t thought of, you can be sure Sherlock’s brother has.” Despite his words, he frowned. “I think we can assume Moriarty’s been watching everyone who's associated with Sherlock in any way. If so, he already knows about her.” His eyes fell. “At any rate, I’ve doubled the security at her grandmother’s.”
John nodded grimly, feeling faintly sick as he measured out the coffee.
A strong hand squeezed John's good shoulder, and then Lestrade moved toward the far cupboards. "I can get this ready, if you want to eat now."
"Sure, thanks."
"She got your genes, you know," John said after a beat, almost without thinking. He felt rather than saw Lestrade's questioning expression. "She's going to be a knockout."
"That's all her mother. You should've seen her," Lestrade said, and his words sounded as if they came from half a world away. Despite the naked longing in Lestrade’s voice, the doctor couldn't help but smile to himself. Rumour had it that Lestrade was clueless about his own appeal, and everything the man said seemed to confirm this as fact.
As John reached for a mug, he heard the sound of voices. Balancing with a hand on his cane, he willed himself to be as noiseless and inconspicuous as possible, unrepentant in his eavesdropping.
"... and so that's why you're wearing pyjamas in the daytime. Because you were hurt," came the little girl's voice.
"Obviously." That was Sherlock at his most scathing.
Sofie's voice returned, dogged. "But you're getting better?"
A snort. "So I'm told."
"Was John hurt, too?"
After a pause, "Yes." Softer, "Worse than I."
"And is he getting better?"
A heartbeat, and then another. "He says he is."
John dared to back away from the coffee pot until he could make out the reflections of Sherlock and Sofie on the door of the microwave oven.
"How did you get hurt?"
An impatient, familiar huff of air. "It's complicated." After several seconds, another huff followed. "There was a criminal mastermind. With explosives. Their detonation collapsed the building on us."
The child's eyes narrowed. "The building blew up? With you and John inside?"
"Isn't that what I just said? Try to keep up."
After a moment, her words came in a low whisper. "That must've been scary."
"Well, yes." Long fingers slowed their dance on the keyboard. "It was."
John watched as she gazed at Sherlock with her wide, somber eyes.
"It was dark, and I couldn't see," Sherlock added in a subdued tone. "I couldn't move." Quieter still, "I couldn't find John."
"I think I would've cried," Sofie said.
A haughty sniff. "Yes, I think you would have done."
She remained undeterred. "I'm glad you're safe now. You seem nice."
"No," Sherlock answered, acid in his voice. "No, I don't."
She giggled.
Sherlock blinked, as if focusing his attention on her for the first time. John wanted to fold her into his arms and hug her senseless. The beautiful child actually had giggled at Sherlock, drawn him out of himself. It was the loveliest sound John had heard in ages.
"Fine. Your curly hair is very pretty, anyway," Sofie said, and she folded her arms across her chest, suddenly a miniature portrait of her father. John bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud.
Pale grey eyes pinned her in place, and then Sherlock straightened a bit, almost preening. "Do you think so?"
She answered with a vigorous nod of her head.
For a heartbeat they appeared to share a grin, almost as secret and fleeting as a thought.
Lestrade drew up at John's side, stacking the plates and silverware on the cabinet. With a finger to his lips, John retreated several steps, pulling them both back from the doorway, deeper into the kitchen. The rich aroma of coffee filled the room.
"He's said more in the last three minutes than he has in the last three days," John whispered. He leaned forward slightly, shameless to overhear the conversation, and beside him, Lestrade followed suit.
After several seconds had passed, Sherlock sighed. "What is it now?"
"How did you and John get out? After the building fell on you?" she asked. "You said you couldn't move."
The response sounded more measured this time, almost patient, at least for Sherlock. "Your father saved us. The emergency teams told him that no one could have survived the explosion, but he refused to believe them. He went into the wreckage himself to be sure. He found us in time. The others... wouldn't have."
"Oh!" Sofie's delight was clear. "I should've known that. Gran told me that's what he does: he saves people."
"Well... yes. It is."
A rustling sound followed, and John realized that Sofie was climbing up onto the sofa to sit beside his flatmate.
"He has... that is..." The words came haltingly, grudgingly, with effort. "Your father's done it five times now, if I remember correctly. Six, if you count the incident in the sewers. Which I don't."
"Hmm?"
"Saved me."
Beside John, Lestrade shifted his weight.
"Oh. He told me that you're very clever, and you always give him good ideas." A muted whimper followed a loud gasp. "And he told me not to tell you he said that."
"He's correct. I am, and I do," Sherlock replied, matter-of-factly. Then, "And I won't let on that you told."
"Thanks." The sound of typing resumed. "So you save people, too. By helping him." Just as quickly, silence fell.
"I solve mysteries. Your father saves people. There's a difference."
"Oh."
"And, like you, he asks a lot of questions. But to your credit and his, you both actually listen to the answers. That's more than I can say for most."
"Um, okay."
Once more, the sound of Sherlock’s typing began. "I have to give a report to the class about going to work with Daddy." The keystrokes halted. "He told me not to interrupt you. But I am, aren't I?"
"Yes, you are."
John scrubbed his hand across his face.
"I'm sorry."
"Your assignment is dull. Your classmates no doubt will say their parents are hardworking and dedicated, that they do important things and make the world a better place. But your classmates will be wrong. Most people accomplish nothing. Most people live lives of quiet desperation, breed more to do the same, and then die. Most people are" – Sherlock paused dramatically – "boring."
Lestrade groaned.
"At least when you say those things about your father,” Sherlock continued, “you'll be correct."
John ducked his head and closed his eyes, savoring the unexpected moment.
Then, feeling lighter than he had in weeks, the doctor moved to pour Lestrade’s coffee, pretending to ignore the detective inspector as the older man stared at the floor, blinking suspiciously bright eyes.
“If your daughter’s ever looking for babysitting work,” John said at last, as he pressed the mug into Lestrade’s hands, “please give her my number. She’s obviously good with Sherlock, and God knows he needs a minder.”
Lestrade raised the mug in a mock toast, grinning. He looked at least a decade younger than when he'd arrived.
By the time John and Lestrade had curry-laden plates ready for the sitting room, Sofie was tucked between the consulting detective and the arm of the sofa as if this were her customary perch. Both she and Sherlock were leaning forward, peering with absorbed attention at his laptop.
“... but what if it fell from a third floor window?” Sherlock asked, pointing an elegant finger at the screen.
“Well, it wouldn’t bounce. It would” – Sofie gestured animatedly with her hands as she searched for the proper word – “splat, really. Quite a lot.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Sherlock agreed.
“God help us,” Lestrade murmured to John.
Sherlock aimed a scornful look at John and Lestrade both. “About time, you two. I want tea, and Sofie wants cocoa.”
THE END
Sequel: Read the sequel story here: "Facing Forward."
Notes:
1. The mention of Lestrade going "into the wreckage himself" after the explosion is a reference to
prettybirdy979's lovely work "Mobile Phones, Rubble and Shock." 2. The mention of Lestrade saving Sherlock other times in the past is a reference to this wonderful story.
Vital Stats: Originally written in March 2011.
Originally written for this prompt on
sherlockbbc_fic.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 12:03 pm (UTC)Marvelous moving fic!
no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 03:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 12:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 03:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 03:16 pm (UTC)Thank you for writing this and sharing it!
no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 03:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 04:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 05:31 pm (UTC)It's okay if nothing bleeds or dies - we won't tell the cool kids ;)
*collapses in hysterics* You've made my day. I'm going to save this line and repeat it to my inner Goth Emo chick whenever she starts to give me grief. :D
Thanks for reading and commenting!
no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 05:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 05:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 07:29 pm (UTC)John ducked his head and closed his eyes, savoring the unexpected moment.
*wibbles helplessly*
So. Much. Goodness. And this is so carefully crafted that it *seems* effortless until one realizes how beautifully it all hangs together.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 08:51 pm (UTC)I'm especially happy that you liked those lines. It seemed almost as important to me for John to hear Sherlock say those things (for what it says about Sherlock - John already knows it's true about Lestrade) as it was for Lestrade to hear them, you know?
Thanks again, my friend. You've made my day!
no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 08:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 08:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 09:54 pm (UTC)Brava!
no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 01:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 10:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 01:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 12:17 am (UTC)How much do I love that you managed to engineer a situation in which we get to see Sherlock's vulnerability, have Sherlock hear Lestrade's complement, and have Lestrade hear Sherlock's true opinion of his worth? All naturally and without having to break character? Frankly, I'm not sure I can fit it in the LJ comment character limitation. This much.
John dared to back away from the coffee pot until he could make out the reflections of Sherlock and Sofie on the door of the microwave oven.
Intentional "Baskerville" shout-out, yes?
Thank you for leaving your (blood-spattered) comfort zone. You do warm, comforty healing wonderfully.
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Date: 2011-03-14 01:40 am (UTC)Your comments absolutely thrill me. Thank you so much for your kindness. I'm so glad that my take on the post-TGG crew made sense and worked for you.
How much do I love that you managed to engineer a situation in which we get to see Sherlock's vulnerability, have Sherlock hear Lestrade's complement, and have Lestrade hear Sherlock's true opinion of his worth?
YAY! Oh, this makes me so happy. I'm so relieved that you think the characterization worked through all of this. I was so spooked that it would come across as much too sentimental or contrived.
Thank you for leaving your (blood-spattered) comfort zone. You do warm, comforty healing wonderfully.
You've utterly made my day. I can't thank you enough. *flails*
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Date: 2011-03-14 12:28 am (UTC)Lestrade is a wonderful long-distance father, doing the best he can with what little resources he has; Sofie is adorable and entirely his daughter (only without the worn-down cynicism); John is injured-puttering-usefulsomehow John, Sherlock is Sherlock...
His reaction to Sofie's child-therefore-unbiased-logic is wonderful. She has everything that's wonderful about children.
And Lestrade overhearing and getting all teary-eyed. Jesus. <3
Anyway, it's amazing. I love the quiet moments so much.
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Date: 2011-03-14 01:48 am (UTC)I'm thrilled that you liked this. It's totally outside of my usual fare, but it demanded to be written, and I'm really relieved that it worked for you. Teary-eyed Lestrade just about did me in, I must admit. But Lestrade does me in pretty easily, whatever form he takes. LOL!
Thanks a million for reading and for leaving such kind feedback!
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Date: 2011-03-14 01:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 01:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 02:09 am (UTC)Pale grey eyes pinned her in place, and then Sherlock straightened a bit, almost preening. "Do you think so?"
LOL Oh, Sherlock.
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Date: 2011-03-14 11:27 am (UTC)Thanks so much for reading and commenting. I appreciate your kind words.
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Date: 2011-03-14 06:44 am (UTC)Speaking of Sofie, I adore her. In my head, she looks like a mini!girl!Lestrade, complete with the adorable smile. =D
EEEEEEEEEEEEE. Take Your Daughter To Work Day! I remember that. I have fond memories of going into work with my dad =D
Anyway, I love this oh so very much. And would love to know more about the sewer incident.................
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Date: 2011-03-14 11:31 am (UTC)In my head, she looks like a mini!girl!Lestrade, complete with the adorable smile. =D
LOL! That's exactly how I see her, too.
I'm so very glad that you enjoyed this - and that it brought back happy memories, too.
And would love to know more about the sewer incident.................
I'd tell you, but then Sherlock would have to kill you. *wink*
Thanks so much for reading and commenting. I really appreciate it.
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Date: 2011-03-14 12:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 05:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 03:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 05:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 08:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 10:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 09:24 pm (UTC)akskdfslsalsdkdlsiurjm;j :D <3 <3 <3 :D
More? Please? PLEASE????
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Date: 2011-03-14 10:38 pm (UTC)I have more fic planned, though not any with Sofie on the drawing table at the moment. However, I didn't plan this one: it just appeared and demanded to be written. So who knows! I'll never say never. :) Thanks for your kindness in reading and leaving such lovely feedback.
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From:Brought here by a rec, am very happy I came.
Date: 2011-03-15 02:19 pm (UTC)I wish to second the notion of a Full House-esc scenerio with Sofie and Lestrade and John and Sherlock. It would be awesome. And Moriarty would quite frankly not know what hit him(Little girls and their daddies man, do not mess with).
I thought it was especially clever that when Sherlock brought Sofie in on whatever he was working on Lestrade didn't shout at him for it. Because really this is Sherlock and Lestrade wouldn't be surprised.
I think I will go read more of your fic now.
Re: Brought here by a rec, am very happy I came.
Date: 2011-03-15 02:47 pm (UTC)And you're right: Lestrade wouldn't be surprised that the consulting detective was consulting his daughter on a case! Ha.
I really appreciate your kind feedback. I hope you enjoy my other stories. I have another Sherlock story coming soon.
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Date: 2011-03-17 02:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-18 02:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-19 12:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-19 12:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-28 12:00 am (UTC)This one was perfect. =)
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Date: 2011-03-28 01:28 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for reading and commenting here. I really appreciate it. I'm so glad you liked the story.
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Date: 2011-03-28 05:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-28 06:50 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2011-03-28 10:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-28 10:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-31 06:30 pm (UTC)This is beautiful! I think bringing in Sofie was a really creative way to give your version of what happened at the pool and to develop the characters--especially in-character character development for Sherlock.
It makes me sad to think of Lestrade as a widower, though. *snif*
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Date: 2011-03-31 08:33 pm (UTC)I'm so glad that Sofie worked for you as a window into what happened at the pool and into the other characters with whom she interacts. I'm especially glad that Sherlock's post-TGG characterization works for you. I figured he'd be a bit changed by the experience, and he'd also say things to Sofie that he might not be willing to say directly to John or Lestrade.
It makes me sad to think of Lestrade as a widower, too! (In fact, my next story will deal with that a bit more...) But I think it fits a lot of the evidence about his character that we see in the show, including his working at all hours and his very practical choice of dress (he obviously picks out his clothing himself, you know?). And there's a poignant world-weariness about him that makes me feel like he's lost someone... So my guess is that wedding ring he wears proves he's still thinking about her, but she's no longer there. :( Someone console that man right now! I bet there would be a long line of volunteers. LOL.
Who knows? Maybe next season we'll meet his spouse, and my theory will go out the window. Ha!
At any rate, I'm so very happy you liked this. Thanks again for your kind words! You've put a big smile on my face.