"You left. You knew Irene was pregnant and you just...left."

"I couldn't have been a father, John, surely you know that."

"You never visited, never made contact..."

"Why should I have?"

"Your daughter spent the first fourteen years of her life fatherless, Sherlock, and now she's lost her mother. You should have been there, right from the start."

"There's hardly anything I can do about that now, is there? So if you want me to be a father so badly, help me to get my daughter's room ready. She'll be here in about two hours."


"I didn't make contact with you, Miss Adler, because I couldn't. Your mother and I...we had an agreement. I could watch you, protect you, so long as I didn't make it clear that I was doing it. And by no means was I to let you meet your father."

"And how could she have enforced that rule?"

"Are you calling me a liar, dear niece?"

"No, uncle, I'm merely stating that the facts don't quite add up."

"Well, your mother had a kind of...protection. She was quite adept when it came to blackmail, you see. She had the Queen and country on it's knees at one point. Quite amazing, I have to say, although rather difficult to reprimand. She was sentenced to death, but your father saved her. If you remember only one thing that I ever tell you, let it be that he did love her; they weren't together because he wanted sex, or he needed somewhere to hide."

"I don't believe that, for some reason."

"You should."

"Why?"

"Because it's the truth."

Charlotte sat in the back of the black limousine, watching the scenery passing them by, the bright sunlight fading into a bleak wash of clouds as the morning turned to afternoon.

"Your things are in the back, by the way."

"And the house?"

"Is yours when you turn eighteen, along with all of your mother's money. She didn't leave a will, but I assume that this is what she wanted."

She nodded slightly, still looking out of the window. She hadn't been to London before; her mother had had to stay away as she was assumed dead. She couldn't risk being found, because she really would have been killed. And god only knows what would have happened to her daughter- killed as well, most likely. It's not good to have too many Adlers or Holmeses running around at the same time, and a girl who was a child of both would be far too dangerous, even if she wasonly fourteen. Mycroft's protection had been more useful that Charlotte had first thought, it seemed, although he still wasn't quite trustworthy.

An hour and a half later, the limousine pulled up outside of a small cafe. Mycroft watched his niece climb out of the polished black door, briefly wondering when he would see her again. He didn't need to watch her anymore, and he had promised Sherlock to take the CCTV equipment out of 221b once Charlotte was there.

"Are you ready to go, sir?" asked Anthea, who Mycroft had forgotten was there. That didn't happen often; she was his personal assistant, almost constantly around.

"Just a minute, Anthea." replied Mycroft as his niece pushed open the door of 221b, carrying bags and suitcases behind her. All he could do was hope that Sherlock would look after her; John will if he doesn't, he reassured himself. If he had had it his was Charlotte would be living with him, but that wasn't his choice. She should be with her father if she couldn't be with her mother, no matter how incompetent or clueless on a parental level he was. Besides, Mycroft couldn't look after a teenage girl, he was busier than even his little brother.

"If you don't mind me asking, sir, why did you lie to her?"

"How could I tell her that her father didn't want to see her? It was easier to tell her that he couldn't."

"I hadn't realized that you care so much about your niece."

"Yes, Anthea, I care. I'm putting myself at a disadvantage, but I do so almost willingly. Now, I think we should head back. I've indulged in sentimentality enough for one day."