This one was inspired by Tell Me It's Not True from Blood Brothers. I suggest a listen - it's really quite beautiful, and actually from the end where she loses her sons. I'm afraid that this story's mystery-solving is not good, but I'm not really a mystery writer, and it had to be there with the storyline.

A special mention goes to xoxoChairGossipxoxo and WhoLocked4Life, for encouraging me to do it. And thank you to everyone who left me such lovely reviews on the first story, When He Loved Me. I suggest reading it before this one.

I don't own Sherlock!

"When was the last time you hugged me, Sherlock? When was the last time you told me that you loved me?"

I stared at my daughter, eyebrows raised, surprised by this sudden burst. Well, then, this shouldn't be too difficult. I entered through the elegant doors leading into my mind palace and headed straight for her room… Strange. There wasn't much in there, and what was there was covered in a fine layer of dust. And I couldn't quite find the information I was searching for.

I returned my attention to her, took her insults without so much as a flinch. I was used to people shouting much worse abuse. Then she turned abruptly, marched from the room. I heard the front door slam, and there was silence.

Probably just the start of teenage tantrums.

I sighed, closed my eyes and entered my mind palace again. But each time I searched for missed details from the crime scene today, I only ended up back at her room.

I woke up the late the next morning, arm hanging off the side of the couch. With a sigh, for indeed it was morning, I launched up and made myself a cup of tea. I paused while stirring in my sugar, however. No signs of the kitchens being touched today. Usually it would be in a mess from Rose eating before heading to school.

It's alright, I told myself. Maybe she'd gone to a friend's house, or begged a place to sleep off Lestrade. He really was too soft on her sometimes.

There was no need to worry. She knew her way around London reasonably well for an eleven year-old. She would be back. I had stormed off a couple of times when I was young, but I had always returned. Not with my tail between my legs, but with my head held high for having discovered something new. That was how I was different from other children. I still got scolded though.

Of course, I'd scold her when she came back. But I'd let her know that I did love her. She wouldn't be away for too long…

What she had said was true, I decided on the second day of her being missing. I had withdrawn from her after Mycroft died. I knew what it felt like to lose someone you loved, and she'd already been through enough with her mother. I'd realised how dangerous my work was. Maybe if I disconnected myself from her, she would learn to distance her connection from me.

I didn't grow close to anyone; I just didn't feel the need to. It was better like that, anyway. Less distractions from my work. Mycroft I couldn't help, of course. But then there was that phone call informing me of a child I never knew I had, and a few days later, she was on ym doorstep.

I resisted her for a while. I had to. I couldn't very well allow her to break the promise I'd made to myself. And yet she became braver, and I became warmer, and I gave in to her when she asked me to read to her a bedtime story. When her small frame nestled against me, I felt something properly human. Paternal emotion. I wanted to protect her.

Picking up my cellphone, I gave Lestrade a call. He hadn't seen her, and I picked on the tinge of worry in his voice. I asked him to keep an eye out, and then terminated the call. I then made to call one of her friends' mothers, but then I realised… I didn't even know who her friends were, or even if she had any. Maybe she took after me. I settled on calling the school. They hadn't seen her either.

I decided to have a look outside, but all that I could see were puddles. In any case, she would have run. Nothing here would help me. Worry had started to grow – at least, I think that it was that. It was so foreign. She'd never done this before… A runaway at eleven.

I had to get her back, I decided. It had been wrong to abandon her as I had. She needed to know that I did love her. Perhaps, for once, I had made a mistake.

My Homeless Network called me up soon after I made my first call to them on the third day. They'd seen someone running in the rain, fists clenched to her sides, crying. My heart seemed to make a strange twisting motion in my chest at that. I tried my best to ignore it.

"Where did she head next?" I barked.

"Took a lef' down tha' road. We dunno where she headed from there," came the rough voice down the other line.

I nodded to myself. "Thank you." I hung up and grabbed my scarf to knot around my neck, pulled up my collar, and quickly fixed my hair. It was time to find my little girl.

Soon enough, I stalked down that road alone. This was my case, my mission. I would save her.

My eyes darted about the street – it was lonely and had plenty of alleyways. It would be easy enough to abduct a disorientated eleven year-old in the rain and darkness.

I followed the simple signs that nature left me, and scoured the ground for disturbed mud, or gravel, or really anything out of place… There! I hurried to the disturbance of gravel, crouched down by it. Then I leaned forward to sniff. Aha. There it was – he was clumsy. I could tell it was a man by the shoe size compared to the smaller one of Rose. It was definitely her. And what had I smelled?

Chloroform, of course.

On the fourth day, I awoke in my chair. I had spent all of last night searching my mind and researching the Internet for any strange abductions or people wishing to target me. Nothing. I checked my cellphone, too. No cryptic messages there. She had disappeared into thin air.

I stood up abruptly and paced the length of the room, then back again. What if she had simply been kidnapped into slavery – not at all because of me? A cold shiver ran down my spine. What if she had been introduced into a ring of child predators? No, no, those types weren't clever enough. They'd have to be tailing her for a while in order to organise the man with the chloroform at that moment in that street. There was a reason why it was her.

Perhaps it was me. Me! Why couldn't they just-

That was when my cellphone rang. I stared down at the blocked number for a moment, then slid it open to answer.

"Hello?"

"Sherlock- I- They're hurting me so bad."

That forlorn sob shook me to the core. It was Rose. I found myself unable to speak, my lips partially open. There was such agony and desperation and misery in that young voice. I'd sworn that I'd never let anyone hurt her. But they had. I could hear the phone being taken away, and then another voice spoke.

"Hear her, Sherlock Holmes? We've been torturing her for information on you. Says she doesn't know anything. If she continues on like this, she certainly won't be walking again."

The dark growl of a voice echoed, as had Rosemary's. It was a large basement, and in London, if the accent was anything to go by. I had to speak, however. And I needed to be clever.

"So, I will assume that you're calling because you think that I care and will therefore come to rescue her?" I paused for a moment. It was all the act. "Wrong. I don't care enough about anyone to risk my life or livelihood for them. But there's no need to kill her, really. That's just unnecessary."

"She is your daughter. We thought that you would want to come for her. You wouldn't let your own flesh and blood die at the hands of torturers, would you…?" His voice held an edge of worry that he was trying to conceal. Nothing could be hidden from me.

"You don't know me at all, do you?" I asked, smirking as I spoke to add that hint of smugness that always unnerved unsure criminals. "Try me," I murmured before terminating the call with a soft beep.

I searched the maps of London in my mind again, plotting out those buildings with large basements. One seemed the most likely – it was nearest to the place of the abduction. Additionally, it was supposedly abandoned. But I needed to be sure.

That's why I called Lestrade.

I spent all of the fifth day with Lestrade. It was annoying, to say the least. But it was worth it. He had access to London's CCTV cameras. They would have had to put her into some sort of vehicle. We scoured the tapes, kept our eyes sharp and peeled… Then I saw it.

A black car purred along the street, and I glimpsed a lifeless lolling head of dark hair before it disappeared.

"There," I breathed.

The criminals were clever. We didn't catch them on CCTV again. But that was enough – and the area was close to the building.

They wanted to lure me in. There might be traps, snipers, worse. I didn't know why they wanted me. But we had to be careful in order to save my daughter's life and survive in the process of doing so.

So we made a plan. It was a bit strange, really. Seeing it all drawn up on paper and influenced by others, instead of simply being inside my own head. They wanted me to stay out of the action.

Well, we'll just see about that, I thought to myself as we departed from the building at 11pm.

It was day six, and today was the day that we would rescue her. I would take her away from that dreadful place. I would keep my vow of always coming to save her. And I would tell her just how much I loved her.

We staked out inside the building opposite. We waited, watched how occasionally one man would slip inside while another would make his exit. Lestrade's forces were going to storm this place. And they did, at the correct time (for once). I infiltrated the place with them, hurtled down the steps I'd discovered before they even knew that I was there.

Then I broke the door down. It wasn't my usual style, but this wasn't any usual case. The smell inside was terrible, and the room was badly lit. But I could make out a large figure holding a smaller one against the wall. And the twisting motion of his arm told me all that I needed to know.

"No!" I yelled, running forward and fiercely shoving him aside to the floor. His head made a hollow sound as it smacked against the concrete. Lestrade's men were now storming the place – I could hear from the sounds above. He would soon be taken care of. I was frozen in place, staring down at my child bleeding out onto the floor.

It seemed to be slow motion as I fell to my knees beside her. She seemed so small, so light, as I raised her upper body with one hand. This couldn't be real… And yet it was, so clearly true, all because of one stupid decision I'd made. I never could read people as I read a crime scene. Pain shot through me through the heart, and I swallowed.

"Rose- Please, no- Don't," I begged. I unfurled her fingers from around the knife's hilt. She was bleeding so much, too much, my fingers were slippery. I didn't care. It was her blood. I didn't… She wouldn't make it. Even I could tell that.

"Rosemary Holmes, I do- I do love you. I'm sorry…!" My speech dissipated into a pained howl as I cradled her close.

""I love you too, Dad."

"You promised," I choked out childishly. She had. She had told me that she'd never leave me alone as Mycroft had. But some promises couldn't be kept.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I apologised before breaking down into despairing sobs and hiccups that echoed around the room. Her little body was so broken as I rocked her. I was supposed to protect her. I hadn't. I felt her respond to my touch. Human touch – something I hadn't felt the need for in years. Now I craved it endlessly from her.

"It's okay, Daddy. I'm with you. It's okay," came her small voice. She knew she was going to die. It couldn't end like this – so abruptly and cruelly in such a horrible place. Rose deserved so much better.

"Don't go," I choked out. "I'll save you, you're going to be alright – I wouldn't ever let anyone harm a hair on your head because I love you. I won't let you go if you don't want to go," I sobbed. "I will always come for you – and you promised, you promised so you can't break your promise, and you can't leave me alone. We'll get ice cream after all of this, and I'll chase you and grab you and swing you and laugh with you and read to you because that's what we used to do…"

I hung my head, breathed in and out slowly as cold tears dripped down my cheeks and joined hers where we touched.

"I will always love you," I whispered to her. Those blue eyes seemed to shine through their pain for just a moment. Then they became still and glassy, moving no more.

The sound of a wounded animal escaped my lungs, my entirely alive body seeming to mock the dead one it was holding, and I pressed her close to me, kept on rocking her. "Rose, Rose," I repeated raggedly like a mantra. I didn't want to let her go. But she wasn't gone, was she? No, never, my little English Rose couldn't depart this life like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

I felt cruel hands unclamp my fingers from her jacket, drag me away from her stillness. I couldn't hear what they were saying. All that repeated in my head was my promise to protect her, how she whispered that she was going to be alright when she died, the pain she was experiencing making her voice break.

"I promised her, she promised me," I croaked to no-one and everyone, kept on repeating and repeating.

All I knew was that I died when she died.

If you liked it, please let me know.

A second chapter after these events is currently in the works.