A/N: Hello! I shouldn't be here, how naughty of me. I've been feeling utterly miserable today, so I've decided to post something to cheer myself up.

Yesterday, I built a snowman and then immediately went inside to write a fic about Sherlock building a snowman, because I can't do anything without thinking "What would Sherlock make of this?" This is from the fantastic world of Conan Doyle and Moffat and Gatiss, but also the canon of LittlePippin76 who very kindly leant me Scarlet Watson for the day :-) For those of you who haven't read her story Just For Fun, then why ever not? Crazy fools!

I know there are a lot of Scarlet fans out there, so I know I've taken a risk writing this. Pip and I are interested to know what you think so please review.

So here it is, my first ever fanfic of a fanfic... Oh yeah The Snowman film doesn't belong to me either!


Sherlock Holmes was bored. He was bored of being bored. The flat was empty, and as he wasn't entirely sure what day or time it was, he couldn't muster the energy to work out where everyone had gone. He decided to snooze by the fire until someone reappeared. It was a better pastime that watching the clock, as had been his habit for the past few days.

A sharp sound rang into the air and Sherlock's eyes snapped open as he grappled for his phone down the side of his armchair. Could it be Lestrade or something equally as interesting? That would be worth waking up for. He looked down at the screen: John Calling.

"Rude," Sherlock croaked, as he closed his eyes and brought the phone to his ear. "John."

"Hi, are you at home? I've just had a call from the school. They're closing early because of the snow. Can you go and fetch Scarlet?"

"Snow?" Sherlock opened one eye lazily and glanced in the direction of the window.

"Yes. It's been snowing since last night. She has her boots with her, make sure she wears them. I'll be home later."

"Where are you?" Sherlock asked in mild curiosity.

"I'm at work...Sherlock, have I just woken you up?"

"What? No of course not. Scarlet. School. Snow. I'll sort it."

He ended the call, having nothing else to say.

Sherlock waited in the snow-covered playground with the rest of the parents. He had his scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, and he rubbed his hands together before pulling his gloves from his pockets. Flecks of snow began to land in his dark hair. The woman next to him gave him a courteous smile, and Sherlock returned it; such is the unwritten code of the parent-playground interaction. Sherlock spent a long moment studying the woman's earmuffs in curiosity. Strange, he thought. She felt his eyes on her and crossed the icy playground carefully to speak with another mother.

The door to the classroom opened and a fraught teacher stuck her head out into the cold air to scan the playground.


Scarlet bounded out of the door and Sherlock saw her eyes searching the crowd of parents before they fell on him. Her face beamed. It was flushed from the over-stuffy classroom. She wore a blue woollen hat with a pompom on the top which wobbled from side to side as she skipped across in her purple wellies towards him, before jumping up at him.

"Carry me!"

"No," Sherlock responded flatly. "I'm having enough trouble staying upright as it is. Besides, you're the one in wellington boots, you should be carrying me. Look at you; you haven't even done your coat up."

"Neither have you," Scarlet pointed out. They looked down at themselves, and spent a brief moment struggling with the buttons with their gloved fingers, before heading out of the school grounds. Sherlock took her hand as she went sliding about on the pavement.

"So, what have you learnt today?"

Scarlet shrugged.

"Nothing really. We watched The Snowman."

Sherlock stopped abruptly and looked down at her.

"You watched a snowman?" He grimaced. What kind of Education system was this country suffering with? He'd have to have words with Mycroft about it. Scarlet giggled at his confusion.

"Not a snowman, The Snowman. It's a film," she explained. Sherlock blinked at her. "Have you never heard of The Snowman?"

Her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth hung open in disbelief. She looked so much like her father in that moment that it gave Sherlock a strange feeling inside. He couldn't quite define it.

"We have it at home," Scarlet said, as they carried on walking. "We'll watch it later."

Sherlock simply nodded. Clearly there was no point in watching the film; its title described it in such a way that rendered watching it unnecessary.

"Shall we walk through the park?"

The pathways in Regent's Park had been gritted, and were relatively clear to walk on. The grass areas were covered in untouched snow which Sherlock thought seemed too perfect to spoil. Scarlet had other ideas. Sherlock looked down as Scarlet's body was hurled onto the snow-covered grass. At first he thought she'd slipped, but then she waved her arms and legs around with a squeal.

"Snow angel!"

"Snow monkey," Sherlock corrected and his lip twisted in amusement. Scarlet scrambled up to look at her masterpiece. The back of her coat was covered in a powdering of snow. Sherlock began to dust her down.

"You'll be wet and cold now," he remarked, not really sure why he did so. Maybe it was because that's what John would say. Still, she would warm up and dry out eventually.

"Let's make a snowman," Scarlet pleaded, pulling Sherlock on to the grass by his hand.

"You make it. I'll watch."

Scarlet eyed him dubiously.

"Sherlock, have you never made a snowman before?"

Sherlock supposed that he might have; once, maybe. He couldn't remember. It wasn't necessary. He looked at Scarlet's disbelieving face.

"Scarlet, if you don't stop looking like your father then I'm afraid you'll have to stop spending so much time with him!"

Scarlet scoffed – another John trait – and grabbed a handful of snow before sending it in Sherlock's direction. It hit him on the side of his neck and went between his scarf and coat. Sherlock stood blinking in surprise. A small smirk formed on Scarlet's face, with only the briefest apprehension in her eyes that she'd be in trouble. That was definitely a Sherlock trait.

She squealed and made a dash for it, as Sherlock bent down to pick up a handful of snow. It was no mean feat running in wellies, and Sherlock's legs were much longer than hers. She stole a glance over her shoulder just in time to see Sherlock stumble and roll several times across the snow. Scarlet came to a halt and paused, before howling with laughter. Several passers-by stopped to stare.

Sherlock looked up from the ground to see a small, gloved hand being offered. He hauled himself up.

"You'll be all wet and cold now," Scarlet said gleefully as she brushed his coat down. Sherlock shook the snow from his hair. It had gone into his ear.

"Truce?" he panted. She nodded and they shook hands.

Sherlock then endured a long spiel from Scarlet as she took him through the process of choosing the right spot for a snowman, and in which direction 'he' should face. Sherlock thought it was all rather ridiculous. There were three main outcomes he could predict after the effort of building the snowman; it would melt away, it would be buried under more snow or it would be knocked down by youths. He couldn't quite grasp the point in the whole exercise.

They began with a small snowball, which Sherlock flinched at as Scarlet lifted it up to show him. He then watched as she pushed it around on the ground and it grew ever so slowly. Scarlet huffed away at the effort, and gave a loud sniff.

"You could help me, you know!" she spoke up pointedly.

Oh John, you've ruined this child! He chuckled none-the-less.

Sherlock began to push his own snowball around with minimal effort, and became frustrated when it didn't grow as much as Scarlet's had.

"Try patting the snow down," she suggested. Sherlock mumbled under his breath. They eventually produced a ball big enough for the base of the snowman. Scarlet looked at it proudly, and then up at Sherlock who was looking at it sceptically, his head cocked to one side.

"Isn't it supposed to be a man? Where are his legs?"

Scarlet blew her damp fringe from her eyes and started on the next section.

"We need twigs for arms. Why don't you go and find some."

Sherlock set off to the nearest tree, and felt rather foolish as he looked for a twig which resembled an arm. The thought of heading down the morgue for some props only briefly crossed his mind. He surreptitiously snapped off two damp twigs, and shoved them in his coat pocket.

He heard Scarlet singing a Christmas carol which he vaguely recognised. She nodded her approval at the twigs as Sherlock dropped them to the ground. They worked together to build the body of the snowman. Sherlock watched the determination and satisfaction on Scarlet's face. She looked content and rosy-cheeked and it made Sherlock happy. He wondered if that was the point of building a snowman.

"Did Dad tell you I'm a Wise Person in the nativity?"

"No. How very P.C."

"Will you come?"

"When is it?"

"Next week. Dad said you'd come. I have lines and everything."

"We'll see."

Scarlet continued to sing and sculpt, as Sherlock stood, feeling stiff from crouching in the cold. He was rubbing his hands together when he suddenly heard a female voice calling his name.

"Sherlock? Sherlock Holmes?"

Sherlock turned around with a frown, and saw a blonde-haired woman walking a black Labrador.

"It's Sarah. Sarah Sawyer. You probably don't remember me."

Sherlock studied her face, and a vague image of Chinese smugglers crossed his mind. It was like a memory from a different life.

"Oh yes. Hello."

They shook hands awkwardly.

"Gosh, it must be – what – at least ten years since I last saw you." She smiled warmly. "Is this your little girl?" she asked in mild surprise, glancing down at Scarlet who was focused on her task.

"Yes, this is Scarlet."

"Lovely," Sarah smiled. "How are you? Do you still see much of John?"

"Yes, we still live together."

"Oh." She seemed even more surprised at that, than Sherlock having a child. "How is he? Is he good?"

Before Sherlock could answer, a snow ball landed between them, hitting Sarah's boots.

Scarlet peeped around the snowman, her face flushed with crimson.

"Sorry. That wasn't meant for you." She scrambled up and took a tentative step towards them. "Is that your dog? Sherlock, look at it. Isn't it cute? Can we get a dog? I'll look after it. We can take it on walks and everything."

"You know it's not my decision," Sherlock muttered. Scarlet pouted and then sniffed her disappointment.

"Can I borrow your scarf?" she asked Sherlock, the dog topic now forgotten.

"Are you cold? We should be getting home."

"No, it's for the snowman," she explained. Sherlock was perplexed by this notion, but took off his scarf anyway.

Sarah smiled as Scarlet headed back to her snowman.

"She really is lovely," Sarah told Sherlock.

"Thank you."

Scarlet came rushing back, and delved her hands into Sherlock's coat pocket.

"What are you after, Turnip?"

"Phone. Can you take a photo for Dad?"

With those words, Sarah's face changed. Sherlock watched the look of confusion and suspicion developing in her eyes. He knew what she must be thinking, and it would be so easy to correct her assumptions, but why should he? It was his family, and none of her business. Sarah realised she was being watched and forced a smile.

"Well, I'd best be off. Tell John I said hi. It was nice to see you again."

Sherlock watched Sarah walk off in the snow.

"Who was that?" Scarlet asked bluntly.

"Hmm? Oh, someone your dad knew years ago."

"Then why was she talking to you?"

"I just happened to save her life. Well, your dad helped a bit...it was a joint effort."

Scarlet wrinkled her nose, and then wiped it on the back of her glove, before fumbling with Sherlock's phone. He took it from her, and tried to wipe the melted snow from the screen, but his sleeve was equally as wet so it made no difference.

"Go and stand by...What's his name?"

"It's Sherlock," Scarlet said, as if it was obvious. Sherlock was fairly positive that the real him had legs.

"Of course. Go and stand next to Sherlock."

"You too," she insisted. Sherlock crouched the other side of the snowman and with his arm outstretched managed to take a photo of the three of them. He showed it to Scarlet who squealed.

"Send it to Dad!"

Sherlock obeyed and added the message: Sherlock the snowman. SH

The response was almost immediate: The resemblance is uncanny! I think it's the nose.

Sherlock chuckled and shoved his wet phone into his pocket. He pulled Scarlet to him with one arm, feeling her shiver in her damp clothes.

"Right, home."

She nodded her agreement.

"Thanks for helping."

"It really was my pleasure."

He looked at her, flagging from the effort and excitement of the activity, and he crouched down beside her.

"Up you get."

Scarlet's face broke in to a huge grin, and she clambered onto his back. He groaned under her weight as he stood to his full height, and they set off home, leaving Sherlock the snowman to stand proudly... unaware of his fate.

Scarlet stuck her purple wellies out at an angle as Sherlock made his way down the path. They saw Sarah again on the way out of the park. She gave them a smile, and Scarlet waved down at her and the dog as they passed.

"Scarlet. Would you want a new mum?"

"I already know what I'm getting for Christmas," Scarlet teased, and then rested her chin on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Funny. I'm just curious. How would you feel if you got a new mum?"

"I don't want one," Scarlet said firmly. "I want my real mum. But that's not possible. So I'm better off going without. Besides, I've got two parents. I'm luckier than most in my class."

"So I'll do?" Sherlock mused, mainly to himself.

"You'll do," Scarlet replied, and planted a sloppy kiss above his ear. "No one makes a snowman quite like you do."

"That is true."

As they neared home, Sherlock was unsure of whether Scarlet was still awake.

"Don't tell your dad I carried you, he says you're too old for this."

Scarlet didn't reply and Sherlock gave a little smile at the thought of her asleep on his back. It was true, she was getting heavy but, as far as he was aware it wasn't on The List, so he'd see how long he could get away with it for.

Struggling with the door, and then the stairs, Sherlock managed to place Scarlet onto the sofa. She stirred.


Sherlock stroked her damp hair and she settled back down.

"Oh, look at the pair of you!" came the voice of Mrs Hudson from the doorway. "You'll have caught your death out there. I'll put the kettle on and maybe a hot chocolate for this one." Scarlet's eyes snapped open and she beamed.

When John came home a few hours later, he found a chalk drawing of a snowman on black paper, pinned to the fridge with the message: To Dad, Love Scarlet.

He smiled at it as he put the kettle on and wandered into the living room. The Snowman was coming to an end on the television and curled up on the sofa he found Sherlock and Scarlet, buried under a blanket, fast asleep. Carefully, he sat the other side of Scarlet, wedging her in between himself and Sherlock. Her head rested comfortably on Sherlock's shoulder and Sherlock's chin was propped on her head. A pale eye opened and focussed on John who had pulled some of the blanket onto his own lap.

"You're home," Sherlock croaked quietly.

"It would appear that way, yes. Did you have a good day?"

Sherlock smiled and closed his eyes again, breathing in the smell Scarlet's hair.

"Yes, it turned out rather nicely after all."

The End

Validated by LittlePippin76 as a true Scarlet Watson story.