"Quickly now, John!" Sherlock yelled up the stairs.

He was in quite a hurry. They had not had a fresh case in weeks, and Sherlock was ready to pounce. John on the other hand, had taken this opportunity to work extra shifts at the clinic, his last one being a particularly long graveyard. Though of course his flat mate had not taking this into account, wondering why John was still in bed at half past twelve.

Grumbling, John gave a muffled reply of, "I'm almost ready," through his bedroom door.

For the next ten minutes the detective paced anxiously at the bottom of the steps.

In no time at all after that, the two were in a cab, discussing the case ahead of them.

"So…where are we going?" John asked timidly, for he had forgotten to ask before running out the door, in tow of Sherlock.

"37 Broomwall Place. John, do keep up." Sherlock huffed in annoyance. But as he said it, he could help but wonder why 37 Broomwall Place rang in his memory. He felt that in held some importance, though he couldn't quite see it, as if it was some insignificant detail that he had deleted. He discarded the thought and arrived at the crime scene.

Walking up to Lestrade,

"Ah, Sherlock, John," Lestrade spoke, the two men reaching him, "So sorry to bring you here on such short notice."

"It's fine Greg," John responded, levelheaded. Sherlock however cut right to the chase.

"Details." He said harshly, walking towards the entrance to the building.

"Right" Lestrade replied, trying to catch up. "Female, found dead in her home by her daughter. Daughter's alibi is that she was with her father from nine to eleven, only to come home and find the body. Servants confirmed her story. The woman was stabbed multiple times in the lower back. The intruder must have come in through the fire escape, as the servants had not let anyone in prior to the attack."

Lestrade would have continued, but Sherlock put up a hand to silence him. They had also arrived at the crime scene.

"No." Sherlock whispered. "No, no, no, no."

John looked over at the detective, surprised at what he saw. Sherlock's eyes were glossy, as if filled with tears, his body was shaking slightly (perhaps of fear, John noted grimly), and his hands were in fists. This was not something he had seen before. John had always known him to be calm, collected, calculating; yet at the moment he looked like a lost child. Worried, he reached out to Sherlock, fingers barely touching the sleeve of his jacket before Sherlock went off.

"Female, 34, the late Emily Holmes."

"What the fuck?" Was all Anderson could think to say just as Sherlock began running- no, sprinting down the corridor to the stairs.

Distraught, John, Lestrade, Anderson, and Donovan exchanged looks before heading after him, John taking the lead.

John had spent an awful lot of time chasing after Sherlock Holmes over the years. Through alleyways, crime scenes, the greater part of London, and most recently through the depths of his heart. In the end, John had always cared about Sherlock, but it wasn't until that very moment, watching tears threaten to fall down his cheeks, that John realized he truly loved him. And now, running down the stairs, chasing after him once again, he almost smiled. Almost.

Reaching the bottom, John stumbled, almost completely falling, before catching him self and running through the open door to the lobby. Once there he stopped, stunned by what he saw. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.

Sherlock.

Looking around anxiously trying to find something.

Sherlock.

Falling to his knees once he found what he was looking for, and screaming:

"Lisbeth!"

John pulled his eyes away from Sherlock, looking up to see what he was seeing. A crowd; police officers, medics, and the likes crowding around something. The crowd parting just enough that he could make out a girl, no older than 16 wrapped in an orange shock blanket.

Her head drew up at the sound of Sherlock's voice, her tear stained face brightening. She jumped up, blanket flying off behind her, and ran towards the detective, whose arms were up in the air. She ran into his arms, and nothing could prepare John for what happened next:

"Dad!"