Sherlock Imagines

My Dearest (SherlockxChild!Reader)

Okay guys, I got this request (they chose to be annon) and I thought it may be fun to try this with all my boys (and girls) so, yeah. Daddylock ahead! Also probably going to do a sadder version of this, so be prepared for some feel-updates. #Johnlock

Sherlock chased you around the flat. You used your tiny stature to your advantage, ducking below a table here, making a sharp turn he couldn't there.
"Y/n, sweetheart, please. We need to go!" He spun in circles, trying to figure out where you could've gone. What could've happened to the bounds of h/c curls that he'd seen only minutes ago. You had your mother's e/c eyes, that he could never forget. Eventually he heard giggling coming from your room, and knew exactly where you were. He crept in, ready to pounce on your seven-year-old self. You stifled laughter under your f/c bed, watching as his feet encircled your hiding place. Suddenly, you were pulled from the spot, and lifted high in the air. He looked disappointed in your childish behavior, but knew he couldn't stay mad at you long.
"When's Daddy going to be home, Papa?" He placed you gently on his hip, careful not to harm you in any way, as he always feared he did.
"Daddy will be home soon, but we've a case, and you're coming with." You'd seen crime scene photos before, you'd even put your own deductive skills to work and helped solve some cases. Today was the day you'd follow in your Papa's footsteps. And he couldn't be more proud. Sherlock waited patiently for his husband to return home, fixing your tiny trench coat every time it needed adjusting. Your hair always held the curly look to them, and he thought you looked absolutely amazing in your outfit. Like a mini him. That was always the point, though. Finally John entered the flat, groceries in hand, despite the fact his husband and kid never ate all that much. He groaned at the matching pair, knowing Sherlock was about to insist you were ready for your first real case.
"Let me put away the food, then we can discuss it." He snapped, heading to the kitchen. Sherlock pulled you on his lap, both of you preparing the irresistible faces of doom your Daddy had no defense for. John entered the lounge, not expecting you both to be so desperate you'd risk using the faces.
"I just don't think she's old enough, Sherlock." He argued right before getting your welling puppy eyes, and a small smile, with tired eyes from his husband. John stopped dead in his tracks.
"No. No, that's not fair!" He tried to fight it, resist the urge to crumble and give in.
"L-Lestrade would never allow a child on a crime scene, Sherlock! Otherwise, I'd say yes." Now Sherlock had him. He smirked confident, and picked you up, both of you ready to solve the case.
"He already has. Come on, John." He strode confidently with a lightly twisted smile, as John huffed and complied. You rode in the sunshine-coloured cab, all the way to the scene. He strutted out of the cab with his family, only to be greeted by Donovan.
"What're you doing here, freak?! And with a child?!" He was about to answer, but you did so for him. And in a way that he couldn't be more proud of.
"We were invited, Sally. Maybe if you were smarter, you'd know and wouldn't be sleeping with Anderson. He's not going to leave his wife for you like he says, you know." Sherlock lifted the tape, and escorted you under in his arm, and held it up for John as Donovan stood in complete horrid shock. Sherlock carried you to the body, and pulled out a box of rubber gloves, made for your tiny hands. Lestrade joined the trio, slightly worried about what affects this could have on a child.
"Now, I don't want her messing with the crime scene, or helping you hunt down the killer, Sherlock." Lestrade scolded, but otherwise just stared. You rolled your tiny eyes and moved to the body, noticing one thing immediately.
"You assume he was shot, correct?" You squealed along. Lestrade nodded, thinking the gunpowder and bullet was obvious.
"He wasn't." You stated simply, examining the false bullet wound. Sherlock held his head up proudly, glad you saw the same thing he did despite being a mere 6 years of age.
"W'do you mean he wasn't shot! There's a bullet wound, gunpowder, everything! Hell, we even found the gun!" He argued, determined not to be bested by a child. Too late.
"The killer would've have to been nearly 8 feet tall to make this wound with a handgun. No, the angle suggests a rifle, from a taller building, but the bullet was that of a .24 caliber handgun. The only way this wound is possible is if he, approximately 5' 3", I think, my maths may be a tad off, stabbed him, shoved the used bullet into the wound, and staged the gunpowder. You need better detectives." You explained quickly as your father would have, pointing and acting out certain pieces to the crime just like him. Everyone was speechless, except for him of course.
"Your math was wrong, my dear. 5'2", and you assumed the killer was male. It was a woman." You stomped your little foot, now noticing the nail polish chippings, angry you didn't before.
"Damnit!"