storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2013-01-30 08:06 pm
storypaint) wrote2013-01-30 08:06 pm
Entry tags:
[Elementary] the stored honey (Sherlock gen)
Title: the stored honey
Fandom: Elementary
Length: 712 words
Prompt: tumblr: Gregson has a bee drawing on his file cabinet. Why?
Pairing: Sherlock gen
Other: Set in a vague timeframe, no canon spoilers. "Please?" he said, with his most winning expression. The little girl had smudges on her face and hands. Some of them were from dirt, but he was pretty certain that some of them were pen, as well. And what would a four-year-old be doing with a pen? Drawing, if she didn't have any crayons. There might have been a slight perk of eyebrows under the child's ratty hair.
The child was sullen, silent. She spoke in monosyllables and kept pushing her hair back into her face.
"You have such a pretty face," Joan said, coaxing, wearing a warm smile that Sherlock wasn't used to seeing. It always surprised him. But he could tell this wasn't getting anywhere.
"Watson," he said, after a long consideration, "I need crayons and scrap paper."
Joan frowned at him. (Now there was a familiar expression.)
"Please?" he said, with his most winning expression. The little girl had smudges on her face and hands. Some of them were from dirt, but he was pretty certain that some of them were pen, as well. And what would a four-year-old be doing with a pen? Drawing, if she didn't have any crayons. There might have been a slight perk of eyebrows under the child's ratty hair. He wished that there had been time to have someone clean her up, time for someone to legally sever her from her horrible parents, but there was possibly the life of another child at stake here. They needed to know what this kid knew, and the sooner the better.
Watson sighed to show she was inconvenienced but disappeared for ten minutes, after which she returned with a ten-pack of crayons and some scratch paper she'd taken from the recycle bin near Gregson's desk. He smiled briefly at her and then set to ignoring her pointedly, focusing on the child. Joan left again, but he didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he set the crayon pack down near the middle of the table between them and took a piece of paper in his hands, picking up the black crayon and drawing in shared silence for a few minutes.
"You can draw too if you'd like," he said, sounding unconcerned. After a moment's hesitation the girl drew one sheet of paper to her and bent over it with a red crayon. Sherlock filled in some details with the yellow.
"I like bees, don't you?" he said after a few minutes, holding up his finished masterpiece, a round honeybee with cheerful yellow and black stripes and tiny wings.
The little girl managed the smallest smile, her hands smudging her paper.
"Bees sting," she said very quietly.
"Well, you could always go in your house when you see a bee," Sherlock said. "Maybe you should draw it for me. No bees can get in when the door is closed."
The little girl set to sketching. She drew a red-bricked apartment complex with half a dozen windows on each level. In two of these windows, she put a little light. One, on the fourth floor, was clearly her own apartment, where they'd found her this afternoon. Observant kid. She knew how many windows it was from the side of the building.
"That's a long way to go just to escape a bee," he observed. "What about the other place?"
The little light was also shining out of a window on the bottom floor of the apartment, but not quite as brightly. The little girl bit her lip.
"My brother lives there," she said. "Mom says I can't see him right now because he's sick."
Bingo! Sherlock tried to keep the victory out of his face, because he knew any sudden change of emotion would startle her. Instead, he pulled out his phone and sent a text message to Watson. Boy in 2A same bldg. Send G.
"You must miss him," he answered the girl. "How long has he been sick?"
She continued to draw and talk to him, as long as she didn't have to meet his eyes. She went through all the paper Watson had gotten before his phone buzzed with an answering message.
Got him, Watson sent, and even in the two words he could feel her relief. It mirrored his own.
When a case worker arrived not long after, he sent the crayons along with the girl, although he asked very politely if he could keep her drawings. She consented, and he tucked them carefully into his jacket, tossing his own into the trash basket.
He was a little surprised, the next week, to find it hanging on Gregson's file cabinet, but no amount of threats or cajoling would get it removed.
Fandom: Elementary
Length: 712 words
Prompt: tumblr: Gregson has a bee drawing on his file cabinet. Why?
Pairing: Sherlock gen
Other: Set in a vague timeframe, no canon spoilers. "Please?" he said, with his most winning expression. The little girl had smudges on her face and hands. Some of them were from dirt, but he was pretty certain that some of them were pen, as well. And what would a four-year-old be doing with a pen? Drawing, if she didn't have any crayons. There might have been a slight perk of eyebrows under the child's ratty hair.
The child was sullen, silent. She spoke in monosyllables and kept pushing her hair back into her face.
"You have such a pretty face," Joan said, coaxing, wearing a warm smile that Sherlock wasn't used to seeing. It always surprised him. But he could tell this wasn't getting anywhere.
"Watson," he said, after a long consideration, "I need crayons and scrap paper."
Joan frowned at him. (Now there was a familiar expression.)
"Please?" he said, with his most winning expression. The little girl had smudges on her face and hands. Some of them were from dirt, but he was pretty certain that some of them were pen, as well. And what would a four-year-old be doing with a pen? Drawing, if she didn't have any crayons. There might have been a slight perk of eyebrows under the child's ratty hair. He wished that there had been time to have someone clean her up, time for someone to legally sever her from her horrible parents, but there was possibly the life of another child at stake here. They needed to know what this kid knew, and the sooner the better.
Watson sighed to show she was inconvenienced but disappeared for ten minutes, after which she returned with a ten-pack of crayons and some scratch paper she'd taken from the recycle bin near Gregson's desk. He smiled briefly at her and then set to ignoring her pointedly, focusing on the child. Joan left again, but he didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he set the crayon pack down near the middle of the table between them and took a piece of paper in his hands, picking up the black crayon and drawing in shared silence for a few minutes.
"You can draw too if you'd like," he said, sounding unconcerned. After a moment's hesitation the girl drew one sheet of paper to her and bent over it with a red crayon. Sherlock filled in some details with the yellow.
"I like bees, don't you?" he said after a few minutes, holding up his finished masterpiece, a round honeybee with cheerful yellow and black stripes and tiny wings.
The little girl managed the smallest smile, her hands smudging her paper.
"Bees sting," she said very quietly.
"Well, you could always go in your house when you see a bee," Sherlock said. "Maybe you should draw it for me. No bees can get in when the door is closed."
The little girl set to sketching. She drew a red-bricked apartment complex with half a dozen windows on each level. In two of these windows, she put a little light. One, on the fourth floor, was clearly her own apartment, where they'd found her this afternoon. Observant kid. She knew how many windows it was from the side of the building.
"That's a long way to go just to escape a bee," he observed. "What about the other place?"
The little light was also shining out of a window on the bottom floor of the apartment, but not quite as brightly. The little girl bit her lip.
"My brother lives there," she said. "Mom says I can't see him right now because he's sick."
Bingo! Sherlock tried to keep the victory out of his face, because he knew any sudden change of emotion would startle her. Instead, he pulled out his phone and sent a text message to Watson. Boy in 2A same bldg. Send G.
"You must miss him," he answered the girl. "How long has he been sick?"
She continued to draw and talk to him, as long as she didn't have to meet his eyes. She went through all the paper Watson had gotten before his phone buzzed with an answering message.
Got him, Watson sent, and even in the two words he could feel her relief. It mirrored his own.
When a case worker arrived not long after, he sent the crayons along with the girl, although he asked very politely if he could keep her drawings. She consented, and he tucked them carefully into his jacket, tossing his own into the trash basket.
He was a little surprised, the next week, to find it hanging on Gregson's file cabinet, but no amount of threats or cajoling would get it removed.
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