The morning had begun as it usually would, Sherlock dragging himself out of bed at a late hour after sleeping in, John making himself and the Holmes boy a cuppa before relaxing back in his chair with the paper. Sherlock's curls were unkempt and he dropped himself onto the couch, his eyes immediately shutting again as he sipped his tea.

The case they had most recently been on kept them up for a day short of two weeks, and Sherlock's inevitable crash was no surprise to John. Today would be filled with sleeping, relaxing, eating, and comfortable quiet. John, luckily, had the day off from work and was happy to spend the day doing nothing productive.

Ity was only around ten minutes after Sherlock had gotten up that his phone rang. John and Sherlock shared a look- it had to be important for a call. Sherlock blew out an irritated breath, making John roll his eyes as he stood and went to locate the phone and hand it over to Sherlock. Sherlock's narrowed eyes glanced at the screen before he answered the call, his mood swiftly going sour- John could only assume it was Mycroft.

"What is it?" Sherlock huffed.

John couldn't hear the reply, but watched Sherlock's face to try and figure out what was being said. Sherlock was silent for a while and, to John's surprise, seemed tense while his scowl slowly dissipated into a glazed-over stare.

"Sherlock?" Came the doctor's soft tone, hoping to get word of what was happening.

"When?" Was the abrupt reply Sherlock gave into the phone, waving John up out of his chair while he stood himself, rushing off to his room to presumably get dressed.

As the door slammed, John heard no more replies from Sherlock and he busied himself with finishing his tea, trying to decipher what was going on. Sherlock wouldn't have reacted like that to a case, no, and it was rather obvious that Mycroft wanted them somewhere- but what could cause Sherlock to, dare he say, panic like that? Sherlock emerged from his room five minutes later, his hair now brushed and styled like usual, dressed in his normal suit, a solemn look on his face as he donned his coat and scarf.

"Come on, John. Hurry up." He hissed, and John told himself he imagined the anxious undertone of Sherlock's words.

But, John obeyed and pulled on his own coat and followed Sherlock downstairs to the black car that Mycroft had very obviously sent. Wordlessly Sherlock climbed in, expecting John to follow.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?" His voice was cautious but concerned as John watched Sherlock bounce his knee in the car.

"Hm? Yes, yes, fine." He mumbled, eyes very deliberately turned out the window.

John let it go, but didn't miss Sherlock's fists, curled so tight his knuckles were white.

When they arrived, Mycroft was standing outside, a cigarette between his lips. As John stepped out, he took a long drag before dropping it and putting it out with the toe of his shoe.

"Doctor Watson, Sher-" He began calmly, but Sherlock was already stepping past him, walking to the door and slamming it shut behind him.

"He's been in a right foul mood since you called, Mycroft." John commented as he walked up,"What's going on? He hasn't breathed a word to me."

Mycroft managed a fake, apologetic smile,"I can only imagine he's been...upset, for lack of a better word."

John walked beside him as they went to the door,"Why, exactly?"

Mycroft was quiet a moment,"My brother had very few friends as a child, Doctor, and I'm sure you can imagine why."

"Doesn't mean it's not a right stupid reason." John sighed, his tone serious.

"I agree. But in any case, he spent most of his adolescent years with his cousin , who is close to 10 years younger than him. He first made her acquaintance when he was 19, at the christmas party. At the time, she was only just 1 year old, and after he coddled her all night- oh, please don't give me that look, Watson, Sherlock simply adored her for good reason. She could listen to him attentively and not once when he held her did she cry. But, when the girl's mother denied him access to her for fear he would...'rub off on her', Sherlock promptly moved out- Not to soon after he went back to drugs." Mycroft explained.

John simply nodded,"Yeah, I think I can understand. Go on."

Mycroft paused as they reached the door, his hand resting on the door handle. He turned to John,"Well, currently, she is 12 years of age. This morning, her parents were in a crash and...well…"

John nodded solemnly,"Is she alright?"

Mycroft nodded,"Thank god. But she is very distressed. Her parents were killed on impact."

John rubbed a hand down his face, taking a breath,"Yeah, alright. Sorry for your loss, I suppose. How's Violet?"

Mycroft pushed the door open and led John inside the large house once more,"She's alright- they didn't have much contact after..."

John didn't hear the rest of what Mycroft said, because it was there, in the middle of the room, that Sherlock Holmes sat on the floor, a girl in jeans and a grey jumper curled up in his arms.