Fanfic – Glee x Sherlock (BBC) crossover
'Uncle, There's an Eyeball in your Microwave.'
Summary: Emma cannot stand to be in her uncle's flat. Never has and never will. Kid!Emma, Uncle!Sherlock, AU.
A/N: Takin a little break from NaNo. There'll be more of this, likely in the same shortness form C":
"Uncle, there's an eyeball in your microwave." Emma's voice was tiny and shaky, and when Sherlock glanced over, she was also a bit pale (as well as tiny and shaky, but being just nine she was always tiny and whenever she was in his flat she was always shaky).
(Granted, she was hardly ever in 221B Baker Street because her parents next to never dropped her off there, especially because of the constant state of mess it was in. John's presence had helped tidy up the place since the last time Emma had been dumped in his lap so to speak, two years or so ago.)
"Yes, yes," he said waving a hand in a preoccupied way. "Leave it there, it's an experiment."
"There's an eyeball in your microwave, uncle!" she repeated, voice climbing both in pitch and volume.
"I know," Sherlock told her. "And I just told you—"
The sound of the door opening caused Sherlock to cut himself off. The time, both present and when John was supposed to get off of work and the number of minutes it took him to get home based on which route he took, and on Fridays he usually took the quicker tube and there'd been no problems on the line today—this all brought Sherlock to the conclusion of this: John was home.
Emma was standing in the archway between the kitchen and the living room with her arms wrapped around herself and trying to look very, very small if Sherlock was a judge of any of that. She was shaking like a leaf in the wind and breathing through her mouth in a panicy sort of way.
So Sherlock jumped up and threw open the door just as John was unlocking it (tearing the key from his head as he'd just turned it in the lock, and now it was dangling from the lock and the door was wide open, leaving John with a hand outstretched and vaguely annoyed expression on his face).
"John, what do you do when a child with OCD starts panicking?"
A worried expression crossed John's features. "Sherlock, what—" He stepped into the flat then, and noticed Emma in the midst of her trying-not-to-freak-out freaking out. He groaned then, "Dear god, Sherlock, who left a child in your care?"