A Is For Aliens

It was rare that Sophia was allowed to sit in when a client came with a case. Sherlock would gesture to her when they came in, ask if they were comfortable with her being there. Mostly they said no. They didn't want to talk about their husband's suspected affairs or the suspicious death of their uncle in front of a child. Sophia didn't care though. If the case was good enough, she could easily sneak into the kitchen, hide in the corner and listen.

Although, if the cases were boring she didn't bother. Cheating spouses, runaway boyfriends or girlfriends, missed encounters, lost soulmates. Anything to do with romance had Sophia rolling her eyes and dragging herself back to her bedroom. Cases like that were far too boring. Romance was everywhere already. The TV, books, magazines, John and Mary and now she even began to suspect there was something going on between her father and Molly. She didn't need to force herself to suffer listening to even more romance in the form of her father's work. She'd much prefer to stay and listen to a good murder or crazy cause of death.

Today wasn't one of those days though. The clients, an older couple who looked to be in a constant state of disgust, insisted there was nothing about their case that was explicit or vulgar. Sophia could already tell it was going to be a boring case. Cases brought in by calm and rich older people were never really that interesting. The good ones came from people who entered the flat hysterical. Normal looking people who had taken long trains journeys to be there. Not posh people who entered calmly and made small talk about the weather.

So, Sherlock had told her to finish her homework which was equally just as boring. She was sat at the kitchen table, perfectly in her father's line of sight so that she couldn't slack off or sneak back to her bedroom to play. Ever since her teacher had told Sherlock that she was falling behind with her maths, he had started to be stricter than ever. Boringly strict on the most boring of all subjects. Maths, she insisted, didn't matter at all. Humanity had calculators now. There wasn't a point learning it all yourself.

Even after she had finished all of her homework she didn't risk leaving the table. She knew not to interrupt or distract her father whilst he was talking to clients. Even if it was the most boring case in the history of the world. Well, unless he asked her to make them tea or gave her the sign.

If a client was particularly annoying or boring and Sherlock needed a reason for them to leave, he'd cough three times in a row. That was Sophia's queue. As soon as she heard the three loud coughs, she'd burst into the room with some excuse that would make everyone leave. Grandma's ill, an aunt she didn't have had gone into labour, the bathroom had flooded, she'd broken his favourite fictional vase, she'd been sick in the urn of a great grandparent she didn't have, the prime minister is on the phone or sometimes simply 'it's here'.

This time, though, it seemed that her father was content sitting through the most boring case of all time. There really wasn't even a mystery to it. Money was leaving their bank no matter how many times they changed accounts or cards. Expensive gifts would be brought that neither of the couple knew anything about. Diamond rings and expensive meals. One or two times, they told her father, was just bad luck, but this had been going on for years. Different cards, different banks. They were being targeted.

It was, in Sophia's opinion, boring and obvious that the husband who was doing it.

Once her homework was completed, Sophia sat at the table doodling on scraps of spare paper. She began to sketch out what she thought would be a great case. A murder, the Loch-Ness Monster, three knife wielding birds, an alien, a forest, an old lady in a cloak and a friendly bear.

"Mr Holmes?" The female client's voice said. It was the silence that followed the caught Sophia's attention. She looked up from her drawing, towards the living room where her father sat in his chair. "Are you quite alright?"

"Hmm. Yes. Fine." He muttered after a few moments. Sophia frowned as she watched him. He had been having these pauses, strange falters, for just over a day now. It had been getting worse though. A pause with a quick frown grew to a pause with a wince. The wincing grew to short grunts of pain as a hand rested on his stomach. Sophia knew something was wrong. She had told him to go to the doctor's office but he hadn't listened. He had told her she was being ridiculous and then continued with whatever he had been doing. "The husband." He muttered with a wave of his hand.

"Pardon?" The male client asked. His face drained of all colour and his eyes widened. Sophia didn't know why he was acting all shocked. What had he expected from their visit to 221B?

"You." She grumbled, gesturing lazily towards the man. "The money. You've been stealing it. To... erm... to fund a second family in Spain. Tenerife to be precise. A few other young women across the globe. Your business trips to America aren't all business are they, Mr Havel? "

There was a silence. A calm before the storm. Sophia waited, looking up from her drawing. Lips pressed together in a tight, nervous line, her stomach flipped with anxiety. Would the woman start crying or screaming? Would the man deny it? Would he threaten her father?

"Darling." The husband soon spoke, his voice level and calm. The woman, acting equally as untroubled if not more, lifted her handbag up to her lap and unclasped it. Her slender hands dipped in and began to route around. "I can explain." Sherlock opened his eyes slowly, not looking at his clients or, in fact, anything in particular.

"Thank you for you help, Mr Holmes." The woman spoke. Her voice was so calm, it was frightening. She pulled something out of her bag and dropped it down onto the small table by John's seat before getting to her feet. "Have a nice day."

And with that she left. Her husband followed like a lost puppy, blurting out apologies and excuses as he left. A small smirk graced Sherlock's face as he sat slumped in his seat. His eyes closed again and for a moment Sophia didn't know if he had fallen asleep or was simply in his mind palace. She had that problem quite regularly. One day, she promised herself, she'd figure out the difference.

"Homework finished?" He asked. She jumped in shock slightly before glaring at her father's closed eyes.

"Mmm-hmmm." Sophia confirmed, finally moving. She pushed herself from the dining room table and walked into the living room. She peered at the coffee table, eager to find out what the woman had left. Crumpled up on the small table was a small pile of pound notes. Twenties and tens. "I think you should go to the doctors." She said, looking up from the money.

"No need." Sherlock replied.

"You're still getting tummy pains." She pointed out. "They look really bad."

"It'll pass." Sherlock muttered, pushing himself up in his seat, his eyes opening "I've most likely caught something from that God awful take out you ordered the other night." Sophia frowned. Accusing her was completely unfair. That had been days ago and all she had done was, as usual, call the take-out place. She hadn't even wanted chips that day. She wanted chocolate.

"We ordered from the same place we always do." She argued. "You only had chips and it was your idea to order take out." Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. Before Sophia could argue anymore, her anger being fueled by her father's dismissive attitude, his phone sprang into life.

Watching as Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket and answer the call, Sophia dropped down in John's seat. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she began to try and plan a way to get in touch with John. He'd come and sort everything out. He'd come over and, being a doctor, would be able to sort her father out. Give him medicine and tuck him in with a blanket on the sofa. He might also tell Sherlock that he was an idiot which was always funny to watch.

"Sophia." Sherlock barked once he had hung up his phone. "Get changed into something warm. We're going on a case."

"You're not well enough for a case." Sophia protested. Sherlock rolled his eyes and pushed himself to his feet. He was about to tell her to be quiet. To stop talking back to him. He was the adult and she was the child. At least, he planned on saying something an adult would in that moment. It was obviously not going to work though. Not on Sophia and not coming from Sherlock. So he said to the two words he knew would get Sophia on board.

"Alien abduction."

/

It was hard to walk whilst wrapped up in layers of clothes and zipped up in a stupid pink snowsuit. Sophia had to make her waddle everywhere she went. Although, Lestrade had been quick to tell both of them that she shouldn't be there. It was too cold up at the top a high peak in a forest in the middle of winter. The snow was too deep and the winds too harsh. The crime scene, he had hissed, was far too gruesome for a child. Sherlock brushed him off. Telling him there was no one else to look after her. Mrs Hudson was visiting her sister, John and Mary were in work and so was Molly. Plus, Sophia didn't need to look at the dead bodies. Sherlock suggested that Lestrade got one of his men to look after her. Lestrade didn't like that idea. They were Scotland Yard, he fumed, not bloody babysitters. Sherlock said it didn't mind him if she saw the body and was traumatised. He said that Lestrade could just pay for the therapy.

It wasn't a member of Scotland Yard who ended up looking after Sophia but instead a local community support officer who had been tasked with the duty of handing out hot drinks. He was a young man with rosy cheeks and a round tummy. Sophia liked him. He seemed nice enough and let Sophia have a cup of tea with hot water poured out from a big thermos keg.

"Alien abduction?" Sophia huffed, clutching onto her warm paper cup. Flakes of snow clung to her mittens from where she had tried to make a snowman before being told by her father that a crime scene probably wasn't the right place. He had learnt that from John. Anything fun was considered 'not appropriate' around dead bodies.

"Um, hmmm." The community support officer, Harry replied eagerly. He told Sophia he had been named Harry after Prince Harry but, like Prince Harry, his real name was actually Henry. He had also told her that he wanted to be a police officer. A proper one. Maybe even the head of a unit one day.

"Four bodies. They found the tent a week ago but no one was inside. It was ripped from the inside out. They had ripped it open with their bare hands... because they saw some strange lights or heard strange noises, of course."

"Of course." Sophia nodded before taking a sip of her drink.

"They they find them this afternoon. Miles away from their tent. Two of them were naked. In the snow! Why would they be naked in the snow, miles away from their tent?"

"A bear?" Sophia suggested.

"There would be marks on the body then. Claw marks. There would be sign of a struggle." Harry insisted. "Plus, there aren't any bears in Britain."

"Well... people are strange." Sophia grumbled. "It doesn't mean aliens."

"Then what about the strange lights in the sky or the girl who was in the tree? Inside of the tree! Wearing the two other peoples' clothes!" Harry continued. "Or the strange tan on all of them? Or the broken bones in one lad's legs? Or the missing tongues and missing pe-" The man caught himself, blushing and clearing his throat. Sophia didn't know what he was about to say but she wasn't too interested. It wouldn't be proof of alien abduction. It never was.

"How can it be an alien abduction if the bodies are still here?"

"Could have dropped 'em back off when they were done." Harry suggested with a shrug. "Time might work differently up there. They were gone for two weeks here but that could have been years in alien time."

"That's wasteful." Sophia muttered. "Why not use them up for their alien experiments or what ever? What not use them for compost or fueling their ships?

"Aliens might not be fond of recycling." Harry told her with a shrug.

"Anyway, aliens aren't interested in testing on us." Sophia argued. "They never test on us on Doctor Who. Plus, if they've got space ships and all that and they're more cleverer than us then why are they bothered with us. There are probably a million other planets full of aliens that would have a much better conversation with them. " Harry hummed in agreement before excusing himself to tend to a police officer that was beckoning him over. Not long after he had left, trudging through the snow, Sherlock was back at her side.

"It's not aliens." Sophia declared, watching as her father grabbed a plastic cup and filled it with cold water. His hands were shaking, the water in his cup sloshing around. "It's never aliens."

"Of course not." Sherlock grumbled. His spare hand gripped the edge of the table where the kegs of hot and cold water had been set up. His knuckles turned white whilst his other hand lifted a shaking cup of water to his lips. "Four bodies. Four friends. Missing for two weeks although their tent was found a week ago. Ripped from the inside. The bodies were found miles from the tent. Half of them naked and all with a strange deep brown tan. One with two broken legs. One was found in the hollow of a tree. Two of the friends had tongues missing. One of the men is missing a...well, that part doesn't matter. It's obvious, isn't it?" Sophia nodded although it wasn't at all obvious.

"Obviously..." She drawled. "It's a yeti... with super powers... he ripped them out of their tent and then... made them get naked and then... tanned them with his super laser beam eyes... ate the tongue..." Her father's pained but also annoyed look told her she was wrong. "Or a serial killer." Serial killer, she found, was usually a safe bet.

"No." He grunted. The cup dropped from his hand, falling into the snow at their feet. In a panic, Sophia reached forward and grabbed her father's hand. He let out a groan but pulled his hand back from her grip. "Hypothermia."

"Daddy, you're not well." Sophia panicked. She looked around, hoping to see Lestrade or someone she recognised. Someone who could come and help her but all she could see was a swarm of men in white overalls, police officers and other strangers.

"I'm fine." Sherlock dismissed, waving her away, although he clearly was not. "Hypothermia." He repeated, obviously changing the subject. "The friends celebrating a recent graduation, decided to go camping in the woods. No idea why anyone would want to camp in these conditions. It's freezing."

"Daddy, I don't care." Sophia whined. "Please, can you just go and sit down for five minutes."

"Two weeks ago, just before their parents filed a missing person's report when one of them didn't call home to say goodnight, there was a thunderstorm. Thunder that could easily be mistaken as the start of an avalanche, especially if you're intoxicated."

"You're the worst." Sophia snapped, taking him by the wrist and trying to pull him towards the trail the police had created that led towards a clearing where they had parked their cars. If she could just get him to sit down for a few minutes then he might feel better. They were only a few steps away when Sherlock managed to pull his wrist free. Leaning against a tree for support, he winced, pausing for only a second before launching back into his deductions.

"The tent's zipper was stuck for whatever reason. Cheap tent. Not too surprising." He continued, his voice growing more forced as he tried to work through the pain that was too obvious to hide. "They panic, rip their way out from the inside and run."

"Can't you tell me this when you're sitting down?"

"They run and run until they grow too tired. That's when the hypothermia sets in."

"Daddy. I'm going to get Lestrade." She turned to set off back towards the crime scene, ready to stomp dramatically through the snow. She had barely taken two steps when she felt Sherlock grabb her wrist. She felt a surge of anger towards him. No matter how ill he was, he was still too proud to ask for help. John had always said that they were both too stubborn for their own good. Neither of them would back down and a lot of the time small matters turned into shouting matches.

"Alcohol increases the... the risk of hypotherm-thermia. Paradoxical undressing." He grunted, gritting his teeth as his daughter rolled her eyes. "When... when the mind becomes confused... thinks it's too hot..."

"Uncle Lestrade." Sophia yelled, trying to yank her wrist free from her father's grip. With one quick tug, Sherlock pulled her towards him. Her back hit his chest. Before she could pull away, his free hand snaked over her mouth, muffling her shouts.

"I am fine." Sherlock hissed. "Stop being so dramatic and listen." Sophia tried to tell him that he was an idiot but the hand over her mouth didn't budge. "That's why they... took off their clothes. One climbs into a tree to... to try and stay warm. The tan was... the sun... bouncing off the snow. The tongue... the... erm... animals ate them. I'm fine."

Sophia was one moment away from giving up. If her father wanted to die on a mountain in the snow then fine. She would be very upset but it would be his own fault. On his grave stone would be the words 'Here Lies a Stubborn Idiot'. Maybe even a naughtier word. A swear word. One that John called Sherlock when he thought Sophia couldn't hear.

"Oh, Sherlock, there you are." Lestrade's voice came as the man made his way towards them through the trees. He looked them up and down for a few seconds, confused by the scene he had stumbled onto. "Been looking for you. You two alright?" It was then that it seemed Sherlock remembered what he was doing. His hand dropped from Sophia's mouth, letting her stomp a few feet away from him grumpily.

"Just playing a game." He muttered, attempting to straighten himself up despite the pain that stabbed into his side. To his surprise, Sophia didn't argue. Instead she glared up at her father, folding her arms across her chest. As soon as they were home, as soon as Sophia had a way of getting in touch with John or Molly, he was going to be in big trouble. They all worried too much.

"At a crime scene, Sherlock?" Lestrade questioned. "Look, whatever, do you have any ideas about this? It's getting late and if I hear one more thing about alien abduction I'm going to explode."

Sherlock nodded, his hazy mind suddenly remembering the concept of time. What time even was it? He hadn't fed Sophia since she had a snack when she returned from school. It was a miracle that she wasn't whining about it although it would explain why she was acting so dramatic and grumpy. The kid had the biggest appetite going and always got cranky when she was hungry. It was even worse when she was tired as well. There had been multiple occasions where he had seen his daughter completely break down after a long day at school and the prospect of a late tea.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade called, bring Sherlock back to his senses. "Are you alright, mate? You look a bit... grey."

"He's been like this since yesterday." Sophia piped up. "He's not well but he won't let me tell anyone." Sherlock opened his mouth to argue, to tell Lestrade that his daughter was just being a drama queen because she hadn't had her tea yet. He was a fine, a little stomach ache but nothing to worry about. He'd sort out the case and go home. People got stomach aches all of the time, or so he was told.

"Jesus, Sherlock." Lestrade scolded when nothing managed to come from the detective's mouth. "You should have told me. You're just going to get worse standing out in the cold."

"I'm..." Sherlock began angrily but his words dissolved on his tongue. He saw the faces of the detective inspector and his daughter grown even more concerned. His mind grew numb and cloudy and, for a breif second, he tried to shake it. "I'm..."

But everything went back .

/

As Sherlock's eyes fluttered open, he could just about make out a blurry, white ceiling above him with paneled fluorescent lights shining down harshly. His eyes closed once more as he tried to gather thoughts in his bleary mind. His first clear thought was the recognition that the stabbing pain in his lower abdomen has ceased. There was a dull, throbbing pain there but it was much more bearable than it had been. A sigh of relief escaped his dry lips.

"Are you awake?" A voice he instantly recognised as his daughter asked. Forcing his eyes open, Sherlock slowly looked around the room. His head felt heavy and ached when he moved. Sitting at the side of his bed with a brightly coloured kids magazine in her hand was Sophia. He remembered her in the forest. Her cheeks turning red in the cold. Placing the magazine down on her legs, she reached over to a bedside table and passed him a plastic cup full of cold water. For a moment, she watched him as he drank, silently. Sherlock watched her back, knowing that when she was silent, something was wrong. He tried to deduce her, his mind still groggy from sleep.

She wasn't upset. He could always tell when his daughter was upset even if she tried to hide it. She sucked in her bottom lip and her eyes glazed over with unshed tears.

There wasn't any worry or anger. She was completely calm. Not even a smile tugging at her lips. Sherlock's mind drew a blank. Rarely was she silent for no reason.

"Father." She whispered, her voice careful and delicate. When had she started calling him father? When had she started talking to him as if he was an emotional toddler. A small, pitying smile grew on her otherwise calm face. "It's been five years."

Sherlock's mind stopped working. It was his mind palace had stopped to buffer. Nothing came in and nothing came out. He stared back at his daughter in horror.

Five years.

"Don't torment him." Mary's voice laughed. Turning his head as carefully as he could, Sherlock watched as John and Mary entered the room. There was a heavy sigh from his daughter as the pair walked closer to Sherlock's bed.

"It's been a few hours." She admitted, hearing her father let out a breath her hadn't known he had been holding. "But you deserved a shock." She climbed from the chair to make room for John who took her place in the armchair. She climbed up onto the bed, next to her father and rested her head on his shoulder. Clearly her annoyance was beat out by her concern for her father. He didn't have it in him to scold her for tricking him. Her hand fell on top of his, her fingers weaving between his own and all his anger melted away.

"She's right, you know, Sherlock." John added. He was using his concerned but stern voice. Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Why didn't you call us? You could have died."

"What happened?" He grumbled. He could feel his daughter's hair brushing against his cheeks. He felt himself wonder what had happened after he passed out. She was very dramatic at the best of times. He wondered if Lestrade had managed to calm her down or if he had panicked as she screamed about her father's death.

"Appendicitis." John answered. "The doctors said it was only a matter of minutes until it burst. You're lucky there were police cars hanging around. Lestrade managed to pile you into one and get you to the hospital."

"The case." Sherlock grumbled when he finally remembered why exactly they had been in a forest in the snow. He hadn't time to do his big reveal. He had passed out before he could, as John called it, 'show off' in front of everyone.

"I sorted that out." Sophia declared smugly, pushing herself up in the bed. Rolling back her shoulders and puffing out her chest, Sherlock had never seen his daughter look prouder. "The case is closed. It's been solved. I did my deductions and saved the day."

"You've been outshined, Sherlock." Mary teased from where she sat, perched at the end of the bed. She reached forward and poked at his legs teasingly. "You're not the only consulting detective anymore."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked. He was still too tired and too sore to have any sense of humour.

"Sophia solved the case." Mary smiled. "On the way to the hospital she debunked the whole 'alien abduction' theory. Whilst you were in surgery, Lestrade called the rest of his team and closed the case."

"Youngest person to ever solve a crime for Scotland Yard." John beamed proudly. "She's getting a medal, Sherlock."

"And I got to press the button that makes the police car go 'weeee-ooooh, weee-oooh." Sophia grinned, bouncing slightly on the bed until John reached over to stop her.

"What?" Sherlock repeated, still not understanding exactly what was going on.

"I just told Uncle Lestrap what you told me." Sophia explained. "I told him about the hypothermia and the para-doctor-all undressing and the strange sun tan because of the snow and the animals eating the tongues and... other things."

"You took credit for my deductions?" Sherlock grumbled, more annoyed than he should have been.

"I wasn't going to." Sophia smiled. "But Uncle Lestrap said that you'd given me so much grief I should take the credit on this one."

"I didn't tell you why the male had two broken legs." Sherlock pointed out. "I didn't tell you about the strange lights in the sky or why the female was dressed in the other female's clothes."

"Oh, I had to do real deducing for that." Sophia replied. "I had to think long and hard about it whilst you were getting your appendix removed -by the way, you're not allowed to keep it, I asked. But anyway, I figured it all out.

"You get broken legs by falling, don't you. When I wanted to jump out of the window of the flat John said I'd break both of my legs if I landed on my feet. So that's what the man must have done. And there's nothing out in the forest to climb except trees. I thought he was just playing but Lestrade said he must have been climbing to see if he could see further because they were lost.

"The woman with all the clothes was obviously just trying to get warm. Just because the other had para-doc-trial undressing doesn't mean she did, right?

And the lights were super easy. You said there was a thunderstorm, that's why they thought it was an avalanche. Well, thunder comes with lightening. Maybe it was a strange lightning or maybe someone just saw it from a weird angle. I don't know, but Lestrade said I was very clever so case closed."

Something swelled up inside of Sherlock's chest. The small amount of jealousy dissolved and was replaced by a shimmer of, what John called, pride. He imagined telling Mrs Hudson and Molly. He'd have to call Mycroft but he couldn't really imagine his brother having too much of an emotional reaction to it. Maybe a forced 'well done' but not much more. The thought led him to his parents. He could only wonder how chuffed they would be when Sophia told them.

The next week he would find out. He would pretend to be annoyed when they insisted she wore the hat and have a photograph with Lestrade when he came to drop off the medal (a small un-official thing he had ordered online and had engraved with her name). The photo would be printed out and framed in the hallway. A framed copy was sent to Sherlock which he would later place on a bookshelf next to a painting of a man that Sophia didn't know. During her early teenage years the photograph would become a source of embarrassment. She'd beg him to take it down but he never did.

He could never see what she was so embarrassed of. It wasn't a bad photograph. She looked so happy and proud. Grinning and showing off a gap where one of her teeth had fallen out the day before. She wore an obnoxiously bright, hot-pink corduroy dungarees with a small panda stitched into the chest. Molly had chosen that outfit down to the fluffy pink sweater underneath. Lestrade had been crouched next to her, arm around her as she proudly showed off her medal to the camera.

In fact, Sherlock liked the picture so much, he didn't even mind the stupid deer stalker perched on top of her dark hair.

A Is For Aliens (and Appendix)

A/N: Well, I hope some of you guys are still reading. I hope there are new people reading as well! Before I start begging for review (oh god, please review, It's the only thing that makes me happy anymore), let's get some stuff out of the way

As you can already tell, Mary is fine in this story! I started writing Every Bit before season 4 (or did I start before season three?) so so far, nothing's happened from season 4. I was thinking of keeping to it but, you know what, I'm the God of this world and I love Mary so she stays. Also, baby Watson isn't here. I don't hate her, please don't get me wrong, but I'm not ready for a baby just yet. I don't think it's the right time in our relationship.

Also, Eurus. I love Eurus. I love her and I just want to eat her up and smush her face against Moriarty's (anyone else? if you know any good fanfictions of that hit me the heck up please) so I'll probably add her to this story at some point.

Anything else you want to see, please tell me. Even if it's ridiculous or mundane as heck. I'll try my best to do it! You want to see Sophia bring a boyfriend home? I'll try that. You want Sophia to bring a girlfriend home? I'm on it. You want Sherlock to overthrow the royal family and sit on the throne in all his sheeted glory? That's why the good lord gave us dream scenes.

ANYWAY, my point is, you're all welcome to make suggestions and requests. I try my hardest to reply to each and every one of you lovely people!

You're all great.

Please review!