1.

You and me together we'll be, forever you'll see, we two can be good company
- Good Company, Oliver and Company

There weren't many times that Sherlock Holmes felt nervous. If one were to ask him how he felt at that particular moment, he would've made a sarcastic remark, scoffed at their sentiment even; alone, however, Sherlock could admit to himself that he felt something akin to uneasy.

The gravel crunched beneath Sherlock's shoes when he walked up the drive towards the front door, the building in front him pleasant enough. There were potted plants lined up on the windowsill and homemade sun catchers were pressed against the window, held in place by blue tack. A few stray bikes were piled up by the front door. As he approached the front porch and rang the doorbell, Sherlock saw coats of several sizes and styles hanging up. The home, he supposed, was nice.

"Mr Holmes?" the woman who answered the door - single middle aged woman with two cats, had a cheese and ham roll for lunch, prefers to do paperwork by hand rather than on computer – asked. Sherlock nodded. "Hi, my name's Dawn, we spoke on the phone."

"Yes, I remember."

Dawn smiled back warmly, kindly. "Come in – oh, watch your step, the porch is a bit of a mess," Dawn said apologetically, nudging a stray wellie boot to the side with the toe of her pump. "No matter how many times we tell them to clear up after themselves, the kids never listen to us."

Sherlock forced himself to smile back, shutting the front door behind himself as he followed Dawn.

The corridors were sky blue, but there were scribbles on them from where some of the kids had run through them with their markers, and several scrapes indicated that the walls were in need of a good repaint. Sherlock glanced at the drawings and photographs pinned up with disinterest.

"Would you like a drink, Mr Holmes?"

"No, thank you."

They passed the living room, Dawn pausing to check on the children inside. A few of the older boys were playing a game on the TV, several young boys gathered around them and shouting encouraging words, while the girls were gathered around the table, drawing or painting each other's nails. The sight made Dawn smile.

"It's a lovely environment here," she said to Sherlock. "Really, it is. I honestly don't know why people have a negative view of the care system." Dawn continued to walk down the corridor. "You sounded quite surprised on the phone, if you don't mind me saying."

"I haven't heard of or from Catherine Fisher for several years," Sherlock admitted. "I wasn't expecting that phone call."

Dawn's smile grew sympathetic. "You'd be surprised how many times I've heard that. Is this your first time meeting her?"

Sherlock nodded. He didn't suppose that the brief few minutes he'd spent in the hospital room counted as meeting his daughter. He hadn't even held her, just glanced at her briefly, scrunched his nose up and left as soon as Catherine permitted it. Sherlock was still amazed that she'd managed to grab him and haul him into the room.

"She's a great kid," Dawn assured him. "A little quiet, which is kind of a relief when you think about that lot in the living room." Sherlock smiled politely. "She might be shy or standoffish, but don't take it personally – she's been passed from pillar to post in the last few weeks, the poor girl." Dawn and Sherlock upstairs, and she paused by one of the doors. "She's in here. Are you ready?"

"Yes," Sherlock said quietly. He was still nervous.

Smiling, Dawn opened the door and poked her head inside. "Elspeth," she called. "Honey, he's here." She pushed the door open completely and gestured for Sherlock to go inside. His heart pounded as he walked into the room. The walls were brightly coloured and there were an array of beanbags and large cushions spread across the floor, and near the large window overlooking the back garden was a little girl, sitting at a small table with crayons and paper in front of her.

Sherlock couldn't help it. He stared at her. When she looked up at him tentatively, from under her long eyelashes, he saw that she had her mother's eyes; not quite brown, not quite green. But that wasn't what made him stare. She looked almost just like him. Her chin, her nose, her lips . . . they were all like his.

Elspeth continued to gaze at Sherlock for a few seconds before ducking her head and returning her attention back to her drawings in front of her. Sherlock looked over his shoulder at Dawn. She smiled back at him encouragingly.

"Elspeth," Dawn said. "It's your dad. He's come to see you, we talked about this, remember?"

"Hello," Sherlock said quietly. Elspeth glanced up at him and, feeling slightly heartened, Sherlock strolled across the room towards her. He crouched down at the other end of the table, lowering himself to her level so she wouldn't feel intimidated. "Elspeth."

She didn't acknowledge him, just continued to draw. She was nervous. Sherlock watched her for a few seconds, still awestruck by this small girl. Elspeth was so small and delicate, had her mother's eyes but Sherlock's features, was barely paying any attention to him . . . he couldn't wrap his head around it. Sherlock didn't have friends, not really, and his fling with Catherine had only been an experimental one at a drunken University party; there was no way he'd been anticipating becoming a father.

His mother had once told him there was nothing like the love a parent felt for their child. Sherlock didn't understand it yet, but he would in time.

Elspeth was still silent, drawing and colouring with her crayons. Clearing his throat, Sherlock reached for the nearest piece of paper and looked at what she had drawn. "This is very good," he told her half-heartedly, not sure of what else he could say.

Her gaze was suspicious as Elspeth lifted her eyes, her eyebrows raising slightly. The expression was thoroughly unimpressed and for some reason it made Sherlock want to laugh.

"What are you drawing now?" Sherlock asked her.

". . . Mummy," Elspeth finally replied softly. "She's gone away now."

"Yes, to rehab," Sherlock said without thinking. He frowned. Perhaps discussing Catherine's alcoholism wasn't appropriate for their first meeting . . .

"What's rehab?"

"It's a home." Sherlock chose his words carefully. "For adults who aren't feeling very well."

Her brow creasing slightly, Elspeth picked up a different coloured crayon. "Like hospital," she said. "That's where everyone goes when they aren't feeling very well." She was still quiet, but appeared as if she was opening up slightly.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, it's like a special hospital," he told her. Elspeth looked considering, like she was thinking about it, and finished her drawing with a smile. Sherlock peered over the edge of the paper at it. It was a rather unflattering picture of Catherine. He didn't tell her. "That's a good drawing," Sherlock said instead, only to receive another suspicious look from Elspeth. Perhaps she wasn't opening up. Elspeth picked up a different crayon. "What are you drawing now?"

Elspeth shrugged nonchalantly, drawing a large circle. She put down the pink crayon and reached out for the brown one, her eyes flickering upwards momentarily. "Do you have a job?"

"Yes. Every adult has a job."

"Not all of them. Mummy's parents didn't have one because they were too old."

"I stand corrected," Sherlock said, graciously accepting his mistake. Elspeth frowned at him.

"You're sitting down."

"It's a phrase, it's not meant to be taken – never mind," Sherlock said, realising he had lost Elspeth's attention, which was focused back on whatever she was drawing. "I do have a job, I'm a consulting detective."

The only word that Elspeth really recognised was 'detective', and she thought about one of her favourite TV shows she watched on Saturday mornings. "Are you like Scooby Doo? Do you have a Mystery Machine?" she asked him eagerly, her eyes lighting up. Sherlock felt confused.

". . . no," he said when he finally realised who Scooby Doo was. Elspeth looked disappointed. "I don't . . . find monsters."

"Why not?"

"Because monsters aren't real," Sherlock told her dryly. Elspeth looked so utterly unimpressed that her resemblance to him was uncanny. Her lips even tugged into a slight sneer as she gazed up at him.

"Yes they are," she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"No they're not."

"Yes they are," Elspeth insisted.

"No they're –" Sherlock cut himself off mid-sentence, remembering that he was an adult, not Elspeth's age, and was therefore excused from squabbling with little girls. Looking up at him from under her eyelashes, a grin started to spread across Elspeth's face, her cheeks turning pink as she tried to stifle her giggles. If he didn't think himself above glowering, Sherlock would've been doing so at the thought of being teased by a child. "I find real criminals," he retorted finally.

"Like the police," Elspeth said. "That's what the police do."

"I'm better than the police, I actually find who they're looking for. What are you drawing now?"

Elspeth shielded the paper defensively, glaring at Sherlock. "You're not supposed to be looking, it's a surprise!"

Sherlock grimaced and muttered an apology, somewhat embarrassed that he had just been told off. He watched Elspeth draw for a few seconds, amused by the way she hunched over her paper so he wouldn't see whatever it was she was drawing; judging by the way she added masses of brown scribbles to the top of the very large pink circle, it was going to be another one of her unflattering portraits.

"Elspeth's always drawing," Dawn said from behind him, still lingering in the doorway. "Aren't you, Elspeth?"

"Yeah."

"Do you like drawing?" Sherlock asked her. It was another attempt at trying to get her to talk. He supposed that if he was going to be a father from now on, he should at least try to get to know his daughter. Daughter. The idea made him frown. If Elspeth hadn't been sitting in front of him right there and then, he wouldn't have believed it himself. He still didn't quite believe it.

"Yes," Elspeth said. She frowned at Sherlock. "I wouldn't do it if I didn't."

She was definitely a Holmes. Sherlock smiled. "Do you like to do anything else?"

"I like reading."

"She's learning to read," Dawn corrected with a fond smile in Elspeth's direction. It was returned with a sour look from Elspeth before she ducked her head again, returning to her drawing. "She's getting very good at it, right, Elspeth?"

Elspeth didn't even bother responding. A strand of hair dropped into her face and she brushed it back with an impatient huff, her eyes flickering up as she reached for another crayon, her hand hovering between the blue one and the green. Looking at Sherlock closely, she picked them both up, using them alternately.

"Can you draw?" Elspeth asked Sherlock. He was taken aback for a second.

"I'm really not much of an artist."

"You should draw," she insisted, picking up a piece of paper and shoving it towards him. Sherlock continued to protest but Elspeth was adamant that he had to draw with her, going so far as to climb up from her seat and open Sherlock's hand with both of hers so she could try to manoeuvre a crayon between his fingers. Eventually he gave in, pulling the paper a bit closer to himself.

"What should I draw?"

"It's not a surprise if I tell you."

A surprise. Great. Sherlock wasn't lying when he said he wasn't much of an artist, and as he started to scribble a blue sky at the top of the paper – he hoped Elspeth would be content with the typical drawing of a house in a garden with the sun and sky – Sherlock wondered why he had let this small girl get her way. Elspeth was smart and very stubborn, rather like him. Yes, Elspeth was definitely a Holmes.

"Look!" Elspeth said happily, standing up again. She walked around the table, tugged on Sherlock's sleeve – she was obviously not interested in the quality of his drawing if she kept interrupting him with careless actions like that, Sherlock thought with mild impatience – and showed him the drawing she'd just created. "Look, it's you!"

Sherlock took the drawing. It wasn't very flattering but it was a good effort; a bright pink circle with masses of brown scribbles that served as his curls, and eyes that were a wild mixture of green and blue crayon. Elspeth had somehow managed to capture Sherlock's usual haughty expression.

"Er . . . thank you. It's very nice."

"You can keep it," Elspeth told him. It was rather sweet, he supposed. "You have to draw me now."

"But you said –" spotting Elspeth's pleading expression, Sherlock abandoned his previous drawing and picked up a clean piece of paper, much to her delight.

Rather than go sit down again, like Sherlock expected her to, Elspeth stood by Sherlock's side and watched him draw. It was rather distracting.

"I can't draw you if you keep fidgeting like that," Sherlock told her. Elspeth laughed. "There. Is that alright?" Elspeth nodded. "You can keep that and put it on your wall in your bedroom . . . or wherever you want to keep it," he added as an afterthought. Elspeth beamed back at him, then at Dawn.

"Can I show him my room?"

"No, Elspeth, it's almost time for him to go," Dawn said calmly. Sherlock glanced over at the clock on the wall. He hadn't realised so much time had passed already.

Elspeth pouted with disappointment. "Please," she begged. "Please, please, please!"

"It's time for me to go actually," Sherlock said, rising to his feet.

"No!" Elspeth moaned. "Stay for a few more minutes!" she pouted, grabbing hold of Sherlock's sleeve and pulling on it. Sherlock rolled his eyes irritably and carefully detached her, tugging her away by the back of her dress and stepping around her before she could latch onto him again.

"Elspeth, it's time to go," Dawn told her in a much firmer voice than Sherlock had used. He was going to have to learn how to do that.

"But –"

"No buts. Time to go."

Elspeth glowered miserably, watching Sherlock leave. Sherlock smiled half-heartedly, gave her a small wave and followed Dawn out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting. It wasn't that.

"How do you feel?" Dawn asked him, the pair strolling down the corridor.

"Fine," Sherlock said quietly. He felt . . . awestruck, oblivious to what his life was going to be like now that Elspeth was in his life, amazed that one small girl had rendered him utterly speechless in a petty argument about a cartoon. Elspeth was small and beautiful and so perfect, so unlike anything Sherlock could imagine. Who would've thought that one child could make him feel that way? "Is she always so . . ." his voice trailed off as he struggled to find the right word.

"Spirited?" Dawn suggested. Sherlock nodded. Elspeth was certainly spirited. "Yes, it takes her a bit of time to open up but when she does, she's a real firecracker." Sighing, Dawn tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It's a shame. She doesn't really have any friends here. I think the other children are a bit . . ."

It was Sherlock's turn to suggest something. "Intimidated?"

Dawn laughed. "That's one way to put it," she said. "She's a lovely kid, honestly. She obviously likes you."

Sherlock frowned. It wasn't often he heard those words.

He supposed, in a way, that he liked Elspeth. Sherlock suddenly couldn't understand how Catherine had chosen alcohol over her.

"Do you think you'd ever consider becoming a full time parent?"

Sherlock stopped mid step. He slowly placed his foot back on the ground, turning to face Dawn with a shocked expression. She laughed.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you like that! You've got ages to think about it," she assured him, putting her hand on his arm and smiling warmly at him. Sherlock glanced down at her hand but didn't comment, instead focusing on the question. It had stunned him. He hadn't considered becoming a full time parent. He hadn't considered becoming a parent at all until he received that phone call.

Sherlock generally avoided children. They loud, messy . . . he didn't dislike them as much as adults, but Sherlock otherwise tried not to interact with them. Elspeth was different though. Maybe it was because she was his daughter.

Full time parenting sounded like quite a task, though. Sherlock could barely look after himself, let alone take care of a much younger, more dependent person. Could he cope with that?

Sherlock didn't want to be like Catherine Fisher, who had no doubt made false promises and hurt Elspeth more than he could imagine. He didn't want to do that. Sherlock was selfish; he smoked far too many cigarettes, he slept at odd hours, he still took drugs for God's sake - not that Dawn or social services were aware, of course. Sherlock Holmes was in absolutely no position to take care of a child.

"Perhaps," he said. There were always second chances, weren't there? Maybe Sherlock could clean his act up, get off the drugs – try to get off the drugs – smoke a little less . . . he knew it was far easier said than done, but when Sherlock thought of Elspeth gazing up at him with those wide eyes off hers, there was something that made him want to at least try to sort himself out. Sherlock wanted to try and take care of Elspeth.

Dawn smiled again, squeezed Sherlock's arm and took her hand away. "You can visit as much as you like, obviously," she told him. "We just have to make the necessary arrangements."

Nodding, Sherlock made the firm decision to visit Elspeth again.

"Alright, well, ring at any time," Dawn said, opening the front door. "You have my number, don't you?"

"Yes. Er – thank you," Sherlock added hastily. His smile was sort of sincere.

"See you soon, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock got halfway down the drive before he heard a familiar voice calling out, shouting "Wait!" over and over again. Turning around, Sherlock stumbled back slightly when Elspeth hurtled into his legs and wrapped her arms around them, burying her face into his knees because she was too short to reach any higher. Dawn hurried to the doorway, stopping when she saw Elspeth.

"Oh," Sherlock said, at a loss for words. He looked around, possibly for help, and gently patted the top of Elspeth's head like she was a small animal. "Yes, goodbye." He expected Elspeth to let go but she clung on for a few seconds more, releasing him only when Sherlock pulled her away from him. Even then she persevered, grabbing hold of his hands and tugging until he gave in, kneeling down in front of her. "What do you want?" Sherlock asked irritably.

Grinning back widely, Elspeth hooked her arms around Sherlock's neck. It took Sherlock a moment to realise that she was hugging him.

Sherlock hesitated. He knew most people generally returned a hug but he felt so uncertain, so aware that Elspeth was a lot smaller than him and far more delicate. He put his arms around her carefully, letting his hands rest on her back, and hugged her back. Sherlock smiled. Maybe it wasn't so bad.

He didn't have to push Elspeth away from him that time. Strangely enough, Sherlock didn't want to push her away, finding himself quite enjoying the embrace. A moment passed and Elspeth leaned back, her arms still around Sherlock's neck as she regarded him with a serious expression.

"You're coming back?" she asked him.

"Yes, of course," Sherlock promised with a small smile. Apparently satisfied, Elspeth hugged him again and pressed a warm kiss to his cheek.

"Bye Dad!"

Beaming, Elspeth turned and ran back inside, pausing to wave at Sherlock. He waved back.

It wasn't until Sherlock was in the taxi that he realised what Elspeth had called him. Dad. Leaning back in his seat, Sherlock couldn't help but smile smugly to himself – Dad. He could get used to that.