This is my first story and I'm german, so go easy on me. Please read and review!

Katherine Holmes

A golden stray of light fell through the curtains and woke Sherlock up. He looked at the alarm clock and groaned.

'John, wake up!' he said quietly.

John mumbled something.

'Come on, John, Lestrade is waiting,' he tried again.

'How can you know? Oh, I should have known,' John said, as Sherlock's phone rang.

'Lestrade, we're at SY in thirty minutes,' Sherlock said, without bothering to even say hello.

He smiled, while he listened to Lestrade, the hung up.

'A murder in Ossington Street. Coming, John?'

'Give me a minute, you're not up yet either, honey,' John murmured the last bit.

'Yes I am, and I was talking to you and you said I shouldn't be rude, so...'

John groaned. Although he loved Sherlock, he sometimes just had to shake his head over the detective's behaviour.

'Since when do you call Scotland Yard 'SY'?' John asked.

'I don't know, actually. Never noticed?' Sherlock replied.

John just chuckled.

Sherlock moved around the little room where the victim was found. It was an elderly man with filthy hair and dirty clothes, yet the clothes must have been expensive not long ago. A big stain of blood was on the chest of the man, red against the dirty white of the shirt, and although they knew the blood was his, he didn't have a wound there. In fact, the place where the fatal wound was, the armpit, there was no trace of blood, even though the coat had a neat cut there,clearly where the knife had gone through.

John noticed Sherlock narrowing his eyes, and when he turned around, he saw Anderson at the door with Sally.

'Hello, Freak,' she said.

Sherlock simply ignored them, sighed, and turned around to Lestrade.

'I thought you said this was a hard one,' he said accusingly.

'It is, there's no sign of struggle, the door was locked from the inside, there's no weapon here anywhere, and the blood is on the wrong place. And no, this isn't like this Blind Banker case you told me about, the windows and everything was locked.

So, how did it happen?'

'I told you only to call when you have a hard one, please do that from now on.' Sherlock didn't even bother to answer Lestrade's question.

'It was hard for us,' Lestrade said.

'Yes, because you're idiots. The windows, this man's drug dealer, his friend, but... Anyway,you should be able to figure out how it happened now. Coming, John?' Sherlock said, he was already bored.

'Erm... yes, sure?' John answered with an apologizing smile towards Lestrade and followed Sherlock.

'You know, you could've at least told them the solution. It wouldn't have taken long, would it?' John asked, when they were in the cab.

'Actually, I thought I could give them the chance to solve at least one case a month on their own... No, seriously, Mycroft texted me. He just said 221B, and I'm bored, so maybe it will distract me to annoy him,' Sherlock said with a smile.

John chuckled and took Sherlock's hand.

The heavy rain stopped shortly after they entered 221B, and as John turned around to see if the door was closed, he saw a flash of fury on Sherlock's face.

'Sherlock, love, is everything alright?' he asked, concerned.

Sherlock sighed and nodded, gently kissed John and walked up he stairs to their flat. John shook his head, but followed him.

'Mycroft, what are you... who's that?' Sherlock asked, while he was opening the door.

'Hello Sherlock, John, I just quickly wanted to check in and leave some files, and who that is, I have actually no idea. I want the solution soon, so hurry up, will you?'

With those words, he left the flat. That was when John noticed the girl sitting on the couch. She was tall for her age, John guessed fourteen, with dark curls, fair skin and pale eyes. All in all, she was very pretty.

'Hello sweetie, I'm John Watson, so who are you?' John said, shaking the hand of the girl who had stood up.

'My name is-' she said, but Sherlock interrupted her:

'Katherine Holmes.' He said quietly.

'Sorry, how did you know?' Katherine asked confused.

'Bag,' was Sherlock's short answer.

He looked at her.

Tall, dark curls, fourteen years and five months old, normal mother, no father, recent grief, very intelligent. Grew up in Cornwall, went to school there. Not poor, but not much money either. Loves mother very much.

And suddenly he knew who this was. There was only one person who she could be.

John looked at her, too. On her medium sized bag which was on the floor was a small label with the name Katherine Holmes on it.

'Sweetie, just sit down for a moment, we're back in a minute,' John said, as he pulled Sherlock in his bedroom and closed the door.

'What?' Sherlock asked quietly.

'You could have said hello, you know. I don't want you to do it in front of her, I'm sure you would scare her or insult her, but I know you know who she is and you're bursting to tell me. So, who is she?' John said.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked at John.

'Well... She's my daughter.'

So, do you think I should continue?