Brooklyn Holmes sat sideways in her chair, her bare feet sticking over the armrest. Her soft brown hair, once curly, was messily braided and pulled over one shoulder. She was intently writing in a small, leather-bound notebook. Sherlock sat nearby, reading a book of his own.

"Hey, Dad," Matthew said as he entered the room. Sherlock looked up. Brooklyn didn't. Matthew took a deep breath. "I need you to sign something." He held out his hand, and in it was a small slip of paper. Sherlock took it from him.

"You're failing?" he asked, looking at the card. "Just the one subject," said Matthew. "English," Sherlock replied. "You're failing English?" Brooklyn looked up.

"Straight A's in every subject except for English?" Sherlock questioned. Brooklyn could almost hear her twin's internal sigh. "Geez, Dad," said Matthew jokingly. "For a genius, it sure is taking you a long time to get this."

"Why are you failing?" Sherlock asked. Matthew thought for a moment, considering his response. Before he could open his mouth, however, Brooklyn spoke. "We're writing about family this quarter," she said. Sherlock looked at her.

Ever since their mother had died ten years before, Sherlock had been very considerate of the twins' fragile dispositions on family. More than once he had offered to home-school them, which, he said, would help them get accustomed to the Holmes' lifestyle and also help them to harness their genius.

However, at their request, Sherlock had left the twins in public school, where rather than learning about things like math, science or history - which they knew like the backs of their hands - they learned about human nature and friendships and how to socialise. Sherlock was quite alright with this, but he did insist they did the best they could in every subject.

Only once before had their tragic past with their mother been mixed with their education, and that had been seven years prior, when the Matthew and Brooklyn were nine years old and in fifth grade. They had been required to fill in a journal about their family life, and Matthew, very literal, had written 'Mom's body died three years ago. Her mind died a lifetime ago - she killed it with bad thoughts. And Dad is just Dad - he's famous, brilliant, and a prick. Then there's me and Brooklyn - we're the cute ones."

Now Sherlock remembered this, and he thought once again how painful it must be for his children to grow up without a normal mother to care for them. "Not that Molly was normal," he thought to himself. "She did marry me." He smiled at the thought, and, without another word, signed the report card and handed it back to Matthew. He looked at Brooklyn, who was once again writing in her journal.

"What about you?" he asked. "Do you need me to sign anything?" Brooklyn shook her head, not looking up from her book. It wasn't a lie. She didn't need Sherlock to sign anything.

"No," she said. "I'm all good." Sherlock returned to his book and Matthew, with a load off of his mind, plopped down onto the floor beside Brooklyn. "You know," he said to his twin sister, "I just realised something."

"Oh?" asked Brooklyn, not looking up from her journal. "I realised that you are always writing in that book." "Yes," Brooklyn replied. "It's a journal." "You mean a diary?" teased Matthew. "Of course not," Brooklyn snapped back. "A diary is a silly name for a small book young girls get attached to and consider 'their only friends.' I have other friends, I'm not attached to this journal, and it most certainly isn't small. It's merely a book that I record things in so that I don't forget them."

"Oh, so you read it?" asked Matthew. "Of course I read it," said Brooklyn. Matthew nodded. "When was the last time you actually read it - the beginning of it, I mean?" he challenged. Brooklyn looked up. "I… I don't remember," she said confusedly. "You write in it every day," said Matthew, "but you probably don't even remember how it begins."

With that, he stood up and returned to his room, leaving Brooklyn with her journal. She sat still for a moment before opening the book in her lap to the very first page.

With a sigh, Mary Brooklyn Holmes settled back into her seat and began to read.