Nothing slipped past Mycroft Holmes, not after his many years of being the British government, as well as keeping an eye on his younger sibling. It would have been quite easy for the eldest Holmes to go about his life and forget something if he was a normal person, but he wasn't, that would not be something befitting a Holmes. No, Mycroft had the memory of an iron-trap, nothing slipped past him and so he would a some points have a manila envelope handed to him by Anthea from one of his many sources of eyes, or it would appear on his desk once a month or at his request once a week. When no one was around, after hours for most people had left the area, Mycroft would gather his briefcase and head home, a quiet imperceptible gleam to his eyes. Once within the relative peace and safety of his house he'd settle with a cup of tea and open the envelope.

It was a relatively normal day for Mycroft, he had met with various delegates and diffused volatile situations, but now it was small span of time for himself. He had shed his suit coat and placed his ever present umbrella in its stand and was sitting in his dining room, a small meal and a steaming cup of tea before him and a thick manila envelope.

His house was silent as he let tension drop from his shoulders while he sipped his tea, lazily he finished his meal, enjoying the languid feeling of the evening. Setting his cup to the side he picked up the envelope and slid out reports and pictures there was a small twitch of his lips, something he rarely allowed to appear. The cause of such a reaction from someone so seemingly cold and detached was... unsettling to say the least. It was the closest thing to a willing smile that most would see upon his face.

Mycroft spread the contents of the file in front of him and glanced into the large manila envelope and drew forth a packet of bound letters. His brow furrowed momentarily as he quickly deduced that the letters were mostly from a lawyer in America, minus the one from his own personal attorney. Standing thoughtfully, he put his dishes in the sink, and gathered the contents from the envelope and moved to his den, feeling the need for privacy as he settled into the rich brown leather chair behind his ancient looking desk.

Once again he laid out the contents he had taken from the envelope; he arranged everything strategically before taking his letter opener and calmly slitting open the first letter. He read through that letter and several others, each seemed to be about unimportant matters. At last Mycroft came to the last two letters in the stack. His eyes narrowed very slightly as he picked up one. The writing was so familiar to him, though it was unexpected to hear from her. A small smirk crossed his face as he opened the letter and recalled a particularly exceptional person he met ten years ago.

Dear Mycroft,

If you are reading this, as cliché as it sounds, it will be after my death, or disappearance. Whichever way it ended, I leave what you sent me over with.

It is with my deepest sympathy and love that I write these words. Remember this is something that even you could not stop.

Carson as you already know passed on, he was a good man and I feel for his dear family as if the unfortunate incident happened yesterday. You were right to try and keep us safe, but now I can't continue with my part of the arrangement I relinquish my hold into your capable hands.

My deepest sentiments were with you both till the last... I would say its likely people will be close to follow me.

Again, know that it was a lovely portion of life and thank you My, for caring in your own way. You will do a wonderful job as you set out in this new venture.

However...whatever you feel, please don't question it,... you stubborn Holmes. Life is too short.

Yours With Love,

Caroline Rivers-Holmes.

Mycroft read the letter carefully, taking in the hidden messages Caroline had woven into each paragraph, he mulled over the sentiment of it all. Despite the disadvantage of caring, Mycroft could not stop the deep sadness that washed over him, and for once he didn't try to push it aside. She after all had been his wife, and Mycroft Holmes was not one to just marry anyone. Caroline had been something... special, he would admit that.

It was an injustice that she was dead, Caroline had been a bright person, someone that understood his need to distance himself from sentiment. She was a remarkable woman in Mycroft's opinion, and she had possessed ideas and opinions nearly as strong as his and a witty sense of humor that balanced his more dark and dry humor, that is when he showed any humor. It was no surprise that Mycroft was drawn to her intelligence first, rather than her looks, though he would never deny that his wife had been a beautiful woman. A grimace of what could undoubtedly be grief crossed his face as he recalled what little time they had been allowed to spend with one another.

Glancing down he saw that she had enclosed a picture of herself and he paused as he glanced at the other person in the photo. In the picture Caroline's soft strawberry blonde hair fell just past her shoulders in gentle waves, she was undoubtedly just as beautiful as he recalled. Her bright green eyes were crinkled in laughter and her arms were wrapped around a girl of about nine years of age. Looking at the picture Mycroft was drawn into memories, allowing him a time of reverie, something he was not often apt to do.

Caroline had been a vivacious woman, the embodiment of the word alive. The redhead had intrigued Mycroft, though he would not admit it aloud. The two had met when Caroline, who was a liaison agent at the moment, was recalled to England after some time abroad. Mycroft had never met her but he had come across a file bearing her name.

It was a rather informal how the two met, but it was still clear in Mycroft's perfectly organized mind. He had been taking a walk when there had come a torrential downfall of rain mixed with light sleet. Quickly he'd opened his umbrella and as the rain picked up its pace, he hastened his steps and moved towards a small cozy looking building that turned out to be a combination bookstore and cafe.

As he neared the bookstore he noticed a tall red headed woman from the corner of his eyes just stepping onto the curb to the left. A car zipped by at that moment and its tires spun through a puddle, spraying the willowy redhead. An indignant huff came from her direction and Mycroft, being the elegant gentleman that he is offered her the cover of his umbrella and his arm to her.

Bright green eyes assessed Mycroft in a keen way as he offered his assistance. Her intense gaze, matched with the now wet hair lightly adhered to her elegant features had drawn Mycroft in like a moth to flame. With a graceful touch she took his arm and stepped under the shelter of his umbrella. The eldest Holmes couldn't help but find himself pleased that she had taken his arm. A smirk of smug confidence touched his lips and turned into a small smile as she regarded him from the corner of her eye while he lead them both into the warmth of the awaiting building.

Mycroft had no doubt that she was of keen intelligence, albeit he had found it foolhardy for anyone to go out without a proper umbrella, and he had told her so in an offhand fashion. His proclamation that she should invest in an umbrella if she ventured to stay in London long, elicited a soft laugh from the woman.

"Really, now? I am usually prepared for such situations but..."

"You've just recently returned," Mycroft slyly finished her sentence, as he had already deduced several things about her. "I take it you are native to London." He closed his umbrella and held the door as she wrung out the ends of her hair before stepping inside.

"Yes I am. You would be Mycroft Holmes?" Her gem-like eyes danced with a warmth as the damp pair settled at an empty table.

"I am, and you would be Caroline Rivers," Mycroft easily recalled a file with a picture of plausible liaison agents. "Returning to London so soon?"

"Things are wrapped up for now. I must thank you for your dashing rescue with your umbrella." Mirth bubbled in her tone, and Mycroft found the sound of her voice resembled that of a fine wine... he found he rather liked it.

"In that case you would not mind sharing a cup of tea? I cannot have someone that will be in my employment to catch their death of cold."

"Employee?" She arched an eyebrow evenly as a waitress came over to take a quick order. "I think you are jumping to conclusions Mr. Holmes." Caroline answered with a firm look in her eyes while she shed her wet coat and hung it on the back of her chair. Mycroft merely looked at her as the waitress returned with their tea.

"How so?" His voice held a underlying tint of amusement as he sipped his tea.

"I never sent my file to your office, so it must be apparent that I am not seeking to be your employee." Her eyes held shrewdness and a keen sharpness that he immediately appreciated.

"Indeed, it would seem you aren't. However, I am in need of a new liaison agent."

"And I am what you are looking for?"

"Yes. Now shall we discuss the hours you will be working."

"I never said yes." Caroline's tone spoke of a woman who knew her mind and wasn't one to be manipulated. He couldn't help but smirk slightly, she was no goldfish.

"You did not."

"Might I inquire as to why you feel I am the one to fit this position?"

"You may, though I am not required to answer," His lips twitched in amusement.

"My, you do seem to think you are important," Her posture screamed that she was challenging his authority.

"I merely hold a small government position."

"Oh, please, Mr. Holmes. I am not an idiotic woman," her eyes flashed, warning him that it would not be wise to say she was anything less of brilliant. "You play a major part in our government. In fact," her lyrical voice dropped an octave, "I'd say you are the government."

Silence greeted her words, but his slight smile and the lift of one of his eyebrows was answer enough. She knew that her words rang more true than she had intended them to. No other words were spoken about work after that and the two simply sipped their tea and surprisingly talked of the weather and other normal things.

In the next few weeks the British government managed to asked Caroline out to dinner and within half a year the two had a small wedding ceremony held in the country. Mycroft had questioned himself and his abrupt choice of action, everything had seemed to progress quickly between the two of them. However brash it was of him, Mycroft couldn't bring himself to regret it, she was a welcome balance to his life. With careful planning Mycroft and Caroline had kept their relationship secret, even Sherlock hadn't suspected, which in itself was an amazing feat.

With a nonexistent sigh Mycroft tore himself from his thoughts and fingered the photograph and leaned back into the compliant brown leather. He glanced at the date on the letter... four days ago, meaning that he needed to escalate things. Mycroft did not fancy the idea of his own flesh and blood in a social services building, being treated as an insignificant person. Taking a deep breath, he straightened the papers and files on his desk and picked up his phone. In a minuscule amount of time he had his agents cut any red tape preventing the return of what he and Caroline had been protecting for years. It was not going to be an easy task, yet Mycroft reminded himself that little else was ever easy in life, so this should not be as difficult as he was imagining.

Once everything was in order he closed his phone and picked up the photo, glancing at the image a thin wistful smile touched his lips. Taking his time, the eldest Holmes' made his way to his room and retired for the night, knowing that the next day would be wrought with far too many things to do for the average person, but of course, the Holmes' are not average.

~Next day later in the evening~

Traveling to a new home is never something that one would consider enjoyable, especially when that new home is half way around the world. A young girl shifted nervously in her seat, biting her lip she glanced out the window and down at the runway that the plane was quickly coming to meet. With a shaky breath she glanced around the first class cabin of the plane, within a few minutes she would be landing in London, England...and going to a new home. A bit angry with life she kicked a foot against the floor and made sure her seat belt was in place. She'd not been told anything about who she'd be living with, only that her new home wouldn't be in America, it would be in England.

Sighing she folded her hands in her lap, her blue denim pants and a periwinkle blue sweater set off her fair cream complexion. Her soft strawberry blonde hair was neatly pulled back in a ponytail and a few stray pieces framed a fair childlike face, there was an intelligence to her looks, perhaps it was the slight lift of her chin or the sharp gleam to her blue grey eyes, whatever it was, there was no mistaking her as an ordinary child. An advanced puzzle book lay beneath her folded hands as the plane jolted while sitting down on the runway. With a quick glance out the window yet again, a queer sight caught her eyes.

Dashing between planes her keen eyes caught sight of something dark, some sort of long coat. Pressing a hand to the window she watched ever so carefully as a man darted here and there before making his way towards the inside of the airport.

"That's unusual," the girl thought as the stewardess announced that they could begin to exit the plane. She quickly loosened the confining belt and jumped to her feet, grabbing her carry-on she slipped the puzzle book inside and waited for her escort to lead her off the plane. He was a tall man, with coal black hair peppered with grey, and all he had told her upon retrieving her from American social services was that she could call him Faust.

It was quite infuriating to the young girl to have such little information about her current situation, she had easily determined that her new guardian was rather important considering that Faust dressed the part of a government man, leading her to believe whomever she was going to be living with felt she needed a bodyguard. She was no one's fool, the slight distortion of Faust's suit on his left side told her that he was armed.

Though she had pieced together some of the situation, the inquisitive child could not be satisfied with knowing so little, so she had lifted Faust's phone on the way onto the plane. It had been rather easy to do and it had confirmed her suspicions that he was an agent for her important guardian, his texts were clipped and to the point but it was obvious to her that he was to guard her and bring her to MH... After gleaning such information she had slipped him his phone while he dozed beside her.

Not a word came from Faust as he took her carry-on and quickly ushered her off the plane and into the airport. All he did was hover close to her as if she were in danger of disappearing in the blink of an eye.

"He is definitely keeping an eye out for someone to try something." She thought in annoyance at Faust's obvious paranoia. Glancing around her eyes caught sight of the long black coat she had spotted earlier. With keen eyes she took note of the person in the coat, the owner of it was in rather a hurry, running through the crowds of people that had just left security. He was tall and had thick ebony curls, the girl jotted it down in her memory and took stock of the coat before it and its owner disappeared from sight.

The sound of running could be heard and she noticed a shorter blonde man chasing after the taller gentleman, she heard him call out Sherlock. Her brow furrowed as she thought how odd the word was...or was it a name. Curiosity was gnawing at her as Faust escorted her outside and onto a sidewalk to wait for a vehicle.

After waiting for a good fifteen minutes her escort's patience was waning and he decided that a cab would work just as well, as he decided that, it seemed that everyone in the airport made a mass sidewalk was flooded with people and somehow the girl was swept out of Faust's ever watchful line of sight and into a cab, she turned wide grey-blue eyes towards the still open door as two men slid into the cab as well. Her sharp gaze quickly asserted that these were the two men from inside the airport. The tall one gave the cab driver an address and then with a petulant crossing of the arms he flounced back against the seat.

"Really John, you shouldn't have called out to me in the airport!"

"And you shouldn't have ran off like a complete idiot! There's a bomb threat and you decided NOT to tell me until inside...and then go running off!" The blonde man hissed slightly his eyes snapping angrily.

"Umm..."

"And who are you?" The coat owner raised his voice slightly and glared at the girl, however she didn't flinch. She merely glanced over him as if he was a puzzle.

"Who are y-..." She began only to be cut off.

"I asked you first."

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers," She smirked lightly.

"My names John Watson," the blonde man responded before the other man could. "I'm a doctor, and this is-"

"Sherlock Holmes."

"How did you?"

"She heard you call my name John."

"I only called your first name." John commented as he looked at the girl with obvious curiosity.

"You write a blog," she shrugged, "That is if you are that John Watson...it would mean he is Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock isn't a common name." She crossed her arms and lifted her chin in a bit of defiance.

"Yes...quite right. Who are you though?" Sherlock asked again with a little more command in his voice.

"Nancy H-."

"How did you end up in our cab?" John asked looking at her intently.

"There were a lot of people that exited the airport at the same time...I was separated from Faust." She announced causing Sherlock to perk up at the mention of the name Faust.

"Really? Faust..." His keen eyes, similarly colored to Nancy's roved over her as if she had suddenly became an object of extreme interest.

"Who's Faust?" John asked sounding a bit unsure.

"My escort..."

"An agent of Mycroft..." Sherlock seemed a bit giddy, "Why is my brother so interested in a child, from America...though her accent has a British flavor to it...Nine years old, recently orphaned."

"What?" John asked turning from the girl to Sherlock and back again. "She's just a child."

"No matter, we'll find out later, as she's coming with us. Tell me Nancy... do you enjoy a mystery?"

"I love it, but what about Faust...and my guardian will be worri-."

"Nonsense, you'll be perfectly safe and Faust will find you." Sherlock rolled his eyes as the cab pulled up to a crime scene and he hopped out leaving John to pay the driver. Nancy quickly followed, stuffing her hands in her pockets and falling into step beside John. As she and John passed vacant police cruisers and crossed yellow tape to enter a slightly run down building she couldn't help but sense something was off. Silently she took a step closer to John while they crept into a back room past police officers that were loitering in the halls. Standing just outside of the main crime scene was a tall African American police officer, her lips were pinched into a thin disapproving line as she glanced at the pair.

"Hey, why are you bringing a kid to a crime scene? That's even a bit out their for the Freak."

"That's rude." Nancy remarked looking at the policewoman who had made the comment.

"Yeah that's Donovan, just ignore her. Her bark is worse than her bite." John assured the girl as he placed a hand on her back and ushered her past the angry looking officer.

"Watson, keep the kid out of the way," Donovan called out, crossing her arms indignantly.

"I won't be in the way, you've already messed up some of the evidence anyway." Nancy muttered as she slipped from John's hold on her and meandered into the room where Sherlock was crouched next to a body. They young redhead calmly gazed around the room taking in every inch of the crime scene. Sherlock glanced up and watched her quiet observance with an interested gleam in his eyes.

"Nancy, come here." Sherlock spoke in a demanding tone, though it was laced with curiosity. He beckoned her over to crouch beside him, not thinking it odd to show a little girl a body.

"Sherlock!" John cried out in obvious distress.

"Please John," Sherlock spoke in a way that you could almost hear him rolling his eyes. "She's obviously not deterred by the body, and she has an observing eye."

"It's fine John." Nancy amended as she hurriedly came beside Sherlock and crouched beside him. Her eyes roamed over the figure laying on its side. "Mmmh...male...early forties," she muttered as she tilted her head to the side to get a view of his face before glancing at his hands. "He worked in a leather shop," she took a deep breath as if smelling something. "Right? I mean I smell leather from his general area..."

"Yes! Exactly." Sherlock sounded excited with her observations. "What else, come now that couldn't be all you noticed."

"Umm, he didn't die instantly... his right arm is extended towards the door and his hand is in a grasping motion... as if," Nancy bit her lip before continuing, "As if the assailant left without seeing if he was dead yet."

"There are no powder burns so that means he wasn't shot... the way the blood pools indicates he was stabbed...but the knife isn't present."

"She took it with her." Nancy piped in her eyes glistening as if a piece of the puzzle had shifted into place.

"How did you figure that out?" John asked in bewilderment as he glanced between Nancy and Sherlock.

"My thoughts exactly." A deep voice joined the conversation. "What's she doing here Sherlock?"

"Oh nothing Graham. She's observing." Sherlock replied as he basically waved off the older man that had stepped into the room.

"Its Greg." The man bit out as he glanced at the scene.

"Lestrade, any leads?" John asked turning from Sherlock and Nancy to converse with the man.

"Who's he?"

"Detective Inspector Lestrade..." Sherlock mumbled looking at something intently. "Works at Scotland Yard... Something doesn't fit.."

"What if he's a distraction... his death could be a plant... It was a girl right...I mean...the level of the wound..."

"Yes a girl," He replied distractedly as he hurriedly stood and looked around. "Everybody out!" Sherlock grasped Nancy by the arm and shoved her out of the room.

"Sherlock, what...?" John nearly yelled as Sherlock ordered people about in an obnoxiously arrogant tone.

"NOW JOHN!" At the strange urgency in his voice the doctor and the detective inspector followed Sherlock and emptied the building of any occupants. Just as the others stepped out the door, Sherlock grabbed Nancy and dashed out just as an explosion engulfed the building.

Angry red and orange flames licked the building from top to bottom and it tossed shrapnel from its frame and down upon those cowering upon the ground. The air filled with thick smoke and heat that nearly seared straight to the bone, and those who narrowly escaped being incinerated in the deadly explosion had ringing ears and were hugging the ground as debris continued to rain down.

No sound reached their ears for several minutes and most lay dazed upon the earth as rescue vehicles began to arrive, sirens screeching at the darkening sky. At last sound returned to Sherlock's ears and he blinked up at the sky only to be greeted by the sight of his brother standing over him, Sherlock had been thrown several feet from the initial impact of the explosion and he smirked up at his brother.

"Hello Mycroft." Even to his ears it sounded raspy, his brother glanced at him in a less concerned manner before glancing at something to Sherlock's left. That's when it struck Sherlock...the girl...Mycroft was here for the girl.

"Brother. " Mycroft met his eyes as Sherlock stumbled to his feet and regained his composure.

"I want an explanation." Sherlock demanded

Mycroft merely looked at his younger brother in a bored manner before turning and nodding to some of his personnel to collect the girl that had been laying to Sherlock's left. With not another word Mycroft, the girl and the personnel all disappeared behind the chaotic collection of fire trucks, police cars and ambulances. Needless to say Sherlock was not pleased... He wanted answers, and he wanted them now. He'd just have to go about getting answers his way. Sherlock would get his explanation one way or another, but for now, he needed to check on John. With a dramatic turn on his heel he stalked about the area searching for his friend the doctor and scheming of ways to find his beloved explanations to sate his endless curiosity.