A Protective Father

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Kyna's POV:








"I don't understand why I have to do this." I grumbled as I clicked the barrel into place.

It had been two weeks since my incident with Uncle Mycroft and Sherlock had made a final calculation in which he deemed me completely unable to handle the outside world on my own. Besides being absolutely grounded for life, I would also need to know how to protect myself, so Sherlock deemed that it would be safer for me to be able to shoot a gun...

...Thus the reason we were shooting targets at nine o'clock in the morning at the Scotland Yard Shooting Range with John, Greg, and Molly. John, I found, was an ever-present man. No matter where Sherlock went, not far behind and usually gasping for breath, John was there. Molly, in a very surprising move, had jumped at the chance to go shooting. Detective Inspector Lestrade was an interesting specimen. I decided that I liked him very much. He was comfortable to be around, very easy to deduce, and he smelled like nicotine and coat material- a smell that I associated with home.

"It's obtusely obvious." Sherlock was saying.

"Not everyone here is a genius." Molly reminded him.

"No, but two of us are." He gave me a pointed look and I smiled. John looked up, confused, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.

"Mister Holmes, it is unwise to insult intelligence within present company." I scolded.

"He does it anyways." Molly sighed, rolling her eyes. The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched.

"Shoot." He ordered. I pulled the trigger, flinching from the recoil. I might never get use to the feeling of a gun springing forward in my hands.

"This is stupid." I riled. "I'm not just going to be carrying a gun around everywhere I go. And in any event, what kidnapper is going to have a random weapon lying around for his captive to use?"

Molly laughed at my very convincing reasoning and Sherlock glared daggers at her.

"Yes, thank you Kyna." He snapped. I bowed, the gun in my hands dipping carelessly to the side.

"Be careful!" Lestrade was suddenly by my side. "Kay, you're going to take someone's leg off."

"Kay?" Sherlock's eyebrow raised.

Lestrade was showing me how to keep my aim steady. I turned to my father. "It's my nickname." I told him. "The entire Yard calls me that." I shifted the gun so it was in a safer position.

After Greg had gotten over the initial shock that Sherlock had a daughter, he had warmed up considerably towards me.

"Anderson?" Sherlock asked, horror stricken.

I smirked.

"Anderson adores me."

Sherlock shuddered.

"At any rate, I think you're gonna need a lot of people to protect her. Seeing as she gets kidnapped and wanders off every other day." Greg raised an eyebrow and looked at Sherlock.

"I'm doing perfectly fine." Sherlock argued.

"Sherlock, she got tortured a couple weeks into her stay." John pointed out.

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