August Holmes, Sherlock's Daughter

Chapter Thirteen: Death Frisbee?

I convinced Sherlock to let me continue living at 221B, but with some rules. I wasn't allowed to go outside by myself for a while, and honestly I was okay with that. My kidnapping with Moriarty had scared me tremendously. I could tell that everyone has been anxious since I was released from the hospital, even Ms. Hudson. She found any excuse imaginable to baby me. I didn't mind, though.

Sherlock spent more time with me. He wanted me close by more often, especially when he worked cases. I think this whole ideal had scared him most of all, not that he would admit it though.

Sophia and I started dating, much to my surprise. Everything seemed to be perfect, no sign of Moriarty for weeks, except Sherlock was gaining in popularity. Newspaper articles about John and Sherlock sprouted almost every week. There was even one about me, being the famous detective's daughter. 

"Why is it always the hat photographs?" Sherlock walked over to our fireplace and picked up the hat he was caught wearing in the newspaper photos.

"Bachelor John Watson?" John stared at the newspaper with confusion written on his face. I hid my laughter as I went to go sit next to him to read over his shoulder.

"What sort of hat is it anyway?" Sherlock punched the hat and pouted. "Is it a cap? Why has it got two fronts?"

"Bachelor? What the hell are they implying?" John complained, huffing dramatically and turning the paper.

"It's a deerstalker." I looked up at Sherlock.

"...Frequently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson..." John mumbled to himself.

"You stalk a deer with a hat? What are you gonna do, throw it?" Sherlock continued to play with the hat in his hands.

"Confirmed bachelor John Watson!" John shrieked.

"Some sort of death frisbee?" Sherlock mumbled. 

I stifled my laughter as I watched the two men complain about their new popularity. "At least it's not as bad as mine. 'Sherlock Holme's daughter, age fourteen, is alluring all the boys into a mystery.' How could they write that in the papers? What does that even mean?"

"Okay, this is too much. We need to be more careful." John looked at me, concern lacing his eyes.

It's got flaps ... ear flaps. It's an ear hat, August." Sherlock looked at me and pointed at the hat. He tossed the hat over to the room to me, and I caught it.

"What do you mean more careful?" Sherlock said.

"I mean this isn't a deerstalker now; it's a Sherlock Holmes hat. I mean that you're not exactly a private detective any more." John holds his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "You're this far from famous."

"Oh, it'll pass." Sherlock remarked, unbothered. He slumps down on his chair and folds his hands over his mouth in thought.

"It'd better pass. The press will turn, Sherlock. They always turn, and they'll turn on you." John informed, standing up from the couch.

"It really bothers you."

"What?"

"What people say." Sherlock looked at John.

"Yes."

"About me? I don't understand – why would it upset you?" 

John held his gaze at Sherlock before looking away "Just try to keep a low profile. Find yourself a little case this week. Stay out of the news. And it's not just you, it's August as well."