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

Chapter 13- The Empty Room

John had not needed the deductions of Sherlock to tell him where Elizabeth had gone. He had left her to be alone in her room, for he knew she liked that. Only when worry began to draw its cold shadow over sensible thoughts, did he find himself at her door and knocking lightly upon it.

Why had she not told him?

Opening the door to the empty room was the tipping point. John fell into a swallow of guilt as he hurried down the steps, swiping his coat as he passed.

"I'll be back for tea." he shouted and Mrs Hudson (where she was stood baking birthday cake in the kitchen) rolled her eyes.

*

The graveyard was not a nice place to be on this cold, dark evening. The air was so brisk, it stung his eyes, though the dim singing of the church choir muffled the sharp bite of the wind. Elizabeth's shrouded shape was visible as he drew closer, but she did not react to his footsteps. She did not know he was there.

John took a turn to the right so that he would approach her face on, hence reducing her alarm. When he did reach her however, she seemed so shaken, she barely responded to him.

She was silent but her face damp and a furious anger was beating away, pushing out from inside her. John removed his coat and tucked it over her shoulders, for her hands glowed with a white as cold as death. His skin was electrified by the frozen air, but he sat still beside her and waited.

Here lay his wife. No longer could he hold his child in his arms as he had done on the long nights many years ago, yet still he could feel the injustice of it all. He still hated how unfair it was, that here lay his wife. Why his?

Then- a sign- a tender sign- or so John hoped. A cold, white flake fell against the gravestone. Elizabeth looked up to it- she did not need her ears to be thankful for its beauty.

When another fell, her chest rose, and with the third snowflake, her entire body had lifted and the air swiped beneath her again. She acknowledged her father for the first time and she loved him so much.

"Papa." she whispered, falling into his warm hearth despite his shivering limbs.

That was better, thought John. Gently, he guided her up to her feet and they stood for a while in the quiet graveyard, as further snowflakes accumulated around them.

Elizabeth was the first to turn away and John followed, his arm across her shoulders so that his closeness kept her on her feet.

One careful step at a time led them on. Leaving the graveyard made the earth a different place. The snow was just the same for Elizabeth as it was for her father and suddenly she was not alone in her muted world, for all about her the white flakes muffled sounds, so that John too heard little. The falling of such shimmering simplicity and intricacy all about them was almost romantic and the best medicine to calm one's senses.

The return home was slow and by the time they had reached the door of 221B it was definitely past tea time. Mrs Hudson was in a flap.

Before they went in however, Elizabeth noticed an engraving in the snow to the left of the steps. Someone had written letters in the frozen ground: 'Wat is missing'- they said.

'Someone can't spell.' thought John and he squeezed his daughters shoulders as they entered into the warm shroud of the flat.

WgDã