Saving Grace(A Sherlock/BBC Fan-fiction)

Chapter Forty-two: Car Seats and Sore Spots

"She's cute. Got your eyes." Greg said, Lucy in his arms. I  sat on Sherlock's lap in his chair, my legs drapped over the arm. He had one hand on my legs, and the other on the arm behind my back.

"That's what people keep telling me. She's just as infuriating as her father though." He laughed.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you mean." Sherlock didn't say a word.

"You know we're just kidding, don't you?" He looked at me.

"Sorry, what?" I rolled my eyes.

"Nothing, Sherlock. Nothing at all." John came in, and I moved over to the chair at the table where John usually sits to blog.

"First time meeting the neice?" John asked.

"Yup. But, I'm actually here about a case, so if you want to put her in her room, or-"

"She can't understand what you're saying, there's hardly a point." Sherlock spoke up.

"I'll put her in the nursery." I said, getting off of Sherlock and putting her in her crib before returning to my spot on Sherlock's lap.

"He says you've got a good one, Greg?" John asked.

"Oh yeah. It was David Wellsburough's.  fiftieth birthday. Their son Charlie was on a gap year in Tibet. On the night of his birthday, Charile skyped David. The signal cut out halfway through, but he still had the voice. Apparently, he asked his father to go and take a picture of a power ranger that was stuck to the front of his car."

"Why would you put a power ranger on your car? Especially at that age?" I questioned.

"It's a mystery to me. But not as much as what happened next."

"Yes, obviously, or you wouldn't here, so do continue." Sherlock told him.

"You are aware that you're married to my sister, aren't you?"

"Hardly relevant, keep talking."

"A week later..."

"Yeah?" John asked.

"Something really weird happens."

"That part's kind of redundant, as you've already said it's a mystery to you." I told him.

"Don't talk to me like that." He said, shaking his head.

"Like what?"

"Like Sherlock." They said together.

"Continue."

"Drunk driver, he's totally smashed. The cops are chasin' him, he turns up the drive of the Wellsburoughs, trying to get away. Unfortunately, he crashed into the car, car exploded. "They put out the fire, managed to pull hi out, but when they examined the car, they found a body."

"Who's body?" John asked.

"Charlie." I answered.

"What?"

"The son that was in Tibet. DNA all check's out, night of the party, the vehicle's empty, a week later the body's found at the wheel." Sherlock chuckled.

"Thought it'd tickle you."  Greg said.

"Got a lab report?"

"Charlie Wellsburough was  the son of a cabinet minister so I'm under a lot of pressure to close this one."

"Who cares about that? Tell me about the seats."  Sherlock said.

"Seats?

"Yes, Car seats." Greg handed me a form, and I opened it so Sherlock could see it.

"Vinyl. Two different types of vinyl present." I relayed.

"Was it his own car?"

"Yeah, not flash. He was a student."

"Well that's suggestive." Sherlock said.

"Why?"

"Vinyl is cheaper than leather." I explained.

"Yeah. Right."

"There's something else. According to this, Charlie Wellsburough had already been dead for a week."

"What?" Sherlock whispered.

"The body in the car, dead for a week."

"Ooh, this is a good one. Is it my birthday?"

"Not quite, dear." I told him touching his hair.

"You want help?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes please."

"One condition."

"What?"

"Take all the credit." He told him. "It gets boring if I just solve them all."

"Since when?" I asked. He shot me a mocking smile and pushed me off of his lap.  

"You say that, but then John blogs about it and you get all the credit anyway."

"He's got a point."  John told him.

"Which makes me look like some kind of prima donna who insists on getting credit for something he didn't do."

"I think you've hit a soft spot, Sherlock."

"Like some kind of credit junkie."

"Definitely hit a sore spot."

"You're not a credit junkie." I told him, standing up and hugging him.

"You take all the glory, if it's all the same."

"Ok." Sherlock said, holding his hands up. I then strolled back over, sitting on the arm of his chair. 

"Just solve the bloody thing will you, it's driving me nuts."

"Anything you say, Giles." We all looked at him. "Just kidding." He gave me a look.

"You know his name."

"Gavin?" He whispered.

"Try Greg." I told him.

"It's obvious though, isn't it, what happened?" John inquired.

"John, you amaze me, you know what happened?"

"Not a clue, it's just you normally say that at this point."

"Alright, let's help you solve your little problem, Greg."

"You hear that?" Greg asked.

"I know."

"So how's it goin' then, fatherhood?"

"Good. Great. Amazing."

"Get any sleep?" He asked him.

"Gosh, no."

"What about you Sherlock? Get any sleep?"

"A usual amount." I reached the bottom of the  stairs, ducking into Mrs. Hudson's flat.

"Mrs. Hudson? We're stepping out to inquire about a case. Would you mind looking after Lucy?"

"Oh, of course not dear. She's just the sweetest thing." I smiled.

"You're the best." I told her, following the boys out into the street.