"I'm sorry for your loss, now if you could please come with us," the child services agent said.

The girl had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. "Well," she tried to portray a poor hopeful newly-orphaned girl, "If we could find my father then-"

"I know you're hoping he's out there, but it would be near to impossible to find him!"

"I know, but if you could at least try…"

"Alright," she said, not wanting to break the girls hopes, "but don't expect a miracle,"

The girl hid a smirk. She didn't need a miracle, or their help. She could find him on her own.

*later*

The doorbell rang on Baker Street, and John Watson answered. He saw an official looking lady with a girl in her early teens.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Mr. Holmes?" the lady asked,

"No, he's inside. I'm sorry, who are you?"

"I'm Mrs. Noble from the child services. I'm here with his daughter, Isa-"

"What, daughter?" Watson called back into the flat, "Sherlock come down here!"

The woman continued, "We just need a quick DNA test to confirm that he is the biological father, and he sign the documents to become her legal guardian,"

*at the hospital*

The doctor came back with the results, "Yes, she your daughter, Mr. Holmes,"

"But that's impossible! I never had a daugh-"

He was interrupted by the child services agent, "If you do not want to take responsibility as her father, just sign a few papers and we can give her to a nice foster family or group home,"

"Can I have a word with my –"he cringed "daughter,"

"Of course,"

The doctor and agent left the room, leaving Holmes, Watson, and the girl.

"Who are you?" Sherlock questioned.

"I'm your daughter, of course," she smirked.

"I mean who are you,"

"Isabelle Dagher,"

"And your mother?" Watson piped up.

"Amelia Dagher, are you that thick?" she said sarcastically.

"I mean where is she?"

"Dead of course, why else would I be here?"

Sherlock continued with his interrogation, "You don't seem very depressed by this. Shouldn't you be sobbing or something?"

"I don't cry." She stated bluntly.

"What do you mean you don't cry?" Watson asked.

"I don't cry. When I was little I didn't want to look weak so I trained myself not to cry,"

"How can you train yourself not to cry? You're a sociopath, just like Sherlock, aren't you?"

"I am not a sociopath!" she scoffed, "I hate that title. I think of myself as a strong believer in the Stoic philosophy! Besides, I have emotions, just not weak ones,"

"When did she tell you this?" Sherlock asked her.

"Well," she laughed nervously, "she didn't exactly tell me. There were just an abundance of pictures…in a shoe box…under her bed,"

"And you went snooping through her room?" Watson asked in astonishment.

"Yes, I was bored! There was nothing to do! Besides, I don't trust people, people are stupid,"

Yup, this was definitely Sherlock's daughter. John took a good look at her. She was wearing yellow shorts that were a few inches above her knee, and tight white tank top. She looked about fourteen, but was tall for her age. She had a pretty face that looked defiant and proud. She had dark eyes, and wore her brown hair in a bun on her head. She did look a lot like Sherlock Holmes.

"Well," Holmes stated, "We're not going to keep you anyways,"

"What do you mean you're not going to keep her? She's not a pet, she's your daughter! Your daughter!"

"It's either this or a group home," she added defiantly.

"You are nothing but trouble! Do you know that?"

"Yes, and I pride myself in the fact! Drove my mum insane. I saw nothing wrong with it,"

Sherlock glared at her for a moment, as if analyzing everything he knew about her so far.

"Alright," he said, "You can stay,"