A loud knock on the door jerked Sibley out of her sleep. The day before had been long, pouring over images and evidence with her father and his partner, finally stumbling in around two in the morning. Looking at her alarm clock she discovered, horrified, that she had slept in... Till 2:30.

"Oh my God!" she practically fell out of the bed as she scrambled to get dressed and ran to answer the door.

"Molly? What are you doing here?" she asked, pulling on her tattered coat and closing the door behind her.

"Oh, I came to see where you were. I was worried Sherlock had said something." she said.

"What do you mean?" she asked as she hailed a cab and told him where to go.

"He has a habit of being insulting. I thought maybe you were upset and that's why you weren't at work." she said.

"No, no, Mr. Holmes was fine, bit annoying, but nothing I can't handle. I guess I'm just tired. Detective Lestrade isn't upset, is he?" she asked, clutching the end of her jumper in concern.

"No, no, he was also worried, to be quite honest. Sherlock is unpredictable," Molly said. Sibley studied her and let a light smile tug at her lips. Molly had a crush.

"Better to be unpredictable than boring," she pointed out. Molly giggled.

"That's something he would say," she said. Sibley brightened at this.

"Is it?" she asked. Molly nodded. Finally they pulled up to Scotland yard.

"I'll see you later, yeah?" Sibley questioned, hovering in the doorway.

"Yes, have fun at work," she waved and Sibley closed the door. The cab sped off in the direction of Barts Hospital and Sibley walked towards the office.

"Ah, there you are, I was worried the freak had kidnapped you," Sally teased.

"He's not a freak. Different, yes, but not a freak," Sibley defended. She felt her stomach turn when hearing her father be insulted.

"Hmm, clearly you didn't spend very much time with him," she said. Sibley bit her lip and just walked away from her.

"Detective Inspector?" she asked, leaning and knocking on his open office door. He looked up from some papers and smiled warmly at her.

"Ah, there you are. How did Yesterday go?" he asked.

"Fine. Mr. Holmes is quite the character," she said, a small smile on her face.

"Definitely so. Well, he said he would like to see you again today. It's up to you," Lestrade said. She brightened, her smile growing.

"He did? I would love too!" she exclaimed a bit too excitedly. Lestrade chuckled.

"Strange, Sherlock seems to have taken a liking to you. He doesn't like many people," Lestrade said to her.

"Oh," she had figured this. After spending time with him she had diagnosed him as a high functioning sociopath so this revelation didn't surprise her. The fact that Sherlock liked her did. She wouldn't have guessed it, he was a bit cold. Then again, she could tell the difference between a generally cold person and someone who's protecting themselves, Sherlock was the latter.

"Thank you, sir. Should I go down to 221 Baker Street?" she questioned. He nodded and waved her off. She rushed out and to a cab, all too eager to see her father again.

Father. She wasn't typically the person to hide things and be secretive. She had always assumed if she met her father, she'd be straight forward with him. Then she met Sherlock and she couldn't. She didn't know how to approach the topic or how he would react. He clearly despised feelings and attachment so would he be excepting of a daughter or would he push her away? Would he want anything to do with her once he found out who she was? Telling him held so many possibilities and outcomes she wouldn't prefer. She was safer with this secret. It was protection. After all, nobody liked to be rejected.

The cabbie stopped and she hopped out, moving to the green door and clutching the knocker. The door swung open to reveal Mrs. Hudson, a large smile on her face.

"Oh, hello dear! The boys left a bit ago, they should be back soon, why don't you wait upstairs?" Mrs. Hudson asked her. She nodded and went up to 221B and sat in her father's arm chair.

It took all of 2 and half minutes for the young woman to get antsy. Needing to do something. Put her hands on something. She stood up again and walked around the flat, observing a little closer now. She looked through drawers and cupboards and rooms, trying to find something interesting. Surely there had to be something, the man was a consulting detective who thrived off of the strange cases in life. She read Doctor Watsons blog after getting home the night before. There was no way the man in the stories didn't have anything cool around.

"Snooping?" Sherlock's baritone voice stopped her in her tracks. She closed the drawer she was looking in and turned around, smiling sheepishly.

"S-sorry, Mr. Holmes. I was bored," she shrugged, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Both men smirked, seemingly amused.

"Sherlock, I think you've met a mini you," John laughed. She sighed in relief when no one scolded her or threw her out.

"Mr. Holmes, why do you keep heads and food in the same fridge? Couldn't you get another?" she asked.

"Seriously? You found one of his severed heads and that's the question your asking?" John raised an eyebrow and she shrugged.

"I've always wanted to experiment on things like that. Mr. Holmes has access to a morgue. Why not take advantage?" she asked.

"Hm, someone who understands. John, I think it's time to replace you," Sherlock teased.

"By all means. Your welcome to take my place Sibley, Sherlock is a piece of work," John scoffed, playfully rolling his eyes.

"Now then, boys, play nice," Sibley snickered. Sherlock watched her for a second before speaking.

"We are seeing clients today. Thought you'd like to join in. I couldn't bear the thought of someone of your intelligence fetching coffee." Sherlock said. She smiled at the compliment before realizing what he had said.

"Clients? I thought we were on a case," she said.

"Solved it this morning. You in or not?" he asked.

"I-in, of course."

Two days later, another case solved, Sibley was high on excitement as she sat in the back of the cab, grinning like an idiot. John was smirking at her and Sherlock- he was watching her. She raised an eyebrow at him. He had been acting so strange for this case and he was beginning to make her uneasy. Once they got inside 221B and were all drinking evening tea, he spoke.

"Who, are you, Sibley?" he asked.

"S-sorry?" she asked, cursing herself for stuttering. She really wished she could get rid of that habit but she couldn't help it.

"You're keeping a secret, what is it?" he asked. She could hear a hint of frustration in his demanding tone and she drew back in her chair a bit.

"Sherlock." John chided.

"What are you hiding?" Sherlock just repeated, voice more cold than she had yet heard it.

"Oh- uh- I don't... I'm n-not an open book b-but I don't have a-any d-dark secrets," she felt her pulse begin to rise and her hands shake. Anxiety washing over her like a tidal wave.

"Sherlock, you're scaring her for christ sakes, drop it."

"Hush, John. This is important, Sibley. I don't trust you and I can't work with someone I don't trust," he said. She was confused, since he had been the one to ask her in the first place not too long before. She assumed he was just waiting for the right time.

"Mr. Holmes, p-please, I-I can't." she felt tears rising to her eyes.

"Can't what? Tell me? You must." he barked, standing.

The rational side of her knew he was just frustrated he didn't have all of the answers, but the rational side never out screamed the anxious side. She whimpered, backing up into the chair and gripping the sides with white knuckles. He towered over her. Watched her with disdain. Like the dirt on his shoe.

"I didn't d-do anything w-wrong." she cried.

"You were snooping when we got here, you've asked too many personal questions, and you knew things that I don't think you deduced. I don't think you're intelligent enough." he said. So that's what that was. None of it was because he liked her or thought she was helpful. No, Sherlock Holmes was too smart to be impressed by anyone else. Heck, he didn't even believe her. Maybe thought she was some kind of criminal.

"Sherlock!" John shouted as the girl began to cry, but the consulting detective just watched her impassively.

"It's not- I-it's not l-like tha-at. I d-didn't i- I d-don't-" she couldn't even form the sentence.

"Tell me!" he shouted.

"You're my father," she screeched, pulling the photo of him and her mother out of her jeans pocket and slamming it on the table before running out of the flat in tears.