In the living room of 221B Baker street, Sherlock sat in a chair at the centre of the room. Well, "sat" was a relative term. Both of his feet were planted firmly on the seat of the chair, his posterior resting on the chair's back. Knees drawn nearly to his chest, Sherlock rested his elbows on them, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth as he leaned forward. Even leaning forward, however, the top of his head still barely cleared the ominous words at the center of the string web; "Did you miss me?"

His gaze was locked on the young redhead who had been introduced to him as Camilla. Seated on the sofa opposite him, the Watson's new nanny was calm, but clearly annoyed at having been sat in one attitude for so long. Today, her clothing was much more relaxed, not just because she had already gotten the job, but because Sherlock had requested it. He wanted their meeting to feel as informal as possible to get a better read on his subject.

As their staring contest entered into its fourth minute, Camilla lost her patience with the strange, thin man the Watson's insisted she meet.

"As much fun as this is, there are other things I could be doing today."

"You're being sarcastic, but I do find this rather fun."

Sherlock's face curled into a grinch like smile as Camilla frowned at him. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she sighed loudly.

"I don't really have the job until you look me over, is that it?"

"Something like that, yes."

"So?"

"So, what?"

"Are you going to do 'the thing,' or not?"

Sherlock's pose remained unchanged, save for a tilting of his head at this new question.

"What 'thing' would that be, I wonder?"

"'The thing' where you look at someone and can tell where they were born and if they've ever eaten sweet corn in their life."

This last statement was met with an amused silence. With his new found fame, Sherlock had run into quite a bit of this sort of assumption about his methods. Since his 'death,' however, he had not seen it quite as much. It seems the novelty had somewhat worn thin. This new occurrence, therefore, was quite amusing.

"I started reading your blog last night. Very interesting stuff."

"John's blog. And those stories are greatly exaggerated."

"So, you don't do 'the thing?'"

"No, I definitely do 'the thing.'"

"Then do 'the thing.'"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I already did 'the thing' five minutes ago when you first walked in."

Sherlock smirked at his own aptitude for exacerbating a situation. Camilla, on the other hand, was not as amused.

"Then why are we still sitting here?"

"I finally got comfortable, I don't know why you are."

Another large smirk from the consulting detective. Another eye roll and a sigh from the nanny.

"Well, if you're finished..."

As she stood to leave, Sherlock slipped down to sit in the seat as it was intended, crossing his legs as he did so.

"Why didn't you put your military history on your CV? Could've saved everyone a lot of trouble."

Camilla stopped as she reached the door, but didn't turn back to look at the thin man.

"I didn't think it was relevant to a nanny position."

"Or, was it because you were dishonourably discharged after only ten months for conduct unbecoming a soldier?"

Camilla turned slowly on the spot. Her annoyed expression had become one of disbelief, curiosity and fear. Sherlock remained very pleased with himself.

"You couldn't have possibly gotten that from 'the thing.'"

"No, that I looked up."

"Those records were sealed."

"Were they, now?"

Sherlock stood, becoming evermore proud of himself, and began slowly wandering over towards Camilla, ducking to avoid the strings of moriarty's web as needed. As he grew closer, he began to slowly circle the poor girl; a dark hawk stalking his redheaded prey.

"Here's something I did get from 'the thing.' Your father was military, moving you from place to place while you were growing up, along with your other siblings. From the way you carry yourself and your clothing choices, I'm going to say three, maybe four brothers, all older than you. Also, based on those observations, I'm going to say you primarily grew up without a mother. It's most likely that she died when you were quite young (sorry about that) and not that she left your father or else she would have taken you with her. So, the military was a natural transition for you given your upbringing. But then, why act so not like a soldier, risking the disapproval of your father?"

"And what makes you think I need approval from my father?"

"Well, if the Big Ben sized chip on your shoulder didn't tip me off, that comment certainly would. His approval matters more than anything else. Or at least it did, until you were kicked out of the army and became a nanny. No, you would've needed to be really pushed to the limit to risk everything. But that brings us back to the question of why?"

"You're a real prat, you know that?"

"Growing up with three, possibly four other brothers, you would have either been a princess or, more likely given your attire, made one of the boys. But, not being a boy, you would have been bullied mercilessly. Meaning, you wouldn't take too kindly to someone with a false sense of entitlement and power. Which means, a superior officer wouldn't stand a chance with you as his charge."

"You've found me out. I beat up my lieutenant because I'm a motherless tomboy who was kicked around as a kid. Well done you."

"Really? I've been intentionally using intimidation tactics since you walked in, but it took me attacking your father for you to even call me a prat. Which can only mean that you have an overdeveloped sense of protection. So, my guess is that one of your fellow soldiers (most likely a woman) was being bullied or abused by a superior officer (definitely a man). In coming to her defense, you got a little over-passionate and were dismissed because of it. Am I close?"

Sherlock had stopped face to face with Camilla, their foreheads only inches apart. The young woman looked as though her temper were about to blow as the thin man smirked, staring her down.

"He took advantage of her. And it wasn't the first time. I just happened to walk into the tent. So I stabbed him in the leg. But she didn't want anyone to know what had been happening so she lied. Said I was a nutter, jealous because I wanted him for myself. Poor thing was so scared what else might happen to her. I tried to talk to her, get her to ask for a transfer, but my solicitor wouldn't let me get near her. No one believed me, so I got the sack. Is that 'close' enough for you?"

She looked close to tears as she turned from her antagoniser and walked toward the stairs.

"Tell Dr. and Mrs. Watson thank you for the opportunity and I hope that they find a nanny soon."

"You're leaving?"

"Well, I'm fired aren't I?"

"You just defended a woman who lied and got you kicked out of the only place you ever felt you belonged because you sympathise with her blight. You're not fired. If anything, I think you deserve a raise!"

Sherlock's face had finally crossed the line from snarky to pleasant. He extended a hand, inviting Camilla back inside. She turned back, still very confused, and reentering with caution.

"Tea? I think Mrs. Hudson made a pot just before you arrived. Should still be hot."

Sherlock returned within moments with the tea tray already prepared by his landlady. The nanny took the cup, still eyeing the man offering it to her.

"I hear you like to sing. Can we expect to hear a lot of 'Incy Wincy Spider' and 'You Are My Sunshine?'"

"'We?' What, are you married to them, too, then?"

Camilla laughed, she seemed to be lightening up slightly. Sherlock decided to take this new found levity and run with it.

"Well, you know. Modern times, modern relationships."

Sherlock smiled widely, catching the glimpse of a small glint of amusement from above the woman's tea cup. He laughed at himself as he continued.

"I'm the girl's godfather. Consider me as constant in her life as her parents. Only, I don't live there, I'm not of a blood relation and I don't contribute financially to her upbringing. But other than that…"

The woman relaxed, now grinning broadly, and sunk backwards into the sofa.

"The only way I will ever sing 'You Are My Sunshine' is under threat of death. That song is a debasement of musicality and creativity. Children should be exposed to classical music. Complex melodies and arrangements. Not a badly rhymed song."

"Actually, simple melodies can be just as beneficial to an infant's brain development, as well as rhymes of any kind. Which reminds me…"

Sherlock walked over to the corner and picked up a heavy box of books. He let it hit the coffee table in front of Camilla with a heavy thud.

"I'd like you to read these childhood development books. Many of them have conflicting theories, but they do provide a nice overview of information which you lack from professional experience and education in the field of childcare. There are only two dozen, so it should take you about three days to finish."

"You read all of these books in three days?"

"Don't be silly, it took me one evening."

The grinch-like smile returned to Sherlock's face as Camilla began to laugh at him.

"I have news for you, Mr. Holmes; Dr. Watson's blog is not as exaggerated as you seem to think."