([identity profile] wrote in [personal profile] sherlockbbc_fic 2014-07-05 09:49 pm (UTC)

Sherlock knew the second he heard the knocking sound from the door downstairs that it was not a client.
Clients had a particular urgency to their knocks and often a small insignificant pause between knock number 2 and knock number 3.
This was not a client. This was someone else. Someone very nervous and young.

John pokes his head out of the kitchen whilst preparing his tea and nods to Sherlock "Are you going to answer that?"

Sherlock let's out a sigh and stretches languorously, his cotton t shirt riding up his stomach and his striped pajama pants lifting to reveal his pale ankles.

Again they hear the tap tap tapof the door, followed by the sounds of Mrs. Hudson ushering someone inside from the harsh cold of the November air. She tuts and sound of wet coats being rung out and brollys set aside flow up the stairs.

John gives a quick smile and says, "Better put the kettle back on then," and turns back into the kitchen to prepare tea for their unexpected guest.

There is silence and a slight pause and then a pair of well worn boots are making their way up the stairs.

Sherlock busies himself trying to guess the make of the boot and the probability of the color being black or brown, and then the door opens and a young girl steps in.

Sherlock immediately stands and takes three long strides towards the girl.

She looks to be around sixteen; her hair is curly and frizzy from the rain and looks to be black in color but upon closer inspection has hints of brown undertones. Her skin is a creamy pale complexion and she stands no more than 5 feet 2 inches, not including the added height of her beat up (they were brown, damnit) doc martens (knew it).
Her eyes are a hurricane of blues and silvers and specks of green and hazel.
Her lips (slightly chapped from the cold) are set in a firm line and she swallows just as sherlock notices how prominent her philtrum is.

She stands tall and lean, with a slight swelling I her cheeks and hips, but still more skinny than most girls her age appear to be.

Sherlock clears his throat as he processes a million different familiar features and shuffles through his mind palace in the filing cabinet labeled "partners" and feels his brain slowly reaching maximum capacity of information as he squeezes his eyes shut.

He opens them approximately 3.2 seconds later and finds the young girl standing with an awkward shy smile holding a cup of tea procured by John and an identical steaming cup held in front of himself.

John smiles when Sherlock takes the cup without raising it to his lips.

Walking back towards the kitchen, John calls back into the sitting room, "How do you take it?"

Both Sherlock and the girl answer simultaneously "black with two sugars" and Sherlocks mind palace shakes as if hit by a train as memories of clinics and crying and long conversations and promises come flooding back to him and drops the tea cup and it smashes on the floor and the pieces scatter around his bare feet and he feels very light headed and only says "you" before grabbing the girl by the shoulders and staring into her eyes and places his thumbs around her face in ether side of her eyebrows and she lets out a sound of panic the moment John rushes back in at the sound of shattering glass.

The girls eyes grow large and she swallows and clears her throat and musters up as much confidence as she can before she says simply, "Hey, Dad."

Just before everything goes black behind his eyes, he feels a strong arm on his bicep providing support and a more petite cold hand wrap around his wrist gently.

(Okay sorry so I haven't written in forever and I wanted to kill myself today and I'm slightly stoned. right now and I am sitting in a restaurant and decided to browse this site in a a attempt to calm down and stop my brain from thinking about everything. Maybe when I'm stable I'll pick this up again.

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