What You Get For Breaking In (Lestrade, Casual)

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Technically, it was Lestrade's own fault that Sherlock was breaking into his house. After all, if the man had been at home, rather than participating in idle nothingness at the police station, he would be there to let the consulting detective in. Holmes would still need to steal what he desired without the Detective Inspector noticing, but at least he wouldn't be breaking and entering.

Sherlock gave the lock on the window a light tap, turning the device he was using to unlock it slightly toward the right. It seemed the man had changed the locks since the last time Holmes had used this window.
In his defence, there was absolutely no reason that Lestrade should be in possession of a vital piece of evidence. Not that anybody else knew that it was vital (they were idiots, the lot of them), but it was. And it was simply irritating that Sherlock would have to spend time and effort to fetch it.

Another moment of messing around with the window lock, and Holmes was finally able to swing it open - granting him access to Lestrade's newly-furnished kitchen. That had technically been the other man's fault too, though the Detective Inspector never owned up to these things. It was wholly unfair.

After hopping nimbly down from the window frame, Sherlock turned and strode toward the entrance to the living room acting for all the world as though he belonged in the other man's house - and was not technically housebreaking. Holmes was no criminal. It just so happened that another person currently possessed something he needed, and so he took the measures needed to collect it. And that thing coincidentally resided in the other man's house.

Not burglary.

The consulting detective first searched the bookcase, as it was most likely that was were Lestrade would dump something work-related. A few minutes of searching brought nothing up, however, and Sherlock turned on his heel in order to inspect the desk - when something unexpected brought him up short.
There was a girl stood in Lestrade's living room.

"Who on earth are you?"
Shock prompted the question before Sherlock's brain realized that it already had the answer. Obvious.
Lestrade's daughter.

Shit.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

The first day of Dolores' first stay at Gregory's house had been uneventful, to say the least. Dolores had arrived with no complications, and Gregory had taken her back to his house. It'd been relatively late when she'd arrived, but they had still stayed up until one in the morning, talking. Dolores told Gregory all sorts of things about school, her friends, how she'd made sectionals for gymnastics despite only being twelve. She also told him how Elliot and Lena were, and Gregory couldn't help but feel jealous when she said Elliot had been engaged.

While both of them were nervous, they relaxed fairly quickly, and Gregory was completely taken in by his daughter as he always was. He had missed her so, so much in the last year, and he was extremely happy she was staying an entire month. Dolores had said there wasn't anything she really wanted to do in NYC, except maybe see the Statue of Liberty, and Gregory agreed quickly. Dolores also told him that she went by Resi to her friends at school, and Gregory had trouble remembering that, which she said was alright. But finally, both of them were exhausted enough that they simply had to sleep, so Gregory kissed her goodnight in the guest room that would be hers for the next month and fell quickly asleep, quite grateful for life, really.

And was very unceremoniously woken up on his day off by his boss calling him in to work for "just a bit" to look at a case. Gregory swore heavily before waking up awkwardly Dolores to tell her he'd be back in a bit. It was eight o'clock, but both of them were still tired and Dolores was, after all, practically a teenager (god help him). He was thoroughly annoyed with his inability to stay away from work for one damn day, but he was need and so he went.

While he hurried, it did not keep him from being gone just long enough for him to get a call from his daughter while in the cab back that unfortunately went like this:

"Uh, dad?"
"Hey, you alright?"[/b]
"Um... yeah, I just... there's a strange man in the living room."
"WHAT?! What the hell? Who?! Did you call 911?"
"No."
"WHY NOT?"[/b]
"I think he knows you. And he kinda... broke in. Like, really naturally. Don't worry, I haven't talked to him."

It took Gregory a few very, very panicked moments for him to sigh in extremly frustrated and say "Oh for fuck's sake. Er, I mean -- sorry. I mean, uh, is he really tall with messy curly brown hair?"[/b]
"Yeah."
"Oh god. I'm so sorry, Dolores. Though don't worry, he's... alright, really. Just... can you put it on speaker?"[/b]
"Yeah?"

He heard it click on, and then, yelling very loudly (getting a very annoyed look from the cabbie), "SHERLOCK HOLMES YOU GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE RIGHT NOW."[/color]

He really needed to work on not swearing in front of a twelve year old.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Sherlock pulled a face at being ignored, as the girl chose not to answer his question in favour of getting the phone and making a call. Holmes knew for a fact that she wouldn't call the police, but rather phone her father. Who, in retrospect, was the police, so technically she did follow standard procedure.

When the next sound to break the silence of the air was:
"Uh, dad?" muttered into a phone, the consulting detective let out a great sigh and threw his head backward in irritation. So much for being in and out of the man's house within a matter of minutes. Holmes did hate it so when somebody held him up.

The speaker of the phone was hardly quiet, and so Sherlock could hear Lestrade's end of the conversation even from halfway across the room. The consulting detective took small notice in the fact that the girl - Lestrade's daughter - didn't seem to be entirely thick. At least she was observant enough to notice that Holmes knew her father.
Sherlock really did prefer children to adults some times - they noticed more.

Holmes couldn't help the chuckle when he heard a distant: "Oh for fuck's sake," on the other end of the line, and he glanced over the girl, not surprised to notice the obvious similarities between her and her father. Even without his observation skills, the consulting detective would not have found it difficult to gather who she was.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES YOU GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE RIGHT NOW."

In response, Sherlock rolled his eyes and threw himself onto Lestrade's couch, answering with a curt reply of:
"Now now, Lestrade, it would be best for you to not disturb your cab driver. And mind your language around your daughter."
Holmes narrowed his eyes as he stared at the girl.
"You know, it's terribly irresponsible of you to leave a minor alone. As a man of the law, I would have thought you'd have known that. What if somebody rather than me had broken in?" The man smirked, looking up toward the ceiling as he spoke his next words.
"I really do think that it would be in your best interest that I stay."

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

"Now now, Lestrade," came Sherlock's annoyingly patronizing response, and Gregory wanted to throttle him over the phone, "It would be best for you to not disturb your cab driver. And mind your language around your daughter. You know, it's terribly irresponsible of you to leave a minor alone. As a man of the law, I would have thought you'd have known that. What if somebody rather than me had broken in? I really do think that it would be in your best interest that I stay."

With every sentence that Sherlock continued, Gregory had another reason to kill him. Or at the very least arrest him. The infuriating son of a bitch - and since when did Sherlock Holmes have any right to give parenting advice?

"She's twelve, not five you idiot," Gregory said, though it pained him that he was actually minding his tongue, Sherlock having reminded him. "She babysits."[/b] He paused, knowing that no matter how much he wanted Sherlock to just bug off, there was very little chance of that happening. Because Sherlock sounded... interested. And there was no dragging him away from that.

"I'll be there in a minute Dolores," he grumbled, knowing that while Sherlock would most likely do nothing actually untoward, he might do something more-than-odd, so he made sure to say, before he hung up, "Just stand at the other side of the room."[/b]

He could hear her give a somewhat amused laugh, and no, that really wasn't what he'd been going for. "Okay, dad," she said, and then, "Bye," and hung up on him.
...Well then. He really hoped Dolores was just being an incredibly intuitive person just now and recognizing Sherlock Holmes wasn't truly a threat, not at the moment, and didn't just let strangers into the house on a regular basis. He was only a few blocks away, so he'd be there momentarily, but he couldn't help but fidget anxiously all the way there.

---

Dolores hung up on her father, somewhat amused, and looked at the man - Sherlock Holmes, apparently, strange but familiar name - and said, "Considering he's a cop you probably shouldn't break in, mister." She had always fancied herself the kind of person able to tell who was actually a threat, and while the guy looked pretty intimidating he didn't seem like he was about to jump her. She searched her mind for who Sherlock was, thinking it had something to do with the police, or crime, or something. She was pretty sure cops didn't feel the need to break in, though, so... someone associated with them. Okay. He didn't really look like a criminal, or at least not an bad one, and he was friends with Dad. "So who are you? Some kind of specialist?"[/b]

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Sherlock smirked a little, pleased at having obviously irritated the Detective Inspector. Though the consulting detective's original intention had been only to break in to collect a piece of evidence, infuriating Lestrade seemed to be a more than adequate alternative.

"She's twelve, not five you idiot,"
Holmes scowled at this, staring at the phone with such force that it seemed as though he was trying to make the man on the other end feel his glare through the power of telecommunication.
"What difference does that make? I wasn't allowed on my own in the manor until I was fifteen. And we didn't live in a city, where the crime rate is far higher."
Though the reasons for that were probably less likely to be down to leaving a minor unattended being frowned upon in society, and more to Mummy Holmes' concern over leaving her youngest son on his own, after many incidents involving a reckless little Sherlock.

"I'll be there in a minute Dolores. Just stand at the other side of the room."
At Lestrade's words, Holmes pulled a face at the girl. If she was willing to believe that he really was dangerous, then obviously Lestrade's daughter wouldn't be worth the effort after all. If not, both Sherlock's actions and her father's warnings would hardly alarm the girl.

The consulting detective's spirit lightened as she laughed at him, before 'agreeing' to his request and stopping the call. He grinned at the Detective's daughter - though it was less of the 'I'm smarter than everybody', or 'there's a case - how exciting', or even the 'hi, I'm just manipulating you to get what I want' sort. Rather, it seemed strangely genuine. Oddly, Sherlock was able to deal with children better than he could cope with adults. They were more observant, and tended not to use insults so easily - not to mention the fact that he had not yet come across a kid who thought he was a freak, or an obnoxious git, which was pleasant.

"Considering he's a cop you probably shouldn't break in, mister."
Sherlock chuckled, and waved a hand idly.
"He breaks into my flat all of the time. He doesn't mind it." The man opted not to mention that the majority of Greg's 'break-ins' were more like drug busts. Best not say that, probably.

"So who are you? Some kind of specialist?"
Holmes raised an eyebrow. Had she reached that theory through guesswork, or logic? He sincerely hoped it was the latter, and suspected that it may just be.
"I'm a consulting detective - I work outside of the police. Your father comes to me when he has trouble solving a case. It happens more often than you'd like to think, really."

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

The man chuckled, waving his hand in the air with a sense of dismissal. Dolores thought he was rather handsome - he had a good smile. "He breaks into my flat all of the time. He doesn't mind it," he said. Dolores wasn't quite sure what to think of that, but nodded anyway. Well, her dad could do whatever he did, she wasn't going to interfere... though she would very well be asking.

The man seemed surprised when she guessed his occupation, and Dolores couldn't help be pleased that she might have been close to correct. She wasn't an overly vain person, but she did enjoy being right. "I'm a consulting detective - I work outside of the police. Your father comes to me when he has trouble solving a case. It happens more often than you'd like to think, really."

"Does he?" she said with a smile. When she was younger, she'd been somewhat disillusioned, thinking the police were super heroes and such - that was why her dad wasn't home much. But as she'd gotten older she'd accepted the injustice of law. (She knew this because she was both quite mature for her age and watched a lot of dramas on TV.)

She wondered again about the whole "breaking in" bit. She stared at him for a moment more before deciding most people in NYC were generally tolerant in the scope of bigotry and asked, "Are you my dad's boyfriend?"[/color]

---

"What difference does that make? I wasn't allowed on my own in the manor until I was fifteen. And we didn't live in a city, where the crime rate is far higher," Holmes said before he hung up. Despite his anxiety he had to laugh at this. Oh, that would be coming back up in a much later conversation, he was sure of it. It was both hard and incredibly easy to imagine Holmes as a child.

Finally, he got to his house and leaped out of the cab quickly, paying the driver and rapidly fumbling to unlock his front door. As he got in, well - he had always been a bit good at coming in at the wrong moments.

"Are you my dad's boyfriend?"

Gregory could have spat.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

The only response Sherlock got to the description of his work was a quiet: "Does he?"
Though that hardly mattered, as by that point the man had risen from his seat to resume searching Lestrade's flat, and in return he only offered an idle response of a noncommittal hum. When Holmes set his concentration upon a single act, it was something of a difficult task to make him pay attention to anything else he would deem unnecessary (that being a fair few things, Sherlock having different views of 'necessary' than most).
Naturally, other people's voiced opinions were hardly important, and rarely made themselves heard through the dim haze of a wall the man regularly built to determine what he paid attention to and what he didn't.
However, many people had often stated that there could be a 'first time for everything'.

Lestrade's daughter demonstrated this through one sentence.

"Are you my dad's boyfriend?"

The consulting detective paused in his searching and turned to face the girl. He frowned, though one side of his faced was unusually graced with a hint of a lopsided smirk. As ridiculous as one would assume the expression to be - on Sherlock, it managed to work.
"What would make you think that?"
It was amusing, at least, for Holmes to consider the Detective Inspector's reaction to the nature of what his daughter assumed their acquaintance to be.

As coincidences were something of a common occurrence for Sherlock Holmes, it just so happened that the door to Lestrade's apartment burst open at the precise moment the consulting detective voiced his curiosity in the young girl's theory.
The tall man rounded on Greg.
"Now, now, Detective Inspector," Sherlock donned the ponciest tone of incredulity he was able to muster, "What on Earth have you been saying for dear..."
Her name. Oh dear lord, Holmes was terrible with names. Something beginning with 'D', he was sure...
"...Daisy here to suspect such a thing?"
There was barely a pause as the Consulting Detective furiously thought for the first name beginning with 'D' he could think of. And, though he knew he was wrong, he didn't really care - most people had rubbish names anyway.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

What would make you think that?" he stood, and he looked excited.

Dolores would have answered right away - she knew his father was at least half gay, and the whole breaking in thing might be code name for something else - but it was just then that Dolores' father walked in. "Oh, hi Dad. Don't worry, I'm not dead,"[/b] she said casually. She could tell by his shocked expression that he either expected her to be torn into shreds, or he'd heard her works. Oops. She hadn't wanted him to know she was poking into his personal life, really, but he'd understand - she was sure he wanted to keep up to date with her as well.

"I see that,"[/b] Gregory intoned dryly, glaring at his friend (not boyfriend, then?)

The man - well, Sherlock Holmes, if Dolores' listening was up to date when Gregory had been swearing at him through the phone, said, "Now, now, Detective Inspector, what on Earth have you been saying for dear... Daisy here to suspect such a thing?"

"It's Dolores,"[/b] Gregory growled, "And I've not been telling her anything like that, I'm sure it's all you."[/b] (It really wasn't, thought Dolores, but she kept to herself. She wasn't actually sure if he knew her mom had told her about her dad's bisexuality, or whatever it was.) "Now be so kind as to leave."[/b]

Dolores looked at Sherlock, a hint of apology in her eyes. But she was also smirking. She didn't really want Sherlock to leave just yet. Sure she wanted time with her dad, but they had all month - this tall skinny guy seemed fascinating. Though maybe he'd break in some other time, and she wouldn't call her father. So maybe that wasn't exactly 'safe thinking,' but she was still sure he had no real malintent.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

"It's Dolores,"
Sherlock had been right, she did have a rubbish name. That wouldn't do at all. In fact,the Consulting Detective refused to refer to her by it.
"And I've not been telling her anything like that, I'm sure it's all you."

"It's really not," Sherlock muttered, rolling his eyes purely for petulance at Lestrade's refusal to acknowledge that some things were simply obvious. Even, it seemed, to his twelve-year-old daughter.
"Now be so kind as to leave."

Holmes caught the girl's expression, shooting her a grin before he heaved in a deep breath, donning a melodramatic mock expression of pity, and shaking his head slowly at the Detective Inspector. He could just leave, and return again at another point when Lestrade would be working (he was sure his daughter wouldn't call him again if he were to do so) - but there was simply no fun in that. Besides, Lestrade's paranoia would probably lead him to either take the girl to work with him or send her to spend the day somewhere else in order to avoid that.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Lestrade. You see, Mollie here is actually far more interesting than you currently prove yourself to be. And I hardly think she would have any objections to me staying, correct?" He turned to the girl with an amused expression, frowning only slightly at the decision that Mollie decidedly wasn't right, either.

"I think we should trust Karen's opinion."

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

"It's really not," Sherlock huffed, making a face. Dolores hid a grin. Her dad was being rather silly right now, she thought. She stopped hiding the smile when Sherlock grinned back - he seemed to get what she was thinking. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Lestrade," said Sherlock, when he was asked to leave. "You see, Mollie here-" (Molly? thought Dolores. How odd. I like that name Molly, though. Better than Dolores.) "-is actually far more interesting than you currently prove yourself to be." Dolores held some pride, in that. "And I hardly think she would have any objections to me staying, correct?"

He turned to Dolores and it was all very exciting, having an older, handsome man not treating her like an idiot, and running little circles around her dad. She liked that, even if she did feel a bit guilty, seeing him a bit a ways away looking quite put out by this turn of events. "I think we should trust Karen's opinion."

Karen, now? "You can call me Lori, if you want,"[/b] she offered helpfully. It was what her school friends called her - nobody ever liked Dolores anyways. She did resent being named that. But, she wasn't going to answer Sherlock's question - it seemed a bit dangerous to get in either man's way. She shrugged, but it was a very positive shrug, and she was sure her dad knew that.

Gregory did know that, and he tried not to look like he was pouting. It was a bit hard when his daughter would rather talk to a sociopathic man who was basically a 5-year-old over himself, though. And he didn't like the name Lori, it reminded him of a boat. But he sighed, giving in to Sherlock - what harm could the man do, anyways? No, positive thinking was no appropriate when dealing with Sherlock, something very bad indeed could happen. "Do you want some breakfast, then?" He asked, resigned to the fact that that Sherlock was an intrusive bitch who wasn't getting out without a huge fight he didn't want to have, especially not with Dolores here.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

"You can call me Lori, if you want,"

Sherlock rather literally turned his nose up at that, scowling quite ferociously at the suggestion. Did the girl have an issue with him trying to find her a better name? If she did, it was completely rude of her.
"Certainly not. Shortened versions of names are revolting."

Holmes flopped back onto the sofa upon seeing Lestrade's daughter shrug in a way that suggested she definitely agreed with the 'stranger' in the flat. Well, that was that then, Sherlock wasn't moving. He fixed the girl with a semi-detached gaze, his own curiosity and unusual tolerance for children over adults the only thing stopping his stare from being entirely cold. There was something there, at least. Even if the Consulting Detective was generally rude, with little regard for societal norms or acceptance - he could be close to normal occasionally.

"Lucy?" The man pondered a possible name choice aloud, pausing for a moment before shaking his head, and moving one hand in front of him as though physically wiping the word from his mind. Lestrade was never really bothered by Sherlock's thinking processes, and so the man doubted highly that his daughter would find anything against it.

"Do you want some breakfast, then?"

The Consulting Detective hummed in response, not entirely caring whether or not the question was intended for him. As per usual, he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. If Lestrade was willing to fetch it for him, food would be really great right about then.

Holmes became quickly distracted, however, and he once again stared at Lestrade's daughter - though now with an intensity almost furious in its depth.
"Emily."
He regarded her for a few moments, before his hands dropped from where they had stilled from waving around in the air just before.
"Yes, that's about right."

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Dolores wasn't quite sure what to think when the man literally scowled at the suggestion of Lori. She didn't think it was that bad. "Certainly not," he said briskly, almost offended, "Shortened versions of names are revolting." She frowned, but then realized - oh, Sherly. Oh.

She watched the guy flop onto the soda like he owned the place, and said, "Well, Sherly is bad."[/b] She wasn't trying to be snarky, though it did come out like that a bit - mostly she was imaging the teasing that surely came with that name. It didn't exactly help that her father was now trying to hide laughter.

"Lucy? Emily. Yes, that's about right." Dolores blinked, staring back at the older man, seeing from the corner of her eyes her dad scowl quite like Sherlock had done earlier and go into the kitchen to make breakfast.

Well, she did like the name Emily. Far better than Lucy, at least, that was a dog name. "Emily?"[/b] She repeated, "Okay."[/b] She shrugged.

"Dolores, Sherlock!"[/b] Gregory yelled out from the adjacent room, though he knew it would mean nothing to Sherlock. He sighed and busied himself making pancakes. A second later, he yelled back, "Do you kids want chocolate chips or blueberries or what?"[/b] Yes, he did get off on calling Sherlock a kid.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Sherlock cast a bored glance around the living room, before rolling back his head to rest on the back of the sofa once again. Holmes always seemed incapable of not moving in some way for even brief amounts of time, but boredom always spurred him into action - even if such action was as small as tapping the fingers of his left hand restlessly on the sofa arm.

"Well, Sherly is bad."
The Consulting Detective fixed the ceiling with a glare, and positively growled at the word. Not that he noticed his reaction (the man was completely oblivious to his own body most the time). Any reference that could link in any way to his time at school (no matter how insignificant, such as the name) was both unpleasant and unwanted.

"Emily? Okay."
The girl agreed with his choice.
Sherlock's head snapped up, his gaze meeting that of Emily (it definitely suited her, honestly Holmes should have named the child in the first place, even if he didn't know Lestrade then). In that moment, the man decided that Lestrade's daughter was likely the most tolerable human beings could get.
First, she wasn't an idiot.
Secondly, children were never as unnecessarily cruel as most adults seemed to be around Sherlock. The fact that he wouldn't have to put up with some mindless attempt at an insult was a relief.
Third, she had agreed with his choice. Though there were obviously many more reasons to accompany his opinions of Emily, this was by far the most important. Even when his decision was best, most people just rejected it out of spite.

Sherlock was still staring at the girl with a slightly surprised expression when from the kitchen came a shout of:
"Dolores, Sherlock!"
The man in question simply smirked, and let his head fall backwards again.
"Do you kids want chocolate chips or blueberries or what?"
"I'll have whatever Emily's having," Holmes shouted back. He would have asked for the opposite, just to make the other man's life a tad more difficult, but any excuse to irritate Lestrade with his daughter's new name was worth it.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

"I'll have whatever Emily's having," shouted Sherlock. Greg huffed, annoyed, but he had basically given in long ago that there was no changing the mind of Sherlock Holmes. Brilliant at 100% stubborn.

"Chocolate chips!"[/b] Dolores shouted afterwards, grinning excitedly at Sherlock. She loved chocolate, and hey, if breakfast foods were offered to be sweet and basically a dessert, why turn it down right? Though, some people didn't; she would have checked with Sherlock but he already stated he didn't care.

She asked him curiously, hearing her father making the pancakes in the other room, "So you're a detective? That's really cool... what kind of stuff do you do? I mean, besides a normal detective."

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Chocolate chips?
Really? Oh dear.
Well, he had rather signed himself up to that to be quite honest. Oh well, he didn't early have to eat it anyway. In fact, not doing so would probably irritate the Detective Inspector further, so it was actually the favoured choice.

"So you're a detective?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath.
"Yes, so is your father. It's not too difficult to grasp I should think."
"That's really cool... what kind of stuff do you do? I mean, besides a normal detective."

Holmes tilted his head and stared at her for a long moment. At least she seemed genuinely interested in what he did. He despised small talk for the sake of social appearance. In fact, he rather hated small talk in general. But then he supposed talking about his work when the recipient of the information was interested wasn't entirely bad.
"I solve private cases from time to time. Things people don't want the police involved with," he lowered his voice slightly and glanced toward the doorway to the kitchen with a smirk. "Though the real liberty of not being a part of the police force is the freedom from all of those damned regulations. I dare say that your father's irritation of me solving cases the ways I want to stems from his jealousy of the fact that he must do it the 'proper' way. If ever a person tells you something to remember in life, it is this: the proper way to do something is the way you want to do it."

He wasn't trying to corrupt Lestrade's daughter. Just perhaps open her mind a little.