Elizabeth Watson (John Watson's daughter- Sherlock fan fiction)

Chapter 3- The Steps of 221B

"Thanks Mrs Hudson." said John, putting down his phone and frowning, "That girl." he muttered, "She's nothing if not a Nosey Parker."

Sherlock continued to drive on. He wasn't listening. He was thinking.

"How many times is that she has tried to follow us now?"

Sherlock said nothing.

"Why can't she just stay at home when she's told?"

"Because she's just like you John."

"So you are listening."

"No. I'm thinking. Be quiet."

John sighed.

"You'll have to let me out the car Sherlock."

No reply.

"Sherlock, I can't have my daughter wandering the streets at 9 in the evening trying to follow us."

Silence again.

"Sherlock!"

"STUPID!" he shouted suddenly, banging hard on the steering wheel, sending the car swerving across the road until they were facing the other direction completely. Then he stepped on the pedal and the pair were thrown back against their seats.

"Change of heart?" said John sarcastically, glad they were heading for home once more.

"Why would he send us to an address of a house that does not exist?" asked Sherlock.

"Maybe-"

"Because he's trying to get us out the way so he can play his dirty games."

John froze.

"You mean he's at the flat?" Silence again, "With Mrs Hudson and... but she's run away... unless..." John's eyes widened, "He's got her hasn't he Sherlock?" asked John frantically, "Sherlock?!"

"Shut up John."

*

The figure sat on the steps of 221B Baker street. The child sat calmly beside him.

The car screeched around the road corner with a frantic speed and John was out before it had even stopped.

The child looked up and saw her Papa. Then she turned to the man sat beside her and he grinned. He was right when he'd promised that her father would soon return. She liked his music too.

An iPod sat on the figure's lap and they each had an earphone in one ear. The music was that of a violinist and the child loved the way the notes danced slowly together.

Her Papa was moving quickly though. He flew across the road until Sherlock reached out to grip his wrist. Papa's face was angry, but not at her. She looked up to the man beside her and frowned quizzically.

"She likes music doesn't she?" said the figure to John, as he fought to get free from Sherlock's grip, "We were just sitting here listening. Enjoying the music."

"Get off of her!" shouted John to the figure, "Let go of me Sherlock!"

"No." his friend whispered in reply, "Stop being rash and use your head."

John's muscles relaxed and he sank a little. Sherlock straightened up and took a step closer.

"There is something you want from us?" he asked, his voice dark and controlled, his hands clasped behind his back.

But the figure shook his head and sighed.

"No, no, no my friend." was his reply, "I was just coming to see Elizabeth." He looked down at the child and puckered his lips, "But it's probably time I was going." He unhooked the earphone from his ear and tucked it into the girl's. He handed her the iPod and stood up, wiping his knees, "See you round Elizabeth." he whined, before striding away, "Enjoy the music."

There was a pause.

John pushed forward to reach his daughter. Sherlock stood, still staring at the retreating figure.

"Stop John." he said suddenly, snapping his head towards the child. John paused as he was reaching down to the girl.

"That iPod..." he murmured, bending down.

Then the violin music stopped. The child, who had been enjoying the sound so much, suddenly froze. Her earphones shuddered and her world erupted.

She began to scream. And scream, and scream and scream.

Her father was shouting and holding her arms, her head, but she was shaking, quivering, ripping at the earphones that just wouldn't come out.

A ferocious, insistence, digging shrill was ringing in her head. The violins replaced by this jarring, piercing noise.

"GET OUT MY HEAD!" she shouted over and over. That man. That horrible, horrible man.

John was frantic, his hands searching all around her. Why was she screaming? What was wrong? Nothing was wrong. Her head- why was she was holding her head?

"The earphones John!" shouted Sherlock, and then he realised. Grabbing the wires he tugged sharply and the white speakers flew to the ground. His daughter collapsed into him from where she sat. Her hands still covered her ears and she cried and cried, though the screaming had stopped.

John held his child in a tight embrace to comfort her, but she shook her head insistently to herself. Then he saw the blood in her ears and he panicked again.

John laid his daughter on the paved ground. Her chest rising up and down as she breathed desperately. Puddles of red, red blood sank around her head.

Sherlock was holding the earphones to his ears and listening.

"That noise-" he muttered to himself.

Then Mrs Hudson flung open the door and gasped. She had heard the screaming and scampered to the pair's side. She fumbled for the phone in John's pocket and dialled at the keys. But none of this was noticed. John was a doctor and he was a dad and he knew that man, who had waltzed so calmly away, would be avenged by him for all that he had done and more.

'It's ok.' he was telling his daughter over and over with his eyes, 'Everything will be alright.' He stroked her hair and held his head close to hers.

"Papa." the child whisper in agony, still frantically clasping at her bleeding ears. But the sound was so quiet. Too quiet.

John doubted she could even hear her words.