Paths Woven

Crime Scene

"Uncle John? Sherlock?"

I search the empty flat. No sign of my guardians anywhere. Probably another case. I don't really care. I take care of myself.

Knock.

Knock!

Bang! Crash!

Several disturbing sounds come from downstairs. I tiptoe down and peer through the peephole. I see lots of curly black hair flattened by rain. I let Sherlock in.

"What happened, Sherlock?"

He holds up one hand, catching his breath. "John is with Mary. I need someone smart to help me with a case."

"I suggest Molly. She's smart and helpful."

"Not her. She's working."

"Lestrade?"

"No, not smart enough."

"One of your other adult acquaintances, I'd presume."

"Well, Elly, you are smart and quick. You're who I'm asking to help."

I keep staring at him, not moving a muscle. Several thoughts run through my head as I keep my focus on his greyish green rainbowy eyes.

Me? Why me? I'm hardly thirteen, for heaven's sake! I'm not smart as Molly or - or...

"Elly? You alright? I see what John meant by staring was scaring him. You not blinking or moving for five consecutive minutes is rather disturbing."

"What? Sorry. You want ME to come with you to a crime scene? Me, little thirteen year old Elizabeth Watson, come with the world's only Consulting Detective to a crime scene?"

"I may not be the only one. You and my niece, Scarlet, are both very bright children. You two may be the crime solving duo when you get older."

"It's making you uncomfortable to admit that, Sherlock."

"I - fine. Yes, it is. I do not like admitting that two little girls could be as smart as I am someday."

"I even behave similarly to you, Sherlock. Antisocial, plays instruments when thinking, has a mind palace, does weird stuff when bored... at least you know that someone is carrying on your legacy. Sherlock Holmes is famous. We will never overshadow your name, don't worry. And what happened to Scarlet?"

"She ran away and we've been searching for her ever since. She believes she caused her mother's death."

"And I DID cause my parents deaths just by existing, Sherlock. What's the case?"

"I found a lead on where Scarly may have gone."

"Then let's go."

"You need something better to wear first. Don't want anybody thinking you're a spoiled princess."

"Of course not. I'll get my scarf."

"Don't forget the trenchcoat."

"What trenchcoat?"

"I bought one for you."

"Why?"

"It's going to be raining where we're going."

I simply nod and run down to 221c to grab my scarf and the coat. The trenchcoat is a simple black one, not unlike Sherlock's. My scarf is light turquoise that fades into dark at the ends. I run back upstairs. Sherlock takes the scarf and starts winding it around my neck, his slender violinist's fingers pulling the ends into a simple but impressive looking knot. I think he wants the world to know that his friend's niece is a mini detective.

He wants to show off.

I smile at the thought of this. Sherlock Holmes wanting to show me off. I turn up my coat collar, because it makes me look cool and mysterious. I like that. Sherlock has done the same thing. His phone suddenly pings. He pulls it out.

"Lestrade needs us at a scene. I'm sure it will be an easy solve with both of us. Then we can get on to tracking down my niece."

"Of course. Let's go."

He runs out the door and hails a cab. We get in, and Sherlock puts his hands in the pyramid formation he uses when he's going to his mind palace. I stay silent, which I'm sure he appreciates. We arrive at the crime scene. All the people around me begin to confuse me, little deductions popping up all over. Sherlock doesn't seem fazed by it. I hide behind him, my four foot nine inch tall self blending quite well. Lestrade sees Sherlock and runs over.

"We believe it's a fratricide. Can you help? Where's John?"

"I did not bring him since he is busy with Mary. I brought Elizabeth instead," he turns and looks at me. "Come on out. I know all the information is a little overwhelming for the first time. Don't be afraid, I can help you overcome that."

I step out from behind him, seeing the grey haired Detective Inspector. He looks down at me. He waves. I do not wave back.

"Hello, Elizabeth. Did Sherlock drag you out here?"

"No. I came willingly, Gregory Lestrade. How are your children doing? Ah. Littlest is sick and... oldest having trouble in school. I suggest moving her to a private school so she can adjust better. She's an introvert, you just don't pay enough attention."

He looks back at Sherlock.

"So we've got a mini Boffin now, don't we?"

I glare at him. "Neither of us like the term 'Boffin'. It is an insult. And I am different. I am NOT a miniature him. I have a personality of my own, thank you very much."

"Are you his niece?"

"No. I am Elizabeth Harriet Watson, daughter of Anthony Watson, who is brother to John Watson. I am only related to Sherlock through intelligence."

Lestrade laughs quietly. He turns his attention back to Sherlock. He beckons.

"Come on, you two. The crime scene is this way."