The two kids smiled. Smiled. At Sherlock Holmes. Freak.
And he smiled back.
Sherlock Holmes smiled at a group of young children and patted them on the head – and they seemed pleased by his attention and, indeed, seemed to expect it. It was a regular thing for Sherlock to smile young children and not scare them into a heart attack.
They had helped him with his case (never before had Lestrade thought about using children on their cases – they weren't that heartless) without inspiring the anger that normal people stoked within the freak.
They had adored him.
And when he looked at them he actually had seemed to care, to care about them. The affection was guarded but there. It was only because she'd known him for so long (much longer than she liked) that she could tell the difference between hidden affection and true coldness.
As much as she hated seeing the coldness, the casual melting of the ice had scared her – Sherlock had feelings, felt like everyone else (just hid it infinitely better). It might actually have hurt when she called him a freak.
But as daunting as that was, it was definitely less disturbing than the thought of Sherlock with kids.
Seeing that image again inside her head, Sally Donovan vomited into the nearest empty container. A bucket.
Not too sure about this one. My friend (PoppiKaur1910) gave me the prompt whilst we were sitting bored in physics. First thing that popped into my mind – I'd recently been reading Ulura's The Irregulars.