So after much contemplation I've decided to give this story a sequel, as well as edit all the kinks out of it. This is a preview as well as an announcement that the first chapter should be up by March 10th at the latest. This is exciting! I'd love to hear what you think of it!

Preview:

Gregory Lestrade had a few years on him, probably increased further by his involvement with the eccentric consulting detective that is Sherlock Holmes which made police work pale in comparison. First he's a drug addict, then he's a detective, and then he's dead and then—he's living in a proper house with a family? At first, Lestrade really didn't believe it. He thought it was still some part of an extended sting operation that Molly Hooper—no Pyne, Molly Pyne, she's quite specific about that now—and her daughter in on the joke. Really, he didn't believe it until he showed up at their door one evening in February and Sherlock opened it before he even touched the doorbell or the knocker.

There were loads of sounds to process in the background, an old man, a woman, and occasionally a girl's voice popping in, shouting in a language Lestrade barely recognized. A door was slammed. Lestrade winced, "Is that Russian?"

"Yes, I've been trying to learn since last week, but Rosetta Stone isn't good for swear words." Sherlock replied stiffly "And they speak quite quickly."

"May I come in?"

Sherlock turned around, leaving the door open, "Take off your boots and coat and place them in the closet. Molly dislikes it when mud and snow is tracked in."

Lestrade snorted, "And you listen?"

"She's already shouting in Russian, making her even angrier is not high on my priority list at this particular moment in time." Lestrade did as he was told, following Sherlock into a drawing room. It was strange, doing something as ordinary as sitting in a comfortable chair as Sherlock brought him tea, all the while the rowing continued upstairs.

"What is it about?"

"Anna caused her orchestra teacher to quit by dyeing her hair orange, having a couple of clots break her cello, and tricking her into walking into a shop full of sex toys instead of a book shop and circulated a picture of that throughout the school."

"That seems particularly mean spirited." And so much like Sherlock. Lestrade wondered if Sherlock was having a bad influence on an otherwise sweet little girl—who picked his wallet the first time she met him just to prove a point.

"That woman deserved it." Sherlock mumbled, earning only a chuckle from Lestrade. 'To think they let such people teach music now, it's absolutely preposterous."

Lestrade's headache almost made him not notice the abrupt stop in shouting. Moments later, Anna walked down the stairs, "Hello detective inspector." She spoke rather dejectedly.

"Got the third degree, eh?"

"My Mom has settled the matter. She's throwing ten thousand pounds at the fine arts program, another ten at the library, and five at the science program." Anna crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, "She says I have to write a formal apology detailing everything I did wrong and my remorse."

"That would be lying though." Sherlock pointed out with a smirk.

Anna shrugged, "Lying is the way to get by in this world."

There was more shouting and a crash, "What was that?" Lestrade asked, alarmed.

"Oh. Deda can't find his good dress shoes." For the first time, Lestrade noticed her state of dress, a blue velvet skirt and a white blouse, as well as a pair of polished black shoes, "We're going to my recital." She explained, "But you're probably wanting to take Sherlock away now aren't you?"

Lestrade found it difficult to remember what he had even been there for, staring at the adorable creature that stood before him, a blue bow in her hair finishing what looked like cute personified, "Oh uhm well—"

"It won't hurt my feelings." Anna interrupted quickly, "In fact—"

"Oh! Greg! Hi!" Molly came down the steps and drew him a small hug, "We were just heading out. Do you need Sherlock for something?"

Oh. Right. Triple Murder. Sherlock wasn't completely normal he still wanted to be involved in things like that to be sure "You're here about the triple murder. Three men hung from their arms in the cemetery. Already solved. It was Georgia Fletcher, the funeral home director, now if you excuse me, I must go watch Anna and her classmates' no doubt poor rendition of Peter and the Wolf."

"You weren't supposed to be on that!" Lestrade called as Sherlock was already ushering Molly and Anna out the door.

A moment later, the big burly man that was apparently Molly's father came downstairs, "Oh. Good you're here. Lock up while we're out, yes?"

"Sure…." Lestrade's reply came out weak and only thin air heard it as the door had shut behind the man. "Wait—what?"