For Awanderingbard's birthday.
Warning: some chapters are less fluffy than others.
--chapter 1: I do not believe that word means what you think it does.
--chapter 2: Clyde solves a case.
--chapter 3: Rachel Howell.
--chapter 4: What could possibly go wrong?
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters of the Canon, nor of their interpretations. I make no money from any of this.
"Ready?" Sherlock asked Clyde, picking his tortoise up from the floor. Watson had been at a family reunion until yesterday, when she had gone right into assisting the police solve a crime; it was enough to make a man's bosom swell with pride, even factoring in Gregson's comment on the phone this morning that Watson had been a little scary, like a harried Sherlock trying not to vent. Sherlock shook his head, returning his attention to what he had agreed to do elsewheres -
A former client of his, had a relative well-placed in the regional school system, and, having heard of Sherlock's great wisdom, had asked him to give a presentation...
To small children, Sherlock recalled. With luck, they will be as well-behaved as I was at their age, only not as prone to interupting.
Clyde gave a silent yawn.
"Yes yes, on our way out the door," Sherlock said. It was common knowledge, after all, that small children loved scaly dinosaurs and small fluffy things. Surely a small, scaly, dinosaurlike animal would be even more resoundingly popular.
He'd faced off against drugs, depression, failure, and Moriarty. What could they do to him at... Sherlock looked again at the business card for where he had agreed to bring Clyde, and thought What is the worst that could possibly happen?
Rick 'n' Bach's Preschool for Gifted Children
2 Falls Rd.