*I do not own BBC, the characters, or anything else to do with this show.*

"Daddy, can you tell me a story about mommy again?" She looked up to him with big blue eyes. Her eyes were the same blue as her mother's, only tinted with the faint indication that she had some of her father in her.

"Are you sure?" He asked. He loved talking about her mother, it just always made him a little heart broken every time he did. She should be here telling of these stories and great adventures. She should be here, helping him parent. He was lost. He had no idea what he was doing and if he was doing it right. And he knew he wouldn't ask his brother for help. A Holmes with a child asking his sociopath brother what to do? That was nonsense. So he never told Sherlock. There would be a day of course when he would, but that day was not today. He had asked Mrs. Hudson for some help when he became really frustrated, and of course he asked Moll Hooper to babysit. His daughter needed the best things. She was a Holmes. But one of those things was not Uncle Sherlock. Especially now.

"Daddy? Are you okay?" I hadn't realized I had zoned out for so long and she was still staring at me.

"Yes, I was just thinking. Come sit down." He sat in his leather chair and held out his arms. She ran to him and jumped into his lap. "So, you want to hear a story about your mother? What one would you like to hear this time?" He knew what was coming. Her favorite story. The one where Mother was running from the bad guys and had to pretend to be someone else for a long time. Or maybe the one where Mother had bought her home. She loved that one.

"How did you and mommy meet? You haven't told me that one and you said you would." She gave me a puzzled look. I had told her I would tell her, but I meant when she was older. When she might understand better. "Or maybe a story about mommy and uncle Sherlock." Ah, Sherlock. She was fascinated by him, which slightly scared me, but not too much. She was a Holmes. She was curious. All she knew was the life I've given her and me of all people should know that those are not the best lives. Look how Sherlock and I turned out. We took the lives we were given and that was the worst choice of all. I should tell her about Sherlock, maybe I will have her mean him, just not today. Maybe when his is more stable. Yes, that is a fantastic idea. But how her mother and I met? That was a story.

"I told you I would tell you of how we met later, didn't I?"

"Yes father, I just..." She paused. She was in deep contemplation of what she was to say next. I could feel it. "It's just that I never hear that story and I want to know."

"Sweetheart, I don't think you are old enough to understand it yet."

"Soon then daddy? Will you tell me soon? When I am ready?" Defeat flashed across her face, but hope still glistened in her eyes.

"Yes, when you are ready."

"Will you still tell me a story?"

"Of course. How about the one where mother has to-" I continued as I stared into the fire. I would give my daughter the life she deserved. I was handed a very different life. Father told me I needed to be powerful, like him. He assumed I was going to be the only Holmes. Then Sherlock came around and Father didn't know what to do with him. With me, I was very disciplined. I went to a boarding school and I had set guidelines and rules. With Sherlock though, he was a special case. Sherlock was definitely a Holmes. Over curious and very observant. He was always deducing something or experimenting on something, so Father didn't know how to do things. He kind of let Sherlock roam free. He thought that since he had one Holmes boy following in his footsteps, he would let the other one do as he pleased and hopefully make a new Holmes tradition.

Unfortunately that was and wasn't the case.

"Another story daddy!" She squealed. "Another!" Her face was illuminated by a smile and her eyes were dancing with fire.

"One more, but then it's off to bed with you." I chuckled. She loved hearing stories. That would be another new tradition I think. A girl and one who loves to hear stories. I could tell she would be a fantastic story tell when she got older. "Have I told you about the time your mother was-" And another story began.

I would make arrangements to see Sherlock soon, if he didn't relapse again. He was doing just fine, for the time being. As long as he stayed away from the drugs, he could meet his niece.

"Alright, time for bed. Go brush your teeth and I'll be up in a minute to tuck you in."

"But daddy! I'm not tired! See!" She put her fingers to her eyes and stretched them as far as she could.

"Now Irene, what have I told you. You always say that and then you eventually fall asleep. Brush your teeth and I'll see what I can do."

She jumped off my lap and started running towards the stairs. Right before she stared up them, she turned and smiled.

That was her mother's smile. A smile I can't seem to forget.