Sherlock Imagines

Don't Tell Mummy~Part 2

Emily didn't waste any time when she jumped out of the cab. She sprinted up to her favorite yellow sign that said, "Crime Scene - Do Not Cross" and started giggling when she was about to go underneath it...but was suddenly hauled up into her daddy's arms. 

"Daddy," she whined. He smirked at her eagerness, but then said, "You have to wait for me. I don't need you tampering evidence or getting lost." Emily huffed and crossed her arms with a pout, as Sherlock lifted up the yellow tape and took them under. 

They were walking up to the front of the building, when Lestrad came out. "Hey, Sherlock, thank goodness you're...is that Emily?" Sherlock smiled and said, "Yes." Lestrad scratched his head as if he were confused. 

"You brought your six year old to a crime scene?" He asked. Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "Can we just focus on the reason I'm here? Where's the body?" Lestrad pointed inside. Sherlock continued to walk him and Emily inside the building. 

They went into a large office area, where Anderson and Donovan were standing around a body. "Hello freak," Donovan greeted. "Bring your daughter to scar her for life? Some father you are." Sherlock rolled his eyes, then set Emily down. 

She was about to run over to the body, but Sherlock stopped her. "Stay by me," he ordered. He took her hand and walked them over to the body. Emily was fascinated by it. "So," Lestrad said, coming into the room, "what can you tell us?" 

Sherlock crouched down and let go of Emily's hand. He slipped on some latex gloves, then looked under the dead man's coat, observed his neck and underneath his nails. The man had a pool of blood around his head, so Sherlock easily deduced that he died from getting hit in the head...but where was the murder weapon?

"Daddy!" Emily excitedly shouted. "Look!" Sherlock quickly got up and went over to her. She was standing a good distance away from a trash can in the corner and was pointing at it. Sherlock went up to it and looked inside. 

The result made him smile. He picked up a heavy book holder that had blood spattered all over it. "My daughter found your murder weapon," he announced, as he held it up to everyone. Lestrad looked over to Anderson and Donovan. 

"A six year old solved half of your case," he told them. Sherlock quickly went back over to the body and compared the marks to his head. "Perfect match," he muttered. He left the weapon on the floor, then started walking around the room. 

He noticed desks turned over, papers scattered. "There was clearly a struggle, an unwelcome guest. Not a woman; not a wife or girlfriend. A man, a strong one." He looked around some more. He opened up every desk drawer from every desk in the room...until he came to one. 

"Looks like you have yourself a drug deal gone wrong, Inspector." Lestrad came over and saw white powder all over a desk and inside the drawers. "Cocaine," Sherlock told him. The perp tried to gather enough of it up before he left--idiot--so there are smudged finger prints, but you have clear ones here and here."

Lestrad crossed his arms and said, "Huh. Well done, Sherlock. And to you, Ms. Holmes," he said to Emily, who giggled. Sherlock smiled and went up to his little girl. He picked her up and smacked a kiss to her cheek. "That's my girl," he said. He looked back to Lestrad and said, "If we're done, I need to treat my little girl to a well deserved ice cream."

After a few more minutes, Sherlock walked outside and hailed down a cab. While they were on their way to the ice cream parlor, Emily looked to her father and excitedly said, "That was so fun, daddy!" Sherlock laughed and told her, "It was, wasn't it? I'm so proud of you for finding the murder weapon."

Boy, if you heard him say those ten words, he would be out on the streets.

When they got to the ice cream shop, Sherlock ordered her a small chocolate ice cream. He sat them at a table and watched her devour her ice cream with a smile on his face. "Nothing like a good ice cream after a crime scene, right daddy?"

He let out a bellowing laugh. She then held out a spoonful of ice cream in front of him. "Try it, daddy," she insisted. Sherlock wasn't one for ice cream. He wasn't one for anything, really, but he was willing to do anything for his daughter. 

He leaned across the table and took the spoon into his mouth. Emily pulled it away while Sherlock made an approving humming sound. "Do you like it?" She asked. He nodded and said, "Very good." He wanted to spit it out. He was never one for chocolate, more for vanilla or strawberry.

She tried to feed him more, but he insisted he was full. Once she finished her ice cream, she started to yawn and rub her eyes. Sherlock chuckled a little at the chocolate that was still on her face, so he grabbed a napkin, dabbed it into his water, then wiped it off.

Once he was done, Emily's eyes started to droop. He picked her up and walked out of the parlor. Since it was only a few blocks from 221 B., he decided to walk them. They only got a few feet when she fell asleep, her face in the crook of his neck, her small hands bunched up in his scarf.

When he got to Baker street, he carefully climbed the stairs and walked into the flat. You were in the kitchen, cooking dinner when you heard him come in. "Hey," you called, while you were stirring sauce in a pot. You were answered with a shush. 

With a curious look, you turned around and saw Sherlock carrying a sleeping Emily. You smiled and watched as he took her to her room. He lay her down in bed and pulled the covers up over her. She woke up a little and smiled at Sherlock. 

"I had fun, daddy," she sleepily told him. She then leaned up and whispered, "I won't tell mommy." He smiled and laughed. "I had fun, too, baby girl," he told her, "but you've had a long day, so you need to take a nap, okay?" She nodded, then closed her eyes and turned on her side. Sherlock pressed a kiss to her head, then walked out and gave her one last smile before shutting the door. 

He was so proud of his little detective.