"Why do you intend to drop out of a top university to waitress in an Italian restaurant?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes as soon as her uncle sat down next to her. She had been clasping her hot chocolate for half an hour, her hands wrapped around the warm mug as she did her best not to think about what she was going to do. She was going to drop out of university. She was going to through away a career; a career that she had never truly wanted anyway.

"I don't like university," she said to him and he held his coffee cup to his lips.

Elizabeth kept quiet whilst her uncle eyed her with suspicion. The curious glances from the two of them seemed to be a result of the Holmes side of the family.

"A lot of people 'don't like university', Elizabeth," he informed her. "Perseverance is needed. As you uncle, I only feel right to tell you that a rash decision is never a good one."

"I've thought about this for two months," Elizabeth whispered to him, her eyes finding his after a moment or two. Mycroft sighed and ran a hand over his temple. "I'd rather work and find out what it is I really want to do than waste money on a course which I hate."

Mycroft sighed, but he knew that he could not argue with her logic, nor could he force her to do something which she did not want to do. Elizabeth had a mind of her own, how he knew that. She was Sherlock's daughter, of course she did. She kept silent, her gaze continuously looking to the window to see if her father's mystery flatmate would turn up.

"Has you dad urged you against this?"

"What do you think my father has done?" Elizabeth wondered. "He said nothing about any of it really...just that I was old enough to do as I wanted..."

"I suspected as much," Mycroft mumbled under his breath and Elizabeth arched a brow, sipping on her now cold hot chocolate. She took a moment to lean back in her seat and pull her blonde hair over one shoulder.

"I'm getting the train from Kings Cross to Newcastle Central on Friday to collect my stuff," Elizabeth informed him.

"I will have a car waiting for you at the university to bring you back," Mycroft responded. "I doubt you would want to bring back a large case on the train with you. It's hardly practical."

Elizabeth felt her brows furrow as soon as he spoke.

"You're not going to tell me to keep going?"

"I don't want to see you miserable, Elizabeth," Mycroft responded. "I would love for you to stay at university and do well, but I understand if you need some form of gap year. I wouldn't want for you to go through three years of a degree that will make you miserable. Although...living with Sherlock...does that not make you miserable?"

Elizabeth took another moment to look at her uncle and think about the years she had spent with her father. She supposed she had grown immune to his ways and his lack of emotion. She never really knew how to handle him, but she had learned that she couldn't handle him. She just...well...she coped.

"My dad...he...I've learnt how to be around him and not be frustrated. It's quite easy to know to stay out of his way when he's on a case and when he's bored."

"So that's all the time?" Mycroft replied with a small smirk.

Elizabeth felt herself laugh and her uncle couldn't help but pity his niece for having to live with Sherlock. Mycroft and Sherlock had rarely seen eye to eye; a fact which Mycroft didn't forget often.

"I should get going," Elizabeth told Mycroft. "I need to shower and I'm having a trial run at the restaurant this evening."

She stood up and grabbed her coat, slipping it over her shoulders and her arms into the sleeves.

"I shall speak to you again soon, Elizabeth," Mycroft nodded, not bothering to stand up as he pulled his phone from his suit pocket, looking down at the contents on the screen for a few moments. "I'll have a car waiting in Newcastle, as I said."

"Thank you," Elizabeth politely smiled, managing to find a feeling that things would get better throughout time. She would be happier, at least.

"Take care," Mycroft urged her and watched as she wandered out of the cafe and back into 221B Baker Street.

...

"What did he say?"

Elizabeth found her father rushing through the living room, moving boxes and emptying his possessions. She had to admit; she was amazed he had even remembered where she had been. He usually forgot when she went out.

"He told me that he wanted me to do the right thing. I promised him that I had done the right thing...but...we'll see..." Elizabeth shrugged nonchalantly. "I need to change. I have a trial run at the restaurant this evening. I'll be back at around eleven."

"How do you intend to get home?"

"I'll walk back."

"In the dark?" Sherlock wondered from his daughter. "When have you ever walked home in the dark?"

Elizabeth's brows furrowed as she listened to him. She kept quiet and shrugged her shoulders as Sherlock held his skull in his hands, his eyes firmly set on hers.

"I don't know...I usually get a cab back when I'm out at night. Why does it matter?"

"It matters because of the crime rate in London," Sherlock replied, his tone one of some kind of disinterest as he watched Elizabeth stare at his skull.

"You should get rid of that before your potential flatmate gets here."

"Our," Sherlock responded. "You're going to be living here as well. Besides, you need to stop trying to evade my question. How will you come home this evening?"

"I will walk."

"In that case I shall meet you."

"You're joking," she complained and shook her head. "You haven't walked me anywhere since I was eight and you reluctantly took me for a milkshake because I'd nagged at you for hours on end. Why are you so concerned over me now?"

Sherlock said nothing for a moment, eyeing his daughter with suspicion.

"Why do you not want me to meet you?" he wondered back to her. "Is there something happening that I don't know?"

"No," she replied. "Like what?"

She asked the question and shook her head as Sherlock's jaw hung open and she placed her jacket on the back of the chair at the desk. She took a moment or two to find her BlackBerry out of its pockets before she looked back to her father, wondering what was going on his odd mind.

"I finish at eleven," she informed him, knowing that he could find out when she finished with ease. He wasn't stupid. He knew her better than she knew herself. She did not doubt that. Of course, she was wrong. Sherlock knew his daughter to a certain extent, but he had never been close to her. Not once had he managed to find out as much as he wanted to.

"I'll be waiting," Sherlock promised her.

"Fine. I'm off to get changed. I'll probably be gone by the time the flatmate arrives." Elizabeth said, wandering off down the corridor to her bedroom.

...

Sherlock sat on the sofa, waiting for John Watson to arrive. He had heard his daughter mutter to herself as she quickly changed in her bedroom and then rushed into the bathroom. Sherlock preferred not to interrupt her whilst she was getting ready. He had last tried that when she was six and running late for school. Elizabeth always had been slow when it came to making sure she looked fine to leave the house.

He suspected she had inherited that trait from her mother. He didn't know, but he was sure her mother had always been vain; she was constantly fixing her hair whenever he knew her. Not that he had known her for a long time.

"You are not going out in that."

Sherlock couldn't help himself from speaking as soon as he saw his daughter. She pulled at the skirt she wore and rolled her eyes.

"Since when did you care about what I wore?" Elizabeth wondered. "Besides, the skirt comes down to the knee. That's long enough. You're in a very strange mood."

Sherlock's brows furrowed and he took a moment to think about her. Was he in a strange mood? He didn't really know. He had always told Elizabeth when he disapproved of her clothing. Was that not his prerogative? He was her father.

"Well, don't get cold," Sherlock said and she placed her leather jacket back onto her arms, fastening up. She grabbed her BlackBerry again and dropped it into her pocket. Checking her ponytail in the mirror; she then turned around to see her father.

"I'll see you later on tonight then?" she checked.

"Yes, you will," Sherlock half heartedly agreed and watched her leave without another word.

...

Elizabeth had been a sale's assistant through her time at sixth form. She had found that difficult at the time; the constant nagging and complaining doing nothing to make her feel better about the money she was earning. Waitressing was a different story. The restaurant was seemingly heaving, regardless of two empty tables. Elizabeth managed to keep up most of the time; only the till seemed to confuse her.

Angelo had told her not to worry about anything. It just took time to get used to things. She had been in the kitchen, passing the plates back to the chefs before she heard Angelo yell loudly.

"Sherlock! My old friend!"

Grabbing her leather coat, Elizabeth rushed from out the back to where Angelo was greeting her father. He enveloped Sherlock in a hug and an awkward look crossed her father's face before he noted his daughter over Angelo's shoulder.

"Your girl...she is doing well...she's very clever...why did she leave university?"

"You'll have to ask her that," Sherlock said and Angelo followed the consulting detective's gaze.

"Ah, Lizzie," Angelo spoke, backtracking slightly as Elizabeth pushed her hands into her pockets and forced a smile onto her face for her new boss. "You did excellent tonight!"

"Really?" Sherlock was the one to ask. "Judging by the small stain on her skirt and the plaster on her thumb; I'd say you're telling me a slight lie, Angelo."

Elizabeth could feel her blood boil inside of her as she ground her teeth together and watched as her father observed her. Shaking her head, she allowed her narrowed eyes to widen as she smiled back to Angelo.

"Thank you for tonight, Angelo," she said and he politely returned her smile along with an incline of his head. "I've got my hours for next week; if you'll have me back?"

"Of course!" the man exclaimed with an enthusiastic beam. "It has been pleasure, Miss Lizzie. Goodnight and take care of yourself...you too, Sherlock! Don't be a stranger!"

"Oh, I try not to be," Sherlock responded and followed Elizabeth out of the door, keeping close on her heels.

"Why did you do that?"

She whirled around as soon as they were down the street from the restaurant. Her arms flailed by her sides as she waited patiently for an answer.

"State the obvious?" Sherlock wondered from her.

"What is it?" she snarled at him.

There was something on her face; a look of some kind which Sherlock had never seen before. He had never seen such resentment from his daughter before. He had done nothing wrong?

"Do you like to show off at any given moment? Do you enjoy making me worthless in comparison to you? Do you really love it that much? Honestly, you have no reason to. I feel crappy enough already without you continuously rubbing it in; so please, just stop it. Stop it because I don't need this at the moment. I don't need you continuously making me feel like crap."

Sherlock's gaze remained level and his face emotionless. He watched as Elizabeth rested a hand on her forehead, pushing her fringe from her forehead. She looked as though she was about to burst into tears; something that had not happened since she was a little girl.

"Elizabeth-"

"-Don't," she interrupted. "Just leave it."

"What do you want me to say?" Sherlock wondered, his hands still in his pockets. "None of this is my fault, Elizabeth."

"No," she replied and shook her head. "I know that it isn't your fault. I just don't need you on at me all the time, dad. I know I've messed up for choosing to do the wrong thing, but I am trying to set it right. I get that waitressing is a job which means nothing to you-"

"-I never said that-"

"-And I don't really want to be a waitress, but I know that I have to do something to earn money whilst I try to find out my life's plan."

Sherlock watched as she stood a few paces away from him. He didn't know what to do. Should he attempt to comfort her? Should he tell her that he was sorry for what happened? He didn't really know what to do.

"Elizabeth," he spoke her name firmly. "Don't cry about it."

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and longed for someone to speak to at that moment in time. She longed for her friends from sixth form, but they had all left for university. They had all coped away from home. They all loved the life at university.

"I'm not crying," Elizabeth lied.

"You certainly don't understand any of this, do you? You need to calm down, Elizabeth. Come along, a coffee should help."

Elizabeth kept quiet, not too sure what to do. She watched with caution as her father outstretched his arm and rested his hand on the small of her back. She didn't bother to push him away, knowing full well it would be a waste of time. Sherlock kept his lips pursed, knowing that his daughter needed time to calm down before she went back and met John as he spent an evening in the flat getting used to it.

"What did you do when you left university?" she muttered.

"I'll tell you when I have a tea. I can certainly do with one."

...

A/N: Thank you to anyone reading and please do review to let me know you're reading! I know the pace seems slow, but I promise that it will pick up!