Hey, everyone! I have some news for you all! As of today, I have been a member of Fanfiction dot net for two years now! Isn't that exciting? Well, it is for me, at least. This is my celebratory gift to myself and to all of you! I hope you enjoy it. Please leave a review as you exit the building. Thank you. :)

I picked up my ringing phone, answering the call. 'Good afternoon, Dr John Watson speaking.'

'Good afternoon, Dr Watson,' the woman on the other line said hurriedly. 'I am Miss Riverhill, Vice Principal of the Henry Cottage University. I'm afraid we have some terrible news to tell you,' she sighed and I had the feeling she was shaking her head.

I frowned. 'Is everything alright? How is Ashleigh?' I asked rapidly.

'That's the thing, Dr Watson,' she replied.

'What do you mean?' My panic levels were rising. I doubt I kept it out of my voice.

'Well…' Miss Riverhill paused. 'Ashleigh is in hospital.'

'What?!' I raised my voice. I swear, if I wasn't already sitting down, I would have been a heap on the floor right now. 'Why?' I demanded, completely forgetting for a minute who I was talking to.

The vice principal's voice didn't waver at my sudden change in tone. 'She was cornered by some drug addicts and beaten up.' She sighed again. 'I'm so sorry, Dr Watson.'

'Is she dead?' I asked, my voice shaking.

'No. No, Dr Watson, she is very much alive. However, she has incurred some very serious facial injuries.'

'Damn it,' I cursed, again not caring that the woman was on levels much higher than I. 'Who did it?'

'A group of five first year students.' Another sigh. 'They were out at a party, Ashleigh and two of her friends. They were drug tested and they were fully sober.'

'And what of her friends?' I asked stonily.

'Emily Patroche and Semila Evans were injured as well.'

'Oh.' At least they didn't abandon her. 'We're on our way. Thank you for letting me know.'

'You're most welcome, Dr Watson. Her tutor and I will meet you and Mr Holmes at the Cottage Hospice in around half an hour, yes?'

'Yes, we'll see you then.'

I hung off, feeling like I was going to be sick. I sent Sherlock a text before I stood to go and get changed out of my pyjamas.

Abandon the case. Now. - JW

Seconds later, my phone bleeped.

But why? It's at least a 7. - SH

I growled. Trust Sherlock to be so stubborn. I typed out a blunt reply.

Ash is in hospital. - JW

I'll be home in five. - SH

I smiled. Sherlock was even able to sacrifice the thing he thrived on – danger – in order to assure that our daughter was OK.

After I'd changed, I stood by the door, willing it to be flung open by my husband. Around three minutes later, it happened.

Sherlock burst through the door, breathless. 'Three minutes twenty six,' he muttered.

I frowned. 'Get your breath back and we'll catch a cab to the Cottage,' I told him.

Sherlock looked at me, confused. 'You said… you said she was in… in hospital,' he managed, breathing heavily as he slumped against the wall.

'Hey Sherlock, breathe,' I said again, going to stand in front of him. 'She's at the Cottage Hospice. We're meant to meet the vice principal and Miss Harriette there in half an hour.'

'Well, then… what are we waiting for?'

I chuckled grimly as I reached for my coat. 'For you to get your breath back.'

Sherlock smirked as he took my hand into his gloved one. 'I'm fine now. We can go.'

He walked out of the house and to the edge of the road so I had to lock up the flat.

As we sat in the cab, Sherlock gripped my hand tightly. 'I'm scared, John,' he said. 'Scared of what I'll see when I get there.'

'So am I. But our Ash is a fighter. She'll pull through.'

'I hope so,' he muttered, turning to face the window. 'What exactly happened to her?'

My face grew dark as I pictured what Miss Riverhill said. 'She and a couple of friends got jumped by five first year students on drugs.'

'What happened to her friends?'

I smiled as I realised that was the exact question I'd asked when I learned Ash had been with friends. 'In the hospital too, I'm guessing. Riverhill said they were injured as well.'

'Good.'

'Sherlock, don't say that.'

'Yes, but think of it like this,' he said. 'They didn't abandon her. Three against five is far better than one against five, don't you think?'

'I guess so.'

The rest of the journey passed in a nervous silence, though neither one of us felt inclined to fill it.

When the cabbie pulled up at the hospital, I looked around for Miss Harriette and Miss Riverhill. I recognised Miss Harriette standing by a red car, chatting with another woman.

'There,' I pointed them out to Sherlock.

He started walking up to them, leaving me to pay the cabbie and catch up to him.

'Dr Watson, Mr Holmes,' Miss Harriette greeted, shaking each of our hands.

Sherlock frowned. 'Enough. We need to see her now.' He sped ahead into the building.

I rolled my eyes, muttering a sorry, before I followed hopelessly behind him.

When I reached him, I put my hand on his shoulder, bringing him to a stop in front of a reception area. 'Calm down, Sherlock,' I whispered.

'I can't,' he murmured back.

'Sure you can. I know you can,' I said, quoting Ash's favourite movie.

'What if we lose her? We've already lost Nevada.'

I winced at the memory of our first child. 'We won't lose Ashleigh,' I said forcefully.

'Dr Watson, Mr Holmes, if you'd like to follow me, I'll take you to Ashleigh's room,' a new voice said suddenly.

I recognised the woman as Dr Elliot, the nurse who helped treat Nevada.

She took us to the stairs. I silently reached for Sherlock's hand and squeezed, conveying a message.

Dr Elliot stopped at the ICU. 'I'm afraid we can only let you go in one at a time.'

'Right.' I looked at Sherlock.

'You go first. I… You just go.' He pushed me slightly towards the door.

I turned back to the door, peering in through the glass pane. A wall was blocking the bed so I couldn't see her. I looked back at Sherlock, who gave a tiny nod.

I turned the door handle and entered the room. I walked past the wall that blocked my view.

The room was so bland. The only burst of colour other than white was Ash's bright blue hair. It was the colour she'd dyed it before she'd left for her second year of university. There were hundreds of machines, some bleeping, some eerily silent. In the middle of the room was a white metal bed. In the middle of the bed was my little girl.

Ash's eyes were closed and I thought she was sleeping. But then her lips moved and she said, 'Dad?'

I walked over to her bedside and that's when the severity of her injuries hit me like a train. Her face was purple from the bruising, puffed up from the impact, scarred from the cuts. I growled, and without my knowledge, my hands fisted by my sides. What have they done to you?

Her eyes opened slowly and I smiled as she took me in.

'Hey, Ash,' I whispered.

She tried to sit up, but winced as she did so. 'Hey, you don't have to sit up,' I said hurriedly. I held her up.

'I want to,' she muttered. I helped her sit and then propped her pillows behind her. I sat at the foot of her bed.

She looked me in the eye and that's when I saw the drooping in her left eye. 'Dad, I'm sorry,' she began.

'Ashleigh, you have nothing to be sorry for.'

'I know, but I feel so bad now.'

'Ash, you shouldn't. It wasn't your fault.'

'I know…' Her face screwed up and I knew she was going to cry.

In an instant, I had her enveloped in a hug. 'Ash, don't cry. Please don't cry.' I heard my own voice break.

'Daddy,' she sobbed. 'I was so scared. I thought I was going to die.'

'Hey, I'm here. It's OK, sweetheart,' I whispered into her hair as I rubbed her back soothingly. 'You're safe now.'

'But, Dad, they hit me and hit me and they wouldn't stop,' she said between sobs. 'They pinned me down and kicked my face, they stood on my chest.'

'Shh, shh. Ashleigh, you're fine now. I've got you. Everything's alright.'

'I look such a mess!'

'You'll heal. Everything will be fine given a year or so.'

She looked at me sceptically. 'Really?' She wiped her eyes with a finger, trying her best to avoid the bruises.

'I promise you. And I promise that they'll get the punishment they deserve.'

'But I'll never forget it, will I?'

I sighed. 'I doubt you will, sweetheart. I really do. I'm sorry.'

She cracked a tiny smile as she reached for my hand. She gave it a squeeze and said, 'I love you, Daddy.'

I smiled a proper smile. 'I love you most, Ash.'

'You don't love me as much as you do Sherlock,' she pointed out.

I stopped (damn it), though I tried hard not to let it show. 'I love both you and Sherlock equally.'

She scoffed. 'Yeah right. Is Sherlock here?

'Yeah. He's waiting outside. They wouldn't let us both in here at one time.'

'Can you get him?'

'Sure.' I stood up off the bed. 'I'll come and see you later, OK?'

She nodded.

I left the room.

Sherlock was waiting in the waiting area. He was staring at something but I could tell he wasn't fully focused. He was in his Mind Palace.

'Sherlock,' I said as I approached him. 'Your turn.'

He stood up slowly and then wrapped me in a tight hug. 'Is she OK?' he asked.

'Go see for yourself, love.'

He stared at me pleadingly. '… No, she's… really not good,' I sighed.

He nodded solemnly and then walked to the ICU door. Before he entered, he turned back to me, just as I had done around fifteen minutes ago. I smiled slightly, giving him the consent he needed to turn the door handle.

Sherlock walked out of the Intensive Care Unit, half an hour later. His eyes were bloodshot; red and his face was puffy. I frowned at him as I stood up to meet him.

'You OK?' I whispered as I laced my fingers through his.

He took his phone out of his pocket and typed out a message.

My phone bleeped a second later.

Can we go? I'll tell you everything at home – or on the cab ride. - SH

I nodded. We said our farewells to Ashleigh's teachers before signing all the necessary papers.

As we sat in the cab, I leant my head on Sherlock's shoulder and clutched his hand. 'Are you gonna tell me now, love?'

I saw the female cabbie glance at us through the rear view mirror for the millionth time. I frowned at her, asking forcefully, 'Have you got a problem with us?'Her gaze diverted instantly. 'Yeah, thought so.'

'John,' Sherlock said.

'Mm?'

'She looked horrid. Bruises and cuts everywhere.'

'Everywhere?' I said confused. 'But I just thought-'

'That her injuries were contained to her face? No, no, no, John. The thugs pinned her down, they scarred her chest, her legs, her arms. They punched her, they bruised her, they could've killed her.'

It dawned on me then that Ashleigh trusted Sherlock more than she trusted me. And that hurt.

'Hey, but they didn't,' I whispered. 'I told you: Ash is a fighter. She can survive anything. You know that.'

Sherlock glared at me. I hadn't seen him give me an intense stare like that in several months. 'Ashleigh is nineteen, John. Nineteen. No nineteen year old deserves to suffer that way. Especially not our daughter.'

I sighed. I ran a hand through my hair. 'I know, Sherlock. But she'll get better.'

'You didn't forget the war, did you?'

'That's not the point. You know it's not.' I could hear the break in my voice.

I tried my hardest to swallow back the lump in my throat. I failed.

Sherlock sighed. 'I know. I just… I can't believe we let her go to a university like that.'

'Henry Cottage isn't that bad,' I reasoned, though even I knew it was.

'It's worse,' he deadpanned. I saw the tears glazing his eyes again. He wiped at them furiously.

I put a leg up on the seat of the cab, rising myself up to Sherlock's height. 'Hey,' I whispered into his ear. 'It's OK. I totally understand how you feel. Just hold it in a little longer. We're nearly home.'

Sherlock nodded stoically. He didn't say a word for the rest of the journey.

When we arrived back at Baker Street, Sherlock flung the cab door open and ran up to the door, fumbling with his keys as he went. I hurled a tenner and a fiver at the cabbie through the open window. 'Keep the change,' I gabbled hurriedly before following Sherlock.

By the time I got to the door, Sherlock had thrown it open and thundered up the stairs. I heard the slam of the living room door a moment later. I sighed heavily, shaking my head. I closed the front door behind me and raced upstairs. I opened the living room door as slowly as I could.

If sights could kill, what I saw then would have been the deciding of my fate.

Sherlock had collapsed in front of his chair. He was crying silently as his arms rested on the seat. I walked over to him, kneeling. I placed my hand on his shoulder. A few agonising minutes passed before Sherlock looked up at me. His face was far puffier than it was in the hospital, his eyes far more bloodshot than they were when he'd last been crying.

Then he pulled me closer into a tight hug. He wept into my shoulder and I let him as I ran my fingers through his curls.

It was only a matter of seconds before my own dam burst and my own eyes flooded. After all, how could I keep myself solid when my daughter was in hospital and I was holding my crying husband in my arms?