Sophia Holmes and the Study in Pink (Sherlock's Daughter Fanfic) *Completed*

Chapter Three

Up in the lab, I help dad test a flake of green paint in a petri dish. As I squeeze the solution over the dish the paint reacts, telling me that the paint was used to paint something metal. 

I found it on the victim's garden path, close to where the body was found in the pond. Two areas of gravel were found to have traces of green paint, each a metre apart. A metre apart and painted metal - a ladder, then. As I thought. Superstitious man, walks round ladder, slips on the gravel and falls to his death in the pond. High levels of alcohol were found in his blood, but his wife said he didn't drink - however, the victim's brother had sent him some whisky. Conclusion: the brother sent someone to his house with a ladder, knowing his brother was superstitious. The ladder was placed in front of the pond so that when Jack walked around it, he would fall in. Case closed. 

Someone knocks on the door and Mike enters, followed by a man limping in on a walking stick. He looks around at all the equipment he passes, then looks back at Mike. 

"Well, bit different from my day."

Mike chuckles. "You've no idea!" 

"Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine," dad lies. 

"And what's wrong with the landline?" Mike challenges. 

"I prefer to text." 

"Sorry. It's in my coat." 

Mike's friend digs into his back pocket and pulls out a six-month-old phone. A bit extravagant for a retired army doctor looking for a flatshare. "Er, here. Use mine," he says, holding the phone out for dad to take. 

"Oh. Thank you." Dad glances briefly at Mike before striding over to the pair. 

"It's an old friend of mine," Mike says, gesturing to the man, "John Watson." Dad takes Watson's phone and turns around slightly, flipping open the keypad and tapping out the conclusion of our case to PC Downing before asking cooly, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" 

Watson's face is one of utter confusion as he frowns. Behind him, Mike smiles, aware of what dad is doing. I scan my eyes over the man and see where dad got that question from. His face is tanned, but as Watson held out his phone to dad I noticed there was no tan above the wrists.

"Sorry?" Doctor Watson asks, either completely clueless or just not wanting to talk about his ordeal. 

"Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq?" 

"Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know ...?" Molly walks in with dad's coffee, and Watson trails off. 

"Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you." He snaps the phone shut and hands it back to Watson as Molly comes over. She's removed the lipstick - probably because of what dad said earlier. At least he didn't say anything too cruel.

He seems to have noticed for himself as he inspects her closely and takes the mug. "What happened to the lipstick?" 

Molly smiles awkwardly. "It wasn't working for me." 

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now," he criticises, frowning. There we go!

"Okay," Molly mutters looking upset, turning and heading back out the room. I wonder if she's gone to put some more lipstick on: she takes dad's word for gospel. 

"How do you feel about the violin?" dad asks absently as he returns to his laptop, no doubt updating The Science of Deduction - the website we share. Watson seems unaware that dad is talking to him as he watches Molly leave. He glances at Mike before he finally realises he's being spoken to. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end, and I've got a daughter," he gestures back at me before looking round at Watson. I wave half-heartedly, not looking up from my phone as I add an additional thought to dad's last post on our website. "Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." He throws a really awful, false smile over to Watson who looks at him blankly for a moment before turning to Mike again. 

"Oh, you ... you told him about me?" 

"Not a word," says Mike, smiling smugly. 

Doctor Watson turns to face us again. "Then who said anything about flatmates?" 

Dad picks his coat up from the side and puts it on. "I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap." 

"How did you know about Afghanistan?" John asks, but dad ignores him, wrapping his dark blue scarf around his neck and picking up his phone from beside him. Considering he's supposed to have no signal, he checks it anyway, but it was obvious it was a ruse to see the phone

"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it," dad says, walking towards the door, and I follow close behind. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." 

Doctor Watson turns to look at us as we pass him, looking as confused as ever. "Is that it?" 

Dad turns away from the door and strides back over to Doctor Watson. "Is that what?" 

"We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?" 

"Problem?" dad asks looking a bit offended. Watson smiles in disbelief and looks at Mike for help. Mike just smiles and shrugs, leaving the doctor to fend for himself. "We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name." 

Watson is probably going to wish he'd never said that, and I'm going to find out my earlier assessment of him was completely right. 

"I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid."

Watson looks down at his leg and shuffles his weight awkwardly as dad stands there, smiling smugly. I got most of it right, apart from the brother part which I assume dad got from the phone.

"That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" Dad walks back towards the door, brushing past me before suddenly leaning back into the room. "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." He winks at John before looking at Mike. "Afternoon." Dad sweeps from the room, leaving a stunned doctor. 

I stay behind a moment longer and cast him a small smile. "Sophia Holmes, the slightly less dramatic one." I turn, swishing my coat around and running after dad before he leaves me behind at Bart's. Again.