John glanced at his diminutive daughter fishing through the grease splotched newspaper for another chip. Elodie was precariously perched upon the stool and the oversized package of food on her lap completely blocked her stomach from view. He almost gagged on the steaming seafood in his mouth because of the chuckle bubbling up from his stomach. She turned her face to look at him with solemn eyes and he couldn't hold it in anymore. He spit into his napkin and started to sputter hysterically. Elodie looked at him like he had sprouted horns and charged her.

"I'm sorry, it's just for a second, you looked exactly like him." He explained. Her brow wrinkled as she pondered that statement,

"Oh," Comprehension slowly dawned on her face. "You mean Uncle 'Lock."

"Uncle 'Lock?" He said incredulously. "Can't say I've met him before."

"That's just what he lets me call him." She set her fish on the counter. "He said you'd ruin it and you did." She looked at him reproachfully.

"That's an awfully long title though, eh Lodie?"

"I got a nickname."

"But still, you don't give nicknames to mummy or me."

"Maybe that's because your names are too stupid and boring." John was taken aback at the venom in her tone.

"Elodie look at me." She brought her cornflower eyes up to his. "You cannot talk to people like that. It's disrespectful and I will not tolerate it. Do you understand?" His tone was that of a captain reprimanding an impertinent private.

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes sir." He sighed. Elodie was usually well behaved but when he had to, he did not enjoy doling out discipline. He watched as she swung her feet back and forth, staring at her pair of Campers bashfully.

"Lodie it's alright. It's not about you being bad, it's just sometimes you have to learn what's right and what's wrong." He grabbed her coat. "How 'bout we go and walk in Regent's Park for a while, I only have today off you know."

After wandering around the menagerie for two hours John purchased a bag of popcorn from a rather frazzled looking vender lady and they settled down on a bench to eat it.

"Why so quiet?" John asked. He hoped she wasn't still angry about earlier. It was unusual for him to get days off from surgery and he didn't want this one to be spoiled.

"Just thinking." Her brow was furrowed and she rested her head in hands as she thought. John's heart ached. Just from looking at her it was clear who her parents were. Her lips were John's. Her hair was Mary's. Her nose was John's. Her chin was Mary's, and so on and so forth. The only feature that couldn't be traced back to either one of them was her pair of shockingly blue eyes. He couldn't fathom where she got them from. The Watsons' had always had brown eyes, so maybe they came from someone on Mary's side, though she had never mentioned it...

"Daddy." John came back to, as Lodie's voice shook him out of his musings.

"Yes sweetheart?"

"Why does Uncle 'Lock have a lump over his heart?"

John's world took a hard blow; he was almost knocked backwards with the force of that simple question. He and Mary never told Lodie about it. God knows they could barely deal with it themselves, much less consider explaining the situation to a four year old.

"What do you mean Elodie," She looked at him, her eyes opened wide. John cursed himself, it was one of his tells. He never used Elodie's full name except in very serious situations.

"Just, last time we hugged, I put my arms 'round his stomach and my head on his chest," She mimed her action. John nodded for her to continue. "and there was a lump on his heart."

She stopped and turned to look at him. "What is it? Is something' wrong?" She must have noticed his reaction. John realized she needed to know.

"Someone a long time ago tried to hurt Sherlock." He swallowed remembering that day and all the blood everywhere. "And they did hurt him, very badly. But he got better and they, they never tried to hurt him again."

"Oh," She said. "Why did the bad guy try and hurt him?"

John didn't want to respond to that, especially not with how his and Mary's relationship was going. He didn't need anymore animosity between them."It wasn't a bad guy. I mean they weren't a bad person."

"But Daddy," 'Lodie said her eyes still locked on his, looking as naive and as confused as he had ever seen her, "Somebody who attacks a good guy is a bad guy."

He couldn't say anything to that. The simple, innocent logic of that statement was something he could not deny; not to Mary, not to Elodie, and not to himself. John picked up the empty popcorn bag and rose from the bench, using his new cane as he did so.

"I'll call a cab. Mummy's expecting us home for dinner."

Mary wasn't there when they came home. John sighed. She had told him that she was going to make them all a nice family dinner and have a quiet night in with just them and their daughter. They hadn't been having enough time together lately and she wanted to catch up.

He should've known it wasn't going to happen.

He led Lodie into their darkened house and switched on the light. She unzipped her puffy pink coat and gently handed it to John. He was just tall enough to be able to hang it up in the hallway closet. John led Elodie into the kitchen. Mary had forgotten that it was her turn to do the groceries this week, so he fixed a meagre meal of carrot sticks and peanut butter sandwiches. A couple of times over in Afghanistan his unit had met up with the Americans to do drills and such. A guy called Baranowski had introduced him to the stuff and as soon as he came home he started to buy it from Tesco.

Soon the meal was finished and he took Elodie up to bed. He came down to wash the dishes and found Mary leaning against the kitchen counter. Her blond hair was pulled back into a bun and the navy blue blouse she was wearing showed off her figure noticeably. There was no doubt she was a beauty. But her thin lips were creased into a frown and her arms were folded stand-offishly. John could tell it was going to be one of those nights. He hardened his face and smiled weakly.

"Hey Mary how was your-"

"I don't want that man near our child anymore."

Sherlock's head pounded as he walked to the library. It was a fairly long walk but he wanted to keep readjusting his mental map of London. He noticed there was construction going about halfway to his destination so he made a note of it.

The London library was one of his favorite places in the city. It was filled with every type of obscure knowledge one could ask for and it was private, so there would be no homeless addicts sleeping off their high in the stacks. It was most distracting to try and pursue a shelf, only to find that his wallet was missing. Besides he'd rather not be reminded of his own junkie days.

"Mr. Holmes?" A soft feminine voice asked. "Mr. Holmes?" He hadn't realized he had already reached the library. "May I have your card?" He looked up and saw that he was at the front desk.

"I know. I'm surprised they haven't replaced me with a machine yet too." She smiled. "Your card?"

He had seen this girl before. She was about twenty, but looked older, Her father was clearly Spanish but she had inherited her Germanic mother's looks. She lived alone, (obvious by the fact she had needed a co worker to do the clasp on her bracelet; a gift from her aunt). She was estranged from her family by her own choice, the aunt was too... possibly both lesbians? But no, she was a Catholic, a devout one too by the sign of the scapular around her neck, so not because of religious differences. Why then? There was something different, something not clicking...

"Sir, sir?" Her soft Irish accent shook him from his reverie. "Are you quite alright?"

"Your accent." He managed. "It was different last time. From South London."

She looked sheepish. "Why yes it is. Um, I'm-" Her tone gained the silky roughness of the American South. "I'm an actress suh."

"Yes of course, American. That's the reason you read so much Steinbeck."

She brightened. "Oh have you-"

"No. Fiction is a waste of time much like your acting career. Theater is dead. Especially musical theater."

"I should introduce you to my parents. You'd get along famously."

"That's a lovely Surrey you have."

"Thank you. Sometimes I need to switch in the middle of a conversation to keep from getting bored."

"Bored? You think I'm- you think I'm boring?"

"No. Just the completely unasked for criticism pouring from your mouth." Now it was Scottish. "Your card please?"

"Your name please?" He placed it into her delicate hand.

"Thanks guv'." She winked. "It's Diana."

"Mine's Holmes. Sherlock Holmes."

"I know, Mr. Holmes." She handed the card back and ran her fingers over the gloved hand. "I looked up your account." She turned back to her computer and stated in a New York accent. "See ya later, pretty eyes."

"Why?" John was weary, "Just why?"

She moved away, her face crinkled in disgust. "You really need an explanation?"

"For cutting my daughter's godfather out of her life? Yeah, I guess I do."

"He's an addict, John." He hated the sour look on her face. As if she was one to talk.

"He's clean now." He hated how defensive that sounded.

"Once an addict, always an addict." She pursed her lips. "He's a psychopath, John, a bloody psychopath. Do you want a future serial killer around your daughter?" John thought of another woman from years before, who had told him much the same thing. "Do you think a murderer is a good influence on your daughter?"

"No." He felt his voice go sickly quiet. "So why are you still here?" It was far, too far over the line. Mary's face became that of a bull, savage and about to charge.

"You bastard...you goddamn bastard." He braced himself for a blow or a punch or a kick.

Ding-Dong

They turned to face the door. A wicked smile crept over Mary's face. He saw what she was going to do and knew he had to get past her. He tried to rush her.

She moved faster than she should have. His timing was off and Mary took advantage of his limp and swept him off his feet. He crashed to the kitchen tiles, in pain and moaning. His head had cracked against the cabinets on the way down and the blow hurt.

"Speak of the devil," She murmured "I'll go answer the door, dear."

Her hips swayed in an unnaturally sexy way as she headed towards the door. She slid out of view as John struggled to get up from the floor. Noises floated from down the hall and he caught snatches of the dialogue.

"-John?"

"-not here."

"Where is-"

"-go."

"What?"

"-decided-"

"But I'm her-"

"Not anymore."

"I demand to-"

Suddenly, he heard a pitter-patter of little feet run down the stairs.

"'Lock!"

"Elodie!"

"Why are you down here!" Why was Mary yelling he wondered? That wasn't her scolding voice. She sounded furious.

"No! You can't- I won't let you!"

"No! No!" Her voice was hysterical.

The door closed.

Mary rushed back into the kitchen and grabbed his head. She shook him.

"Get up! Get up, John!" She cried, "He took Elodie!"

Still groggy, he managed to lean his torso against the cabinet.

"Who?" he croaked, not yet realizing the full implications of her statement.

"Sherlock," she said, "Sherlock took Elodie."