"Sherlock?" John finally caught up with his former flatmate and followed the frozen stare to the little girl. "Sherlock, who's that?" When the detective didn't answer, John looked hard at the tiny face. "That's not... it can't be... Raven?"

"It is," Sherlock informed him flatly.

"How can you be sure?" John asked, looking back and forth between the two. "I mean, she has dark hair, but she was just a baby last time. There's no way we can be..."

"It's her, John," Sherlock cut in. "Look at her suitcase. It clearly says 'Raven' on the name tag. Not only that, but she has grey eyes, dark hair, and a tiny birthmark on the right side of her neck. It wasn't quite as noticeable when she was an infant, but now that she can hold her own head up, it is."

John squinted, but found he couldn't see the mark Sherlock referred to, not from where he was standing anyhow. This didn't surprise him. "But... if that's her, her name can't be Raven."

This remark puzzled the taller man. "Why not?"

"Because..." John swallowed. "Mycroft said her name was Cecelia."

Sherlock sniffed. "He had it changed. Easy enough to do, especially for him. Mycroft probably thought it was cute. Imagine, Sherlock, naming a baby," he spat, his words coated in mockery of his older brother. "Besides, he likely thinks it's better to start off round two with as little changed as possible."

"Sorry, round two?" John echoed as Sherlock strolled off. Perhaps he would be better to give up trying to follow the situation.

Slipping into his best deceptive expression, Sherlock donned a smile for the officer standing beside the little girl. "Hello, I'm Sherlock Holmes. I was just informed that my ex-wife dropped off my daughter," even though Sherlock was a smooth liar, John caught how the last word stuck a bit in his friend's mouth. He had to turn away and cough to cover a chuckle. Sherlock looked down at the girl. "Hello Raven!"

"Daddy! Up!" She shrieked in recognition, raising her arms above her head. Sherlock almost lost his composure; Mycroft had trained the girl well, better than he had expected. He scooped her up, carrying her firmly with one arm.

"I'm sorry," he apologized to the officer. "My ex knows better than this, but I'm afraid there is no reasoning with her. I'm just going to take her home, get her settled with a babysitter, and then I'll be back. Shouldn't be more than an hour. Don't let them clean up the scene before then," he warned before turning and heading for the street. John took this as his signal to follow.

Even after they had climbed into the taxi, the girl had refused to let go of her grasp around Sherlock's neck. He'd had to pry her off, but every time he attempted to remove her from his lap, she screamed and began to throw a fit. Her lungs had gotten much stronger since the last time they'd met, he noticed. In the end, he had given in and let her stay on his lap.

"Are you sure she isn't yours?" John asked, only to be greeted by a nasty glare from the man across from him.

"Haven't we had this discussion before?" Sherlock asked and pondered the issue sarcastically. "Oh yes, I seem to recall it now. I do believe I informed you that she isn't mine."

"Well it's Mycroft. He has surveillance over every area of your life. Could she be..." John trailed off, trying to dismiss the idea in his mind as rubbish and completely impossible, yet found he couldn't. "I don't know, a clone of you?"

"No, of course not," Sherlock brushed the theory off. "Mycroft naturally intends to clone himself first before he'd clone me. Actually, I'm quite certain that I'll be one of the last people he'll ever consider cloning."

John didn't like how Sherlock referred to cloning as being scientifically possible, but he decided it better to ignore it. "It's just... she really does look like you. I can see how the sergeant thought that she was your daughter."

"Yes," Sherlock murmured, looking at the girl sitting quite quietly in his lap. "We do share similar physical characteristics. Obviously it's the reason why Mycroft chose her."

"Yes," John agreed, though he wasn't sure he saw the reasoning behind it; he still didn't understand any of this 'game' that the Holmes brothers were engaged in. He thought it completely unfair and just morally wrong to involve the little girl in their battles.

The doctor still couldn't believe he was looking at the baby he had looked after three years ago. Strange how quickly time passed. He hoped that it might slow down soon, just for a bit.

As they climbed out of the cab, Raven reattached her arms firmly around Sherlock's neck.

"Don' wan' down!" She cried, clinging to him for dear life.

"John, unlock the door please," Sherlock relented, extending his arm with the key. The last thing he needed was a scene caused by a screaming three year old girl. He had a crime scene to get back to, and this was slowing him down!

Taking the key, John chuckled. "You're going to have a lot less spare time this time," he observed, swinging open the door once he had turned the key. As Sherlock strode past, John looked down the hall. "Wait a minute, where's Mrs. Hudson?"

"She won a contest or something or rather to spend a month in Canada," Sherlock replied, clearly disinterested as he climbed the stairs. "I don't know the details."

"So you are completely on your own this time," John laughed, but his stomach dropped. Poor Raven; alone with Sherlock? John remembered how helpless he had been with a baby, how could he handle a demanding little girl? He sighed; at least now she could communicate what it was that she wanted. Slowly, another realisation dawned on him. "If Mrs. Hudson is away, who is this baby sitter?"

Sherlock only smiled at him.