The Teaser (this isn't exactly Canon. Moriarty is back, and the Fall has happened, but I'm not mentioning some of the newer plots/characters.)

Moriarty's tone was teasing, but his expression was deadly serious. He drug the knife across the girl's arm again.

"Naughty, naughty Sherlock. You didn't tell me you had a daughter..? Oh! But perhaps you didn't even know. Did you have an affair, Sherlock?"

Sherlock' s voice was calm, but his hands uncharacteristically shook. "I was married."

"Oh,my my. Shocking, really, that a woman married YOU. But she is your daughter, isn't she?"

"Let her go, Moriarty. She has nothing you want."

"You didn't answer my question..."

The Story

John Watson was angry. He blew out his breath in a huff.

"Sherlock, you're being insufferable."

"Am I, now?" Sherlock asked, the picture of innocence. He typed some more into his phone.

"You know what I mean. The secrets. Last time you got secret texts, you jumped off a building, IN CASE YOU'VE FORGOTTEN!"

"I didn't exactly jump," Sherlock muttered tersley, knowing it was a sore subject.

"Well, it was rather traumatic for those of us on the ground."

"We've been through this, I said I was sorry."

They were quiet for a few moments. Then Sherlock ventured,

"I really can't tell you about these messages, John."

"Why not? You know everything about me. It's unnerving."

"I'll tell you when the time is right."

John was preparing to return home when Ms. Hudson came bustling in. "Mail call, boys."

She beamed at them. "How nice, John. You've been invited to a conference for doctors or something tomorrow, look. I can't believe that they're still sending your mail here. And Sherlock, you got a letter too. I'll just set the Telegraph here..."

John quickly scanned the invite. His therapist would certainly say he should go, and it actually sounded mildly interesting. Not as exciting as crime, though.

"Sherlock?"

"Go to your convention, I don't expect any cases," he said without looking up from his letter.

More than a little upset, John stalked out. Sherlock could be so cold sometimes. Perhaps a little break was what both friends needed.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was reading his letter with varying degrees of dismay.

Mr. Holmes, the letter read in a cool, formal style he knew so well.

Perhaps you remember me. My name is Rose Smith, and I worked for Ms. Elsie Raymond's family while you were courting her. After you two married, Elsie's furious father annulled the marriage, as you well know. You tried vainly to reach Elsie, using all your detecting ability, but eventually gave up. I cannot blame you - you weren't even of age(21), after all. Her father, I believe, wrote a cold, brief epistle to you informing you that Elsie died.

Ms. Elsie's parents are now dead as well, and it is my duty to inform you of something rather painful. Elsie' s father neglected to tell you how she died.

Mr. Holmes, she died from complications after giving birth prematurely.

The child still lives. The child is currently fifteen years old and living at the old Raymond Manor with money from the Raymond estate furnishing tutoring and living expenses.

However, the child has no surviving relatives, and will be sent to foster care unless you decide to open your home.

If you should, please do not hesitate to call.

There was a number and a signature.

"My God," he said a little blankly.

John reappeared in the door. "Sherlock, I'm leaving now."

"Oh," he said snapping out of his daze. "Goodbye, John."

He turned back to the letter, hearing the door slam.

His phone beeped again, another 'secret' text.

"Why won't you come play?"

J.M

He no longer cared about Moriarty and his cryptic messages. Now was the time to venture to his mind palace and concentrate, to think of the things he'd pushed away for so long.

He'd been in love with Elsie Raymond, a 20 year old heiress from a prestigious old family. They had met in their first year of college, and she had been...wonderful.

Girls did not vie for young Sherlock's attention. He was at college just as he was now - cool, unfriendly, dedicated to deduction.

But Elsie had been different. Yes, she was refined and quiet, but she was also determined to throw aside her stuffy family's rules and become a forensic investigator.

A year spent in courtship - a pure, innocent time where they'd laughed like children, read more books than most librarians, and prayed more than most ministers- and he proposed. He began to open up, to bloom towards this light.

He did not inform his family, nor did she. They eloped.

They spent a few beautiful months together in a little house. But one day her father showed up, convinced Sherlock was after her money only.

Since Elsie was just 19 at the time, he had their marriage annulled, and he took Elsie back to Raymond Manor.

The bloom crumpled, trampled underfoot. Sherlock tried vainly to find her, but her father used all his influences to keep him away.

So Sherlock ordered his extraordinary mind to forget, and nearly forget it did - until now.

Leaping up, he scrambled wildly with his desk drawer, pulling it until a secret compartment popped. He picked up the first thing that fell out- a faded snapshot of a beautiful young woman, enormous blue eyes fixed lovingly on a much younger version of himself. Her brown hair was gathered into a ponytail, and she wore a sparkly headband.

Now he stared at his phone, then snatched it up, breathing hard.

He dialled the number from the letter.