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It was a quiet Sunday evening following a busy week at the Holmes-Lestrade house. Mycroft was reading the papers in his armchair while Greg was finishing the last pages of a file from a simple case. Elizabeth was sitting near Greg’s feet, with some dolls and stuffed animals placed near her, forming some kind of circle in the floor. She was talking in a very serious tone with the white rabbit at her right (which made both Mycroft and Greg share a shy smile) and holding a pink kettle of plastic in her left hand.
After she decided that "Mr. Bunnies" had more than enough “tea”, Elizabeth made her way to her father’s lap. He quickly picked her up. Not before, of course, closing his laptop since Greg really didn’t want the last event (Elizabeth reading aloud the details of a bullet in a man’s head and the biggest grin in Sherlock’s face.) to be repeated.
“Papa, can I ask something?” She said, while leaning in her father’s chest.
“Of course, love.”
“Why daddy has so many scars?” Elizabeth asked, looking up to her father with big eyes.
He and the older Holmes both shared a look and Mycroft quickly invented an excuse to get out of the room and go to his office.
“I made daddy angry.”
“No, No!O- Of course not. Come here.”
Greg made his way to the couch with Elizabeth in his arms. He sat on the floor facing the couch, with her in front of him on the couch’s seat.
It could be heard even the fall of a needle in such a silence.
He made a serious and a bit of frustrated expression before starting to speak.
“It’s a secret /but/ since you are this really smart little girl,” He told Elizabeth, poking softly at her nose. “It looks like I’m gonna have to tell you.”
Lestrade holds both of her hands and leaning into her, he whispered: “Ready?” Elizabeth nodded positively her head and kicked her feet which were hanging in the air, not trying to hold her excitement at all.
“Your daddy is a… hero!” He said with a smile on his lips.
“A… hero?” She inquired, not quite believing her father’s words.
“Yep, a real hero.”
“But… the scars. You did not explain why daddy has them.” Elizabeth said, pouting a little and crossing her chubby arms over her chest.
“Yes, yes! How could I ever forget it?! Every little scar, the ones he has on his arms, on his belly, on his thighs, it's from every battle that he’s already won.”
“Wow! Really?” A huge smile on her lips.
Greg nodded happily.
“Can I have scars too? Pleeeasee…”
“Hey, hey! Look at me. Promise to father and daddy that you are /never/ gonna to try have those scars. If you ever feel like wanting them just talk to us. Promise? Just—Never…” He finished, brokenly… tightening his grip on one of her arms.
“O- Okay.” Elizabeth agreed, a bit scared of her father’s suddenly change.
Lestrade saw his daughter’s tension and tried to compose himself by slowly combing his fingers through her ginger curls and slowing his breathing.
After some more minutes of deep breathing Lestrade was more calm and relaxed.
“…and if you ever see anyone with scars like that, I want to you to tell them how amazing and beautiful they are.”
“Pinky promise!”
“Pinky promise.”
“Can we see daddy now?”
“Of course, sweetheart. Come on!” He said smiling, helping her stand up from the couch.
On the other side of the door, Mycroft stood, listening, not quite believing his husband’s words. How could he deserve such an amazing life?