Sherlock had just boarded the plane heading for Eastern Europe when England decided she needed his services once again. His arch enemy, Moriarty, had returned "from the dead" and with him a whole plethora of surprises just waiting to set his world upside down.

-1 month after Sherlock's return to England-

"Do you know the approximate location of 221 B Baker Street?" Katie asked a passerby, though much to her dismay her question was ignored and he continued on his way. "Does your wife know you're having an affair?" she called back to the man with a sneer. He turned around looking shocked and spun around yet again sprinting in the opposite direction. 'Jerk', Katie thought. Catherine "Katie" Westbrook was 15 years old though she didn't look it. Her pale skin made her look much younger than her actual age, that combined with her long ebony curls contrasted to make her look about 12 years old.

"221 B... Baker Street!" she exclaimed with a smirk as she spotted and approached the doorstep. She set her small suitcase down and began straightening herself out. She was about to grab the door-knocker when she noticed the fresh bruises on her wrists showing from beneath her calf-length black trench-coat. She quickly pulled her coat-sleeves down and knocked on the door.

"Who do you think that is love?" John asked.

"A client for Sherlock maybe?" Mary responded while busily unpacking the boxes left in the kitchen. At Sherlock's insistence John and Mary Watson remodeled and moved into 221 C Baker Street, just downstairs from 221 B. Sherlock felt that having John nearer would help him in his investigations to find Moriarty, who was back from the dead. John knew though that it wasn't just for that reason though, he knew Sherlock wanted to keep a close eye on himself, Mary, and the new baby that was due in just a few weeks. He could hear the music from Sherlock's violin coming through the ventilation system almost every morning and it was actually soothing knowing Sherlock was safe and sound just above their heads.

John pressed his ear to the door of their new flat trying to listen to the conversation Mrs. Hudson was hosting with the stranger at their doorstep. He caught little snippets of the conversation slowly though the door and decided he would have to intervene.

"My name is Catherine Westbrook, but most people call me Katie. My mother, Lily Westbrook, died just three weeks ago, and she said I could find my father at 221 B Baker Street." Katie said calmly as though she had rehearsed it dozens of times prior.

"Well Sherlock Holmes lives upstairs in 221 B, but... but he doesn't have a daughter that I'm aware of..." Mrs. Hudson said with a rather unsure voice. "Though you do look remarkably like him..." Suddenly the door to 221 C opened up and John Watson walked out to question Sherlock's supposed daughter.

"You're looking for Sherlock?" John asked. Katie quickly and calmly repeated what she had told Mrs. Hudson who looked like she might faint from shock. Unbeknownst to all of them Sherlock had opened the window above them and had overheard the whole conversation.

'Lily...' he thought to himself. He remembered Lily in vivid detail, as though she had only walked out of his life yesterday. He remembered her long, soft auburn hair and her warm deep brown eyes. She left him 16 years prior, when she was three months pregnant with "Katie..." he murmured to himself. He looked down discreetly at the young girl standing below him, still engaged in conversation with John and Mrs. Hudson. 'She definitely doesn't resemble her mother.' he thought to himself.

She was a tad short like her mother, but far bonier, almost too thin... The blue-jeans she was wearing looked like they had been through a war and back and her blue t-shirt was wrinkled and dirty. But her black coat was in near pristine condition he noticed. He also noticed how often she pulled down the sleeves of said coat. 'She's hiding something he thought...' He quickly made mental note of the bruises on her knuckles, 'defensive wounds...'

Before he had the chance to make any more deductions Mrs. Hudson had guided the girl in and the look of disbelief on John's face as he shut the door was absolutely priceless.

Sherlock quickly picked up his violin and became engrossed with it, as though it had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world.

"Sherlock!" John called, coming up the stairs with Mrs. Hudson, Katie, and now Mary following behind him. They all spilled into 221 B looking very surprised. All but Katie. Sherlock noticed that Katie just seemed amused.

"Sherlock," John began, "this is-"

"Katie Westbrook," Sherlock interrupted, "Although I suppose Katie Holmes can be your name now if you so choose to take it."

"I'd like that very much," Katie replied, forcing a smile. Sherlock and Katie stood silently taking each other in for what seemed like an eternity before John suddenly cleared his throat.

"Well then," John broke in, "we'll leave you two to talk." John silently guided his giddy and smiling wife and the smirking Mrs. Hudson back out the door and down the stairs to their respective flats.

"So..." Katie began, "Did you know you had a daughter?"

Sherlock stood silently for another moment contemplating his answer, "Your mother, Lily, left me when she was around three months pregnant. I haven't seen her or heard from her since that day."

Katie frowned and looked at her feet, "If you don't want me I understand," Katie began, "I hear you are busy now-a-days what with Moriarty back in England?" She said with a fake smile on her face. It killed her inside to say his name after what he did to her once seemingly perfect family.

Sherlock looked startled for a moment and then realized that most everyone in the civilized world knew who Moriarty was. "For starters I'm not going to 'get rid' of you, you are my daughter and you will live with with me, if you so choose," Sherlock began, "But as for Moriarty, the look on your face tells me you know Moriarty. You've been affected by him somehow."

"Wow," Katie exclaimed, "your deductive skills really surpass what the tabloids have said about you..." Katie looked off beyond Sherlock, at the wall with the yellow smiley face behind him.

"Come, sit." Sherlock said, pointing to his best friend John's old chair. Katie set her small bag down and went to the chair as Sherlock propped himself into his chair.

"My mother died around three weeks ago. As you know-or maybe you don't know... my mother was a spy. Anyway, I came home from my place of work and she was on the floor bleeding, the wound was obviously fatal. She managed to say, "find Sherlock" and "Moriarty" before she died. Next thing I knew someone grabbed me from behind. I was stupid to not look around the situation. Anyways, whoever he was, he dragged me to some shed in the middle of nowhere. He asked me questions about you, my mother, and what I was going to do next. And as I'm sure you've noticed already, yes I was tied to a chair. I asked him who he worked for and he said Moriarty. He beat me quite a fair bit over the course of six days. But upon leaving me in the shed on the sixth night he made a mistake. He dropped a knife from his pocket. I slowly repositioned the chair so that I fell over and grabbed the knife. I loosened my bindings just enough and when he came in the next morning he yelled at me and set me back upright..." Katie slowed, almost as though she was yet unsure of what she did next. Meanwhile the look on Sherlock's face never changed.

"I took the knife and I slit his throat," Katie began,"then I cut my bindings and ran back to my apartment. I know that was another dumb move but I had to see whether my mother was still there. She was, and naturally decomposition had begun. I packed a small bag with some clothes, grabbed some money and it took me a couple weeks but... here I am."

After Katie had concluded her story Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes, moving his hands under his chin as though he was praying.

"Well now," he began after what seemed like an eternity, "I'll lead you to your room." He stood up and went to her suitcase, grabbed it and proceeded through the door and up a set of stairs. Katie hopped up and sped after him.

"This is John Watson's old room," he began, "he is my best friend, and I'm sure you and he will get on rather well, his wife, Mary, is due to have a baby in-"

"Three weeks," Katie broke in.

"You are smart," Sherlock reveled, "good."

"I graduated high school in America a couple months ago," Katie said. Sherlock smiled discreetly so only he, and Mycroft-God knows he was watching could see it.

"I'm sure Mrs. Hudson or Mary will accompany you shopping for whatever you need in the morning, but right now I'll leave you to your own devices. You can come downstairs when you're ready..." Sherlock finished. He didn't know if he was supposed to hug her or tell her everything would be alright. He didn't know how to be a father.

"Thank you," Katie concluded.

Sherlock took that as his cue to leave and he walked out the door, shutting it behind him. He walked back down to his bedroom and shut his door. He leaned his back to the wall, suddenly feeling tired. He slid down the wall and pulled out his cellphone.

"Mycroft," he said into the receiver, "have you heard what just transpired in my flat?"

"Yes brother mine. You're still keeping secrets from me, eh?" Mycroft replied, in a calm but agitated tone.