Sherlock, Dinosaurs!

3.1- Angel In The Steeple.

Episode 3- Part 1
('Scream')

An elderly man sat upon a weathered old green park bench. His short grey hair was disheveled, his clothing dirt ridden, and his breathing ragged. He wheezed heavily, breath coming out in short, sharp sobs. His usually twinkling blue eyes were now dead; devoid of their familiar charisma. He seemed to think he was safe, though, as he wasn't keeping his ragged breathing in check, and he had stopped running.

The sound of hurried footfalls echoed and bounced off the trunks of the surrounding trees, and the old man stiffened, hardly daring to breathe. He quietened his wheezing, and sat stock still on the bench, his wizened hand clamped firmly over his mouth to keep his breathing from becoming too loud. It was so silent now among the trees, the man was sure that if someone were to drop a pin, he would be able to hear it. Even the heavy footfalls had silenced suddenly and absolutely.

All at once, there was a noise like the unfurling and fluttering of a great many wings, gradually building in volume; the elderly man jumped in shock and fear at the noise, and then keeled over, off the bench, seemingly of his own accord. His body hit the concrete footpath with a dull 'thud', and he knew no more.

...

"Eleanor, we're going to the morgue." Sherlock called impatiently to the girl, who was hiding from him, giggling. Her hiding place was extremely obvious, not in the least because of her constant giggling, but also because it was a very cliché sort of hiding spot; under the bed. Not to mention, she hadn't accounted for her own height. Her small, bare feet were sticking out from under the side. "I know you're under the bed, Eleanor." Sherlock said, frowning. "And i also know i put shoes on those feet ten minutes ago, and now they're bare." He raised an eyebrow, as Eleanor gasped, realised she had left herself exposed, and tried to wriggle out of sight, but she was too late. Sherlock stooped down, grabbed her about the hips, and gently pulled her out of her hiding place. She had, of course, taken off every item of clothing, save the pull-up nappy.

"Sheeerlock!" She complained loudly, folding her small arms over her little chest.

"Put clothes on, Eleanor. We're leaving." He said shortly, letting her know that he wasn't joking around. Eleanor stuck out her tongue and blew a raspberry. Sherlock's facial expression could then only be described as 'grumpy cat'. He made his way over to the dark, wooden chest of drawers he had bought for Eleanor's clothing to be stored in.

"Tutu! Tutu, pleeease?!" She wriggled in his arms, and Sherlock grabbed her white tutu with the fake flower petals sewn into the skirts. This time, the toddler happily let Sherlock slip on a pretty white t-shirt style bodysuit (without sleeves on the legs), and pull the skirt on over the top. He decided at the last second that this outfit wasn't quite warm enough, and added a pair of white stockings underneath, just for good measure. The outfit was completed with her pair of little dinosaur patterned sneaker shoes.

"Am i pre-tty?" She asked him, giving a little twirl on the spot for him.
"You look lovely." He smiled wanly. "Just like a princess." He added, and she grinned in response. He almost surprised himself at his father-liness. In just one month, the detective had grown quite fond of the little child, and he had learned all the ins and outs of parenting.

"Really?" Her little voice responded, mystified.

"A very pretty princess." He said with a smile, and picked her up off the floor.

"With superpowers!" She cried out happily. Sherlock carried her out through the loungeroom, and down the stairs to the front door. John had been waiting there.

"What took so long?" He asked his friend,

"Eleanor wasn't happy with her outfit, apparently." Sherlock said in a flat tone, and marched outside to the awaiting little black taxi.