While the case was a simple one (a standard domestic squabble gone horribly pear-shaped), it wasn't until Sherlock arrived on the scene that anyone even realized the dead couple's daughter was missing. As he pointed it out, in the same sort of blasé tone one might use when deciding between paper or plastic, the faces on every Yarder in the townhouse turned from one of grim confidence to total horror. A frantic search began in earnest, while Sherlock merely leaned back against the wall and snapped at John about how stupid they all were.
"Well, to be fair, you did just sort of throw a wrench in the works." John stuffed his hands in his pockets in a mulish way. "I'm going to help them look for her."
"Of course you are," the genius consultant sighed dramatically. "I suppose you are going to insist I join in as well?"
The look John tossed at him was enough of an answer. Sherlock peeled himself from the wall like a surly teenager and sulked his way up the stairs to glance at the girl's room. It only took him half a minute to deduce that she had fled into the empty flat downstairs to hide from the violence her parents had begun.
"She's downstairs!" he shouted as he rumbled rapidly back down to the main floor.
Lestrade met him in the living room, where the forensic technicians were just packing up their equipment. There was a smug smile gracing the Inspector's face, and Sherlock fought down his irritation. The DI rocked on his heels, "John's already gone down to get her. He noticed the door down to the basement flat was open and the air conditioner was on."
Unable to stop the proud smirk that quirked his lips, Sherlock hummed in surprise, "The good doctor shows promise, as always. Your officers should be ashamed."
"The man is a bloody soldier, Sherlock," Lestrade's voice managed to be both exasperated and fond, "it stands to reason he'd be good at finding someone bent on hiding."
Snorting, the detective schooled his features to show boredom instead of smug pride when his flatmate and friend appeared with the little girl cradled in his arms. She was fast asleep against the doctor's chest, one hand clutching at the drab jumper he wore. A pair of handy paramedics swarmed him and scooped the child up, carrying her away to the ambulance outside.
With a soldierly nod, John shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and smiled kindly. "Found her tucked away in the empty pantry downstairs. I looked in every room down there until I heard her sniffling." Glancing at the doorway through which his tiny patient had disappeared, John shook his head sadly. "S'bloody cold down there with that AC blasting like it was. Last tenants must have left it on."
"Astute observation, Watson. Perhaps from now on I will send you out to the boring cases." Sherlock gave his companion a snarky grin.
John retaliated with a two-fingered salute, "Tosser."
Lestrade laughed at the two of them with a fatherly sort of way. "Alright you two. If you're going to start slinging insults at each other, you can both kindly sod off."