"You're late."
"Am not. It's seven just now."
"You arrived precisely six point three seconds after seven."
"Oh, bloody hell," Evangeline sighed, shaking her head.
The duo once again stood in the cluttered mess of Sherlock's living room. Evangeline stood with her hands on her hips, clearly agitated. Her chestnut hair hung in untidy wet waves around her face and shoulders. Her clothes were damp from the rain that was currently pelting the roof of 221B Baker Street. Sherlock turned away with a disgruntled huff, returning to his work.
"Would you dry off already? You're dripping on the carpet," Sherlock glanced in disgust at the soggy state of his new companion. Evangeline snorted and flung herself into the nearest armchair, shaking out her hair and flinging water across the various stacks of paper and books that blanketed the floor. Sherlock nearly screamed in frustration. The tension in the room was almost palpable. A noise by the stairs made the duo jerk out of their glaring contest. Ms. Hudson climbed the stairs muttering about old bones and rain.
"Oh hello, deary. I wasn't expecting you to return so soon, or so early," the elderly woman smiled kindly at the newest addition to their apartment. Evangeline nodded politely in return and turned back to Sherlock.
"What case are we working on?" she asked brusquely. Sherlock's shrewd eyes studied her for a moment before tossing a file folder into her lap. She opened it, scanning quickly through the mess of papers. She studied the picture of the young man who had been murdered in an alley. The gun held only the victim's prints. But having read Sherlock's case file, Evangeline knew that even though everything pointed to a suicide, Sherlock would not have accepted the case if it was so easy.
"So what are the leads?" she inquired. "It obviously wasn't a suicide."
"And how is that obvious?"
"You wouldn't have taken on another case if it was so simple. You like the hard to crack cases. Or the serial killers. Anything interesting. A suicide isn't any of that."
Sherlock looked at her carefully.
"I see you did your homework on me then," he stated. He raised an eyebrow.
"It's not hard to figure that out. You like a challenge."
Mrs. Hudson chuckled softly to herself as the two studied each other. It was like watching a younger female version of Sherlock. The thought made the elderly woman stop short. Oh bloody hell... Two of him? The world would end. It was bad enough with just the two brothers, Sherlock and Mycroft. Another Holmes was like something out of a horror film.
Sherlock and Evangeline had moved on to discuss the case concluding that the killer was most likely the victim's jealous wife who he had left for a younger woman and leaving her next to nothing in the divorce.
"Lestrade, go visit the victim's ex wife. You should find your killer," Sherlock hung up the phone. "Evangeline, I have to sa-"
"Eva."
"I'm sorry?"
"You can call me Eva. Much easier to say then Evangeline."
"Eva... I have to say, for one so young your skills are much better then most adults. You're not a complete imbecile," Sherlock nodded in acknowledgment.
"Thank you."
"Why did you come to me?"
"Because you knew my mother."
"Your mother? I think I would have made the connection-"
"Amelia Belle Rook."
Sherlock started to shake his head before he froze, gaping at Eva. He stumbled back a step.
"No..."
"Yes."
"But that would mean..."
"Yes."
Sherlock stared at her as Eva stood still, keeping calm.
"But that-"
"-Would mean I'm your daughter."
Sherlock blinked. This wasn't happening. He stood still frozen to the floor. This wasn't happening. He looked the girl over. This wasn't happening. Evangeline stood still as a statue. This wasn't happening. The lights dimmed and flickered. This wasn't happening. The floor rushed up to meet him. This wasn't happening. Everything faded to black. This wasn't happening...
