My dark hair, my dark complexion. His sense of adventure. His unwavering loyalty. And yet, I have lost them both. They all say she looks like me, but all I see is him.
Sherlock, forever taking my John off on harebrained adventures. The thrill, I can hardly compete. Putting my John in danger, because of his unwavering loyalty to that mad man.
Now my daughter. She looks a bit like him. They're both intelligent, sitting and talking about academic things, and they get right along. The day she came down stairs, in black pants and a black coat, I nearly cried.
Despite my hold on both of them, a little of their hearts will always belong to him. To Sherlock Holmes.