'Come on.'

'No.'

'Move.'

'I don't want to.'

'Look, we can stand here for the rest of the day, wallowing in depression, or we can go home and sort everything out'

Adele Holmes had been standing by Sherlock's grave for almost two hours, but she couldn't bring herself to leave. There was something that stopped her every time, and it was slowly destroying her. Adele wasn't Sherlock's daughter, of course. Even she didn't really know how they had ended up together, but since the age of four, she had barley left his side. Until now.

'Five minutes. There's no point staying any longer.' John walked away slowly. As he joined Mrs Hudson some distance away, he shook his head.

'She needs time. We all need time. And she's young.' She said softly, as if the last bit had completely solved the matter. John nodded, not in the mood to further the discussion. Whatever was going to happen now, neither of knew. But the concerns over what was going to happen to Adele were already an issue. Sherlock, somehow, was down as her legal guardian and social services were almost definitely to come knocking any day. Keeping Adele in the dark about this was crucial; if she were to find out, she would almost certainly devise a scheme, which would almost definitely involve something illegal.

Just as John surfaced from his thoughts, a rustle of leaves alerted him to Adele's reappearance. Mrs Hudson placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and steered her through the gates, and into the waiting taxi, which seemed to be following them wherever they went. Of course, it would be foolish to assume that it was planned, or that Sherlock had organised it, but, then again, no one could be sure.

Once back at flat 221b, Adele simply walked to her room, not bothering to take, or kick off her shoes as usual, or to throw her jacket over the chair. As she turned the corner, she noticed that John had avoided the chair that Sherlock had normally taken up, opting to sit in the one opposite. Not knowing what to think of this, she continued on her way, and, once entering her bedroom, she threw herself onto her bed.

The room was plain, with virtually no colour or emotion. One bed, pushed against the wall. Next to it sat a bedside cabinet, and across the room a desk and a chair. The walls were painted grey, and the carpet was only a shade lighter. When lit, the room looked hardly more friendly than when not, and so Adele had got into the habit of not bothering to turn the light on, saving both effort and unneeded light.

The two days since Sherlock's death had inched by, almost cruelly, allowing the few who knew him to suffer as much as possible. Adele had avoided thinking of it as suicide. She still had a suspicion that there was something sneaky going on, but she didn't want to think about it. Except, of course, what else could she think about? No cases, no guessing what stupid scheme Sherlock had planned, no telling him to either get some Violin lessons or stop playing, no nothing. The flat was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Nobody bothered trying to make conversation, and the lack of anything to do was slowly destroying her. There was no point going out for fresh air, because the press were pretty slow in taking the hint and leaving.

By now Adele could smell something from the kitchen. Presumably Mrs Hudson had gone back to her flat, and John was cooking. Adele had been avoiding conversation by getting to the living room before anything was ready, as to avoid speaking to John. This wasn't out of cruelty, but instead out of fear. If she started talking, the conversation could easily turn to Sherlock, which was the last thing she wanted.

Slowly, she pulled herself up from the floor, giving herself a few seconds to adjust to standing up again. John looked up as she entered the room, and gave her a small smile, which she returned. Just as John turned off the oven, there was a knock at the door. He sighed, and jogged downstairs to answer it. He returned in a matter of seconds, bring with him three people whom Adele had never seen before.

'Couldn't this wait? We were just about to eat.' Asked John

'I'm afraid not. This is a matter of the utmost concern; it really has to be addressed now. We have other matters to attend to.' Adele's eyes flickered over to the man who had spoken. He was tall and powerfully built, and wore a suit. Next to him stood a woman, who was small, but to Adele she seemed to be in a position of authority. Another man stood behind them, and acted almost as a body guard, scanning the room, with an earpiece and briefcase.

'Well alright, but It'll have to be quick.'

The taller man beckoned o the other, who set the briefcase on the table. From it, the taller one produced a sheet of paper, and slid it across the table towards John, who didn't bother to even glance at it.

'Well? What is it?'

The woman turned to Adele, who glared at her. Whatever she was about to ask, it wasn't going to be an easy question to answer.

'Who would you say is your guardian? Who looks after you? Your own opinion.'

'Well, several people have fulfilled that role over the years, to be quite honest. John. Mrs Hudson. And – '

She paused for a minute. She hadn't mentioned his name for two days.

'Sherlock'

'And legally? If you know, of course.'

'As a matter of fact I do. But it was all just a piece of paper, isn't it?' She smirked. 'But legally, it was Sherlock.'

'Then you will understand the reason for our presence. Your legal guardian –'

'Sherlock. He has - had a name, funnily enough'

'Is dead. So, as of about two days ago, your exact position has been a matter of debate for us.'

'Why can't I stay here?'

'If there were documents approving that, such as a will, then there would be no problems. We would have left long ago. Or not turned up here at all. But there are no documents. No verification.'

'So?' It was John who spoke now. He sounded different, almost scared.

'Well, she can't stay here. As I have said, we don't have any documents.'

'What are you going to do then?' Adele asked. She had a feeling that whatever the answer, it wasn't going to do anyone any good.

'You're coming with us. We have a new home for you, not too far away.' Amazingly, she hadn't changed her tone, which would be expected in such a situation.

Home. Not house, home.

'And if I don't want to?'

'You have no choice in the matter.'

'One day.' John said. 'Just let her stay one day. To say goodbye.'

'Not possible. It's all been sorted.'

Silence.

'You have half an hour. Then we'll be back.'

They left. As soon as the door shut, Mrs Hudson walked in.

'What was that all about?' She asked, oblivious to the whole ordeal.

'Half an hour. Then I have to go.'

'Go where?'

'With them. For good.' With that, Adele walked to her room, footsteps heavy. Ten years, and now she was never coming back. And then it hit her.

She would have to go to school. Before, Sherlock had said he home-schooled her, and no one had ever questioned it. And now, she would have to go to a school. She knew everything already, how could she not? Living with Sherlock had ensured that.

Adele pulled various pieces of clothing from the chest of drawers, throwing them savagely into a bag. She tossed in a couple of books, and zipped up the bag. A brief glance around the room, and she left, closing the door gently. For the last time.

Upon her arrival in the living room, John stood up.

'It'll be fine. We can meet up. Wherever you're going.' He scribbled down a phone number.

'Don't call, text. Anytime.'

He seemed on the verge of tears, so he sat down again. In what seemed to be five minutes, they were back again. A quick hug, and Adele was ferried out of the door, and into a car. As it pulled away, she looked back at the flat.

Goodbye.