The Teenage Years
there are two curse words in here, so if that's not your cuppa, be warned...
Sherlock sat at his chair in his mind palace. His long fingered hands were pressed against his lips, his eyebrows furrowed in a state of extreme concentration. He gazed ahead at space, a glassy look in his pale eyes.
John was on his laptop, writing yet another blog entry about their newly solved case. Over time, he was needing glasses. Glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose, the reflection of the computer illuminating the lenses. Clearing his throat, he pushed up the glasses with his index finger and popping his knuckles. Shortly after he resumed writing, Sherlock spoke up.
"What are we going to do," murmured Sherlock, sitting up in his armchair and setting his hands on the side. He gripped the sides so tight that his knuckles paled to a whitish complexion. His teeth were gritted.
"What are you going on about now?" said John in an exasperated tone, shutting his laptop lid and rising from his chair.
"I'm talking about (f/n)." Sherlock muttered as John sat in the armchair opposite to him.
John sighed. "Sherlock, she's fifteen, nearly sixteen. We shouldn't need to worry about her." said John. "Besides, she is your daughter anyways. She's a Holmes."
Sherlock grumbled, getting up and walking towards his violin and song book. As Sherlock began to play, John rose and walked into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and found the norm in the household: a pint of ice cream, three bottles of Starbucks coffee lattes, milk, fruits and vegetables, and the occasional severed body parts.
John wrinkled his nose at the plastic baggie of human toes sitting on the second shelf as he reached for an orange. He peeled it as he walked back into the living room, sitting back into his computer chair and poising his fingers over the keyboard and discarding the peel in the wastebasket as he passed it.
"You know, Sherlock, it would be nice for you to get dressed because (f/n)'s bringing her new boyfriend-"
John picked up his cell beside him and scrolled down in (f/n) and his conversation. He read her text that she sent him not too long ago. "You've about ten minutes before she's expected home with her boy-"
"Don't say that word." Sherlock snapped.
John chewed on his orange slice as he adjusted his glasses. Sherlock cleared his throat, his eyes widened. He set his violin on the holder as he laid the bow across the staff. Sherlock reached for his phone on the mantel, dialing the only backup he was hoping to have.
As the phone rung from the other side, Sherlock impatiently tapping his foot on the floor. He turned to gaze out the window as the caller picked up.
"Brother dear," Sherlock started in a hushed tone so John couldn't hear.
Sherlock heard Mycroft groan from the other side. "What is it now, Sherlock?"
He took a deep breath. "I need you to come over as soon as possible."
"Sherlock, I can't just leave wo-"
"It's important," he pressed. "(F/n) is bringing her boyfriend over."
After a few moments of silence from Mycroft, Sherlock heard him say, "I'll be over in sixteen minutes." The line went dead after that. A coy smile found its way to Sherlock's lips as he pocketed the phone, racing upstairs to get dressed.
Meanwhile as (f/n) and her boyfriend, Hugo, were walking to 221b Baker Street, (f/n) lectured Hugo precisely how to act around her father and John.
"My dad's the infamous Sherlock Holmes, so-"
"No way!" Hugo exclaimed, his face lighting up. "The Sherlock Holmes?"
"Yes, but he's extremely cold and freaky to strangers." (f/n) said irritable tone. "One one-over of you and he knows what you had for breakfast the past week. Be very careful what you say because he will contradict you."
"Wicked," Hugo said with a mischievous smirk. (F/n) smacked his arm and Hugo jumped, rubbing his arm.
"Ouch?" he grumbled.
"Hugo, I'm completely serious," said (f/n) sternly as they stopped in front of the flat's door. "Be on your best behaviour."
(F/n) dug out her keys from her coat pocket and unlocked the door, stepping inside. She and Hugo wiped their shoes on the doormat before marching up the stairs into the flat.
"I'm home!" she called out, Hugo following her short. John looked up from his blogging and cast a sideways glance at (f/n), smiling.
"Hi, (f/n), care to introduce me?"
"Uncle John, this is Hugo," said (f/n), stepping aside and gesturing to Hugo. Hugo's jaw practically unhinged as he gaped at John, a childlike twinkle in his big brown eyes.
"John Watson! Oh my god, it's been a dream of mine to meet you! My father and I idolize you and Sherlock!" Hugo professed, holding out his hand and beaming at John.
John's eyes widened before a fond smile was made the corners of his lips turn up. He shook Hugo's hand warmly before mouthing at (f/n), 'I like him.'
(F/n) blushed a bit. This was going well so far.
Her pleasant thoughts were cut short as she heard the rapid footsteps of her father thundering down the stairs. She suppressed a groan as she heard Sherlock jump down from the last two steps and approached her from behind. Sherlock clapped (f/n) on the shoulder, staring ahead expressionless at the animatedly chatting John and Hugo.
Sherlock cleared his throat loudly. Hugo turned around and a small squeal escaped his lips as he clapped his hands together with joy.
"Crucified Christ, it really is you! Sherlock Holmes! The father of my girlfriend!" he rambled.
(F/n) facepalmed. Sherlock did a one-over of Hugo before muttering, "Yes, one of your girlfriends."
Hugo looked taken aback as he stepped back. (F/n)'s gaze snapped upwards to her father with a scowl on her face. "Dad, I'm serious if you-"
"Oh, I'm serious too." Sherlock scoffed, approaching Hugo and staring him down with his green intimidating eyes. "You reek of women's perfume on your coat that obviously doesn't belong to my daughter. Not your mother's, no, it's one of those little perfumes that a popular artist has concocted." Sherlock took a whiff of the air that occupied Hugo's space. "Midnight Memories by One Direction," Sherlock confirmed, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
Hugo's face turned beet red as he grew flustered attempting to explain himself. "No no, this isn't what it looks like....."
(F/n) crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at her boyfriend. "Oh, is that so?" she pressed, walking towards him. Hugo stepped back as (f/n) stepped forward, unaware that John was opening the window directly behind Hugo.
"Who is it then? Is it Katelin? Katelin was all over you before you asked me out!" she yelled in his face. Hugo held up his hands as he backed up further, his legs brushing against the windowsill.
"(F/n), babe, this isn't what it looks like,"
"Don't give me that shit!" she shouted, pushing him back. Hugo stumbled, trying to hold onto something before he fell out of the window, a thud on the ground following.
She lingered, glued to the spot for a while before she pivoted on her heel, brushing off her hands on her coat. "Well then," she said, stuffing her hands in her coat.
The door clicked open as the three heard footsteps race up the stairs and into the flat, bursting through the door. Mycroft appeared in his usual suit and stiff expression on his face. "I heard a crash downstairs, what was that?"
John and (f/n) looked at Sherlock, a 'really' face plastered onto their features.
"You called Mycroft?!" they yelled in unison.
Sherlock crossed his arms. "There was no one on my side and you know how I hate being outnumbered."
"That was my boyfriend." (f/n) answered, looking at her uncle with an apathetic gleam in her eyes. Mycroft opened his mouth to say something but quickly shut it.
"Okay then," he murmured, his eyes widening as you averted his gaze to the floor. (F/n) shook her head at the lot before she ran down the stairs to the back of 221b.
Sherlock took out his phone and speed-dialed the only person he wanted to call for this situation. The phone rang on the other side for a few moments before it was shortly picked up and answered with a, "Sherlock, what is it now?"
"Lestrade, (f/n)'s ex-boyfriend fell out of the window." Sherlock said, walking over to the window and looking at his crippled conscious form on the pavement. He saw (f/n) approach him and he winced as she conducted her administrations on him.
"Yes, he has two broken ribs, a fractured skull, and two broken legs." Sherlock said, watching his daughter. "And a broken arm. He's losing a lot of blood through his nostrils." he added.
Lestrade groaned. "How many times did he actually fall out of the window?"
Once the crew cleaned up, (f/n) returned to the flat where her uncle, Sherlock, and John were having tea. She slipped off her coat and flung herself on the couch. Sherlock raised his teacup to her, nodding his head.
"Hey, nice job with your ex out there," he said. "Left a lot of foot marks on his chest, I heard."
A smile appeared on her lips, a chuckle escaping through her mouth. She walked over to the table and pulled up a chair. "Bloody bastard deserved it," she muttered, picking up Mycroft's cup and sipping from it.
"Young lady, that's-" Mycroft said, a repulsed expression on his face.
"Jasmine green tea," (f/n) finished. "Nice, uncle Mycroft." she said, tipping her head and raising her tea.
Sherlock laughed. "That's my girl."
"Yes, you certainly are his daughter..." Mycroft muttered, shaking his head.
He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not.