Author's note: This is a project I've been working on for almost four years and many different copies. I came up with this story after reading the original stories and asked what would Sherlock Holmes do if he had found himself caring for a child? This is what I believe would happen, there will be times when Holmes is a little OC, but when any adult is around children, there is a different side no one really sees.

EDIT: Several changes have been made to this story, however there still may be some grammar and spelling errors.

Disclaimer: I only own, Cassandra and any other unfamiliar characters. Everything else belongs to Sir Doyle. Reviews are wonderful, while flames are only used for the fireplace.

"No one had yet realized the wealth of sympathy, the kindness and generosity hidden in the soul of a child."

Emma Goldman

Chapter 1

I was four years old when I first met Mister Sherlock Holmes and my life changed after that. I was but a young girl then. I was not anyone special. I did not think there was anything important about me, but someone could see something that others did not. The way I had come to know Mister Holmes and eventually became his ward were only the beginning of my adventures with him.

My father was a professor, who was currently teaching at St Bartholomew. Before he had taught in Oxford where we had lived. My father thrived in his work as a medical professor, however he tried his best to shield me from his work. I proved to be far more stubborn and curious then he thought. So Father had me set aside my sewing as he took me down to his study as he taught me things not normally taught to females.

My mother for as long as I can remember had been ill. Not sick mind you, but ill. Father thought nothing of it until when I was two, she had locked me in a the cellar for the three days he was away. She believed someone was trying to take me away and she needed to protect me. No one was able to tell my father what was wrong with her. Somedays she was normal, other days she would be frightened over the simplest things. From that day on until the day she died, my mother lived in Bethlem Royal Hospital.

Most days I would walk with Father to the hospital and stay with him as he worked. Rather it was tailing beside him on his rounds or sitting in the corner reading as he gave lectures. There were even times were I would be allowed in the lab as he did an autopsy. He would not always let me watch him do this, but he would explain to me everything he was doing as he worked.

Needless to say that most of Father's colleagues found it tiresome having me near. Dark looks would come my way as I would walk next to him. If I asked Father questions while they were near, often there would be words. Words of improper and boarding schools for young girls would be mentioned. However, Father never listened to them. He'd only say he would think about it before picking me up and carrying me away.

"Will you ever send me away?" I remember asking Father once after a colleague had left us.

Father pulled me against him, hugging me tightly. "I admit the thought has crossed my mind, little one. But, I think I would be far too lonely without my little girl peeking over my shoulder as I work and asking me questions."

"I am sorry I cause trouble. I promise to not ask so many questions when you are working."

He stopped and stared at me for a long moment. "Cassandra Brennan, never stop asking questions. It is when you stop asking, that makes you stop knowing. Never stop knowing things, my child."

My father was not the only person who believed I was capable of doing more. My father had a friend who, had always been kind towards me. He never looked down at me or thought me too young, or even believed that because I was a female, I was not allowed to know such things. Instead, this man would take some time away from speaking to father to show me an equation or giving a new book to read.

With great fondness, I had called him 'my Professor,' for he was my dearest friend. He continued to be so for many years. Even through my dark times, he remained a comfort to me.

One day, Father was in a meeting with some of his best students. I heard a commotion from behind the door I was sitting near. I could not hear what was being said, but the tones of the words did not sound good. A few moment later, a man stormed out of the room and shoved past me. I peered over the railing and watched as he descended the stairs.

"Can't say I am sorry to see him go, money or not." A male voice said behind me.

I let out a yelp and turned around. I lifted my eyes up and was met with grey eyes. The man was tall, taller then my father. He was leaning against the wall, a brown coat around his thin body. His black hair was combed back and his hawkish nose bent down towards me.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to frighten you. Do you have a name, girl?" He asked.

"Cassandra. Cassandra Brennan. He didn't seem like a very nice man, the one that left just now."

The man shoved his hands into his pockets. "What makes you say that?"

"Because he bumped into me."

"He was in a hurry to leave." The man said.

"Yes, but he did not apologize. I have been bumped before and even if the person is in a hurry they at least look back to see if I am alright. He never did."

The man smiled. "You are a very smart little girl."

"Father says the same thing as well. He told me it would be better if I could stay out of trouble.

"Your father must be very proud of you. It would not be easy rising a young girl on his own." I looked at him in terror. He noticed right away. "Oh dear me. I am sorry. Don't be frightened."

Ignoring my father's's warning about not prying into anything as he has told me numinous times, I asked. "How do you know that?"

"It's my job to notice things that others don't. For example, your stocking as a small tear in the knee. Then part of your hair is brushed, you gave up all attempts as it is too tangled."

My mouth hung open as he checked his pocket watch. "How does it mean that my mother is gone?"

"It doesn't. I took what I knew. I looked at your appearance, noting that a mother would not have let you outside looking the way you do. Then if you never had a mother then some neighbor would have taught you these things. I also noticed you speak so highly of your father, but nothing has been said about your mother."

"I ripped my stocking only this morning. I didn't have time to fix it. And my mother isn't dead. She is away."

"Away? Where would she have gone?"

Father never wanted me to tell anyone about where Mother was. He always told me if someone asks, I was to merely say that she was away.

"I don't know. She's simply away visiting."

But, even as I told this man this, I could see he did not believe me and he knew. However, he did not bring it up.

"I see." He said.

"That is what you do isn't it? You look close at people." I asked him.

"That is part of my job, yes."

"You are a policeman then? No, you can't be. You are not dressed like also talked about money and it seemed like that man wanted to pay you if you helped him."

The man, Mister Holmes, leaned back. He stared at me for a long moment. "How did you see all of that and come to the conclusion?"

"If you were a policeman, you would be in uniform. You also would not have been talking to that man about money. He was to pay you for your services, but you refused." I frowned. "I don't know what it is you do."

Before he could say anything else, the door behind us opened and the men filed out. The meeting had ended. I quickly spotted my father as he walked out of the room. I raced over to him and tugged on his sleeve.

"What is it, little one?" Father asked.

"Did your meeting go well?" I asked.

"Well enough."

I looked behind me and noticed that the man was still there. "Father, this Mister Holmes." I said pointing him out.

"Sherlock Holmes, it has been a few years since I last saw you in my class." Father said.

"I was not aware you moved to the city."

"I did not make it available to the public."

"I see, but it is nice to see you again, Professor."

"You know my father?" I asked.

Mister Holmes nodded his head. "Yes. I met him some years ago when I was at university."

"He was my best student." Father told me. "I am surprised to find you here as it were. Don't tell me you are wasting your talent in a place like this."

"No, I'm a consulting detective. I sometimes help the police on different matters while dealing with problems some of my own clients bring to me. I was meeting a client here, but the meeting did not go over as well as I thought. I ran into your daughter as I was on my way out."

"We have been talking, Father." I said. "Mister Holmes was telling me about how he is able to observe things about people."

Father placed his hands on my shoulders. "I hope she did not bother you much. I know she can be a handful at times."

"Her questions did not annoy me. She was rather insightful." Mister Holmes admitted. "I assume you teach her then?"

"As much as I can. I am afraid that as of late I haven't had much time. I am in the mist of finding a tutor for her."

"Mister Holmes knows many things." I told Father. "Can he teach me?"

"Calm yourself, child." Father lightly scolded. "You do not even know if he will take such an offer. I am sure he is far too busy."

I sighed and looked down at my feet. "Yes, Father. I am sorry."

"You must learn to be patient, little one."

"While I am afraid I do not have the time," Mister Holmes started to say. "I am however in need of an assistant. You know your letters and how to count?"

I nodded my head. "Yes, sir. I can read and do some maths."

Mister Holmes nodded his head, satisfied at the answer as he wrote something down. He then handed the paper to my father. "I do not live far from here. You can bring her when you come here tomorrow. I believe your colleagues would be overjoyed."

Father chuckled as he took the address. "I think you may be right in that regard."

Later that evening after I was dressed for bed, Father had pulled me into his lap. I loved the evenings the best. Father would often read to me from books and sometimes would ask me riddles. Every now and then I would ask him to tell me about Mother. This night was one of them.

"I think Mister Holmes knows about Mother." I said. "I didn't tell him, I said what you told me to say if anyone asks."

"Yes, I imagine that he would know." Father said.

"But how does he know? I don't fully understand."

"I wish I could explain it, pet, but I don't even know. He is able to tell certain things about a person from just looking at them. He is a brilliant man with a mind one could only wish to have. I have no doubt he is aware of what happened to your mother."

"What was Mother like before she grew ill?" I asked.

He did not speak for a moment. "You are like her so much."

"I am?"

"Yes, you are. You look like her in every way, save for your eyes and nose. I am afraid that you may have even gotten her stubbornness."

"Was she smart?" I asked.

"Yes, she knows so many languages. Latin, German, Italian, and French."

"I know French, Father. You've taught me some. She liked to sing, didn't she?"

"She did. She had a very lovely voice. It's the first thing I noticed about her. When I first met her, I had only been in London for a few weeks." Father said.

"Mama was walking home with her friends." I said.

Father nodded his head. "Yes, they were all singing a song together as they laughed. I never heard anything more beautiful before."

"Why isn't she this way anymore?"

Father held me closer against him. "She loves you so much. She thought someone was going to hurt you. Your mother was afraid and all alone. She meant well, but just not in the right way."

It was silent for a moment, then I asked. "Is it my fault?"

"No, it was not your fault, Cassandra. The truth is, I don't know what happened to cause her to be this way, dear heart." He admitted. "If I did know I would have done everything to make it right again."

I hugged Father tightly. "Maybe someday you will. You are the best doctor."

Father chuckled as he kissed my brow. "I am happy to hear someone thinks I am."

My first visit with Mister Holmes had proved to be something. While I was able to help him, it was in a way I had not expected. I had walked into the room to find him pacing up and down. He spoke of a small case he had that was fairly simple and wanted to know what I thought.

As I gave him my opinion, he stopped me. He began by saying it mattered not what I thought, but what I could see. What the facts were saying. Mister Holmes then bought me to the window looking out into the street and asked me to look close at the people. He pointed out several different things about one woman, before moving. When I pointed out two things, he smiled at me and said I did well.

For the next few months my afternoons were usually spent in the company of my father or of Mister Sherlock Holmes. Both men saw I was properly taught. Father taught me things from how many valves were inside the human heart to the French language. Mister Holmes spoke of the methods. Methods of deduction as he called them. It was then that he started to teach me how to observe.

I was quick to learn what he taught me. I paid close attention to each word, trying to remember everything. I even watched him work on his experiments. He taught me how to tell a chimney sweeper from a coal factory worker. I asked as many questions as I was able. He once laughed calling me a little cat. We were becoming quick friends. I now called him Holmes and he called me Cassandra.

I had taken to deduction and it was when I started to notice a change in my father. During his lectures, he was not the excitable man be often was. There were times were he would drift off and needed to collect himself before he continued. Father would stare at me when he thought I was not looking. His face would almost seem sad in those moments as he looked at me, lost in his thoughts. Father would also spend more time at the hospital working on something he never spoke of.

I woke in the middle of the night, unable to go back to sleep. I got out of bed and climbed down the stairs in search of my father. There was light coming from his study and I walked over to the door.

"How long will you continue this?"

I was taken back by hearing Holmes' voice. What was he doing here? Usually, he never came to the house. He would be either at his flat or at St Bart's when I was able to see him. I stayed silent, wanting to discover what he and Father were talking about.

"I do not know what you speak of."

"You know very well what I am talking about. What is this thing, this project of yours about?"

"You of all people know it is better to not reveal anything until one knows everything." Father said. "There are still things that I do not even understand, until I do nothing will be said on the matter."

"Brennan-

"Can't you just leave it alone, Holmes? Why must you look for things that do not need to be looked for?"

"Whatever it is you are hiding, it is destroying you." Holmes said.

"What I am hiding may destroy us all if I am not careful enough."

"For God's sake, Professor. You need to tell me so I may be able to help you. If you had gotten yourself into trouble..."

"What I do is no business of yours." Father said cooly.

"Then think of your child. Cassandra is aware of the changes in you. She sees it, but she does not fully understand. Whatever you are doing, you cannot put your daughter at risk."

"Do not say things that you do not understand, Holmes. I know what I am doing and I can assure you Cassandra is very much safe."

"Yes, for the moment she is safe." Holmes said. "I know the way these men work. They will make empty promises in order for you to comply with them. If you were to make a mistake, then they will not hesitant to hurt her to make you do whatever it is you are doing. Don't risk her."

There was a loud thud as Father slammed his fist onto to his desk. "She is not your child. Cassandra is my daughter, she is my concern. She is not yours."

I jumped back at the harshness and coldness in my father's tone. The floor under me creaked. Both men heard me as they turned around. I stepped forward into the room looking at Father and Holmes, unsure of where I was to go. Father made the choice for me as he walked over and picked me up into his arms.

"I trust you know your way out." Father said.

Holmes must have nodded for I listened to his retreating steps. A moment later, the front door closed behind him.

"Father?" I asked softly.

He sighed. "I did not mean for us to wake you."

"You didn't. Father, what were you and Holmes talking about? Why are you so angry at him?"

"No questions, child. Not tonight." Father said tiredly.

"But Father-

"Cassandra, I said not tonight." He snapped.

"Yes, sir."

"I am sorry, pet." Father said hugging me tightly. "Please no questions for now. I promise when all of this is over, I shall explain everything to you."

For two weeks I had not seen Holmes. He did not come to visit, nor did Father take me to see him. As my professor was away, I hadn't anyone I could talk to about Father. As accustomed before I went to the hospital with Father as he worked. As he lectured I sulkily sat in my corner silently. I missed having a friend. Father did his best to cheer me up, but he was soon consumed with his work again.

The afternoon had started as any other. After Father's rounds for the day we went into the lab. He started his work on the body, placing me a safe distance away, but I was close enough to still watch him. I remember as he worked, Father asked me different riddles.

"What is hidden, but at the same time is something you can see?" He asked.

I kicked my feet as I thought. "Is it air?"

He shook his head. "Plain sight."

"Yes, but it could be air." I said.

"Oh, can it now? You cannot see it."

"But, you can feel it."

Father chuckled. "I suppose so when you put it like that."

We went back and forth a few more times. Father asking different riddles as I answered. We were back to the old companionship we had before Holmes. Soon we were laughing and did not notice a visitor had walked into the room until there was a polite cough.

A tall man stood near the door. He was taller than Holmes. His black hair was slicked back, trying to hide the fact he was growing bald in the front. The man's dark eyes, almost black roamed the room until they rested on Father. I turned to Father wondering if he knew who this man was. Father's face had grown white and his posture had stiffened. In his green eyes there was an unmistakable look of pure terror.

"Have you finished it?" The man asked Father.

"I told you before, I need more time. The compound is not yet stable enough." Father said carefully.

"We had an agreement-

"It is not my fault!" Father exclaimed. "It is not able to withhold for long. For some reason the body is able to fight it off. I do not quite understand it myself."

The room fell silent after his outburst. After another long moment the man spoke. "Perhaps we should take this away from young ears?"

Father seemed to remember I was in the room. He nodded his head to the man before looking over at me. "Stay here, Cassandra."

"But, Father-

"I will not be gone for long. Lock the door behind me and let no one else inside."

"Must you?" I asked.

Father walked over and knelt down. "Cassandra, I will be right back. I promise I will come back."

"You won't be gone long?"

"It will only be for a few minutes. I will only be ten minutes at the most, dear heart."

"Yes, Father."

"Good girl." He kissed my forehead. "I shall return in ten minutes, Cassandra."

I should have pleaded with Father to not go with that man, but I never said another word. If he promised he would not be gone for long, then he wouldn't. Father had never broken a promise to me before and I doubted that he ever would.

I only watched as Father left the room with that man. The man had looked back at me and had smirked before closing the door behind them. I walked over to the door and locked it. I then waited.

I recited the French I knew and then worked on some German. I named different parts of the body and their functions. I even walked over to the desk in the corner and read some of Father's messy notes.

Father never returned. The room grew cold and my stomach protested about not eating any dinner. I was huddled under the desk in a light doze when the door opened. Two male voices filled the silent room. One was the voice of the dean of the hospital, the other belonged to Holmes.

"Couldn't be here. It's been quiet and the door was locked. Professor Brennan must have locked it after he left." The dean said.

"She was not with him when it happened. He never would have left her alone unless he knew she was safe. This is the only place she would be." Holmes said.

"Her mother may have returned from whatever trip she was on and the girl is with her."

"No, she didn't."

Someone stood in front of the desk I was under. I recognized the shoes as I crawled out. The man knelt down, grey eyes seeking my green ones.

"Have you been in here this entire time?" He asked. "Do you know about anything that has happened?"

"Father told me to stay here. He said to lock the door and to let no one inside. He said it wouldn't be for long." I said softly.

"And you never left?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Dear Lord," the dean said. "The child is unaware."

I looked away from him and turned back to Holmes. Pushing away the growing panic, I asked.

"Where is my father? Why hasn't he returned yet?"

The dean started talking fast. All he said was nonsense to me. He was trying to calm me, in hopes my attention would be swayed. However instead of the soothing effects it should have caused, I only grew angry.

"Where is my father?" I repeated, daring the two men to lie to me.

"Your father will not be coming back." Holmes said in a tone that was neither cold nor comforting. "He is dead, child."

There was a slight pause before I asked. "Do you know who killed him?"

If either man expected a great show of weeping or a fit of some sort, then they would be disappointed. I had been raised by a doctor. Death to me meant nothing more then the sun rising and setting everyday. It was a fact, and hearing that my father was dead did not change it. I cried of course, but it was with silent tears and a control over ones own emotions that may have frightened the dean.

To Holmes, however my calmness would be the reason for his actions. "What makes you ask that question? You ask me not how but who."

"Because if he was sick I would have seen it. Even if something was the matter with his heart there would be some sign. You have told me to look for answers and I have."

"Your father was killed because he was shot. Several witnesses reported he was speaking to a man, but no one has been able to describe him. Only that he was tall and wore his hat low." Holmes explained.

"The man was here with Father before they left. The man was taller then you. He wasn't as thin as you, but wasn't fat either. He seemed to have just been to a church. He smelled like one." I told Holmes.

"What do you mean?"

I thought for a moment. "He smell of melted candles and the burning incense. He and Father spoke some words. I didn't like him and Father hadn't either. He told Father they had an agreement. Father said he needed more time because it wasn't yet stable."

When I finished, he leaned back on his heels. "You did well by telling me everything."

"Will you find the man who did this?" I asked with tears in my eyes. "Will you help me?"

Holmes nodded his head. "Yes, I promise you I will find him."

Hearing those words broke the little control I had. I threw my arms around Holmes' waist and cried into his chest. It did not matter to me, that his body had tensed, what mattered was feeling safe again. Holmes did not move until after I finished sobbing. Then he carefully pushed me away and stood to his feet.

"Come, child." He said. "You will come home with me for the night."

Later I laid on the settee as a make shift bed. I had yet fallen asleep as I laid awake stating at the dying ambers. A storm had started outside and I curled into a tight ball. I was alone and I was very much afraid. As I curled tighter, there was the sound of a violin being played. It slowly brought me out of the darkness and I was able to sleep.

When I woke the next morning, I was afraid of what was to become of me. My mother was in no position to care for me and I had no other living relatives. I knew where orphaned children went and I heard all sorts of stories. I observed as Mister Holmes had taught me. He was alone, he was busy with his own life. I was only a child he had met by chance. It would be pointless to think that he would consider letting me stay here.

The door to Mister Holmes' room opened and he walked out. "Good morning, Miss Brennan, I trust you were able to sleep some?"

I nodded my head. "Yes, sir."

"I spoke with Mrs Frost last night and she will bring you some breakfast soon. I am afraid that I have some work that needs to be done today. You can read any books you can reach while I am gone."

My eyes widened in shock. "You...you're not are making leave?"

He raised his brow at me. "Miss Brennan, may I remind you, you had asked me to find out what happened to your father. I still do not know for certain what occured. Until I do, it would be for the best you stayed with me."

I stared at him for another moment, before I launched myself at him. I wrapped my arms tightly around his waist and hugged him. "Thank you, sir, thank you. I promise I will stay out of your way. I haven't a place to go, but you will never notice me."

Holmes stiffened at my touch, but I did not move away. Finally he touched my shoulder lightly. "Of course you would be staying here, Cassandra. It would hardly do to let that mind of yours go to waste on the streets."

As the weeks passed, Holmes did everything he could as he looked into my father's death. Nothing was found. It seemed whomever had killed him had disappeared. After the death of my father Mr. Henry Jones, my father's solicitor, was a frequent visitor. He was understanding about Holmes' reason for keeping my where abouts a secret.

He conformed there was no guardian for me and it would be no issue if Holmes was granted a temporary guardianship. Jones then went on to explain matters of money to me the best he was able. He spoke of the inheritance I would gain at the age of one and twenty.

My father's house would be left alone until I was age to decide what was to be done with it. During the past few weeks several of my things arrived at the flat. Clothing, books, my father's pocket watch and my mother's pearls.

It was not so long after my father's death when Jones had came to speak to me about someone asking questions. My spirits had lifted when I learned it was my dear professor had written in concern about me. Jones knew of the friendship my father had with this man, and had spoken to Holmes about the possibility of allowing me to write to him. Holmes had spoken to me about it, and I had begged him to let me write to my friend. He finally agreed, but I was to say nothing about where I was or whom I was with.

I was kept a secret. His work was too dangerous, and he did not want to take any risk with someone finding out that this man had a child, even if I was not his. No one would ignore the fact that there was a way to seek revenge on him. Precautions had to be made and set to pervert such actions. Few people knew about me, not even his brother knew about me until years later. I never went out into the city, at least not alone.

After a year with living with Holmes, we learned that the flat was far too small for two people to live. Holmes, by this time, was so fed up with that place. He had found rooms in Baker Street, but he could not afford them alone, the solution to that problem, he would have to find a roommate.

It was a cold January evening. I was sitting in a chair in the sitting room, reading a book, when Mrs Frost walked by carrying a tray. "Wot 're you doin' out 'ere?"

"Reading." I answered, not looking up from my book.

"Oi, girl, you can't read. Won't be cleaning' in 'ere 'en." She said.

"Not that you do." I muttered.

"Wot?"

"Oh nothing." I said calmly.

She glared at me. "Don't be so cheeky. I do look after you."

"You do not look after me, you only drink your gin all of the time." I muttered into my book.

She slammed the trey down, hard, nearly turning everything over. "If it were up te me, yeh wouldn't even be here, 'irl."

"Good thing it wasn't up to you."

She stared at me as she marched over and raised her hand as if to strike me. I crowed behind my book and closed my eyes, preparing for the inventible, when a voice broke out.

"Thank you, Mrs. Frost, that will be all."

She walked out of the room muttering things, slamming the door behind her. I opened my eyes and placed my book in my lap as I looked up. Holmes stood his six inch height as he folded his arms over his chest, his lean frame looming over me.

"Wonderful, Cassandra, now you've done it," He said.

"You've been looking on an experiment." I said noticing his chemical stained fingers, as he drummed them on his arms.

"Don't change the subject." He said. "You know that you are not to start anything with her. Now, what happened this time?"

"I only muttered a few things, but I never thought she could hear them! I did not mean for…"

He sighed tiredly. "I know, but please do not anger her. She will raise the rent money higher then this place is worth. Try not to give her a reason to bother you. Next time, continue with your reading and ignore her."

"I'm sorry."

Holmes just nodded. "Now, why don't we eat?" He said as he took his jacket off.

We sat down and ate the watery strew Mrs. Frost made. We sat in silence, something that was quite common. It was the comfortable silence that I had come to know for the past year. That is when Holmes was not working on anything, which some times one wished for that silence.

"What was the experiment?" I asked.

He paused for a moment as he looked over at me. "What experiment?"

"Holmes." I groaned. "I see chemical stains; you were at the lab again."

"They could be ink stains." Holmes said with a tinkle in his eyes. He silently laughed at my annoyed look and held out his hand to me. "Tell me what you observe, child. Ink or chemical stains? Apply the methods."

I frowned as I took his hand and stared at his fingers. I turned it over and took the other hand, doing the same thing. For moment, I thought that it may be ink, but then I noticed something, "No, it's not ink, it is chemical. Your fingertips are red. It means that you used a chemical that irritated them, ink wouldn't have effect." I said with full confidence.

"Well, done, Cassandra." He smiled. "You were correct, I was at the lab."

"Doing what exactly?"

"I was working on this idea I had." He replied.

"On what?"

"To find out if something is blood or if it may be mud or even ink or whatever. It is a very common mistake and I am in the middle of emitting the mistake. It is a rather good test and I believe that it will be finished soon."

"Did it work?" I asked.

"So far the outcome has been rather successful, I may run one more test or two to be positive." He said.

"Will people use it do you think?"

"You're full of questions tonight." He looked at me, raising his eyebrow.

"I want to know things, Holmes."

"You are turning into a cat. You are becoming very curious."

"You always tell me to ask questions."

He smiled. "Touché, little cat, and yes. I believe that people will use it, Cassandra." He said pushing his bowl away.

"Do you think Scotland Yard will actually use your experiment?" I asked him.

"If they are wise, they will."

"Homes, why don't you work in Scotland Yard?" I asked. "You are good at things like this, so why don't you work there?"

"Isn't time for bed?" He said dismissing me.

"You didn't answer my question."

"You need to get ready for bed."

I stood up and looked at him before going into the room. "Is it because you know that they won't listen to a word you say?"

"No, I do not work for them because I do not want to trouble over trifles that do not interest me." He called out "And I am not required to tell you everything, Cassandra!"

Later, I was dressed in my nightgown and was reading on Holmes' bed when Holmes walked in. "Can I have a few more minutes?" I asked. "I am nearly done with this chapter."

He did not answer as he walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. "Cassandra, there's something we need to discus."

I sat up and looked at him. "I swear I don't know any thing about the mouse in the cupboard where Mrs. Frost keeps her gin."

He looked at me in a bit of surprise. "What mouse?" He let out an annoyed sigh. "We will talk about that later."

"Then what is it?" I asked closing my book.

"Do you remember the man by the name of Stamford I have told you about? We have had several conversations in the lab at Brats."

I nodded my head. "I remember."

"Stamford stopped by today when I was in the hospital lab working, and he had a friend with him."

"Who?"

"His name is Dr. John Watson, and he is looking to room with someone." He said.

"He told you that as soon as you met him?"

Holmes chuckled. "No, Stamford told him about how I was looking at the rooms. They both came to see me this afternoon when I was in the lab. The good doctor and I talked, and now I'm showing him the rooms in Baker Street tomorrow."

"What?" I exclaimed. "You agreed? What is he like? Will he tell someone about me? Does he even know? Do you know anything about him? Is he kind? Wait…you did say he was a doctor didn't you? Is he-

"Cassandra Brannon, calm down."

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well?"

"To your first question we only agreed to look at the rooms. Nothing is set in stone. To your second question, from what I observed he seems to be good enough, trustworthy."

"Does he know about me?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No, of course he doesn't know."

"Why not?" I asked.

"I need more data before I can decide whether or not I can tell him. Until then, you will be hidden." Holmes explained. "He will not know about you, you will never be seen by him.

"Will he ever know?"

"Perhaps, but I would not dwell on it." He paused for a moment. "There is something that you must understand."

"What is it?"

"He just came back from the Afghan war as a medical surgeon. He was wounded and it left his left leg a bit lame."

"Lame?" I asked him.

"He walks with a limp; it is something that happened because he was wounded. He walks a bit off balanced." Holmes explained to me. "He may be inside for quite a while still, but he seems to want to get back to work soon. You would have to stay it the bedroom at all times."

"So we are moving?"

"I told you before, Cassandra, we shall have to see." He said. "Now, its time for bed."

"You have to read a story first." I said leaning my back against the pillow.

"Cass-

"Please, Holmes?" I asked.

"I thought you were able to read for yourself."

"You read better than I do."

"I am not the one who needs the practice." Holmes said.

"Holmes." I said.

He sighed annoyed. "Oh very well, what story shall it be tonight?" I smiled as I held up the book I had been reading. "You've heard that a thousand times, no doubt you have it page by page memorized." He said.

"Please?"

"Very well. Where were you at in the story?"

"The day that Arthur pulled the sword from the stone."

Holmes nodded his head as he found the page. He started reading in a loud clear voice and I leaned against him listening. I could have read the book if I wanted, but I found that it was always better when Holmes read it to me. My father had done the same, but I thought Holmes did the voices better. After a while, my eyes grew heavy and I leaned more against my guardian.

"Is this boring you already?" He asked.

"No, King Arthur is my favorite. The fighting, the magic, the knights of the round table. It reminds me of Papa telling me his stories"

"Cassandra, none of it is real. You should not fill your head with such…romantic nonsense. You will become foolish."

Holmes was not being cruel when he said this, by no means was he. It was a matter of fact, and he spoke it as such. He usually realizes this and apologizes. I do not hold it too much against him, sometimes I do, but it will never change because that is just how he sees things.

"I know, but it still is a good story." I said.

He nodded his head as he stood up and placed the book on top of a pile of other books. "I agree, but remember it…"

"Is only a story that was written a long time ago. It is for entertainment and is not something to take seriously. I know, Holmes." I said in a bored tone.

"Now get into bed."

I stood up and crawled into my pile of blankets on the ground. "Holmes, do you really think that it was nonsense?" I asked in a quiet voice.

He looked over at me. "It is possible that some of it is right. Not the magic, mind you, but perhaps it is about the chivalry in the story."

I smiled. "Then there is some truth in it after all."

"Yes, but I have kept you up long enough. We will talk about it another time, you need to sleep."